The Netflix film about the 1970 Yodogo hijacking shows how some people in power respond under pressure in contrast to those who have to do the work
Review
Good News
Netflix
Rating: ★★★★☆
There is no shortage of films about real-life crises, most of which rely on escalating danger or the suffering of those involved to drive the story. Good News, a Korean Netflix film released in mid October, breaks away from that formula in its retelling of the 1970 Yodogo hijacking.
Directed by Byun Sung-hyun — known for his hard-edged crime thrillers Kill Boksoon (2023) and The Merciless (2017) — the film delivers a well-executed satirical take on the incident.
The film opens by establishing the political climate of the time through a mix of archival and staged footage. It introduces Japan’s Red Army Faction, a militant extremist communist group that aimed to spark an armed uprising against what it viewed as an oppressive capitalist government.
With airport security almost non-existent at the time, several of the group's members were able to hijack a domestic flight and demand the pilots reroute toward North Korea. Once the plane crosses into South Korean airspace, governments, militaries and intelligence agencies from the countries involved scramble to contain the crisis before it escalates into a diplomatic disaster.
Two figures are drawn into this hastily assembled taskforce: one is an elusive strategist known, quite literally, only as "Nobody" (Sul Kyung-gu), the other is a young Air Force lieutenant Seo Go-myung (Hong Kyung), recruited for his expertise in foreign air-traffic radar systems.
Some of the measures taken during the real incident — most notably the plan to disguise Seoul’s Gimpo Airport as Pyongyang International Airport to convince the hijackers they had reached their destination — are already so improbable, they could anchor a film on their own.
But Good News doesn’t stop at recreating this already bizarre incident. It pushes it further into slapstick comedy.
Characters are played as caricatures and major turning points unfold like comic set pieces, including a "double-parking" of a jet on the runway to block the hijacked plane from escaping.
In another scene, Seo fights for control of the radio frequency against North Korean officers in a showdown staged like a Western duel, complete with cowboy outfits and tumbleweed rolling across the screen.
Even the hijackers are played for laughs, quoting the boxing manga Ashita no Joe as if it were revolutionary scripture.
Yet as the film progresses, it becomes clear that this is not a playful re-enactment but a satire of how people in power respond under pressure. Every decision is debated endlessly but no one dares to make the final call, each more concerned about their reputations than the 129 passengers whose lives are at stake. They hold authority in title, but it is the young lieutenant Seo who bears the pressure of executing the operation.
The opening scene in which Nobody quotes a fictional philosopher: "Truth sometimes lies on the dark side of the moon but that does not make the bright side false," becomes clear when it reappears at the height of the crisis.
On one level, it shines light on the bureaucratic cowardice of the officials, contrasted with the low-ranking personnel expected to carry out the work.
It also points to the film’s wider concern with the manipulation of truth, often veering into propaganda. Nobody advises the officials as they shape a version of events that suits them. Not only by deceiving the hijackers into landing in Seoul but by inventing Korean passengers to appease domestic outrage.
All of this culminates in the irony behind the title Good News, that the "good news" of the triumphant rescue released afterward is a curated version of events. How naive it is to assume the stories we're told are complete or that the celebrated names were the ones who did the work.
It is also notable that while many Korean and Chinese historical dramas still tend to cast Japan in the harshest possible light, director Byun is less interested in relitigating past atrocities.
Instead, the film points toward the absurdities of the present political moment — from corruption protests in parts of Southeast Asia to the state propaganda and political/business entanglements seen across many nations — as much as it is about a decades-old plane hijacking.
For everything the film achieves thematically, it also succeeds visually. Hyung-rae Cho’s cinematography and the production design capture both the cramped tension of the control rooms and the heightened drama of the airfield.
Unfortunately, the pacing wobbles midway through and what begins with sharp intensity gradually peters out. The bureaucratic meetings stretch on too long and some jokes are repeated until they dull the satire’s bite. A tighter final act would have strengthened the film’s overall impact.
But even with its pacing issues and less action than a typical aeronautical disaster film, this darkly comedic film lands where it needs to. The hijacking may have happened more than fifty years ago, yet the behaviour it satires is very much recognisable. You don’t need to know much about Korean politics to get the film — to laugh, then wince.
Good News is streaming now on Netflix
