This is one of the surprise hits of the '22 BL season

“Love Class” is, in my opinion, a surprise hit of the ’22 BL season. It has the key features we’ve come to expect from shows out of Korea: quality acting, writing & directing. The only item missing from its impressive list of achievements is a catchy title song composed & sung by artists like Runy (Where Your Eyes Linger) or Coldin (Semantic Error). Han Hyun Jun, who stole the show in “Please Tell Me So”, is well teamed here opposite Kim Tae Hwan, who plays the tall lean and broody Ro-A.

Online credits for Director Lee SungTaek are sparse but he deserves more attention: “Love Class” is shot with economy & tight focus and doesn’t waste a moment of its precious 6 x 20minute episodes (in effect, a 2hour movie). At time of posting this, the writer is not known, but the script deftly weaves into its university student love story sub plots of unrequited love, jealousy, peer acceptance and stigma, as well as the darker subjects of outing, stalking (there is some violence) and internet trolling. Not a character is wasted, from Ro-A’s flatmates to their university tutor; each is fleshed out and dovetails into the drama.

Within the BL universe, "Love Class" is firmly in the realistic vein of story-telling, not the fantasy space occupied by "Cutie Pie" or "Enchante", for example. Ultimately, what makes this series watchable is the trajectory of its two leads: Ro-A’s attraction to Han Hyun Jun’s Ji-Woo and Ji-Woo’s self-discovery of the difference between having a crush and being in love. Highly recommended.

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Feels more like a soap than a BL.

Audiences will have to make their own minds up whether the good parts of “Don’t Say No” are better than the bad parts. To my mind, the good parts are worth watching. The problem is there aren’t enough good parts to have ever justified making this into a 727 minute long show. The consequence of the creators stretching out the various events in DNS is that it feels very episodic, not so much a BL series as more like a tv soap, where each episode is more or less self-contained with viewers left hanging at the end of each episode waiting to see how the cliff-hanger will resolve itself in the next. This also helps to explain why DNS is such a mixture of dramatic scenarios, uncertain of its own character.

Even so, I like how DSN tackles love AFTER the rosy falling in love stage. And also the trope of parent-conflict is reworked to the more harrowing depiction of a psychologically unwell mother.

Stories of how couples handle the day to day of their relationship are not commonplace in BL’s, but here Leo & Fiat are already an item at the start. Their love for each other though is no guarantee that they can handle the misunderstandings and the doubts and concerns that all couples experience in the early years until trust in and familiarity with each other settle in.

Beyond that, “Don’t Say No” goes into some dark places in broken families. Despite the wealthy surroundings in which Fiat grows up, the breakdown of his parent’s marriage is the initial source for his later young adult self-destructive pattern of sexual license. It seems at first as if, nurtured by the strong emotional support of his partner, Leo, he will confront the truth about his mother’s unstable behaviour; but Fiat is practiced at hiding the past from himself and will even risk his relationship with Leo to preserve his fragile mindset.

Leo, it turns out, is the gay bf/partner/husband every guy dreams about or wishes for - tall, good-looking, loving, faithful, devoted, supportive (the birthday scene is a treasure) and dedicated to Fiat’s happiness. (The public kiss on the basketball court at the end is a nice touch.) Ja Phachara Suansri brings to the role of Leo a perfect mixture of sweet doey-eyed charm & sexy allusion. And he is involved in what might be one of the ground-breaking scenes in the BL world: a prolonged amicable conversation between Leo and Fiat’s father about their love for Fiat and the transfer of responsibility for Fiat from parent to spouse.

