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一种不同寻常的潮流
讨论韩流就要定义这一复杂的现象，它和其文化，政治以及艺术的重要性密不可分，它的意义之重大，影响之深远使之无法分类定义。
韩流的影响力不仅横跨国界, 而且延伸到了社会和政治生活的各个角落。它在韩国经济复苏和文化复兴的过程中扮演着一个至关重要的角色，它甚至影响着关于自由贸易协议的讨论议案。
同时，它帮助缓和了韩国和日本在一个相当困难时刻（独岛危机）的紧张局势 ，并将整个亚洲及世界各地的粉丝聚集在一起。（船：俺咋越看越觉得就是说俺们老大呢，得意~嘻~）
韩流不仅仅只作为一个经济趋势，事实上它已经改变亚洲的文化氛围，其影响也正在波及其他国家。
许多人认为“韩流”这一术语是指和其他特殊电影运动一样的一种影视运动，就像20世纪50年代的法国新浪潮以及大致同一时期的日本新浪潮一样。而这一观点是妨碍西方评论家理解这一现象的最大问题之一。
事实上，“韩潮”或“韩流”都是指一种不同的潮流。这个词是中国新闻记者在20世纪90年代后期玩的一种文字游戏。用气候专用词“寒流”直指韩国文化的流行热度趋于冷却。错误的理解韩流，将它仅仅作为一系列电影文化运动中最新出现的一种运动不仅是对韩国文化的极大的伤害，而且还会错过对这一现象重要性的认识。
通过各种各样的方式，韩流创造了自己独特的魔力，企图压制阻止它存在的任何因素毫无疑问都会被证明是徒劳的。就像试图将成千上万喜爱韩国影剧的粉丝们的每一个人的意见归结为统一的意见一样是不可能的。
讨论韩流就要定义这一复杂的现象，它和其文化，政治以及艺术的重要性密不可分，它的意义之重大，影响之深远使之无法分类定义。
韩流的影响力不仅横跨国界, 而且延伸到了社会和政治生活的各个角落。它在韩国经济复苏和文化复兴的过程中扮演着一个至关重要的角色，它甚至影响着关于自由贸易协议的讨论议案。
同时，它帮助缓和了韩国和日本在一个相当困难时刻（独岛危机）的紧张局势 ，并将整个亚洲及世界各地的粉丝聚集在一起。（船：俺咋越看越觉得就是说俺们老大呢，得意~嘻~）
韩流不仅仅只作为一个经济趋势，事实上它已经改变亚洲的文化氛围，其影响也正在波及其他国家。
许多人认为“韩流”这一术语是指和其他特殊电影运动一样的一种影视运动，就像20世纪50年代的法国新浪潮以及大致同一时期的日本新浪潮一样。而这一观点是妨碍西方评论家理解这一现象的最大问题之一。
事实上，“韩潮”或“韩流”都是指一种不同的潮流。这个词是中国新闻记者在20世纪90年代后期玩的一种文字游戏。用气候专用词“寒流”直指韩国文化的流行热度趋于冷却。错误的理解韩流，将它仅仅作为一系列电影文化运动中最新出现的一种运动不仅是对韩国文化的极大的伤害，而且还会错过对这一现象重要性的认识。
通过各种各样的方式，韩流创造了自己独特的魔力，企图压制阻止它存在的任何因素毫无疑问都会被证明是徒劳的。就像试图将成千上万喜爱韩国影剧的粉丝们的每一个人的意见归结为统一的意见一样是不可能的。
What is it about Korean popular culture that makes it so irresistible to consumers around the world? Industry professionals, economic analysts, and academics have been trying to figure out this vexing question for years.
One of the most common explanations is that Korea provided inexpensive entertainment at a time when the rising costs of television programming from Japan, long popular in other countries, skyrocketed out of the reach of most countries.
Although this factor may have played an important role in introducing Korean dramas and music to other nations, it cannot by any means be seen as a definitive answer to this question. Just because entertainment is cheap doesn't mean it will necessarily appeal to an audience -- a glance at American television proves that.
A second reason offered for the boom in popularity is that Korean dramas borrow heavily from Japanese "trendy" dramas, providing virtually the same type of entertainment at a lower cost.
