muckefuck: (zhongkui)
Today was supposed to be my own stay-at-home version of Black Friday. I've hardly given any thought to holiday gifts yet, let alone bought a damn thing, and thought I'd set aside the day for perusing everyone's wish lists and setting some merchandise in the hands of the post office. But somehow, that never happened. I puttered around, made some tea, debated which book to read, sat in a sunny spot stroking the cat, and basically behaved like I was taking another sick day--only with the benefit of [livejournal.com profile] monshu's company, still punch drunk from his very successful Thanksgiving.

Around mid-afternoon, as I observed that the unexpected sunshine was beginning to fade I suggested we retreat to the den to watch 광해 (Masquerade), a South Korean costume drama. Literally, the title is "Gwanghae", the personal name of the 15th sovereign of Korea's Chosŏn dynasty, and I was ashamed at my faulty recollection of his life and deeds, particularly given that hardly two months ago we'd watched another historical drama set during the reign of his successor. I remembered only that he was either despised or lionised in contemporary Korea. (The latter, as it turns out.)

Essentially, the movie is Moon over Parador in hanbok. A lowly gwangdae or itinerant comic performer (and thus a member of the outcast caste in Chosŏn society) is scooped up at the behest of King Gwanghae, who fears assassination. Almost immediately, his fears become reality and the imposter is forced to assume the throne while the comatose king is spirited away to a remote location for treatment. He grows into his role and begins to assert his authority, precipitating a crisis which leads to an attempt at a coup. In sharp contrast to the Dreyfuss vehicle, the Raúl Juliá role is filled by an upstanding servant of the throne who becomes more sympathetic as the movies goes on. (And, naturally, despite a prominent romantic subplot, the king's wife and concubines remain unsullied.)

Some of the comic business and more melodramatic flourishes (such as the overdone ending) didn't work for me. But overall it was, in the GWO's words, "a really good movie". Lead actors Lee Byung-hun (as both the king and the fool) and Han Hyo-joo are both good, but it was Ryu Seung-ryong as the Royal Secretary who I couldn't take my eyes off of (or ears--what a voice!). There's a solid supporting cast as well, particularly Jang Gwang as the Chief Eunuch who takes an avuncular interest in the imposter's political education. The sets are stunning and I enjoyed the attention to some routine details of court life (even while others get flagrantly ignored in more histrionic scenes).

I try to judge historical flicks more on verisimilitude than accuracy. After asking how well they work as films, the next question I have is, "Did this raise my interest in the period in question?" If I find myself wanting to know more about the figures and events, then I consider it a win. Gwanghae-gun is an intriguing figure and I'd like to know more about him. The son of a concubine, his position was always precarious; as the aftertitles tell us, seven years later he found himself deposed (in the events which form the background of the opening sequence in that movie from earlier). The factionalism among officials vividly depicted in the film continued up until (and was a factor in) the Japanese takeover.

Linguistically, I didn't catch too much of interest. I even had trouble understanding the term of address for the king despite hearing it probably a hundred times in two hours (I kept understanding it as 천아 "Son of Heaven" when it was really 전하, lit. "beneath the palace"--a euphemism to avoid making direct mention of the royal personage) though I did correctly parse "Chief Eunuch" (내관, lit. "inside official"). I don't recall hearing as much court register as I'd been expecting. (Koreans generally have a decent familiarity with it due to the popularity of royal dramas on television.) There was a curious reference, never explained, to the clown not being of low birth due to his passing knowledge of Chinese characters, but it was never clear how much he could really read. (He is shown studying some texts, but only with the help of his Inside Official.)
muckefuck: (zhongkui)
War of the Arrows (최종병기 활) is a movie we'd already sent back once, so we were determined to watch it this weekend. Fortunately, the weather cooperated: There was only drizzle on our expedition to South Chinatown, but we awoke from our naps to find it pouring. I tossed a load in the laundry, brewed a cup of Tieguanyin, sliced up a freshly-baked mixed nut mooncake, and sidled up next to the Old Man on the couch with my flower cards laid out in front of me.

