Even if a drama claims to be “female centric” it still has to justify why a rising military star with one or two successful exploits is promoted beyond her experience and competence. Well, apparently it’s politics as usual and we are meant to believe that two supposedly shrewd operators are playing political football with the female general’s newfound popularity. They send along a screechy and petty eunuch who really believes himself to be the emperor’s proxy rather than his messenger. His antics (I can only speculate) are meant to elicit a laugh or two but they come across as time-wasting filler that adds no value to the storyline. In fact, it is likely at this point that the showrunners have completely given up on seeing through a coherent resolution to the narrative.

As a prop the young puppet emperor is scarcely any better. A ventriloquist doll would have saved them time and money. I’m not even sure why Chancellor Wei Yan thought that installing the lad was ever a good idea. For a mere puppet, he whines so much. All of this also speaks to the chancellor’s judgement and commitment to the nation’s well-being. If Wei Yan was able to invest so much in his nephew’s upbringing, why couldn’t he have done the same for the emperor? Between Qi Sheng and Qi Min, a strong case for a dynastic change could easily be made. One’s a manchild, the other’s a paranoid mad man lusting over a woman who finds him revolting. Seems like good help in Dayin is really hard to find when the best man for the job of ruling is a boy wet behind the ears notable for craving sweets.

The jumbled trope fest reaches its pinnacle with the use of aphrodisiacs by the evil people so the leads can finally have that bedroom scene long after the push and pull has outstayed its welcome. Except it’s a bathroom scene which the leads seem to teleport into. It’s a plot device overused in the world of C dramas. It’s in every micro drama (that or a drunk scene) usually to ruin someone’s reputation or to force a pregnancy.

Nothing is worse than when the show gropes around in the political arena. The show takes the term “political circus” to new levels of absurdity. The emperor’s a clown for one, then there’s so much verbal and mental acrobatics going on in the royal court which leaves heads spinning in befuddlement. When it finally comes, the palace coup that the villain had planned for his entire life feel is akin to auditions for Romeo and Juliet.

Thankfully the show puts us out of our misery when Wei Yan finally tells us what really happened 17 years ago with an efficiency of a team meeting that nobody wants to be at: several minutes with a powerpoint presentation. I mean who cares right? It’s not as if the Jinzhou massacre was all that important in the scheme of things. Many good men died. A good man had his reputation dragged through the mud. Killers were dispatched to silence the curious. A crown prince switcheroo took place. Yeah. Just a footnote.

By far the greatest casualty in this girlboss adoration is the character of the Marquis of Wu’an. As the show progresses he transforms into a side character and love interest and little more. The great war hero of Dayin is not much more than a trophy husband. He fared better in Lin’an. We assume he’s doing a fair bit of fighting offscreen as most of his screen time he’s seen nursing injuries or barking orders. Otherwise he’s pining for the woman who keeps telling him to marry someone else. The political aspects of being Marquis of Wu’an are barely touched on. It would have been far more interesting to see him leveraging his title and accomplishments on the battlefield in defiance of his uncle to get at the truth regarding the Jinzhou massacre. Confrontations between the two men over the truth of the matter would have elevated the show and kept it coherent. Instead we get the slop of dragging Fang Changyu into a shouting match between Grand Tutor Li and Chancellor Wei Yan with the clueless emperor nervously hedging his bets.

More importantly the diminishing of Xie Zheng demonstrates why “showing” is far more effective than mere “telling”. It is not enough to have side characters talk/gossip about the Marquise of Wu’an and his military prowess, the audience also needs to see him in action for significant reasons. True we caught glimpses of his speed and skill when assassins were afoot in Lin’an but very little of that translated into crucial battles with larger opposing forces. In fact, the muting of his character correlates with how small the show actually feels. Distances and timelines are compressed. How long does it take for Xie Zheng to get from his post to Xigu Alley? There’s no feeling of scale, size, time, awe or achievement. The downside to all this is that much of the payoff feels easy, convenient and unearned.

That is how important the Marquis of Wu’an character is.

A better and more logical way to conduct the final act would have been for Xie Zheng to head off to the capital to deal with the palace shenanigans after the skirmishes with Prince Changxin’s troops while Changyu returns to Xigu Alley to rebuild her town or deal with the aftermath with her ragtag team. Changyu has a Scouring of the Shire moment on reaching home. Looters and bandits have laid claim to Xigu Alley so she uses her newfound skills to take out the rubbish aided by her ragtag team. The townsfolk struggle to put the pieces back together and the wayward boys who have travelled afar get to shine in their hometown. Changyu is proclaimed hometown heroine. Later the leads reunite in the capital where truth about 17 years ago come to light and Changyu puts forward a petition to redress the wrongs levelled at her father. During that time, Qi Min puts his plan for a palace coup into motion in vengeful fashion but is thwarted by the leads. The emperor who was pretending to be an obsequious idiot all that time works with the leads to repel the enemy reveals to the world what really happened 17 years ago in Jinzhou. Grateful for the leads’ contribution in saving the country he rewards them and grants Changyu a title of County Princess. The leads return to Lin’an and start their married life afresh in the town that brought them together.

It’s a shame really because I was so enchanted by the first 17 episodes. They were magical. I didn’t mind the next 12 although the show gradually began to lose its lustre. And the last 10 episodes… well I’ve done my rant. Sadly it’s the sad state of C dramas these days — the longer they are, the more opportunity those in charge have to stuff them up.

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0:28 Where we begin talking about Pursuit of Jade — a show that started so well and then came crashing down like a ton of bricks in the final phase of the drama. ***Beware of spoilers.

41:39 We finally move on from our severe critique of Pursuit of Jade to absoluteM’s latest favourite, Hold A Court Now a legal drama featuring Gong Jun and Ren Min.

48:00 I talk about Veil of Shadows another popular C drama with fantasy elements. Then give a short review of Rebirth, the sequel to Princess Agents.

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The horrors of the Lin’an massacre acts as a brutal bookend to an epoch in the life of our female protagonist. The severing of this umbilical cord accompanied by the disappearance of sister Changning, serves to dislodge Changyu from her comfort zone and into scenarios unknown. She’s supported by friends everywhere she goes… what remaining few exists… but she must venture out into the great unknown on her own to make new friends. And presumably help win the war.

For me the question then is why? Why indeed does she have to traverse the war torn areas without Xie Zheng? Why does he leave her so abruptly after rescuing her and nursing her back to health? If her well-being is supposedly so vital that he leaves his post to seek her out, why would he send her back to Xigu Alley to recuperate when it’s clear nowhere is safe? He certainly has no idea who’s alive at the time. And what about Changning? How does she factor in his calculations? The man is spreading himself rather thin.

Rather ironically too that all this efforts to protect the sisters from the battleground seems meaningless. To my mind it’s the biggest gag of the show that Xie Zheng is so desperately trying to hide his identity to protect her but it really never mattered as Changyu now finds herself in the middle of the war despite his best efforts at maintaining a healthy distance.

There are probably a myriad of explanations that could be offered up. There are possibly logistical reasons to consider too. But do any fit in with the man that we’ve come to know? Here Xie Zheng feels schizophrenic in his character development or more precisely… his character journey has been sacrificed so that other plot points are allowed to surface — the main one being Changyu’s travel plans to find her missing sister that is presumably tied in with her growth arc. The point, I imagine, is that the leads must separate because a) Changyu needs to grow stronger independently and become a battle harden female warrior b) well… absence purportedly makes the heart grow fonder. It’s a test of their relationship and separation is the crucible that must be experienced.

The banality of the logic appears sound when uttered many times. But is it really necessary to separate for a relationship to be tested? (Asian) Drama logic often has very little to do with how relationships actually grow.

The separation is even more baffling considering the threat Sui Huaiyuan aka Qi Min but more importantly younger brother Sui Huaiqing pose. The show shouts from the rooftop that they are villains with a capital V, in case the audience has doubts about their role in the narrative.

