I’ve always had a fascination with dramas, watching them and occasionally acting in them for school and a few Christian summer camps.
Growing up in Korea and Japan for the first three years of my life, k-dramas, variety shows, and cartoons were a common staple in our humble, papier-mâché household.
When I moved to the States, I glommed onto soap operas — mostly because my mom watched them to learn English. They were good enough to keep me company throughout my early childhood fending off racist bullies and navigating a black-and-white world, where only Marcia Brady won the heart of the star quarterback and Barbie was the female ideal.
(Fuck them, I wanted to be Bruce Lee anyway.)
But they were never quite good enough, not nearly as good as k-dramas, which used all kinds of character actors in the cast, not just the Barbie and Ken ideals, and really dug into the heart and the beef of storytelling in real time.
The difference is startling; it’s like cheering on your favorite underdog college team over the NBA, where multi-million-dollar players just go through the motions for show versus actually playing the game with all their might.
If I’d stayed in Korea, I might’ve become one of those beloved k-drama character actors, who knows. I definitely would’ve stayed in the world of journalism to cover their entertainment industry.
Every time I get through a k-drama, it takes me weeks to get over. I check out behind-the-scenes videos and interviews of the cast, read up about the actors’ personal lives, and daydream about them, wondering if they’re having a nice day, what their next projects are.
I admit, though, it took me over a year to get into the highly rated “It’s Okay To Not Be Okay” on Netflix my son recommended. I quit a quarter of the way into the first episode.
My Americanized, ADD-addled mind couldn’t get behind a sociopathic rich girl with a penchant for tearing butterflies in half who grew up to be a scary children’s book author. Like…what?
Plus, it was taking too long to get to the point.
Was this a supernatural horror flick celebrating witches?
What was the point exactly?
Sit down, Ugly American.
A few weeks ago, I tried again, determined to let the series wash over me with no preconceptions (which is the way you should watch all foreign films). As soon as I met the autistic older brother of Moon Gang-tae later on, I was hooked.
Oh Jung-se won a Baeksang Arts award for “Best Supporting Actor” in 2021 as Moon Sang-tae, an aspiring illustrator who finds his courage at the 11th hour to save his family.
I’m not the only one who fell for him. Everybody who saw this guy in the popular series did, too.
I’m now onto another of his award-winning TV shows, “When the Camellia Blooms,” a 20-episode slow-burn delving into the humble, quirky people of a fictional fishing village (Ongsan) known for crab restaurants and a serial killer running loose.
“When the Camellia Burns” took me more than half of the episodes to warm up to, even though the side characters and narration are hilarious. K-dramas tend to be an all-inclusive storytelling experience that borrows from more than one or two genres. They also play with time, going back and forth with impunity, hiding key elements to clue viewers in on what’s really going on until the last minute.
Nothing and no one is wasted.
Real inclusivity, rather than token infomercials. That takes some getting used to.
In “Camellia…,” most of my reticence surrounded the lead character, a single mom (Oh Dong-baek) raising her eight-year-old son in a hostile town. She’s immediately viewed as a threat to the other women, because she’s so pretty and young and innocent and runs the only tavern, where all their husbands and boyfriends congregate to avoid the allied spies of their other halves typically found in small towns.
I didn’t find her especially attractive, compared to other popular k-dramas. The female lead tends to be almost impossibly beautiful, with very little imperfection. Living dolls.
In time, Gong Hyo-jin won me over as I saw Dong-baek fight back, as well as her unconditional love deepen for son Pil-gu (played by Kim Kang-hoon) and her doomed server Choi Go-woon (Son Dam-bi), a fellow outcast.
But again, it was Oh Jung-se and his bumbling, but ultimately kind-hearted character, No Gyu-tae, who stole the show with his comic timing and undertones of strength and decency, which he carries over into his other roles.
You can’t help but root for him, whatever the shenanigans. He could play a serial-killer out for revenge, Satan himself, and you’d root for him.
I love him so much I begged my husband to log back onto Hulu just so I can watch him in “Revenant.” I know Leonardo DiCaprio’s in a movie of the same name, but…fuck that noise.
DiCaprio’s got nothing on Jung-se.
The sick thing is, if any of these award-winning character actors — hero or villain — ever tried to make it in Hollywood or the British Isles, the most they’d ever get is a token Asian blip on the radar…caricature, an insult.
Look what they did to the “Itaewon Class” actor (Park Seo-joon) on that badly rated, PC propagandized Marvel movie series. Somebody on Instagram joked that in the time it took to make instant ramyeon, you missed Prince Yan in a fight scene.
But in “GyeongSeong Creature,” he plays the lead better than any of the American Marvels.
That’s why I’m seriously thinking about dumping most of my American-made streaming services for k-dramas. I can’t go back. Just the sight of the recent Emmy winners makes the bile rise and my blood boil.
This is why my mom sold her soul to come to the U.S.?
We never stood a chance.
I know a guy who only streams k-dramas. Now I understand why.
They’re better written, better acted, and more inclusive, in an organic way, without forcing a point down viewers’ throats. The actors are expected to do their best on- and off-screen, not coast on their laurels. They don’t just show up and pose like everybody in Hollywood does. A lot of them go on everyday variety shows to play games like Jenga and interact with fans, like everybody else.
They’re not treated like gods and viewers like serfs. In fact, viewers hold a lot of clout. one bad bit of press, and a k-drama actor’s career could be in serious jeopardy. Korean fans hold celebrities to higher standards, too; they won’t stand for past reports of rudeness, bullying, or worse.
Korea may not seem like a glamorous place. A Korean acquaintance told me she hates visiting family there because of the pollution. The country was once a battering ram of warlords with a strict, lingering caste system (the haves look down on the have-nots, literally). If you wander, you’ll still find remnants of the pre- and post-war slums I was raised on.
But the feeling of a k-drama is like no other.
It’s like coming home.
After 50+ years of running away and hiding from my roots in shame, because I didn’t look like America’s version of Marcia Brady…I’ve finally come home…