Entertainment
Upheaval wrestles with tradition in Korean art of the 1960s and ’70s at the Hammer Museum
Seoul is the latest major city to establish itself as a significant international hub for new art. With that distinction comes the expected propagation of ambitious museum exhibitions seeking to articulate, illuminate and cogitate over its local history of modern art, which is little known.
“Only the Young: Experimental Art in Korea, 1960s-1970s” is the latest. It follows “The Space Between: The Modern in Korean Art,” which a year ago covered 1897 to 1965 at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.
“Only the Young,” organized last year by the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in New York, working with Korea’s National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, is at the UCLA Hammer Museum in Westwood through May 12. It’s the first show of its kind in North America. With 29 artists and nine artist groups, the exhibition is anchored by varieties of Conceptual art, which became the leading form internationally in the decades under review. The result is work that feels at once recognizable and unfamiliar, which sometimes makes for a bit of a tough haul, if also a nicely curious experience.
The history of the participating Korean museum suggests some of what you’ll find explored in the show. The institution, founded in 1969, smack in the middle of the exhibition timeline, has now branched out into four satellites — Gwacheon, Deoksugung, Cheongju and Seoul, most of them in and around the nation’s capital. Those sites represent shifting centers of power, influence and reigning cultural philosophy within the country, beginning with the isolationist Joseon dynasty that ruled for half a millennium, before the tumultuous modern era.
Of the 29 artists, all but two, Jung Kangja and Lee Hyangmi, are men. That’s one indication of the deep social conservatism of an era of rebuilding after the Korean War, which was led by strongman Park Chung Hee. His tenure — Park took power in a 1961 military coup and was assassinated while still in office in 1979 — brackets the show’s “experimental” era.
A timeline of Korean performance art leads to Song Burnsoo’s “Take Cover I-V,” five silkscreen images.
(Christopher Knight / Los Angeles Times)
Jung’s participation in a satirical 1968 performance stands out. In a happening that parodied academic female nudes painted by men, her male colleagues, Chung Chanseung and Kang Kukjin, attached transparent balloons to her semi-naked body. The balloons then were popped, one by one, to fully expose the 26-year-old artist.
A hit with their avant-garde coterie, partly for its virtually unprecedented feminist insistence on a living, breathing woman’s centrality to the project, the event didn’t go down well everywhere, including in a scandalized Korean popular press. (Police were also on hand to observe.) Two years later, annoyed authorities shuttered a survey exhibition of Jung’s work.
Jung, Chung and Kang had all been students in the department of Western painting at Seoul’s Hongik University. That such a department existed shows where certain official Asian ambitions lay: The Western establishment was the standard for what “modern” meant. Many young Korean artists worked in groups, affiliated formally or loosely, which may suggest just how minimized experimentation was. (There’s strength in numbers.) Amid churning local political controversies around national identity, the students surely were looking to developments in Europe and the United States for artistic inspiration, with contemporary art magazines as a guide.
At the Hammer, “Transparent Balloons and Nude” is represented by a slightly blurry photograph, displayed with other still and video images of performance art in a helpful timeline that spreads across a wall. The performance indicates obvious debts to slightly earlier Western works.
Among them are Yves Klein’s 1960 performance in Paris, “Anthropometry of the Blue Period,” in which nude women were slathered in blue paint and then imprinted their bodies on canvas; and Yoko Ono’s 1964 “Cut Piece,” first performed in Tokyo and then London and New York (at Carnegie Hall, no less), where she sat alone on a stage while members of the audience were invited to come up and cut off pieces of her clothing. Neither of these cutting-edge Western precedents required police to be in attendance, which yields dramatic — and courageous — resonance for the Koreans’ performance.
Park Hyunki, “Untitled (TV Stone Tower),” 1982, mixed media.
