Film shows a refreshing drama-like style

What if you have a dark secret you don't want disclosed and somebody else wants to exploit your vulnerability? "The Customer is Always Right" (Sonnimeun Wang-ida) is an intriguing fable about such a situation where inevitably, main characters collide with each other.

The story begins in an extremely clean, well-lit barbershop. Ahn Chang-jin (Seong Ji-roo) is the proud owner and self-taught professional. He does not spare money to purchase the best scissors and hair-cutting equipment; he cleans the white-colored shop every day as if no dust is allowed to step into the sacred place; he plays only classical music for his respectable, high-brow customers.

The reality, however, is that Ahn's barbershop is one of many obscure places in the equally plain back streets of Seoul. It's nowhere near the upscale district, but Ahn's peculiar obsession with the best equipment, high-brow taste, and the extreme cleanliness is entertaining.

Furthermore, he has a beautiful wife named Jeon Yeon-ok (Seong Hyeon-ah) whom he deeply cares for. Unfortunately, she's a seductive insurance saleswoman, and often sleeps with men including her "clients", though she insists her job title is "life planner".

The unlikely duo, coupled with the strange atmosphere of the barbershop, creates a unique dramatic effect. The audiences are likely to feel that they are watching a serious drama rather than a film - and rightly so.

Indeed, something that can be billed as a crucial development in a play does happen. One day, a middle-aged man (Myeong Kye-nam) wearing dark sunglasses visits Ahn's place and throws a lethal blow to his peaceful mind.

Not that peaceful of a mind, actually. Ahn has a dark past concerning a fruitless sex-for-money affair with a minor. But the mysterious man's threat is not the shameful past but something else, though it's tightly related to the original sin.

The mysterious man's name is Kim Yang-gil, and his demand is quite simple. Ahn has to pay the man a small sum of money on the first day, but the amount of the money will exactly double on the next barbershop visit.

Kim diligently visits the barbershop, getting his face and hair tidied up and collecting the fast-growing money. Ahn is more than desperate to secure the money. He doesn't want to lose his reputation or his job. Moreover, he doesn't want to lose his beautiful wife for his shameful mistake.

But the not-that-rich barbershop cannot get the necessary money because the double-the-amount formula is painfully difficult to follow. Facing a life-or-death crisis, Ahn ventures out to mount a counterattack. He hires a man to spy on Kim and dig into his past, background or whatever else that might yield useful information to fight back with.

The mission goes in the least expected direction and the identify of Kim is equally unexpected. Life, death, reputation and a beautiful wife are entwined with each other, forcing Ahn to make a decision - a moment that can fix every problem right away.

The drama-like film relies on the refreshing element of a mysterious threat. But what's more interesting is the symbolic images interspersed throughout the film. The barbershop, for instance, is highly symbolic. It's clean and well-organized. Customers, who are always right, are treated gracefully and their image naturally gets better after Ahn's refined hair-cutting sessions.

The barbershop's image as a place where people change has another dimension. In fact, it's a very dangerous place. As with other barbershops, it's easy to pick up highly dangerous weapons, which are usually classified as innocent hair-cutting equipment. On the surface, it's a peaceful place, but beneath the seemingly plain facade, something sinister is going on - always.

The film, the directorial debut of Oh Ki-hyeon, is an adaptation of a short story by Japanese mystery novelist Kyotaro Nishimura. For some reason, the director has incorporated actor Myeong's real-life story into the plot, mixing fiction and reality in a way that is supposed to evoke some sympathy. But the move seems to have compromised the movie's otherwise unique style.

One of other unresolved mysteries is the role of Jeon. She is depicted as a woman who often falls victim to men's desires, but her innermost feelings are strangely missing in the movie, even though the audiences are given too generous explanations about the detailed emotions of other main, male characters. Perhaps, the director cannot be always right.

By Yang Sung-jin