Because This Is My First Life

(2017) Romance, comedy, drama; 16 one-hour episodes

Starring: Jung So-min, Lee Min-ki

 

Synopsis

Desperate for housing, Yoon Ji-ho signs a marriage contract with Nam Se-hee who sees her as the perfect tenant to help pay off his mortgage early. On the surface, they couldn’t be more different. Se-hee is socially awkward, reticent, serious, and expressionless. Additionally, he’s under serious pressure from his parents to get married. Ji-ho is an assistant screenwriter who struggles under the company’s hierarchy and harassment. She’s serious, too, but open, caring, and engaging with friends and society. Getting married—persuading the mutual in-laws—is difficult enough, but will their landlord/tenant relationship survive societal expectations of marriage, or will their relationship change?

 

What It’s About Is Not What It’s About

Because This Is My First Life is categorized as a romantic comedy, and it is, but it’s so much more. As we’ve come to expect with Dragon Studios productions, the script was tight and well-written with dynamic characters. Lee Min-ki and Jung So-min led a talented and cohesive ensemble cast with stellar performances from the leads right on down the cast roll; the story was engaging, intriguing, wonderfully complex, deep, and layered with meaning, themes, and messages.

But the story is more than a romantic comedy: It dares to explore women’s changing roles in Korean society. Ji-ho and Se-hee redefine what marriage can be, free from Korea’s traditional roles for men and women, while Ho-rang and Won-seok explore the choice of wanting a traditional marriage and lifestyle within Korea’s almost crushing financial realities. Soo-ji is more secretive, even with her best friends, but while she takes charge of her own sexuality and relationships, she has to put up with almost constant, blatant, sexual harassment at work in order to keep her job and climb the corporate ladder. She finds an unlikely ally in Sang-goo, who is, perhaps, the ideal man from a feminist perspective, taking people as people, judging them on their actions and qualifications, supporting Soo-ji without being authoritative or patronizing, and more than capable of meeting Soo-ji as an equal.

 

Women’s Changing Roles in South Korean Society

Many of the struggles presented in this drama are reminiscent of what American women faced—and still do, to some extent—in the 70s and 80s: Blatant sexual harassment; physical and/or verbal abuse for rejecting a man’s advances; unequal pay for equal work (that’s still a problem); and challenging society’s expectations that defined relationships, sexuality, marriage, children, acceptable careers for women, and traditional gender roles.

Still, I only thought about Because This Is My First Life as a wonderful, romantic, and humorous story with some interesting themes until I saw an OpEd in The New York Times discussing South Korea’s negative population growth rate—more deaths than births—which will have an enormous impact on Korean culture, society, and their economy. That essay stated that 65 percent of South Korean women don’t want children and, thus, are avoiding marriage—a marriage strike. Why? That question led me to South Korea’s feminist movement.

Korean society is a bit of a paradox: its economy is the tenth largest in the world with some of the biggest tech companies in the world and it boasts some of the fastest internet connection speeds internationally. Culturally, South Korea has some of the most globally popular entertainment in film, television, and music. Yet, for all its economic strength, technological advances, and cultural influence, South Korea has an appalling track record with women’s rights.

 

A Little Context

South Korea is conservative (take America’s conservativism, put it on steroids, and slap on expectations of filial and spousal obedience). It’s also entrenched in patriarchy and hierarchy. 

Traditionally, men are kings of their family, the breadwinners who are rewarded with respect, obedience, and children—sons, in particular. Yet this centuries-old tradition has pushed women into inferior positions in the family and society.¹

Korean women face traditional expectations of a daughter-in-law’s duties and obligations to take care of her husband’s parents, including preparations for holidays and memorial rites (preparing all the food and all the washing up). Daughters-in-law can become the scapegoat in South Korean families being blamed for not having children, not having sons, knowing too much or too little, making more money than their husbands, having a job, not having a job, not taking care of the house or the husband, or the mediocre grades of their children. 

Additionally, women are expected to achieve and maintain impossible beauty standards and keep current with the latest fashion. (Korea does the most plastic surgery per year in the world and its cosmetics industry in becoming one of the most lucrative internationally.) And, if that’s not enough, women are confronted with the traditional mindset that views unmarried women as pitiful, and “living well” means having a husband and children. 

But let’s be real. South Korean women are not the meek, suffer-in-silence, objects as often depicted in Korean film. Just as western women have traditionally been depicted as “the little woman,” Korean women are more than their traditional roles and stereotypes. Yet the disparity between gender roles, equal pay, job opportunities and hiring practices, and personal safety continue to be one of the worst among advanced nations. 

 

Women in the Workplace

The Organization of Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) has ranked South Korea at the bottom of the list for the largest gender pay gap every year for the last three decades and has remained at the bottom of the Economist’s glass-ceiling index since it was launched in 2013. The Economist has even labeled South Korea’s glass ceiling “bullet proof.” And they’re not even close to equal pay: women are paid just $0.69 for every dollar their male counterparts earn. (In the U.S., on average, women earn $0.84 for every dollar a man makes.) 

