In 2002, much of the talk regarding the South Korean film industry had to do with the three blockbusters that failed. Jeong Yon-su's Yesterday, Yu Sang-ho's R U Ready?, and Jang Sun-woo's Resurrection of the Little Match Girl were all beyond disappointing at the box office, causing great concern that such blockbusters would be the death of South Korean Cinema. This push for blockbusters has led some to call the South Korean film industry "Copywood."(1) However, with the resounding success at the beginning of 2004 of Kang Woo-suk's Silmido and the new box office record holder, Taeguki, the latest film by the man who started the blockbuster craze in South Korea, Kang Je-gyu, that financial concern has since abated. The success of the two unrelated Kangs(2) will most likely result in a continuation of the trend to push for blockbusters.

However, one Hollywood trend exhibited recently in South Korean films has received much less consideration where talk of "Copywood" is found, and that's the growing preponderance of product placements. The major fast food chains, coffee chains, restaurant chains, and other multinational corporations abound in mainstream films.(3) A privileged seat with a view at a corporate coffee shop allows the main character in A Perfect Match (Mo Ji-eun, 2002) to check out her desired match. A computer company is provided space to advertise its wares in Wanee & Junah (Kim Yong-gyun, 2001) by forcing the audience to actually listen to the sales pitch of not one, but two different salespersons in a format that is anything but background noise. And in . . . ing (Lee Eon-hee, 2003), we slowly watch a ballet that we presume is on stage, but then realize as the camera pans out that this as-if-you-were-there visual feel was provided by a TV manufacturer whose name is unavoidably displayed.(4) Eventually we discover our POV was that of South Korea's fastest rising actress, Im Su-jung, whose character appears with eyes fixated and lips slightly parted, as if in awe of the product demonstration we just witnessed with her.

The recent release of director Yong Yi's debut, Spring Bears Love (2003), follows in this less than critically appreciated tradition. A global fast food establishment, ice cream parlor, and beverage each receive the more prominent placements. We could have expected this from Yong since, after graduating from the Department of Film and TV at the Kaywon School of Art and Design, he directed numerous TV commercials in South Korea. What we wouldn't have expected from such a résumé is how, when we look closely at each instance of product placement, we notice that almost every one is subverted in some way. The power of the marketer to impose a product into the film has been challenged each time, not by the irony so often used in the United States by such films as Wayne's World (Penelope Spheeris, 1992), Austin Powers II: The Spy Who Shagged Me (Jay Roach, 1999), and Josie And The Pussycats (Deborah Kaplan and Harry Elfont, 2001), but by associating the products with abandonment, disgust, gluttony, loneliness, tastelessness and obnoxiousness. And at the same time, public and local spaces are given positive associations such as intimacy and hope, further subverting the power of market culture. Although even such subversion of product placement does not result in a film free of commercial intrusions and the intended branding of the audience, Spring Bears Love presents an interesting exploration of how product placements might be integrated into scripts and film narratives in an attempt to limit their power over the film.

Your Global Burger Joint

Although one of the products receiving the greater placement is one only familiar to East Asians, the first product placement Westerners will recognize is also the most blatant of the bunch. Although we are initially introduced to this fast food chain with its logo on a cup, later we are provided a few seconds of the exterior of the restaurant front before we enter into its space of global commerce. This is an unnecessary shot if you simply want to show where the characters are about to reside since we are familiar enough with the plastic furniture, plastic trays, and burgers and fries that signify a fast food establishment that we don't need any explicit help. So the prominent moment displaying the exterior allows for a cinematic billboard, an all too common moment in mainstream cinema in the U.S. and, as demonstrated here, in recent South Korean mainstream films as well. In the honest commercials we see interspersed between television programming, the fast food establishment is often shown as a place of community, where friends meet to laugh with a few fries in hand awaiting mastication and where overworked mothers bring their neglected children in successful efforts to satiate their desire for family along with sustenance. However, in Spring Bears Love, this particular fast food establishment becomes a place of obnoxiousness, disgust, and loneliness.