That’s the other purpose to the Lin’an bloodbath. All that senseless slaughter to make a point by Sui Huaiqing is calculated to get the right people quaking in their boots. His entire modus operandi is about terrorizing his chosen targets. Sui Huaiqing is a wannabe rebel without a cause — runs his mouth with trash talk, straddle taboos, shocks his victim, then takes them by surprise. Even with all that bravado to cap things off, he’s not a particularly outstanding combatant. Nor a tactician. The sons of Prince Changxin seem to get on with each other famously but everyone else has to be maniacally threatened into submission. Often they come off as street thugs or organized crime rather than royalty. The thing too about playing with people’s weaknesses is that it has a way of being used against you. Huaiqing’s kidnapped Changning and is using her as some kind of bargaining chip to get Xie Zheng out in the open.

My suspicion is that the brothers don’t get a lot of kindness from Dad particularly Qi Min. He really has a large chip carved into his shoulder — another someone who has something to prove. He’s violent, paranoid and abusive — a hammer in search of a nail. No doubt because of how he was raised, he doesn’t know anything beyond coercion. He’s obsessed with Qianqian and that will (I’m supposing) be his fatal flaw.

From the start Changyu has been a terrific character. She’s kind, determined and adaptable. She’s a loyal friend and a good neighbour. In her town she’s respected. I’m not entirely convinced that she needs to go on a larger stage ie. the battlefield to prove what exactly? That she’s as good as any man? She’s already shown her abilities many times over. Restarting the family trade to provide for herself and her family and overcoming hurdles as a young woman without parents. Standing up to bullies and nasties. Ability, however, is not character. Strength is not always about the physical although in her case she’s had a fair bit of practice in that department. More recently the narrative has her leading a ragtag team from her hometown to give ad hoc support to the war effort.

It is has been said… often enough to be a platitude… that armed conflict brings out the best and worst in humanity. Most would have heard of the tea analogy. Heat brings out the colour and flavour, revealing the substance and essence of the product. There is a story that Jesus tells in the Gospels about two houses — one built on a rock and the other built on sand. It’s not a matter of if but when. In times of trouble, perspicacity will only emerge under the right conditions fostered by the right foundations.

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Away from the ravages of palace intrigue, Xie Zheng basks in the anonymity and glow of village life in all its simplicity. In small town Lin’an, he still manages to achieve rock star status while selling pork that’s nicely packaged with his calligraphy. It’s no wonder a tug-of-war develops in his soul. For a man who harbours the thought of leaving his newfound family, tarrying only serves to increase the dread of impending separation. In his defence there are movements afoot which give him pause — the schemes of interlopers looting the house while it burns.

Fan Changyu really likes her new husband and wants to get closer. Good friend and owner of Yixian Pavilion, Qianqian nudges things along. Sadly her good intentions come to naught. Around him Changyu behaves like a wide-eyed bride craving for greater intimacy while Xie Zheng awkwardly straddles between his role of contractual son-in-law and long-term house guest suppressing those feelings as deeply as possible. It’s the awkward part that I like about this side of Zhang Linghe’s performance. It fits well with his boyish good looks. Xie Zheng likes Changyu enough to be constantly second guessing himself but when he thinks about what awaits him in various battlefronts, he can’t help but keep his hands and feelings to himself while he casts a watchful eye over his new household who still don’t know who he is.

While small town living has its charms, the scrutiny of busybody gossipy neighbours or the antics avaricious relatives adds a layer of annoyance. But all that is insect-bite levels of irritation when compared to the earth-swallowing ambitions of political actors and military commanders. By design, their decisions at a distance reach even the economy of Xigu Alley — the increased price and scarcity of the staple crop affects day to day living. It’s hip pocket strategy. Target them where it hurts and mayhem will ensue. The spectre and threat of Prince Changxin is represented in his two sons, Sui Yuanhuai and Sui Yuanqing making nasty mischief at the local level. Wei Xuan, son of prime minister Wei Yan, comes across as a buffoon. A scion of a prominent family who has something to prove is always something of a liability especially when his abilities don’t match his ambitions. It leaves a foothold that can be utilized by unfriendly forces for their nefarious purposes.

Like it or not, war comes to the people of Lin’an, a location strategically chosen so that the opposition can gain the upper hand in the war for hearts and minds. It’s a spark that’s meant to ignite the flames of war. From the bigger picture perspective, it’s a test of Xie Zheng’s resolve — can he leave so easily even if it means compartmentalizing the looming danger? Changyu’s mettle is tested in a skirmish but also it seems that she cannot escape the horrors that await the people of Dayin.

Xie Zheng is confusing mainly because he is a man in turmoil. He wants to protect everything and everyone. The forest matters as much as the trees. That’s what he was raised and trained to do. This protective impulse brings about its own set of difficulties as it begs the question — how best can he do this? Stay away? Stick around? Neither appeals. Still he can’t be everywhere all at once. While his heart is firmly planted in Lin’an and the marquise is in agony about leaving the wife he’s come to really like, he is begging for a reason to stay and return. The simple-minded Changyun mistakes his plea for indifference and who can blame her? On the face of it she’s not sad enough that he’s leaving. She’s overly supportive to the point of offering a divorce. In response he behaves uncharacteristically curmudgeonly on the eve of his departure. Obviously he’s angry that she seems so cavalier so he does an unwise thing by provoking a reaction.

The show deliberately contrasts Xie Zheng’s dual identity. In Lin’an, he’s Fang Changyu’s husband dutifully going about the family business. Elsewhere he is the Marquis of Wu’an commander of an elite squad of soldiers. When he regains his identity, he is seen greeted by pomp and ceremony. His name is a reverent war cry which strikes fear in the hearts of his enemies. In his mind the two identities don’t mesh and never the twain shall meet. After almost 20 episodes, I’m not convinced that it’s the insurmountable gulf that he thinks it is.

Xie Zheng’s relationship with Wei Yan remains puzzling. In fact Wei Yan himself is arguably the most enigmatic figure of the story. On the surface he seems to rule the court with a firm hand — the regent behind the present ruler. But what really is his agenda? Is he an ally or a foe to our male protagonist pulling strings in the background? Is he really Xie Zheng’s stoic uncle — an inconvenient question that arises after his so-called lady of the house congratulates him after hearing that Xie Zheng’s alive.

So far the show seems to be striking all the right notes. Unlike a lot of C dramas, it gets better as it widens the scope and unveils a larger cast of characters driven by conflicting/intersecting agendas. The pacing never lets up even when men with top knots take time to ponder over strategy and alliances. There’s also a sense of unpredictability that’s both shocking and pleasing. The chemistry between the leads is undeniably good and it’s a pity that they are compelled to hold back as much as they do at this point as the narrative enters an obligatory period of separation.

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Xie Zheng who identifies himself as Yan Zheng to the villagers, wakes up eventually limping around as he heals. Before he knows it, he agrees to marry into her family so that she can hold on to the family home from her ne’er do well uncle with an oversized gambling debt. It’s the least he can do for her hospitality but it does complicate things for a man who is supposed to be very dead — a war hero known as the Marquise of Wu’an with some very notable connections in royal court. He’s not mostly dead but quite alive.

I never know how I feel about Zhang Linghe. He’s obviously come a long way since Maiden Holmes. I didn’t finish Maiden Holmes — too light-weight for me but I remembered him. I like him in this. It feels organic and nicely understated.

Because the production oozes quality on every metric, it is easy to gloss over the fact that the show doesn’t exactly do anything original. But it certainly knows how to evoke the warm fuzzies. There’s not many of the obligatory rom com devices in sight. The leads don’t bicker. They eavesdrop and they have civil conversations. All the while as they cohabitate. Still the tropes are all present and can be accounted for. First there are the concealed identities. Then the murky past that connects the protagonists. The ungrateful ex (hugely popular in micro dramas); a power struggle faraway in the nation’s capital. Corruption in high places. And of course the most important one of all — the contract relationship.

Contract relationships generally makes more sense the further back in history the setting goes. The transaction presents mutual benefit to both parties. Xie Zheng is grateful to be alive and enters into the marriage with some reservation but not unwillingly. He’s well-mannered and doesn’t take the hospitality for granted despite his aristocratic upbringing. It really doesn’t take long for him to get attached to his new family and before he knows it, he’s committed way beyond the letter of the law, mowing down ruthless killers skulking around in the dead of night.

It makes sense that the connection would happen so quickly. The motivations are clear. Two young people with no family finding comfort in this happy arrangement. It can’t be said too much or too often that men and women need each other. Two young women left to fend for themselves are easy pickings for predatory types. Even if Changyu has inherited some kind of secret martial arts from her late father, she’s not necessarily savvy in the ways of the world. Then there’s the unwelcomed appearance of shadowy killers who are interested in the Fan sisters for reasons still yet unknown.