Here again, though, the justification leaves something to be desired: Although many Korean films and dramas draw their inspiration from Japanese source material, the reinterpretation of this material is wholly Korean. A comparison of the 2002 MBC drama "Romance" and the Japanese drama that inspired it reveals several key cultural differences -- differences significant enough to render the two projects completely different. A third rationale, most often used to explain the popularity of Korean dramas, is that these works are based on solid moral principles, that the characters and their interactions glorify traditional values.
This is, in fact, somewhat true. However, it is interesting to note that in most cases the most moralistic characters -- cold-hearted mothers-in-law, uptight parents, stern authority figures -- are frequently revealed to be the most hypocritical, too. And while the story's resolution rarely, if ever, dares to question moral authority in an explicit way, it does offer viewers a chance to see that every culture has its weaknesses.
What, then, might account for Korea's sudden success in the global industry, taking it from unknown entity to global entertainment capital seemingly overnight? The answer, of course, lies in a variety of causes that happened to come together serendipitously just after Korea survived a devastating financial and cultural crisis.
Indeed, it is only by seeing the Korean Wave as a collection of phenomena rather than one distinct trend that we can understand its development and appreciate its success, a triumph that is far more extensive than the economic boom it has produced.
One of the most common explanations is that Korea provided inexpensive entertainment at a time when the rising costs of television programming from Japan, long popular in other countries, skyrocketed out of the reach of most countries.
Although this factor may have played an important role in introducing Korean dramas and music to other nations, it cannot by any means be seen as a definitive answer to this question. Just because entertainment is cheap doesn't mean it will necessarily appeal to an audience -- a glance at American television proves that.
A second reason offered for the boom in popularity is that Korean dramas borrow heavily from Japanese "trendy" dramas, providing virtually the same type of entertainment at a lower cost.
Here again, though, the justification leaves something to be desired: Although many Korean films and dramas draw their inspiration from Japanese source material, the reinterpretation of this material is wholly Korean. A comparison of the 2002 MBC drama "Romance" and the Japanese drama that inspired it reveals several key cultural differences -- differences significant enough to render the two projects completely different. A third rationale, most often used to explain the popularity of Korean dramas, is that these works are based on solid moral principles, that the characters and their interactions glorify traditional values.
This is, in fact, somewhat true. However, it is interesting to note that in most cases the most moralistic characters -- cold-hearted mothers-in-law, uptight parents, stern authority figures -- are frequently revealed to be the most hypocritical, too. And while the story's resolution rarely, if ever, dares to question moral authority in an explicit way, it does offer viewers a chance to see that every culture has its weaknesses.
What, then, might account for Korea's sudden success in the global industry, taking it from unknown entity to global entertainment capital seemingly overnight? The answer, of course, lies in a variety of causes that happened to come together serendipitously just after Korea survived a devastating financial and cultural crisis.
Indeed, it is only by seeing the Korean Wave as a collection of phenomena rather than one distinct trend that we can understand its development and appreciate its success, a triumph that is far more extensive than the economic boom it has produced.
A different kind of wave
To talk about the Korean Wave is to try to define a phenomenon so complex, with cultural, political, and artistic significances so great, so far-reaching, that it defies classification. Hallyu's influence extends across not only national borders, but also into all areas of social and political life as well: It has played a key role in Korea's economic and cultural recovery, and influenced debates over the free trade agreement. It helped to ease tensions between Korea and Japan at a particularly difficult moment (the Dokdo crisis), and has brought communities of fans together throughout Asia and around the world.
Far from being just an economic trend, the Korean Wave has changed the cultural climate of Asia and its influence is being felt in other nations as well.
One of the biggest problems hindering Western critics' understanding of the phenomenon is that many assume that the term "Korean Wave" is meant to be a reference to other specifically cinematic movements, like the French New Wave of the 1950s, or the Japanese New Wave of approximately the same time period.
In fact, the term "Korean Wave" or "Hallyu" refers to a wave of a different kind. The phrase, coined by Chinese journalists in the late 1990s, is a play on words that equates the sweeping popularity of Korean culture with a cooling trend in the weather -- a "cold wave." To misunderstand it as merely the latest in a series of cinematic trends is not only to do Korean culture a great disservice, but also to miss the magnitude of the phenomenon.
