Written by Andreas Babiolakis

Park Chan-wook usually can’t contain himself, and there’s nothing wrong with that when the acclaimed, South Korean auteur lets loose. Films like Oldboy, The Handmaiden, and Lady Vengeance are hoisted up by Chan-wook’s twisted vision and penchant for the worst aspects of being a human being. His first film in six years is easily one of his most dialled-back works, and I wasn’t the least bit apprehensive about this. In fact, I was excited to see what such a relentless director could do with a more subdued effort, and I’m pleased to say that Decision to Leave is one of the best films of 2022. It’s so nice seeing a director that cinephiles have “figured out” going against the odds. Oldboy is full of gore and shocking imagery, whilst Decision to Leave toys with the possibilities of what could happen, and the aftermaths of what took place. The Handmaiden is extremely erotic without leaving anything to the imagination, while Decision to Leave creates an exceptionally strong romantic chemistry without any graphic sex or overtly sweet scenes at all. Even at his most reserved, Chan-wook is stylish and his intended moods and feelings are always felt (in fact, they may be even stronger, here).

For a director that’s forever been reflecting on the works of Alfred Hitchcock, it’s nice to see Chank-wook finally deliver something purely Hitchcockian and terrific (Stoker was a decent attempt, though). The two films that came to mind throughout Decision to Leave are Notorious and Vertigo, with the former’s twists and turns strangulating one’s heart via a noir backdrop, and the latter’s self-sacrifice within a downward spiral because of an affixed love. This is still a Chan-wook film through and through, and it never once feels like either of those films directly enough that I would claim that he was indebted to Hitchcock; the similarities are minor, and Chan-wook has too much imagination and passion to ever tether himself to a classic and make an homage.

Detective Hae-jun is working on his latest case when he becomes transfixed by the widow of the deceased, Seo-rae. It’s crystal clear that she’s the femme fatale of this neo noir straight away, but Chan-wook isn’t interested in having us try to guess whether she is or isn’t. Unlike Knives Out, which professed to be a whydunnit and was so-so at it, Decision to Leave actually left me itching to find out more about these characters: what makes them tick, what bothers them, and why they are the ways that they are. We get into the gritty details pretty quickly by the end of the first act, and that’s when I was left quite aghast: what else is there even to explore? It’s precisely this moment when I let Decision to Leave take the wheel, because I hadn’t any idea where else it could go, and that’s quite inspired for a mystery film. Typically, you’re trying to solve a particular crime and/or situation, and Decision to Leave still does this, but it also leaves us wondering about nothing in particular; as Chan-wook actually has answers and a vision of how he wants his picture to transpire, this is actually a great thing, and I wish I could be left in the properly curated fog of a cinematic artist more often (and not left confused by someone that doesn’t know what they are doing).

As Decision to Leave continues, it’s clear that the picture is dependant on the addictions and love-sickness that we all experience, and that’s the real story here: how far we are willing to go with the justification that we care about someone. At first, it seems like Seo-rae is in complete control of the situation (even above the insomniac detective protagonist), but that is quickly refuted by the possibilities of circumstance, and the curse of us presuming we already know all that there is to someone because of what we already know. There will always be more to a story; other mysteries to solve; additional clues to pick up on. Once Decision to Leave knows as far as it can go before it dips into the territories of insanity and ludicrousness, it calls it quits, and leaves us wanting more; we can helplessly search all we want when the film’s biggest definite revelation happens, but that’s because we’re human beings. We’re conditioned to searching, yearning, longing, and anticipating more to the point that we can’t accept fate and the worst case scenarios. Decision to Leave doesn’t conclude with damnation (although it seems like it does), it’s actually a reminder of what we were pacing towards the whole time: denial. We get so caught up trying to make things work, that we can’t accept when they don’t, because there has to be another way.

In front of gorgeous sets (that are well shot by Kim Ji-yong) and behind two strong performances (Park Hae-il’s expressive yin to Tang Wei’s minimalist yang), Decision to Leave is a harmonious film, despite all of its discomforts. It is aesthetically rich, perhaps acting as a front to disguise all of the anxieties and depressions we all harbour inside of us as we auto-pilot throughout life and expect to be judged. These two leads (and some of the other great supporting roles) act as our inner and outer personas: what we feel inside, and what we choose to showcase to the world. It says a lot that the more quiet of the two is the one with the strongest responses (purely calculated, mind you), whilst the more reactionary individual relies purely on impulse, because taking time is wasting time. Decision to Leave combines the guilt of committing crimes and/or abetting a criminal with self loathing, infidelity, and isolation, but also with some contrastingly positive emotions as well, particularly the inexplicable nature of true love. Chan-wook masters the blurred lines between witnessing atrocity and the butterflies within ones stomach to make a highly romantic, slow burning tragedy. Decision to Leave is a guessing game that packs a punch on the first watch, and a hopeless effort to delay the inevitable on each subsequent viewing (all the signs were there!). It is one of 2022’s strongest efforts, and a welcome return for Park Chan-wook: a daring director that took his biggest risk by not playing to what’s expected of him. The end result is a poetically sound drama that radiates more than it dictates, and it’s nice to see a film just exist — as undiluted by processed sensations as possible — this far into the history of film.

Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Toronto Metropolitan University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.