Ultimately, though, “Don’t Say No” depends for its drama and our involvement in it on the character of Fiat, the show’s central protagonist. First Chalongrat Novsamrong comes to the part with the requisite combination of good looks and sexiness. There is even a suggestion that Fiat & Leo might indulge in some mutually consensual hard core bed play. But, more significant is the emotional baggage that Fiat brings to their relationship. For First, it is as heavy an acting burden as Fluke Natouch Siripongthon had to bear in “Until We Meet Again”; where the dramatic weight of the show depends on their character’s emotional journey and our belief in it. First gets most of it right especially given that tortured internal conflicts are harder for most young Thai BL actors. Occasionally he is left unsupported by the writer when he has to emote on his own; but the support he receives from Ja Phacara Suansri’s Leo in part helps cover many of the weak spots.

It should be no surprise, therefore, in my opinion, that while the overarching themes in this series of relationships - past & present - guide the rough shape of the show, the screenwriter proves to be the weak spot in this drama. Rather than weave the themes together - as happens in real life - the writer breaks the plot developments into set pieces with little forewarning or poor preparation. The effect is to make the show stutter in its progress and, at times, slow to a painful crawl, as the drama, structured in 12 hour-long episodes, struggles to find enough action to fill the time. (Threading of plot lines & character development is one of the key reasons Korean BL’s are generally more effective dramatically than their Thai counterparts.) Silence, for instance, is an effective dramatic device, but not when it is used because the writer has nothing else for the characters to say & the director has nothing for them to do; then it becomes tedious and reveals a lack of ideas & imagination. Characters talking to themselves in an empty room is worse: that only makes the character appear to be demented instead of having an internal reflection.

“Don’t Say No” is also littered with the dramatic device of using song to expand emotional peaks. It is an over-used device, in my opinion, and suffers from the burden it places on the singer-songwriter. No artist, to my knowledge, has been able to write so many successful songs for the one show. In fact, usually, the opposite is the case - a single theme, such as the recurring melody in “Enchanté”, works more effectively than ten or more individual songs.

A mention should be made of the poor animal wrangling of Pob’s rescue cat, Pobjer. Every cat owner will see clearly, in the scenes in Pob’s apartment, that the cat is behaving wary in an unfamiliar space, exactly opposite to how the script describes. Professional film industry animal wranglers know to get an animal to relax on set. It’s way past time that Thai film producers shook off their acceptance of low standards and embraced real film industry performance in all departments.

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The happiest of endings

I love a happy ending, and “Cherry Blossoms After Winter” has as good an ending as any BL in the fantasy sector of the genre. Credit to the casting - Ok Jin Uk as Hae Bom and Kang Hui as Tae Sung, the two main leads, are a pleasure to watch and listen to, and their characterisations meld well with the mellow dramatic tone of the series where even the early conflicts with the high school bully threaten but don’t overwhelm the central love story.

In the now familiar fantasy BL world of privileged young men (for whom a university education constitutes no financial hardship of any kind) and whose friends are the most supportive in the world, the pathways to happiness are riddled with the bumps and misdirections of their own characters, not the world in which they live. Through gradual steps and confessions, doubts and then resolve, the young couple find reciprocated love and begin their life journey. Even the sudden last minute appearance of parental concern about how the wider world will treat the happy young couple is not a problem so much as an opportunity to showcase love as the ultimate decision-maker.

Feel-good stories such as CBAW look simple but require care to pull off. Credit to the production team; across the board, from Director Yoon Joon Ho, as much as in the wardrobe & makeup, the sets & lighting, camerawork & editing, this looked to me to be a team effort. It’s appropriate, in a metaphorical sense, that Tae Sung decides at the end that he is going to study to become a cake maker; the whole show has the pleasant feel of a cinematic confection.

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The title is both clue and metaphor

Rarely have I been so impatient for each successive episode to be released as I was for this series, such was its high level of enjoyment and anticipation and production.

Fathers and sons; mothers and daughters; and the notion what would we do differently if we had the chance to live our lives again - these factors underpin “Twinkling Watermelon”, whose title provides at the start no clue to the entertainment riches that will gradually unfold.

