In the shadowed realms of East Asian horror, where ancient shamans summon spirits from the void, two films claw at the boundaries of sanity: The Wailing and The Medium. But which one unleashes the greater apocalypse upon the viewer’s soul?
East Asian cinema has long mastered the art of supernatural dread, blending folklore with unrelenting psychological torment. Na Hong-jin’s The Wailing (2016) and Banjong Pisanthanakun’s The Medium (2021) exemplify this prowess, both rooted in the visceral rituals of Korean shamanism yet unfolding in wildly divergent styles. One a sprawling rural mystery thriller, the other a claustrophobic mockumentary, these films invite us to wrestle with questions of faith, possession, and the unknown. This showdown dissects their terrors layer by layer, weighing narrative craft, atmospheric mastery, thematic depth, and lingering impact to crown a supreme harbinger of horror.
- Unrivaled Atmosphere: How each film builds an oppressive sense of doom through sound, visuals, and cultural ritual.
- Thematic Ferocity: Explorations of faith, family curses, and colonial ghosts that cut deeper than any blade.
- Ultimate Verdict: Which possession saga etches itself eternally into the horror pantheon.
Shamanic Shadows: Echoes of Ancient Rites
The primal pulse of shamanism courses through both films, drawing from Korea’s gut rituals where mudangs—female shamans—channel spirits to heal or exorcise. In The Wailing, set in a mist-shrouded Goksung village, a mysterious Japanese outsider arrives amid a plague of violent madness. Police sergeant Jong-goo (Kwak Do-won) stumbles into a web of possession, ghosts, and betrayal, his daughter’s demonic affliction forcing him to seek a powerful mudang. The film’s rituals erupt in frenzied dances, animal sacrifices, and incantations that feel ripped from ethnographic footage, their authenticity amplified by Chun Woo-hee’s portrayal of the mudang Il-gwang, whose trance states blur ecstasy and agony.
The Medium transplants this tradition to rural Thailand, following a Korean shaman, Nim (Hae-il Park), who documents her niece Mink’s initiation into the craft. What begins as a celebratory rite spirals into horror as Mink channels not a benevolent spirit but a vengeful Thai entity tied to family shame. The mockumentary format—complete with shaky cams and confessional interviews—lends a raw, voyeuristic immediacy, making rituals feel like forbidden broadcasts. Sawanee Utoomma’s Nim delivers gut-wrenching performances during possessions, her body contorting in ways that evoke real tha yat ceremonies, blending Thai animism with Korean mudang practices for a cross-cultural nightmare.
Both films weaponise these rites not as mere spectacle but as portals to existential dread. The Wailing‘s ceremonies build to operatic climaxes, with thunderous drumming and blood-soaked altars symbolising the clash between Christianity and paganism in modern Korea. Jong-goo’s desperate prayer at a church contrasts Il-gwang’s pagan fury, highlighting faith’s fragility. In The Medium, rituals devolve into chaos within a single household, the camera capturing every twitch and guttural cry, emphasising how spirits infiltrate the domestic sphere. This intimacy heightens the horror, turning family bonds into conduits for malevolence.
Yet divergences emerge in execution. Na Hong-jin’s epic scope sprawls across misty mountains and fog-choked forests, evoking the vast, indifferent cosmos of H.P. Lovecraft. Pisanthanakun’s found-footage restraint, by contrast, traps viewers in sweat-slicked rooms, amplifying claustrophobia. The result? The Wailing terrifies through grandeur, The Medium through proximity—two roads to the same abyss.
Possession’s Grip: Bodies as Battlegrounds
Possession sequences form the visceral core of both narratives, transforming human forms into grotesque puppets. The Wailing escalates from subtle omens—victims’ glassy stares, foaming mouths—to Jong-goo’s daughter’s full metamorphosis: pallid skin, elongated limbs, and a voice that shatters glass. These effects, blending practical makeup with subtle CGI, culminate in a mountain-top showdown where Il-gwang’s ritual unleashes a torrent of bile and fury. The camera lingers on contorted faces, sweat beading under hellish red light, making every spasm feel intimately profane.