(Hammer Museum)
L.A. is home to the largest Korean diaspora, but the country’s history, which may or may not be familiar to Hammer visitors, illuminates what artists were up to. It was not always to profound effect. For instance, Andy Warhol is an obvious marker for Song Burnsoo’s “Take Cover I-V,” five silkscreen images that repeat a gas-masked face, its sequence of solid colors representing coded government alarms related to threats from North Korea. The work’s Pop social commentary is pretty thin.
More intriguing is Park Hyunki’s “Untitled (TV Stone Tower),” which inserts a television monitor within a short stack of hefty stones, surrounded by additional scattered rocks. (Here the show fudges a bit, since the work is dated 1982.) In this Brancusi-inflected “endless column,” commercially produced and ephemeral mass imagery is juxtaposed with an actual, if abbreviated, mass drawn from nature, creating an oddly poignant sense of loss. The effect is only enhanced by learning from the show’s excellent catalog that Park’s composition refers to traditional Korean doltap, stone piles erected at temples to drive away evil spirits.
Two of the show’s simplest works are among its most hauntingly beautiful. Lee Seung-taek’s “Tied Ceramic” and Ha Chong-Hyun’s “Work 73-13” both date from the early 1970s, a time of serious national distress that included ramifications from participation in the Vietnam War.
“Tied Ceramic” leaves the tracks of a rope that, before firing in a kiln, were wound around a white porcelain moon jar, an exquisite traditional form highly revered during the premodern Joseon dynasty. The wrapping marks, cut into the clay like a memory made concrete, oscillate between signs of painful bondage and a warm embrace, a tension both social and artistic in 1970s Korean culture.
Lee Seung-taek, “Tied Ceramic,” 1975, porcelain.
(Christopher Knight / Los Angeles Times)
“Work 73-13” is a large, earthy, monochrome abstraction, its mottled muddy color achieved by pushing brown oil paint through rough jute from behind. Almost 4 feet tall and nearly 8 feet wide, the plane is wrapped in a strict grid of barbed wire. The aesthetic effect is of nature, tradition, human effort and modernity imprisoned but unstoppable. It will all ooze out.
A kind of exclamation point marks the final room, where a tall, severed tree stump rises from a big, precisely carved cube made of soil, gravel and concrete. Lee Kun-Yong’s sculpture “Corporal Term,” which sits atop a wooden pallet, is remade whenever it is shown, its natural elements scavenged from local sources. (A Hammer label is careful to note that this particular tangled stump was found as is; no trees were harmed to make the art.) The title “Corporal Term” describes the bodily lifespan of the sculpture, the human effort to fabricate the form, the viewer’s experience of it — even, perhaps, the long arc of Korean history that has brought the object here. The work is a lovely meditation on mortality and endurance.
Kim Kulim, who worked in Los Angeles in the 1990s, emerges from “Only the Young” as an essential artist for the experimental activity that erupted in 1960s Korea. At the show’s entrance, his painting “Death of the Sun II” (1964) is a scarred, all-black panel, made from paint covered with a petroleum-doused vinyl sheet that was set on fire and then smothered. The battered panel — painting as performance art — takes a cue from Shōzō Shimamoto, Saburō Murakami and other Gutai aesthetics of 1950s Japan, which emerged from the apocalyptic ruins of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Ha Chong-Hyun, “Work 73-13,” 1973, mixed media.
(Ariel Ione Williams)
“Death of the Sun II” metaphorically destroys both the revered Korean tradition of black ink painting and modern Western abstraction, whose epitome was said to be the structural void represented by the all-black paintings of 1950s American artists Robert Rauschenberg, Ad Reinhardt, Mark Rothko and Frank Stella. As the show unfolds, Kim turns up in several disparate guises — making films, producing happenings, wiring a big electrified panel of dancing lights — leaving one to wonder what a full solo retrospective might reveal.