Several more players make their entrance. Far away in the Big Smoke there’s are factional disputes. Everyone’s jockeying to either saddle up with Chancellor Wei or Grand Tutor Li. There are those whose loyalties are less clear. At a time when the emperor is a nervous lad trying to please his elders, it’s far too easy for power brokers from prominent families to hold sway. Li Huai’an, the grandson of the grand tutor eventually makes his way to Xie Zheng’s doorstep with some nudging from the highly regarded General He Jingyuan. Longtime confidante Gongsun Yin also finds his way to the Fan household offering shekels and some timely advice. Lest it be said that the set-up is all about the leads, romance is in the air for these attractive men as well.

Changyu is likeable not because she can wield a butcher’s knife. That just a skill she happens to have… that was passed down to her by her enigmatic dad. It doesn’t make her character a good one. A good character in every sense of the word is one that is balanced and makes you care. She needs help and isn’t afraid to ask for it. She never sees herself as a victim but soldiers on to put food on the table not just for herself and Changning but also for the new husband-in-name only. Is she a Cinderella type? Only time will tell. But people often forget that Cinderella worked very hard despite her circumstances. In her case it’s her kindness and conscientiousness that gradually wears down the defences of the young marquise with an unspoken agenda.

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While the Vendetta of An is as advertised — a revenge story in the manner of Nirvana in Fire and The Longest Day in Chang’an, it is much much more than that. The protagonist is Xie Huai’an aka Liu Zhi played by the always reliable Cheng Yi but he’s not the star of the show. That honour belongs to the labyrinthian city of Chang’an. His fate is inextricably tied to the city as his name denotes. Although he’s unequivocally out for blood, finding his father’s betrayer is only part of a larger plan to save the city from a political cat and mouse skullduggery that threatens its hapless folk struggling to survive regardless of what manner of despot happens to be in charge. Needless to say any ongoing power struggle affects their ability to eke out a living.

The villain that lives rent free in Huai’an’s headspace is the turncoat Yan Fengshan (Zhang Hanyu) who once served as his father’s subordinate in Huben. The ruthless general isn’t content to be somebody else’s minion so he overthrows the existing imperial family and installs a puppet ruler, the young and malleable Xiao Wenjing (Zhou Qi) to soothe the masses, while he gets to pull the strings behind the scenes. Big brother of the imperial family Xiao Wuyang (played by the near ubiquitous Liu Yujun) will have none of it. He musters his troops from the north and successfully expels the usurper from the royal city.

Unfortunately for the royalists, Yan Fengshan escapes and grabs the youngster for a bit of leverage. Or so it seems. Huben agents are still running loose lurking about the city’s nooks and crannies, blending in and acting as sleeper agents. Luckily for them the resourceful Xie Huai’an has his own people doing his bidding. So it’s a case of spy vs spy. Who knows if one’s neighbour is of the enemy camp? It wouldn’t be too far fetched to imagine being stabbed in bed. The veteran campaigners are only too aware that the war has just taken a different turn. One that Huben excel in.

It is in this context that the son of the man who created Huben is recalled from a small provincial town where he’s been laying low for 15 years. He’s been putting the finishing touches to his grand strategy for bringing down the culprit who destroyed his clan. Nicknamed “bai tou” (white hair) by those who know him best, Xie Huai’an is the “boogey man” for his leery adversaries — the genius strategist who can turn the tide of war without lifting a sword. The moniker comes about as a result of a freakish occurrence in his younger days and he wears it as part of his arsenal.

Draining the swamp of unnamed Huben operatives is an intractable problem. They are loyal to Yan Fengshan and I’m supposing that everyone loves a winner. Beyond that they’re cannon fodder in a war conducted largely via espionage and guerilla tactics.

While war seems defensible under such circumstances, the show remains ambiguous about its overall efficacy in resolving geopolitical or internal disputes. The cost of victory is notoriously high. The death toll… incalculable. War is inevitably a last resort when both sides are equally determined to hold their positions at all cost. Everyone is impacted bar a handful of wealthy elites. Everyone sacrifices something for the big picture whether it be a pair of legs or a pair of eyes. Or even worse, their humanity.

The war that Huai’an wages is, at its root, psychological. It’s a game of weiqi. Or poker. He’s not shy about bluffing and tugging at the heartstrings when it suits. Appearing as a mild-mannered scholar wandering the streets of Chang’an sets him up as a roving target apparently but for some reason he’s invisible or invincible. He has conversations with people who want him dead and often they end up dead instead. It’s not always clear if his enemies underestimate or are just plain curious about the quietly confident disposition that they let their guard down unawares. It isn’t a simple case of plot armour but there’s more than a suggestion that Huben’s greatest nemesis is spiritually endowed for a moment such as this.

The lion’s share of character development belongs to Xiao Wenjing the former puppet emperor, now subordinate of Xie Huai’an. It should be a mandatory rite of passage for all future leaders and monarchs to undertake such an arduous journey lest they get lost in their ivory tower bubble. Although they were once classmates at the imperial academy, Wenjing is now Huai’an’s reluctant pupil who is being moulded into the man who must learn to be an emperor all over again.

The cast is largely known to the audience. Zhou Qi who plays Wenjing has been doing the rounds lately played a character with a similar arc in Legend of Zang Hai. Liu Yujun of course is known for playing villains also has a supporting role here as the other emperor. My happy discoveries or rediscoveries from this experience are Ye Zuxin as General Gu Yu and Tong Mengshi as Ye Zheng, Huai’an’s trusty offsider and friend.

For those unaccustomed to stories of war and stratagems with no romance at the end of it, Vendetta of An might be a challenging watch. Indeed there is a bleakness that envelopes the atmosphere surrounding the city in keeping with the show’s premise. For the most part the show moves along nicely although goes off on the odd tangent that is never really just a tangent. The well-shot action sequences are often exciting, fast and furious. Mostly I’m in awe of how it reminds me of the strategic tit for tat that characterized the Three Kingdoms era.

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1:00 She asks me about Unveiled: Jadewind led by Bai Lu and Wang Xingyue.

15:45 absoluteM opines about ancient detective dramas.

21:51 absoluteM gives a synopsis of what she’s seen so far in The Pursuit of Jade, which is about 4 episodes at the time of recording.

28:51 absoluteM mentions How Dare You?! with Cheng Lei and Wang Churan as a transmigration show that

30:50 I shift our focus to Vendetta of An which I’m currently watching.

38:43 absoluteM asks and I answer with a Korean show, Our Universe which has become oddly controversial. It’s a typical K drama in many respects and the online acrimony is unwarranted.

1:01:01 absoluteM talks about why she likes Honour.

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Unveiled: Jadewind finished airing earlier this week. The finish — in the checkered history of mainland dramas — manages to stick the landing in somewhat respectable fashion (I am relieved to report). The chief villain got his just desserts (Li Peiyi’s nemesis) and the leads got their happily ever after, not of course without some obligatory separation before the end. Some time before the resolution, the leads fall out which is really not that surprising because the difference in opinion has been brewing for some time.

The final act confirmed what was always apparent about the leads’ dynamic. Peiyi charges ahead and Huaijin puts the breaks on. The show itself never approves of her impulse for revenge. That’s reinforced in a later episode with an orphaned lad acting out his resentments — a mirror of her vengeful self. Revenge is not justice. Even when corruption is rife, taking matters into your own hands is never the answer. At least it’s the safe muted message that has to make sense of all that evil that’s been allowed to run rampant under the emperor’s watch.

While the show and the plotting is solid overall, it’s not entirely apparent what the focus of the show is. Yes, it’s marketed as a police procedural. Unsightly corpses are found within the hallowed walls of the emperor’s domain that lead the team to plumb the moral sewers of the inner palace. On the other hand there’s a sense that the investigative side of things is primarily a vehicle for highlighting the plight of women. Women of course aren’t the only victims of the horrors caused by palace officials abusing their power, exploiting the vulnerable. Then there’s the thing about the fifteen year old massacre at Prince Duan’s mansion that’s never made sense to Peiyi. That’s always gnawing in the background. Then we are presented with the emperor’s lascivious tendencies with women. If there’s someone who’s able to maintain that kind of appetite for the fairer sex, it would be the wealthiest man in the land. Which brings to mind the old adage — just because you can doesn’t mean you should.