Yet even while more women than men are now matriculating into universities, hiring practices are skewed in favor of men. Some companies, for example, were taken to court for excluding female candidates who graduated from women’s colleges. Other companies have fabricated documents to give higher interview scores to male candidates to maintain a set a target gender ratio of men to woman—in some cases 4:1 and 7:3 in others. These practices are in violation of Korea’s Equal Employment Opportunity and Work-Family Balance Assistance Act, but the fines amount to little more than a slap on the wrist.

 

Domestic Violence and Tech-Based Sexual Abuse

South Korea is one of the most advanced technological countries in the world, but it comes at a cost: digital sex crimes have become an epidemic. Men have planted spycams in women’s locker rooms, public bathrooms, workplaces, motels, stores, and subways to film women without their consent and distribute those videos online. One young woman discovered a site where men uploaded such surreptitious videos and discovered that some brothers had even uploaded videos of their sisters. Yet prosecution of digital sex crimes have been low and punishments lenient.

Such objectification and disrespect has also led to violence: women constitute more than half of Korea’s murder victims, which is one of the highest gender ratios in the world. In 2019, 90 percent of violent crime victims were women, an increase from 71 percent in 2000. And, a 2017 survey conducted by Human Rights Watch found that nearly 80 percent of South Korean male respondents admitted to violent acts against an intimate partner. The situation is so pervasive that women now refer to ending a relationship where they walk away from unharmed as a "safe breakup."

Tech-savvy, young, and educated men have been the drivers of misogyny and online hate speech, blaming women and feminism for their economic and social difficulties in a society distressed with high youth unemployment, skyrocketing housing prices, and growing economic inequality.²

Many men refuse to acknowledge that South Korea is a country with entrenched patriarchy with toxic gender relations. Indeed, these young men have been such a driving force in the backlash against feminism and gender equality that their grievances have been picked up by political candidates.

 

The 4Bs: Dating, Sex, Marriage, and Birth

In a society with alarmingly frequent incidents of workplace sexual harassment, rape, murder, and domestic abuse, some Korean women have simply found Korean men beyond redemption. 

In addition to South Korea’s “marriage strike” is a small, but growing movement among Korean women, known as the 4B. 4B is shorthand for Korean words that all start with bi-, meaning “no.” Biyeonae is saying no to dating; bisekseu is the rejection of heterosexual, sexual relationships; bihon, is the refusal of heterosexual marriage; and bichulsan is the refusal of childbirth. 

There are also women who decide not to get married because of the traditional expectations of a daughter-in-law’s duties and obligations, which can be suffocating, demoralizing, and abusive.

Korea’s birth rate cannot be blamed solely on feminism: people are getting married and having children later, which can affect fertility rates; the cost of housing is skyrocketing; education is expensive; the expenses of raising children are costly; and job opportunities are limited with fierce competition. Faced with this reality, it can be financially reckless to have children. However, research indicates that low birth rates in developed countries reflect backward attitudes regarding female gender roles.

Yet, South Korea’s childbirth has fallen so much that it now has the lowest birth rate in the world. Men blame feminism and even President Yoon echoed that sentiment in his 2022 campaign, in effect, turbocharging the antifeminist backlash. 

 

Politics

It's not surprising that the backlash against feminism has entered politics. Leading up to South Korea’s 2022 presidential election, then-candidate Yoon Suk-yeol capitalized on men’s anti-feminist anger, calling for the abolishment of the Ministry of Gender Equality and Family, which protects women’s rights and combats domestic violence, and accused its officials of treating men like “potential sex criminals.” Yoon blamed feminism for Korea’s low birth rate and stated that feminism prevents healthy relationships between men and women.³ Yoon has also claimed that systemic gender discrimination doesn’t exist—contrary to research and economic and social indicators. 

Yoon narrowly won the election and took office in 2022, his Presidential term is five-years. As President, he has removed the term “gender equality” from school textbooks, cancelled funding for programs fighting everyday sexism, and is trying to dismantle the gender equality ministry, which has also been pivotal in normalizing parental leave for fathers and helping women achieve seniority in the workplace.

Since 2015, South Korea’s feminism has gained some hard-won rights, but the backlash, combined with a conservative political party bent on exploiting young men’s anti-feminist anger, is a serious threat to women’s rights and equality.

 

Something Worth Saying is Something Worth Hearing

South Korea remains a country entrenched in authoritarian and hierarchical paradigms and traditions, where violence toward women is high, and gender discrimination is deeply engrained. But women are changing Korean society.