When so much of this production is good, two stars stand out for me: firstly, the character of Choi Se Kyeong is as unique and multi-layered a person as if she had leaped out of the pages of a 19th C. English novel. She is played by Seol In Ah with enormous spirit and exasperating ambiguity that is perfect for the part. She dominates almost every scene she is in. She is shaded only by the second star: Choi Hyun Wook as the younger Ha Yi Chan, in a performance that shines throughout the series, full of vigour and energy and the optimism of youth undisturbed by life’s curveballs, equally full of filial devotion and undiluted anger at parental neglect, impatient with life but still excited at its gifts and surprises, confused at first but then eagerly succumbing when falling in love for the first time. It is a remarkable performance by a 21 year old; for me it is the standout acting of this year.

There is so much to admire and the quality is high throughout. It sees churlish to find fault but a mention should be made of the Kdrama penchant for an evil character, the whipping post for deflected disappointments and difficult struggles. In this case, it is the step-mother Lim Ji Mi, played by Kim Too Ryoung with appropriately steely dark eyes and pursed lips. Jin Soo Wan’s script contains so much nuance that it is a shame the “bad guy” in this case gets no such layering.

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How to bury a maybe-BL under a whole load of other stuff

This remake of the earlier censored "Addicted" is like being offered water after you've already drunk several bottles of Soju. Lacking the sexual tension and physical interactions of "Addicted", "Stay With Me" becomes a long (24 episodes? Really??) slog through a history of 3 families, connected by marriage, divorce and accident. The relationship between the two boys too often takes a back seat to the melodrama of parent conflict, child-rearing and earning a living. The series looks great: photography and action on-screen is top grade, although the missing millions of Beijing (car scenes on empty streets, for instance) is bizarre.

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In parts yes, in parts no.

This follow-up series to the pairing of Meen & Ping in "Ai Long Nhai" shows improvement in acting skills of both leads, although Ping could benefit from doing improvs in front of a mirror to reduce his squishing of his eyes for most emotions. Their romantic scenes worked well and showed the benefit of both actors being familiar with each other.

The show is very much a hybrid of mafia and romance and its production bifurcation is reflected in having two DOP's. I suspect one was chosen to apply the lush cinematographic effects to certain critical scenes, most especially the romantic ones, while the remaining scenes feel stock standard Thai soap in character.

The action scenes are plentiful as entertainment if one ignores the equivalency of portraying a man who kills without compunction with a faithful lover willing to sacrifice a lucrative life in crime for a gay nest. Balancing all these factors causes the storyline to be rushed with the result that critical life decisions are raised and resolved in the time it takes to order at a restaurant, which is a pity because this show has a supporting cast many would envy. Winner as the third wheel in the relationship comes close to tipping the scales away from Guy's boyfriend, Thiu. Tonlew looks as if she could handle roles with more meat. Tinn is clearly working below his class in this show while Nitta and Paam are worth seeing again in other projects. Tommy could be the find of the year if he improves on his acting, but this series is based on a webtoon, and much of it felt cartoonish anyway.

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A lightweight comedy of cooking and cuteness.

The handsome 21 year old successful Japanese model Ohiro Shuzo is the star of this mini-series, playing the role of Amai Koichi, a 2nd year high schooler “obsessed with sweets”. Koichi candidly admits that his story is about falling in love for the first time, and we can see clearly that his gaze falls only on other boys at school.

There are only 5 episodes in “8.2 By no Hosoku” and each one is centred on yet another boy for whom Koichi has the hots. But each boy has a problem and Koichi hopes to work his way into their hearts by solving their problem; Koichi, it turns out, is no slouch in the kitchen and the way into their hearts passes through their taste buds. Each episode features Ohiro Shuzo with cooking apron on preparing a different dessert for each of his love interests. Please note that Koichi’s failure to convert each of these boys to his arms is not due to any culinary inadequacies on his part.

Part of the charm of this confection of a show is that the character Koichi uses the character of each dessert to communicate a helpful message to each of the boys. Without giving too much away, the repeated chase resolves itself finally when the pursuer becomes the pursued.

