On August 15, 1974, South Korean President Park Chung-hee was delivering a speech at the National Theater in Seoul when an assailant opened fire. While Park managed to take cover behind a bulletproof lectern, his wife, First Lady Yook Young-soo, was struck in the head and later died from her injuries. The attacker, Mun Se-gwang, a Korean-born Japanese resident, was subdued at the scene and executed later that year. The incident has since remained a topic of intense debate and speculation in South Korea.

A new film, "The Assassin(s)," released on September 23, has rekindled controversy by revisiting the circumstances surrounding the assassination attempt and the first lady’s death. Blending historical events with fictional elements, the movie follows a journalist and a police officer as they attempt to uncover the truth amid a repressive political climate dominated by the Korean Central Intelligence Agency (KCIA). The agency is portrayed as a powerful force suppressing dissent through intimidation and violence.

The film’s release has sparked a sharp response from conservative factions, who accuse the filmmakers of distorting history and unfairly portraying Park Chung-hee as a ruthless dictator possibly complicit in orchestrating the attack. Conservative lawmakers and activists have led boycott campaigns of brands associated with the film’s cast, and protests have escalated to picketing the home of the lead actor, Yoo Hae-jin, prompting police protection for him and the cast’s withdrawal from the Busan International Film Festival. Right-wing critics denounce the film as “left-wing propaganda.”

Conversely, progressives and members of the governing party have defended the movie as an exercise of artistic freedom and a legitimate challenge to an official narrative that has long gone unexamined. They view the backlash as an attempt at censorship and have organized screenings in support of the film. The Directors Guild of Korea has warned that such political interference threatens the creative independence that has driven the global acclaim of South Korean cinema.

Official investigations at the time concluded Mun acted alone on behalf of a pro-North Korean group and that one of his bullets had struck Park’s lectern, while another fatally wounded Yook. Mun’s motivations, the route he took to smuggle a concealed weapon into a highly secured area using forged identification, and inconsistencies in the official account have fueled enduring doubts. Notably, the bullet that killed Yook has never been made public, and no ballistic evidence attributing it conclusively to Mun exists.

In 1989, a retired police forensic officer testified that security personnel may have removed bullets from the crime scene before investigators arrived and suggested Mun’s shots had not caused the first lady’s fatal injury. The director of "The Assassin(s)," Hur Jin-ho, has stated that unresolved questions and previous televised investigations inspired the film’s suggestion of multiple gunmen and possible conspiracies, including speculation about whether Park himself might have been involved.

The debate surrounding the film reflects broader societal divisions in South Korea over historical interpretation. Left-leaning governments have criminalized the denial of certain historical events, such as the 1980 Gwangju massacre of pro-democracy protesters and Japan’s wartime sexual enslavement of Korean women. Some conservatives have countered by downplaying or disputing these narratives, alleging they are politicized or fabricated. The dispute over "The Assassin(s)" is emblematic of ongoing cultural and political struggles over how the nation’s turbulent past should be remembered and portrayed.

Park Geun-hye, Park Chung-hee’s daughter and former president, has not publicly commented on the film but shared a letter from her father written to her after the shooting, in which he expressed sorrow that his wife had been killed while he survived.

As "The Assassin(s)" continues to attract audiences and ignite debate, the unresolved questions about one of South Korea’s most dramatic historical episodes highlight the persistent challenges of reconciling competing memories in a society still grappling with the legacies of dictatorship, colonialism, and democratic transition.