Because This Is My First Life explores what relationships and marriage can be, outside Korea’s constricting traditions and gender violence; that respect for and support of one’s partner, girlfriend, and wife are fundamental to a healthy relationship. It also provides young men with models for behavior and attitudes that do not emasculate them but enhances their attractiveness. What woman doesn’t want her boyfriend to support her, listen to her, and be in her corner while letting her call the shots? 

Ji-ho, Soo-ji, and Ho-rang each illustrate that the kind of marriage or relationship they want is a choice, and their relationships are as unique as the characters in them. So, whether a South Korean woman embraces the 4B, or Ji-ho’s refusal to accept the traditional duties of a daughter-in-law, or Soo-ji’s acceptance of a committed relationship but not marriage, or Ho-rang’s desire for a traditional marriage, what’s important is women’s freedom for self determination. 

Ji-ho, Soo-ji, and Ho-rang each experience sexual harassment at work to one degree or another. Without government support for anti-discrimination laws to curb sexual harassment and gender discrimination, this toxic trait will continue just as will feminists’ determination to gain better living standards for women—free of discrimination, violence, and abuse.

Se-hee, Sang-goo, and Won-seok represent the ideal men women want to fall in love with—caring, tender, open-minded, yet humanly flawed in a non-toxic way. At the core of this ideal, are men who respect women for their intelligence, determination, choices, and desires and not simply as the servants of men's egos, the house, and the bedroom.

Because This Is My First Life is an engaging romantic comedy, but it has something to say. Something we should all listen to.

©2024 Caitlyn Frost. All rights reserved.

Endnotes

¹Koo, Se-woong. (April 15, 2022) The Truth About Korean Men. Korean Exposé. Retrieved August 13, 2024, from https://koreaexpose.com/korean-men-and-masculinity-viewed-from-inside-korea/

²Moon, Katharine H.S. (December 9, 2022) South Korea’s Misogyny Problem. East Asia Forum. Retrieved August 10, 2024, from https://eastasiaforum.org/2022/12/09/south-koreas-misogyny-problem/

³Gunia, Amy. (March 10, 2022) How South Korea’s Yoon Suk-yeol Capitalized on Anti-Feminist Backlash to Win the Presidency. Time Magazine. Retrieved August 15, 2024, from https://time.com/6156537/south-korea-president-yoon-suk-yeol-sexism/

 

Sources

Gunia, Amy. (March 10, 2022) How South Korea’s Yoon Suk-yeol Capitalized on Anti-Feminist Backlash to Win the Presidency. Time Magazine. Retrieved August 15, 2024, from https://time.com/6156537/south-korea-president-yoon-suk-yeol-sexism/

Hassan, Tirana. (2023). Human Rights Watch World Report 2023 South Korea. Human Rights Watch. https://www.hrw.org/world-report/2023/country-chapters/south-korea

Jung, Hawon. Flowers of Fire: The Inside Story of South Korea’s Feminist Movement and What It Means for Women’s Rights Worldwide. Ben Bella Books, Inc., 2023.

Jung, Hawon. (July 30, 2021) The Little Symbol Triggering Men in South Korea’s Gender War. The New York Times. Retrieved December 9, 2023, from https://www.nytimes.com/2021/07/30/opinion/international-world/korea-emoji-feminism-misogyny.html?searchResultPosition=1

Jung, Hawon. (January 27, 2023) Women in South Korea Are on Strike Against Being “Baby Making Machines.” The New York Times. Retrieved December 9, 2023, from https://www.nytimes.com/2023/01/27/opinion/south-korea-fertility-rate-feminism.html

Koo, Se-woong. (June 13, 2016). South Korea’s Misogyny. The New York Times. Retrieved December 9, 2023, from https://www.nytimes.com/2016/06/13/opinion/south-koreas-misogyny.html

Koo, Se-woong. (April 15, 2022) The Truth About Korean Men. Korean Exposé. Retrieved August 13, 2024, from https://koreaexpose.com/korean-men-and-masculinity-viewed-from-inside-korea/

Lee Jaeeun. (November 30, 2023) Labor Ministry to Investigate Alleged Gender Discrimination in Hiring. Korean Herald. Retrived August 4, 2024, from https://www.koreaherald.com/view.php?ud=20231130000715#:~:text=South%20Korea's%20Labor%20Ministry%20will,employee%20forum%20Blind%20went%20viral.