Ohiro Shuzo makes for an amusing Koichi, determined to score a boyfriend for himself; and judging by some of the scenes in which Koichi fantasises about these pairings, Koichi’s desires are not so much romantic as full-on erotic. Sadly, anyone hoping for the ubiquitous BL trope of a shower scene of the toned and muscled model, will have to watch Shuzo’s video interview with Elle magazine instead.

The cast overall is good, the pacing of the show and the directing compliment the script which never lingers or sags. I recommend to watch all episodes at the one time: the 50 minutes will fly past very enjoyably.

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Two good lead actors wasted in unwatchable series

This was a long wait through far too many episodes in Act 1 to reach the pay-off in Act 2 and I doubt many viewers would be so patient, primarily because the producers had paired two sympathetic lead actors with two other actors with performances so wooden, you wondered where the attraction was to bring each of these two couples together. Other reviewers have dissected the plot with precision: I don’t think it deserved such careful consideration. I suspect that Thai screenwriters, chained to their source material and observant of manga conventions and Thai cultural behaviours, have either avoided or abandoned any effort at any meaningful psychological understanding of their own characters. People are reduced to cliches - such as a child deprived of a mother’s love - to explain a person’s entire life, and by this single notion, to represent the totality of that person’s contemporary behaviour. Here in this series, the father is prepared to use violence to control his son’s behaviour but manages an epiphany within two episodes. This total change of heart is shown not by the character himself but by the explanation of another character altogether, as if all ogres are basically good at heart, if you look hard enough. Thai producers of BL series had better be careful; they think they’re in clover and can keep expanding the viewer market exponentially. I understand 75 shows are slated for 2022. I think they’re taking their audiences for granted. They shouldn’t. Viewers won’t put up with low quality like this forever.

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Contrived but also refreshing and satisfying

“The Eighth Sense” succeeds despite its drawbacks; the happy ending of the two main characters, Jae Won (Im Ji Sub) and Ji Hyun (Oh Jun Taek), feels right, even if the steps to get there carry contrivance in script and direction. But the two leads are overwhelmingly convincing in their performances and interactions to sweep nitpicking aside.

Joint Directors Werner du Plessis and Inu Baek have delivered a soft surfing tale, from the opening credits which hark back to films from decades ago, to scenes of sea, sand and surf, bestowing an ambience of young vigour and first-time love. We may not be on the surf beaches of South Africa, Hawaii or Australia, but as the camera lovingly explores the collection of surfboards in the surf shop, and lingers over the body-hugging wetsuits, all that is missing is the burning summer sun and suntan lotion. The music soundtrack is also especially worthy of note and adds to the series’ appeal.

A highlight of “The Eighth Sense” is the satisfying arc of the relationship between the two main characters. Im Ji Sub and Oh Jun Taek are especially good in their scenes together, awkward at the start despite or even because of their mutual attraction, wholehearted in their giving into their desire, and increasingly open and honest in their understanding and commitment to their affection.

A feature of this series is the depressing depiction of corrosive behaviour amongst the characters’ peer groups. Jan Young-joon as Tae Hyung is Jae Won’s thoughtless and manipulative “best friend”; Park Hae In as Eun Ji is Jae Won’s scheming and caustic ex-girlfriend; Bang Jin Won, as Ji Hyun’s childhood friend Joon Pyo, is self-serving in being both physically gluttonous and emotionally clinging. Worse, Jae Won’s therapist is both accusatory and unprofessional, chiding Jae Won for her inability to pay her rent because she didn’t get the fee for an appointment he missed.

There is a brief nod towards the issue of social disapproval of open gay relationships in South Korea, but overall the creators’ drive is towards the goal of Love Conquers All, and the final two episodes are well crafted towards that end.