The film itself is a reasonably satisfying action flick, never really straying from the conventions of the genre. The plot is kidnap-and-rescue, culminating in a showdown between two expert archers. There are no supernatural elements and a minimum of wire fu (essentially one scene where the protagonist and his pursuers need to cross a chasm). There's no mcguffin; it all comes down to one of the men being slightly more skilled than the other. For someone who cut his teeth on a diet of Hong Kong cinema in the 90s, it's like a bowl of cold noodles.

For me, it was all about the setting: Korea during the Second Manchu Invasion. Our hero's father loses his life for supporting Gwanghaegun during the coup which brought his incompetent nephew Injo to the throne. Where Gwanghaegun managed a shrewd balancing act in the conflict between the Ming and the Manchus, Injo threw his lot in wholeheartedly with the Chinese, thereby pissing off the his northern neighbours and precipitating two invasions. The main action of the movie takes place during the more serious of these, which resulted in Injo's ignominious capitulation.

The father's last act before dying is to send his children, a son and a daughter, along with his treasured bow to safety in Gaesong, an ancient capital of Korea now located just over the North Korean border from Seoul. Unfortunately, this puts it right in the path of the Manchu invasion force and the daughter is dragged off on her wedding day along with her fiancé, the son of the retired official who sheltered them. In trying to rescue her, our hero manages to draw the attention of a squad of Manchu warriors and sets off for the border with them in hot pursuit.

Imagine what is was like for a language fiend like me to find that a huge chunk of the dialogue is in Manchu. The barbarian soldiers speak nothing else, and as the chase starts we discover that the hero and heroine very conveniently know it as well due to their father's being stationed along the border (quite a feat in the latter's case, given that she's shown as being all of five or six when they are forced to flee into exile). No sooner had we broken for intermission than I was in the library, tearing through the boxes in search of my Classical Manchu grammar (which I found).

As usual, I wasn't able to make out much of the Korean aside from the speech levels, which were surprising at times (e.g. the father using formal polite endings with his young children rather than the authoritative style, which never occurs). I had to pause the film to decode the (pseudo-?)Classical Chinese couplet inscribed on the bow and reproduced above. (Roughly, "Push forward Mount Tai, let fly like a tiger's tail".) And I was left scratching my head by the mistranslations of the title, which is literally, "Ultimate Weapon: Bow", but which IMDb renders as "Arrow: The Ultimate Weapon". I caught the same error in the making-of featurette, where 활 appears several times, usually translated as "arrow". I can't figure out if this is a genuine semantic shift not recorded in my dictionaries or merely sloppiness.

Afterwards, the Old Man and I speculated about such things as Confucian marriage customs (Was she really married with the ceremony incomplete?) and Joseon administrative law (The Manchus tell the Koreans they will be treated as traitors if they return after having crossed the northern border, but was this still true after Injo's surrender?). I lamented at how the female lead had been sold short, at times being depicted as more competent than her brother only to fail in a fight every single time. And I spent some quality time with not only that grammar but also my paperback history of Korea. I can't really ask for much more from a film than that.
muckefuck: (Default)
Ever have one of those experiences where a person switches to another language and you end up trying to parse their words as if they were in the language you were expecting instead of the one they really are? Usually, I'm on the giving end of this, since I know smatterings of so many and I'm usually not shy about using them. Today, I was on the receiving end.

The extra-special banchan at lunch (in addition to the marinated tofu and ubiquitous kimchee) was a small pinkish loaf cut into tiny segments. When I asked what it was, Jay told me, "폴락로". That wasn't something I'd heard of before, so I asked him to say it again. "포-락-로, like caviar." Suddenly it dawned on me that this wasn't the Korean name, it was only a Korean-accented pronunciation of "pollack roe". The actual Korean is 명란 /myenglan/, literally "bright eggs" (明卵).

