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Some may say one should not see 301-302 on an empty stomach. Sure, with Park Chul-soo's luscious displays of Korean and non-Korean dishes served up by Song-hee (played by Pang Eun-jin), one will find oneself hankering for a heaping serving of chigae or fried chicken. However, later on, after the third or fourth retch by Yoon-hee (played by Hwang Shin-hye), seeing the film on a full stomach may result in a need to rush to the bathroom as Yoon-hee does so many times in the film. Actually, I would recommend seeing this film a little hungry. This way, one is forced to hold the ebb and flow of delicious and disgusting the film serves up.

One of the first Korean films to receive a theatre release in the United States, 301, 302 tells the story of two apartment neighbors who represent opposite approaches to their struggles as modern Korean woman. Song-hee gluttons on food, sex, and consumer goods, whereas Yoon-hee refuses all the world has to offer. Park portrays these characters with touches of the surreal. Yoon-hee could not survive as long as she does in the film taking in nothing but water, nor could she have the healthy body exposed to us with such an eating disorder. The surreal in Song-hee appears in the steps she will take in her consumption. Still, contained within this surreal, dark tale is a meditation on the plight of Korean women in modern Korean society. Song-hee starts off as the dutiful wife who soon finds that her duties leave her self-fulfillment wanting. Yoon-hee is denied her authentic voice through denial letters from publishers. Instead, she must pimp her words in sex advice columns.

Seeing this film for the first time after a handful of Shiris, JSAs, and Chunhyangs, one might find the production value lacking, but as a predecessor to grosser budgets, Park does a wonderful job adding to the feel of the film with his vibrant blues, yellows, and reds, as well as the sounds of slicing and dicing. Song-hee's apartment would still receive nods of approval from the editors of Wallpaper*. As an art film, the dialogue isn't necessarily meant to be natural at times, however, some may find the film heavy-handed in its feminist criticism.

Personally, I found it refreshing when I saw it back during its United States release and still find the film valuable. Pang and Hwang are wonderful in their portrayals, each character struggling to escape the standards society imposes upon them through what little control they have. As Yoon-hee and Song-hee both look through the fisheye lens that is the peephole of their respective apartments, each tries to return the male gaze to reflect a more liberating future for themselves. Whether or not that's accomplished I can not state here, since that would involve interpreting, thus ruining, the ending. What I can tell you is that Pang and Hwang return within the next Park vehicle, Push! Push! (1997), where Park continued to provide a voice for the modern Korean woman before Korea's gradual inclusion of women directors, such as Yim Soon-rye and Jeong Jae-eun, permitted an opportunity for women to do it for themselves.      (Adam Hartzell)

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