Conceptual art was both an extension and a critique of modernism. A common though mistaken assumption is that varieties of Conceptual art erupted in New York and eventually spread out to cover the art globe, as Abstract Expressionist, Pop, Minimal and street art are often erroneously claimed to have done. Rather than representing a cultural center and its periphery, however, the artistic shift in the 20th century’s second half had multiple points of origin all over the globe. Seoul and its environs formed one of them. “Only the Young” does an admirable job of presenting the Korean dialect of Conceptual art’s emergent international language.
‘Only the Young: Experimental Art in Korea, 1960s-1970s’
Where: UCLA Hammer Museum, 10899 Wilshire Blvd., Westwood
When: Through May 12. 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. Tuesdays to Sundays, 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. Fridays; closed Mondays
Admission: Free
Info: hammer.ucla.edu, (310) 443-7000
Movie Reviews
Film Review: “The Odyssey” – MediaMikes
- THE ODYSSEY
- Starring: Matt Damon, Tom Holland and Anne Hathaway
- Directed by: Christopher Nolan
- Rated: R
- Running time: 2 hrs 45 mins
- Universal
Our score: 4.5 out of 5
EPIC. If I was asked to describe Christopher Nolan’s latest film, that is the word I would use. He has mounted a film that rivals the greatest achievements of filmmakers like Cecil B. DeMille or David Lean. And, like the films of those mentioned, it’s runs a tad too long.
I was shocked, but pleased, to see that my 12-year-old granddaughter recently did a school paper on King Agamemnon. Thank goodness they’re still teaching History in our schools. Based on Homer’s “The Odyssey,” the film tells the story of King Odysseus (Damon) and his adventures which, if you’ve read “The Odyssey,” include the Trojan Horse, the Cyclops and assorted angry Greek gods. The film covers each of these adventures in great detail, sparing nothing in the production design department. While Odysseus is away – and he’s gone for a l-o-n-g time, his wife Penelope (Hathaway) has to endure a never ending string of “suitors,” men lining up in the hopes of replacing the King should he not return. The men are nothing more then scavengers, taking advantage of the law of Zeus, which decrees no one should be turned away. This angers the Queen’s son, Telemachus (Holland), who must control his temper when the men try to bait him into a fight, the idea being if Telemachus is killed, the new husband would become the King. It’s all very interesting and complicated. And long.

Director Nolan is one of the rare filmmakers who, in my opinion, has never made a bad film. From “Memento” to the “Dark Knight” trilogy to the Oscar-winning “Oppenheimer,” he has proven himself a true master of cinema. “The Odyssey” only adds to that distinguished resume’
The cast is a tribute to Nolan himself who, like Woody Allen, can pretty much get anyone he wants for his films because, as an actor, why wouldn’t you want a credit in one of his films. Besides the three stars named above, the cast includes Robert Pattinson, John Leguizamo, Zendaya, James Remar, Jon Bernthal, Oscar nominees Samantha Morton and Elliot Page as well as Oscar winners Charlize Theron and Lupita Nyongo. As MGM used to advertise, “more stars than there are in heaven.”
The script and story are pretty faithful to the source material, though for some reason it bothered me whenever Telemacus referred to Odysseus as “dad.” Never father. The weird things you notice. Visual.y the film is stunning and the Trojan Horse and battle of Troy are worth the price of admission alone. I will add that I did see the film in 70 mm and, if that format is playing in your town, I urge you to see it in that format.
On a scale of zero to five, “The Odyssey” receives ★★★★ ½
Entertainment
Review: Christopher Nolan’s ‘The Odyssey’ is a mighty Trojan horse of his thematic obsessions
Tell me, Christopher Nolan, when did it first rosy-fingered dawn on you that your favorite type of protagonist — a tormented sinner-hero — was a specialty of the ancient Greeks? Millennia before Matthew McConaughey’s astronaut sobbed over abandoning his family and Cillian Murphy’s Robert Oppenheimer gasped that he had become the destroyer of worlds, the Greeks spun cautionary legends about Odysseus, the Trojan War tactician who outsmarted his own plan to sail smoothly home.