Because of the myriad ways in which the Wave has created its unique magic, any attempt to pin down a single reason for its existence would undoubtedly prove to be as futile as trying to reconcile the individual opinions of
To talk about the Korean Wave is to try to define a phenomenon so complex, with cultural, political, and artistic significances so great, so far-reaching, that it defies classification. Hallyu's influence extends across not only national borders, but also into all areas of social and political life as well: It has played a key role in Korea's economic and cultural recovery, and influenced debates over the free trade agreement. It helped to ease tensions between Korea and Japan at a particularly difficult moment (the Dokdo crisis), and has brought communities of fans together throughout Asia and around the world.
Far from being just an economic trend, the Korean Wave has changed the cultural climate of Asia and its influence is being felt in other nations as well.
One of the biggest problems hindering Western critics' understanding of the phenomenon is that many assume that the term "Korean Wave" is meant to be a reference to other specifically cinematic movements, like the French New Wave of the 1950s, or the Japanese New Wave of approximately the same time period.
In fact, the term "Korean Wave" or "Hallyu" refers to a wave of a different kind. The phrase, coined by Chinese journalists in the late 1990s, is a play on words that equates the sweeping popularity of Korean culture with a cooling trend in the weather -- a "cold wave." To misunderstand it as merely the latest in a series of cinematic trends is not only to do Korean culture a great disservice, but also to miss the magnitude of the phenomenon.
Because of the myriad ways in which the Wave has created its unique magic, any attempt to pin down a single reason for its existence would undoubtedly prove to be as futile as trying to reconcile the individual opinions of
Face value
Rather than digging deeply into the economic and political influences that had to be in place in order for the Wave to take shape, I would like to take a look at a far more obvious, far more immediate quality apparent in recent Korean entertainment: Its aesthetics. More specifically, I want to examine the image more responsible than any other for selling Korean culture to nations around the world: the face of Bae Yong-joon.
In 1955, the French critic Roland Barthes wrote "The Face of Garbo," an essay that would became a touchstone for all studies of movie star images that followed. In a transformation straight out of a Hollywood movie script, Greta Gustaffson, an unassuming young woman from Sweden, became Greta Garbo, the Divine, an icon of beauty and desire, and a symbol of the magnetism of motion pictures.
Although other stars achieved notable success in the years that followed, none inspired the same hypnotic fascination that Garbo did. Barthes suggests that this is because Garbo appeared at a particular moment when the cinema still held a kind of religious or mystical quality. Garbo became a symbol of the magic of the movies.
However, despite her legendary popularity, Garbo's reign was brief, lasting less than two decades. By the late 1930s, she had gone into self-imposed exile, choosing anonymity over being forced to grow old in the public eye. At the same time, the technological advances that brought with them the introduction of sound and color to motion pictures changed films forever, replacing the ecstatic, devotional quality of the silent film experience with a more action-driven mode of spectatorship, making it all but impossible for a star to represent the kind of abstract idea that Garbo once did.
Some might find it surprising that a latter-day counterpart to Garbo would ever emerge at all, let alone, from anywhere other than Hollywood, and not from the cinema, but from television, but this is exactly what has happened in Korea. However, whereas Garbo's face was the symbol of an era in which cinema, an art created by the marriage of technology and industrialization, eased the shift from the traditional to modern, Bae Yong-joon's face represents a movement in the opposite direction, a longing, nostalgic glance back at a bygone era from one in which entertainment has become little more than empty repetition and in which every action, every emotion is telegraphed to the viewer.
If Garbo, for Barthes, represented an "idea," then the face of Bae Yong-joon is something even more basic: It is a medium -- the canvas onto which the idea may be represented. Like Garbo, he is at once unique and univer
Rather than digging deeply into the economic and political influences that had to be in place in order for the Wave to take shape, I would like to take a look at a far more obvious, far more immediate quality apparent in recent Korean entertainment: Its aesthetics. More specifically, I want to examine the image more responsible than any other for selling Korean culture to nations around the world: the face of Bae Yong-joon.
In 1955, the French critic Roland Barthes wrote "The Face of Garbo," an essay that would became a touchstone for all studies of movie star images that followed. In a transformation straight out of a Hollywood movie script, Greta Gustaffson, an unassuming young woman from Sweden, became Greta Garbo, the Divine, an icon of beauty and desire, and a symbol of the magnetism of motion pictures.