Spring Bears Love follows Hyun-chae (Bae Doo-na) as she battles with her romantic dreams in the face of her relationship realities. We are introduced to why she might be having some difficulty in a scene where she recaps to a co-worker a date gone awry. Going to see the Hur Jin-ho feature One Fine Spring Day (2001), she is shown disrupting her date with obnoxious comments that are dissonant from the experience of a melancholy, meditative film. This is clearly demonstrated with her initial prop, the beverage cup that bares the logo of the fast food chain. Much to the annoyance of her date she's trying to impress, she slurps the last few drops from her cup. And she doesn't stop there, opening up the top and making sure she did indeed get it all by shaking out the remains, after which she simply tosses the cup aside. In this way, the company is not associated with a positive experience, as it wishes to be associated. Instead, its association is, like Hyun-chae's behavior, of something unwanted, not desired in the space in which it has forced itself. Adding to this disreputable association is the fact that Hyun-chae is ruining the film experience for her date and fellow film patrons. Since she is holding the corporate cup, it becomes a symbol of what doesn't belong within the cinema experience.

The next time we find ourselves inside the fast food chain, Hyun-chae is meeting up with her old high school friend Dong-ha (Kim Nam-jin) who recently returned to Seoul as a subway train engineer brought up from Busan to break the recent strike. Dong-ha has had a crush on Hyun-chae since high school, a crush that has been, and still is at this time in the film, unrequited. Dong-ha is as unrefined in his expressions of attraction towards Hyun-chae as Hyun-chae was in her unsuccessful date with the logo embossed cup. (One of the many themes the film explores is our desire to not desire people like ourselves, to feel repulsed by those within our reach and seek out our dream of the unattainable. We will return to this later - the dream of the corporate chain, the reality of the intimate local.)

Dong-ha's awkwardness leads to unintentionally disgusting displays. He's just as happy as a schoolboy to be around his high school crush. In forgetting himself, he doesn't pay attention to how he's eating, thus talks with his mouth full, with lettuce strangling from his lips. He doesn't have egg on his face literally since he's eating a burger, yet figuratively he does. However real this is, however much we know that we've spent time at fast food chains being disgusting with our friends by chewing obnoxiously with our mouths open, shooting spit balls, throwing fries, and splattering each other with ketchup, such is not an association a food advertiser would prefer. They would want the food to be displayed in an appetizing way, not as we might casually interact with their product. Later, when Hyun-chae's co-worker and friend Ma-rin (Yoon Ji-hye) suggests that Dong-ha might be the one dropping her little notes in library books, Hyun-chae remembers their time together at this establishment and she nightmares a vision of an over-sized burger oozing out blood-like ketchup with Dong-ha Fee-Fi-Fo-Fumming a guffaw of horror. Hyun-chae shakes her head in disgust at the thought. Later Hyun-chae is shown with a little lettuce and sauce on her face as well. And although only one of these burger images is truly disgusting, the others are still less than appetizing, not meant to appeal but to show the characters as unsophisticated. The food on the face along with the arterial oozing of ketchup from a giant's giant burger both present unappetizing images, the last thing any burger chain would want to be a major theme in their ad campaign. As much as such establishments may more likely be a site of disgusting behavior than family values, this is not something about which they would want to remind consumers.

The main burger chain's final appearance is of a sad Hyun-chae wondering whether or not she is "an idiot" as the intertitles show us her inner thoughts. She wonders if she's an idiot for two reasons. First, the main story projecting the plot is a series of secret love notes scribbled into library books that Hyun-chae has stumbled upon and believes are intended for her. So she is partly wondering if she's an idiot to believe these notes were meant for her. Second, she is beginning to turn around to Dong-ha, pondering his affection towards her and realizing she's warming up to him. However, she is wondering if she is, in fact, too late, if Dong-ha has given up just as she's given in. (Hyun-chae's friend Ma-rin has begun pursuing Dong-ha, although casually with less permanent intent. Still Hyun-chae wonders if she's missed her opportunity with Dong-ha.) Hyun-chae sits at the window seat of the burger chain, alone, gazing out into the rain outside. Realizing her dream was a lie that may have kept her from seeing the dream within her everyday life, she is feeling more alone than she has in the entire film. And she feels this terrible loneliness while sitting inside the ad. Fast food chains work hard to associate themselves with the positive aspects of community, and loneliness is the exact opposite of the emotional signifiers they intend. Thus, the entire experience as product placement of this multinational fast food chain in Spring Bears Love is one of subverting the image such chains have spent years marketing to uphold.

