Most stories evolve temporally, linearly, each action followed neatly by a consequence. Others are nonlinear and scattered, told in jolts of flashback and prefiguration. But The Handmaiden, the latest film by South Korean auteur Park Chan-Wook, unfolds like a recurring dream. The story is told and then re-told, with each retelling gifting the viewer a new understanding of the conflict. It is a lush, moody, atmospheric drama, darkly erotic, imbued with an imminent sense of both death and sex. Half-glimpses of horror and sensuality draw the viewer in, creating a film that is absorbing and seductive even when the action is sometimes repellent.

Loosely based on the 2002 novel Fingersmith by Sarah Waters, The Handmaiden swaps the Victorian setting of the book for Japanese-controlled Korea in the 1930s. It tells the story of Sook-hee (Kim Tae-ri), a Korean pickpocket recruited by Count Fujiwara (Ha Jung-woo), a con man, to defraud a Japanese heiress named Hideko (Kim Min-hee) of her fortune. Sookee is to act as Hideko’s maid, and the Count (who is actually the son of a Korean farm hand) will woo her, marry her, take her money, and then dump her in a mental asylum. Over time, however, Sook-hee and Hideko become drawn to each other, and what follows is a truly absorbing tale of revenge and romance.

It is not an easy film to categorize: Wikipedia calls it an “erotic psychological thriller,” while the New York Times goes for the more staid “drama, romance.” But there’s so much going on that genre feels inherently reductive. The Handmaiden is certainly both erotic (there are multiple graphic sex scenes) and critical of erotica as an avenue for the abuse of women. It is not always a comfortable watch, even if the trademark explicit violence found in much of Park’s work (including Oldboy, hitherto known as his masterpiece, although personally I’d wager that The Handmaiden will dethrone it) is largely swapped for suggestive, psychological terror. At other times, it is simply exhilarating, as all great con films should be. And the final third is a double-crossing sequence that can only be described as deeply, deeply satisfying.

Typical for a Park Chan-Wook film, the art direction and cinematography are spellbindingly gorgeous—sweeping shots of the Korean landscape look like oil paintings, and the Gothic monstrosity of the manor house where the majority of the drama takes place is wonderfully uncanny. By blending elements of Japanese and English architecture, the space created feels both unsettling and repressively traditional. Layers of sliding Japanese doors conceal hidden dark things, studded with peepholes that suggest one of the major themes: the voyeuristic gaze. Austere, Western-style portraits stare ominously down from the wall. One particularly arresting shot shows the house from the outside, windows flickering into blackout. It is a feast for the eyes and an assault on the senses, a lesson in psychological terror and glorious liberation, studded with Park’s favorite motifs (bright red clothing, appendage removal, ominously squirming octopi). But while some scenes are pure Park, others feel reminiscent of Guillermo del Toro (get rid of the supernatural elements and move the house to Korea, and Crimson Peak would fit right in) or Sofia Coppola (the scenes of Hideko’s boudoir are full of soft pinks and whites, delicate laces, jewels, and sweets—pure Marie Antoinette, with the creepiness of The Virgin Suicides).

But while The Handmaiden’s visual triumph is enough to justify its existence, it is far more than a series of pretty pictures. Even at two hours and 47 minutes, with many scenes shown more than once, the film never drags—the twists and turns are enough to keep the viewer fully invested. The central story is one of repression and liberation: men seek to control or possess women, while the women resist and, ultimately, find an escape through each other. Along with the obvious themes of gender and misogyny, the film also explores colonialism. The two main male characters, Fujiwara and Hideko’s abusive uncle Kouzuki (Jo Jin-woong), are both Korean men pretending to be Japanese for personal or material gain. Kouzuki justifies his pretense by stating, “Korea is ugly. Japan is beautiful.” Japanese imperialism in Korea is little explored in Western media and likely unfamiliar to the average Western moviegoer, but the time period is still intensely relevant to both countries and well worth examining.

And, yes, for all of you out there wondering—The Handmaiden is very, very gay. One could argue that the film falls into the tired trend of presenting oversexualized images of lesbianism for erotic effect. But it also presents a genuinely moving, satisfying romance between two fully realized female characters, which makes it near-required viewing for fans of queer cinema. The film grapples with performance and voyeurism, and at times it is unclear whether the viewer is meant to be complicit or not. Everyone on screen is performing, both meta-textually (as actors) and within the text, as con artists or as erotic beings. Within the story, the male gaze is presented and violently rejected, while the female gaze is exonerated—but this is complicated by meta depictions of sexualized female bodies by a male director. It’s complex, but clearly has feminist motivations: one climactic scene that shows Hideko and Sook-hee literally dismantling a physical manifestation of the patriarchy made me want to sit up and cheer.

The Handmaiden is intense and idiosyncratic enough not to land with all viewers, but for the art house crowd, it’s a must-see. The film also has plenty of crossover appeal for fans of thrillers, period pieces, and healthy on-screen lesbian relationships. Frankly, I can’t remember the last time I was this taken aback (in a good way!) at the cinema. If you see one film this weekend, you should make it this one.

See this film and others at Bow Tie Criterion Cinemas New Haven, 86 Temple St. Call (203) 498-2500 or visit www.BowTieCinemas.com for advance tickets.