Opinion / Why Kim Ji-young, Born 1982 isn’t just a feminist film – it’s a movie for modern men everywhere

When I sat down to watch Kim Ji-young, Born 1982 in a Hong Kong cinema, I knew it would be a meaningful movie, presenting valuable social insight. The Korean drama has been sparking headlines for months, for its bold framing of feminist themes, and the spotlight shone on mental health issues too rarely talked about.

But I was also braced for a stereotypically shallow portrait of an identikit tyrant/workaholic/drunken/disengaged husband, either ill-equipped or unwilling to address the problems right in front of him. As the title makes clear, this is the story of one woman, Kim Ji-young, whose survival in an institutionally sexist world could surely only be hindered, not helped, by her spouse; emotionally stunted male portraits are as sadly common on screen as they are pathetically prevalent in real life. In short, I was ready for my gender to be held up to uncomfortable scrutiny – for masculinity to take another much deserved, but all too familiar, beating.

Instead I was offered something I never expected from a mainstream drama blockbuster, a character I could relate to in an almost painful way. As a cohabiting male in my mid-thirties squirming to define a man’s role in 2019, I wasn’t just gifted a window into my partner’s struggles, but a portrait of the everyday societal pressures undermining my own earnest efforts to be the model, modern man.

Based on Cho Nam-joo’s bestselling novel of the same name – a sensation which has sold a million copies and been translated into 18 languages – Kim Ji-young, Born 1982 is correctly billed as a highly autobiographical portrait of a woman on the edge of everything – of her nerves, of her family, of a bold new career move, of reality, of generally holding it all together.

Played empathetically by regular award winner Jung Yu-mi (born 1983), the film details the period of perhaps less than a year of the eponymous, 34-year-old, Kim Ji-young’s life, but fleeting tasteful flashbacks sketch a lifetime of casual sexism that has closed doors and crippled dreams for as long as she can remember.

Ji-young’s goals, it must be said, are universal and far from unreasonable: she wants nothing more than to raise a family and pursue a career at the same time – and do so in peace, free from societal judgment. The divisive “feminist” branding almost threatens to derail her modest cause from the outset. And while some traditions and stigmas may be particular to Korean culture – such as the mam-chung, or “mom-worm”, slur Ji-young encounters – the overarching pressures are also as universal as they are undeniable.

The first film from director Kim Do-young, it’s a studied portrait, lacking the melodrama the trailers suggest – in a key scene, her brother gifts her the engraved fountain pen their staunchly chauvinistic father had bought his son home from a foreign business trip two decades earlier, while leaving his two daughters empty-handed.

If only all gender inequalities could be so easily righted. However, throughout the film, Ji-young’s struggles are helped not just by the strong female ex-boss who offers to employ her – whose aggressively male behaviour is no accident – but by her patient, understanding husband Jung Dae-hyun (played by heartthrob Gong Yoo, born 1979). He’s the kind of ideal man who rushes home from work to give their toddler a bath and put her to bed.

When his wife’s grasp on reality starts to crack, he Googles diligently, encouraging exercise and coaxing her into counselling. And when that exciting opportunity to re-enter the workforce arrives, he offers to put his own career on hold as a stay at home dad – a move, naturally, no one else can begin to comprehend.