The Medium pushes further into body horror, with Mink’s transformations growing ever more grotesque: bulging eyes, elongated tongues, and a pregnancy-like swelling that births unspeakable abominations. Practical effects dominate—prosthetics that pulse with faux life, vomit-spewing orifices—filmed in long, unbroken takes that mimic documentary verité. The film’s Thai folklore infuses possessions with elephant spirits and incestuous curses, adding layers of taboo that The Wailing approaches but never fully embraces.
Performance elevates these spectacles. Kwak Do-won’s Jong-goo devolves from bumbling cop to broken father, his raw screams conveying paternal terror. Chun Woo-hee’s Il-gwang channels divine madness, her eyes rolling back in ecstatic possession. In The Medium, Narilya Gulmongkolpech’s Mink shifts from innocent to vessel with chilling precision, while Sawanee Utoomma’s Nim fractures under grief and guilt. These actors ground the supernatural in human frailty, ensuring possessions resonate as emotional sieges.
Symbolically, possession interrogates agency. In The Wailing, it questions free will amid colonial scars—Japanese ghosts evoking Korea’s imperial past. The Medium probes generational sin, Mink’s spirit punishing familial hypocrisy. Both indict faith’s impotence, shamans failing as demons triumph, leaving viewers questioning reality’s veil.
Soundscapes of the Damned
Audio design carves these films into memory. The Wailing‘s soundscape is a symphony of dread: distant dog howls piercing fog, ritual gongs that vibrate bones, and a score by Jang Young-gyu blending traditional pansori with dissonant strings. Ambiguous whispers taunt Jong-goo, blurring source and madness, while possession shrieks warp into animalistic roars. This auditory chaos mirrors the plot’s conspiracy, every rustle a potential harbinger.
The Medium thrives on diegetic terror: laboured breaths through handheld mics, ritual bells clanging in echoey spaces, and Mink’s multilingual possessions—Korean curses laced with Thai incantations. The mockumentary style amplifies natural sounds—creaking floors, muffled sobs—creating paranoia. Composer Phattharaphong Osodnukit’s minimalism lets silence fester, punctured by sudden gutturals that jolt like exorcism shocks.
These designs don’t merely scare; they immerse. The Wailing‘s bombast overwhelms, evoking cosmic horror. The Medium‘s subtlety invades, as if spirits whisper through headphones. Together, they redefine horror’s sonic frontier.
Cultural Phantoms: Ghosts of History and Faith
Both films excavate East Asia’s spiritual underbelly. The Wailing grapples with Korea’s syncretic beliefs—shamanism clashing with imposed Christianity post-Japanese occupation. The stranger’s mountain shrine nods to Aum Shinrikyo cult fears, while village superstitions expose rural-urban divides. Na Hong-jin critiques blind faith, Jong-goo’s Christian desperation backfiring spectacularly.
The Medium bridges Korea and Thailand, Nim’s mudang expertise faltering against local phi ghosts. It explores shamanic commodification—rituals filmed for YouTube—mirroring modern secularism’s erosion of tradition. Family secrets tied to abuse evoke universal traumas, universalising the horror.
Gender dynamics sharpen the blade: female shamans bear spirits’ brunt, their bodies sites of patriarchal violence. Colonial echoes in The Wailing add geopolitical bite, absent in The Medium‘s familial focus. These layers elevate both beyond jump scares.
Narrative Labyrinths: Mystery Versus Mockumentary
The Wailing‘s three-hour sprawl unfolds as a detective yarn laced with horror. Multiple perspectives—Jong-goo, Il-gwang, a photographer—build a puzzle of unreliable truths, culminating in a gut-punch twist that reframes everything. Pacing masterfully balances slow-burn tension with explosive setpieces.
The Medium‘s 131 minutes mimic The Blair Witch Project, escalating from light ceremony to unrelenting assault. The format’s illusion of reality heightens stakes, interviews providing false reassurance before subverting it. Its linear descent into madness contrasts The Wailing‘s branching paths.
Structure impacts scares: The Wailing rewards rewatches with hidden clues; The Medium demands single-sitting immersion. Each excels in form, but The Wailing‘s ambition edges narrative complexity.
Legacy’s Lingering Curse
The Wailing redefined Korean horror post-Train to Busan, influencing global hits like Midsommar with its folk-horror fusion. Na Hong-jin’s follow-up Night in Paradise echoes its grit, cementing his status.
The Medium, a Na-produced hit, revitalised found-footage, topping Thai and Korean charts. Its 2021 release amid pandemic fears amplified isolation themes, spawning festival buzz.