Although other stars achieved notable success in the years that followed, none inspired the same hypnotic fascination that Garbo did. Barthes suggests that this is because Garbo appeared at a particular moment when the cinema still held a kind of religious or mystical quality. Garbo became a symbol of the magic of the movies.
However, despite her legendary popularity, Garbo's reign was brief, lasting less than two decades. By the late 1930s, she had gone into self-imposed exile, choosing anonymity over being forced to grow old in the public eye. At the same time, the technological advances that brought with them the introduction of sound and color to motion pictures changed films forever, replacing the ecstatic, devotional quality of the silent film experience with a more action-driven mode of spectatorship, making it all but impossible for a star to represent the kind of abstract idea that Garbo once did.
Some might find it surprising that a latter-day counterpart to Garbo would ever emerge at all, let alone, from anywhere other than Hollywood, and not from the cinema, but from television, but this is exactly what has happened in Korea. However, whereas Garbo's face was the symbol of an era in which cinema, an art created by the marriage of technology and industrialization, eased the shift from the traditional to modern, Bae Yong-joon's face represents a movement in the opposite direction, a longing, nostalgic glance back at a bygone era from one in which entertainment has become little more than empty repetition and in which every action, every emotion is telegraphed to the viewer.
If Garbo, for Barthes, represented an "idea," then the face of Bae Yong-joon is something even more basic: It is a medium -- the canvas onto which the idea may be represented. Like Garbo, he is at once unique and univer
从演员到其本身
裴勇俊已经成为了一种爱的化身，一种总想得到，永久的追寻，却从未经历过的爱的化身。他的名字不再是仅指一个人，一位演员，而变成了一种精华元素，既和他所扮演的角色分离，又和他扮演的角色密不可分。再者，没有人比裴勇俊更像葛丽泰•嘉宝, 她的名字是神秘气息的同义词。她的吸引力，就如贝尔特所言，是由她自身的脸孔和化妆师以及摄影师精心打造的理想型面容相互融合而成。
葛丽泰•嘉宝,在她的很多的角色中始终保持着嘉宝的形象，即公众从不会遗忘的明星演员的形象。不是因为缺乏天分或信心，而是因为她压倒一切的魅力使人忽略了她的演技。的确，嘉宝更多被人们记住的不是她的表演和演技，而是因为她是葛丽泰•嘉宝。而早期的电影评论家却称之为“僵硬造作”。
