By Steve Erickson

No Other Choice’s South Korea looks as if it is steadily transforming into a home more fit for robots — manning the sawmills of capitalism — than humans.

No Other Choice, directed by Park Chan-wook. Screening at Coolidge Corner Theatre and AMC Theatres.

Man-su (Lee Byung-hyun) holds a potential murder weapon in a scene from No Other Choice.

No Other Choice starts out with a family whose lives look so idyllic that the filmmaker’s sarcasm can’t help but poke through. A married couple, their two children, and two dogs are gathered outside their two-story house on a beautiful day. The sun shines brightly; the grass could not be any greener. A camera movement reveals that the Mozart composition we hear playing on the soundtrack is being performed, live, on cello by the family’s daughter. (The music was used in Amadeus.) At the film’s end, the narrative returns to similar images, but this time around winter is in the offing. A storm drenches the family. The darkness of the cinematography reflects the hellish year they’ve gone through over the course of No Other Choice.

When Man-su (Lee Byung-hyun) is fired from his well-rewarded job at a paper mill, he tells his wife Mi-ri (Son Ye-jin) he’ll find a new one within three months. He can’t and they fail to keep up with their mortgage payments. Their daughter Ri-one is a musician who’s so gifted she requires a $50,000 cello to fully develop her skills — but that’s out of the question. Mi-ri takes a job as a dental receptionist. Man-su looks for work with another paper manufacturer, but he fails the job interview. In his shame, he considers killing the company’s manager by throwing a potted pepper plant from the roof of the building on his head. Instead, he decides to murder the manager and his two competitors for the job more gradually, by tracking them down in their homes.

Based on The Axe, a 1997 novel by Donald Westlake, Park’s No Other Choice is the second film adaptation of the material. Greek-French director Costa-Gavras had a go at the book in 2005. The gray morality of Park’s version resonates more closely with Westlake’s mordant farce. Man-su isn’t really an antihero so much as a harbinger of the rage of dethroned entitlement. Before his firing, Man-su lived a very privileged existence; he had every expectation he would be able to do so for the rest of his life. Once he loses his position, Man-su despairs of being able to regain his high position in corporate life. If his actions signify rebellion against the injustices of corporate capitalism, they also underline that he is incapable of transcending its evils. Long before he was fired, we learn that Man-su was an extremely flawed man: an alcoholic, he abused his stepson, whom he began to raise when the boy was two. As No Other Choice proceeds, he returns to drinking and smoking. Once he has lost his comfy station in life, any return to happy family life would seem likely to be very short. And Man-su can look for no solace from his wife, who is trying to survive downward mobility herself.

That said, Man-su does act out of a recognition that his employer’s profits come from creating a material product that he respects. He values the craft that goes into making paper — as well as the 25 years he’s spent working for the company. He is blindsided by the fact that the higher-ups don’t give a damn about what they produce or about him. Without addressing AI directly, No Other Choice dramatizes how modern corporate culture is dedicated to alienating workers from valuing themselves and what they do with their lives. The chilling ending — in which we see humanity all but removed from factory work — suggests a depressing future of mass unemployment.

Park’s direction may stick to a clean look, but his satiric impulses lean towards messy slapstick and cartoonish broadness, which become wearying over the course of a 137-minute film. (There’s even a shot from a dog’s point of view.) Still, when the humor turns dark it is damned effective, particularly in the story’s bravura ending. If No Other Choice is part of what could be called a contemporary ‘cinema of cruelty” (Park has been contributing to the genre since the early 2000s), the director recognizes that perverse wit makes disgust go down more smoothly. Startling editing choices slice away barriers between contrasting spaces: one cut whisks us from a murder to a boy lying in bed. The film is full of extreme close-ups — some rather grotesque.

One of the key symbols in No Other Choice is the sun. (The name of Man-su’s employer Solar Paper.) During Man-su’s job interview, its light threatens to blind him. No matter where he positions himself, he can’t see all four of the men speaking to him directly. When the sun shines on him, its spotlight doubles his unease. In Park’s vision, the brightness of the opening scene is somewhat malevolent — sunlight may not be the best disinfectant.

Trees, the source of paper, rather than light, become increasingly important to Man-su during the course of the film. He lives in a house built of wood. Capitalism offers him “no other choice” but to cut down trees and turn them into a consumer product (while also cutting down the number of people who profit from this destruction.) As Man-su drives around, he’s surrounded by trucks that are carting lumber away, huge vehicles that dwarf his own car. In the distance, lines of smoke billow out of factories, representing a new type of “forest.” (The credit sequence points out, sardonically, that Westlake’s book exists because of this manufacturing.) No Other Choice’s South Korea looks as if it is steadily transforming into a home more fit for robots — manning the sawmills of capitalism — than humans.

Steve Erickson writes about film and music for Gay City News, Slant Magazine, the Nashville Scene, Trouser Press, and other outlets. He also produces electronic music under the tag callinamagician. His latest album, Bells and Whistles, was released in January 2024, and is available to stream here. He presents a biweekly freeform radio show, Radio Not Radio, featuring an eclectic selection of music from around the world.