“The Ugly” (2025) is a bleak genre affair from Yeon Sang-ho, the South Korean filmmaker behind “Train to Busan.” Much like his 2016 horror film, this mystery thriller taps into crowd-pleasing elements of the genre to analyze class disparities. As the title suggests, Yeon’s new film aims to capture the ugliness of our world that condemns or rewards a person for things they can’t possibly change about themselves. The premise, although familiar, offers enough creative fodder to flesh out its critique of societal norms and to reveal their debilitating impact on one’s mental health or socio-economic status.
On the surface, “The Ugly” is about a man trying to solve the mystery behind the death of his estranged mother. It follows Im Dong-hwan (Park Jeong-min), a 40-something man, who has never seen his mother’s face since she disappeared four decades ago. He gets told that she ran away when he was a baby, but he never learns why. During all that time, his father and her husband, Im Yeong-gyu (Kwon Hae-hyo), earned fame and respect from people who once reviled him. He is a talented craftsman who finds beauty in the world despite being blind.
He was just as creative as a young man, but the world didn’t let him lead a dignified life. They made him feel less of himself every chance they could get. Still, he grew past unwarranted shame and humiliation to achieve success. Hence, in the present, instead of being ridiculed, he gets revered for his work. The film introduces him as a celebrity by showing him getting interviewed by a documentary crew. They speak highly of his craft and treat him with utmost respect. Yet, that joy of recognition gets overshadowed by a mystery about his past.
Dong-hwan learns that the authorities have discovered the once-buried skeleton of his long-lost mother, Jung Young-hee (Shin Hyun-been). It shocks him since the only memory he has of her is tainted. He believed she abandoned him. The exhumed remains pique his curiosity. His family doesn’t help him get any closer to the truth behind her potential murder. Instead, they frame this incident almost like a tragedy of her own making, blaming her unattractiveness for her misery. Their hatred drives him even further into the investigation, co-led by documentary producer Kim Su-jin (Han Ji-hyeon).
He reflects on the situation as the son of a woman, despised without any fear of judgment. Yeon’s script addresses the resulting dehumanization and how it fundamentally brings Yeong-gyu and Young-Hee together. He offers flashbacks to their pasts to reveal crucial plot details that become parts of Dong-hwan’s investigation. Through those details, he sheds light on the rampant exploitation that was an inescapable part of both their lives. He rarely offers any comfort or emotional support to these characters, which deepens their sense of unwantedness in the world.
Through flashbacks, he reveals Young-hee working at a factory eerily similar to the present-day sweatshops where labor is treated merely as a resource. At the time, the place was being run by an abusive, dictatorial manager who found a way to hide his depravities. It ties into the film’s overarching themes of perception and deception, where the disadvantaged keep getting the short end of the stick, while the privileged keep living without being held accountable or feeling even a shred of remorse. Similarly, it connects with the film’s thematic core, as it scrutinizes how we perceive beauty, whether literal or otherwise.
Through his blind protagonist, Yeon addresses all these elements while offering a closer look at Yeong-gyu and Young-hee’s miserable reality. Through this gloomy film, he takes a stab at the hypocrisies that affect people, not simply due to their looks, but their gender or class position, which leaves them with no option but to submit to the whims of those higher on the ladder. Its critique is often on-the-nose, which feels suitable to mainstream conventions. While this approach isn’t an issue by itself, it keeps the film limited to its emotional notes, since its observations and insights rarely manage to scratch beyond the surface.
Yeon focuses primarily on the psychological nuances of his story, shaping The Ugly into a drama that leans on our pity and sympathy for the characters to make their struggles resonate, following familiar genre beats. However, he stumbles when addressing the societal decay underpinning it all—he touches on it occasionally, but never delves deeply enough to leave a real mark. Even the investigative elements feel too straightforward for the procedural aspects to leave a lasting impression. In the end, it’s a well-intentioned, emotionally resonant mystery thriller that ultimately leaves you craving more.
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