Frankenstein is a classic monster tale, told time and time again, most recently in Guillermo del Toro’s Oscar-nominated 2025 film. Born from Mary Shelley’s gothic horror novel published in 1818 then appearing on screen for the first time in 1931, Frankenstein’s monster is one we see “transitioning throughout the decades,” according to Dr. Ji-yoon An, an assistant professor at UBC in the department of Asian studies who specializes in contemporary Korean popular culture.
Ultimately, as a professor of cinema, An wants her students to learn how to be informed, critical consumers of popular media. Alongside her other courses — ASIA 356: Introduction to Korean Cinema and ASIA 383: Korean History through Cinema — An’s new course, ASIX 342: Cinematic Monsters of Asia, made its debut this semester. With this new course, her goal has become “much more pronounced,” because monsters are deeply personal. While we’re fearful of the monster, we find ourselves attracted to the concept. “It says so much about what society deems to be monstrous and what we don’t,” An said.
The initial Frankenstein film already heavily differed from its source material, as it became centred on issues impacting the United States in the 1930s and the state of global politics between World Wars. But now, An believes we’re more likely to side with the monster, not the scientist. In certain nations and cultures, something being horrific or monstrous is often more political than it is instinctive; the transition from fearing to sympathizing with Frankenstein says a lot about what we currently deem a threat. “We’re not scared of the monster anymore,” An said. “Something that looks like a human is no longer scary to us, [and] the fact that his birth is through electricity and not through the human womb — that doesn’t scare us anymore. But that was so [feared] in the ‘30s.”
While An currently focuses on Korean popular culture, her academic journey began with her undergraduate and master’s degrees in music. Recalling her academic journey, An shared a story of a professor who shaped the trajectory of her learning, specifically when it came to writing. “[He] told me, ‘For a music student, your essays never have any musical analysis. Your essays only do visual analysis. I think you’re a visual person.’” An realized her professor was right — she did find herself more drawn to analyzing visuals. He had just launched a new film studies course and encouraged An to pursue a master’s in film, which solidified the direction of her academic career. During this time, Korean cinema began seeing more commercial success in Europe, also sparking An’s interest. She began moving away from Wes Anderson films and toward Korean media. “I think I’m a latecomer to Asian studies,” she admitted.
Her upcoming book, What the Family Tells: A Periodization of Korean Cinema in the 21st Century, builds on her PhD research and focuses on portrayals of family in Korean cinema. During her PhD, An mainly consumed heavier films, filled with sexual violence, broken families and the struggles of abandoned children. By contrast, An’s partner — whose preferences live in the realms of Transformers, Pacific Rim and James Bond films — gave her a much-needed break from her usual viewing.
“I started going to the cinema with him to watch these lighthearted films as a little bit of a [reprieve] from my usual cinematic watching,” she said, fascinated by seeing the trope of the monster evolve — Godzilla was An’s favourite monster (before the release of the sequels). From these side excursions, her interest in monsters grew, as she began to realize films of different genres could be a valuable tool for analysis; regardless of whether films are serious or lighthearted, they’re key to “learning about how popular culture can really influence us on a subconscious level.” In an early attempt to distract herself from her PhD research, An “went into this craze about zombies,” to the point where she “overloaded” on the topic.
Zombies prove to be another fascinating trope, especially how they’re presented differently across continents and cinematic conventions. They get plenty of airtime in contemporary popular culture, but historically originated in Haiti, where the idea of the zombie was born from the Haitian practice of Vodou and the harsh conditions of slavery. In this colonially-charged context, “the idea of the undead, or risen from the dead, as this dead labourer, is the foundation of zombies.” Originally, zombies functioned as a metaphor of a hard life without reward, stemming from the fear of losing control and becoming a zombie against one’s will. Now, when we think of famous Hollywood zombie films or shows like The Walking Dead, they always focus on what the zombie can tell us about ourselves, An said — but these depictions tend to stray from the monster’s roots. The original concept becomes twisted beyond recognition as colonial frameworks are applied to a very anti-colonial idea, reshaping the monster into something more appropriate for entertainment purposes. “It’s no longer about the original Vodou,” said An. “It doesn’t really matter who the puppet behind it [is] anymore.”
In Korea, zombies have been popularized through media like the blockbuster hit Train to Busan and various films that reinterpret zombies as bone-breaking, ferocious star student-athletes. “[Korea] has gone through this compressed modernity,” An said. “The zombie is faster — it makes sense,” Born from ppalli ppalli (“hurry hurry”) culture, the Korean zombie reflects fears of balancing a turbulent, fast-paced life plagued by professional stress, academic pressure and the fear of being perceived as an outsider.” Depending on the cultural context, a monster trope may reveal the unique fears lingering under a society’s surface.
New horror and thriller films are beginning to feature a newer threat: artificial intelligence. “It’s no longer about physical monsters,” An mused, remarking that cinematic monsters are trending towards something “cyber-based, and a very big knowledge power.” Compared to Frankenstein, Godzilla and zombies, the transition to AI as the new biggest threat to humanity is indicative, to An, about where humans are setting their boundaries today.
While her work mainly started with cinema, An is also exploring projects focusing on television, analyzing trends in Korean popular culture and considering how they reflect broader social changes. Alongside her book on Korean cinema and the family, An is working towards another book on K-dramas, which she admitted are her current mode of escapism. Compared to film, research on K-dramas entails “a very different methodology, because it’s not really about reading the visual text. It’s more about the narrative.” While current scholarship focuses heavily on data and consumer reception, An hopes to offer more textual readings of these popular dramas.
But as much as An is interested in what’s happening in Korea, her research interests expand to diasporic cinema. “I think I’m as diasporic as I am Korean,” she said, “so I’ve become very interested in things made by Koreans, as opposed to [being] made in Korea.” Her current paper focuses on Past Lives, an arthouse film by Korean-Canadian director Celine Song, which An believes might eventually expand into another book that considers the evolution of diasporic cinema throughout the past few decades.
Diasporic films have been on the rise. Take Maggie Kang’s KPop Demon Hunters, for example, a Netflix film that skyrocketed in popularity. The cinematic language, techniques and medium are quintessentially Hollywood, but the contents are Korean — and it is this combination that has worked so well, An said. Kang straddles both Korean and North American cultures, meaning diasporic films like KPop Demon Hunters can transcend national boundaries and create new trends in cinema. An was born in Korea but grew up in the United Kingdom, so she finds herself in a “middle position” with an “authentic tie back to the home country, and yet, my identity is not fully Korean. I am more British than I am Korean.” From her perspective, it gives her the ability to look at Korean culture from a little bit of distance; she can take a step back and see trends in a way that she might not be able to if she were fully immersed in the culture. This is what drives An’s scholarship: the hope that she might be able to offer a perspective that lives both inside and outside of her cultural identities.
