Song Jae-rim's final act overshadowed by muddled script

Official poster for
Official poster for "Crypto Man" (MooAm Productions)

Camera flashes erupted like strobe lights Monday at Seoul's Yongsan CGV theater to capture an emotional scene: An otherwise staid film promotion event transformed into an impromptu memorial. The press conference for "Crypto Man," an upcoming cryptocurrency drama, kept circling back to its absent star -- Song Jae-rim, who was found dead at his home in November.

Director Hyun Hae-ri broke down as she discussed Song's casting as the film’s main lead. "I was drawn to his mysterious aura for this role," she managed through tears. "So professional, so warm-hearted. It hurts that he can't be here with us today."

Co-star Ahn Woo-yeon attempted to lighten the mood but choked up himself. "We even talked about starting a business together," he recalled. "I promised myself I'd fight tooth and nail to promote this film, for Song." Min Sung-wook, who plays a shadowy venture capitalist, remembered Song as someone who "belied his cold appearance -- always talking about acting, changing lines in the heat of the moment."

The film underwent multiple transformations during production. Originally titled "Six Times Bust" in Korean, it was conceived as a black comedy about the moral hazard of startup culture before pivoting to crypto -- a shift partly inspired by Hyun's own losses in the 2022 Terra-LUNA crash. "The hype was irresistible back then," she admitted. "You felt like a fool if you didn't buy in. Now we're seeing that same cycle again."

"Crypto Man" follows Yang Do-hyun (Song), a serial entrepreneur who launches a cryptocurrency venture called MOMMY, a thinly veiled reference to the LUNA stablecoin implosion that vaporized $34 billion. "I wanted to explore the line between intentional frauds and delusional pawns," said Hyun, known for her Cannes-premiered "Nine Times Fired." "The protagonist truly believes he's a businessman, not a fraud."

The film's premise is clear: Charting how a hyper-competitive culture that rewards achievement at all costs breeds its monsters. Hyun's zeitgeist-savvy touch captures Korea's generational traits: faith in meritocracy, credentialed elitism, and the cult of nonstop hustling.

Yet, instead of weaving these promising elements into a cohesive frame, the film splatters them across a prolonged, episodic backstory from high school to college, all with little organic progression. A lengthy detour into a college club’s accounting fraud feels misplaced, while Yang's relationship with his supportive but inept mother, though intriguing, adds little substance to the larger picture -- likely a result of the film's mid-production pivot. This disjointed approach gives way to unnecessary vulgarities as well, not least in the depiction of a wealthy classmate faking a disability for a scholarship, a device that feels both gratuitous and problematic.

Perhaps most damningly, the film barely engages with its very subject matter -- the conception of the so-called "stablecoin," the worldwide frenzy it inspired, and the behind-the-scenes machinations that fueled it all. Without much to say about the anatomy of the Ponzi scheme, it leaves a void only filled by an absurd picaresque of a deranged crypto bro who barks profanities during conference calls and cries out, in one particularly laughable instance, “Who the f--- is the SEC?”

Song's enthusiastic performance occasionally hints at something deeper, and it's a real shame his last dance is undermined by the screenplay's clumsy caricature.

If "Crypto Man" is an earnest but failed attempt at nuance, it speaks to a poverty of imagination. If it's an offshoot of the black comedy the director claims to have envisioned -- a farce meant to deconstruct the myth of genius and authority behind crypto grifters -- it lands with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

"Crypto Man" hits theaters Jan. 15.