The titular character (played by Jung Yu-mi) is a wife, and mother to a two-year-old, who begins to exhibit strange traits. Specifically, she assumes the identity of another family member (either her mother or deceased grandmother) for a short while, before returning to normal, with no recollection of the incident.
Understandably, this is very hard for husband Dae-hyun (Gong Yoo) to wrap his head around. At first, he’s able to gloss over it when it happens in front of other family members, saying she’s tired, been working too hard, etc.
Although this behaviour/condition represents the film’s premise, it’s not really what the film is about – not exactly. No, Kim Ji-young: Born 1982 reflects upon slowly shifting attitudes in South Korea concerning the roles of women and men and the way the genders co-exist. Ji-young’s affliction allows her to more easily (if unconsciously) directly challenge a still-patriarchal society. As ‘herself’, she’d never do such a thing but by channelling, for instance, her grandmother, she is able to do so because she can talk to her elders and ‘betters’ on more of an equal footing.
Ji-young works hard, even though she no longer has a career (she was in marketing before the birth of her child) but she keeps the household running and more importantly, she is bringing up the couple’s daughter. She is just as educated and able to earn money as Gong Yoo but because she’s a woman, it’s still assumed and expected that she forgoes all of this to live as a housewife and mother.
These reinforced and perpetuating attitudes mean that women like Ji-young are ‘kept in their place’. Instead, it’s the male offspring that are groomed for success, while the females are simply there to tend to the males’ needs while raising the kids correctly.
It’s never stated what causes Ji-young’s mental travails but it’s likely a form of PTSD, the consequence of a gender war she has been caught up in her entire life. Through her intermittent ‘possession’ and via story flashbacks, we learn, for example, that her mother, Mi-sook (Kim Mi-kyung) wanted to be a teacher but instead had to accept menial jobs to help pay for her brothers’ education. It seems Ji-young passively absorbed all the family enmity concerning individual roles and it’s now beginning to manifest itself – at the point when she feels somewhat trapped by her life as a housewife and mother.
We learn that Ji-young has always been inspired by her mother, who was/is very strong-willed – very un-Korean in a sense, as far as women go, at least. Honestly, she’s a great character, a true role model, but all of the father-mother-grandparent conflicts clearly affected Ji-young growing up, the repercussions of which are born out in her ‘episodes’.
This is a great film if you crave forceful female characters because as well as Mi-sook, there’s Ji-young’s one-time boss, Eun-sil (Park Sung-yeon). Referred to as ‘Chief Kim’, she’s initially depicted as a hard-nosed ball-buster – by male members of staff, it must be said. Her reputation very much precedes her. But when we meet her, we realise she’s simply doing her level best to compete on a very uneven playing field, one that is stacked in favour of male employees. She’s actually an extremely able career woman whose heart is very much in the right place. It’s just that she’s not prepared to take shit from people, not even her male superiors.
Honestly, there’s a lot more I could say about this film. Ji-young’s condition alone is fascinating, and could be characterised as a possession (but it’s unlikely that’s the case), or a dissociative disorder, or the consequence of post-partum depression. (Possibly, Cho Nam-Joo’s source novel provides us with more insight but as far as the film is concerned, we’re given no definitive answers.)
Ji-young does, ultimately, seek professional help. And the fact that the subject of mental illness is front-and-centre of the storyline is important in and of itself.
Elektrical Turbulence 