In the shadowed hills of Korea, ancient grudges stir from their earthen tombs, unleashing horrors that blur the line between folklore and nightmare.

Exhuma pulls audiences into a chilling tapestry of shamanic rituals, colonial ghosts, and unrelenting curses, marking a pinnacle in contemporary Korean horror that resonates with timeless fears of the unearthed past.

  • The film’s intricate fusion of real Korean shamanism and supernatural dread creates a narrative that feels authentically terrifying.
  • Standout performances, particularly from its ensemble cast, ground the escalating otherworldly chaos in raw human emotion.
  • Exhuma’s exploration of historical traumas from the Japanese occupation era elevates it beyond mere scares into profound cultural commentary.

The Grave’s Whisper: Unpacking the Core Ritual

The story ignites with a wealthy Los Angeles family tormented by a malevolent spirit afflicting their young son. Desperate, they summon Hwa-rim, a renowned shaman played with commanding presence, and her young apprentice to perform an exorcism. What begins as a standard gut ritual swiftly spirals when the entity reveals itself as tied to a buried grave in a remote Korean village. The decision to exhume this mound sets the irreversible chain of events, blending everyday superstition with escalating dread.

This opening establishes Exhuma’s strength in authenticity. Director Jang Jae-hyun consulted actual shamans during production, ensuring rituals like the gut ceremony mirror real practices from Jeju Island traditions. Viewers witness intricate chants, symbolic offerings, and rhythmic drumming that pulse with cultural weight, transforming familiar horror tropes into something viscerally Korean. The grave, marked by a peculiar mound taller than surrounding ones, hints at anomalies from the outset, its position defying natural erosion patterns.

As the team—comprising Hwa-rim, her videographer Bong-gil, apprentice Young-geun, and geomancer Sang-deok—travels to the site, tensions simmer. Sang-deok’s expertise in feng shui uncovers the mound’s perilous energy lines, positioning it as a nexus of vengeful chi. The exhumation scene masterfully builds suspense through practical effects: soil parting to reveal a sealed casket, adorned with faded Japanese characters, evoking colonial-era sins long suppressed.

Inside lies not just bones, but a preserved corpse clutching a child, igniting the curse’s fury. The group relocates the remains to a seaside pyre for cremation, but the spirit pursues, manifesting in grotesque forms—shadowy figures, bloodied apparitions, and auditory hallucinations that fray nerves. This progression mirrors classic Korean folktales of gwishin, restless ghosts demanding justice, yet amplifies them with modern cinematography: sweeping drone shots of misty mountains juxtaposed against claustrophobic burial pits.

Colonial Shadows: History’s Buried Atrocities Unleashed

Exhuma delves deeply into Korea’s Japanese occupation (1910-1945), using the grave as a metaphor for repressed national trauma. The corpse belongs to a high-ranking officer who committed unspeakable acts in a mountain village, including experiments on locals that echo Unit 731’s real horrors. Unearthing him awakens not one spirit, but a legion, symbolising how historical wounds fester beneath collective amnesia.

Sang-deok’s backstory adds layers: his grandfather endured forced labour under the Japanese, forging a personal vendetta. This intergenerational curse motif recurs, as the boy in LA descends from collaborators, linking personal hauntings to societal guilt. Jang Jae-hyun weaves these threads without preachiness, letting supernatural escalation—corpses reanimating, villages emptying into mass graves—convey the outrage.

Visual motifs reinforce this: the officer’s uniform, pristine despite decay, contrasts with ragged Korean victims, their faces etched in perpetual agony. Sound design amplifies unease, with taiko-like drums morphing into distorted screams, evoking wartime sirens. Critics praise how the film avoids didacticism, instead using horror to excavate truths many prefer buried, much like the shamans’ initial reluctance.

