Elsa Mae Mae
60 Episodes of Ni Ni Trying to Generate Chemistry with a Brick Wall
When I first got into xianxia romance in early 2022, this drama was widely recommended as one of the best in the genre. Online, everyone discussed it in reverent tones, as if it was the only xianxia worth taking seriously and a show that could only be appreciated by experienced viewers who could look past its underwhelmed reception and understand its "high art" aspirations. And that's exactly the type of drama I get very, very excited about, because I am pretentious and snobby.
But, no. Like, a big no. Don't get me wrong, the production is gorgeous, the leads deliver more nuanced and subtler performances than what you'd usually expect for this genre, and I was deeply impressed that there was a trans or non-binary character with their own love line. It's great stuff!
However, there's exactly ONE requirement for actors in a romance drama: they have to generate convincing chemistry with their co-star. The quality of an individual actor's performance, whether they're a "good" actor or not, is actually less important, in this context, than how well they can establish and maintain a story of attraction and mutual understanding within the boundaries of a couple. Which means an actor can become wildly successful in the romance genre because they create reliable and consistent chemistry with their co-stars, despite delivering underwhelming or inconsistent performances overall (i.e., Xu Kai or Dilraba Dilmurat). The opposite is also true: some "good" actors find themselves in the romance genre, yet fail to work in tandem, rendering their intimate scenes unpersuasive.
And that's exactly my problem with Love and Destiny. For 60 episodes, I watched Ni Ni try to generate chemistry with a brick wall, which was painful when the story frames her as a besotted maiden whose devotion and self-sacrifice knows no bounds. To be clear, I had no problem with Chang Chen's looks, age, or performance outside of their relationship. He's good looking in a football player way and I appreciated his understated approach to the trope-y cold God of War role. Unfortunately, I never - not once! - felt as if the almighty Jiu Chen was sexually or romantically interested in his fan girl, Ling Xi. Without sensuality or any evidence of amorous interest on Chang Chen's side, the couple's scenes are tepid, veering into a surrogate father/daughter dynamic that left me uncomfortable.
Disappointing. Frustrating. Vaguely creepy. These are the words I'd use to describe my slog to finish this lengthy show, and it could've all been prevented, if Chang Chen or the director guiding him had understood the brief. Romance is a team sport. If one person decides they can't or won't play, the whole thing is a loss, no matter how much money, experience, or artistic integrity goes into the game.
But, no. Like, a big no. Don't get me wrong, the production is gorgeous, the leads deliver more nuanced and subtler performances than what you'd usually expect for this genre, and I was deeply impressed that there was a trans or non-binary character with their own love line. It's great stuff!
However, there's exactly ONE requirement for actors in a romance drama: they have to generate convincing chemistry with their co-star. The quality of an individual actor's performance, whether they're a "good" actor or not, is actually less important, in this context, than how well they can establish and maintain a story of attraction and mutual understanding within the boundaries of a couple. Which means an actor can become wildly successful in the romance genre because they create reliable and consistent chemistry with their co-stars, despite delivering underwhelming or inconsistent performances overall (i.e., Xu Kai or Dilraba Dilmurat). The opposite is also true: some "good" actors find themselves in the romance genre, yet fail to work in tandem, rendering their intimate scenes unpersuasive.
And that's exactly my problem with Love and Destiny. For 60 episodes, I watched Ni Ni try to generate chemistry with a brick wall, which was painful when the story frames her as a besotted maiden whose devotion and self-sacrifice knows no bounds. To be clear, I had no problem with Chang Chen's looks, age, or performance outside of their relationship. He's good looking in a football player way and I appreciated his understated approach to the trope-y cold God of War role. Unfortunately, I never - not once! - felt as if the almighty Jiu Chen was sexually or romantically interested in his fan girl, Ling Xi. Without sensuality or any evidence of amorous interest on Chang Chen's side, the couple's scenes are tepid, veering into a surrogate father/daughter dynamic that left me uncomfortable.
Disappointing. Frustrating. Vaguely creepy. These are the words I'd use to describe my slog to finish this lengthy show, and it could've all been prevented, if Chang Chen or the director guiding him had understood the brief. Romance is a team sport. If one person decides they can't or won't play, the whole thing is a loss, no matter how much money, experience, or artistic integrity goes into the game.
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