和嘉宝一样，裴勇俊对观众的吸引力也不是来自他的表演，而是来自他的容貌和形象。那些几近宗教信仰般热情的痴迷者们成群结队地去看望他，参顶膜拜。她们如朝圣般参加他公开露面的场合，好像在那里他们将会看到一些神奇的幻景 。
他和他称之为“家人”的粉丝的会面充满令人窒息的崇敬之情。根据一次新闻报导，一位日本女子在最终看见了偶像本人后，激动地气喘吁吁的说：“我可以幸福的死去了”。
有意思的是，裴勇俊受欢迎并非像权相宇或宋承宪基于一种性感的形象。其实，许多的日本粉丝对他在“丑闻”所饰演的花花公子赵元的表演非常的失望。因为对于这些粉丝以及其他许多粉丝来说，裴勇俊或勇样（勇样：一种尊敬的称呼，很象嘉宝拥有的称谓“女神”）就如同他在日本众所周知一样，代表着一种与众不同的理想的男性形象。
裴勇俊曾反复多次地称自己既不是一名出色的演员，也没有拥有特别出众的英俊外表。他将自己所获得的超高人气谦虚地归因于他参演的影片的杰出和节目制作的优秀，并开心的与合作演员及导演共同分享这份荣誉。
这种谦逊的态度，自敛的个性让公众难以分辨这位引人注目，有着凌乱有致的头发，深情的眼睛，轻松的笑容的年轻男子到底是谁。同时这种姿态也促使粉丝和其偶像之间联系的纽带更加牢固。
换句话说, 因为裴勇俊的公众形象不是建立在空洞的语言和行动上，而是建立在真诚的态度和认真的姿态上，他形象的塑造在某种程度上来说还没有完成。那麽，粉丝的工作就是要填补这项空白，使之更加完美。创作她们自己的故事和她们自己的幻想作品来塑造他完美的形象。就如同崔志友在“冬季恋歌”中将最后的一块拼板拼在拼图的合适位置上。
的确,裴勇俊带给公众的感觉就是一种公众形象，而非一名演员。
然而，裴勇俊对自己十分挑剔，称自己既不是出色的演员，也没有拥有出众的外貌…….但是没有人能够像他----没有出类拔萃的才能和非凡的美貌而取得了这种成功…..他的洞察力在某种意义上来讲的确非常准确。
粉丝们是如此的迷恋他，原因很清楚。那是因为，在某种水平上讲，他征服一切的公众形象是基于一种事实----是因为粉丝们扮演着塑造裴勇俊这个人物形象的积极的活跃角色，她们觉得她们真地认识他，懂他，理解他这个人。
裴勇俊已经成为了一种爱的化身，一种总想得到，永久的追寻，却从未经历过的爱的化身。他的名字不再是仅指一个人，一位演员，而变成了一种精华元素，既和他所扮演的角色分离，又和他扮演的角色密不可分。再者，没有人比裴勇俊更像葛丽泰•嘉宝, 她的名字是神秘气息的同义词。她的吸引力，就如贝尔特所言，是由她自身的脸孔和化妆师以及摄影师精心打造的理想型面容相互融合而成。
葛丽泰•嘉宝,在她的很多的角色中始终保持着嘉宝的形象，即公众从不会遗忘的明星演员的形象。不是因为缺乏天分或信心，而是因为她压倒一切的魅力使人忽略了她的演技。的确，嘉宝更多被人们记住的不是她的表演和演技，而是因为她是葛丽泰•嘉宝。而早期的电影评论家却称之为“僵硬造作”。
和嘉宝一样，裴勇俊对观众的吸引力也不是来自他的表演，而是来自他的容貌和形象。那些几近宗教信仰般热情的痴迷者们成群结队地去看望他，参顶膜拜。她们如朝圣般参加他公开露面的场合，好像在那里他们将会看到一些神奇的幻景 。
他和他称之为“家人”的粉丝的会面充满令人窒息的崇敬之情。根据一次新闻报导，一位日本女子在最终看见了偶像本人后，激动地气喘吁吁的说：“我可以幸福的死去了”。
有意思的是，裴勇俊受欢迎并非像权相宇或宋承宪基于一种性感的形象。其实，许多的日本粉丝对他在“丑闻”所饰演的花花公子赵元的表演非常的失望。因为对于这些粉丝以及其他许多粉丝来说，裴勇俊或勇样（勇样：一种尊敬的称呼，很象嘉宝拥有的称谓“女神”）就如同他在日本众所周知一样，代表着一种与众不同的理想的男性形象。
裴勇俊曾反复多次地称自己既不是一名出色的演员，也没有拥有特别出众的英俊外表。他将自己所获得的超高人气谦虚地归因于他参演的影片的杰出和节目制作的优秀，并开心的与合作演员及导演共同分享这份荣誉。
这种谦逊的态度，自敛的个性让公众难以分辨这位引人注目，有着凌乱有致的头发，深情的眼睛，轻松的笑容的年轻男子到底是谁。同时这种姿态也促使粉丝和其偶像之间联系的纽带更加牢固。
换句话说, 因为裴勇俊的公众形象不是建立在空洞的语言和行动上，而是建立在真诚的态度和认真的姿态上，他形象的塑造在某种程度上来说还没有完成。那麽，粉丝的工作就是要填补这项空白，使之更加完美。创作她们自己的故事和她们自己的幻想作品来塑造他完美的形象。就如同崔志友在“冬季恋歌”中将最后的一块拼板拼在拼图的合适位置上。
的确,裴勇俊带给公众的感觉就是一种公众形象，而非一名演员。
然而，裴勇俊对自己十分挑剔，称自己既不是出色的演员，也没有拥有出众的外貌…….但是没有人能够像他----没有出类拔萃的才能和非凡的美貌而取得了这种成功…..他的洞察力在某种意义上来讲的确非常准确。
粉丝们是如此的迷恋他，原因很清楚。那是因为，在某种水平上讲，他征服一切的公众形象是基于一种事实----是因为粉丝们扮演着塑造裴勇俊这个人物形象的积极的活跃角色，她们觉得她们真地认识他，懂他，理解他这个人。
