Night in Paradise is a crime (melo)drama by Park Hoon-jung — the screenwriter behind such acclaimed Korean films as I Saw the Devil and New World (the latter of which he also directed). The film was released on Netflix in 2021.

At its core, this is another revenge story — but with a melodramatic twist. It follows a gangster named Tae-gu, who is forced to lie low on Jeju Island, a scenic spot in the middle of the South Sea. There, he meets Jae-yeon, a young woman who, like him, has lost interest in life — and something resembling a quiet connection begins to form between them.

The sentimentality and slow pacing typical of Park Hoon-jung’s style — interrupted only occasionally by bursts of raw, hyperrealistic violence (as is often the case in Korean cinema) — make Night in Paradise reminiscent of Hana-bi by Takeshi Kitano. That said, Park handles action sequences far more confidently than the melodramatic parts, which often feel slightly forced — from the circumstances of Jae-yeon’s personal loss that bring her and Tae-gu together, to the painfully awkward flirtation between the two.

And yet, Park doesn’t follow the usual genre conventions. He develops the characters’ relationship without relying on physical intimacy, favoring nonverbal expression instead. As a result, the film is filled with meaningful silences set against breathtaking landscapes — the kind of place where one might quietly reflect on a life nearing its end.

Warning: spoilers ahead!

A hitman sent by his boss to lie low in a quiet — and strikingly beautiful — place is something we’ve seen before in In Bruges, Martin McDonagh’s crime drama. In that film, Colin Farrell’s character, Ray, is a “lost soul” — a contract killer tormented by inner conflict. He finds himself in a stunning city, yet is unable to enjoy its beauty, because deep down he knows he doesn’t deserve it.

Something similar happens in Night in Paradise — hence the film’s title. After the presumed assassination of a mafia boss, Tae-gu is sent to Jeju Island — the jewel of South Korea, often called the “Korean Hawaii.” But he has no interest in the island’s beauty. His mind is consumed with thoughts of his sister and young niece, who died because of him. And, just like in In Bruges, the protagonist is ultimately betrayed by his own boss.

To depict Tae-gu’s journey through the stages of grief, Park Hoon-jung uses a recurring visual device: filming the protagonist from behind. This angle not only conveys a sense of isolation, but also reflects the character’s silent, repressed emotional state.

We can infer which stage Tae-gu is in by examining the content of the scene and certain visual cues — such as a tattoo or the presence of rain.

The seaside scene where Tae-gu and Jae-yeon stand at the water’s edge is a clear visual nod to Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door. Coincidence or not, both Tae-gu and Til Schweiger’s character — seated on the sand in a similar frame — are the first to die.

Tae-gu even cracks a grim joke about it, calling Jae-yeon a “kid” who, as expected, will die second.

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