Lee, Michelle Ye Hee. (February 21, 2024) South Korea, a Nation of Rigid Gender Norms, Meets Its Changemakers. The Washington Post. Retrieved August 5, 2024, from https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/2024/02/21/south-korea-women-gender-equality-gap/

Moon, Katharine H.S. (December 9, 2022) South Korea’s Misogyny Problem. East Asia Forum. Retrieved August 10, 2024, from https://eastasiaforum.org/2022/12/09/south-koreas-misogyny-problem/

Rich, Timothy S., White, Serena, and Coyle, Josie. (October 27, 2023) How Do South Koreans View Gender Discrimination? The Diplomat. Retrieved August 4, 2024, from https://thediplomat.com/2023/10/how-do-south-koreans-view-gender-discrimination/

Song Seung-hyun. (June 7, 2024) Korea’s Gender Equality Shows Slight Improvement in 2022: Govt. Data. Korean Herald. Retrieved August 4, 2024, from https://www.koreaherald.com/view.php?ud=20240607050420

Sussman, Anna Louie. (March 8 2023) A World Without Men: The Women of South Korea’s 4B Movement Aren’t Fighting the Patriarchy—They’re Leaving it Behind Entirely. New York Magazine. Retrieved August 5, 2024, from https://www.humanrightsresearch.org/post/south-korea-s-hurdles-with-gender-equality

Tang, Jasmyn J. (February 27, 2024) South Korea’s Hurdles with Gender Equality. Human Rights Research Center. Retrieved August 11, 2024, from https://www.humanrightsresearch.org/post/south-korea-s-hurdles-with-gender-equality

Yoon Min-ki. (March 24, 2024) What Are the Reasons for the Gender Wage Gap? Women Say Discrimination, Men Say Career Breaks. Korean Herald. Retrieved August 4, 2024 , from https://www.koreaherald.com/view.php?ud=20240324050093

The Hymn of Death

The Hymn of Death 2018

Starring: Lee Jong-suk and Shin Hye-sun

 

The Hymn of Death is based on true events and portrays the tragic romance of Kim U-jin, a genius playwright, and Korea’s first soprano of Western classical music, Yun Sim-doek. The two committed suicide in 1926, by jumping off a passenger ship en route from Japan to Korea. They were both 29 years old. The shocking news became a sensation in Korea. Shortly after their deaths, Yun Sim-doek’s recording of “The Hymn of Death” was released. It sold over 100,000 copies in an era when recordings were relatively new.

For those of us unfamiliar with their story, we need to understand some biographical information and the basic impact of the Japanese occupation, and the pressures and expectations of a Confucius society so that we can fully appreciate this drama. There’s a lot to unpack.

 

 

Kim U-jin and Yun Sim-doek

There’s precious little written in English about Kim U-jin and Yun Sim-doek. I suspect they’re folk heroes in Korea, and that their stories are better documented, but they are virtually unknown in the States. Kim U-jin (played by Lee Jong-suk) was a poet, playwright, essayist, dramatist, and Korea’s first professional literary critic of Korean literature. He was the son of a wealthy land owner and went to Tokyo to study English literature and pursue a career in theater.

Kim U-jin and Yun Sim-doek

Yun Sim-doek (played by Shin Hye-sun) came from a poor family. She became the first Korean to study music at the Tokyo Music School, where she studied voice and Western classical music. After graduating, she became a singer and actress, known as "Korea's First Soprano" (likely because of her performances of Western classical pieces). But her audiences couldn't connect with her repertoire and she turned to popular music to make ends meet. Kim U-jin and Yun Sim-doek met in Tokyo in 1921 while both were attending college and fell in love.

 

Japanese Occupation

The Japanese occupied Korea from 1910 to 1945, but there had been at least half a century of trouble leading up to formal occupation. For Korea, then known as Joseon, the 19th century brought about the Industrial Revolution, and with it the West pressured Asian countries to trade. While they were successful with Japan and China, Joseon adamantly refused to yield. In 1875, Japan attacked two Joseon islands and demanded that Joseon open its doors to foreign trade. Things did not go well for Joseon and eventually, under military threat, they were forced to sign a treaty with Japan, in 1876, that greatly favored Japan. Joseon was officially annexed by Japan in 1910. 

 

Joseon was ruled by generals and admirals appointed by Japan’s emperor—effectively, a military occupation—and, under Japanese occupation, Koreans were deprived of their freedom of assembly, association, the press, and speech. Koreans were forced to learn and speak Japanese. This isn’t new. Forced assimilation is an effective means of conquering a culture and driving the people into submission by breaking their cultural identity. The Japanese did this in many ways by changing laws, policies, religious teachings, and education. Additionally, Korean students were forced to learn Japanese language and culture (textbooks were in Japanese) and Koreans were forced to take Japanese names—and, as your Korean name connects you with your family and ancestors, changing your name meant losing that connection. The Japanese chipped away and denied the very core and identity of Joseon (Korean) culture. This is the era in which Kim U-jin and Yun Sim-doek lived.

 

 

Confucianism

Korea is a Confucius society. Confucianism is predicated on personal ethics and morality and establishes social values. An individual’s good moral character is believed to affect the world around them, eliciting cosmic harmony. (ex., if I do good things, then I will attract good things to me and into my life; karma.) Devotion to one’s family—submission to parental authority, or filial piety—is a fundamental tenet of  Confucianism, as is respect for elders, harmony between individuals, justice, and loyalty to friends. Filial piety can be an emotional pressure cooker when what one desires—education, work, relationships, marriage—differs from what one’s parents dictate. This pressure is often used in Kdramas to further complicate a story, but it’s based on reality. 

