In a little over a decade, Park Chan-wook has become South Korea's pre-eminent auteur filmmaker, a visual stylist that makes his statements through blood, sweat and tears. Literally. Park has proved that he's adept at handling any number of genres and, almost as much as his compatriot Bong Joon-ho, mixing them together. JSA was a pitch-perfect mystery thriller with the barest political overtones. He really hit the big time with the Cannes favorite, neo-noir manga drama Oldboy. But he tripped himself up with the misguided I'm a Cyborg, But That's OK, a bit of psychological sci-fi that wasn't nearly as clever as it should have been.

So given the current vampire fad sweeping the globe, Park has turned his camera toward a subject that more than justifies the buckets of blood his films are known for. Based loosely on Emile Zola's Therese Raquin, Thirst relocates the action to modern South Korea and turns a novel about the nature of passion and guilt into a film about the nature of faith and temptation.

Hanging the film on Zola's classic novel works as a narrative device, largely for the fact that it gives Thirst what little direction it has. Park has crammed a lot of ideas into the film, none of which get fully realized. As a vampire, the protagonist, Sang-hyun, has to wrestle with his urge to kill and awakening desires and reconcile those with his vows and morals. On the other side of the equation is Tae-ju, the love interest, suddenly freed of her domestic restraints and overwhelmed by her newfound power-power that gives her a voice she never had.

A failed medical experiment in Africa (where South Koreans love to evangelize) and infection with an unknown pathogen sees Catholic priest Sang-hyun (Song Kang-ho) in the ER. He's infused with some mystery blood, which just happens to be infected with another virus of some sort that turns him into a vampire. After being declared dead, he returns to South Korea - a living miracle that soon develops his own healing cult. Sang-hyun later reconnects with a sickly childhood friend, Kang-woo (Shin Ha-kyun), and his repressed and oppressed wife Tae-ju (Kim Ok-vin). Vampire instincts in full swing and out of control, the two enter into a turbulent romance and plot to get rid of her husband. Eventually guilt and fear consume them to the point where they get into a fatal fight, and Sang-hyun converts the miserable woman into a vampire as well. He remains conflicted, but she likes it.

Thirst is loaded up with flashes of satire, dark comedy, traditional horror, and so-called romance, making it one of the most jarring movies to come down the pipe in a while. Just as it seems to be settling into a rhythm, it shifts in tone and forces viewers to reinterpret what they're watching all over again. A prime example is the way Kang-woo haunts the lovers; it's just out-of-the-blue goofy. Park (a lapsed Catholic) doesn't so much satirize the church as lob bricks at it, rendering any criticism secondary to his personal grievances. Martin Scorsese had carefully considered questions to insert into Last Temptation of Christ; Park just seems pissed.

As a meditation on faith, the film goes only half way. Much of Sang-hyun's dilemma is spelled out in block letters, giving star Song (The Host) little to do other than stand around looking vaguely perplexed and partially disgusted. Park is so smitten with his own images - blood spewed on a white floor, stagy nocturnal boat rides - that he sets his strong cast adrift with too many themes to consider and no focus other than images for images' sake.

Thirst does perk up when Tae-ju joins Sang-hyun in un-death. The opposite of everything she knew before, her vampire "life" is nearly ideal. Once merely a subservient wife, she no longer has to be at the beck and call of her meek husband and domineering mother-in-law Mrs. Ra (Kim Hae-sook). She's allowed to be as angry, sexual, selfish, and reckless as she wants - and she's never submissive to Sang-hyun. The idea that she's "living" more in death is an interesting one that lingers on the periphery of the story, and really could be a film in itself.

As an entry into vampire canon, Thirst is weak at best. The dangerously sensual nature of the vampire is more vivid in True Blood; the love-hate relationship between maker and makee is more affecting in Interview with the Vampire; and it's too adult for "tweens", best off sticking with The Vampire Diaries. There's no creative re-thinking of the lore we all know with the exception of the infection element. Park jettisoned Asian influences completely (there is no hopping here), leaving Thirst no real identity. Thankfully sunlight both kills and provides a stunning background for final acts of redemption. Just what every visualist needs.

Thirst opened in Hong Kong Thursday.

(HK Edition 11/07/2009 page4)