Pushing Diarrhea

A friend of mine recently had a potluck. When I told her I was planning to bring a pizza, I added that it would be mushroom to respect the dietary needs and choices of the vegetarians in attendance. Her response was to remind me that the majority of people attending the party would be Asian such as herself, thus requiring other dietary needs of which to be respectful, specifically lactose-intolerance. Although more and more adults are noting how their bodies respond to dairy products and realizing that milk may not do a body good, the Asian Diaspora press has noted the greater proportion of lactose-intolerance in Asian populations.(5) This is what makes the pushing of ice cream chains in Asian countries all the more astounding. So much of advertising involves creating needs where none exist. And the last thing Asian communities need is a product pushed upon them that induces stomach pains and diarrhea in a significant number of them.

This leads me to the next product placement. The name of the ice cream chain plugged in Spring Bears Love is never announced, but merely alluded to through its recognizable neon-pinkish color scheme. And it is within this ad that we have Hyun-chae, Ma-rin, and So-hee (Im Hyun-kyung) sitting at a table outside the establishment in a shopping mall eating the company's ice cream wares. Here we find So-hee, one of the lesser developed characters in this film, where she has her sweet and innocent self signified by her culinary confection's single-scooped-ness at which she daintily nibbles away.

At the same time, Hyun-chae and Ma-rin share a dessert which they eat with their respective pink spoons. Initially, this ad within the film appears to contradict my argument in this essay. The lead character and her friend are simply enjoying some ice cream at the mall. Since we're supposed to identify with the main character and she's eating the product, what could be better branding than that? However, when we look closely at what Hyun-chae and Ma-rin are eating, what we notice is that they are eating an entire ice cream cake by themselves. They didn't just get their own banana splits, but they went all out and ordered their cake and are eating it too. The scene becomes a comedic one in its ridiculous set up. Nothing about Hyun-chae nor Ma-rin in the plot of this film presents them as gluttonous in their eating habits, so to place them before a big ice cream cake that they wouldn't be able to doggy-bag if left unfinished presents an absurd element into this product placement. This ad becomes as absurd as Hyun-chae's fantasy of romance within the classic paintings fleshed out at several moments in the film. In a sense, it's adding to the absurdity of ice cream chains trying to infiltrate into Asia, being that such heavily dairy-ed products adversely affect such a large percentage of the populous. More subtle a subversion of the product placement than the scenes at the fast food chain, we are still left, if we look carefully enough, with a less than positive association with the product.(6)

Litter-ly Abandoned

One particular beverage receives placement above all others in this film, a canned beverage that's name would not resonate with brand awareness amongst Westerners, but the brand is ubiquitous within the South Korean commercial landscape. The beverage is drunk several times throughout the film. In fact, it is the first product placement we see, propped up on the windowsill of the train as Hyun-chae discovers the notes in the library art books from her assumed secret lover. What is interesting about this product placement is that in the moment just before the beverage is positioned within the frame, Hyun-chae has gotten the attention of the man pushing the snack cart. But rather than call out the name of this beverage as he passes by her seat, she yells out for a generic food, a hard-boiled egg. It is fair to assume she obtained this beverage at the same moment she obtained this egg since it's not there on the windowsill before she asks for the egg. (Yes, she could have brought it with her, but then why didn't she think of bringing a snack with her as well then?) Considering the logic of product placement, what we have witnessed is startling. At a prime opportunity to further brand by having the well-known (7) Korean actress Bae Doo-na say the brand's name, instead, Yong has Bae's character ask for an egg. It is not that the branding opportunity was lost; it is as if it was never meant to be taken.

Later on, whenever we actually witness Hyun-chae drink this beverage, she hands it to someone else to open since, for some reason, she is unable to open it herself. (How she was able to open the one in the first scene on the train is one of the plot holes that widens as the film progresses.) Thus, indirectly, the beverage is associated with helplessness and dependency, since Hyun-chae requires assistance in opening the can.