 

 

The Hymn of Death 

(N.B. This section contains SPOILERS.)

This series doesn’t have the feeling of a typical biographical series. Kim U-jin’s and Yun Sim-doek’s ill-fated love is well known in Korea. The series focuses on the two and the familial, societal, and political pressures placed on each of them that, ultimately, led to their suicide. Kim U-jin bristles against Japanese occupation, but he’s not on the front lines of protests. He reads Japanese books in Korean to remind himself that he is Korean. He directs plays that flirt with being politically dangerous. But it is his family life that is the most suffocating. 

His father has little regard or respect for Kim U-jin’s study and interest in literature or theater. Yet Kim U-jin has a quiet determination to pursue, through college, his own interests. Yet, he obeys his father in most things: not to keep his literature books on his desk; and, after his education, to return home; run the family business; and to give up writing.

 

Stifling expectations of tradition and filial piety, compounded with the cultural oppression and the inability to love and marry Yun Sim-doek, drive him to an emotional and mental paradigm in which he sees his future as nothing but a living death.

 

Yun Sim-doek faces similar pressures, albeit differently. She is the breadwinner of an impoverished family with the added burden of sending her two younger siblings to study abroad. While she enjoys some success as a singer, she finds earning a living difficult as her training in Western classical music is not readily appreciated by Koreans. As their situation becomes more desperate, Yun Sim-doek faces the obligations of being a dutiful daughter: her parents pressure her to accept a marriage proposal from a wealthy family. Eventually, poverty, sordid and unfounded rumors and gossip, and the manipulated pressure from both government and family drive Yun Sim-doek to desperation.

Despite their deep love for each other, both Kim U-jin and Yun Sim-doek feel defeated by circumstances. They cannot love each other openly, they face a life without hope of seeing each other, of doing what gives meaning to their lives, and having to submit to pressures they cannot accept.

 

 

Review

This is a gem of a series. Once I understood the societal and political context in which this story takes place, it became much more nuanced and meaningful. Their love blossoms across the episodes and grows deeper, even if it’s depicted with more chastity than passion. But the clues are there: a look, a touch, a hug, tears, betrayal, separation, and longing. Even the inclusion of Kim U-jin’s writings about Yun Sim-doek in the series conveys the deep love he has for her. 

 

The cast was wonderful—a lot of familiar faces for Kdrama fans—and the acting was supurb. Lee Jung-suk once again delivers a beautiful performance: He is a master at his craft, able to convey his character’s vulnerabilities, strengths, and frustrations with subtle expressions and actions. 

 

Shin Hye-sun’s performance was graceful and strong. The only one flaw in her performance is that she is not a singer and it shows. Whether that’s the fault of the director or her interpretation, we don’t know. But it’s obvious that she’s lip-synching.

 

I watched this series twice. I was enchanted by Kim U-jin’s poetry and writings, which were included in passages and quoted on screen at the end of each episode. His work is moving and beautiful and had me scrambling online for more. But, once again, there is precious little about Kim U-jin, his poetry, or his writings that is available in English. 

The Hymn of Death is a beautiful and powerful, albeit tragic, love story. If you love or appreciate historical dramas, stories of real events and people, and compelling drama, don’t miss this.

©2024 Caitlyn Frost. All rights reserved.

Love to Hate You

(2023)

Romantic Comedy; 12 one-hour episodes

Starring: Yoo Teo, Kim Ok-vin, Kim Ji-hoon, Go Won-hee, and Kim Sung-ryung

Co-starring: Jeon Shin-hwan, Lee Joo-bin, and Baek Sung-chul

Yeo Mi-ran is a not-quite-broke, down-on-her-luck attorney, who gets hired by a firm specializing in representing celebrities. She doesn’t have much regard for men, having lumped them into categories of sleazy behavior. Nam Kang-ho is an A-list actor, adored by women particularly for his breath-taking kissing scenes. He believes all women are on the make, insincere, and self-absorbed gold diggers—whether they’re fans or anti-fans, it doesn’t matter. Yeo Mi-ran sets out to take Nam Kang-ho down and becomes his attorney, but with the threat of a scandal, the two are forced to date. Will sparks fly or will there be fireworks?

 

I really wanted to love this show. Within the first 10 minutes, I loved it, then I seriously doubted whether I would like it, but continued. I’m glad I did because I absolutely *loved* this show. It’s one of my favorite romantic comedies—Korean, American, Canadian, or British—and that’s saying something, because I’ve seen a lot of rom-coms.

 

Rom-com. As we know it, the term doesn’t really fit with Kdramas. Rom-coms have a certain set of expectations with the audience. They’re formulaic, predictable, a whole lot of feel-good fluff, without much substance. I prefer to call Kdramas that have both romantic and comedic elements romantic comedy because it shifts our mental paradigm just enough to accept the differences between South Korean and American cinematic storytelling. What are those differences?