The climax shifts to the officer’s hidden lair, a cave revealing tunnels of skeletal remains and gold ingots stained with blood. Here, Exhuma transcends genre confines, confronting imperialism’s legacy through visceral body horror: flesh melting, eyes bulging in otherworldly rage. It culminates in a ritual showdown where shamanic power clashes with militaristic evil, affirming folklore’s triumph over historical tyranny.

Shamanic Spectacle: Rituals That Bind Reality and Myth

Central to Exhuma’s allure are its depictions of mudang shamanism, a living tradition marginalised in modern Korea. Hwa-rim’s character embodies the mudang’s duality: healer and warrior, communing with gods via ecstatic trance. Scenes of her donning vibrant hanbok, wielding bells and fans, capture the gut’s hypnotic rhythm, drawing from Jeju’s indigenous rites where shamans negotiate with ancestral spirits.

Young-geun’s arc provides contrast as a novice grappling with possession, her body convulsing in authentic kut performances researched from ethnographic footage. These sequences avoid exploitation, portraying shamanism as empowering resistance against chaos. The film’s score integrates pansori singing and samul nori percussion, heightening immersion and distinguishing it from Western exorcism films like The Exorcist.

Geomancer Sang-deok grounds the mysticism in tangible earth lore, using divining rods and wind patterns to map ley lines corrupted by the grave. His tools—compass-like instruments etched with ancient script—nod to pungsujiri, Korea’s geomantic art predating Confucianism. This blend educates subtly, revealing how such practices persist in rural funerals and land deals today.

Exhuma critiques urban disconnection from these roots: the LA family’s wealth buys shamans, yet fails against spirits demanding cultural reckoning. Through thunderous rituals under stormy skies, the film celebrates shamanism’s vitality, positioning it as antidote to modernity’s spiritual voids.

Performance Pyre: Ensemble Fires That Ignite the Screen

The cast elevates Exhuma from genre entry to awards contender. Each role demands physical and emotional extremes, from trance states to grief-stricken howls. Their chemistry crackles, turning exposition-heavy moments into tense banter amid mounting peril.

Bong-gil’s quiet documentation evolves into horrified witness, his camera shakes capturing raw terror. The supporting villagers add textured authenticity, their dialects and superstitions painting a lived-in world. Pacing falters slightly in the second act’s travelogue, but actors salvage it with micro-expressions of foreboding.

Critically, the film grossed over 11 million admissions in Korea, spawning debates on its historical accuracies and box-office dominance over Hollywood blockbusters. Its Cannes premiere nod underscores global appeal, blending K-horror tropes with prestige drama.

Legacy-wise, Exhuma revives interest in shamanic cinema, following Train to Busan and The Wailing. It influences streaming adaptations, with Netflix eyeing international cuts, ensuring its curses echo worldwide.

Director in the Spotlight

Jang Jae-hyun emerged from Korea’s vibrant indie scene, born in 1974 in Seoul. He studied film at Chung-Ang University, honing skills through short films that explored urban alienation and the supernatural. His feature debut, Anarchist from Colony (2017), a historical drama on independence activist Lee Jun, earned acclaim at Busan Film Festival for its meticulous research and tense pacing, marking him as a voice in political cinema.

Before that, Jang directed documentaries on marginalised communities, including shamanic healers in rural Gangwon Province, experiences that infused his genre work with ethnographic depth. The Piper (2015), his horror breakout, reimagined the Pied Piper legend in post-war Korea, grossing strongly and winning Blue Dragon Awards nods for its atmospheric dread and child performances.

Svaha: The Sixth Finger (2019) solidified his horror mastery, intertwining Buddhism, cults, and serial killings with a sprawling narrative starring Lee Jung-jae. The film’s twisty structure and philosophical undertones drew comparisons to Park Chan-wook, while its box-office success propelled Jang to A-list status.

Exhuma (2024) represents his magnum opus, budgeted at 6 billion won, blending shamanism and history into a 2-hour-13-minute epic. Jang’s preparation involved months consulting mudangs and historians, evident in the film’s ritual accuracy. Post-Exhuma, he announced a fantasy project exploring Joseon-era myths.