However, there is a stronger negative association generated in this film since this beverage is a coffee-flavored drink. This coffee-flavored beverage in a can is, actually, even more instant than instant coffee since it only requires opening the can, albeit something Hyun-chae has trouble with, rather than requiring mixing with hot water. And it is instant coffee that is slammed by Hyun-chae's father in the film. Having arrived at Hyun-chae's apartment, Hyun-chae offers him coffee, to which he responds, "Sure, you know how I like it? No instant coffee!" We then see Hyun-chae obey his command, opening up a logo-less bag of coffee to brew. Although, this dialogue does not occur while the main beverage brand plugged within the film is present, it is a critique of the product that has been pushed on the viewer within the film. Such instant coffee is not good enough for Hyun-chae's father, someone for whom we are meant to have positive feelings since he is presented as a sensitive, caring, father figure, (and all this while being a single father at that), so why would we even think it was good enough for the audience? If the audience is listening to the dissonance that this dialogue carries, the subversion of the product placement can't be ignored.

Finally, when the beverage brand name finally appears in full focus, it is when the secret Romeo has given up on meeting the woman for whom he's written his prose. (Unlike she suspected, the notes were not written for Hyun-chae.) As he walks away despondent, we see two beverage cans on the amusement park bench where he was supposed to meet his secret love. He has abandoned the hopes for this relationship as he's abandoned these cans. So the beverage, although ubiquitous in the film, is associated with helplessness, poor taste, and abandonment, not associations any ad executive would want touching their products.

Ramen Is Good For You

Amongst these brands are generics, such as the hard-boiled egg I mentioned above. The most prominent generic food is ramen noodles. Rather than appear in a cup or 12 cent packaged form, it appears twice in the film both as efforts by Dong-ha to show how much he cares for Hyun-chae. Its first appearance is in a non-corporate restaurant that primarily serves ramen. Here it is Hyun-chae who talks with her mouth full along with Dong-ha, while Ma-rin, more conscious of impressing Dong-ha, savors her ramen with care. In some ways, it is similar to the experience at the burger joint plugged within the film. However, there is a clear juxtaposition between Hyun-chae and Dong-ha's casual and disgusting eating habits and Ma-rin's attractive attentiveness to eating. Plus, Dong-ha came here to treat Hyun-chae, and by default Ma-rin. "I thought you liked ramen? This place is famous for its soup," he says. Although Hyun-chae responds by saying, with a mouth full of ramen, "Famous, my ass!", and apologizes to Ma-rin for Dong-ha being so "cheap", Ma-rin deflects this negative criticism and says "You know I love ramen", turning a smile towards Dong-ha. Thus, any negative association with ramen is erased by the positive association with beautiful, respectful Ma-rin.

The next time the generic ramen appears, we're almost led to believe it won't appear. Late at night, using her cell-phone, (8) Hyun-chae leaves Dong-ha the following text-message, "I crave for ramen." See, it turns out after all, that Hyun-chae really does love ramen. We're never told what she thinks about burgers, but she loves ramen enough to crave it, to desire it, late at night. Although Dong-ha initially text-messages back implying it is too late for ramen, leading us to believe that her craving will go unfulfilled, we later see Dong-ha stop at an un-identified - thus unbranded - convenience store for all the makings of home-steamed ramen, which he surprises Hyun-chae with on the steps leading up to her apartment. What follows is a wonderfully intimate moment sharing this meal cooked just for her needs, a scene almost reminiscent of Lady And The Tramp (Clyde Geronimi, Wilfren Jackson, and Hamilton Luske, 1955) where the animated characters kiss over pasta. (9) This moment is anything but disgusting. In fact, it's the moment we all want to have with our significant others. Considering that the moment will end with Dong-ha falling asleep with Hyun-chae in her bed, this scene becomes a scene of sublimated sexual desire as well, a product association all advertisers strive for. Except here it is lovingly displayed with sexual overtones for a product with no brand, a generic.

Public Displays of Affection

Outside of the product placements I've mentioned that also exist as commercial spaces, the burger and ice cream chains, there is another commercial space present in this film, where Hyun-chae, Ma-rin, and So-hee work. It is a French-owned commercial space where all types of groceries, clothing and many other items are sold. It is smaller than a wholesale club but bigger than a supermarket. (How's that for avoiding a brand reference?) And it is this space that is paralleled with the public spaces throughout the film, particularly the public library and public transit system. Although there is greater variation in the associations made to this commercial space, in the end, the commercial space is associated with failed dreams and the final public space is associated with hope for a fulfilling, romantic future.