 

Great lines, a few sight gags, a cringe-worthy moment, and romantic tension—so far, Korean romantic comedies are similar to American rom-coms. Here’s where they differ: while American rom-coms are feel-good, romantic fluff, Korean romantic comedies quite often have a core of substance and address weighty issues.

Love to Hate You doesn’t skimp on any of these elements. To those who are new to Kdramas, you gotta roll with it. Some of it feels uncomfortable and strange: the animated sketches around characters in the early episodes, the sound effects of blinking and heartbeats, and that’s on top of the cultural differences. But it all works. Seemlessly.

 

At the core of Love to Hate You is the obvious discrimination and/or chauvinistic attitudes as shown through Yeo Mi-ran, Choi Soo-jin, and Shin Na-eun. These women and their situations help shed light on what South Korean women are dealing with currently. It’s reminiscent of what the US went through with women’s equality in the 70s, 80s, and 90s, and to a lesser extent now. But at no point in this series are you clubbed over the head with this theme. In fact, it’s entertaining and hopeful—both with equality and with love.

 

If you pay attention, most Kdramas will point out the themes and sub-themes. One of these moments happens during a conversation between Do Won-jun (Kim Ji-hoon) and Choi Soo-jin (Kim Jung-ryung) when he asks, “You want to find love again even after being hurt?” Choi Soo-jin replies, “It’s not the love. It’s the people that are bad. And it’s out there. You just gotta chase it. Don’t just waste your life away. Find someone to love.”

Yoo Teo and Kim Ok-vin bring a fresh, comedic, and romantic approach to what is a weighty topic: equality of the sexes. And there is no denying their chemistry—through their animosity or their attraction. And then there’s the bro-mance. I laughed, I cried, I hated, and I loved. It’s a series I wanted to last longer, but settled for watching again. And again.

©2024 Caitlyn Frost. All rights reserved.

Extraordinary Attorney Woo

(2022-); Legal drama; 16 one-hour episodes (Slated for a second season on Netflix, 2024)

Starring: Park Eun-bin, Kang Tae-oh, and Kang Ki-young

 

Woo Young-woo is a rookie attorney—a genius with autism—who tackles challenging cases in the courtroom but finds navigating daily life and relationships problematic. She becomes increasingly competent with both while earning the respect of her colleagues, despite initial discrimination and prejudices. Many episodes involve difficult legal issues and ethical questions.

 

Extraordinary Attorney Woo is an excellent series to dip your toe in the Kdrama pool. It’s a good introduction to how Koreans perceive traditions, honor, societal behavior, and values as protected in both criminal and civil law.

 

Park Eun-bin, as Woo Young-woo, is nothing shy of brilliant. She’s able to connect with the audience and convey deep emotions while portraying a character who shows little emotion. 

Kang Tae-oh’s portrayal of Lee Jun-ho, in many ways, reflects our own reactions to the frustrations, anticipations, joys, and disappointments we feel on behalf of Woo Young-woo and her inability to express her emotions fully. His acting is sensitive and nuanced, even if we’re captivated by his smile and want to spend as much screen time with him as possible.

 

Kang Ki-young, who plays Jung Myung-seok, is a wonderful character actor. I’ve seen him in several supporting roles and I’ve never been disappointed. He always brings a freshness to his craft such that his characters match the mood and genre of the series while avoiding stereotypes.

Extraordinary Attorney Woo is more than a courtroom drama with an unusual protagonist. The series broke ENA (television channel) viewership records, and became the seventh highest-rated cable television drama by number of viewers. It was successful and popular and that's an understatement.

 

Extraordinary Attorney Woo became more than just a drama series. The show shed light on some issues facing South Korean society without ever being preachy. To begin with, Woo Young-woo is an unusual protagonist. She’s a woman with a disability and that alone brings to the fore the challenges facing Korea’s disabled population. Woo Young-woo is rejected by a good number of firms before she is hired, albeit reluctantly.

 

So, before my brain exploded with a thousand questions, I did a little digging.

 

In 2022, 2.6 million individuals (about 5% of South Korea’s population) were registered disabled people. This is not uncommon. Only 34.5% of the disabled population are employed. And, it’s not just getting hired that’s an obstacle: transportation, access to schools, workplaces, and transportation is problematic, if not impossible. And then there’s the issue of buildings not being what we’d consider ADA-compliant with wheelchair ramps, elevators, and accessible toilets.

 

South Korea is a member of the G20. The national employment rate (which includes retirees) is 60.9 percent, but the employment rate for those with disabilities is 34.5 percent—a little more than half. And, just to make things a bit more interesting, students with disabilities are more likely not to receive an education—of the 98,000 students meeting the eligibility requirements for “special education” in 2021, less than 28% attended special schools or classes in traditional schools. And, while bullying is a big problem in schools (more on that in another blog post), it’s especially problematic for students with disabilities.

