My dear readers, while it would be inappropriate to devote portions of this critically-minded space to domestic details, I cannot help but mention that I have been fixated on finding a gift to buoy my sweet Penny Dee’s spirits. This task has brought to mind a trinket that came into my aunt Hazel Hauntedhouse’s possession after a woodland trek. As I understand it, one day her walking stick dislodged a ruby of bedazzling girth and henceforth she displayed it proudly on her mantle next to similarly excavated treasures. I remember whenever the subject was broached my cousin would start babbling on about a visit from some rather cross fellow with one shiny red eye and one noticeably empty socket but the details of this episode are a bit foggy and at any rate, I can hardly understand how the anecdote is related. I may inquire after the ruby’s whereabouts, as my Penny Dee is awfully fond of jewelry.

Eun-ju (Hahm Eun-Jung) also knows a thing or two about unearthing hidden gems. She is a member of the Pink Dolls, an enterprising group of young ladies seeking success in the dynamic world of Korean popular music. The standards of the business can be somewhat exacting and despite her youthful vigor, Eun-ju is considered to be at an advanced age. To make matters worse, a string of recent disappointments have thoroughly imperiled her future prospects. But just as things seem to be at their gloomiest, Eun-ju chances across a video recording of “White,” a forgotten song and dance routine. In a spot of much needed good luck, the work’s original author perished under mysterious circumstances and members of the Pink Dolls are free to make the song their own.

This nifty little tune becomes a “smash hit” among fans of the genre and soon the Pink Dolls are featured on all sorts of billboards and periodicals. Success gives these budding musicians a renewed focus and they are initially able to swat away distractions, like a series of gruesome accidents that leave some of them in a sorry state. But as an increasing number of band members end up maimed and disfigured, Eun-ju begins to suspect that the departed songwriter responsible for “White” may also be expressing herself through the poisoned cosmetics and malfunctioning machinery that have nearly made her a solo artist. Being the dedicated creative personality that she is, Eun-ju tries to resolve whatever ghostly grudges may be attached to “White” while still maintaining a fairly robust performance schedule. 

With but a cursory glance at the details, White: Melody of Death may seem a discouraging little tale for aspiring musicians. Korean pop music is full of sparkle and whimsy and yet this film lays bare the ungentlemanly producers and vengeful spirits that may lurk behind the curtain. But I would venture that in spite of all the shady characters and supernatural shenanigans, at its core, White (if I may be so forward in suggesting this abbreviated title, concise yet sadly unadorned with punctuation) hits upon something that may actually buck up a struggling so-and-so -- the value of artistic collaboration. The sentiment is not the least bit surprising, coming from Gok Kim and Sun Kim, who take on the uncommon task of writing and directing the film together. This winning pair knows that while being the center of attention has an undeniable allure, partners in artistic pursuits can be invaluable, as they are often possessed of qualities that the others lack. Some people may want for discipline, others youth, and others still a pulse. Whatever assets one brings to the table, the vicissitudes of a creative life can be made much easier to bear with a little company. Without spoiling White: Melody of Death’s concluding performance, I think it is certainly fair to say that Eun-ju does her most notable work when she appears alongside her collaborators.

White: Melody of Death runs 106 minutes and is rated PG-13. It is also known as 화이트: 저주의 멜로디 and White: The Melody of the Curse.