In
the post-Warhol era, Sun Mu is one of the few (perhaps only) artists who shuns
the media as well as the trappings of fame. He has good reason. As a defector from
North Korea, he must be secretive, for reasons of survival. Even his professional
name is a pseudonym, meaning “no boundaries.” Despite the differences in their
circumstances and styles, it is not impossible to compare him to Ai Weiwei. It
was therefore quite a surprise when he was invited to mount a solo show in
China. Adam Sjöberg chronicles the artist’s eventful visit while scrupulously
protecting his identity in I A Sun Mu,
which screens during this year’s DOC NYC.
You
might think you know exactly where this story is headed and you will be
correct, except there is way, way more to it. Not surprisingly, Sun Mu’s work
is controversial in South Korea (he bristles at the term “pop art,” but it is
handy shorthand in this context). Through a strange chain of events, Sun Mu
befriended Chinese-Korean artist Cui Xiangi, who introduced him to Liang
Ke-gang, the curator of the Yuan Museum of Art in Beijing. Being
extraordinarily brave and maybe a bit naïve, Liang proposed a one-man
exhibition to Sun Mu. Although mindful of the considerable risks, the prestige
involved was too significant to turn down.
Thanks
to Liang’s hospitality, the early days in China were quite pleasant for Sun Mu,
his South Korean wife, and their young daughters. However, as the opening day
approaches, tension rises. In addition to the usual last minute crunch, Sun Mu
and Liang worry the Chinese government will disrupt their plans at the request
of their North Korean allies. Had the Party allowed the show to proceed, their
critics would have had to give them credit and eat crow. Unfortunately, that plate
of crow will have to wait for another day. If anything, the Chinese authorities
and North Korean enforcers exceed our expectations, in the worst way possible.
Like
a quarterback facing a ferocious pass rush, Sjöberg stays in the pocket,
capturing the ugliness of censorship and thuggery as it unfolds. That alone
gives the film scalding power. However, Sjöberg also fully explores the
implications of Sun Mu’s life and art. In many ways, he is one of the luckier
defectors, who has been able to de-program his “brainwashing,” start a loving
family, and build an impressive career. His stories of life in the DPRK are
absolutely harrowing, but his exile also comes with deep sadness. Yet, he has
no nostalgia for the Kim Dynasty, whom he explicitly blames for the North
Koreans’ suffering.
Throughout
the film, Sjöberg films Sun Mu from behind or obscured by shadows, which might
sound distractingly awkward, but actually gives the film a distinctively noir
vibe. He truly immerses viewers in Sun Mu’s work, which Ryan Wehner literally
brings to life through elegant animated sequences. As a result, even though we
never see Sun Mu directly, the audience will feel they intimately understand
the artist.
