Apartments are not to blame. People are.

The point resonates with a line from "Wall To Wall": “Apartments are not to blame. People are.” The problem lies not in the buildings themselves but in the unchecked desires projected onto them.

Jung Hyun-mok

The author is a senior culture reporter at the JoongAng Ilbo.

When BLACKPINK member Rosé released the song "APT." (2024), few expected it would carve out a historic moment in K-pop.

On Sept. 7 in New Jersey, the track won Song of the Year at the MTV Video Music Awards. Not even Psy, whose 2012 hit "Gangnam Style" created a global craze, nor BTS, with their worldwide fandom, managed to claim that particular trophy.

The song’s success triggered a revival at home. Yoon Soo-il’s 1982 classic "Apartment" was rediscovered by younger listeners. And a distinctly Korean expression, “apateu,” long considered Konglish for high-rise flats, suddenly became familiar worldwide.

Still from film ″Wall to Wall″ [NETFLIX]

Rosé’s song casts apartments as romantic spaces where young couples nurture affection. Yet Korean cinema has long presented the opposite view. Films often depict apartments as shadowed spaces of greed, envy and fear — reflecting the dream of ownership and the desperation to protect property values in a nation dubbed the “apartment republic.” Apartments are not mere backdrops in these stories. They emerge as characters of their own, magnifying conflict and obsession.

Netflix’s July release "Wall To Wall" (2025), marketed domestically under the Korean title "84 Square Meters," quickly went global by dramatizing yeongkkeul — a slang expression meaning to scrape together every possible resource. The protagonist, who secures a small apartment in Seoul by pooling a deposit, loans, severance pay and even the sale of his mother’s farmland, struggles desperately to keep it. Viewers around the world were drawn to the story’s raw emotional weight.

Two years ago, "Concrete Utopia" (2023) and "Dream Palace" (2023) captured attention for different reasons. The first set in the aftermath of a massive earthquake, the second against the backdrop of unsold apartments, both reflected collective selfishness among residents under duress.

A scene from the independent film "The Berefts" (2024). [DANKOOK UNIVERSITY GRADUATE SCHOOL OF CINEMA CONTENTS, TIGER CINEMA]

Independent cinema has also embraced the apartment theme. Last year’s "The Berefts" (2024), known in Korea as "One House," portrayed two families faking marriages to qualify for state housing benefits reserved for newlyweds. The absurdity of the premise barely outpaces reality, where fabricated residency records, falsified medical documents and sham adoptions have surfaced in real-life housing scandals.

In "Lucky, Apartment" (2023), residents conceal the lonely death of an elderly man, prioritizing market prices over dignity. Other films — "Wall To Wall", "Jobless Apartment" (2023), and "Noise" (2023) — explore how disputes over sound between floors trigger paranoia, with characters obsessing over whether conflicts will be exposed and depress values.

This anxiety has made apartment noise a recurring device in thrillers. Violence over sound disputes, even killings, has occurred in real life. In the recent release "The Last Assignment" (2025), segregation among children is evident, depending on whether they reside in private or rental housing. A private complex even restricts its pathways to keep rental residents away, erecting a metaphorical wall between children as much as a physical one.

By now, the Korean apartment has become almost a genre unto itself. In these stories, people mortgage their futures and commit crimes to secure a unit, while neighbors ignore one another until property values are threatened. Rosé’s global hit thus coexists with a cinematic mirror reflecting society’s harsh realities.

The challenges do not stop at film. Reports continue of security guards suffering abuse from residents. This summer, some residents even demanded the removal of fans from guard posts to save electricity, despite the sweltering heat. One wonders how long it will be before a film appears on the quiet tragedies endured by these workers.

In "The Berefts" (2024), the families ultimately pay for their deception and discover something deeper: that family bonds matter more than ownership.

Seoul's apartments are seen from Namsan Seoul Tower in central Seoul on August. [NEWS1]

Television advertisements for apartment brands sometimes push back against the darker images. Recent commercials show families welcoming loved ones home after work, travel or military service. They do not emphasize luxury, technology or prestige. Instead, they highlight warmth, affection and the idea of home, set to Kim Chang-wan’s 1987 ballad "On the Way Home." The tagline — “Thank you for making it home today” — reminds viewers that a house is not just something to buy but a place to live.

The point resonates with a line from "Wall To Wall": “Apartments are not to blame. People are.” The problem lies not in the buildings themselves but in the unchecked desires projected onto them.

This article was originally written in Korean and translated by a bilingual reporter with the help of generative AI tools. It was then edited by a native English-speaking editor. All AI-assisted translations are reviewed and refined by our newsroom.