I’m a photographer who has always been drawn to capturing social inequality and the divides we see in society. It’s a niche within social documentary photography, a genre dedicated to exposing the discrimination and injustice embedded in our world. Through this lens, homelessness, poverty, and social outcasts are portrayed with deep compassion. This theme has inspired countless photojournalists like Cartier-Bresson, Sebastião Salgado, and Steve McCurry, and it has also been a recurring subject in cinema. Iconic films like Joker, where the protagonist battles Wall Street elites, The Wolf of Wall Street, which exposes the exploitation of the little guy, and Blood Diamond, which reveals the struggles of poor miners against wealthy dealers, all explore social inequality. Lesser-known gems like The Florida Project (2017), Roma (2018), Bicycle Thieves (1948), and Trainspotting (1996) have further fueled cultural conversations about these issues. Among these, Parasite stands out as one of the most compelling and eye-opening films to tackle social inequality in a truly unique way.
Parasite is a 132-minute South Korean thriller comedy from 2019, directed by the Bong Joon-ho, who co-wrote the screenplay with Han Jin-won. The script was adapted from a play Bong wrote in 2013 and draws inspiration from the 1960 Korean classic The Housemaid as well as the 1933 Christine and Léa Papin case, where two French sisters, working as live-in maids, murdered their employer’s wife and daughter. The film’s stunning cinematography was handled by Hong Kyung-pyo, while the editing was masterfully done by Yang Jin-mo, and the score was composed by Jung Jae-il. Parasite made history by winning the Palme d’Or at the 2019 Cannes Film Festival and the Academy Award for Best Picture at the 92nd Oscars, becoming one of only three films ever to achieve both honors. It also snagged the Golden Globe for Best Foreign Language Film, the BAFTA for Best Film Not in the English Language, and three more Oscars for Best Director, Best Original Screenplay, and Best International Feature Film. With a staggering 316 wins and 266 nominations across prestigious film festivals, Parasite has cemented its place as a modern masterpiece. It boasts an 8.5/10 rating on IMDb and a near-perfect 99% score on Rotten Tomatoes, proving its universal acclaim.
Personally, I’ve never been a huge fan of South Korean movies or TV shows. But the sheer number of awards Parasite won and the overwhelming praise from critics picked my curiosity. I watch a lot of movies, and I love to watch films that make me think, question, and leave me with something meaningful. For me, it’s not just about the story, it’s about the cinematography, the acting, the storytelling, and the score. I love movies that are visually stunning, where actors truly embody their characters, and where the music pulls me deeper into the world of the film. Going into Parasite, I had low expectations, partly because of my bias against “K-movies.” But I can honestly say this film completely changed my perspective. Parasite has earned its place among my all-time favorites, alongside Inception, The Godfather, Green Book, Scarface, Blood Diamond, and The Dark Knight. The cinematography, production design, and plot are on another level entirely. Even the title, “Gisaengchung”, which translates to “parasite” in English, perfectly encapsulates the essence of the story. It’s a film that stays with you long after the credits roll.
The Story: Spoiler Alerts!
In Bong Joon-ho’s Parasite, the Kim family, struggling to make ends meet, devises a clever plan to infiltrate the lives of the wealthy Park family. Through a series of calculated deceptions, they take over the household jobs one by one. Ki-woo, the son, starts as the English tutor for the Park daughter, followed by his sister Ki-jung posing as an art therapist for their son. Soon, their father Ki-taek becomes the family’s driver, and their mother Chung-sook replaces the long-time housekeeper. For a while, their scheme seems perfect until they uncover a shocking secret: the former housekeeper’s husband has been secretly living in a hidden bunker beneath the Park home for years. This discovery sets off a chain of chaotic events, leading to a tragic and violent confrontation. In a moment of rage and humiliation, Ki-taek kills Mr. Park, shattering the Kim family’s hopes for a better life. The film ends with Ki-taek hiding in the bunker, leaving the family’s dreams in ruins.
Best Supporting Role: Architecture and Design?
This movie masterfully uses design and architecture to highlight the complexities of class and inequality. In fact, architecture deserves a “best supporting role” award for how important it is to the story. It acts as a central character, symbolizing class division and reflecting the psychological states of the characters. The Kims’ cramped, semi-basement apartment, with its grimy walls and limited light, stands in stark contrast to the Parks’ spacious, sunlit mansion located on a hill nearby the city. This visual dichotomy powerfully underscores the economic gap between the two families. Parasite doesn’t just use architecture only for its aesthetic appeal, it harnesses its storytelling potential to the fullest. Together, the film’s visuals and narrative create a perfect study of how our built environments shape stories, both within and beyond our control. It’s worth noting that production designer Lee Ha-jun built the two central homes, the Kims’ semi-basement and the Parks’ mansion entirely from scratch for the film. Instead of relying on traditional location scouting, he crafted a bespoke architectural universe that feels as real as it is symbolic.