Nolan refuses to tremble before the canon. Grabbing mighty scissors, he cuts and rejiggers Homer and a bit of Virgil to transform these classical texts into his type of tale: one fixated on memory, self-identity, destructive genius and the slippage of time. As ever, it’s light on sex, heavy on wine-dark angst.
Once you endure its opening stretch — an expositional barrage with the pace of an obnoxious cop show — “The Odyssey” ascends as a monument to movie craft with shuddering ships, rough-hewn landscapes and practical monsters who snatch and grab men at random from above like giant skill cranes. Unlike in most mythological tales, the white Corinthian columns have been swapped out for brutal stone architecture. The Parthenon won’t be built for another 800 years; likewise, Athenian democracy is centuries away.
Nolan has anchored his “Odyssey” at the fall of the Bronze Age, a once-great era toppled by wealth-hoarding, diminished trade and climate catastrophes. Fearful of invading marauders, humankind has turned distrustful and stingy, ignoring Zeus’ command to show generosity toward the poor and foreign-born, a cornerstone of faith that would later be repurposed in the New Testament.
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This Odysseus (Matt Damon) is both witness to and wrecking ball of the collapse. Not only does he steal, slaughter and pillage while expecting to be treated with kindness, but he’s also brainstormed the atomic bomb of his day: the Trojan horse, a deceitful invention planted into the sandy beaches of Troy that marks the decline of civilization like the Statue of Liberty in “Planet of the Apes.” Inside this claustrophobic wooden beast, Odysseus and his wild and bloodthirsty Greeks are crammed cheek-to-sandal so tightly that you can’t imagine how they’ll spring into action without first getting a massage. Outside and looking up at it, the pony seems to sneer.
“The Odyssey” is a saga with half a dozen detours and one destination, Ithaca, Odysseus’ kingdom. While he’s been fighting in Troy, his palace has been overrun by men who want to marry his faithful wife, Penelope (Anne Hathaway), and murder his helpless son, Telemachus (Tom Holland). Robert Pattinson’s oily suitor woos Penelope like a “Bachelorette” contestant: “It’s time to live again,” he urges her, certain that Penelope’s vengeful husband won’t come back. Forget that rose, dude, and run away.
Anne Hathaway and Tom Holland in the movie “The Odyssey.”
(Melinda Sue Gordon / Universal Pictures)
After 20 years away — 10 at war, 10 adrift — Odysseus is anxious to reclaim his kingdom. Or is he? Nolan floats a convincing psychological reason why this Odysseus subconsciously believes his duplicitous actions during the war deserve permanent exile from civilization. Although, as is the case with too much of Nolan’s storytelling, he wrongly thinks it’s more interesting to withhold Odysseus’ traumatic hang-up until the ending. The Greeks never tried to confuse the audience in the pursuit of suspense. They delivered their plots arrow-straight to make the dread sting.
Saddled with a silly black beard that eventually goes gray, Damon’s Odysseus is stubborn, overconfident and sacrilegious, but doesn’t bear that much resemblance to the conniving, hypocritical egotist of lore who fretted over his wife’s fidelity while seducing not one, but two, enchantresses, Calypso and Circe. Today’s viewers might demonize Odysseus’ erotic exploits; instead, they’ve been Damon-ized into something innately goodhearted.
The chasteness of Nolan’s version bugs me as it’s insulting he doesn’t trust audiences to grapple with this hero’s moral complexity — and I’m gut-sick that he’s probably right. Plus, it leaves Charlize Theron’s Calypso nothing to do but limply listen to (and medicate) Odysseus like a bored therapist reaching for the lithium. I was hoping for more zest from a blond wearing actual fishnets that could catch sardines.
