Courtesy of CottonBro Studio

David A. Tizzard

The past is a foreign country. Never is this more obvious when you speak to young Korean people today. They know everything that has happened around the world (or at least on Insta) in the last 24 hours but very little of what took place a few decades ago.

"We should be proud of what our ancestors did to bring us democracy," said one student to me completely matter-of-factly. I was taken aback. Ancestors! To me, the word conjures up images of Neanderthals and other archaic humans fighting over bones and power. To my student, it was badly-dressed people of the 1980s fighting over the same thing. So actually maybe our views weren't that different after all. But if they were ancestors to her, what did that make me?

A study of vibes

And then we sat at a late night pub discussing history and politics. A question haunted me and a friend as we had both recently read a provocative book which suggested few, if any, Koreans knew the actual date on which the Republic of Korea (South Korea) began. A ludicrous suggestion, surely? The Koreans are a proud and patriotic people. They would have at least the dates right even if they were not too sure of the nuances and complexities of history. But no. The PhD candidate and the undergraduate both hemmed and hawed. Eventually the former, perhaps pressured by her position of seniority, suggested an answer: "Well maybe it must have been in the 1930s."

My friend and I looked at each other. The book was right. Go a few years back and everything disappears into a mist. Dates, events, and people become ambiguous and vague. Sometimes emotions are given rise to by picture-perfect actors on cinema screens, presenting a brilliant view of good eventually triumphing over evil which stays in people's hearts. But the movies offer no dates, no complexities, and no requirement to know anything over than that which is spoon fed. This person was bad. These people are good. As long as you know that, you don't need to know history. Emotions and vibes will get you there. And if that fails, there's always tweets.

And thus those with any degree of knowledge, those with some understanding of how things have unfolded, are put in a position of danger. Suggest there that might be some discussion on certain issues, or that certain characters might be more complicated than a blockbuster movie presents, and you open yourself up to charges of either fascism or simply being morally repugnant.

The power of movies

But what happens when you do show them a blockbuster worth seeing? I decided in the week before midterm exams to watch some movies with my university students. I had chosen them all specifically for our classes on modernity, culture, and contemporary Korea: Park Chan-wook's breathtaking "Decision to Leave," the mind-bending brilliance of "Everything Everywhere All At Once," the enigmatic ennui of Sofia Coppola's "Lost in Translation" and "The Matrix."

I had grown up watching "The Matrix" at the cinema and on DVD in smoke-filled university rooms as we talked about power, control, and the "man." It was a movie that became a genuine part of the zeitgeist with parodies and tributes appearing in everything from mainstream sitcoms to Disney animations. It's 25 years old so, of course, not one of my students had seen it. I was excited to know whether they would see the religious references, talk about Plato, or see how AI and computers were presented in a world before smartphones. Not for the first time in my life, I was very, very wrong.

"I loved the action!" "I don't normally watch science fiction but that was super cool!" and "Wow! Their clothes are awesome!" I guess this shouldn't have surprised me. The movie still looks as slick as ever and it is testament to its quality that it not only amazes people today, it also brings with it vibes that feel appealing. I didn't expect the various discussions that would arise though.

Each group, unaware that the previous group had discussed it, eventually centered on a similar question. "What would you do if you were Neo? Would you take the red pill or the blue pill?" Like much else of the movie these terms have since become part of a larger culture with internet memes and communities being characterized by either of these choices. The red pill is for the courageous, for those who see the truth. It offers a person a life-changing decision which will fundamentally alter how they see the world and how far Alice's rabbit hole goes. The blue pill, in contrast, allows the taker to remain in contented ignorance. It's a choice to not know the uncomfortable truth but instead live in blissful ignorance.

We, the hero

Of course, we imagine ourselves the hero. We are Schindler. We are Luke. We are Neo. We are the one who will take on the adventure. It's the red pill all the way. Better to be the head of a dog than the tail of a lion, said Paik Nam-joon. Give me freedom or give me death. And hold the cake!

And yet, each young Korean woman in turn, unprompted, and to my complete surprise, said that they would take the blue pill. They saw the red pill as uncomfortable, as bringing anxiety, and possible death. Things were dirty and unclean. The purity of the illusion was spoiled. Just let me live the dream. Let me embrace the fantasy, even knowing that it is a fantasy.

And then they turned to an analysis of Cypher. This character, the Judas archetype, prophesized to carry out his betrayal before the actual event, became a source of fascination for them. It was he who had made the correct choice. It was he who had gone against society and culture and taken a great risk. He had, despite the flaws of the outcome, gone boldly into the known.

And though I wanted to criticize the students, to shake them into life, embolden them with courage, I had to step back and first understand them. They wanted the fantasy even though they knew it was fake. They wanted the beauty even though they knew it was only skin deep. They wanted the steak even though it tasted of nothing. And they wanted existence even if was meaningless to those who had chosen the red pill. After all, theirs was comfortable, it was warm, and everything worked. People looked pretty and acted civilized.

I was not a 15-year old when the pandemic hit. I was an old man who believed it was a little more than a cold and wanted my mask off as soon as possible. I was not a teenager who had to witness the crushing horror of the sinking of the Sewol and the tragedy in Itaewon on Halloween which took hundreds and hundreds of young Korean lives. I was raised in a world before September 11, before the bombing of Gaza, the invasion of Ukraine, and the attacks on Israel. Red pill me, baby.

But the young Koreans weren't. They have been raised with stories about climate change killing our earth, AI taking our souls, Zombie outbreaks threatening our civilization, and old people refusing to provide houses. And so they want the blue pill. It all makes sense. The K-pop, the K-dramas, the Insta stories, the focus on positive vibes only.

Maybe blue is the new red. Maybe the ancestors just don't understand their descendants. But at least we both seem to think Keanu Reeves is kinda cool. What's that pill called?

Dr. David A. Tizzard (datizzard@swu.ac.kr) has a Ph.D. in Korean Studies and lectures at Seoul Women's University and Hanyang University. He is a social-cultural commentator and musician who has lived in Korea for nearly two decades. He is also the host of the "Korea Deconstructed" podcast, which can be found online.