Hur Jin-ho Asks Us What Kind of Person We Are in “A Normal Family”

How far would a parent go to protect their child after their child has committed a horrific crime? South Korean director Hur Jin-ho explores this moral conundrum in “A Normal Family,” the most recent movie based on Dutch author Herman Koch’s bestselling novel “The Dinner.” 

In this adaptation, we follow the families of two brothers: pragmatic criminal defense lawyer Jae-wan (Sul Kyung-gu) and his younger brother Jae-gyu (Jang Dong-gun), a principled pediatrician. When Jae-gyu’s wife Yeon-kyung (Kim Hee-ae) catches a viral video of CCTV footage showing teenagers beating a homeless man to death, she discovers that the teens are actually her son Si-ho and her niece Hye-yoon. 

At the same time, Hye-yoon arrives at Jae-wan’s office to confess to her father that she was with Si-ho and asks for his advice as an attorney. Though Jae-gyu initially wants to turn Si-ho into the police, Yeon-kyung and Jae-wan vehemently disagree. As the film progresses, long-simmering tensions between the brothers, wives, and cousins explode as they confront an unthinkable situation. 

I spoke with Hur about class privilege, adapting the novel to South Korea, and if he intended for there to be a “right answer,” or if he was more interested in the debate itself. A translator was used during this interview to ensure accurate communication and capture the full depth of the conversation.

How Far Would You Go to Protect Your Kids? 

Superbly acted and directed, the film asks viewers to interrogate themselves and their own morals. How quickly would our principles erode when our children are at stake?

The husband and wife Jae-gyu and Yeon-kyung are presented as upstanding citizens, giving back to their communities. Jae-gyu is a respected pediatrician who acts with utmost integrity at the hospital. Yeon-kyung is a freelance translator for a charity and takes care of her ailing mother-in-law along with their teenage son.

However, when Yeon-kyung realizes her son Si-ho is one of the murderers, her first instinct is to cover it up for him. She tries to justify her actions to her husband by saying, “You saved the lives of so many children, we did so many good deeds.” But when Jae-gyu insists on turning their son into the police, she threatens to kill him if he ever suggests such a thing again.

When I asked if Hur wanted viewers to consider a particular perspective when parental love is depicted in direct conflict with societal responsibility, the director shed further light on the main characters. 

In the case of Jae-gyu and Yeon-kyung, the director explained how “[Jae-gyu’s] love for his child is almost like a maternal instinct, where he wants to protect his child with a pure heart — just genuinely do any means to protect his child. Also, his wife is portrayed in that way as well.” 

This kind of love is contrasted by the older brother, Jae-wan. “He’s a lot more coldhearted and a lot more cutthroat with his decisions. That’s not to say that he’s not taking care of his child,” Hur said. “He’s using all his resources and his advantages in his socioeconomic status to present the best situation and outcome for the child. So I think really seeing this dynamic between the two brothers and how they can differ so much, that’s another big theme that I wanted to portray in this film as well.”

The Duality of Humanity: Our Hidden Darkness

Over the course of the movie, the brothers betray their own sense of morals and boundaries — perhaps surprising themselves in the process. However, the women of the film, Yeon-kyung and Jae-wan’s second wife Ji-su (Claudia Kim), never stray far from their initial convictions. 

Though we might despise, judge, or even hate all the characters, we cannot help but empathize with them — even as they make truly terrible choices. 

In one moment, we see Yeon-kyung caring for her mother-in-law, enduring verbal and physical abuse. In another, she’s washing the blood out of her son’s clothes. We see Jae-wan defending a deplorable client accused of a hit and run, and we see how he’s a doting, trusted, and loving father to his teenage daughter Hye-yoon. 

Si-ho is a loser, academically insufficient, constantly bullied by his classmates, and is full of rage at these circumstances. His older cousin Hye-yoon often defends Si-ho from his classmates, tutors him, takes care of her baby sister, all while dealing with her new stepmother and trying to get into a top university.

All the parents and children are incredibly human, and viewers are given the space to feel the discomfort of our moral high ground. The film reminds us that we truly don’t know how we’ll react — or how flexible our principles are or aren’t — until we’re in the thick of things. 

Hur shared how when he was developing the film, he presented Jae-gyu “in a very pure and soft way, where he’s very content with his life. He’s confident in his occupation, his work and his family.” Conversely, Jae-wan will “do anything for his personal benefit, whether it’s right or wrong.”

“This is what we see on the outside of these people, but taking a deeper look, definitely, I thought that there was an internal side to them where it has a very different side of them,” said the director, adding that “it shows the duality of these individuals.” As a result, there is a dynamic shift within them, which “leads them to extremes in the end.” 

Distinctly South Korean: Dealing With Class Privilege, Entitlement, and Education

Since its publication, the original novel has been adapted into movies in multiple countries, with South Korea being the fourth and latest. Though themes of morality, entitlement, class, and parental love are similar across nations and cultures, they aren’t exactly the same. 

To specifically reflect Korean social dynamics, the director said he was inspired by addressing “the Korean education issue, which is a very big issue right now in our country.” He explained how not only is education competitive but “students are only focused on solely getting into a prestigious university or college, and this also leads to less communication between the parents, and just generally, getting farther and farther away from your parents.”

For example, Si-ho shuts his mother out, skipping tutoring classes and attending parties with his cousin Hye-yoon. Though Yeon-kyung tries her best to support his education and is a very involved parent, it’s clear Si-ho has checked out and is teeming with anger and despair. Hye-yoon, too, though very hardworking, is mostly concerned about if her involvement with Si-ho killing the homeless man will affect her chances of attending a prestigious Western university. 

Hur also mentioned wanting to include “the socioeconomic gap that is prevalent in Korea between the rich and the poor,” adding that it was a very big issue in Korea at the moment. 

Beyond the lengths to which parents might go to shield their children from negative consequences, the extensive ability of the protagonists to do so is rooted in money and class privilege. It is absolutely clear that it is their access and proximity to top-notch legal representation and the upper echelons of society that insulate their families, allowing them to literally get away with murder. 

After all, it’s not only the children who act entitled. 

Not only is Jae-wan a top-notch lawyer, capable of providing the best legal advice and influence with the police and justice system, but the two families are extremely wealthy. Jae-gyu and Yeon-kyung actively give back to their community and are highly esteemed because of their work.

“I think because of this and the fact that her husband has provided so much community service as a doctor, we’re able to see how [Yeon-kyung] takes it in when her child is faced with a similar disadvantageous situation, she almost feels like she’s owed something in that sense,” the director told me. “Those were the parts that I tried to emphasize to really show that privilege that the upper class had.”

What Is Normal, Anyway?

Though the title of the family is “A Normal Family,” it is evident that none of the characters are considered normal. Not only are they set apart by their wealth and education, this crisis is an extreme circumstance.

“We portrayed them in a very special situation. They’re in a very unique situation. They’re very privileged, and they have their own lives going on,” Hur said of the brothers and Yeon-kyung. 

This film is deeply uncomfortable. Though the story is presented almost neutrally, there is no way for the viewer to actually remain neutral. At every turning point, we are forced to ask ourselves if we would behave any differently. Are we craven or are we courageous? What is the best way to love our children — and can this love turn us into people we can’t stomach? 

Hur told me that instead of a clear answer to the question of whether something was right or wrong, he chose to ask different questions. “What decisions could I make in that situation? … Who am I? Or what kind of person am I? … What would my decision be, or what decision would I make for the best for the child?” 

Let us hope that we never have to find out.

“A Normal Family” is showing in select theaters starting April 25.