Since its inception, film has served as a means for individuals to express themselves, as well as their experiences and their discontentment with society. The last decade of film, in particular, has seen the rise of what some call “Eat The Rich” filmmaking, or films that concentrate on class structure, wealth, work, and culture. Films like Knives Out, Parasite, and Saltburn usually focus on a character of a lower socioeconomic status “getting one over” on the wealthy elite. In his 2026 film No Other Choice, Director Park Chan-wook adapts Donald Westlake’s 1997 novel The Ax to examine what happens when, instead of turning their ire on the wealthy elite, the working class capitulates to society’s work cultures and class structures. The central fantasy of “Eat the Rich” films is catharsis: a universe in which the oppressed outsmart the oppressor. In contrast to this cathartic, almost optimistic view of class struggle, No Other Choice asks the more realistic question of what happens when the system of oppression is so totalizing that resisting it means turning on fellow oppressed people.No Other Choice follows Man-Su, a middle-aged worker at a paper factory, who is laid off after decades at the plant. Man-Su finds himself facing bills, dwindling savings, and the potential loss of his home and family all whilst immersed in a competitive job market dominated by younger, more technologically fluent candidates.
Man-Su, after months of rejections, becomes obsessed with finding a position that will support his family, only to find that few positions remain. Believing that he has no other choice if he wants to take one of those positions, Man-Su begins murdering applicants whom he believes are more qualified than him.
Over the course of the film, we see that Man-Su has internalized the class structure that led to his struggles in the first place. His enemy, in his eyes, is not the billionaires who enacted layoffs, or the executives replacing workers with robots, but his equally desperate peers who are competing for the same pool of resources.
While Man-Su initially stands up for his fellow workers when he is laid off, he does not pursue further solidarity with them. In fact, we see and hear nothing from Man-Sus’s former coworkers after he leaves his job. Through this, Park tackles the sociological concept of horizontal hostility, or a phenomenon in which individuals direct their aggression towards similarly oppressed people, rather than those who wield structural power.
This type of commentary is not new to Park’s filmography; his prior works, such as Old Boy and The Handmaiden, are steeped in questions of vengeance and moral deterioration. What is new to No Other Choice is the precision with which the violence is handled.
Park takes a story largely about business and business practice and marries that field’s tendencies towards procedure with the innate violence of Man-Su’s actions. Man-su’s victims are not random or chosen through association, they are selected through networking events, resumes, and spreadsheets.
No Other Choice is procedural in its violence, much like how the executives of Man-Su’s field are procedural with their layoffs and automation. In that sense, Man-Su becomes another part of the company-sanctioned violence that executives take part in every day. Whether facing down the barrel of a gun or confronting homelessness and poverty, both the company and Man-Su take actions which threaten the lives of their targets.
Despite the apparent violence of the elites of Parks’ world, No Other Choice denies viewers the catharsis of seeing these executives humbled. Throughout the film, they remain distant, abstract, and untouched.
The closest Man-Su gets to these elites is the murder of an applicant who is slightly wealthier than him. In the end, while Man-Su may “win” by getting the job he so desperately sought, it is a hollow victory. In the process, he damages his relationship with his family (who finds the body of one of his victims despite Man-Su’s best efforts), corrodes his morality, and finds himself alone at an automated job with no coworkers or friends. All the while, the executives who began this struggle continue to profit from Man-Su’s pain and efforts. He has defaced his morality for an organization that views him as nothing more than a replaceable cog.
Importantly, No Other Choice refuses to portray Man-Su as a monster for his actions. He may be presented as meticulous and capable of great violence, but he is also sympathetic, caring, and at times, deeply disturbed by his own actions.
Park forces the audience to identify with Man-Su. Many people can relate to tailoring their resumes or calculating how long their savings will last. It is precisely the banality of this buildup that underscores the pressure of Man-Su’s violent snap.
Ultimately, No Other Choice asks a question the viewers are left to answer: if the system we live under rewards ruthlessness, what kind of people will be allowed to succeed, and how far will people go to achieve that success? Park forces the audience to consider what they would do in Man-Su’s position, a position that realistically almost anyone could find themselves in. Park offers no easy solution to these questions. Instead, he presents a cautionary tale for what happens when we succumb to the pressures of our culture.
In doing so, Park complicates the narrative surrounding recent “Eat the Rich” cinema. Where Saltburn luxuriates in the spectacle of elitism, and Parasite sets the stage for violent class struggle, No Other Choice shows a quieter, more realistic story: the fragmentation of the working class against one another.
It suggests that the most devastating consequences of modern capitalist practices are not just the inequality it produces, but the isolation that is necessary to maintain the system.
Summer Haddad is a sophomore anthropology and sociology major and an arts and culture writer for The Retriever.
Contact Summer at shaddad1@umbc.edu