This commercial space of unending consumption does have its touching moment. And that is when Dong-ha and Hyun-chae play afternoon at the Improv with all the products available to them as props. Providing for comical moments, that, if excavated from the filmic text, would fit well within the frame of a TV commercial, Dong-ha also uses it as an opportunity to express his intensions with Hyun-chae, telling her how their time together resembles that of a married couple. Yet, that is all the positive associations allowed for this commercial space. We know from flashbacks that Hyun-chae wanted to be a flight attendant, and this dream returns when Hyun-chae, led on by Dong-ha into thinking he wrote the messages to her in the art books, discovers Dong-ha's dishonesty. Upset about having her dreams of romance taken advantage of, she mentions how much her romantic needs mean to her since her professional dream was never realized. She disparagingly speaks of her present place of employment, inferring how demeaning and depressing her job is for her. A later scene shows Hyun-chae being treated poorly and unfairly by a customer and how powerless she feels in her position. This commercial space is a space of humiliation and conformity, as further evidenced by the scene that shows the morning ritual of sales clerks bowing and practicing greetings to customers and by the matching uniforms of all the sales clerks, the stockings of which are portrayed as extremely unattractive. This conformity is underscored when a cell phone call from Hyun-chae's father disrupts this morning ritual, signifying Hyun-chae as the nail that sticks out in need of hammering into complacent place by the scowl of one of her managers.

But the most clever subversion of the consumerist cornucopia where Hyun-chae works is a moment of dialogue that acts as an anti-commerical. The first man Hyun-chae guesses is her supposed suitor is Yoon, one of her managers. One day at work she proceeds to stalk him using each aisle in the store as cover. When Yoon appears to catch her gaze, Hyun-chae covers for her stalking behavior by turning around and engaging in a sales pitch with an older woman who innocently walks by the same aisle. Grabbing the product closest to her, she stumbles out a sales pitch for, and this is part of the humor, adult diapers. "Miss, this is a new brand, . . .. Its pure cotton cover makes it feel better than other brands." Yoon interrupts her and asks her to meet him by the benches outside the store. Hyun-chae's hopes are further heightened and she looks dreamily at Yoon as he walks away, forgetting about the older woman to whom she was pitching. This woman calls out to her "Miss, what about this one." To which Hyun-chae quickly dismisses, "Mam , they're all the same." This is an anti-pitch that subverts what all advertising is based on, that ones product is significantly different from another. Here, Hyun-chae brings voice to the possibility that everything in the superstore is a lie, that is, all the brands are the same. The choice the store pretends to offer may not exist at all, discrediting the entire commercial space as she heads to the benches outside this space. (10)

And although Hyun-chae's best friend, Ma-rin, is a co-worker, all the hope for a fulfilling future for Hyun-chae takes place in public spaces outside the corporate spaces where they work. For it is the public library where her dreams are fueled, for it is in the public good of books available to everyone that she fancies her Romeo. And the books in which the messages are scribbled are art books, alluding to pieces we often find in public art museums. And even though Hyun-chae eventually finds that her dreams in the library were a lie, we later discover that the messages were meant for Son-ok, a deaf character whom director Yong intends sympathy towards, and, thus, we are happy that the library provided a place for the Son-ok to be wooed. And even though Son-ok and her secret Romeo miss each other in the public library, they find each other in an art gallery. Yes, we do not know if this is a public or private space, but the consistency of the positive use of public space within this film argues in favor of the couple meeting at a public art gallery in the closing credits. Also, Hyun-chae finally realized her love through Dong-ha's circling of sentences that read 'I love you' and of similar statements of devotion in what appear to be library books, or public school books, he's left for Hyun-chae to find. So Hyun-chae's hopes and dreams are still assisted by the access that public institutions provide. The public books speak where Dong-ha's private words failed.

