Sunlight streaks into a low beige room, where rumpled socks hang from the ceiling as Kim Ki-woo learns that his family’s free WiFi hookup has been locked with a password. Bouncy pianos and bells lend a playful air to the discovery. This is our first taste of Bong Joon-ho’s Parasite, a stark, genre-blending satirical film that paints a harrowing picture of class divide through the impoverished Kim family’s attempt to infiltrate a wealthy household. Composer Jung Jae-il’s score strikes a delicate balance between gentleness and severity, creating unexpected musical contrasts that evoke a constant sense of uncertainty.
Jung previously scored Bong’s 2017 drama Okja, providing a bustling backdrop to the story of a girl’s quest to save her beloved companion animal from the clutches of a greedy corporation. Both films spotlight the inequities of capitalism, but with the Parasite soundtrack, Jung emphasizes disparate styles. As the film’s chaotic trajectory gets underway, the sense of hope from “Opening” soon dwindles. Juxtaposing exultant orchestral passages with gloomy piano ballads and rich melodies with spine-tingling violin glissandi, Jung uses sinister sounds to hint at what lies beneath the characters’ superficial appearances. As the score proceeds from lighthearted early pieces like “Mr. Yoon and Park” to the horror-movie pandemonium of “The Hellgate,” sly humor gives way to discord.
The early stretches of the score feel too sparse without their accompanying visuals, more texture than melody. “Conciliation I” lacks forward motion; the heavy pizzicato of “Plum Juice” serves little dramatic purpose on its own. But with “The Belt of Faith,” a lavish suite that alternates between grand orchestral statements and solos, the score finds its voice. A baroque-sounding theme recalls Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, building towards a melodramatic climax. Immediately the score shifts to a moody piano ballad, “Moon Gwang Left,” sinking back into a darker reality.
Contrasting styles inch into closer proximity as catastrophe looms. “The Frontal Lobe of Ki Taek” first appears placid, but its ominous blend of piano and strings shivers with nervous energy. “It Is Sunday Morning” presents a nostalgic vocal melody with a powerful sense of irony, until strings enter with alarming dissonance. With “Blood and Sword,” the music at last succumbs to fear. A pained cello melody echoes over a drone, while strings accompany with searing tone clusters reminiscent of Penderecki and prickling col legno as the Kim family meets tragedy.
As the credits roll, we get one final glimpse into the daily life of Ki-woo. On “Soju One Glass,” actor Choi Woo-shik sings lyrics—written by Bong—that describe his character’s daily struggle. Cheery acoustic strums and an arena-ready electric guitar solo lighten the mood as he describes his unfortunate circumstances. It could be considered a musical mismatch—but it’s merely one final reminder of the way relentless positivity has a tendency of giving way to blunt reality. Like the plot of Bong’s film, the twists and turns of Jung’s score turn out to be circular path back to an uncannily familiar place.
Buy: Rough Trade
