Iron 3

Young Tae Suk rides around the city on his motorbike, stopping to attach flyers to the front doors of varying neighbourhoods' homes. He returns a couple of days later. If a flyer is unclaimed, this means the owner is away. Tae-Suk breaks in and makes himself very much at home but our silent, enigmatic anti-hero is not here to rob and does not distinguish between the residences of the rich or the housing estates of the poor. He mends clocks and stereos, skilfully prepares a meal, takes a long bath, stone-washes the owners' clothes, photographs himself in front of the family portraits and practices his golf swing. We catch a nod to Wim Wenders' "Wings of Desire as the good intruder remains for a number of hours, bringing order where once there was chaos and if the owners return all of a sudden, Tae-Suk quickly makes himself scarce.

We are at a loss to understand our protagonist's motives. Is he fixated on others' lives or an orphan in search of domestic and familial harmony? Is he indeed real, a flight of fantasy or a kindly spirit?

On one trip, Tae-Suk encounters a beautiful, fragile model who has been beaten by her odious and controlling husband. Tae-Suk teaches the wife-beater a stinging golf lesson and the girl leaves with him, accompanying him on his housing adventures. Our unworldly angel falls in love. Things take a turn for the worse when, during one of their visits, the lovers make a sad discovery. Incarcerated and unforgotten by the cuckolded husband, Tae-Suk explores his inner depths and Zen-like ability to detach his body from his immediate surroundings, highlighting and sending up the corruption and harsh treatment of the police, the state prison system and their vicious guards.

Finding himself once again on the outside, Tae-Suk pops in to check up on his former hosts. Has the good ghost turned malign? We are invited to consider if he is indeed alive or simply weightless and in absolute control of his physical presence that he renders himself visible only to those he wishes to be seen by.

South Korea's masterful Kim Ki-Duk's, director of "Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter ¦..and Spring again, has brought us a slow, engaging meditation on love and revenge, the search for inner calm and a commonly experienced sensation: that whether we are alone or in company we may feel that we are being observed, protected or kept company by a force we cannot begin to rationalise.