And it is the conclusion of the film that further solidifies the association of the public good with the greatest good, love. Hyun-chae first stumbled on Dong-ha by recognizing his voice on the PA system of a train on which she was riding. Dong-ha, the subway engineer whose dream has always been to drive trains in the public transit system, has consistently arrived for Hyun-chae, although not always exactly on time. Realizing that her dream lies in what has been available to her all along rather than the product of her dreams that she has been selling herself for so long, Hyun-chae eventually realizes she is in love with Dong-ha. Realizing this at the obligatory last minutes, she rushes out of the rented space of consumer goods, pushing a customer out of the way for good measure, and good humor, and runs to the communal space of the public good, the public transit station. She doesn't have to confess her love because her actions have shown how she truly feels, besides, Dong-ha embraces her before she can even utter a word. She has found her love in the real space of public service rather than the fantasies of the market.

Placing Spring Bears Love's Final Product

With all this subversion of product placement, should those of us upset with how product placement has intruded upon our cinematic experiences rejoice in Yong's efforts here? Have the powers that be ever present, Advertising, the powers that wish to beam their messages into our brains, literally, (11) have they been tricked into assisting in their own demise here in Spring Bears Love?

The answer may lie in the abandonment of the beverage cans. For on the bench is one opened can (read: empty) and one unopened can (read: full). That is, we are left with the old glass-is-half-empty/glass-is-half-full difference in perspective. While so many instances of product placement are subverted, the products are still there to be seen next to the well-known Bae Doo-na to be recalled along with her image as the patrons step out into the commercial spaces ready for them outside the commercial space of the multiplex. (12) The images still have resonance of ubiquity even if within the narrative they have regular dissonance. And with the film reincarnated on DVD, the ad lives on forever. (13)

Essentially, we find the same paradox in Spring Bears Love that we find in Minority Report (Stephen Spielberg, 2002). As John Anderton (Tom Cruise) rushes through a futuristic mall, he is bombarded with present day product ad campaigns directed specifically for him. The ads know John's name because they scan his retinas. Spielberg intended this scene, as well as this entire film, as a snapshot of the possible Big Brother-ish nightmare towards which we are headed. However, as Jennifer L. Pozner notes, Spielberg's "potential social commentary was stunted by his partnership with real advertisers." As a result of this partnership, "Minority Report makes advertising's creepy omnipresence seem more interesting than disturbing-sort of a 'Look, Ma, that poster's talking!' As a weapon of armed thought police, retinal scans are meant to alarm; used by advertisers, they function as nifty, if unsettling, technological sideshow. The resulting message is profoundly unthreatening" to the advertisers on board since they were heavily involved in calling the shots anyway. (14)

Steve Seid found himself so "riled" by Minority Report that he and Peter Coheim co-created a montage of product placements called Value-Added Cinema.

[Minority Report] seems to critique the notion that commerce, that consumerism, has penetrated every aspect of life in the film's speculative future. Aided by technology this same consumerist effort seems to be in conjunction with surveillance efforts on the part of some hidden authority. All well and good as a critique. However, fees were paid to Spielberg's company, fees reported to be around twenty million dollars, for the precise placement of the products. So irony abounds as Spielberg cashes in on his pseudo-critique. He becomes something of a poster boy for the coming subsumption of all experience by a corporate ethos. (15)

Spielberg and his assistant directors, the Marketing firms with which he worked, get to have their less proverbial ice cream cake and eat it to. The uber-presence of ads is critiqued while the ads are still there. This suggests that even with the striking internal critique present in Spring Bears Love, the presentation of the products is what is most likely remembered by the audience. (16)

Advertising is now an excepted intrusion in mainstream films. The setup of the burger chain storefront in Spring Bears Love brands the company upon our retinas. The lights of the burger chain and the ice cream chain are warm and electric, they stand out vividly. Costume Designer Richard La Motte has commented how, on the set of a TV series he was costuming, a producer instructed that the costumes of the Native Americans had to be more colorful to compete with the bright colors of the commercials that interrupt the TV series every 12 minutes. (17) In a reverse scenario, the brightness of the neon disrupts the colors of the non-product placement spaces of the rest of the film. In this way, the ad is clearly delineated. Perhaps we can rest assured that advertising won't step to the level of scanning our retinas because their intrusion in all aspects of our lives will result in their being forever emblazoned upon our retinas anyway. If they scanned our retinas, they'd only find their logos.

