Upon the death of her father, who has been died in a terrible accident, a young beautiful teenager girl named India, struggles against coping with the situation, but incidents come to climax when a strange young man named Charlie comes to live with her as he is her uncle whom she has never seen before, as she becomes infatuated with him.
Stoker is a cunning exercise in transgression. But one can't help but wonder what kind of film Park might have made if he'd had the full creative control to which he's accustomed in Korea.
Park Chan-wook [has]toned down the violence and perversity of his Korean output. But not by much. When a character... commends a garden's soil for its spade-yielding softness, you get the feeling he's not planning to plant begonias.
The shame is that while the film is as glossy as late DePalma, essential Hitchcockiness is swapped out for random ickiness, a sorrow in light of Park's own history of crafting sleek, liquescent, swamping fever dreams.
There is a freedom to his filmmaking; he's trying things, odd moods and unexpected edits and unconventional compositions. He likes to keep things popping, and you can't help but respond to the wit and playfulness of his style.
Stoker trembles between the portentous and the ridiculous, and I think you know which one is going to win. The audience does make its decision: They've been had yet again.