The film brilliantly uses design to convey class differences in a way that feels both subtle and striking. The Kims’ apartment, a semi-basement home, has windows that align with street level, constantly exposing them to the chaos of urban life passing drunks, street cleaners, and even pests. In contrast, the Parks’ mansion sits elevated above the road, with floor-to-ceiling windows framing a serene, manicured lawn. The entire property is enclosed by tall brick walls, symbolizing their insulation from the struggles of the outside world. The Kims’ semi-basement, only half underground, is a deliberate design choice by the director to reflect their psychological state of being stuck in limbo, neither fully above nor below ground. This mirrors the “psychology of inferiority” in South Korea, where rapid economic growth has left many feeling left behind. Through these architectural choices, Parasite visually captures the emotional and social divides between the classes.
In Parasite, the buildings aren’t just backdrops, they actively tell a story about money and class. The wealthy Park family lives in a sleek, immaculate home with expansive windows that showcase their pristine garden, a symbol of their privilege and detachment. Meanwhile, the struggling Kim family crammed into a cluttered, half-underground apartment, surrounded by chaos and the constant disturbance of street life. This stark contrast highlights how wealth allows the Parks to live in a bubble, oblivious to the harsh realities faced by others. They don’t even notice the hidden basement beneath their home, where a poorer family lives in secrecy, a powerful metaphor for how the rich often overlook the struggles of those beneath them. The filmmakers built both homes from scratch to emphasize how capitalism perpetuates division: the rich float above reality, while the poor are left scrambling to survive. The Kims’ desperation and the Parks’ ignorance make it clear that addressing systemic inequality isn’t about minor fixes, it’s about dismantling the old structures and rebuilding from the ground up.
Like Parasite’s director Bong Joon-ho, many filmmakers use design and architecture to create distinct worlds in their movies. Wes Anderson, for instance, is known for his well-coordinated color palettes and quirky, vintage-inspired buildings that feel both visually striking and strangely detached, giving his films a signature style. Stanley Kubrick took a similar approach in his movie “The Shining”, using details like the Overlook Hotel’s iconic hexagonal carpet to enhance the story’s eerie atmosphere. In Parasite, Bong joins this tradition of filmmaker-architects but adds a psychological layer to his sets. While Anderson’s films focus on aesthetic perfection, Bong uses color and space to explore deeper class themes, fear, and human behavior. For him, design isn’t just about looking good; it’s a tool to uncover the hidden tensions and inequalities that shape our lives.
Cinematography as a messenger of inequality
The cinematography in Parasite is a masterclass in visual storytelling, expertly highlighting the film’s themes of class inequality. Director Bong Joon-ho and cinematographer Kyung-pyo Hong use every frame to emphasize the stark divide between the wealthy Park family and the struggling Kim family. From the start, the set designs make this contrast impossible to miss. The Parks’ mansion, with its grand windows and serene garden views, exudes privilege and tranquility, symbolizing their insulated, carefree lives. On the other hand, the Kims’ semi-basement apartment, with its grimy, street-level windows, reflects their cramped existence and constant battle for survival. Lighting further amplifies this divide: the Park home is flooded with warm, natural light, creating an atmosphere of comfort and elegance, while the Kims’ space is dominated by harsh, artificial lighting that feels claustrophobic and bleak. Together, these visual choices deepen the narrative, making the gap between the two families feel not just economic, but existential.
Key elements like staircases and framing act as powerful metaphors throughout the film. Staircases visually represent the social ladder, with the Kims often seen descending after pivotal moments, symbolizing their fall in status and crushed dreams. Framing and composition also play a crucial role in storytelling. The Kims are frequently shown huddling together, emphasizing their unity and shared struggle to survive. In contrast, the Parks are often framed alone, highlighting their emotional distance and isolation from one another. These visual techniques, along with symbolic camera angles and meticulously crafted set designs, add depth to the narrative. They pull the viewer into the story while exposing the brutal realities of class inequality in a way that feels both subtle and unforgettable.
