Hello.

When I hear the word "Italy,"

images fill my head.

I see the domed cathedral in Florence,

or the canals of Venice.

However, when I hear the word "Slovenia,"

When I hear the word "Slovenia,"

I see no such images.

There are some things
that I know about Slovenia.

I know that it was the first of the former
Yugoslav republics to join the EU.

I'm told it's a great place to vacation,

but I don't see Slovenia in my head.

You might say that for most people,
there are two kinds of countries:

those that you can see in your head,
and those that you can't.

Before I came to Seoul in 1997
to live and to teach,

Korea was for me
a country of the second type.

Again, there were things
that I knew about Korea.

I knew about the political situation
facing North and South Korea.

I knew about the Korean War.

More than anything else, I knew
about Korea through Korean friends

I'd made in the university
and graduate school.

They'd told me many stories,
but still, I was missing the images.

There was one country in Asia
for which I had fresh, vibrant images,

and this was Hong Kong.

Mostly this was because I was a fan
of Hong Kong movies,

such as Wong Kar-Wai's
"Chungking Express."

These were highly-stylized images,

and I realized they may have
very little relation

to the actual Hong Kong,

but they aroused my curiosity.

I was curious to know
how great was the gap

between these images
and the real Hong Kong.

Partly, it was this curiosity
that led me to choose Hong Kong

as my first destination
after arriving in Asia.

I believe in the power
and influence of images.

Not that images alone can lead
to greater understanding,

but they can ignite one's curiosity
and charge one's imagination.

Images can make you feel closer to a place

even if you've never actually been there.

And not to slide photography,

but films provide

some of the most immediate
and memorable images of a place.

Let me step back for a moment,

and tell you a bit
about my own experience.

I came to Korea in 1997
to teach English,

intending to spend two years
before moving on to Eastern Europe.

As you can see, I'm still here.

(Laughter)

As a film fan, the first thing
that impressed me

about Korea's films culture

was a trip to the second
Busan International Film Festival.

I was thrilled by the packed theaters
and the enthusiasm of the crowds.

On screen, it was the movie
"Christmas in August"

that first captured my imagination.

This film was not stylized
like "Chungking Express,"

but the images in this film
were unforgettable.

Set in an ordinary town,

about two ordinary people
who almost fall in love

this film brings out the beauty
in everyday life:

driving a scooter, developing
photos, eating watermelon,

or teaching your father
how to use the remote control.

All of these ordinary scenes
were given added poignancy

by the elegance of the film making,

and our knowledge

that one of the two leads is sick
and may not live much longer.

Let's take a look
at one scene from this film.

It's one of the most
ordinary scenes in the film,

they're simply eating ice cream,

but for me, it's remained
one of the most memorable.

(Video starts) (Music)

(Korean) Da-rim: Sir!
Jung-won: Oh!

DR: Where are you going?

JW: I have to take some pictures.

DR: Oh my, so what can I do?
This is terribly urgent!

What can I do?

(Video ends)

Darcy Paquet: Watching movies like
"Christmas in August" in the late 1990s

made me want to learn more
about Korean cinema.

However, when I went online
to search for more information,

there is almost no information in English.

This inspired me to start
my own website on Korean cinema,

even though I'd never
studied film formally,

and I didn't really have
the qualifications to do so.

Koreanfilm.org was launched in April 1999.

Although I didn't expect
immediate success with the site,

soon I began to hear from people
all around the world

who were discovering Korean cinema.

A virtual community started
to build up around my website.

For me, personally,
the site also led to a new career.

First, working as a journalist at
film trade magazine Screen International,

and later working as a festival
consultant, columnist, and teacher.

In 2003, I did an experiment.

On my discussion board,
I asked the question,

"Which Korean films have given you

the most vivid
and enduring images of Korea?"

At this point, most of the people who
visited my site had never been to Korea.

They watched Korean films
through DVDs or at foreign film festivals,

so I was curious what kind of film
would leave them

with the strongest impression.

The films that they chose were not
idealized or exotic portrayals of Korea.

They were films like Park Heung-sik's
"I Wish I Had a Wife,"

Hur Jin-ho's "One Fine Spring Day,"

or Bong Joon-ho's "Memories of Murder."

