At Bamti Film Festival, moviemakers bare the not-so-good, kind-of-bad and somewhat ugly 

In a small concrete courtyard tucked into a corner of the Korea National University of Arts’ (K-Arts) campus in Seongbuk District, central Seoul, rows of plastic chairs faced a wall partly shadowed by trees.

Projected onto the wall was a film whose title, in Comic Sans, read: “come ass you are.”

The film ended with the main character finally embracing her baldness after coaching from a drag queen at a spa and a beach boot camp — a story about coming to terms with one’s identity. Applause broke out as the credits rolled.

“Wait, that wasn’t 'bamti' at all,” one audience member said.

It was the second Bamti Film Festival, a screening organized by students at K-Arts’ School of Film, TV & Multimedia. There are no Palm d’Or, no Golden Lions or Bears — or any prizes, for that matter — handed out to winners. Anyone could submit a film, with organizers selecting works for their “audacity, creativity, roughness and sincerity.”

The Bamti Film Festival takes its name from "bamti," a Korean internet term used to describe something tacky, unfashionable or aesthetically questionable. The festival debuted last November with five students, a budget of just 250,000 won ($180) and an initial focus on screening student graduation projects.

Less than a year later, it had grown into an event that drew sponsors and more than 300 visitors, with 14 films from 190 submissions shown at the main outdoor screening from 6 p.m. and an “early-bird” program starting an hour earlier at an indoor theater.

It was a perfectly clear, early autumn Friday night, and every chair was taken. The crowd spilled onto the stairs and the ground, some sitting on sheets of newspaper beneath the trees. Others settled onto benches or stood across the street, wherever they could catch a view of the screen.

The festival started with the idea that every artist has “at least one embarrassing work” they should be willing to put out into the world, something Bu Ji-woo, who led this year's event, said the new organizers wanted to preserve.

“To us, bamti-ness means being embarrassed but unapologetic — and having a kind of charm you can’t hide,” Bu said. “Rather than something polished and refined, there is an irresistible appeal in something slightly clumsy and raw.”

Part of the appeal also seems to come from its clever marketing, according to people who came to the event. The shaggy, bearded figure has since become central to the festival’s visual identity, appearing in recurring memes and deliberately crude posters that look as if they were made in Microsoft Word.

The event drew in all kinds of audience members, not just students, on Friday. Office worker Bae Chae-yoon used a half day to come from Daegu, around 280 kilometers (174 miles) south of Seoul, to attend. “A pretty [piece of] poop,” she affectionately said as she described what bamti films meant to her.

One high school student, who said he hoped to make videos himself one day, came to see how the prestigious art school's film students worked around limited budgets and crews.

Jang Ye-joo, a first-year broadcasting student at K-Arts, said she was curious to see what people willing to put their bamti-ness on display with confidence had made.

“For people who make films, there are always works that feel unfinished, things you would never submit anywhere,” Jang said. “I think it’s a good thing that more spaces like this are emerging outside the conventional film festival circuit, giving those works somewhere to be shown.”

Lee Ju-hyeon, the editor of Megaton magazine, for instance, showed “Tokusatsu Director 000," made with a team of seven amateurs, at the event. 

“I think there’s a place for simple films that make you laugh when the filmmakers want you to laugh, and cry when they want you to cry,” Lee said.

In that sense, he said, the Bamti Film Festival lowers the barrier to filmmaking by not holding on to any pretense of grandeur or prestige.

Even as the clock crept toward 10 p.m., people still milled in the concrete space, laughing along with the films, casually chatting on the stairs and cheering for the directors during question-and-answer session intervals.

Kim Ji-yang, a director who also works on commercial features and screened her short film “Rejection Letter” (translated) at the festival, said it was “exhilarating” to hear a large crowd laugh along with the deliberately rough-edged film.

“At a time when AI can produce things that are polished and efficient, bamti feels more precious,” Kim said. “People are drawn to individuality and style, and I think an event like this — where everyone comes together to enjoy those things — reflects the kind of culture taking shape now.”

The festival’s future is uncertain, but both its founders and current organizers said they hoped to keep it going. This year’s team, also made up of students in the broadcasting department, volunteered to take over the event but faced familiar student-run constraints, from limited funding to borrowing equipment. 

On Friday, Jung Ji-oh, one of the directors of the inaugural event, said she was “just so proud” of how the festival has gained ground, as she looked over the crowd from near a booth handing out merchandise emblazoned with the bamti character.

"We only had one request of the new organizers: Keep the screenings outdoors, where people who are not K-Arts students can also wander in and watch," she said.

Bu said she wanted the festival to remain student-led because there were things, she believed, that only they were able to do.

“There are things that are a little reckless, a little strange and all the more fun for it,” she said. “It's a tendency to try anyway, even when you don’t quite know what you’re doing yet; a curiosity and enthusiasm in getting people together to talk, laugh and start things.”

“I think that spirit is what keeps the Bamti Film Festival going.”

BY KIM JU-YEON [[email protected]]