This review may contain spoilers
“And having more ideas, they had more suffering.”
Undoubtedly one of the most interesting contemporary Korean TV series, “The Affair Was Just the Beginning” is a brilliant dark comedy built around an interwoven narrative and a gradual piecing together of the story, in which the chronology and, above all, the way information is revealed are manipulated to make the viewer mentally re-examine what they thought they had already understood.
It is a sort of narrative ‘disjunction’ in which it is not necessarily the story itself that is told in a non-linear manner, but rather the information about it that is presented in a disjointed way: the viewer is thus led to form an initial interpretation of the events, only to be forced to re-evaluate it in the light of what is subsequently revealed.
It could therefore be described as a dark comedy of misunderstandings, built around a chain of tragic errors in which the audience gradually ends up knowing more than the characters. And it is this imbalance in information that generates much of the humour: each event provides partial information that leads to an initial interpretation, whilst the addition of new elements retroactively alters its meaning.
The result is a sort of narrative labyrinth constructed through the retrospective repetition of the same time segments, each time expanded by new information and a different point of view.
Beyond the most obvious simplification that might spring to mind — a sort of interlocking, jigsaw-style plot — the narrative structure finds its most compelling element in the randomness with which events end up linking together, transforming more or less significant faults, omissions and poor decisions into a progressive catastrophe. It is the snowball effect that drives the entire story: each character tries to solve their own immediate problem, but in doing so, almost inevitably, creates a much bigger problem for someone else.
It is a narrative structure that, in some respects, may bring to mind Stanley Kubrick’s film “The Killing”, with its constant re-composition of events through different perspectives and temporal segments; the spirit, however, is surprisingly close to that of the Coen brothers, because behind this sophisticated structure there is no all-powerful criminal mastermind orchestrating events, but rather a cast of characters who are convinced, time and again, that they can make up for their mistakes with a slightly bigger one.
Every attempt to evade the consequences of one’s actions thus gives rise to the next consequence, until a single incident turns into an increasingly uncontrollable chain of events. This progressive accumulation of faults, omissions and responsibilities ultimately makes it impossible to draw a clear distinction between the guilty and the innocent: no one is truly innocent, yet the consequences do not necessarily fall on those who bear the greatest responsibility either.
The entire comic and suspenseful dynamic are built on the vast information gap between the characters and the audience itself. We, the viewers, gradually come to possess more pieces of the jigsaw than those on screen, thus witnessing a colossal cover-up which is, in fact, the solution to a problem that the protagonists have failed to grasp.
From case to chaos: blackmail sets off the hunt for money; the hunt for money opens up another abyss; and the discovery of the video’s true content shifts the focus of the story yet again. What appeared to be merely a piece of the puzzle suddenly becomes something else, altering not only the protagonists’ perspective but also that of the viewer, who is almost naturally led to view the adults from a different angle.
And whilst Gyeong-hui finds herself increasingly at the centre of responsibilities that seem to multiply rather than diminish, the relationships between the characters are also constantly shifting: what seemed like an alliance turns into mistrust, what appeared marginal suddenly takes on a different significance, and even the blame seems to be redistributed according to ever-changing perspectives.
It is a most felicitous insight: there are not simply red herrings, but constantly shifting perspectives. Together, the viewer and the characters add a new ‘step’ to the story, only to discover that this new piece also alters the previous ones. An almost labyrinthine deception, in which every new piece of information seems to finally clarify the picture, yet instead alters its focus.
As the system begins to become overwhelmed. The arrival of Na-do finally introduces an external element, almost a disruptive force, a perspective that seems capable of breaking that closed cycle of secrets, omissions and half-truths. Except that even the detective gradually becomes absorbed by the chaos he is supposed to sort out, whilst all the characters converge towards that grotesque ‘all together now’ moment, where the various plotlines cease to run in parallel and begin to collide.
Here, “The Affair Was Just the Beginning” proves itself to be more than just a brilliant dark comedy, revealing itself instead as a drama constructed with almost mechanical precision, in which the complexity never ends up overshadowing the central narrative. The starting point and the ending are part of the same story, and even the chaotic final collapse is not a deviation, but the natural consequence of everything that has gone before.