 

This isn’t to say that South Korea turns a blind eye. In 2005, the South Korean government mandated the accommodation of disabled people in public transportation and, in 2007, it prohibited the discrimination of disabled people. And, 10 years ago, the Korea Disability Law Association published a manual for lawyers and judges regarding disability rights.

 

Still, Extraordinary Attorney Woo highlights the shortcomings of discrimination against the disabled and helps to foster better understanding.

 

Then came the protests.

 

Episode 9 (The Pied Piper) features a young man who kidnaps students from his mother's academy for an afternoon of play. The episode actually sparked protests against South Korea’s zealous focus on students and academic achievement at the expense of play and the joy of just being kids. 

 

A little context here: South Korean government, as we know it today with direct, presidential elections and protected civil rights, began in 1987 with the 6th Republic. Shortly after, the economy went belly up and the IMF stepped in with austerity measures and unemployment rose. Since then, the government has focused on the 4th industrial revolution (digital and AI technology) and it has been at the forefront for decades. The government has also invested in educating the population and there’s an enormous focus and pressure regarding students’ academic achievement.

 

There is a lot of pressure for students to take and pass the College Scholastic Ability Test (CSAT), which is an eight-hour marathon of back to back exams. The results determine what university they attend, but beyond that, it can dictate their job prospects, income, where they’ll live, even future relationships. It’s not just students and their parents who take it seriously, the whole country is in on it: businesses open late to avoid the chance of traffic jams, students can get a ride from the police if they’re running late, and planes are grounded during the listening portion of the exams. South Korea takes education very seriously.

 

Extraordinary Attorney Woo questioned whether students’ focus on academic achievement was detrimental to the lessons of childhood. It isn’t unusual for students to study 15 hours a day. That’s school, an after-school academy, homework, and self study. And, it’s not uncommon for students to study late into the evening.

 

In episode 9, Bang Guppong (played by Koo Kyo Hwan) faces trial for kidnapping the students of his mother’s academy so that they could play, rather than study. This actually sparked protests in July 2022 when the Education Minister reported to President Yook Suk-Yeol that the ministry would begin discussing dropping the age to begin school from age six to five. The law, if approved, would start in 2025.

 

Many Korean parents decried this new proposal citing that “children are already suffering from hyper-competitive academic stress and rank last in child happiness among other OECD (Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development) countries. ("Koreans are Demonstrating Against A New Proposed Law, And ‘This Extraordinary Attorney Woo’ Character is Leading the Charge"; www.koreaboo.com; August 3, 2022)

 

The Minister of Education has since backpedalled on her proposal. However, the culture and pressure for academic achievement remains—at least as far as can be inferred through 2023 Kdramas.

 

I highly recommend Extraordinary Attorney Woo: The quality and caliber of the show is top notch, but also because of its impact on Korean society and what we can learn about Korean culture and values.

 

 

©2024 Caitlyn Frost. All rights reserved.

Jumping into the Kdrama Pool

Experiencing a new culture can feel very uncomfortable. Even if you’re a pro with subtitles or rely on dubbing, there are still elements that feel strange. Kdramas are no exception and one of those elements was the genre’s unspoken contract with the audience.

 

American film genres meet a certain set of expectations regarding mood, pace, plot points, emotions, and in some cases, outcomes. Think about it: the emotional ride is not the same in a horror as it is in a comedy or drama. I expect a comedy to make me laugh and to wind up in 90 minutes. I expect a drama to be a deep story that will likely make me cry at the end. The plot twists in a drama are more subtle than the plot twists in a rom-com.

 

A Kdrama series that is a romance, or even a romantic comedy will likely start out feeling very light and fun in the first several episodes, but things turn more serious, get very complicated, and may even turn dark before the situation is resolved at the end. I’ll make some recommendations so that your experience isn’t such a shock, but just keep in mind to go with the flow.

 

The best place to start is with a series that is more Western in its presentation. Extraordinary Attorney Woo and Love to Hate You are excellent introductions to the world of Kdrama.

 

Extraordinary Attorney Woo (2022). Woo Young-woo is a brilliant rookie attorney with autism who tackles challenging cases in the courtroom but finds navigating daily life and relationships problematic. She becomes increasingly competent with both while earning respect from her peers. Many episodes involve difficult ethical questions. One, in particular, sparked protests against South Korea’s zealous focus on childhood academia at the expense of play and the joy of just being kids.

 

You’ll fall in love with Kang Tae-oh, he’s handsome with a warm smile and delivers a character that is unusual for a romantic lead, given the perceived shortcomings of his romantic interest. Park Eun-bin is nothing shy of genius in her character portrayal. The show and the cast received numerous awards. (Legal drama; 16 one-hour episodes.)