At least Samantha Morton’s body-horror spin on the witch Circe is terrific. To punish his men for barging into her hut, she digs her fingers inside their skin like clay, remolding them into the swine she claims they are. Her outrage is one of the best ideas in the movie. Likewise, Lupita Nyong’o’s Helen is regal and formidable, but it’s a mistake to double-cast her as Helen’s twin sister, Clytemnestra. The whole reason thousands of men fought a war over the most beautiful woman alive is that there’s only one of them — unless undermining that excuse is the point. (In an aside, we’re told that Benny Safdie’s aloof Agamemnon, hiding under a try-hard scary helmet decorated with a golden spine, really waged it to break up Troy’s trade routes.)
Unlike in Homer or even “Clash of the Titans,” which showed the gods as toga-clad twits toying with mortal lives like action figures, they have little, if anything, to do in this plot. In Homer’s original verse, Athena is as fussy as a stage mother, showing up every few pages disguised as someone mortal to bless both Odysseus and Telemachus with live-action Photoshop filters that make them extra handsome. Here, Holland’s Telemachus gambles Athena is hiding inside half the people he meets until his father chides, “Don’t look for gods in men, you’ll just be disappointed.”
Instead, Nolan balances religion on the spear tip of doubt. The angry sea god Poseidon is reduced to rumors; mighty Zeus withheld to a few well-timed thunderclaps. Even Athena, if that genuinely is whom Zendaya is playing, isn’t that helpful, mostly staring at Odysseus in mute dismay. It’s possible to get to the end of “The Odyssey” and conclude that Nolan doesn’t believe in gods at all. To him, men must be proactive in their own demise. (I’m half-convinced, the way I don’t really swear by the zodiac but nevertheless stopped dating Libras.)
Composer Ludwig Göransson scores the breath-holding assault on Troy to drums that pound faster and faster on our nerves, as does our alarm that Odysseus’ troops aren’t the good guys. Occasionally, Göransson adds a lovely monotone layer of woodwinds or a keening chorus that sounds like the oldest song on Earth.
Conversely, during the talky Ithaca sequences, when the movie is rightly paranoid of losing our attention, the more modern heist-thriller music is flat-out obnoxious, especially in a scene where Odysseus lays out his ruse to infiltrate his house to John Leguizamo’s trusty goatherd, the most lovable man ever introduced throwing a puppy off a cliff. (No, really — it’s the movie’s only outright joke.)
Hoyte van Hoytema’s Imax-framed cinematography is assertive and present, rocking with the stormy waves and peering into the torch-lit darkness where the color palate is as starkly orange and black as an ancient Greek urn. Working with the special effects team, Van Hoytema cloaks the non-digital wizardry of the Cyclops and six-headed Scylla behind naturalistic camera movements and shadows so that, rather than drawing too much attention to themselves, the creatures just feel real. As gray and wrinkled as the bottom of a mummy’s foot, the Cyclops’ face is wonderfully askew, like he was stepped on by someone even bigger than him.
Nolan’s “Odyssey” engraves marvelous images onto the ancient oral poem. One of the most haunting shots is Odysseus sprinting out of Hades chased by an army of the dead who regret following him into battle. In turn, Nolan has sacrificed Odysseus himself to serve his own needs, scrapping the character’s prickly personality to Trojan-horse a message about how empires collapse.
Aghast at the ways of men, he’s dug his own Circe-like fingers into Homer to manipulate the tale into a moralistic “Oppenheimer” prequel. Even Odysseus seems to suspect as much. “Our mistakes will again be forgotten,” Odysseus predicts as the land he loves sails into the Dark Ages while he steers the helm. He’s done unforgivable wrongs. But in that moment, he’s right.
‘The Odyssey’
Rated: R, for violence and some language
Running time: 2 hours, 52 minutes
Playing: Opens Friday, July 17 in wide release
Movie Reviews
Saari Review: Memory, Betrayal and Identity Converge at River Valley Film Festival – Hollywood Times

Premiering at the 2026 River Valley Film Festival, Saari uses fragmented memories, Finnish landscapes and restrained performances to explore betrayal, identity and reconciliation.