The series’ modest length certainly helps in this regard: eight episodes, all well under an hour, are enough to develop the vast plot without getting bogged down in digressions or redundant backstory. The pieces fall into place at just the right moment and, just when the puzzle seems impossible to solve, they all surprisingly end up finding their rightful place. It’s a sort of Kubrickian precision applied to a subject matter that is decidedly more chaotic and, above all, far more prone to irony.
Just think of the bunker, which has gradually been transformed into a sort of grotesque burial mound: a concept so absurd that it is irresistibly comic, yet perfectly consistent with the series’ internal logic.
But none of this would be possible without the excellent choice of an absolutely perfect cast; the great chemistry between the actors is evident in every ensemble scene and almost seems to suggest just how much fun they had staging this mad, interlocking game. The dynamics between the characters work precisely because no one tries to steal the limelight from the others: the chaos is collective and is collectively fuelled.
Kim Hye-soo naturally deserves a special mention. It is she, to all intents and purposes, who drives the drama and carries it through the crucial moments with the full range of skills required, displaying impressive naturalness, plenty of self-deprecating humour and a sex appeal that would put many twenty-somethings to shame… Magnetic and simply perfect.
Paradoxical as it may seem, the conclusion is perfectly in keeping with the tone adopted from the outset. The police’s far-fetched theories are by no means a narrative shortcut: they are the final, consistent manifestation of the very same randomness and human stupidity that have governed the entire affair. In a Coen-esque world, even those who are supposed to restore order end up adapting to the chaos.
In the end, what remains above all is that mocking feeling that has accompanied the whole affair; after so much anxiety, so much fear and a web of lies that grew until it became almost bigger than the events themselves, reality seems almost to take pleasure in putting everything back into perspective, according to a logic that completely eludes those who have desperately tried to control it.
If you like, it’s a sort of poetic justice: not a punishment, not redemption, but the irony of having gone all that way only to find oneself, in some way, exactly where one never thought one’d end up. To breathe a sigh of relief, yet without being able to erase what has happened, nor that strange feeling that, for once, coincidence had the last word.
This fairy-tale return to normality therefore has a surreal quality to it: everything seems to be falling back into place, but nothing is really the same as it was before. Ultimately, the affair was really only the beginning: having narrowly escaped danger is not the same as freedom, because perhaps the worst prison is not a jail, but having to carry on living within the gigantic lie that has been constructed.
8 ½
It is a sort of narrative ‘disjunction’ in which it is not necessarily the story itself that is told in a non-linear manner, but rather the information about it that is presented in a disjointed way: the viewer is thus led to form an initial interpretation of the events, only to be forced to re-evaluate it in the light of what is subsequently revealed.
It could therefore be described as a dark comedy of misunderstandings, built around a chain of tragic errors in which the audience gradually ends up knowing more than the characters. And it is this imbalance in information that generates much of the humour: each event provides partial information that leads to an initial interpretation, whilst the addition of new elements retroactively alters its meaning.
The result is a sort of narrative labyrinth constructed through the retrospective repetition of the same time segments, each time expanded by new information and a different point of view.
Beyond the most obvious simplification that might spring to mind — a sort of interlocking, jigsaw-style plot — the narrative structure finds its most compelling element in the randomness with which events end up linking together, transforming more or less significant faults, omissions and poor decisions into a progressive catastrophe. It is the snowball effect that drives the entire story: each character tries to solve their own immediate problem, but in doing so, almost inevitably, creates a much bigger problem for someone else.
It is a narrative structure that, in some respects, may bring to mind Stanley Kubrick’s film “The Killing”, with its constant re-composition of events through different perspectives and temporal segments; the spirit, however, is surprisingly close to that of the Coen brothers, because behind this sophisticated structure there is no all-powerful criminal mastermind orchestrating events, but rather a cast of characters who are convinced, time and again, that they can make up for their mistakes with a slightly bigger one.
Every attempt to evade the consequences of one’s actions thus gives rise to the next consequence, until a single incident turns into an increasingly uncontrollable chain of events. This progressive accumulation of faults, omissions and responsibilities ultimately makes it impossible to draw a clear distinction between the guilty and the innocent: no one is truly innocent, yet the consequences do not necessarily fall on those who bear the greatest responsibility either.