On the surface it seems as if there’s a role reversal at play between the leads. But it’s not that simple. Traditionally in wuxia stories, female characters often achieve high levels of competence in martial arts even if the protagonists are male. Xiao Huaijin may not be a martial arts practitioner but he operates very much within the mould of the dispassionate man of science bringing logic and facts to the table. He is no less protective of the woman he loves just because he doesn’t rely on his fists. Indeed he is able to find long-term solutions using his wits because he doesn’t have the physical prowess to fall back on. He is accomplished despite his youth and well-regarded by the emperor. He is the right foil for Li Peiyi and the partner to keep her on the straight and narrow. In the end the leads suffer from the same kind of problems that all couples do: They fail to communicate honestly on matters of great importance often in the name of protecting one another.

Whether deliberately or otherwise, the narrative appear to deconstruct the girl boss trope. The capable female protagonist who fights and catches criminals needs help from her loved ones but no one is more important than Xiao Huaijin, the man who watches the stars. He takes a larger view of things and doesn’t cower to her domineering ways. Their romance is absolute crucial to her salvation not only because it reshapes her once pessimistic trajectory but gives her a reason to eliminate her suicidal tendencies completely. It isn’t just romance either. He is a much needed sparring partner challenging her flawed notions about retribution and provides her the strongest reason to live. No one else could have done it. Not the emperor. Not Consort Shu (her surrogate mother). Not her mentor. Certainly not her faithful offsider who is in too much awe of her.

Huaijin is almost always right but particularly about revenge. Revenge is about death and destruction while justice is about valuing life — those who were taken and those who are left behind to mourn their absence. Revenge, on the other hand, inevitably becomes an obsession with death and often a bloodlust develops. There are better ways to deal with the agents of evil. Even a bit of sleight of hand is better. In the end it is Huaijin who saves Peiyi. Not through great physical feats but with a fiercely protective love.

I started The Art of Sarah because of Lee Jun-hyuk more than Shin Hae-sun. There’s certainly no doubting Shin Hae-sun’s stature as one of Korea’s best actors and she clearly doesn’t disappoint in this. She puts in an absorbing performance as an enigmatic but charismatic brand builder whose life story is told through flashbacks and the accounts of people who knew her. The early episodes and premise remind me of the C drama Regeneration that I reviewed last year.

Lee Jun-hyuk plays the lead investigator Park Mu-yeong who is trying to identify a horribly mutilated Jane Doe found in the sewer. Accompanying the corpse is a luxury handbag which triggers a hunt for a woman who has adopted many aliases, the most important one being Sarah Kim, CEO of an up and coming handbag label Boudoir. Who she is or what she’s done pales into insignificance compared to the ripples she causes in the world of which she is an interloper.

Right off the bat it’s obvious that labels swirling around Sarah Kim are somewhat irrelevant. Is she a con artist? Or a business genius? Or a victim of societal norms? Her role/point of view is to expose the real scam of luxury goods industry — the people behind it and those who consume the products without question. An absurd consequence of egregious materialism and consumerism.

As someone who doesn’t travel in such circles of conspicuous consumption, the show is more or less preaching to the choir. The branded goods industry is undoubtedly an effective marketing exercise that exploits people’s desire for recognition but only in a society that places immense value on status. A handbag isn’t just a handbag if it has Gucci or Prada imprinted on it. If you’re not sufficiently overwhelmed by the sacredness of the products in question, the brick and mortar stores even have double doors and security to put you in the right frame of mind.

I suppose the show wants us to sympathize with the chameleon that is Sarah Kim by getting into her headspace. She is the product (no pun intended) of a society obsessed with appearance and having the right accoutrements to bolster the image. Sarah wants desperately to belong somewhere, to succeed but no one is letting her. However equally true are the layers of deception she engages in to get that show on the road. All that juggling becomes ridiculous. Soon the house of cards come tumbling down and on the cards is murder.

Unfortunately the show plods somewhere in the middle when it turns into a cat and mouse game between Sarah and the cops. It’s also comes across as stagey and overly stylized. None of it feels real. I suppose that’s partly the point but it does mean that Sarah doesn’t feel real and doesn’t end up being anything more than just an idea.

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As the leads dig deep into what really happened to Prince Duan’s in his final moments, the police procedural side of thing goes from strength to strength. For the crime show aficionado this is obviously good news. Lest I be accused for having a sudden attack of unwarranted optimism, I should add that there are a lot of episodes left for the C drama showrunners to turn a good thing into either a dud (less bad) or an unmitigated disaster. We’ve seen it all before. Far too many times. For now, there are reasons to be cautiously sanguine.

Although Xiao Huaijin’s role seems initially to be the brainy sidekick that rattles off scientific facts in nerdy fashion, that’s apparently not at all what he’s there for. Even if he has no martial arts ability to protect himself, it’s clear that even the girl boss needs protecting. Mostly from herself. If it isn’t her mouth moving before her head goes into gear, it’s the chip on her shoulder that drives much of her heart-on-sleeve angst. He’s there to mitigate the possibility of a faux pas or clean up the mess.

There’s no disputing that Peiyi is capable. She’s fortunately not all bravado and hot air. She’s clearly an expert in matters relating to toxic substances and crime scenes. Way before she met the deputy head of the astronomy bureau, she was cracking cases under the tutelage of the palace’s internal chief investigator. The problem she is inclined to leap before looking. She’s a bulldozer in a world conducted on niceties. Thematically she’s a veritable bull in a china shop.

It turns out as the show gradually reveals that Xiao Huaijin is Holmes to her Dr Watson. Just imagine Dr Watson as the protagonist like he was in The Hound of the Baskervilles for three quarters of the narrative. She’s hardly the dispassionate observer which of course is a double edged sword for someone in the business. She cares too much and a lot of it comes from not knowing how or why her parents died so horribly a decade and a half earlier. So she wants the truth and justice… for herself and if she can’t get it for herself at least she can do it for others to heal the hole in her heart.

What becomes more evident in these later episodes is the confirmation of a love story centering around the leads. There’s even been talk of marriage at the peak of a fake scandal although that went nowhere once the dust settled. Neither are averse to the idea at the time but they end up tap dancing around the issue and haven’t dared revisit it since. Still everyone knows even if the leads are reluctant to say anything lest it ruins a beautiful partnership. It’s back to official business. First things first. There are always more pressing matters to attend to.

Clearly this is not a show I would recommend for the romance alone even though it is a pleasant surprise how well it is integrated into the overarching storyline. The slow burn is acceptable (and brimming with chemistry) because the job is fraught with urgency. Peiyi is obsessed with knowing and the bread crumbs that fall her way only exacerbate the desperation. Unknown adversaries are at work to not only create obstacles but try to ensure the leads don’t succeed in uncovering all kinds of conspiracies. Work aside, the leads are also obviously good together. They’re a natural fit. But I was one of the biased minority who was rooting for them in Story of Kunning Palace.

More than once I’ve puzzled over the emperor and his role in all of this. Prince Duan was his highly accomplished, highly lauded brother. Could he be responsible for the massacre of an entire household? Could it be that despite the benevolent uncle-CEO demeanour, he’s a terrifying despot seething with jealousy? No doubt I have watched far too many dramas for my own good but it’s not an impossibility. Adding to my suspicions is the astonishing fact that Peiyi gets away with as much as she does. Questions. Questions. I have plenty of those. Is he using her and Huaijin in some nefarious scheme? Inquiring minds impatiently await. There are hints that the big man on the big chair is not what he presents to the world. More often than not the quality of leadership is reflected in the way the people behave themselves when no one’s watching.

Most if not all of the cases explore the seedy underbelly of aristocratic respectability. The veneer of respectability provides cover for all kinds of sordid activities related to young women trying to survive a turbulent world. While the sentiment behind women getting a raw deal agitating for justice and freedom (a very modern notion) is understandable, it seems to me that more freedom is scarcely the panacea. Motives are often questionable. Human beings are prone to find wiggle room and remove guardrails in the name of some self-declared “greater good”. Taboos exist in many cases for good reasons and transgressions result in social disarray. When powerful men (and women are often complicit) take advantage of the vulnerable lower status men and women, resentment builds up. Eventually it leads to discontent and even revolt. The ensuing chaos surprises no one but the perpetrators.

