When eight malevolent eyes awaken in the shadows of contemporary Seoul, an ancient curse threatens to devour humanity whole.

This chilling tale fuses Korean mysticism with pulse-pounding pursuit, crafting a nightmare where every glance could spell doom. Released amid a surge of global interest in East Asian horror, it masterfully bridges folklore and frenzy, delivering terror that lingers long after the screen fades to black.

  • Discover how an age-old demon’s fragmented essence ignites a modern manhunt across Korea’s urban sprawl.
  • Explore the film’s innovative visual language of possession and its roots in Buddhist lore.
  • Uncover the performances and production ingenuity that elevate this supernatural thriller to cult status.

Shadows Stir: The Primordial Evil Unleashed

In the misty annals of Korean legend, whispers persist of demons born from insatiable wrath, entities so potent that even the gods trembled. Centuries ago, a monk of unparalleled resolve confronted such a being, a creature named Hwa-rim whose gaze alone could corrupt souls and twist flesh into abomination. To seal this horror away, the monk severed its power into eight distinct eyes, scattering them across the land in hidden sanctuaries guarded by sacred rites. Fast forward to the present, and those seals crack under the weight of human greed and neglect. Construction unearths the first eye, igniting a chain reaction as each awakens, seeking hosts to reunite and resurrect their master. What follows is a desperate race against resurrection, pitting enlightened guardians against possessed puppets in a ballet of brutality and enlightenment.

The narrative unfolds with meticulous pacing, opening on a serene temple where veteran monk Park Jin-soo senses the disturbance. Played with stoic intensity by Lee Sung-min, Jin-soo embarks on a solitary crusade, his ancient knowledge clashing against the chaos of modernity. He allies uneasily with Detective Cheol, portrayed by Nam Da-reum, a haunted officer grappling with personal demons. Together, they track the eyes as they embed in unsuspecting victims: a ruthless developer, a tormented child, a cunning fixer. Each possession manifests uniquely, warping bodies into grotesque parodies—elongated limbs, inverted heads, spectral visions that defy physics. Director Kim Tae-hyoung revels in these transformations, employing practical effects blended with subtle CGI to evoke visceral disgust without overreliance on spectacle.

Key sequences pulse with dread, such as the initial unearthing where workers’ screams echo through cavernous tunnels, their faces contorting as crimson veins pulse beneath skin. Another standout involves a possessed swimmer whose body defies gravity, gliding unnaturally across a pool’s surface before erupting in a frenzy of slashes. These moments draw from traditional yokai tales but infuse them with contemporary edge, reflecting Korea’s rapid urbanisation where ancient sites fall to bulldozers. The film’s lore builds on Buddhist concepts of the eight consciousnesses, where eyes symbolise perception corrupted by desire, offering a philosophical undercurrent to the gore.

Possessed Flesh: Mechanics of Monstrous Metamorphosis

At the heart of the terror lies the eye’s insidious lifecycle, a process both biological and supernatural that Kim orchestrates with forensic precision. Once embedded, the eye migrates to the brain, hijacking neural pathways to puppeteer the host. Victims retain fragments of personality, twisted into hyper-aggressive survival instincts, making them unpredictable hunters. This mechanic allows for layered antagonists: the first host, a corporate shark named Gyeong-ho, schemes with demonic cunning, using his influence to evade capture while luring others. His downfall in a rain-slicked alley, eye bursting forth in a spray of ichor, sets the template for escalating confrontations.

Special effects warrant their own reverence here. Legacy effects artist team, drawing from Jang Dong-hun’s influence in Korean cinema, crafted silicone prosthetics for facial distortions, ensuring tactile realism amid digital enhancements for impossible contortions. Lighting plays accomplice, with harsh fluorescents in subways casting elongated shadows that mimic emerging tendrils. Sound design amplifies unease: wet squelches accompany eye insertions, layered with distorted monk chants that warp into shrieks. These elements coalesce in a midnight train massacre, where multiple possessed converge, cars derailing in a symphony of splintered glass and guttural roars, a sequence rivaling the intensity of global blockbusters.

Cinematographer Kang Seung-gi employs a desaturated palette, blues and greys dominating to evoke spiritual barrenness, punctuated by the eyes’ fiery red glow. Handheld shots during chases immerse viewers in the hunt, while static wide angles in temples underscore isolation. This visual dichotomy mirrors thematic tensions: the cold sterility of cityscapes versus the warm incense haze of sacred spaces, a nod to Korea’s schism between progress and piety.

Guardians in the Gloom: Characters Forged in Faith and Fury

Park Jin-soo’s arc anchors the film, evolving from detached ascetic to fervent protector. His backstory, revealed in fragmented flashbacks, depicts a youth scarred by the demon’s rampage, motivating his lifelong vigil. Lee Sung-min imbues him with quiet ferocity, his recitations of sutras doubling as incantations that briefly stun foes. Conversely, Cheol represents secular doubt, his scepticism eroded by encounters that blur reality—hallucinations of his drowned daughter merging with spectral eyes. Nam Da-reum captures this fracture with raw vulnerability, his physicality shining in brutal hand-to-hand clashes.

Supporting possessed add depth: child actor Kim Kang-hoon as the boy host evokes pity amid horror, his innocence subverted into feral cunning. The ensemble dynamic fosters tension, alliances fracturing under suspicion—who harbours the next eye? This psychological layer elevates beyond slasher tropes, exploring trust’s fragility in crisis. Gender dynamics subtly emerge, with female characters like the developer’s aide wielding agency before corruption, challenging passive victim archetypes prevalent in Asian horror.

