Best film at the 2020 Oscars, the tragedy that weaves the private lives of two South Korean families, takes shape in one of the most perfect comparisons between false architectural refinement and the harmful consequences of the privileges of the wealthier class. The Korean architect Namgoong Hyeonja is the designer and first inhabitant of the villa now inhabited by the Park family. A house that attracts parasites that are destined to live in the basements, hoping one day to escape to the surface.
The smell of the Labirinth
“That night I did not sleep. Around dawn, I dreamed about an engraving that I had never seen before or that I had seen and forgotten; it was in the style of Piranesi, and it had a labyrinth in it. It was a stone amphitheatre ringed by cypresses, above whose tops it reached. There were neither doors nor windows; rather, it displayed an endless row of narrow vertical slits. With a magnifying glass, I tried to see the Minotaur inside. At last, I made it out. It was a monster of a monster, more bison than bull, and, its human body stretched out on the ground, it seemed to be asleep and dreaming. Dreaming of what or of whom?” (Jorge Luis Borges, There are more things, in The Book of Sand)
“Thus prevails the structure of the machine-labyrinth that produces pure movement, a gear that in its automatic movement realizes a series of shifts that no longer depend on the will of its creator.” (Bonito Oliva, Luoghi del silenzio imparziale. Labirinto contemporaneo).