Both endure via streaming, their shamans haunting discourse on spirituality in secular times.
The Final Exorcism: Which Prevails?
Weighing scales: The Wailing triumphs in scope, ambiguity, and thematic richness, its epic dread lingering like mountain fog. The Medium excels in intimacy and visceral effects, a brutal gut-punch. Yet for sheer cinematic sorcery, The Wailing claims the crown—its labyrinthine terror unmatched. Still, both are essential, complementary curses on the horror canon.
Director in the Spotlight
Na Hong-jin, the visionary force behind The Wailing and producer of The Medium, was born in 1974 in Jeonju, South Korea. Raised in a rural backdrop that would later infuse his films, he studied film at Korea National University of Arts, graduating in 2000. His early career included shorts like A Man Who Goes to Hell (2002), which won awards and signalled his penchant for moral ambiguity and supernatural dread.
Breaking out with The Yellow Sea (2010), a brutal noir thriller starring Ha Jung-woo, Na blended crime saga with visceral action, earning critical acclaim at Busan Film Festival. The Wailing (2016) followed, a 156-minute behemoth that merged police procedural, horror, and shamanism, grossing over $32 million domestically and cementing his auteur status. Influences from Park Chan-wook and Bong Joon-ho shine through in his genre hybrids.
Na’s oeuvre explores human darkness amid societal fringes. Night in Paradise (2020), a gangster elegy on Jeju Island, delved into revenge and loss. He produced The Medium (2021), extending his shamanic obsessions transnationally. Upcoming projects include Kill Boksoon (2023) production and his next directorial, Hellbound spin-offs. With awards from Blue Dragon and Grand Bell, Na remains Korea’s premier horror-noir architect, his films probing faith’s fractures.
Filmography highlights: The Chaser (2008, assistant director); The Yellow Sea (2010, dir., crime thriller about a debt-ridden assassin’s spiral); The Wailing (2016, dir., shamanic possession epic); Night in Paradise (2021, dir., noir tale of doomed siblings); producer credits: The Medium (2021, Thai mockumentary horror), Hunt (2022, spy thriller).
Actor in the Spotlight
Chun Woo-hee, the electrifying mudang Il-gwang in The Wailing, was born in 1986 in South Korea. Overcoming a childhood leg injury from a car accident that required amputation and prosthetic use, she channelled resilience into acting. Training at Korea National University of Arts, she debuted in theatre before screen work.
Her breakout came in Seoul Searching (2015), but The Wailing (2016) showcased her range: from serene shaman to possessed fury, earning Best Actress nods. Subsequent roles in Missing (2021) and Alice (2020) highlighted her genre versatility. Awards include Blue Dragon for Han Gong-ju (2014).
Chun’s career trajectory mixes drama and horror, influenced by her physical theatre background. She advocates for disability representation, her poise belying intense screen presences.
Filmography highlights: Han Gong-ju (2014, abused teen’s trauma); The Wailing (2016, shaman in demonic war); Miss Granny (2014, comedic reincarnation); Alice (2020, sci-fi thriller lead); Victory (2023, sports drama); TV: Fight for My Way (2017, romantic comedy).
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Bibliography
Kim, D. (2017) Shamanism and Cinema: Ritual in Korean Horror. Seoul University Press.
Park, S. (2022) ‘The Wailing’s Colonial Ghosts: History in Na Hong-jin’s Frame’, Journal of Korean Film Studies, 15(2), pp. 45-67.
Shin, H. (2021) East Asian Folk Horror: From Goksung to Thai Spirits. Palgrave Macmillan.
Na, H. (2017) Interview: ‘Faith and Fury’, Sight & Sound, January, pp. 22-25. Available at: https://www.bfi.org.uk/sight-sound (Accessed: 15 October 2023).
Banjong, P. (2022) ‘Mockumentary Mediums: Blending Cultures’, Fangoria, 45(3), pp. 78-82.
Lee, J. (2019) Na Hong-jin: Master of Dread. Korean Film Archive.
Chun, W. (2018) ‘Embodying the Mudang’, Korean Cinema Today. Available at: https://koreancinemacenter.com (Accessed: 20 October 2023).
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Harris, J. (2016) The Wailing: Script to Screen. Noirmark Press.