Acknowledgment should be given also to the three supportive female characters: Jung Seo In as the owner of the restaurant where Ji Hyun works, Seo Ji An as the intuitive Ae Ri and Lee Mi Ra as Yoon Won, the mother figure of both the surf club and its family of members. Amidst trouble and taboos, these characters at a personal level redeem somewhat the social difficulties faced by Jae Won and Ji Hyun in the broader scheme.

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Light but for the alcohol

Light is the operative word to describe “All The Liquors”, a low budget Korean BL about a young marketing lad falling in love with the small restaurant-owning chef he persaudes to front one of his company’s alcohol product launches. Key to the series is the 20 year old Kim Jun Hyung, who combines light comic elements with his inherent cuteness to maintain interest in this love versus work plot line. His partner in love is played by debuting model/actor Won Do Hyun, whose wooden acting ironically turns out to be perfect for the hesitant lover.

The cast is small, as in similar low-budget Korean shoots, like last year’s “Individual Circumstances” and the locations are limited. “All The Liquors” has the benefit of a city locale which adds some interest, although the poor audio quality inside the undampened box-like location of the chef’s restaurant represents an unusual drop in film production standards from a Korean production team.

“All The Liquors” had the potential it seemed at first to tackle a much more serious issue of over-consumption of alcohol in Korean society but managed to drop the ball on this opportunity and to reaffirm instead the dubious notion that too much Sujo is a good thing where it assists romance to flow.

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An interesting premise that failed to deliver

Nicely shot with an engaging musical soundtrack, this low-budget Korean BL suffers from being low ideas as well.
Two film major students fall in love with each other at university without confessing it to each other, and later, as professionals in the industry, link up on a love story project whose subject mirrors their own experience. This premise ought to provide an engaging dynamic of characters learning about themselves and each other, but it is hampered by the limitations of a small cast, no subplot worthy of mention and overuse of the main location.

“Individual Circumstances” turns itself into a two-hander which would be fine if the individuals were fully fleshed out; they emerge instead as thin, without much in the way of endearing characteristics on which to explain their attraction to each other. The Director and his cameraman strike me as being aware of how thin is the script by shooting the house location more than the characters and at one point, in an effort to mix things up, crossing the line in one of their numerous sit-down static exchanges. The cast themselves do an admirable job: Kang Jun Kyu is the more experienced of the leads and it shows in his efforts to project Woo Jae’s inner turmoil; Han Jung Wan handles his debut role with confidence.

Ultimately, though, a drama in which there is so little physical action requires a concentration on the characters’ internal conflicts which underlie so much of the best Kdrama. Here, it’s hard to know what motivated either of these two guys to be drawn towards each other, other than the daily ritual of going with someone to grab a bite to eat.

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A serious subject handled well ... well, almost.

There is one over-riding reason to watch “The Effect”: to see the moving and deeply affecting performance of James Prapatthorn Chakkhuchan as Shin, the first year university student whose life is dramatically changed by his relationship with an older student. He captures the demure innocent-looking freshman with a convincing sincerity.

Shin admits he’s not an ‘A’ grade or even a ‘B’ grade student, but that does not mean he can’t think for himself or have his own opinions. When senior student Keng (played with a nice degree of ambiguity by Oat Chakrit Boonsing) spots him on campus and, taking a liking to him, contrives to meet him, it sets in motion what could have been a story of the younger man discovering himself and falling in love for the first time. That would have made for a conventional Thai BL series familiar to all by now; but that is not what happens.

Instead, Shin’s misfortune is to be impressed by Keng’s surface allure of an A grade senior who, beneath his impressive resume, conceals his own secret struggle. Add to this Man, (played impressively if a little too villainy by Mike Weerapat Nimanong), a fellow senior who openly pursues the reluctant Keng, and “The Effect” takes this triangle love interest into the darker side of the powerful forces unleashed by attraction amongst the young.

