Short cinema has traditionally provided young filmmakers with a space to experiment before moving into features, but in South Korea it has also developed into a particularly fertile field in its own right. Festivals such as the Busan International Short Film Festival (BISFF) continue to introduce directors who use relatively brief running times to engage directly with some of the most pressing issues in contemporary Korean society. Housing insecurity, changing gender expectations, reproductive rights, environmental awareness, generational conflict and the pressures associated with traditional masculinity all appear in recent shorts, frequently through approaches that combine social realism with more pronounced genre or visual elements.

The following five productions do not necessarily suggest a single movement or aesthetic. Instead, they illustrate the variety of subjects and approaches currently being explored by younger Korean directors, as well as the increasing technical confidence evident in the country’s short cinema.

Slaughter

Slaughter (2023)

The blights of patriarchy, which seem to be quite prevalent even today in Korean society, have been examined a number of times recently, particularly by women filmmakers, both in fiction films and documentaries. Another aspect of the issue, though, that of the burden placed on men, is seldom portrayed in the country’s cinema. YUN Do-yeong tries to fill the gap with Slaughter (2023), which takes place almost entirely in a slaughterhouse.

The story begins in a style that points toward documentary, as the camera follows a man inside the workplace. Sang-woo sits very low in the hierarchy, is repeatedly admonished for failing at relatively simple tasks and eventually finds himself expected to kill a cow with a shot to the animal’s brain. When things do not go according to plan, his inability to conform becomes another reason for those around him to consider him inadequate.

Through an approach that combines fiction with documentary and an occasional-thriller like tension, YUN makes a rather pointed comment about toxic masculinity and patriarchy. That men are still expected to be the main financial supporters of their families becomes evident from the fact that most of the people who work in the slaughterhouse are there because they have to provide for others.

At the same time, the fact that killing an animal is part of the job description and that Sang-woo is mocked and essentially considered useless for not being able to do so also points toward toxic masculinity. KIM Hong-kuk (as Sang-woo) gives a great performance, highlighting his inner struggle that he barely lets out, while Hwan Lee-ann’s cinematography finds its strongest moments when the oppressive interiors finally give way to sunlight.

Luna

The issues women have been facing in Korea have been among the most prevalent topics in the country’s independent cinema, with feminist perspectives being quite prominent in that regard. KIM Hye-jin presents another work in this canon with Luna (2023), dealing with unwanted pregnancy, abortion, work and the need for emotional support.

Luna (2023)

The short begins with a music-video-style sequence, including electronic music, rapid cuts that mirror its tempo and red colors that dominate the images. Gradually, the camera focuses on a young woman dancing before the next cut brings us to Luna babysitting a little girl. She returns to her apartment exhausted, later falls asleep during a university class and eventually realizes that her period is late. A visit to a doctor confirms her pregnancy and highlights the options available to her.

The comments KIM wants to make are quite evident. The issue of unwanted pregnancy and the difficulties women who want to have an abortion face is the central one, while the doctor sequence showcases both the problem and possible solutions. Having a good friend and someone to talk to also helps, while Luna’s employer embodies another comment, about single motherhood and the problems that trying to raise a child while having to work presents.

The feminist approach is evident throughout, reinforced by the complete absence of men, but where the filmtruly thrives is in its visuals. Nils Bouvyer, who serves as both cinematographer and editor, does a great job, with the music-video aesthetics working quite well throughout and the cuts becoming part of the narrative in a rather smart way. KIM Song-eum (as Luna) gives a very realistic performance, retaining her sense of measure in a way that anchors the whole thing effectively.

 Hide and Seek

Hide and Seek

The issue of housing in Korea has been a significant one for quite some time, with the country’s cinema frequently featuring it, particularly in independent productions. In Hide and Seek(2020), LEE Ji-yeon approaches the concept through a distinctive story by focusing on the race to find somewhere to stay for a single mother and her young son.

Jung-hye and Minchan visit an apartment shown to them by a real estate agent. When the boy lies about where they actually live, naming a luxurious apartment block, the agent immediately changes his behavior toward them. Their reality becomes evident in the next scene, when the two secretly enter one of the apartments being shown to potential tenants.