By Valerie Milano
Palm Springs, CA (The Hollywood Times) 7/14/26 – In the visually striking short film Saari—Finnish for “island”, a peaceful family retreat becomes the setting for the slow collapse of a relationship.
Co-written by Justin Seegmueller, Corey L’Esperance and Suvi Härkönen, the film follows Daniel, played by Seegmueller, as he reflects on the choices that damaged his relationship with Liina, portrayed by Ilona Karppanen. Told through fragments of the past, present and future, Saari gradually reveals how secrecy and betrayal can transform a place of safety into one of emotional confinement.
The nonlinear structure was not simply a stylistic choice. The project was developed and filmed over more than a decade, with footage captured in Finland, Boston and the desert. L’Esperance explained that the filmmakers divided the story into “past, present and future,” allowing audiences to experience the relationship from both characters’ perspectives.
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He described Daniel and Liina as two people who are “stuck in these moments in time,” making the fragmented narrative especially appropriate.
Seegmueller said Daniel’s internal struggle is rooted in the questions, “Am I that person? Am I still that person?” His restrained performance captures a man attempting to reconcile his current identity with the damage caused by earlier decisions.
For Seegmueller, the film is fundamentally about choice.
“It’s all about decision-making,” he said. “Are you an accumulation of all your decisions?”
Finland’s lush island scenery contrasts sharply with Daniel’s later isolation in the barren desert. Seegmueller described the progression as “lush and then dead,” a simple but effective visual representation of a relationship moving from intimacy and possibility to emotional aftermath.
For Liina, the island represents family history, comfort and security. By inviting Daniel there, she welcomes him into her sanctuary. His secrets, however, begin to contaminate that protected space.
“You let me into your life,” Seegmueller explained, “and now I’m here almost ruining your sense of security.”

The film’s cross-cultural perspective was strengthened by the collaboration between American co-director L’Esperance and Finnish co-director Härkönen. Their responsibilities shifted according to which character dominated a scene. L’Esperance generally led sequences centered on Daniel, while Härkönen took a stronger role when Liina’s experience was at the emotional forefront.
That approach helps prevent Liina from existing only as a reaction to Daniel’s behavior. Her journey eventually becomes more compelling than his guilt.
Karppanen traveled to the United States for the first time to film the Boston scenes, which were completed approximately three years after the original Finland footage. Seegmueller said the friendship they developed during production can be seen in the warmth between their characters during the relationship’s happier moments.
The filmmakers deliberately avoid explaining every detail of Daniel’s betrayal. Earlier edits revealed even less, but test audiences needed additional narrative guidance.
“We do need to have some breadcrumbs,” L’Esperance said, explaining that without them, the story became “a little too lost on the audience.”

The lengthy production process also changed how the filmmakers viewed Daniel. L’Esperance acknowledged that they initially saw him as “this hero,” but over time recognized that “he is kind of a bad guy in some of these aspects.”
That evolving perspective gives the film greater moral complexity. Daniel is not granted an easy redemption, and his introspection does not erase the harm he caused.
Karppanen brings strength and emotional restraint to Liina, who emerges from the experience as what L’Esperance called “a completely different person.” A final city scene suggests that she is beginning to reclaim her identity and imagine a future beyond Daniel and the relationship that betrayed her.
Subtle, atmospheric and open to interpretation, Saari asks whether people are defined by their worst decisions, and what reconciliation means when the damage cannot simply be undone.
After more than 10 years of work, the film’s world premiere at the River Valley Film Festival is especially meaningful. Both L’Esperance and Seegmueller attended film school in Philadelphia, making the Pennsylvania premiere a return to the state where their filmmaking journeys began.

“What does that say about you?” he asked. “What does that say about your story and your own narrative?”
Saari will have its world premiere at the 2026 River Valley Film Festival. Seegmueller will attend the premiere in person, while members of L’Esperance’s family are expected to represent him at the festival.
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