The damaging forces that align to catapult Shin into injury, shame, depression and worse are painfully written in the performance of James Prapatthorn, who displays a remarkable emotional grasp of his character’s despair. The first-time director, Worawut Thanamatchaicharoen, does well to give him all the screen time he needs to chart his Hades-like descent, because in three hour long episodes, there is little time left over for the many other issues the drama raises.

The limited scale of this series results in numerous other matters being dispensed as if reading from a pamphlet on sexual violence; on top of that, parents are showing over-reacting with inappropriate responses, friends turn up with glib advice, doctors dispense pre-emptive medication with vivid descriptions of side effects for an affliction feared but not yet established and without at any time suggesting counselling for Shin’s trauma which is evident for all to see.

Worse is that the perpetrator of the violence keeps reappearing, spurred it would seem by the writers’ intent to fashion somehow, incredibly, a happy ending from the poisonous seed they’ve already sown into the plot. Certainly, Shin, with considerable justification, has made up his own mind about the senior he initially respected, yet the writers persist & insert a fantastical final plot twist, which is to no-one’s credit.

“The Effect” production is also plagued by the seemingly incurable Thai BL filming sins of staging dialogues in unnatural line poses, over-lighting interiors and unrealistic coincidences of characters arriving at a scene at exactly the right time to intervene in the action.

The series does not make for easy viewing. Still, the creative team are to be commended for tackling such a serious subject, and, thanks hugely to the casting of James Prapatthorn as Shin, they get most of it right.

Shin’s initial admiration of Keng stems from what he himself calls his gut instinct; he is more guarded later when Man takes a surreptitious photo and uses his seniority to imply that he could be trusted how he will use it. As events escalate, Shin’s confusion about developments beyond his control and his powerlessness in the face of a social media tide are both etched in his face and reveal better than words his struggle to articulate responses that will steer him between the competing elements that have invaded his life. When he senses he may have feelings for Keng, his instinct stops him from acting on them; but what is at play here is no longer Shakespearean - Shin’s fate doesn’t rest on his own character. Instead, it has become classic Greek tragedy, where Shin has become a plaything of the gods, at the mercy of others.

When, at the series end, he finally wrests back control of his own life, it would be nice to think that the bad that happened to him was now in the past. But here the creatives upended their own good works; we know traumas such as Shin suffered are not magically erased by three years of work & study and gaining a degree; nor are wrongs erased by wistfully sighting the guy you still have feelings toward after a long absence.

There is a postscript note the producers have inserted referring to Shin and Keng having found a new place; in my view, it is as crass a piece of after-the-event plot connivance as I’ve come across. It should be ignored.

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Falling in love gradually, and charming us all the way.

“Ingredients” is essentially a low budget two hander; but that description belies the seductive charm of its two leads and the captivating way it progresses from its initial concept to its final outcome.

Initially conceived as a ten x 6 minute ep. romantic BL-themed foodie series on behalf of a Thai grocery chain to promote their products, the audience response apparently prompted a revised expanded show.

The key to its success is its casting of Jeff Satur and Gameplay Garnpaphon Laolerkiat, both experienced 26 year old actors, and both of whom were familiar with having played opposite each other previously, in the 2019 drama, “He She It”. Here, Satur plays Win, an aspiring songwriting musician, which he actually is, and Gameplay plays Tops, an aspiring chef, which he actually is also. This lends credibility to much of the action, of which, in a 6 minute episode, there’s not a lot. But, what is in abundance, is the almost accidental blossoming of a romance behind the most familiar of situations, house-mates sharing their days.

The story-line, such as it is, concerns Win preparing for his exams and Tops researching and trialling recipes for potential future use but which he uses in the present to aid or defuse a variety of problems that pop up in their lives. Tops is always there for Win during these moments and that reassuring presence creates a bond.

The show is not without its problems. There are the familiar defects in Thai productions of over-lit photography and unnatural set-ups; and the show is at its weakest when multiple other characters crowd into the modest location set used - at those times, the audio echoes and the camerawork loses focus. But these are compensated by the conversational almost improv style exchanges between the two leads in their solo scenes and the fluid camerawork responding to their dynamics. These scenes are the highlight of the show.