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Wang Xingyue plays Xiao Huaijing, a character in the vein of Zang Hai, although less obsequious in manner. He is the deputy head of the Astronomy Bureau and is something of a deductive genius. He is tasked by the emperor to help her and so he does. Reluctantly. At first. Because he knows a few things that she would like to know regarding the untimely demise of her parents. And he’d rather not say. Yes, they have a childhood connection. He saved her as a child… a well-used trope that makes its appearance more often than not in micro dramas. Huaijing is not on good terms with his dad, the Grand Tutor who really doesn’t want him to be entangled in the politics of the day. But too late. Duty calls.

Is love in the air? There seem to be wisps of it. Peiyi is in genuine awe of Huaijing once the show gets on the road. And why wouldn’t she be? He’s attractive, charismatic and blessed with a eidetic memory. They make a good team once all the suspicion and awkwardness dissipates. And while Peiyi doesn’t have much regard for too many people she’s quick to show her unadulterated admiration of the astronomer’s machine-efficient intellect although he’s not much of a fighter.

10 episodes in I don’t mind it so far. The cases are decently constructed even if at times it does come across as activism rather than historical re-telling. Women’s issues are front and centre here which is consistent with the girl boss narrative. The tragically dead princess case at the start is meant to elicit sympathy elicits a muted “meh” from moi. It’s the same problem I have with the micro drama portrayal of princesses as stand-ins for modern-day women. The palace maids, on the other hand, are actually vulnerable to all kinds of evil forces especially once they leave the palace in search of their place in the wider world with no one to look out for them. Not even their families can necessarily be relied upon to share the load. In fact they can be downright predatory.

Truth to be told, the main attraction here for this reviewer is Wang Xingyue and the character he’s playing. Bai Lu is Bai Lu regardless of what she’s in. Like Tan Songyun, she can have her choice of the cream of the crop. Wang Xingyue is born to play period pieces in a way Bai Lu isn’t — which is why the boss girl persona makes her presence more palatable. He, on the other hand, has a natural elegance that not many actors can make claim to. When he graces the screen, the experience is immersive and he acts as a nice counterpoint to her more boorish tendencies. He feels like he belongs in that world while she’s a placeholder for the target audience member who wants to be part of the action.

Jung Kyung-ho has been a must-watch since Missing 9. Even if Missing 9 was not exactly great drama, it at least tried to do something different and it didn’t take itself seriously. On first glance it harkens back to Lost and Survivor but only superficially and when on the deserted island. It was my first experience of the magic that is Jung Kyung-ho. Even though the character he played was obnoxious in the extreme, it dawned on me fairly quickly that I was watching a great actor at work. Despite the petty entitled facade, he was able to imbue the character with a palpable sense of duty.

I mention all this because, years later, he plays a similar type of character in Pro Bono. Former judge Kang Da-wit is not the paragon of virtue that his position demands. But all the years of brown-nosing, wheeling and dealing with the powers-that-are seems to have been perfect preparation for his reluctant transformation into a pro bono lawyer. That is the biggest gag of the entire show. The self-proclaimed People’s Judge turns out to be the world’s most reluctant People’s Lawyer. Partly because he never forgets his roots. Partly because he’s an excellent judge of character.

On paper Pro Bono shouldn’t work. There’s misplaced slapstick and some of the courtroom scenes are overly dramatic. The issues are serious and the grandstanding in some cases feel manipulative. However, it is a good natured, well-meaning look at the forgotten people of South Korea. The legal system doesn’t work equally for everyone even if everyone is supposedly equal before the law. The law isn’t meant to make people good. No legal code can. But the judicial system should be able to provide victims with an explanation and punish the perpetrators proportionately. At least that’s the point of the system. Nevertheless, money and connections can see the right/wrong people evade the justice they richly deserve. This in turn begs the question — so why do they even bother with the process… of seeming to do right by the victims when the outcomes are predetermined by power brokers?

For those who call the shots, it’s political theatre. It’s about being seen to do the right thing and convincing the public that the system works. Only the “hallowed” individuals can get away with murder. In reality they position themselves as being above the law but the plebs need to be controlled lest they dissent riotously. A worst case scenario Koreans are no strangers to.

So it does make sense that pro bono team repeatedly exploits the courtroom as a platform for revisiting all kinds of grievances that are not allowed in the overton window of public discourse. According to the thesis of the show, there are people who escape public scrutiny but enjoy pulling the strings from behind the curtain because they think they know best how the world works. They control the narrative and convince themselves that it is their right to meddle even if it leads to miscarriages of justice.

The courtroom becomes the last bastion of public opinion. A good lawyer remembers “all the world’s a stage” and takes advantage of the legal code for the benefit of their client. Two can play the same game. If the well-connected can seem like they care about the judicial process, so can anyone else.

It’s wink here nod there. Kang Da-wit has been the consummate actor for most of his legal career. He’s been playing a part since his entry into the judiciary. The People’s Judge is a role he’s played with flair while he acts the obsequious fool. In truth he’s nobody’s fool but a student of the human condition.

To the show’s credit, it doesn’t take itself too seriously. Yes, it serious about the victims of crime but there’s a self-awareness that it’s a drama in a larger drama about South Korean politics. The motley crew of idealists is a hint of that. They mean well but well-meaning don’t win cases. Legal savvy and wits do.

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We jumped a lot in this episode because neither of us watched the same dramas. Thanks for being onboard and supporting what we’re doing here.

All the best for the new year. Xing Nian Kuai Le.

0:00 Introduction

0:37 absoluteM launches into a review of Undercover Miss Hong starring Park Shin-hye as a investigator/auditor in a checkered relationship with Go Kyung-po the CEO of the company she’s digging into.

7:41 We talk more generally about dramas

11:50 absoluteM talks about Honour, another legal drama featuring Lee Chung-ah as three friends who set up their own law firm to champion the forgotten people. I comment on the recent spate of stories.

18:49 I start yapping about Pro Bono and it’s protagonist. Afterwards absoluteM references his previous drama Oh My Ghost Clients — also another legal show.

30:36 Our focus shifts to The Judge Returns and then our discussion moves to Ji Sung who plays the titular character.

39:33 absoluteM starts talking about C dramas by first mentioning Bai Lu and Wang Xingyue’s newest release on Netflix, Unveiled: Jadewind. She’s watching another C drama spearheaded by Cheng Lei and Wang Churan, How Dare You?! — a piece of lighthearted fare about two book transmigrators trying to navigate the ancient past.

45:32 Our relationship with C dramas and dramas more generally.

57:37 We discuss recent dramas of Wang Xingyue and his career thus far.

1:01:26 absoluteM misses Lin Gengxin. Where has he gone??

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Bride swaps are a commonplace short C drama trope. The substitute bride is usually a sister but this one is a doppelganger contract killer who finds her victim dead before she can strike. The dead woman was about to marry a commandery prince who is wheelchair bound. The substitute conveniently enters the picture to save the day on the condition that she’s handsomely rewarded for doing so. With cash in one hand, it’s a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire. The groom is not fooled in the least and quickly warms up to the imposter who relishes her newfound freedom. Of course the show isn’t just about domestic issues as her checkered past soon catches up with her.

My next recommendation sees a couple of very talented child actors as the leads in this rebirth palace drama. A clever young palace maid is given a second chance to rectify mistakes made in her previous life. In scenario 1 she had given her all to the crown prince in order to clear her father’s name but found herself backing the wrong horse. This time round she has to convince the embittered and neglected third prince (cast into the abyss of the Winter Palace) that she’s on his side. It takes time and soon gains his trust. The young duo become happy collaborators as they navigate the choppy seas of harem politics to gain the attention of the man at the top. I was intrigued by the young leads and was rewarded with an immersive experience.

The normally comedic Sun Quanxian finds herself in a palace drama as a returned hostage princess who has defied expectations by surviving 10 years in a foreign land. She’s fighting tooth and nail to hold on to her betrothal with a once sickly impetuous general who now carries the heart of the man who sacrificed himself for her. Rumours about her her lack of virtue run amok because no one can understand how she’s still alive and her new fiance is adamant on breaking the engagement. To protect that heart, she withstands humiliation, misunderstanding and near-death experiences. Slowly painfully but surely, she wins the heart of her new husband. But before she can have her happily-ever-after, she must first grapple with her unhappy past. Sun Quanxian is terrific as always (albeit in a much more serious show) and so is her male lead.