Product placement, particularly products of the past that no longer exist, can set up a character or narrative in time or place. They can also be utilized within the narrative so expertly that they may appear almost necessary. When I asked Seid about the most creative example of product placement he has seen, his answer was the kind of passionate analysis of narrative structure for which we all read websites like this one. He talked about how Blue Velvet (David Lynch, 1986) situated particular beers to signify class distinctions between the characters of Jeffrey Beaumont (Kyle MacLachlan) and Sandy Williams (Laura Dern). And then this class signification is extended further by having Frank Booth (Dennis Hopper) defend a brand that allows for him to further fetishize the color blue. (18) Brands as signifiers of class are a popular shorthand in character development. Stephen Frears, in his film The Van (1996), demonstrates how low Larry (Colm Meaney) has fallen by showing his character forced to give up his staple beer brand, one that practically stands as a symbol for his Irish manhood, with a cheaper brand from the United States, thus symbolizing his loss of Irish manhood. Here, not only is class signified by beverage choice, or lack of choice, but masculinity, or lack of, is as well.

Yet even with these creative takes on product placement; as signifiers of class, gender, race and sexuality; as ironic humor; or as subversive integration into the narrative, the product placement still maintains the hold over audiences it intends. Product placement has arrived. And in the case of films such as Cast Away (Robert Zemeckis, 2000) and I Am Sam (Jesse Nelson, 2001) and Josie and The Pussycats, product placement has taken over. As Jennifer Pozner notes, "Through sheer repetition, marketers are conditioning us to shrug off ad intrusions as annoying yet inevitable." (19) In the end, the subversion of product placement in Spring Bears Love, whether intended or not (20), can only fight what appears to be a losing cause whenever you choose to let the advertisers into the cinematic temple. When Dong-ha slams his hand down to cover the burger chain logo on his bag of fries before Hyun-chae can take one, as much as I want to believe this is a call to retake control from those who demand that our films turn into ads, it seems like, in the world of mainstream film, control has already been handed over completely. And so it is not only Hollywood that has accepted complete product envelopment at the malls of mainstream film; it appears that South Korean mainstream film has as well. Our only hope may be rushing out of the multiplex crying in search of a truer love of cinema, a cinema that has maintained its independence by not allowing the intrusion of ads ad nauseum.

Notes

I would like to state my appreciation for the assistance provided in clarifying questions I had about South Korea's commercial space by the following people: Tom Giammarco, Kyu Hyun Kim, and Darcy Paquet. All opinions are to be seen as my own and not necessarily shared by these individuals.

(1) Hui Mi Kim, "'Copywood' Pix Pay Unwanted Hommage: Practice of imitating H'wood movies is being debated," Variety, July 14, 2003. Thanks to Darcy Paquet for informing me of this article.

(2) Unless otherwise noted, it should be assumed that none of the Koreans mentioned here with similar surnames are related since Koreans have utilized a limited number of family names throughout their history.

(3) In order not to contribute to the intended further branding that these companies hope for by imposing themselves upon the viewing audience, I will refrain in this essay from mentioning the actual companies/brands.

(4) This logo is particularly unavoidable for those of us dependent on subtitles since the logo eventually appears smack dab in the center of where we anticipate subtitles to be, cleverly tricking us into catching the logo.

(5) Claudine Ko, "Milk Fart: Asians are usually lactose intolerant," Giant Robot, vol. 17 (Spring 2000): pp. 70-71.

(6) Mind you, this particular company could have had worse associations than the one here, and indeed it has in the world of South Korean cinema. Newly crowned Cannes-sensation Park Chan-wook placed this product in his film Sympathy For Mr. Vengeance (2002) as a means for a group of black market organ traders to place their product, using an ice cream cake box complete with dry ice to transport a human kidney. Later, we witness another ice cream cake box with said organ exposed and chopped up to symbolize that one of our main characters has truly gone made and eaten the human organ inside the company's brand.

(7) I am hesitant to call Bae Doo-na "popular." Bae is a well-known actress and model amongst media-saturated South Koreans. However, her films have a history of not performing well at the box office. Although I find her to be one of South Korea's most exceptional actresses, as she demonstrates in this film, Barking Dogs Never Bite (Bong Joon-ho, 2000), Take Care of My Cat (Jeong Jae-eun, 2001), and Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance, South Koreans do not flock to see her films. Knowing this, it can be argued that this further supports my argument of subversion of product placement in Spring Bears Love since the products are associated with an actress who is not "popular."