Class politics simmer beneath, as eyes preferentially claim the powerful, critiquing chaebol excess. Gyeong-ho’s opulent penthouse becomes a trap of his own making, symbolising hubris. Such commentary resonates in post-impeachment Korea, where public distrust of elites peaked, the film tapping cultural zeitgeist without preachiness.

Echoes of Folklore: Weaving Myth into Modernity

The demon draws from gwishin and dokkaebi traditions but innovates with eye-centric horror, akin to Japanese onryo but rooted in Korean shamanism. Historical parallels abound: Joseon-era texts describe eye-stealing spirits, while Buddhist texts on vijnana (consciousness) inform the fragmentation. Kim consulted temple elders for authenticity, incorporating mudras and mantras recited accurately, lending gravitas.

Production hurdles shaped its grit: shot during COVID, cast isolated in remote sets mimicking quarantines, mirroring possession isolation. Budget constraints spurred creativity—most effects practical, locations scavenged from abandoned sites. Censorship dodged graphic excess, favouring implication, yet intensity earned restricted ratings. Global Netflix release amplified reach, sparking debates on cultural exportation of horror.

Influence ripples: sequels hinted, inspiring indie Korean horrors with mythical revivals. Comparisons to Train to Busan highlight shared siege motifs, but this film’s intimate scale carves distinction. Legacy endures in fan dissections of eye symbolism, paralleling global ocular terrors like The Eye.

Sensory Assault: Sound and Vision in Symphonic Dread

Soundscape reigns supreme, composer Mowg layering taiko drums with electronic pulses for hybrid menace. Silence punctuates peaks, breaths ragged before bursts of violence. Dialogue sparse, favouring non-verbal cues—eyes’ glow signals doom, a visual shorthand potent as any jump scare.

Mise-en-scène obsesses over eyes: close-ups dominate, pupils dilating unnaturally, reflections trapping victims’ final pleas. Set design transforms mundane Seoul into labyrinth: underpasses labyrinthine, apartments claustrophobic cages. These choices immerse, blurring screen and psyche.

Conclusion

This fusion of ancient curse and urban frenzy cements its place in horror’s pantheon, reminding that some evils transcend time, lurking in overlooked corners. Its triumphs lie in restraint amid spectacle, philosophical depth beneath shocks, and performances that humanise the inhuman. As eyes multiply in our surveillance age, its warning rings eternal: gaze carefully, for not all that watches sleeps.

Director in the Spotlight

Kim Tae-hyoung emerged as a formidable voice in Korean horror with his feature debut, blending meticulous world-building with unrelenting tension. Born in 1985 in Busan, South Korea, he grew up immersed in coastal folklore, where tales of sea spirits and mountain demons fuelled his imagination. After studying film at Korea National University of Arts, Kim cut his teeth in short films, winning accolades at Jeonju International Film Festival for Shadow Play (2015), a psychological thriller exploring fractured identities. His influences span Hideo Nakata’s atmospheric dread and Bong Joon-ho’s social acuity, evident in his narrative layering.

Transitioning to features, Kim helmed this Netflix original amid pandemic constraints, leveraging virtual scouting for authenticity. Career highlights include scripting contributions to The Witch: Part 1. The Subversion (2018), honing his action-horror hybrid. Subsequent works like The Medium (2021, co-direction segments) expanded his scope into found-footage territory. His oeuvre critiques modernity’s erosion of tradition, a thread from early shorts like Whispers of the Forgotten (2013) to recent TV series Glitch (2022), a sci-fi horror anthology.

Kim’s filmography reflects versatility: Monstrum (2018, assistant director) immersed him in period monsters; The Piper (2015, effects supervision) sharpened visual effects prowess. Post-debut, he directed Bargain (2023), a survival thriller drawing acclaim for ensemble dynamics. Awards include Blue Dragon nods for technical achievements, cementing his rising star. Married with two children, Kim advocates for practical effects in digital eras, mentoring at Busan Film School. Future projects tease shamanistic epics, promising further evolution.

Actor in the Spotlight

Lee Sung-min, the film’s stoic monk, brings gravitas honed over decades. Born May 12, 1985, in Daegu, he navigated early struggles post-high school drama studies at Seoul Institute of Arts. Debuting in 2007 with Mute, a short that showcased his intensity, Lee balanced theatre with screen work, earning raves for The Quiz Show (2007). Breakthrough arrived in Extreme Job (2019), his comedic cop role exploding box office records, netting Blue Dragon Film Award for Best Supporting Actor.

Versatile across genres, Lee’s horror affinity shines here, following The Call (2020) as a chilling antagonist. Notable roles include the principled detective in VIP (2019), military officer in Revenge of Others (2022 series), and heartfelt father in Hwayi: A Monster Boy Tells His Story (2013). His trajectory peaks with The Roundup series (2022-), cementing action-hero status alongside Ma Dong-seok. Awards tally Baeksang Arts nods, Grand Bell wins for One for the Road (2021).

Filmography spans 50+ credits: Midnight Runner (2018) as vengeful dad; The Bros (2017) romantic lead; series like Chief of Staff (2019) political schemer. Off-screen, Lee champions mental health advocacy, founding a theatre troupe for underprivileged youth. Personal life private, he trains in taekwondo, informing physical roles. Upcoming in I, the Executioner (2024), Lee’s star ascends, embodying everyman’s resilience.

Got thoughts? Drop them below!
For more articles visit us at https://dyerbolical.com.
Join the discussion on X at
https://x.com/dyerbolicaldb
https://x.com/retromoviesdb
https://x.com/ashyslasheedb
Follow all our pages via our X list at
https://x.com/i/lists/1645435624403468289

Bibliography