The film that they chose, above all else,

was "Take Care of My Cat"
by Jeong Jae-eun.

I'd also been deeply
impressed by this film.

The film is
a thoughtful, realistic portrait

of five young women from Incheon,

whose friendship comes under strain

in the year after
they graduate from high school.

The characters are vivid and engaging,

and the director makes us feel
their experiences.

The setting, too, is also memorable.

One of the visitors to my site,
who lived in Boston,

wrote on my discussion board,

"I'd never thought I should go to Korea
before watching 'Take Care of My Cat, '

but now I want to go.

Pretty scenery is just
not as powerful for me

as Jeong Jae-eun's urban landscapes."

Let's take a look at
how the director presents

the urban landscapes of Incheon and Seoul.

(Video starts) (Korean) Bi-ryu: Taehee
must be making a move on them.

Hae-joo: Huh, with that face?

(Music)

(Video ends)

DP: Over the last 15 years,
Korean cinema has provided a wide spectrum

of indelible images
to viewers around the world.

We've seen sassy girls,

"Oldboy,"

monsters,

ghosts,

soldiers,

clowns,

vagrants,

and artists.

Many people around the world
know Korea through these images.

While maintaining my website,

I received a lot of e-mails
from people around the world

who have just started
to discover Korean cinema.

I've heard from adoptees
living in other countries

who have grown up in towns
where they're the only ethnic Koreans.

For them, these images from a faraway land

end up becoming
an important part of their identity.

I've heard from people
who knew nothing about Korea

before watching their first Korean film,

but who were eventually inspired
to move here and to start a new life.

And I've received many less serious
comments and questions as well.

Such as the reader who asked,

"What are all of these green bottles
I always see on the table in Korean films?

(Laughter)

My talk today is a mixture
of optimism and pessimism.

My optimism springs from the belief

that films and the images that they convey
can be more influential than we realize.

In particular, I believe that when films
cross cultures, good things can happen.

However, I become more pessimistic
when confronted with the practical problem

of how to bring Korean films into contact
with more people around the world.

Let me quote one of my favorite
directors from Hollywood,

"A lot of people in the film
industry are fatalists

who think a worthwhile film
will always achieve its destiny,

and the films
that aren't worthwhile won't,

that it's all sort of predetermined, etc.

And I don't think that's true at all."

There are some beliefs that we hold
as a result of reflection,

and other beliefs that we hold casually,

without ever really seriously considering
the reasoning behind them.

The idea that a good film
will find a wide audience,

and that an undeserving film will not,

is an example of the second category.

Some people might think

that there is a sort
of survival-of-the-fittest going on,

whereby good films overpower
bad films and reach more viewers.

But it doesn't take much thought
to realize that in this case,

the "fittest" are not the best films,

but the films with the most marketing
and distribution power behind them.

Cinephiles are more likely to understand

that large distributors have a tight grip
on the commercial film sector.

But they might be likely
to subscribe to another myth

that the three major film festivals,
Cannes, Venice, and Berlin

form a sort of alternate fair system
to counteract the unfair, commercial one.

Personally, I can't believe this either.

Years of working in the film industry
have convinced me

that the programers for these festivals
can be just as close-minded

as the Hollywood studios.

It's just that they're focused on
a different kind of film.

What was the most important Korean film
of the past ten years?

You can make an argument for
Bong Joon-ho's "Memories of Murder,"

but this film was casually passed over
by the major film festivals

because at that time,
the director was not famous enough.

The average person
does not really understand

how the global film
distribution system works,

but he or she usually assumes
that it works in a beneficial way.

The danger of believing in the system
is that you may sit back and simply wait

for the good films
to come across your path,

and you will not go out
and actively search for them.

To me, this is a tragedy.

My concern is that a broken system
is preventing people

from encountering films
that might really impact them.

How do you work outside the system?

Go on the Internet

and search for information
about films from other countries.

Go to a film festival and watch
a small film that you know nothing about.

Ask your foreign friends
to recommend films.

And while you're at it,
recommend some Korean films for them.

My closing wish today is quite simple,
and it will not change the world,

but it might change your experience:

I hope that more people throw away
their faith in the system

and begin to actively search out
films from around the world.

Thank you for listening.

(Applause)