The entire comic and suspenseful dynamic are built on the vast information gap between the characters and the audience itself. We, the viewers, gradually come to possess more pieces of the jigsaw than those on screen, thus witnessing a colossal cover-up which is, in fact, the solution to a problem that the protagonists have failed to grasp.
From case to chaos: blackmail sets off the hunt for money; the hunt for money opens up another abyss; and the discovery of the video’s true content shifts the focus of the story yet again. What appeared to be merely a piece of the puzzle suddenly becomes something else, altering not only the protagonists’ perspective but also that of the viewer, who is almost naturally led to view the adults from a different angle.
And whilst Gyeong-hui finds herself increasingly at the centre of responsibilities that seem to multiply rather than diminish, the relationships between the characters are also constantly shifting: what seemed like an alliance turns into mistrust, what appeared marginal suddenly takes on a different significance, and even the blame seems to be redistributed according to ever-changing perspectives.
It is a most felicitous insight: there are not simply red herrings, but constantly shifting perspectives. Together, the viewer and the characters add a new ‘step’ to the story, only to discover that this new piece also alters the previous ones. An almost labyrinthine deception, in which every new piece of information seems to finally clarify the picture, yet instead alters its focus.
As the system begins to become overwhelmed. The arrival of Na-do finally introduces an external element, almost a disruptive force, a perspective that seems capable of breaking that closed cycle of secrets, omissions and half-truths. Except that even the detective gradually becomes absorbed by the chaos he is supposed to sort out, whilst all the characters converge towards that grotesque ‘all together now’ moment, where the various plotlines cease to run in parallel and begin to collide.
Here, “The Affair Was Just the Beginning” proves itself to be more than just a brilliant dark comedy, revealing itself instead as a drama constructed with almost mechanical precision, in which the complexity never ends up overshadowing the central narrative. The starting point and the ending are part of the same story, and even the chaotic final collapse is not a deviation, but the natural consequence of everything that has gone before.
The series’ modest length certainly helps in this regard: eight episodes, all well under an hour, are enough to develop the vast plot without getting bogged down in digressions or redundant backstory. The pieces fall into place at just the right moment and, just when the puzzle seems impossible to solve, they all surprisingly end up finding their rightful place. It’s a sort of Kubrickian precision applied to a subject matter that is decidedly more chaotic and, above all, far more prone to irony.
Just think of the bunker, which has gradually been transformed into a sort of grotesque burial mound: a concept so absurd that it is irresistibly comic, yet perfectly consistent with the series’ internal logic.
But none of this would be possible without the excellent choice of an absolutely perfect cast; the great chemistry between the actors is evident in every ensemble scene and almost seems to suggest just how much fun they had staging this mad, interlocking game. The dynamics between the characters work precisely because no one tries to steal the limelight from the others: the chaos is collective and is collectively fuelled.
Kim Hye-soo naturally deserves a special mention. It is she, to all intents and purposes, who drives the drama and carries it through the crucial moments with the full range of skills required, displaying impressive naturalness, plenty of self-deprecating humour and a sex appeal that would put many twenty-somethings to shame… Magnetic and simply perfect.
Paradoxical as it may seem, the conclusion is perfectly in keeping with the tone adopted from the outset. The police’s far-fetched theories are by no means a narrative shortcut: they are the final, consistent manifestation of the very same randomness and human stupidity that have governed the entire affair. In a Coen-esque world, even those who are supposed to restore order end up adapting to the chaos.
In the end, what remains above all is that mocking feeling that has accompanied the whole affair; after so much anxiety, so much fear and a web of lies that grew until it became almost bigger than the events themselves, reality seems almost to take pleasure in putting everything back into perspective, according to a logic that completely eludes those who have desperately tried to control it.
If you like, it’s a sort of poetic justice: not a punishment, not redemption, but the irony of having gone all that way only to find oneself, in some way, exactly where one never thought one’d end up. To breathe a sigh of relief, yet without being able to erase what has happened, nor that strange feeling that, for once, coincidence had the last word.
This fairy-tale return to normality therefore has a surreal quality to it: everything seems to be falling back into place, but nothing is really the same as it was before. Ultimately, the affair was really only the beginning: having narrowly escaped danger is not the same as freedom, because perhaps the worst prison is not a jail, but having to carry on living within the gigantic lie that has been constructed.
8 ½
Was this review helpful to you?