(What was it like? Not as salty as beluga caviar, but with more of a fishy aftertaste. I didn't hate it, but I think I would prefer it in 계란찜 [a.k.a. 茶碗蒸し], a kind of savoury custard.)
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muckefuck: (Default)

Korean

  • 벽난로 (壁煖爐) "fireplace"
  • 노상 (爐床) "hearth"
  • 굴뚝 "chimney"
  • 연도 (煙道) "flue"
  • 바람문 (바람門) "damper"
  • 벽난로선반 (壁煖爐선盤) "mantlepiece"
  • 화열 가리개 (火熱 가리개) "fire screen"
  • 난로울 (煖爐울) "fireguard"
  • 난로의 쇠살대 (煖爐의 쇠살대) "fire grate"
  • 장작받침쇠 (長斫받침쇠) "andiron"
  • 난로용철물 (煖爐用鐵物) "fire irons"
  • 부지깽이 "poker"
  • 풀무 "bellows"
  • 부젓가락 "fire tongs"
  • 장작(長斫) "firewood"
  • 불쏘시개 "tinder, kindling, spill"
  • 검댕 "soot"
muckefuck: (Default)
I've written many times about the place near work where I eat Korean and the couple running it. But if you'll notice, all my interactions are with the young woman behind the counter. Her husband has always been a silent lurking presence in the restaurant, often off back in the kitchen or quietly reading his paper in a corner of the seating area.

Today, in fact, he was sitting and reading it behind the counter as she took my order. After she'd gone, I went to get some water from the cooler and found they were out of cups. As there was no sign of her returning from the back, I decided I'd have to disturb him and boldly spoke, "여보세요!" This had the desired effect--he sprang from the chair and I said, "Cups." As he came to set them out, the interrogation started: You know Korean? How much Korean? Where did you learn? Have you been to Korea? Do you have an Asian girlfriend?

Ironically, all this time I'd been assuming she was more fluent than he was. Turns out he completed a degree at University of Michigan, which sparked a discussion of language instruction in East Asia and then the Korean and Western educational systems more generally. We talked until my food arrived and the conversation was getting so interesting that I invited him to join me. He sat a respectful distance away as I slurped my soup and spooned my rice and we covered race relations, career prospects, and the state of Chinese economy.

My favourite bit came early on when we were still discussing food. I dropped so many Korean culinary terms (생낙지, 생맥주, 안주, 전라도, etc.)--each one greeted with further surprise and amazement--that he finally said, "I think you are some kind of secret agent! You know too much!" I was embarrassed to admit that I formally studied Korean given how badly I speak it, so I kept downplaying my knowledge of the language and putting it down to having Korean friends in high school and college.

Oh, and [livejournal.com profile] kcatalyst will be bemused to find that I brought up the article about Korean shopkeepers which I read at her urging only a few hours ago. It was my turn to be surprised when he readily admitted, "I think Koreans are very racist." I'm not sure how much of his openness is generational (he seems about a decade or more younger than most Korean businessmen I've chatted with--and in terms of modern Korean development, that's a lifetime) and how much is personal. Before he moved back here, he lived in Singapore, Thailand, Indonesia, and who knows where else, making him rather more cosmopolitan than the average Korean business owner.

We'd spent some time talking about different cultural expressions of politeness when he noticed that I'd finished my meal and said, "Ice cream? I'm going to do the Korean thing and treat you. Is that insulting?" I accepted graciously and we exchanged names. (Note to self: Keep in practice writing your Chinese signature. Forgetting the spelling of your surname is embarrassing.) I readily acquiesced to being called "대문씨" and, in return, had to accept calling him simply "Jay". And his wife? "Hera, like the goddess!" Given that she occasionally plays Christian music over the loudspeakers, I'll be interested to hear the story behind that one!
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muckefuck: (Default)
"春雪이 亂粉粉하니 필 동말동 하여라"--梅花
[ʦʰunsʌɾi naːmbumbunɦɔni pʰil toŋmalt͈oŋ hɔjʌɾa]--[mæɦwa]
"Spring snow bewilders the sky; there may or may not be a new flower."
(From a sijo by Plum Blossom [16th cent.?]; trans. by Constantine Contogenis.)
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muckefuck: (Default)
Today, I spent some time trying to get the hang of the Korean IME by typing in obscenities.

