“The Closet” Theatrical Poster
Director: Kim Kwang-Bin
Cast: Ha Jung-Woo, Kim Nam-Gil, Heo Yool, Kim Si-A, Park Sung-Woong, Shin Hyun-Bin
Running Time: 95 min.
By Paul Bramhall
While the practice of shamanism has always been around in Korean cinema, it was arguably The Wailing that popularised it within the context of the horror genre for a 21st century audience, and 2020’s The Closet was one of many productions post its release in which shamanism plays a central part of the plot. Opening with grainy home video footage from 1998 of a shaman performing a ritual in front of a closet, things turn gruesome when an invisible force possesses her to turn the knife she’s brandishing against herself, slitting her own throat before the footage cuts off. It’s a suitably unsettling opening, even if the way the scene is edited admittedly contradicts the ‘found footage’ nature of what we’re supposed to be witnessing, and sets a foreboding tone for what’s to come.
In present day we meet Ha Jung-woo (Ashfall, Ransomed), an architect and single father raising his 11-year-old daughter after the tragic death of his wife in a car accident. Played by K-drama actress Heo Yool, here making her big screen debut, since the accident she’s become increasingly detached from the world, barely speaking a word and resistant to Jung-woo’s efforts to connect. In an attempt to give her an environment where her condition can improve, he resorts to the oldest cliché in the Korean cinema textbook – relocate to an area that has “clean air” – the area in question being a remote property in the countryside.
Of course when one of the first things that happens after moving in is for a crow to fly straight into a window, leaving a bloodied mark where it hit, you know it’s going to take more than clean air to make things better. His daughter isn’t Jung-woo’s only problem, since the accident he’s been suffering from panic attacks and is popping pills to keep them in check, and with a new build he’s getting pressure from the higher ups to work onsite rather than remotely from his home office (a scenario that somehow predicted what many employees would face once the COVID-19 pandemic ended just a few years later!). The biggest problem for both of them though turns out to be what’s lurking behind the closet doors in Yool’s room.
For those with even a passing familiarity not only with the Korean horror genre, but horror in general, it won’t come as a surprise that it turns out to be a vengeful spirit. The Closet marks the debut of director Kim Kwang-bin (who at the time of writing in 2024, hasn’t done anything since), and his enthusiasm to get to the spooky stuff is sometimes a little too apparent, with the way character relationships develop sometimes making illogical jumps. This is particularly obvious when the sullen Jung-woo visits his psychiatrist and offloads his woes of how his daughter won’t make eye contact with him, only for him to return home and find her almost ridiculously chirpy and cheerful, happily running around with an old raggedy doll. You’d think it would raise alarm bells for Jung-woo the same way it does for the audience, but bizarrely he doesn’t bat an eyelid, and simply accepts that she seems like a completely different person.
It may be a shortcut in terms of propelling the plot forward in an economic way, but it stretches credibility with the way it plays out onscreen. Similarly when Jung-woo advertises for a nanny, the fact that he bumps into one of the most suspicious looking nannies committed to screen as he’s heading out the door, and simply lets her in with no questions asked and continues on his way without so much as an introduction simply feels lazy. On the plus side though, what can’t be argued is that the decisions do allow for The Closet to be an economical slice of horror, telling its story in a lean 95-minute runtime. When Yool disappears all together after being coaxed into the closet by other worldly voices, it becomes clear that the genre isn’t so much one of demonic possession as we see so often, but rather demonic abduction. In that way, you could almost say it’s a Korean version of Poltergeist.
Despite the required suspensions of disbelief around some of the situational elements of the narrative, Kwang-bin does an effective job of creating a sense of underlying dread. He opts to keep the evil presence largely unseen, instead using sound as the method to ramp up the tension, ranging from violin playing at night to screams of terror from behind closed doors. They may be old tricks, but they’re still being used in horror movies today because they’re still just as effective as they were back in the day. This is offset by a tangential narrative which sees Jung-woo resorting to the media to seek help finding his daughter, only to find himself villainised as it’s revealed he was working away from home and taking prescription drugs. In part the vilification is justified since it becomes clear he’s not exactly ideal father material, preferring to buy gifts to earn Yool’s affections, and ultimately choosing his job over spending more time with her.
While the neglectful parent angle offers up an interesting direction for the plot to continue down, it feels likes its largely pushed into the background with the arrival of Kim Nam-gil’s (Emergency Declaration, The Odd Family: Zombie On Sale) ghost hunter. Playing the son of the shaman we see in the initial home video footage, he’s been hunting for the spirit responsible for his mother’s death for 10 years, and believes it’s been luring kids into the realm of the dead through closets (although notably, it’s never explained why he’s failed to catch it so far, likely another dose of suspension of disbelief). Nam-gil’s character is an odd choice, effectively played as a kind of quirky ghost catcher, the sort who has no problem discussing the quality of instant noodles while monitoring screens for ghostly activity. It’s a decision which largely dissipates any scene he’s in of any tension, adding a humorous slant which doesn’t feel like it belongs there.
At its worst, when explaining to Jung-woo about how the dead remain in the spirit realm for 49 days after their death, he ends up complaining it’s too complicated and tells him to watch the Along with the Gods movies instead. It’s supposed to be funny because Jung-woo is the star of them, and maybe it would be if The Closet was intended as a cinematic satire in the vein of 2002’s Fun Movie, but we’re supposed to be watching a horror where a girl has been abducted by demonic spirits. I’ve always been of the belief that Nam-gil is best suited to comedic roles, as he consistently fails to convince in more serious ones (with the exception of The Shameless, which I’m convinced is because he was acting alongside Jeon Do-yeon), and once things get serious in The Closet there was little on display that changed my mind.
Ultimately the pair team up to send Jung-woo into the realm of the dead, which essentially involves a lot of stab happy school kids chasing after him while attempting to locate Yool in a mist covered forest playground. It’s a fitting if somewhat underwhelming conclusion to a straight forward tale of demonic abduction, and Kim Nam-gil is certainly no Zelda Rubinstein. The vengeful spirit itself is played by Kim Si-a (Miss Baek, Kill Boksoon), and her father is portrayed by a supporting Park Sung-woong (The Wild, The Great Battle), both of whom clock in powerful performances with their limited screentime. It’s a testament to Si-a’s range at such a young age that the audience’s sympathies will likely end up resonating more with her than with Jung-woo and Yool.
While The Closet doesn’t reinvent the wheel it still ends up as a serviceable entry in the overpopulated horror genre, no doubt bolstered by it’s A-list cast. The pitfalls of Kim Kwang-bin’s first time in the director’s chair are admittedly frequent, and a closing scene twist (at least I think that’s what its supposed to be) is as nonsensical as it is unnecessary. With that being said, if all you’re looking for is a couple of jump scares and some spooky happenings, then The Closet should do the job.
Paul Bramhall ‘s Rating: 6/10
