What do a Feng Shui master, a mortician, and a shaman all have in common? No, this isn’t the setup for a terrible joke; instead, it’s the main plot of the Korean supernatural horror film Exhuma. Although the film starts off slowly, it effectively introduces the main characters and their backgrounds. Additionally, it provides an opportunity to explore the traditional practices surrounding death in Korean culture. To some extent, this prepares us for the whirlwind and disorderly narrative that director and writer Jang Jae-hyun has in store for us, as he delves into Korean folklore and the supernatural, much like in his first supernatural thriller, The Priests (2015).

The story initially revolves around a wealthy family struggling against a mysterious illness affecting their newborn son. Enlisting the help of the trio, they come together with the family’s patriarch to uncover the past and honour the lore of their elders. In these moments, we witness the complicated details involved in exhuming a tomb, as well as the ominous aura that arises from such practices. Rarely does a movie effectively incorporate complex issues surrounding death, burial processes, and the afterlife successfully. Yet, it is during the upcoming scenes that the film begins to pick up and find its footing, thanks in part to the music that accompanies the chaos resulting from the rituals. The film’s intensity is heightened by the protagonist played by Lee Hwa-Rim (Kim Go-eun), who possesses a fantastic presence in this film; her energy lends crucial scenes an extra boost. When not using her body to convey emotions, it’s the ear-splitting screams that are accentuated by the frantic plucking of strings. In fact, the sound takes the forefront of the scene, a clever tactic to introduce such a striking sound that, dare I say, rivals the iconic soundtrack of The Exorcist.

Once the evil has unknowingly been unleashed, this is where the horror aspect enters. The jump scares are gradual and subtle, with a little slice of gore thrown in for good measure. However, the real terror lies in the uncertainty of what lies ahead, presenting fear by opting to build on the mystery and intrigue surrounding the before and after of the burial ritual process. This is when things take an odd turn and divide into two, and as the saying goes, it’s ‘a story of two halves,’ which was practically coined for this film. What’s enjoyable is hearing folklore songs, which in itself is creepy, but the specific line questioning ‘Why are we given the word death?’ is a meaningful talking point that would have been interesting to see explored. Instead, it veers into persistent dialogue and imagery of breaking the snakes into two parts, which could allude to the historical ties between North and South Korea, but to me, that sentence felt more about the film as a whole. Instead of finishing around the 80-90 minute mark, it unfolds into a strange plot with a twist that never gets back on course.

The well-crafted sense of eerie unease in the first half quickly vanishes as the narrative progresses; it feels like a distant memory enjoyed long ago. Several scenes seem to reach a climactic conclusion but then decide to turn back around on themselves. While some stellar scenes stand out, other moments remind the audience it’s a horror film, descending into incorporating every horror cliché as fast as possible, such as dramatic music and flashbacks of the characters’ personal trauma thrown at us at a high-intensity pace. This gives the impression that the audience is being told to feel scared; however, it does the opposite and instead adds to the confusion and uncertainty about the direction of the narrative. It feels stagnant, like a learner driver at the helm of the car who keeps stalling, unsure of how to proceed.

This may be the reason why it got discombobulated; the movie never truly figured out its identity and the path it wanted to take, instead allowing the viewer to dive into complex themes of religion, history, and Korea’s present state. Key themes of history and religious elements are highlighted throughout, such as Buddhism and Christianity, which feature heavily, with cultural symbolism arising several times in prominent scenes. Perhaps more exploration of these themes could have helped make sense of the plot or why it was happening.

However, had it not been for the skillful talents of the cast, this storyline could easily have crumbled just as fast as the tomb they’ve been digging. Together, Feng Shui master Kim Sang-Deok (Choi Min-Sik) and Lee Hwa-Rim (Kim Go-eun) as the head shaman let us into their world and do a fantastic job of portraying two realistic people who genuinely care about their profession.

Exhuma delves into the depths of Korean history and cultural traditions, uncovering the various horrors that have shaped today’s divided Korea. Its compelling acting, precise direction, and meticulous editing make the film a worthwhile viewing experience.

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Written by Kirsty Bright

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