"okja"

Plan B Entertainment 

To truly understand the genesis of "Okja" one mustn't look further than Korean filmmaker Joon-ho Bong's previous two films, "The Host" (2006) and "Snowpiercer" (2013). Developed nearly a decade apart, Bong's crackerjack meditations on supernatural mutants, economic disparity, and cultures in conflict aren't just fueled by chuckles and spooks — terrific as they may be — but by analytical observations surrounding incorruptibility, social ranking, and our slow march toward environmental catastrophe. "Okja" thus not only serves as a melding of Bong's ideologies as filmmaker and cultural critic, but prosecutes, quite deliberately, mankind's genocidal treatment of animals. Bong glibly subverts the outdated us vs. them monster aesthetic by establishing a (marginally) dystopian aristocracy, set in the not-too-distant future, where familiar subtexts from "Babe" and "Jurassic Park" casually intersect, only we are the monsters here — creatures of greed and capitalism weighing heavily on a race of poor "super pigs," who as GMO byproducts, are bred only for consumption (they know it, we know it, and the audience can't help but feel morally complicit by the film's soul-crushing third act). The impulse behind Bong's messaging strategy forces us to think a little bit harder about the choices we make, not only as consumers, but as humans lucky enough to share this planet with other innocent creatures. If "Okja" doesn't encourage Americans to think twice about their eating habits, then perhaps no slaughterhouse video on YouTube will — not an easy lift for streaming provider, Netflix.

While this blog happens to be titled, "Bitchin' Bout Da BIG Screen," a handful of the films I've listed here — a third in fact — were actually viewed on the SMALL screen, thanks to streaming services like Netflix, Hulu, Amazon, HBO and Showtime. This overhaul of Americans' viewing habits is a testament to Netflix and its competitors, evidenced by their insistence on disrupting our long-standing affinity for watching films in actual theaters. It has also paved the way for some creative artistic exposure to take root, notably at this year's Cannes Film Festival, where "Okja" caused quite a stir after juror Pedro Almodovar refused to specify whether he believed streaming properties should even be in contention with their theatrical counterparts, further flaming the relationships between auteur filmmakers and home video markets. Taken at face value, these disruptions make us ponder what the future holds for theater chains writ large — not just by denouncing the distribution businesses who finance them, but by taking on the dwindling autocracy of the studios themselves. Netflix's eagerness to be part of this effort (reportedly allowing their directors total creative freedom) is a sign of its blueprint for success, meaning whether "Okja" sinks or swims, it may turn out to be the catalyst which finally turns the tide in favor of artists, writers, directors, producers and actors, not corporations — who are paving the way for a slow, steady demise of these studio systems.

"Okja" embraces all the necessary ingredients worthy of a satisfying summer blockbuster; Tilda Swinton stars as manic CEO zealot Lucy Mirando, Jake Gyllenhaal portrays over-the-top reality TV star Johnny Wilcox, and Paul Dano enchants as smarm charm eco terrorist Jay, heading up a group of animal lovers dubbed the "Animal Liberation Front." With a movie-stealing assist from un-billed, Korean "Walking Dead" star Steven Yeun, "Okja" makes clear from the beginning that everyone involved (whether they were sent to protect Okja, kidnap her, or send her to the slaughterhouse gallows), possess agendas which are inherently and dubiously incompatible — even among the so-called "good guys." These discords eventually propel Okja's bleak fate, a manatee-inspired quadruped whose only real sin is that she was born an animal and not a person. Her caretaker however, Mija, the film's impassioned moral compass, carries around an impenetrable bond for her pig-napped bestie, a relationship so strong it sends her down a concrete jungle crusade through Seoul, the odds so heavily stacked against her you'd wish she too was born a pig (if only to spare her the debilitating loss of a cross-species friendship). And Bong doesn't shy away from making the film's final climactic moments feel as if we are led straight into a horror film, the slaughterhouse sequence evoking a genuine sense of latent abhorrence, where we're forced to witness (in real time) images of dismembered pig heads, animals defecating themselves, and hopelessly despondent parents begging strangers to rescue their baby piglets from grating conveyor belts.

If "Okja" can inspire viewers to alter their eating habits, then in my opinion, Bong has succeeded. If he can inspire millions to alter their eating habits and viewing habits — while delivering a knock-out film firing on all cylinders — then this may very well go down as his crowning, game-changing opus. 

"OKJA" Rated TV-MA. Running time: 1 hour 58 minutes.