The Great 21st Century Late-Capitalism Comedy Thriller Is Here

His name is Man-su, and this middle-class everyman has it all: a beautiful and loving wife, two kids (one of whom is a promising cellist), a sprawling house in the suburbs of Seoul. Not even a questionable mustache can tamper his handsomeness, and even that tonsorial choice gives him a sort of rakish quality; since he’s played by superstar Lee Byung-hun, this fiftysomething husband and father still has a matinee-idol aura around him. For decades, Man-su been an employee at Solar Paper company, taking extraordinary pride in his work — he’s even won the Pulp Man of the Year award, one of the most prestigious accolades you can get in his industry. Man-su has it all. He is the South Korean success story made manifest.

The news that layoffs are likely to happen now that the Americans have bought the company naturally throws all of the employees into a tizzy, but Man-su has a plan: He will defend his team, prove that they are essential to Solar’s market domination, and the read the riot act to these corporate interlopers who think they can just waltz in and fire everyone. Spoiler: They can just waltz in and fire everyone. Including Man-su. Still, we’re talking about a white-collar dynamo, a leader of men, an indispensable middle-management titan in his field. He’ll bounce back. It’s all going to be a-OK.

Cut to a little over a year later, and Man-su is schlepping away at a menial superstore stocking gig to keep the lights on, still following leads, still hitting up his old contacts for interviews that end in humiliation, still scrambling to regain a foothold in an industry in which he once reigned supreme. Did that Pulp Man of the Year award mean nothing?! His wife Miri (Son Ye-jin, magnificent) is supportive. But she’s also practical. They may need to consider downsizing and selling the house — never mind that this is Man-su’s childhood home. The family dog? He’s one more mouth to feed. Until this employment situation is rectified, all extracurricular activities need to be scaled back. No more cello lessons. No more tennis lessons. Worst of all, they have to cancel their Netflix subscription. After that Rubicon has been crossed, what logical course of action is left for Man-su except murder?

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Crime-lit legend Donald E. Westlake published his novel The Ax, about a desperate Connecticut man driven to desperate (re: homicidal) measures, in 1997 — and to suggest this story is extremely timely in the era of late capitalism would be underselling the book’s timeless, cutthroat vitality. It’s also a highly transposable story, given that the U.S. doesn’t have a lock on treating workers as expendable and disposable, which is why Park Chan-wook’s No Other Choice cuts deep regardless of its geographical swap. (It hits New York and Los Angeles on December 25th. Merry Christmas!) The fact that the Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance writer-director relocates the story to South Korea does give it a cultural specificity, but some things like dignity, Darwinian notions of survival and death are universal. Things are tough all over everywhere, especially in societies that sell the discreet charms of the bourgeoisie as the dream life, then simply shrug when such comforts are pitilessly snatched away.

Most filmmakers would have opted for a straight translation of Westlake’s bitterly ironic, bruising bit of pulp fiction (in more ways than one). You’d never mistake Director Park for “most filmmakers,” however — he’s a prime cinematic stylist and a first-ballot contender for one of the greatest to ever do it, much less one of the best working today. There’s definitely a thriller-ish aspect to this tale of an average office drone driven to eliminating his rivals, especially once Man-su is forced to get Machiavellian; in order to identify the prime candidates for any possible openings at a new paper company, he creates a fake job ad and turns a collection of promising resumes into a de facto kill list. Goodbye, fellow out-of-luck professionals likely to impress H.R. departments. Hello, regaining your sense of self and reactivating the family’s Netflix account.
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But, in an inspired and rewarding move, No Other Choice refashions into this parable into a black comedy, as if The Wealth of Nations was revised by Jonathan Swift and filtered through a Looney Tunes marathon. Man-su may end up being ruthless in his aims, but he is, at best, an amateur in the art of killing at best. At worst, he’s a bumbling klutz who can barely scale a hill or shoot straight, much less dismember a body. Slapstick bits of business sidle up to satirical jabs at the mercenary aspects of selling yourself as a job candidate and the less-than-level playing fields one is forced to navigate for creature comforts and self-worth. All of this is presented with Director Park’s usual eye for extraordinary compositions and the occasional baroque flourish — dig that shot from the bottom of a boilermaker, as it’s being consumed! — but rest assured his tongue is resting comfortably in his cheek. A set piece involving a loud stereo, a home invasion, a gun and one very angry wife should be studied in film classes in how to simultaneously ratchet up tension and mine such escalations into choreographed chaos for laughs.

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So much of this goosed by Park’s partner-in-crime(-moviemaking). Best known on these shores as the bad guy in Squid Games, Lee Byung-hun has fashioned a long career as a 21st century leading man in South Korean cinema, with the occasional foray into international productions like the G.I Joe franchise entries and the 2016 remake of The Magnificent Seven. He and the director first worked together in 2000’s Joint Security Area, a career-changing project for both of them, and this would be a blast simply on the basis of reuniting these old collaborators. But Lee leans heavily into the goofy side of Man-chu, selling him not as stone-cold killer waiting to be released so much as a vengeful pragmatist worthy of your sympathy — and who’s a little lacking in the killer instinct and competence department. If you mostly know his work from his more intense roles in South Korean imports that make it over here, his chops as a physical comedian will feel revelatory. Yet Lee never lets you forget the toll all of this takes on Man-chu’s position within the family unit, his sense of identity via his inability to provide, his humanity in general. It’s a great performance of a life lived in manic desperation.

All of which, in the end, turns out to be temporary in terms of ending up on top. No Other Choice ends on the most bitter of victories, with the last man standing having won the battle and lost the war. Something as innocuous as factory lights turning off by themselves signals a whole other issue, lurking right on the horizon. The bell will eventually toll for him — how soon before it tolls for thee? It’s the sort of parting joke that makes the chuckles catch in your throat. Yet it’s also the kind of grace note of a kicker that reminds you how slyly Director Park and his lead actor have been letting this story unfold. You don’t need to be a paper company’s middle-manager to feel the late-capitalism blues. You just need to recognize when your lack of choice in a situation threatens to become a death knell.