Train to Busan Unlocks What The Last of Us Couldn't

If there was a gold medal for bottling up your emotions, I would definitely be in contention. But this week, I'm in desperate need of a good cry. That can only mean one thing: it's time to watch Train to Busan.

This 2016 South Korean horror thriller never fails to reduce me to a literal puddle. We're talking a full chest-heaving, sniffle-inducing sob fest; the best way that I know to flip that emotional reset switch. I hope I'm not alone here, or this is going to be one strange read. Even though lots of movies tug on my heartstrings, for some reason, there's only one that can reliably make me bawl my eyes out. And it has zombies in it. But it also has catharsis.

The fact that The Last of Us' finale has whetted my appetite for zombie media was just an added bonus this time around. Actually, the comparison is pretty apt. Both are about a father-daughter pair at odds, trying to survive the zombie apocalypse. But for my money, Train to Busan pulls off in under two hours what TLOU has been fumbling with for the last two seasons. I had such high hopes for the show, but somewhere in the second season I feel like it lost sight of the heart of the story. But that's okay. I have my favourite zombie movie ready, which not only has more than enough heart to make up for some lackluster TV, but also, in a weird way, sets me free.

There have been a lot of pesky thoughts and feelings swirling around my head the last few weeks. Gumming up the works, in a manner of speaking. Nothing too major, but over time, small things start to pile up. I'm like a drain, finally clogged up with sand after one too many trips to the beach. At some point, the dam has to burst. Luckily, I always know where to turn when I'm in need of emotional release.

Train to Busan follows workaholic Seok-Woo and his young daughter Su-An as they try to survive aboard the titular train from Seoul to Busan after it is invaded and slowly overrun by a zombie horde. But despite their constant—and genuinely frightening—presence, the movie isn't really about zombies at all. They're just the catalyst for the relationship at the center of the film.

Honestly, even I struggle to understand what about this movie cuts so deep for me. It's not like I'm normally a crier. I'm always the "monster" staring dry-eyed at all of the classic cinematic tearjerkers. The one who gets a cutting side-eye while everyone else wipes their tears watching Up, Hachi, or Dead Poet's Society. I wish that I could join in, but I have a damn near impossible time allowing my emotional stone wall to break, let alone crumble to teeny-tiny pieces. That's why I'm in this predicament in the first place.

Sometimes I wish that I could just be normal. Why does it have to be a zombie movie that finally breaks me? But I think I'm coming to accept it. I'll admit that it's strange, but if you watch the movie, it's not as absurd as it sounds.

Even before the main story really gets going, I'm already a little choked. Su-An lives with her dad, who is clearly too busy being a heartless hedge fund manager to look after his daughter. It's her birthday, and not only has he forgotten that she already has the gift he got for her, he missed her school recital. When she saw that he wasn't there, she couldn't even sing her song. That's all it takes for me to hate him.

If you've spent much time on my page, you'll know that I'm no stranger to daddy issues. If you give me a good absent father narrative I'm more than on board, but this one goes above and beyond. It delivers an onion of heartbreak, peeling back layer after layer as the movie goes on. By the end, Train to Busan is cut down to the rawest center. And, just like cutting onions, I'm blinded by a screen of tears in the process.

Su-an is honestly too pure for any world, let alone one with zombies in it. Su-an Kim delivers one of the most endearing and unfiltered performances I've ever seen, child actor or no. All that she wants for her birthday is to go to Busan to see her mother, but she is so afraid of being a burden to her father that this 10-year-old is ready to make the trip all on her own. It's clear that she has long ago given up on the idea that her father could ever be there for her emotionally, could ever behave like a parent. She knows she has to look out for herself now. Begging her father to let her go, she says, "I won't waste your time."

If it weren't for the apocalypse, I might think that the story was ripped from the pages of my childhood diary. Or my therapy transcripts.

We're only 15 minutes into the movie, and I can feel the wall starting to give. Seok-Woo relents and agrees to take Su-an to Busan. The next day, they board that fateful bullet train. As they pull away from the station, a crazed woman sprints on board. She's shaking, babbling, and has a bite mark on her arm. You can probably guess where this is going.

