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Can We Still Judge the Movie?
I never reviewed Real when it came out in 2017. Back then, I simply accepted it for what it was: an unusual psychological film that wouldn't appeal to everyone. Nearly ten years later, with everything surrounding Kim Soo Hyun and after reading countless comments describing it as "the worst Korean movie ever made," I decided to watch it again.
What surprised me the most wasn't the movie itself. It was the reviews.
I spent some time reading opinions from different years before rewatching it. The reviews from 2017 were already divided, but most people talked about the cinematography, the confusing narrative, the symbolism, or the performances. As the years passed, especially after 2025, the discussion seemed to shift. Instead of talking about the film, many reviews focused almost entirely on Kim Soo Hyun, Sulli, or the explicit scenes. It made me wonder how many people were actually reviewing Real, and how many were reviewing the people in it.
Then I watched the movie again.
Honestly... I expected something much more explicit.
For years I had heard people describe Real as if it were one of the most shocking Korean films ever made. After finally revisiting it, I couldn't help comparing it to American and European productions I've watched over the years. Series like Queer as Folk contain scenes that are considerably more explicit, yet they rarely generated the same level of outrage. Real is certainly intended for adults, but the controversy surrounding those scenes feels far bigger than the scenes themselves.
Looking back, I still don't think Sulli deserved the criticism she received simply for accepting this role. Whether someone enjoys the film or not, actors shouldn't become the target of public anger for performing scenes that are part of the director's artistic vision.
That doesn't mean Real is a misunderstood masterpiece.
Far from it.
The film is ambitious, sometimes to its own detriment. Director Lee Sa Rang clearly wanted to create something where reality, identity and memory constantly overlap, leaving the audience unsure of what is actually happening. I appreciate films that trust viewers to think for themselves, but Real occasionally mistakes confusion for complexity. There were moments where I felt intrigued, and others where I simply wished the story would communicate its ideas more clearly.
Visually, however, I think the film deserves far more credit than it usually receives.
The neon lighting, the carefully designed sets and the dreamlike atmosphere create an identity that immediately separates Real from more conventional Korean crime films. Even when the narrative loses me, I never felt the production became lazy. Every frame looks intentional. Whether you enjoy the story or not, it's difficult to deny the amount of work that went into creating its visual style.
Kim Soo Hyun was also, in my opinion, a good casting choice.
His role demands constant shifts between confidence, vulnerability and psychological instability, and I think he handles those changes well. Ironically, after everything that's happened over the past few years, I found myself paying less attention to him than I expected.
Instead, Lee Sung Min completely stole the film.
I've admired him for years, and Real reminded me once again why. He has an incredible ability to dominate every scene without raising his voice or overacting. He isn't the kind of actor people usually describe as glamorous, yet his presence is genuinely intimidating. Every time he appeared on screen, I found myself watching him more than anyone else.
Maybe that's what makes revisiting Real in 2026 so interesting.
The film itself hasn't changed.
What has changed is the audience.
Whether consciously or not, many people now seem to approach Real carrying opinions about its actors before the opening scene even begins. I don't think that's unique to Korea, but I do think it's particularly visible here. We often separate artists from their work in Western cinema, while in Korea the public image of an actor can dramatically reshape how older projects are perceived.
Final Thought
I don't think Real deserves the reputation it has today, but I don't think it deserves to be called a masterpiece either. It's an ambitious psychological thriller with impressive visuals, solid performances and a story that sometimes becomes too complicated for its own good.
If you decide to watch it, my only advice is this: try to judge the film itself, not the headlines you've read over the past few years. Whether you end up loving it or hating it, I think that's the fairest way to experience one of Korea's most controversial films.
What surprised me the most wasn't the movie itself. It was the reviews.
I spent some time reading opinions from different years before rewatching it. The reviews from 2017 were already divided, but most people talked about the cinematography, the confusing narrative, the symbolism, or the performances. As the years passed, especially after 2025, the discussion seemed to shift. Instead of talking about the film, many reviews focused almost entirely on Kim Soo Hyun, Sulli, or the explicit scenes. It made me wonder how many people were actually reviewing Real, and how many were reviewing the people in it.
Then I watched the movie again.
Honestly... I expected something much more explicit.
For years I had heard people describe Real as if it were one of the most shocking Korean films ever made. After finally revisiting it, I couldn't help comparing it to American and European productions I've watched over the years. Series like Queer as Folk contain scenes that are considerably more explicit, yet they rarely generated the same level of outrage. Real is certainly intended for adults, but the controversy surrounding those scenes feels far bigger than the scenes themselves.
Looking back, I still don't think Sulli deserved the criticism she received simply for accepting this role. Whether someone enjoys the film or not, actors shouldn't become the target of public anger for performing scenes that are part of the director's artistic vision.
That doesn't mean Real is a misunderstood masterpiece.
Far from it.
The film is ambitious, sometimes to its own detriment. Director Lee Sa Rang clearly wanted to create something where reality, identity and memory constantly overlap, leaving the audience unsure of what is actually happening. I appreciate films that trust viewers to think for themselves, but Real occasionally mistakes confusion for complexity. There were moments where I felt intrigued, and others where I simply wished the story would communicate its ideas more clearly.
Visually, however, I think the film deserves far more credit than it usually receives.
The neon lighting, the carefully designed sets and the dreamlike atmosphere create an identity that immediately separates Real from more conventional Korean crime films. Even when the narrative loses me, I never felt the production became lazy. Every frame looks intentional. Whether you enjoy the story or not, it's difficult to deny the amount of work that went into creating its visual style.
Kim Soo Hyun was also, in my opinion, a good casting choice.
His role demands constant shifts between confidence, vulnerability and psychological instability, and I think he handles those changes well. Ironically, after everything that's happened over the past few years, I found myself paying less attention to him than I expected.
Instead, Lee Sung Min completely stole the film.
I've admired him for years, and Real reminded me once again why. He has an incredible ability to dominate every scene without raising his voice or overacting. He isn't the kind of actor people usually describe as glamorous, yet his presence is genuinely intimidating. Every time he appeared on screen, I found myself watching him more than anyone else.
Maybe that's what makes revisiting Real in 2026 so interesting.
The film itself hasn't changed.
What has changed is the audience.
Whether consciously or not, many people now seem to approach Real carrying opinions about its actors before the opening scene even begins. I don't think that's unique to Korea, but I do think it's particularly visible here. We often separate artists from their work in Western cinema, while in Korea the public image of an actor can dramatically reshape how older projects are perceived.
Final Thought
I don't think Real deserves the reputation it has today, but I don't think it deserves to be called a masterpiece either. It's an ambitious psychological thriller with impressive visuals, solid performances and a story that sometimes becomes too complicated for its own good.
If you decide to watch it, my only advice is this: try to judge the film itself, not the headlines you've read over the past few years. Whether you end up loving it or hating it, I think that's the fairest way to experience one of Korea's most controversial films.
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