The sacred and the profane clash mercilessly and violently in Park Chan-wook's new film Thirst, the story of a Catholic priest (Song Kang-ho) who, in a selfless move to help the greater good (by volunteering himself as a human subject in research fighting a deadly disease) winds up becoming a vampire.

(Song Kang-ho in 'Thirst')

If you're familiar with Park's work, you probably know him for Oldboy, a powerful, violent story that's the middle film in his so-called Vengeance Trilogy (which also includes Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance and Sympathy for Lady Vengeance). An earlier film of his, Joint Security Area, was also a major box-office hit in his native South Korea.

Like many of Park's films, Thirst is bloody, violent, rich in moral conflicts, and stunningly beautiful. Vampire fans should be warned, however, that it's got very little in common with your Twilights or your True Bloods--Thirst trades fangs and sparkles for deep mental anguish and all manner of soul searching.

For starters, Thirst's main character is not just any old priest, but instead, "a most noble character," Park noted from the stage at San Diego Comic-Con, where he spoke during a panel promoting the film. "He sacrifices himself for others," which is where the story begins--he's choosing to accept a blood transfusion that will likely kill him. Instead, it infects him in a way he could never have imagined.

The story, said Park (who spoke through a translator during the panel, and also the following morning during a press interview), began not with vampires, but with the priest--one who's facing the biggest moral conflict of his life. "I thought, 'What should I have him go through to in order for him to be thrown into a position which is at the bottom of a person's morality? Why not a vampire.'"

"During mass," Park continued, "the priest would be drinking wine. This wine represents Christ's blood. Every day he'd have to contemplate on the mystery of Christ's blood. Now as a vampire, he is drinking blood for his own survival, not just the good of mankind. Not wine but actual blood. So imagine what kind of suffering he'd be going through." It's that suffering--that conflict--that is at the heart of Thirst.

Park also chose not to include most of the typical trappings that litter your average vampire saga. "I tried to take as many cliches away from vampire lore. And by taking things away, I was able to bring a fresh [perspective] to the genre."

(Director Park Chan-wook at Comic-Con; photo by Kurt Wolff for MovieTome)

Thirst is stylistically bold and visually intense as well, which makes the film on one hand a pleasure to watch, but also contributes to its emotional intensity. Some scenes are almost starkly white, a backdrop that gives any colors that do appear an almost insane degree of punchiness--most notably the blood, which runs freely throughout the film, including in many scenes that are unapologetically gruesome. Park's attention to detail is at times clever, even lighthearted (the priest stores his blood in plastic water bottles--you'll never look at your coworker's Nalgene the same way again), but in many cases it's full-on excruciating. The camera is not shy about showing characters vomiting blood or getting their fingers broken one by one; nor is it afraid to linger on faces covered in horrible blisters. But as Park explained, he wants the audience not just to logically comprehend what is happening on screen, but to feel it.

"A film is not like reading a book," Park explained. "It should be something that is experienced, something that you feel--whether visually, or by listening. And by making the audience feel, is how the film should get across its statement. So every element in filmmaking should be designed to serve this purpose. Why should certain character wear a red shirt? Not a white or blue shirt? Or why should camera move here or not there? All these different elements are arranged so emotion can be derived from that."

Thus we feel horror at the sight of those blisters, or feel the priest's deep shame as he lies on the floor of the hospital where he volunteers, sucking blood from a coma patient via a plastic tube--all in deliberate plain view of his new love interest. It's a sickening moment that strikes deep at anyone who's made that frightening leap to bare their true selves in front of others.

Speaking of Nalgene bottles and love interests, Thirst does have its moments of humor, and plenty of lust and romance, and Park was quick to point this out; however, while offering some welcomed relief, ultimately, there is nothing 'light' about this story. Park asks (or maybe, more truthfully, he requires) audiences to endure at least an essence of the priest's suffering--if not his physical pain, then certainly something of his mental anguish. Hopefully, though, we all walk away with a renewed sense of what it means to truly sacrifice oneself--and that even the most moral of souls is not immune from hell.

(Mercedes Cabral and Song Kang-ho in 'Thirst')