Last month’s ‘surprise’ award for quality goes to the Korean Film Festival. Who’d have thought this community could mount a product so redolent of Shakespeare in depth and scope. The movie in question was King and the Clown (2005), directed by Lee Joon-ik. The King was Yeonsan-gun, who reigned from 1494 to 1506, providing little more than tyranny, if his enemies are to be believed. His father and educated officials were responsible for the murder of his mother, and Yeonsan dared to break tradition and exact revenge (First Literati Purge). A second cycle of revenge gave rise, say historians, to popular mockery of the King, though it’s not clear that the literati weren’t behind it all. Yeonsan responded by banning the script in which anti-monarch posters were written, the script (hangul) which is now used throughout Korea. He closed the national university and – the better to feed his passion – ordered that Korea be trawled for all the attractive women and horses his soldiers could find. Rebellion followed and Yeonsan was toppled. Are we to believe that Yeonsan was as powerful, idiotic and vicious as he is portrayed, or was he a hapless fool manipulated by others? The film, of course, is something else entirely. Lee shows us the Court through the eyes of a troupe of clowns. The troupe lives from hand to mouth. They are talented, apolitical and naïve representatives of the boisterous and good-natured common man. Yeonsan becomes gradually drawn to a clown whose ambiguous sexuality can’t be accidental. ‘Drawn’ means attracted by his/her puppetry and intelligence as well as appearance. The clown is natural as distinct from the classically presented women who populate the Court. The relationship breaks the class barriers, but it also casts the lead clown into despair because he fears that the King has forced his colleague into sexual servitude. The King, meanwhile, has dismissed one corrupt clerk and tortured another pour encourager les autres. The remaining clerks fear for their privileges and rouse dissent (in which circles isn’t clear), which gives rise to revolution and restoration of ethical rule. The lead clown has been blinded, but is reunited with his colleague in a playful apotheosis. All’s well that ends well, in a sense. We don’t see the physical torments, but rather we marvel at the fun of the clowns, enjoy the spectacle of opulent royal living, see justice triumph (perhaps) and gnaw on the bone of the limits of arbitrary power. The acting is a joy to behold, and the camera-work divine. Of course, the story doesn’t hang together. The personalities aren’t realistic by today’s standards and too much depends on audience knowledge of the central legend. But even without prior knowledge, or perhaps especially without such understanding, this is a must see Shakespearean romp like MacBeth with a different Lady and without the witches.