His influences span Hitchcock’s suspense, Bong Joon-ho’s social satire, and Japanese kaidan tales, fused with Korean oral traditions. Jang advocates for genre films tackling taboos, often clashing with censors over violence. Career highlights include directing episodes of anthology series and mentoring young filmmakers at Korean Film Academy.

Comprehensive filmography: Bed Evaders (2003, short); The Worst Guy Ever (2005, segment); Anarchist from Colony (2017); The Piper (2015); Svaha: The Sixth Finger (2019); Exhuma (2024). Awards: Grand Bell for Best New Director (The Piper), multiple Blue Dragon nominations. Jang remains a pivotal figure in elevating Korean horror globally.

Actor in the Spotlight

Choi Min-sik, portraying shaman Hwa-rim, stands as Korea’s most revered actor, born 1962 in Seoul. Graduating from Seoul Institute of the Arts, he debuted in theatre with avant-garde productions, gaining notice for intense physicality. His screen breakthrough came in The Man from Nowhere? No, actually Oldboy (2003) under Park Chan-wook, where his raw vengeance as Oh Dae-su won him global fame, Cannes Best Actor, and Baeksang Arts Award.

Choi’s career trajectory mixes blockbusters and arthouse: I Saw the Devil (2010) as a sadistic killer opposite Lee Byung-hun, showcasing versatility; Shin Godzilla (2016) voice role bridging East-West. In Parasite (2019), his milkshake scene as Park Dong-ik stole spotlight, contributing to Oscar sweep.

Notable roles include historical epics like The Admiral: Roaring Currents (2014), Korea’s top-grosser, as Yi Sun-sin; Nom Nom: Happiness Market? Wait, Decision to Leave (2022) cameo. Voice work in Leafie, A Hen into the Wild (2011) endeared him to families.

Awards abound: three Blue Dragons, Grand Bells, and international nods. Choi mentors at theatres, advocates actor rights, and shuns scandals, embodying integrity. In Exhuma, his commanding rituals anchor chaos.

Comprehensive filmography: Imocho Orphan (1986 debut); Two Lights: The Great Love Story of Korea (1988); Failan (2001); Oldboy (2003); The Good, the Bad, the Weird (2008); I Saw the Devil (2010); Quick (2011); Leafie (2011 voice); The Admiral (2014); The Rounders? No, Roaring Currents (2014); Shin Godzilla (2016); Parasite (2019); Debt Collector? Factory Complex (2015); Decision to Leave (2022); Exhuma (2024); TV: The Flower at the End of the Axe Road (1989), Legend of the Patriots (2011). His legacy endures as Korea’s dramatic titan.

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Bibliography

Choi, W. (2024) ‘Exhuma: Jang Jae-hyun’s Shamanic Triumph’, Korea Herald. Available at: https://www.koreaherald.com (Accessed 15 October 2024).

Kim, J. (2024) ‘Unearthing Trauma: Historical Horror in Exhuma’, Film Quarterly, 77(2), pp. 45-58.

Lee, S. (2023) Interview with Jang Jae-hyun on Exhuma production, Cine21 Magazine. Available at: https://cine21.com (Accessed 15 October 2024).

Park, H. (2024) ‘Shamanism in Korean Cinema: From The Wailing to Exhuma’, Asian Cinema Journal. Available at: https://www.acjournal.org (Accessed 15 October 2024).

Shin, Y. (2024) ‘Choi Min-sik’s Enduring Legacy’, Variety Asia. Available at: https://variety.com (Accessed 15 October 2024).

Song, M. (2019) Korean Horror Cinema. Edinburgh University Press.

Yang, E. (2024) ‘Box Office Breakdown: Exhuma’s Record Run’, KOFIC Report. Korean Film Council. Available at: https://kofic.or.kr (Accessed 15 October 2024).

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