Parasite: The Most Beautifully Uncomfortable Masterpiece
When you first watch the movie Parasite, it is easy to see it as a scathing commentary solely on socioeconomic class divisions, but think about it more, and a more profound meaning emerges. Parasite is a story about how systemic inequities in South Korea shape, constrain, and manipulate choices. It forces us to consider whether some choices are even choices at all, or if they are the illusions of agency in unequal systems.
Every event in the film unfolds the way it does because of a choice that someone makes, many times seemingly small and inconsequential. But their choices do not exist in a vacuum. They pile up, coincide, interact, and detonate at the end. Director Bong Joon-ho does not tell us this blatantly; he makes us feel it through deeper meanings. Unlike other films that drive a linear plot, Bong uses choices to portray a story of causality. The contrast between the two families in this film—the Parks and the Kims—creates a ground to dissect choices, their motives, and their fallout.
Let's rewind all the way to the beginning, the first choice made. The Kim family, who is scrappy yet resourceful, is given an opportunity when Ki-woo, the Kim family’s son, has a friend who presents him an offer to tutor the daughter in an affluent family, the Parks. The first choice—should Ki-woo take the offer, even though he lacks credentials? Regardless, he forges his way in, literally with a fake diploma. Maybe it was a harmless lie. A necessary one? Perhaps. But even from the start, Parasite asks us the question: does one dishonest choice open up the door for more?
Well, Ki-woo doesn’t just stop at landing the job for himself, as he uses his foot in the door to bring his sister Ki-jung into the Park household as an ‘art therapist.’ Yes, an ‘art therapist’. Because every rich family needs one, right? Since in the Park household, a pretentious child's scribbles require professional analysis. It is not just Ki-jung making the choice to fabricate her credentials, the Parks make the choice to believe her, trusting that a stranger can “fix” their son with some Crayola markers and verbal jargon. “The use of red here suggests trauma,” she says, with confidence, knowing that the oblivious Parks will not ask any questions (Bong 2019). The brilliance of this choice in the movie is not just in its absurdity, it is in how the Parks simply go along with it. After all, their wealth serves as the insulation of their naivety. The Parks’ privilege shows how the wealthy can outsource their problems without looking closely at the solutions it offers. However, it is important to understand that the Kims’ choices are not villainous. They are practical. They come from desperation. This is where Parasite finds its true meaning: it makes us grapple with the morality of choices like these. Would you, if your family, like the Kims, who were folding pizza boxes for spare change, say no to an opportunity like this? Is this even a choice if the alternative is starvation? The Kims are only trying to survive in a system that is constantly against them, making their choices (or ‘non-choices’) feel not only understandable, but almost inevitable.
The turning point in the film comes when the Kim family, now all working for the Park household, discovers the former housekeeper’s husband hiding in the Park’s basement. He too is a man who has made his own desperate choice to live in hiding, quite literally underground for years. This discovery forces us, as viewers, to zoom out of just the choices that the Kims make. Now suddenly, the Kims’ elaborate scheme does not seem all that clever and the choice to keep this secret, or to exploit it, is the moment the movie's tension catapults.
The best part about Parasite is how it shows that choices made under the right circumstances, good intentions, or practical reasoning, can clash with the choices of others, often unexpectedly. In this scene, the Kims’ decision to infiltrate the Park family directly coincides with the ex-housekeeper’s decision to protect her husband. No decision in this story stands alone, they build on each other constantly.
As we reach the famed birthday party scene, the accumulation of these choices come crashing down. The Kims’ facade is laid bare in the chaos of violence and exposed lies. Note, however, that the Parks remain unscathed, while the Kims and housekeeper’s family bear the brunt of the fallout. In this cyclical tension, where poverty feeds on itself, is where the title, Parasite, finds its most poignant meaning. Parasites thrive when they feed relentlessly off of a host, but can we even blame the parasite when survival is its only goal?
Parasite asks us to look at our own choices. How do our decisions fit into the systems we navigate? Do we, like the Kims, make choices out of survival and necessity without thinking it through? Do we, like the Parks, float above everyone, ignorant to how our privilege saves us from the fallout? Or, do we, like the ex-housekeeper, make choices driven out of loyalty and desperation?
Bong Joon-ho does not give us the easy answer to this question. But, what he does tell us is that choices compound, and if we are not careful, they might blow over in ways that we can no longer control. The Kims' intention was never to hurt anyone, but that did not matter; their choices, no matter how justifiable, led to tragedy.
Parasite is not the easiest watch. Its tension lingers with you for months after the credits roll, and makes you question the morality of choices we make every day. Even two years after watching the movie for the first time, the impact of the movie has not faded from my life. Parasite was the first thing I wanted to write about– it is the one story that refuses to let you go, very much like the choices that haunt the Kim family. The ending of this movie is why Parasite resonates with so many. After the birthday scene, Ki-taek, the Kim family’s father, makes a choice to hide in the basement to avoid facing the authorities. This conclusion once again asks us the question: Was this even a choice? Or the only option left? When you strip away everything you worked for, what else is there but to disappear? Ki-taek is forced underground, his existence stays invisible yet entirely shaped by the Parks’ privilege.
The Parks are not at all innocent. Privilege allows them to live a life so detached that they could never recognize the humanity in those who serve them. They accept fabricated credentials without question, and enjoy their lavish parties while the world burns (literally) around them. But, in a way, they are victims of the same system as the Parks. Their inability to see beyond privilege stems from the same systematic structures that forcefully keep the Kims out. The Kims and Parks might not be opposites after all—they are two ends of the same coin, trapped in a system that pits them against each other. In the end, the system wins. Inequality, like a parasite, thrives in a cycle that cannot be eradicated. Poverty clings, adapts, and grows, feeding on its host until there is nothing left.
Watching this movie, I couldn’t help but think about my own life. Am I more like the Kims or the Parks? Honestly, I see parts of myself in both. Like the Parks, I have lived a life of comfort and privilege, protected from most of the harsh realities of the world. Especially in the bubble of Singapore, my choices have more often been luxuries than necessities. But I can’t ignore the part of me that empathizes with the Kim family– their desperation to succeed, the pressure they face, and the determination to make it all work no matter the odds against them. This is why Parasite feels so personal to many. It forces privileged viewers like myself to look at the absurdity of poverty, which turns the most ridiculous decisions into acts of survival. Would I lie my way into a top college if it gave me a chance at my future? I don’t know. But what Parasite makes completely clear is that these choices aren’t vacuumed—they are shaped by the system and weight of inequality.
Bong Joon-ho pushes us to grapple with the power of choice—not just the big ones, but small ones too. He reminds us that while we might feel in control, the choices we make have ripple effects. And, although the choices we make seem straightforward, Parasite reminds us that there is always someone in the basement. There is always someone whose unseen choices can change our outcomes. So, ask yourself: will your choice be the choice that starts the dominos falling? And, if at all, will you be ready when they do?
References
Bong Joon-ho, director. Parasite. 2019; Curzon Artificial Eye, 2020. 2 hr., 11 min. Blu-ray Disc, 1080p HD.