Finally, on my list is this fantasy comedy period piece about an immortal who is sent into the body of a dead general’s daughter who falls victim to her cousin’s machinations. The first good deed she does is give the cousins and the dead woman’s fiance a good beating. Then she has them swinging from the beam. The fiance is the crown prince who is stupidly enamoured with the half sister. This female lead is a hoot on so many levels. A mixture of unbridled schoolgirl glee and terrifying calculating ruthlessness. Even the sickly prince that she ends up marrying can’t help but be in earnest admiration. Bu Ruo returns to her place of resident only to be met with parasitic relatives who have ruled the roost for far too long. It’s house cleaning time and watching nearby is the sickly prince thoroughly impressed with her methods. It’s another bride swap. On their wedding night it’s love at first sight as she salivates over the attractive husband who doesn’t have long for this world.

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0:00 Introduction and greetings

0:36 absoluteM talks about what she’s been watching on: Typhoon Family, Dynamite Kiss, Idol Eye, including Wallace Chung’s latest Second Chance Romance — widely thought to be something of a dud. 2:04 She mentions his 2022 drama Because of Love in passing.

4:27 Sniper Butterfly — a sleeper hit. A noona romance ie. an older woman romancing a young man. Neither of us have seen it yet.

5:48 I briefly mentioned what I watched on Viki before I went travelling last month. Taxi Driver 3 and Dear X.

6:49 What I watched on D+: The Manipulated, Tempest and Vigilante. I critique The Manipulated and then…

14:15 We get into a longer discussion of Typhoon Family which we both watched. We highlight the best and the negative aspects of the show.

31:23 I put Jung Kyung-ho’s Pro Bono on hold but will be getting back to it soon. I talk about what I like about it so far.

37:25 absoluteM launches into a review and outlines the plot of tropefest Dynamite Kiss, the rom com starring Jang Ki-yong and Ahn Eun-jin.

41:40 absoluteM watched body swap fantasy Moon River with Kang Tae-oh and Kim Se-jeong and recommends it. She goes on to praise 44:56 Idol Eye but not Cashero. Based on the plotline of Idol Eye, we talk about the darkside of fandom’s relationship with celebrities — trafficking gossip and salacious speculations on social media.

54:01 Taxi Driver 3 and comparing the various seasons. Then our attention shifts to Dear X and Kim You-jung’s performance.

59:56 I do a brief review of Tempest.

1:01:31 Tan Songyun and Liu Xueyi’s upcoming drama, Against the Current. Will Liu Xueyi hit the jackpot this time?

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When Park Tae-jeong (Ji Chang-wook), a cafe operator and delivery man falls prey to the machinations of a wealthy hacker on the prowl for a scapegoat, he barely knows what hit him. What struggling small business aspirant doesn’t want to make an extra buck here and there? He is meticulously lured into a trap and before he can make sense of any of it, he’s thrown into the slammer for rape and murder… committed by someone else. Overnight he loses everything unaware that he’s been the victim of well-resourced operation. If the bodies can’t be buried, there’s no need. With the technology and resources available, an unsuspecting pleb can take the fall for the degenerate offspring of a politician who is willing to pay for the service.

The Manipulated is very good television when it is The Count of Monte Cristo — the bit that sees him in prison trying to survive the injustice, the beatings and regaining the will to live. His friendship with the altar server is key to his recovery. All the best stuff happens in those first six episodes. But once the show switches gear to The Fugitive, it loses its earlier confidence and even meanders in wasteful fashion squandering a good two or three episodes in a repetitive wash cycle. The previously strategic Tae-jong flounders unconvincingly undoubtedly because the script needs him to. Not because there’s nothing interesting that could be done to maintain momentum but partly it seems to me because it doesn’t really know what to do with the villain-protagonist dynamic. Having built him up as a cackling James Bond adversary with Big Brother type reach, the show can’t let Tae-joong triumph too easily against such a leviathan. As a result the show sacrifices character development and the final episode speeds its way in flimsy fashion to the resolution.

There’s no faulting Ji Chang-wook’s performance from start to finish. He delivers on every front and cements his reputation as one of the best of his generation in what could have been the role of a lifetime if consistency was the modus operandi of the writing. He is let down by the script once the show loses momentum.

The villain as played by Doh Kyung-ho is a curious figure. He is suitably psychopathic and the actor does well enough. But apparently he’s not really an adult but a child who is still pandered to by the family nanny now that there are no restraints on his appetites. The blind nanny is equally ruthless and eggs on her man-child ward to indulge his whims where they take him. What’s always been needed before he was allowed to throw tantrums with no consequence was a triple dose of Mary Poppins medicine to pull him into line.

It also becomes a competition among the hierarchy of villains as to who does the most blood-letting which oddly has a desensitizing boredom inducing effect. All the action and horrifying violence in the world should not be a substitute for rudimentary things like character development. When the ending isn’t nearly as good as the start it’s a downer.

Showing more finesse and consistency is Tempest, a political thriller that also features a conspiracy but on a far larger scale. Jun Ji-hyun plays a former diplomat Seo Munju, married to a popular presidential candidate. When her husband is about to make some world-shattering announcement at church, he immediately succumbs to an assassin’s bullet. Security is surprising lax for a man with ambitions and secrets — a recurring problem I have with the show. Munju is immediately captured on camera reacting to the bloody scenario. Coming to her rescue is a mysterious mercenary Baek San-ho appearing from nowhere. They lock eyes in the chaos signalling an unspoken connection over tragedy.

To find out who called the hit on Jang Jun-lk, Mun-ju is persuaded to join the presidential race. There are far too many unanswered questions that plague her. Was her late husband a North Korean spy trying to do more than advocate for reunification? And what’s this new super submarine with all the bells and whistles purportedly made by the North Korea? Is World War III on the cards? From the set-up the show promises to be a Hunt for Red October style thriller.

There’s a lot about Tempest that gets the adrenaline pumping. The subject matter and its accompanying themes addresses various political issues that are fairly universal. Despite the geopolitical jargon and window dressing, it turns out not really to be a show about politics except peripherally which is something of double-edged sword. It starts off giving the impression of being something and ends up being something else. The key strength of the drama is its storytelling and plotting which is good enough to distract the viewer from some of its weaknesses.

Where the show really falls down for me is the motivation of the show’s primary adversary for which there are several contenders. With multiple agendas at work in the narrative, known facts are not necessarily red-herrings but pieces of a larger puzzle whose positions aren’t evident at the start. Multiple agendas are always fine but after all the build up, the villain’s motivation for making waves is something of an anticlimax.

Judging from online comments, the most controversial element by far is the romance. Which is odd seeing that this is to a large extent a Bodyguard story and that it is his attraction to Mun-ju that sees the bodyguard sign up as a human shield when nobody asked. To say that the romance is unnecessary shows a failure to recognize what the show is really about. With background chatter about reunification in the Korean peninsular as a metaphor and a high profile political marriage rife with secrets, it’s not hard to see what beats at the heart of this show.

For the most part the storytelling is cinematic. The use of wide and high angle shots are aplenty. It can be an immersive experience as long as one doesn’t get too fixated with details. The performances are good as one might expect of the large array of veterans from Kim Hae-sook as the president to Lee Mi-sook as the domineering mother-in-law. But this is a show about fundamentally about ideas so characters represent voices in an geopolitical fracas that’s being going on for as long as there has been nations. I’m not a fan of Jun Ji-hyun’s brand of stoicism but it’s also obvious that Seo Mun-ju is written as an alternative — neither left nor right but a third way… whatever that means.

Two years later, I’m finally done with Vigilante. The title speaks for itself and it’s another show about ideas rather than people. Those expecting any depth or breadth of thought in this will be disappointed. At times it devolves into a mindless action drama. The actors do what they can with what they’ve been handed but in the end, they’re playing caricatures in the battle of ideas. Which is hardly surprising since this is based off a webtoon. It’s not V for Vendetta by a long stretch but the message is similar: vigilantism arises when injustices run rife and those in authority look the other way.

