Being uncertain how to approach a review of “Burning” (South Korean; 2018; psychological drama/mystery/thriller; running time 2 hours, 28 minutes; directed by Lee Chang-dong, written by Chang-dong and Oh Jungmi, based on the short story “Barn Burning” from the 1993 compilation “The Elephant Vanishes” by Haruki Murakami; N/R but includes nudity, sexual content, brief drug use, violence; made debut at Cannes Film Festival on May 16, 2018, available on VOD and streaming services, including Mubi) seems fitting given uncertainty is what Chang-dong had in mind with his masterpiece. “Burning” subverts the audience’s expectations not only in what it might think the movie is supposed to be about but where the story might be going, and even what genre it was intended to be. And Chang-dong clearly wanted the audience to doubt most everything it is seeing, from a cat that may or may not exist, to a character enjoying a delicious tangerine but while performing pantomime, to a central character who just can’t be figured out, to a shocking ending that perhaps played out in reality or could have been someone’s dream. Or fantasy. Chang-dong’s metaphor-heavy story poses many questions and provides almost no answers. It is a thinking-person’s work that is a slow, slow burn (no pun intended), the better to give the audience time to ponder it. And you will be pondering it. And savoring it. It’s a brilliant film that keeps on giving.

“Burning” has a story. But the story is not the point. The mood, the intrigue, the uneasiness are. The three main characters are fascinating even if Chang-dong keeps them at arm’s length. Lee Jong-su (Yoo Ah-in) is a young man underemployed as a delivery person in Seoul. He is a college graduate and fulfilled his military requirements. He is an aspiring novelists who admires William Faulkner but seldom writes and is short on ideas. He tends his family’s cattle farm (his mother left when he was young, and his father is jailed for assaulting a civic worker) in Paju, which is close enough to North Korea that he can hear government propaganda playing on outdoor speakers. One day while making a delivery in Seoul, he catches the eye of Shin Hae-mi (Jeon Jong-seo), who is scantily clad and dancing outside a store in an outdoor market. Hae-mi, a free-spirited but sensitive young woman, tells Jong-su that they had grown up together in Paju, but he does not remember her, especially the part where she says he made fun of her for being ugly. The two hit it off and sleep together. Hae-mi tells Jong-su that she has saved enough money for a trip to Africa, where she is going to find life’s answers, and wants him to look after her cat, even though Jong-su never sees the cat. When Hae-mi returns to Seoul, she brings with her a handsome, wealthy man (a brilliant Steven Yeun as Ben), and it is clear he and Hae-mi are having some sort of relationship. Jong-su is upset but always hides his emotions. But he is suspicious of Ben, who is coy about what he does for a living and does not seem capable of emotions. One evening, when the three smoke weed on Jong-su’s farm, Ben tells Jong-su that he burns greenhouses (ones he has determined have outlived their usefulness) as a sort of hobby. What is Ben all about? Is he dangerous? Just a young man looking for a good time? Is Jong-su’s suspicion born out of jealousy? Or are his hunches warranted? What does Ben see in Hae-mi? What does Jong-su see in Hae-mi? What does Jong-su see in Ben? And what about that darn cat?

All three sides of the triangular character study are equally important. And equally intriguing. Hae-mi tells Jong-su that he once saved her from the bottom of a well near their Paju homes, but he can’t recall that, either, and her family members don’t remember her ever having fallen into a well. Why was Hae-mi so quick to sleep with Jong-su? What she just wanting to feel something? Was it because he had called her ugly? She matter-of-factly tells him she has had plastic surgery. Was her cat part of her imagination? Jong-su would seem to be bitter about his predicament, about being tethered to a cattle farm he doesn’t want to tend to, but his resentment isn’t obvious. At least not at first. Is he angry at his foul-tempered father? Resentful toward his estranged mother? Traumatized by his father having made him, as a young child, burn his mother’s clothing after she left? Does it bother him that Ben seems to have it easy, that he has a plush apartment in Gangham but never goes to a job? Why does Jong-su masturbate while gazing at the Seoul Tower from Hae-mi’s apartment? And then there’s Ben. His mystery only grows when, at a gathering of friends, Hae-mi performs a dance she learned while in Africa and Ben is shown yawning. Why does Ben not show even a hint of emotion when Jong-su tells him that he is in love with Hae-mi? Why does Ben later have a cat? And why does it come to Jong-su when he calls it by the name “Boil,” which was the name of Hae-mi’s alleged cat? Why does Ben have a watch that Jong-su gave Hae-mi in a drawer in his bathroom? And why can’t Hae-mi be located? And why is Jong-su spending time patrolling his area in his beat-up pickup truck looking for burned-down greenhouses?

As you can see, the questions pile up. In a lesser movie, Chang-dong might include a character who provides the exposition. Or he might tidy up all the loose ends within the story. But there’s none of that here. Instead what the audience gets is a rich character study and a hazy, hypnotic tale that creeps into your brain and speaks to South Korea’s socioeconomic divide, young adult angst and disillusionment in the system, the power of burning resentment, the power of burning love, the power of a burning desire to feel anything. At least I think that’s what it’s about.

My score: 96 out of 100