Russian director Vitaly Mansky spent almost a year in Pyongyang shooting a propaganda film about an 8-year-old girl's entry into the Children's Union, the political organization that every NK kid must join. He knew that in the land of Kim Il-sung, Kim Jong-il and now Kim Jong-un he would be intensely 'supervised' in every respect; not allowed to film anything on his own; not permitted to talk to the actors; and be required to use the script the North Koreans provided. But his cameras each had two digital recording cards so he could give one, containing 'official' footage, to his bosses while keeping the cameras rolling to surreptitiously record forbidden images. Thus we see stage-managers staging everything, constantly appearing from the wings to coach the actors (usually to be more joyful—and patriotic); other images betray the weight of oppression: the morning public exercises (instructions blare from loudspeakers in the public square); reflexive and repetitive statements by everyone fulsomely praising the Kim dynasty (for heroism, self- sacrifice, generosity, loving care, ad infinitum/nauseam); a decorated Korean War vet (at least three dozen gigantic medals on his tunic) meekly and bewilderedly submitting to the stage-managers' instructions on what to say and how to say it. And then there's Pyongyang itself, a city of three million—but where are all the people? You hardly see them except in singing, forced-smiling packs of school kids, who march or run rather than walk to endless classes on the greatness of the Kims. The city is not only colorless but featureless: no fast food joints, no small businesses, no billboards, no neon, no bustle. Everything is vast, the favorite dimension of tyrants: the squares, the public buildings, the towering bronzes of the holy Kims. A telling shot is of an enormous expanse of asphalt that can be recognized as an intersection only because in its middle stands a lone traffic cop, forlornly waiting for traffic to direct. No one smiles save on command; no one speaks save to praise the 'Generalissimo' or the 'Respected Leader,' and they know absolutely nothing about the world outside North Korea. The film closes with the little girl, Zin-mi, and the scene is heart-breaking as it is horrifying. A teacher frets at her emotionless blank stare and repeatedly insists that she be happy say what makes her happy. Zin-mi is vaguely aware that SOMETHING is required of her but she's not sure how to be happy for the teacher. Finally, after more urging, she reaches desperately into her memory and begins to dully recite the oath she took when joining the Children's Union. It is shattering to realize that you have just watched an eight-year-old child turned into a robot.
Review of Under the Sun