Jung-hye, not wishing to let Minchan know what is happening, has him believing they are playing a game of hide and seek. She later leaves him alone and tells him to play the same game if anyone comes. Inevitably, the owner appears.

LEE directs a story that shows the impact of Korea’s housing issue by implementing a rather dramatic approach. The narrative basis of a single mother who is also homeless and has to trick her child so that he does not realize their situation is rather impactful, even more so due to a finale that can be described as brutally pragmatic.

The tension the hide-and seek concept creates also adds significantly to the narrative, particularly during the scenes when the protagonists are on the verge of being discovered. LEE’s own editing shines in that regard, while SON Yong-woon’s cinematography mostly follows realistic paths. KIM Hyeon-jung (as Jung-hye) is quite good at presenting her struggle to appear calm and composed despite her desperation, while her chemistry with LEE Yoo-chan (as Minchan) is excellent.

Cone

What children want compared to what their parents want for them is often completely different, with the concept becoming even more intense in societies where expectations and rules play a particularly important role. YOO Ji-in focuses on the subject in Cone (2024), while also adding a comment about environmental awareness.

Seven-year-old Min-woo has two loves in life: chocolate ice cream in cones, which always results in his clothes getting dirty, and watching Pippin, his favorite television program, which has started promoting a “Reduce Waste” challenge. His parents, both of whom spend long hours away from home, admonish him for getting his clothes dirty and do not understand his passion for ecology.

Taking a sensitive and tender approach, YOO comes up with a story that seems to state that children can suffocate due to their parents’ attitudes on occasion, with much of the narrative dealing with misunderstandings resulting from the different perspectives of the two sides. YOO does not choose sides, though, and does not present the parents as villains, merely as people who do not realize that they need to take more time and focus more intently on what their child actually needs rather than on their preconceptions about it.

At the same time, the way Min-woo realizes how wasteful his parents are adds another point of focus. JEON Byeong-ju’s cinematography is competent, while YOO Ji-in and KIM Min-su’s editing results in a relatively fast pace that suits the aesthetics nicely. Even if Cone does not always communicate all of its ideas with equal precision, its focus on the clash between childhood perception and adult expectations makes it indicative of the social concerns younger filmmakers are exploring.

Buja Judo

Sports can fulfill many functions, and one of them might be to allow individuals to open up and express themselves in ways that would otherwise remain closed to them. This is one of the ideas implicitly raised in Buja Judo (2025), an insightful 13-minute documentary by KIM Yoon-yeong.

Buja Judo (2025)

The story follows a day in the life of a young Korean man who owns a dojo. A judo trainer, he has followed in the footsteps of his father, now retired and tending to a neighborhood temple. What soon emerges is the story of a shared passion and a sport that helped repair a strained father-son relationship and ultimately brought them back together.

The father spent so much time working two jobs and dedicating himself to his dojo that he ended up neglecting his own family, a theme that recurs frequently in contemporary Korean cinema. This time, however, the conclusion is a hopeful one, as the son eventually came to share his father’s devotion to judo.

Shots of the two men sparring, with intense focus but no aggression, are perhaps the documentary’s most striking. These are two men who seem too alike to communicate easily with words. Judo and teaching it became a vital bridge to mend the rift between generations. The mini-documentary is simple and effective, avoiding visual flourishes in favor of placing the camera at the service of its story and allowing its interviewees to speak for themselves.

Taken together, these five shorts demonstrate how younger Korean filmmakers are engaging with contemporary society from markedly different perspectives. Slaughter tackles masculinity and economic responsibility, Luna approaches reproductive autonomy, Hide and Seek explores housing insecurity, Cone focuses on children and environmental awareness, while Buja Judo turns toward family, work and reconciliation between generations. Their approaches differ substantially, but that variety is precisely what makes Korean short cinema such an interesting space for discovering the filmmakers and concerns that may shape the country’s cinema in the years ahead.

Written by Panos Kotzathanasis
Edited by KOFIC