While it holds some entertainment value, it does nothing new and despite the cast, will soon be forgotten.

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In the Old Testament, Jeremiah, the prophet writes that “the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick, who can understand it?” The heart, purportedly the seat of emotions is an unreliable moral compass and prone to self-deception. It’s far too easy for human agents to deceive themselves into believing that they have the best intentions or motivations even when acting against their consciences and societal norms. When things get tough, it is natural to take the path of least resistance and then the self-justification follows. Motives are seldom straightforward especially when large sums of money are involved.

Eun-su, the drama’s protagonist is in dire need of money and has compelling reasons for wanting a piece of the proverbial pie. At the start it’s easy to argue from her perspective that life is abominably unfair. That’s not in dispute. Not only is her husband dying but there’s not a lot of left in the family coffers. His treatment requires money — unseemly amounts of it —but there’s no assurance on the medical front of success either. On the face of it, Eun-soo seems to be a good wife and mother wanting the best for her family but the show is devastating in its exploration of how a single bad decision leads to worse decisions and ultimately to destruction. Superficially it does seem like it’s about merely about solving a financial problem. However, it seldom is just about economics because our tenuous relationship with money is fraught with moral implications.

The self-justification is given an initial burst of oxygen when Eun-su frames herself as a victim. It’s not hard to see why. She sees the injustice of it all. She’s worked hard her whole life and done the right thing only to find out that hardly anyone cares. She may be genuine about saving her husband despite the slim odds but the first clue that it’s not all about him when she resorts to lies about the source of her newfound wealth.

In this show the prospect of money brings out the worst of every single person. If these characters are to be believed, the answer to every problem is money… until the love of money creates new problems and exacerbates minor ones.

As the drama demonstrates unequivocally it suits the wealthy and powerful to make lesser mortals believe that money is at the root of happiness. It means that the plebs work harder to buy more, to consume more products. They become slaves to the economic system which enriched them. Rather than creating an aspirational environment, it reinforces and gatekeeps class distinctions based on economic achievements.

There’s a fascinating sequence of scenes in the drama resembling infomercials. Eun-su and daughter Su-A are shopping and salivating over things they can’t afford. It’s a luxuriously outfitted display apartment and a state-of-the-art bed. And then Eun-su gazes admiringly at a well-equipped apartment, has an attack of the warm fuzzies imagining the family around the dinner table in perfect harmony. Advertising promises us what our world could be like while glossing over the price tag — one that few can really afford without becoming a slave to debt.

The real world, though not without creature comforts, is far removed from that fantasy and out of reach for most. But the moral universe of Eun-su and Lee Kyung’s world doesn’t let up. No one gets away with anything. Not a single soul. That’s the price of dabbling with illegal substances.

That’s why it makes sense that there’s no romance between the leads. It starts off with Eun-su as the student and the more worldly Lee Gyeong as her dubious mentor. Eun-su is a quick study with a flair for accounting but when things go haywire and off the rails, she becomes the de facto parental figure that he’s been sorely lacking. There can’t be a romance too because it would mean that what they did was justified in some fashion. They understood each other after eyeing one another suspiciously for the longest time but in the end it was empathy not eros. At the time when he needed his family the most, he was abandoned. His revenge on the monster corporation and its errant offspring will certainly resonate with the audience but like everything else good the results are bittersweet. Selling drugs is what bound them together and it is only fitting that it ends their relationship.

No doubt Walking on Thin Ice is a Christian parable/allegory. There is none righteous. No not one. True godliness with contentment is itself great wealth. Accumulating earthly treasure is no guarantee of a lifetime of happiness as we peer into the lives of the law professor’s family as a contrast. Her marriage is in shambles even as she turns up her nose at the diligent Eun-su working part time in her local supermarket. Their daughter’s mental state is falling apart with all the pressure from home and school. There’s no denying that money is an advantage but it cannot bring peace of mind to a troubled heart.

Walking on Thin Ice will likely be one of the year’s best thanks to the production values that has the viewer on tenterhooks all throughout. Thematically it has plenty to offer. Performances are riveting and it’s certainly helped by strong cohesive script that never falters.

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1:09 Where we begin our conversation about Walking on Thin Ice, the underwatched crime K drama led by Lee Young-ae and Kim Young-kwan as partners in crime. This conversation does contain spoilers for the show. If you’re trying to avoid spoilers please go to my spoiler free review of the first half of the drama.

28:05 We talk about Kim Young-kwan and his career so far.

32:50 Our chat shifts to Typhoon Family. The historical backdrop of the Asian financial crisis and a brief synopsis. This heartwarming drama is spearheaded by Lee Jun-ho and Kim Min-ha as partners in a fledgling trading company.

51:03 What else is absoluteM watching… an “obscure” C drama; a K drama called Moon River (Kang Tae-o, Kim Se-jong)

52:39 Short dramas and another adaptation of Prisoner of Beauty.

58:13 What’s on the horizon? Dynamite Kiss, a rom com featuring Jang Ki-yong and An Eun-jin. Ji Chang-wook’s The Manipulated and Dear X which stars Kim Young-dae and Kim You-jung.

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Lee Young-ae shares the lead with Kim Young-kwang as two unlikely partners-in-crime in this cat and mouse game with law enforcement, a drug cartel and the wealthy party set. Lee Young-ae is right at home as a housewife who works part-time at a supermarket and Kim Young-kwan plays her daughter’s art teacher who moonlights as popular drug dealer, James. It all begins with a drug bust that goes pear-shaped and a suspect carrying a bagful of contraband taking temporary refuge in her home when no one’s looking. He proceeds to hide the coveted stash at her place and there it stays until she happens upon it rummaging around for a bag.

Meanwhile things aren’t going well for Kang Eun-su on the home front. Her affable husband of many years has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. She has no idea until he collapses after a heated exchange and is carted off to the hospital. The treatment is pricey and the chances of recovery are very slim. They’re in debt for different reasons. His investments haven’t paid off. They also have a teenage daughter to feed and raise. She’s a promising young artist. Needless to say, art school and good quality art supplies don’t come cheap.

So Eun-su has money problems. Who doesn’t? But Eun-su is more desperate than most perhaps. Exorbitant medical bills and a daughter who is threatening to leave art school after seeing the writing on the wall, stirs her into action. When she stumbles on the drugs in her own backyard, her first thought is to turn them over to the cops. That is… until she finds out that there is money to be made from it. An idea gradually takes shape when she accidentally eavesdrops on a bathroom deal while cleaning at a well-patronized nightclub. Initially she’s shocked to find out that the mysterious “James” is none other than Su-A’s strapping art teacher but recovers quickly enough to offer him a partnership to dispose of her ill-gotten gains. Although Eun-su is obviously in over her head plunging headlong into this dubious enterprise, she soon proves that she has a knack for the business as long as she doesn’t fall prey to the tip of a nasty piece of steel.

The highlight of this series is undoubtedly the plotting. The writer’s ability to juggle and weave multiple agendas and maintain a wide range of relationships is admirable. It’s a sizeable cast — as it often is for these police procedurals — so the web of connections is impressive. The leads deliver as we might expect. Kim Young-kwang, known for his versatility, occasionally reminds me of Lee Min-ho from certain angles. His Lee Kyung aka James is a fascinating creature. He’s a slick operator in the field but there’s evidently something else going on when we catch glimpses of his dimly-lit apartment. What is he really after? He’s not just peddling illegal substances for the money. Fee fie fo fum… I smell revenge in the offing.

To be honest I don’t much like the characters in this. Neither Eun-su or Lee Kyung come across as particularly appealing when unmasked. There’s no doubting their smarts or resourcefulness in moments of crisis but the moral quagmire that they wallow in gradually diminishes her credibility as the underdog. Trafficking in drugs has moral implications and thankfully the show doesn’t pretend otherwise. Even if the duo are able to outsmart their adversaries today, that doesn’t mean that there are no ugly consequences tomorrow. It’s good money in the short term but the results are mixed. People die horribly in this game.