 

Love to Hate You (2023). Yeo Mi-ran is a free-spirited attorney with a strong sense of social justice, especially as it relates to women. She enjoys men, but her opinion of them isn’t great. Nam Kang-ho is an A-list actor with a deep distrust of women. Yeo Mi-ran needs money. Nam Kang-ho needs to avoid a scandal, which would ruin his career. Both parties benefit when they’re contracted to date, but can these two get along? 

 

I wasn’t sure I’d like this series. I wanted to like it, but I was skeptical for the first 10 minutes or so. Then, I liked it. Then, I loved it. Yeo Mi-ran, played by Kim Ok-vin, is feisty, spirited, unconventional, and untraditional—a strong female character. Yoo Teo, who plays Nam Kang-ho, is handsome, but he’s also brilliant at comedy and character. The kissing scene rehearsal in episode one had me in stitches and his kiss in episode five had me picking my jaw off the floor. The supporting cast is also a joy and the chemistry between Kim Ji-hoon and Go Won-hee was as interesting as the two leads. It’s a story I didn’t want to end and I’ve rewatched it several times. (Romantic comedy; 10 one-hour episodes.)

 

 

©2024 Caitlyn Frost. All rights reserved.

Introduction, or How I Became a Kdrama Addict

What do you do when you’re recovering from hand surgery, you can’t engage in your normal activities of writing and drawing, it’s winter and too cold to go anywhere fun, you want to escape your own banal existence, and you’re damn near bored out of your own mind? Netflix it is. 

 

Netflix hounded me with its promotion of Extraordinary Attorney Woo. I’d just finished watching two Japanese anime series—one of which I liked (Forest of Piano), the other I loved (Blue Period)—and wasn’t quite ready to return to the English speaking culture, American, British, or others.

 

So I gave Extraordinary Attorney Woo one episode to see if I liked it. One episode became a binge, which led to another Kdrama, and another and another to a certified addiction. I’ve been obsessing ever since.

 

Why?

 

Because I fell in love. I fell in love with the premise, the story, the acting, and the actors themselves. I became deeply involved with the emotional story line: I cheered, laughed, cringed, hated the antagonist, fell in love with the male lead, and cried through boxes and boxes of tissues. 

 

(Seriously, all Kang Tae-oh did in Extraordinary Attorney Woo was flash a smile and I was all in, looking for other dramas he’d been in. Park Eun-bin is no slouch, either. I soon followed Extraordinary Attorney Woo with The King's Affection and it took me several episodes before it dawned on me that the female lead was Park Eun-bin. She’s got some serious acting chops! (And then I fell for Rowoon—or, “Swoon Rowoon,” as I call him, and had to know more about his acting career. But that’s another blog post.) 

 

Simultaneously, my intellectual curiosity exploded with questions about how Kdrama stories are told, how the craft of storytelling differs from Western cinematic norms; about South Korean culture itself, its history, its mythology and folktales, and the phenomenon of South Korean entertainment. My curiosity kicked into overdrive—I just had to know. And the best way to know was to watch Kdramas and follow my nose about the things that piqued my interest.

 

My brain split in two: the escape into a drama's emotional story, and the intellectual exploration into craft and culture.

 

I love the craft of cinematic storytelling. I’ve written scripts and it’s probably the hardest form of storytelling there is (for many reasons, which I won’t get into here). There’s the story arc, character arc, plot twists, and there’s an unwritten contract with the audience, which differs depending on the movie genre. But there’s also an unconscious connection with our own cultural norms and mores. 

 

Also, I love experiencing different cultures and understanding how traditions, values, beliefs, history, and social norms shape the way we express ourselves and how we perceive and interact with the world. I love that, biologically, we are all the same and we all have the same emotions (and storytelling is an emotional journey). What really differentiates us from one another is not our physical features, but our cultures. 

 

Kdramas became a journey. I got carried away with the story and emotions, but as I watched, I was also simultaneously captivated with questions about how South Korea perceives itself and what it’s projecting onto the global Hallyu community. (Hallyu is a Chinese term that, when translated literally, means “Korean Wave”. It refers to the global popularity of South Korea’s music, TV shows, and movies.) Various series have addressed suicide, bullying, marriage and the role of women, the effects of AI and the 4th Industrial Revolution, single parents, and touched upon same-sex relationships.

 

Even so, what does it mean when a character starts hiccuping? What are the physical signs that someone is interested in another? What does it mean when a male protagonist’s hair goes from over the forehead to combed back or vice versa? Why is there so much drinking? What about fate, destiny, emotional traumas, reincarnation, myths, and superstitions? And what is it about white feathers?

 

I want to share the series that I’ve seen and enjoyed, loved, and appreciated. I also want to explore with you some of South Korea’s culture as it is expressed in Kdramas. 

©2024 Caitlyn Frost. All rights reserved.