However, I do not feel Bae's association with these products supports my argument for two reasons. First, the key for advertisers is not necessarily if the celebrity is popular, but if they are well-known. (As long as well-known does not mean 'infamous' such as being known for murder or other felonies.) Bae Doo-na is definitely one of the most recognizable faces in South Korea, if not the actress with the largest indigenous fan base.

Which brings us to the second reason Bae's association with these products does not support my argument - Bae is extremely popular amongst non-Korean and diasporic Korean fans of South Korean cinema, particularly male fans who appreciate her beauty along with her exemplary acting skills. Her recent casting in a yet to be completed Japanese film is testament to her overseas popularity. What we may eventually find is that Bae's star-power carries more weight overseas than within South Korea. Thus, she still serves the purpose of advertisers since many overseas fans will purchase the DVD and the products will have their intended positive associations with Bae through the film's global transit.

(8) It's interesting how we cannot determine the cell phone brand from the camera angle. This is very bizarre in its own right since cell phones are quite ubiquitous in mainstream South Korean film making available multiple branding opportunities. In fact, the only cell phone brand we can notice in Spring Bears Love is that of Dong-ha's near the final scene. (We do see Hyun-chae's cell phone once, but not from a direct enough angle to notice the brand.) And his cell phone is quite beat up and old, not the shiny bling-bling we are used to seeing in South Korean film, further supporting my argument, but which I note in this footnote since it's all I can really say about it.

(9) Except here, no kissing. For some reason, probably because this is a mainstream film that desires access to a younger audience, although they spend two platonic nights together, one where Dong-ha displays a borderline foot fetish, Hyun-chae and Dong-ha are portrayed as chaste in their relationship, the camera fading out before their lips meet in the final scene.

This makes some of the advertising for this film ironic, since some stills showed the two characters in exaggerated amorous poses and one ad featured Bae Doo-na in a possibly pedophilic image posed in striped teenage (if that) panties hugging a large stuffed polar bear whose arms embrace her sides to hint as if Bae were topless. I could possibly work this in as an example of postmodern advertising that subverts the product placement as advertising within the film by demonstrating how preposterous, outlandish, and outright fallacious advertising can be. But that would just be me overanalyzing, going over the deep end, as the latter image of Bae appeared to have gone.

(10) And the women clerks represent the antithesis of this lie in that they are forced by the corporate chain to look and behave the same when they are actually of diverse personalities and looks. Thus, the irony is that one lie presents all the products as different while the other lie presents all the workers as the same.

(11) Jonathan Karp, "Hey, You! How About Lunch?: New Laserlike Sound Beams Send Messages to Shoppers, Aid Military in Iraq," The Wall Street Journal, April 1, 2004: B1, B5.

(12) Although not nearly as über-present a face as Bae Doo-na, it is significant enough to note that Kim Nam-jin has been in many ads prior to his role in this film, including an ad for (un)said beverage placed within the film, although he is never shown imbibing the beverage in Spring Bears Love like Bae and Yoon Ji-hye. Thanks to Tom Giammarco for pointing this out to me.

(13) Jennifer L. Pozner, "Triumph of the Shill Part One: Advertisers Rejoice as Hollywood Satirizes Product Placement," Bitch (Winter 2004): 51-59.

(14) Ibid, p. 55.

(15) Interview over Email with Steve Seid responding on April 1, 2004. (No joke. He really did respond on April 1st.)

(16) And let's not forget that Dong-ha is a strike-breaker. Since Hyun-chae eventually does fall in love with him, Dong-ha's strike-breaker as love object is a practical shout-out of allegiance to corporate control.

(17) Richard La Motte, "Designing Costumes for the Historical Film," Cineaste (Spring 2004): 50-54.

(18) Seid Interview.

(19) Pozner, pp 59.

(20) I hope I've made it clear with my clarifiers that I do not know if such subversion of product placement was intended by director Yong Yi. I have no idea if it was intended or not and to claim that he intended this without confirming such with the director would be unethical. I am merely analyzing the product placement in this film. And in analyzing the product placement, what emerges is a striking consistency of subversion as I hope I've demonstrated here.

                                                                  © THE FILM JOURNAL 2004