There’s certainly no attempt to pretty things up here. In fact, the most gripping part of this show is watching how the nightmare unfolds for both. In fact it’s clear that this is as much a fable about people’s relationship with money as it is about the drug trade. At almost every point I question Eun-su’s motives. Outwardly she’s eager to play the attentive wife and mother. But I wonder. Is she as selfless as she leads the people around her to think? She’s portrayed as a creature of her culture — one that is steeped in a new kind of religion — a materialist, consumerist impulse with all kinds of assumptions baked in. Categories like “necessities” and “luxuries” are notoriously difficult lines to draw when it’s the air that you breathe. For instance, when money is scarce, is art school really a necessity? To the point that it’s worth stealing money for? That subtle sense of entitlement driving Eun-su is fascinating to watch. Having no money is no fun but it is made worse when the rich thumb their nose at you because apparently money gives you the right to do that kind of thing with impunity. As long as wealth remains a metric of success, there will always be those who flaunt it mercilessly.

Money certainly projects power. But human beings are very bad at using money and power. The show does a decent job… so far… of getting deep into the weeds of men’s hearts. There’s an ominous feeling though that while all that money has been handy, the trade offs come at too great a price and eventually something’s got to give

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Thai dramas are seldom on my radar and I tend not to go looking in that direction for all kinds of reasons. However, when a remake of Hello Monster/I Remember You popped up on my Netflix feed, my curiosity was piqued right away. The original has been a favourite and still arguably the best role a younger Park Bo-geum has made his own. 10 years on certain aspects of it will inevitably come across a tad dated. The original wasn’t a show that appealed to me immediately but I grew to love it once I persevered past the cringe factor and clumsy romance set-up. The line-up was also stellar and it also included Seo In-geok in the lead role, Jang Na-ra as well as the accomplished Choi Won-young.

The Thai version, simply known as Remember You, is overall a faithful adaptation with some tweaks and tightening around the edges. In general the performances are competent and the storytelling… once it kicks in (it does plod), immersive. I’m not averse to the romance as some others seem to be. In fact I liked it more here than in the original. It could be that now that I’m older, I’m better able to see why the romance is warranted in a show about serial killers.

Like its source material, the male lead is a consulting profiler late of the FBI and he’s returned to his home country — in this case, Thailand — to unravel mysteries that have haunted him for over a decade. Thanwa (Paopetch Charoensook) is tasked with assisting the Special Investigation Bureau but manages to rub everyone the wrong way on his first day at a crime scene where a woman has been brutally murdered. There he meets Aiyada (Belle Kemisara Paladesh), the only female member of the team. She is left reeling by the encounter and wonders if he’s not the perpetrator come to revisit the scene of the crime. She remembers him too as the prodigious boy she followed around their neighbourhood and also later when he grows up to be a rockstar criminologist-writer. Unfortunately for her, he doesn’t remember her. At least not immediately.

Old habits die hard and Aiyada continues to follow Thanwa around trying to understand his modus operandi. Their dynamic is initially that of Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson (in the older film tradition) but as their interactions spill outside of work hours, they begin developing feelings for each other. To say that the mercurial Thanwa doesn’t work well with the people around him is an understatement. Members of the Special Investigation Bureau don’t think much of his propensity to thumb his nose at them. Fab (Vivid Bavornkiratikajorn), a senior detective, takes great exception to the newcomer and deems him suspicious for the longest time. The antagonism there goes far too long for anyone’s comfort. It certainly doesn’t speak well of the Fab character’s ability to be impartial.

One of the perennial mysteries that haunts Thanwa is the disappearance and alleged death of his younger brother, Meena. As children, their detective father was murdered in the family home and Meena was never to be seen again — presumably dead. There are also gaps in Thanwa’s memory. He recalls his father’s last case involving a notorious serial killer, Pathomkarn (Patarapon To-oun) and some of his own interaction with Pathomkarn but there are crucial pieces of the puzzle missing from his memories.

The heart of this series lies in Thanwa’s journey to find the missing fragments of his past. Part of this journey lies in his relationship with Paytai, an openly hostile, ubiquitous young lawyer and the department’s coroner Dr Kong. As Thanwa delves into the weeds of various cases, these two men signal an interest in becoming friends with the aloof and anti-social consultant. Furthermore his blossoming romance with Aiyada is also about coming to terms with the demons that have plagued him for the longest time. Thanwa holds himself responsible for his brother’s supposed demise and laments over the fact that he hasn’t tried harder over the years to find out what happened. On top of that the thought of Pathomkarn still wandering free, committing more crimes is also another bugbear for the emotionally closed off Thanwa.

Thematically Remember You is comparable with the more recent Queen Mantis. Instead of Mummy issues, it’s Daddy who is in large part the catalyst for many things that went wrong for Thanwa and Meena. As a child, Thanwa was deemed a “monster” after a hasty diagnosis from scraps of evidence. On that occasion Dad is struck by a bad case of the Frozen syndrome and locks the boy up in the basement to ensure that the boy Thanwa would steer clear of the footsteps of bogeyman Pathomkarn. Except that (with no lack of irony) Pathomkorn becames the person that he does because he was shunned and ostracized as a little lad.

All of this begs the question: are murderers born or made? After much consideration, the script falls with no lack of certainty in the “made” camp. Most psychopaths aren’t walking axe murderers and not everyone who murders is a psychopath. The drama is at pains to demonstrate that the human heart is a complex mishmash of distorted desires, well-meaning intentions and inexplicable uncontrollable passions . Without guidance and intervention of the right kind, far too many are led astray.

A long time before South Korean dramas became an integral part of my viewing habits, I devoured Japanese dramas routinely and especially the ones of the crime variety. Galileo was a series that I followed religiously when it first aired. These days it’s readily available on Netflix. I am revisiting it and note that it’s high on the cheese factor but aside from the Brits and Americans, no one does crime stories like the Japanese which is not surprising considering how much they love Arthur Conan Doyle. This drama is based on a series of short stories created by Higashino Keigo.

Of course the main reason to watch Galileo is for the attractive male lead, Fukuyama Masaharu who prior to being a tv star was a beloved singer-songwriter in the Jpop scene. He’s immensely likeable in the title role and that voice… Yikes… is guaranteed to send women everywhere crazy. Galileo is the nickname of Professor Yukawa Manabu, an eccentric physicist who is dragged into solving mysteries with a so-called paranormal angle by the heart-first Utsumi Kaoru (Shibasaki Ko). Although he loudly maintains disinterest and indifference to the human side of crime, the professor is inevitably drawn to find a scientific explanation for the oddities in each case. When he’s not out and about with her, he’s poking around in his lab proving his theories. As soon as the good professor is hit with a brainwave he starts scribbling algorithms on any available surface at hand — a signature quirk that Utsumi learns to embrace soon enough.

It’s a light hearted watch with appropriate moments of seriousness. There’s no romantic development even though it’s brimming with tension between the leads. Yes, it’s another instance of Sherlock and Watson but in terms of the plot mechanics I’m reminded of the wonderful UK series Jonathan Creek, a crime series rich in detail and wry humour.

Another one that came up on my feed was The Resurrected, a newish Taiwanese drama about two women looking for justice after their daughters fall prey to a human trafficking and voice phishing ring. I’ve seen about 4 episodes so far and have mixed feelings about the way this is unfolding. The approach is certainly novel — the leads steal the body of the perpetrator after his execution and revive him using a unnamed religious cult in some unknown location. Their mission is to get him talking and cough up the big bucks he made exploiting youngsters before getting his just desserts. However it seems unfair to them that his mother and sister are living the high life while the victims and families have to pick up the pieces with no compensation. The women are way over their heads trying to handle everything on their own — the show doesn’t skirt that — but it did cross my mind that with all the coin they raised to nab the body, they could have all that to move on with their lives. Failure doesn’t seem to be an option but the business they’ve embroiled themselves in is very messy.

The tone is bleak and messaging about the elusiveness of justice no doubt resonates. It’s no Taken though. Neither of them have the appropriate skills for such an undertaking. I suspect that much of the problem I’m having is that I can’t shake that nagging feeling of incredulity as the narrative continues to unravel. The premise is unique but I can’t help wishing that one of them is a trained investigator or has a military background to make the whole thing more plausible.

I’ve also dipped my toes into Typhoon Family partly because it’s set in an era that I lived through as a young adult and partly because I am sure that my conversational partner absoluteM would be watching it for Jun-ho. I like it so far for its aspirational themes and there’s a lovely horticultural angle that’s refreshing. I’m sure I’ll have more to say in our next podcast. And when I’ve caught up with all the existing episodes.

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