Spatial design and weather also play crucial roles in reflecting societal hierarchies. The Parks’ mansion, perched high on a hill with sweeping views of the sky and lush gardens, symbolizes their detachment from the chaos of the city and their elevated social status. In contrast, the Kims’ semi-basement apartment places them at street level, where they’re eye-to-eye with garbage and the prying eyes of strangers, highlighting their vulnerability and lack of privacy. Rain becomes another powerful visual tool, further emphasizing this divide. For the Parks, rain is gentle and almost romantic, adding charm to their garden. But for the Kims, it’s a disaster flooding their home, destroying their belongings, and turning a natural event into a devastating force that deepens their struggles. These contrasts make the gap between the two families feel not just physical, but deeply emotional and symbolic.
The use of lighting, space, and weather in Parasite doesn’t just enhance the visual storytelling it also delivers a powerful commentary on class division. The stark contrast between the Parks’ luxurious, open spaces and the Kims’ cramped, oppressive environment amplifies the inequalities in their lives. Whether it’s the harsh glare of a fluorescent bulb in the Kims’ home or the soft, natural light flooding the Parks’ mansion, every detail adds depth to the story. These elements, combined with the film’s gripping narrative, make Parasite an unforgettable exploration of inequality, ambition, and the human condition.
The Parasite!
Parasite centers on the Kims, a resourceful but impoverished family living in a cramped, damp semi-basement, and the Parks, a wealthy family residing in a pristine mansion with sweeping views of Seoul. The Kims cunningly infiltrate the Parks’ lives, posing as tutors, drivers, and housekeepers, turning the film into a high-stakes game of deception. But their carefully crafted plan falls apart when they uncover a hidden bunker beneath the mansion, where the Parks’ former housekeeper and her husband have been secretly living. This shocking twist exposes a harsh reality: in this world, everyone rich or poor is either exploiting or being exploited. The Kims’ brief taste of upward mobility ends in tragedy at a birthday party, plunging them back into poverty. Through this gripping story, Bong Joon-ho masterfully reveals how capitalism traps people in rigid roles, no matter how clever or ambitious they might be.
The film’s brilliance lies in its attention to detail. The Parks’ hilltop mansion and the Kims’ basement apartment aren’t just backdrops they’re powerful metaphors for a society rigged against the poor. Climbing the stairs to the mansion feels like ascending the social ladder, but every descent like fleeing a flooded home serves as a stark reminder of how fragile those dreams can be. Even the windows tell a story: the Parks enjoy views of their manicured garden, while the Kims are forced to watch drunks urinate outside their tiny, street-level window. A “scholar’s stone,” gifted to the Kims as a token of hope, later becomes a weapon, symbolizing how capitalism warps ambition into desperation. And when rain floods the Kims’ home but merely adds charm to the Parks’ Garden, it’s a gut-wrenching reminder that disaster always hits the poor the hardest.
Parasite doesn’t provide easy answers, it forces us to confront uncomfortable questions. Is violence inevitable when inequality goes unchecked? The Kims aren’t villains; their survivors trying to navigate a rigged system. The Parks aren’t evil, just painfully unaware, casually dismissing the “poor smell” of their employees. The film’s haunting ending, where the son dreams of rescuing his father from the bunker, is a quiet admission of defeat: the system can’t be overcome, only endured. Bong Joon-ho masterfully blends dark humor and horror to reveal how class divisions erode empathy. This isn’t just a story about the rich versus the poor, it’s a chilling exploration of how capitalism turns us all into parasites, feeding off one another just to survive.
Bong Joon-ho made Parasite to show how capitalism often fails ordinary people. We all live in the same country, under the same rules, but it’s like we’re walking on completely different bridges. In other words, even in the same society, life isn’t fair, your wealth decides your path. The film uses dark humor and gripping suspense to make us face hard truths: the poor fight to survive, while the rich stay clueless. The Kim family’s clever tricks can’t beat a system designed to keep them down, and the Parks’ privilege lets them ignore the pain they cause. Bong mixes satire and tragedy to argue that capitalism doesn’t reward hard work, it traps everyone in a cycle where no one wins. Parasite isn’t just a movie; it’s a mirror showing how unfair the world can be, depending on which side of the window you’re born into.
If you haven’t seen Parasite yet, I highly recommend watching it. It’s a masterpiece that brilliantly explores social inequality while keeping you hooked with its gripping story, stunning visuals, and powerful performances. This film is not just entertaining but also thought-provoking, leaving a lasting impression long after the credits roll…
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