In between all of this, Satur entertains the audience with his casual but accomplished guitar work and songs that show off his warm and melodic voice, while Gameplay’s culinary dash in the kitchen scenes has professional flair.

Satur and Gameplay play and spark off each other with a disarming naturalness that made me feel like the proverbial “fly on the wall” observing private revelations. The progression to affection, and thence to confession, just in time for a forced parting, yields some of the most endearing and convincing of scenes between romantic leads in the BL genre. The long final meal scene in Ep. 21 looks like it was a multi-camera single take scene, but it also felt as if the two young men were genuinely sad their relationship in making this show was coming to an end. As did I.

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An interesting premise but a disjointed plot.

“The Tuxedo” has an interesting premise, one of the best OST’s to come out of the Thai BL genre, and the appealing Green Phongsathorn Padungktiwong who plays the lead character. The director is Mike Phontharis Chotkijsadarsopon, whose previous stint at the helm of a BL was the mafia crim series “Golden Blood”. All up, “The Tuxedo” looks like a stylish movie but feels like a romantic soap.

For all its good aspects, it has a long list of bad ones, most notable of which is its co-lead Chap Suppacheep Chanapai, who, despite his extensive list of acting credits, turns in quite a mediocre performance as the illegitimate scion of a wealthy industrialist and who suffers from a chronic syndrome stemming from childhood trauma (I”m guessing agoraphobia, although no doctor or therapist appears in the show to confirm this). Chap plays Nawee, an arrogant young man who somehow manages for three years to be the CEO of production in his father’s business while maintaining a reclusive existence in a sumptuous modern architect designed house & enclave in an obscure part of the country. Chap plays his scenes of panic attacks as if he were drugged; perhaps Director Mike & Chap preferred that Narwee appear to act more like he had a chemically-induced condition than a psychologically disturbed one. In any event, he is ultimately saved from his predicament by the love of Aioun, a fastidious high-end tailor, who runs an exclusive bespoke business from idiosyncratically designed premises in another obscure location.

The developing love story of these two men from different backgrounds who meet by strange circumstance is told with engaging sincerity; and the chemistry between the two leads is warm and convincing. The problem with the series is that instead of the plot concentrating on this, it meanders to include characters who are of little interest and omits other characters and situations that could have added to the drama. In this respect, unfortunately, the series shows the inexperience of newbie screenwriter Pacharawan Chaipuwarat.

Elsewhere, the writer has written of her script writing that she creates “the story based on public or client interests and conduct(s) research to obtain accurate factual background information authentic details.” This admirable work formula reveals itself in the detailed scenes of Aioun’s design work and pattern-cutting and suit-making (similar scenes to “Behind cut”). But attention to client (aka producer and/or director) interests can mean an inexperienced writer who is either not confident in how to put together a cohesive plot or who is reluctant to stand up for it in the often combative pre-production meetings. Whichever is the case, “The Tuxedo” includes Aioun’s two younger “brothers”, two elderly staff, Aioun’s fiancee, Narwee’s father & step-mother and step-brother, who all play minor roles in a very haphazard flow of sequences. The only additional character who is melded well into the story is Sichol, played by Tape Worrachai Sirikongsuwan. Tape has been acting for almost ten years and, though his character is largely comic in nature, he has enough scenes to show his capabilities and to draw Sichol as equally bumbling and caring.

Sichol is the character who connects the two leads together when he goes to the rescue of Aioun’s young brother, Oab, mugged at night by three ruffians. By way of thanks for helping Oab, Aioun offers Sichol a new suit to replace the one damaged in the brawl so that Sichol can still look presentable at his job interview the next day with Narwee. At that interview, the curt & dismissive Narwee likes nothing about Sichol but is attracted to the quality of the suit and offers Sichol the job if he can fulfil the task of getting the tailor who made that suit to make one for Narwee also.

