A new Park Chan-wook film isn’t just released, it arrives, carrying with it the weight of everything that came before. That’s the consequence of building a career on films like Oldboy, The Handmaiden, and Decision to Leave. He’s one of those rare directors whose name alone makes a ticket purchase feel like a safe bet. So naturally, when I heard about No Other Choice, I went in with excitement that was maybe a little too inflated. And while there were things I admired, moments that reminded me why Park is such a singular filmmaker, I walked out of the theater with the unmistakable feeling that this was one of his weaker efforts.
That’s not to say the film is devoid of quality. Far from it. On paper, it contains many of the signature elements that make a Park Chan-wook film feel like a Park Chan-wook film. Son Ye-jin gives an especially strong performance, carrying almost every scene she appears in while also portraying the most dynamic and interesting character. I loved the setting as well, a weathered home in the Korean countryside, shot during autumn when the Ginkgo trees are shedding their golden leaves. It’s one of those backdrops that feels tailor-made for Park’s camera, and sure enough, the cinematography delivers. His eye for texture, lighting, and stillness remains unmatched, and there are individual scenes here that, if taken out of context, could easily slot into a “Best of Park Chan-wook” montage.
But as a whole, No Other Choice doesn’t fully hold together. The biggest struggle for me was the overall pacing. The film staggers along in its first act, wandering without a clear direction and struggling to strike consistent tones. Nearly 45 minutes pass before the actual premise is revealed, and even then, instead of gaining momentum, the story just sort of lumbers forward. I kept waiting for the moment where the narrative would shift gears, wondering when it would finally sink its claws into me the way Park’s films usually do, but that moment never came.
The premise itself, to be clear, isn’t the issue. At its core, the film is about a desperate man forced to come up with a convoluted and devious plan in order to provide for his family. It’s a story that resonates in Korea’s hyper-competitive work culture, serving also as a commentary on how easily people can sacrifice their values under pressure while also critiquing the capitalist society that supports it. On paper, it’s somewhat clever and relevant. But in practice, the execution feels strangely cautious, as though Park was hesitant to really push the material to its limits. This is the same director who gave us the intricate con games of The Handmaiden and the brutal moral spirals of Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance. By comparison, No Other Choice plays things surprisingly safe, never delivering the kind of jaw-dropping twist or bold stylistic swing that we’ve come to expect.
That lack of daring is what left me mostly unsatisfied. For the first time in a Park film, I felt like I could predict where things were going, and worse, I was usually right. Instead of tension building toward a shocking revelation, the story flatlined into something more like a cautionary tale: a portrait of a man selling his morals once he finds himself under the weight of financial desperation and family obligation. That message is certainly valid, even timely, but the delivery is muted. Park’s best films sting because they show us uncomfortable truths with sharp edges. Here, the edges feel sanded down.
One area where the film does stand out, surprisingly, is its humor. Park has always had a taste for morbid comedy and films like Thirst and Lady Vengeance are laced with it, but in No Other Choice, the black comedy element feels even more central to the films overall identity. Once the sinister nature of the plot becomes clear, Park seems less interested in plunging the story into pure darkness and more in encouraging the audience to laugh at the absurd situations the main character creates for himself. At times, this works beautifully. The humor feels organic to the characters’ desperation, and the tonal balance between menace and comedy is one of the film’s strongest elements. In fact, the biggest surprise of the film for me was realizing just how much of it functions as a black comedy.
The flip side, though, is casting. Lee Byung-hun is a phenomenal actor, one of Korea’s finest and when it comes to playing stoic, intimidating, or morally ambiguous roles, few can match him. But here, tasked with embodying a kind of bumbling everyman, he feels oddly out of place. For the darker beats, he delivers as expected, but when the script leans into comedic absurdity, he struggles to match the energy of the actors around him. Son Ye-jin, in particular, outshines him in their shared scenes, her naturalism making his performance feel stiff by comparison. It’s not that Lee is bad, but he feels miscast, as though Park wanted to see what would happen if he pushed him outside his comfort zone, with mixed results.
There are smaller touches I appreciated, though, ones that reflect Park’s ongoing interest in poking at Korean societal norms. Casting Son Ye-jin as a divorced single mother and Lee’s character as a blue-collar worker without a traditional university degree instantly separates this film from others that center on Korea’s elite. Unlike Parasite, where class divisions were filtered through the lens of a wealthy family, No Other Choice roots itself firmly in the lives of those who are traditional on Korean society’s lower rungs. And yet, Park’s point seems to be that desperation and greed transcend class, that even those who should know the pain of being marginalized are quick to compromise their morals for a taste of comfort and status. It’s a bleak but fair observation, even if the storytelling around it doesn’t always hit the mark.
In terms of where it fits within Park’s filmography, I’d place it closer to Stoker (2013) than to his Korean classics. Like Stoker, it’s beautifully crafted and contains flashes of brilliance, but it never quite comes together in a way that feels satisfying. I’ll likely revisit No Other Choice later this year, not because I’m eager to relive the story, but more out of curiosity, to make sure I didn’t miss something crucial the first time. That in itself says something. With most Park films, a rewatch feels like an opportunity to savor; here, it feels more like an obligation.
To be fair, Park sets an impossibly high bar for himself. When you’ve made some of the most inventive and audacious films in modern cinema, even a “pretty good” effort can feel disappointing by comparison. And in the context of today’s Korean film industry, which has been struggling in recent years, No Other Choice still stands out as a work of craft and vision. But within Park’s body of work, it lands firmly in the bottom half for me.
Ultimately, No Other Choice is a film filled with promise, an excellent cast, a timely premise, and Park’s ever-reliable visual artistry, but it never fully blooms into something great. It hints at brilliance, gestures toward audacity, but stops short of delivering either. Walking out of the theater, I wasn’t particularly let down; I just felt a quiet kind of frustration, the sense that this could have been so much more. And maybe my expectations were too high. But with Park Chan-wook, isn’t that always the risk?
