Tae-suk, the hero of Ki-duk Kim's remarkable film "3-Iron" has a strange air of quiet, contemplative contentment. A beautiful young man with a shiny new motorcycle, he does not participate in the ordinary hustle and bustle of contemporary life. Instead, he methodically goes from door to door of stranger's homes, putting flyers in the keyholes, and then, later, breaks into the homes where the flyer has not been removed. He exists peacefully in the shadow of other people's lives, cooking himself simple meals, taking long baths, and watching television. He sleeps soundly in the master bedroom.

A scene from Ki-duk Kim's mesmerizing film "3 Iron."
Sun-hwa is clearly in need of healing, and Tae-Suk is a fine caretaker. He dresses his prodigy in innocent, child -like pink. He cuts her hair, and prepares her food. But before long, we discover that Tae-suk is not nearly the carefree man he first appeared to be. His attachment to a 3-Iron golf club he removes from Sun-hwa's home is a clear indicator. First he uses this club to smash tennis balls into the sunken chest of his lover's detested husband. Later, he rigs a golf ball to a wire, and hits the ball round and around a tree. Never before has the golf stroke revealed itself to be an act of unadulterated hate and violence.
The most amazing aspect of Ki-duk Kim's film is that neither of the stars talk. They fall in together, fall in love wordlessly, and it absolutely works. Never does this unusual plot device ring false-- perhaps because other characters do, in fact, converse: the true inhabitants of the apartments and houses that are broken into, the police who are called in to investigate. Tae-Kuk and Sun-hwa's faces are so expressive, their gestures perfect, their performance so flawless that the absence of talk almost seems to prove the richness of their love. When Sun-hwa finally speaks, her words do not disappoint. "3-Iron" mesmerizes.