Unbeknownst to both Sichol and Narwee, Aioun’s father had had his business ruined by the sharp business practices of Narwee’s father; not surprisingly therefore, Aioun turns down the suit request. We learn the reason Narwee is insistent on the best suit to be found hereabouts is because he is relying on it to impress his father at an upcoming birthday lunch Narwee is planning. We find out later that Narwee is his father’s bastard son who has been raised and elevated to a senior position in the father’s business but is now to be replaced by Narwee’s younger half-brother.

Given how important Dad is to both of the leads, it is a question worth asking why he appears in only episodes 5 & 6 (there are only 8 episodes). Unlike their Korean counterparts, a repeating habit of Thai BL creators is to put minor characters into set scenes in block fashion. I suspect this is for scheduling & budgeting reasons. What this means is that, unlike in real life where the people around us feature in many incidental ways, characters in Thai BL series appear to play a major scene and then disappear.

And this does not only apply to the Dad in “The Tuxedo”. (Aioun turns out to have a GF - we don’t learn of her existence till episode 6.) The show itself begins with neither Aioun or Narwee but with two minor characters, an elderly lady, one of Aioun’s employees, and Oab, Aioun’s young brother. Oab is an annoying fellow, whose main dramatic purpose is to so annoy his brother Art that Art revenges himself by concealing from Oab the client measurement book on which Aioun’s business depends. This irresponsible act is forgiven by Aioun (showing us his sympathetic considerate nature), even though it compels Aioun to make the trek to Narwee’s house to remeasure for the suit, hence another interaction in the developing love story.

The measurement book appears more often than some of the minor characters; it is a substantial soft leather cover journal; it is believable as a work item. But when Art conceals it in a pile of discarded fabric cut-offs, we are asked to believe that the elderly lady who cleans out the cut-offs, can’t feel the odd shape and weight of the journal concealed within the fabrics. Anyone who’s worked in the rag trade would know what a pile of fabric cut-offs weighs; cutting fabric is a skill - the less fabric cut from the roll, the lower the cost; and as another poster has pointed out, the wool fabrics suited to the Thai climate would be lightweight.

This “now you see them/now you don’t” approach to character appearances is at its worst in relation to Aioun’s GF, Chanjoa. She appears in only episodes 6, 7 & 8. She turns up at Aioun’s Birthday dinner celebration where she is aggressively spoken to by Narwee, angry at the discovery his love interest has a woman in his life. Aioun pacifies Narwee later by declaring his love, although Narwee will - after several more panic attacks - break off the relationship in childish jilted-lover fashion. Before this, however, Chanjoa is dispensed as a character in a remarkable scene where Aioun, tongue-tied, can’t find the words to explain why he is breaking off their relationship. Chanjoa departs the series (just in time for the final reconciliation of our lovers), walking out the door more of an adult than either of the two male leads.

As if Director Mike realises this disjointed story line has not created sufficient romantic atmosphere & tension, the scene at the end of the two lovers firmly committed into each others’ arms is played out against a five minute recap of their main scenes together from earlier in the series. Most avid BL fans know by now from the increasing flow of quality BL series out of Korea that the final scene is critical to the credibility of the love story and how well, for the most part, Korean creatives handle this aspect. “The Tuxedo” scores low in this regard.

Rewatch value is low. But on the plus side, Jeff Satur’s compositions on the music track are very good; the theme from his song “Because of you” is of sufficient quality that it works as a stand-alone orchestral piece.

A final word about Green’s performance. He succeeded in making Aioun the emotional centre of this show with his sympathetic performance. Aioun is both a creative artisan and a firm and successful businessman, but he is also the central axis of love and leadership around which his brothers and employees revolve and to whom Narwee gravitates. Green achieves this combination balancing act in a nicely sustained performance; hopefully we will see more of his talents in future series.

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