Yesterday, someone posted some incomprehensible goobledygook and claimed it meant "Your mother has a bald pussy" in Korean. I tried to figure out what that would actually be to see if what he presented was simply some horribly mangled version of it or something else entirely. (I can honestly say it's not an insult I've ever heard anyone use.) After a reasonable amount of time spent searching various permutations of "yo' momma" in Korean, I've seen a lot of nasty things said about your mother's pussy, but none of them relating to baldness.

I'm slowly getting the hang of the IME. Unfortunately, I can't see any logic at all in the assignment of Hankul letters to the keys of the Qwerty keyboard. They're not in dictionary order or associated by pronunciation (the Qwerty row, for instance, is /piup/ /ciuc/ /tikut/ /kiuk/ /sios/). Similar vowels are near each other, except when they're not. I would assume the order was based somehow on frequency if not for the suspicious fact that all consonants are on the left and all vowels on the right.

There are probably other keyboard arrangements I could try, but the documentation says this is the most common, so I figure I should probably just suck it up. So far, the only real problem has been the double letters; I can get two consonants in the same syllable block, but only if they're different--which makes no sense, because geminates are far more common.
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Last night, I had plans to meet a friend for dinner--or, at least, I thought I did. After a half-hour of waiting, I checked my phone messages and found he had called the day before to cancel. Oops. ExpandSo here's what I did instead. )
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Just saw in [livejournal.com profile] mollpeartree's journal that she's singing the praises of soju to the wider world. About time! Of course, everyone's next question is, "Where in the name of the Beloved Leader do I find oddball Korean liquor?"

Not Sam's Wines & Spirits, sorry to say. I love our Sam's runs and I'm impressed at how their selection of Asian liquors has grown, but, last I checked, soju still hadn't made it onto their shelves. They had at least one brand of shochu, the Japanese equivalent, but I suspect this might be grain-based and, hence, not as smooth. (For you fans of South American cocktails, however, they now carry at least three brands of cachaça, as well as a couple piscos and some stuff I didn't even recognise.)

The GWO and I bought some soju and baekseju (which was also imbibed at that dinner at Jinju but seems to have won fewer converts--if, indeed, any at all) at a tiny liquor store on Lincoln just north of Foster. I don't even have the name--it may be called something clever like Lincoln Liquors--but it's in a strip mall on the west side of the street right next door to Daehan Market. For its part, the market has very tasty homemade Korean food for sale in addition to everything else you'd expect, from kimchee and frozen sliced rice cake to rice cookers and flower cards, all crammed into a space hardly big enough to bowl in.

However, they charged us substantially more than I paid at Arirang, a large Korean supermarket on Lawrence 'round 'bout California. Don't worry: Soju isn't going to bankrupt anybody. By "substantially more", I mean maybe $7/bottle rather than $4. Given that $8 or so is what you'll pay for a "soju-tini" at Jinju or Soju (in Bicker Park), this is still a bargain. (But note that these bottles are 250 ml rather than 500.) Arirang is a good store with a great selection and fair prices overall. It was also quite friendly, given the basic Korean suspicion of us yangk'o.

I've heard that the tremendous Korean supermarket off of the Kennedy--you must've seen its happy sign--has an even better selection, but I haven't made it out there yet. (I think it's actually on Kimball just north of Belmont.) I've got vague plans to do that with some gay bear artists who live near there, but it just hasn't happened yet. (More cosmopolitan readers will realise that any one of those three traits--gay, bear, or artist--correlates negatively with an ability to plan. Just imagine the combined effect! They once managed to be out of town the same weekend they had told a friend he could crash there.)

One thing I've never understood is why Chinese drinking wine is impossible to find in this city. I understand that it's too much a niche product for regular liquor stores to carry it, but why do Chinese grocery stores offer only cooking wines? The owners tell me they can't get a liquor license, but if Korean stores can, what's holding them back? Alternatively, why doesn't some enterprising Chinese buy up a liquor store in one of the Chinatowns--there's a likely candidate right on the corner of Argyle and Sheridan--and begin serving this unexploited market niche? I suspect part of the reason is a preference among the Chinese themselves for Western liquor. (GWO said that when he was in Taiwan, whisk(e)y was considered a much more sophisticated drink than shaojiu--there's that name again, in another form--or Shaoxing wine.) But this still can't be the whole story.

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