‘Decision to Leave’ Review: A Labyrinth of Desire

One of the many pleasures of the feverish “Decision to Leave” is that the director Park Chan-wook clearly had as much fun making the movie as you will have watching it. A heady, baroque mystery infused with the kind of old-fashioned romantic fatalism that makes noir-darkened hearts flutter, it is a story of impossible love — though even a determined admirer may wonder if it’s also impossible to get a handle on this sly, ingeniously slippery movie.

Never fear, though, as someone once cautioned me about visiting Venice, you will get lost. But navigating a mystery’s enigmas, sifting through its clues and unlocking its secrets are what draw us to stories like this, and here, even if you find yourself at an apparent dead end, Park will guide you back on track. Both times that I’ve seen “Decision to Leave” I questioned whether the movie was overly addled or I was, both being possible. Who’s the lovelorn gangster, I wondered. What does this or that plot kink have to do with the mystery woman? And why does one detective keep thumping his partner with an electric massager?

Park drops you into the movie so abruptly that you would be forgiven for thinking that you had missed the first 15 minutes (or a prequel). As the staccato of bullets fills the soundtrack, a flurry of rapidly deployed scenes zip by, and the movie jumps from two detectives shooting at an indoor firing range and chatting, and then working a case and talking some more. The opening draws you right in with its destabilizing jump cuts, controlled freneticism, narrative ellipses and oddball swerves — cut to a fog-wreathed discussion about insomnia — which creates an inviting ambiguity. It’s unclear what’s happening; it will remain unclear for a while.

There’s a dead body, of course, which soon materializes with the first glints of the main story. While hiking, a man has died under suspicious circumstances, leaving a broken watch and beautiful widow, Seo-rae (Tang Wei, wonderful), who’s called in for questioning by the two detectives. The lead investigator, the sleep-challenged Hae-joon (Park Hae-il), is instantly and conspicuously drawn to her. By contrast, the other detective, Soo-wan (Go Kyung-pyo), the guy with the electric massager, is more leery, harshly noting that she doesn’t seem especially upset by her husband’s death. Hae-joon replies that his wife wouldn’t be either, a revelatory comment about a man who proves more complicated than he appears.

Hae-joon puts Seo-rae under surveillance and before long, in classic old Hollywood detective fashion, he falls for her, hard. He trails and watches her, tracking her every move whether she’s at work (she’s a caregiver for older, housebound patients) or at home with her cat and droning TV. Sometimes, he imagines himself in Seo-rae’s apartment — you see him there, too — where he hovers near her, almost within kissing distance. And when she falls asleep sitting on her couch, eyes closed as a column of smoldering ash precariously droops from her cigarette, he also imagines himself holding an ashtray under its burning tip.

Sometimes a dying cigarette isn’t just a cigarette, but an intimation of later smolder and ash. While Hae-joon’s solicitousness toward Seo-rae can read as sweetly considerate (or stalker-ish), his investigation rapidly morphs into fascination and then life-changing, brain-fogging obsession. Under the cover of his detective work, he insinuates himself into Seo-rae’s life — or does she coax him in? — until they’re sharing rooms, meals and rainy walks. He loves her, but even as they grow close, he remains distrustful. From the start, he has decided who she is, putting her in a box, an idea that Park literalizes at one point with a shocking, gasp-inducing shot of her seated alone in the multiple square-shaped rooms of her apartment.

On the most elemental level, “Decision to Leave” is a classic detective story driven by Hae-joon’s desire for Seo-rae and by his desire (one shared by the viewer) to know who’s done it and why. But nothing is ever straightforward with Park, an exuberant, adventurous maximalist who likes to kink up narrative and delights in the plasticity of the medium. Here, he plays with time and space, blurs the past with the present and inventively employs flashbacks and fantasy sequences that deepen the mystery, disrupt the flow and draw attention to the filmmaking itself. The effect can be dazzling, and enjoyably dizzying.

Park’s most obvious touchstone is “Vertigo,” Hitchcock’s sublime 1958 l’amour fou about a detective who falls in love with a woman he thinks he’s lost only to find and lose her again. Park scatters several amusing nods to the Hitchcock picture throughout “Decision to Leave,” notably with lurid close-ups of eyes, rooftop chases and a gnarled tree jutting atop a treacherous precipice. Like the detective in “Vertigo,” Hae-joon — who periodically uses eye drops — spends a great deal of time looking at the woman he falls in loves with, though whether he ever actually sees her remains a question that’s teased throughout the story.

However informed by Hitchcock, “Decision to Leave” is pure Park Chan-wook — his earlier movies include the original “Oldboy” and the erotic thriller “The Handmaiden” — through and through in form, style and temperament. And while Hae-joon may be outwardly driving the story, it is Seo-rae — and Tang’s devastating performance — who imbues “Decision to Leave” with its deep, then deeper wells of feeling. From the very first destabilizing moments of this movie, Park dazzles you with the beauty of his images and the intoxicating bravura of his unfettered imagination. And then, just when you think you have found your bearings, he unmoors you yet once more, blowing minds and shattering hearts, yours included.

Decision to Leave
Not rated. In Korean and Chinese, with subtitles. Running time: 2 hours 18 minutes. In theaters.