I'm not going to lie and say that this movie is just sad the whole way through. The action scenes are frequent, and put together incredibly well. Not only are they a ton of fun to watch, they also function to reveal the character of everyone on board the train. But as much as I love the bantering and badass pregnant couple, and love to hate the despicable COO, at the end of the day, I'm locked in on the story of Seok-Woo and Su-an.

Even amidst the veritable end of the world, Su-An looks out for everyone around her. Having a child character in the movie is honestly a little unfair. It's like a cheat code. Unlike the adults putting on a brave face, every emotion that Su-an feels is on display. And you're right there with her. I can feel her fear, her confusion, her guilt for dragging her father on this trip, her sadness and disappointment at his attitude towards others, and her deep goodness, which all give this movie the kind of emotional backbone that is rare to see in a film of any genre. Again, flowers to Kim Su-an.

In the beginning, her pure heart is in stark contrast to her father's selfish nature. But as the film progresses, Seok-Woo begins to learn from his daughter's example. And it hits like a freaking freight train, no pun intended. This man who at the beginning of the film looked as if he couldn't be bothered to care for his daughter, fights with everything he has to keep her safe, and in time, others as well. I can't help but hope each time I watch it, that maybe this time, good will win out. Watching Su-An and Seok-Woo come together throughout the movie feels eerily similar to watching Jack and Rose in Titanic. You don't know exactly what's coming, but you know it can't be good.

The worse things get, the more I feel the love between them bubble to the surface. There's one heart to heart in particular that always makes my breath catch in my throat. "I was so scared I'd never see you again, I practiced that song just for you. That's why I couldn't sing. Because I couldn't see you," says Su-an. I know that feeling all too well. When you allow yourself to hope that maybe just this once your parent will come through for you, only to feel double the force of disappointment when they don't. Come on. Give a girl a break.

I guess I shouldn't complain. This is what I came for. I wanted to cry, and it's definitely on the way. The cracks are turning to fissures. I can't keep it in much longer.

Even though things have only gone from bad to worse to worst the whole movie, by the end you almost think that they might get out of this alive. But in this story, the characters, and the audience, are punished for having hope. Of course there's one final rogue zombie. And when his daughter and the pregnant Sung-Gyeong are in danger, Seok-Woo does something that he never would have done at the beginning of the movie. Watching him throw himself between them and the monster, I feel just as helpless as Su-An, watching as her dad is bitten; sentenced to death. Horror movies always taught me that if you learn your lesson, you're safe. But of course, this one offers no quarter.

At the beginning I hated him, and now I would give anything to see him survive. Seok-Woo's sacrifice serves as the final culmination of everything he has learned, everything his daughter has taught him about humanity. Before he turns, he has one final, utterly shattering goodbye with his daughter. I honestly can't write anything that will do this final scene justice. It undoes me. The dam is burst. Just as Su-An and her father finally come together, they are ripped apart.

By this point, I can't contain myself. My breathing is hitching and teartracks are streaking my face, but the movie isn't done with me yet. There's more. Su-an and Sung-Gyeong finally make it to Busan. As they walk slowly into the city, the army at the perimeter is given the order to shoot, lest they be more of the undead. The first time I watched the movie, I wanted to scream. After everything they've been through, everything they've lost, they are going to die steps from salvation. I wasn't surprised at the movie, but you can bet I was pissed.

But then, Su-an starts singing. The song that she wasn't able to perform when her father was missing spills from her mouth and drifts to the soldiers' ears. A tearful, heartbroken rendition of Aloha ʻOe, sung for a father that is gone, but still with her. The lyrics slam everything home. Farewell to thee, until we meet again.

Su-an's humanity has stayed intact throughout this entire film, and it is her humanity that finally saves her. That's what Train to Busan gets that TLOU just doesn't. You don't have to lose yourself to survive, or even to protect those closest to you. That's why I love this movie. It will take you all the way down to rock bottom, but at the very last second, give you hope again. Catharsis. Despite everything it's put me through emotionally, I don't walk away feeling bleak. I feel healed. All it took was an estranged father and daughter learning to connect amidst the end of the world.