Reviews

One of the female characters becomes pregnant unintentionally, but abortion isn't mentioned or even considered. How odd. I was actually wondering if this was an American series. And then I realized that abortion wasn't decriminalized in Korea until 2021, and since then, there hasn't really been any way to actually get one. That explains it all.
It's a bit of a shame to see this kind of reactionary plot device in a series entirely centered on three women in their thirties and their professional struggles. It could have served to make a point about this particularly important issue, but it seems that's not part of the Hallyu agenda.

They all come across as endearing and funny, surrounded by very ordinary jerks. They have to put up with all these hurtful remarks on a daily basis. It's the same everywhere... the working world, really.

We also have to put up with scenes where a character talks to someone as if they were there, when they're not. It stresses me out. He's dead. You know it. We know it. Everyone knows it. Stop writing sick stuff like that ; and always for women, too. Always. It drives me crazy ! It drags the show down ; it's not interesting. Please. Stop.

Well. The production assistant is so nice. Her relationship with her coworker makes me a little sad. They're making a big deal out of nothing when they could just be friends, and that would be nice. But a man and a woman are bound to see each other through a romantic lens or something more. Exhausting.
Still, it's great that she dumped her son's father. He's a loser from start to finish, no redemption. And the whole "pretending to be sick" thing to get back into her life : well played. We dodged a bullet. I was so scared.

Finally. That screenwriter. She cracks me up. Her calm but snarky responses. And when she magically pulls out her guitar... so funny. Best character. She's the reason I was watching, after all. She waits until the guy finishes cooking his dish to say she doesn't like it and won't eat it. Nice move.

All three are adorable, with their flaws and their strengths, they are authentic. Everyone's character development is satisfying, more or less. But as is so often the case, 16 episodes is at least four too many. I skipped quite a few scenes because they dragged on for no reason, but seriously, you could see the filler coming a mile away. I often find 16-episode K-dramas too long for what they offer, while 30-episode C-dramas just aren't enough.

Humor works really well. The series deals with sad topics (from the perspective of privileged women, don't forget that), but it remains genuinely funny. The romance doesn't work as well. The tragedy works even less, just a miss. The "social" commentary, which is very superficial, works mainly through the humor and never goes very deep.

It smells like an autofiction screenplay. A screenwriter told us about her life and that of her friends.

"The tears in your heart will turn into an illness. But once you cry them out, they evaporate and disappear."

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Brainless parody based on manhwa. Don't expect anything like Punisher.

I didn't enjoy it. I feel cheated and disappointed because the ending of episode 1 made me think that I will see something merсiless - like Punisher. When MC crashes and kills all the bad guys. Instead I was given some PG-13 level action parody.
MC doesn't kill the worst scumbags who deserve to die.
Characters in the show absolutely lack logic and are braindead. Probably it is not as noticeable in the original manhwa, but in series it becomes very annoying. Everyone is 99lvl stupid in this show.

It feels like this would have been so much better show if it was filmed as a serious action, instead of some kind of a kids parody.

I will continue watching this trash, because I hope that at least in the end MC will kill the main antagonist. If not - I will lose all hope for the humanity.

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feelings

dù là phim ngắn nhưng mình thấy phim khá đầu tư á, đầu tư đồ với view này kia nữa

nội dung thì dù mô tuýp cũ rùi nhưng khá đúng gu mình, do cách khai thác phim khá uci nữa, coi xong bị cuốn vào luôn=))), kiểu thấy thú vị á. Dù còn một số chỗ mình thấy hơi lấn cấn như : lúc mà ở phòng chụp ảnh cưới, ông kia bước vào hoảng hốt gọi tổng giám đốc, nhưng thấy chẳng ai khó hiểu hay nghi ngờ gì luôn nên hơi cấn khúc này

diễn xuất thì khá đạt nhen, visual 2 người đẹp điên luôn á, đúng nghĩa bừng sáng luôn, từ top tới bot t phải thốt lên ồ wow lun á

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I'm not a big fan of shows with spirits and possessed people ; VFX are often embarrassing to watch. That's invariably the case here. Stranger Things has done a lot of damage to the "otherworldly". I hope that one day we'll move beyond this blurry and unoriginal digital aesthetic.

Apart from that, the real-world production is quite beautiful, in the snow and all in shades of grey mixed with a deep blue.
They chase away the spirits, but the real monster is the king. It makes you think. The monarchy surrounded by death and decay. I like the direction the story is taking. Let's hope for a more direct and less repetitive sequel.

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A good one, the main leads are locked in.

Really enjoyable series with mature storyline and characters. The acting is great from everyone and they all fit well into their roles.
Story is constantly moving and even though its a ‘hit a minute’ for the FL at times, its different hit’s and then the ML gets punched down too, it was satisfying to see them both over come the pitfalls successfully.
The chemistry between the main leads is electric bringing fun, meaningful and impactful depth to the story. You believe everything, their eyes meet and its just them two in the room.
The story did drag a bit during the ending episodes and i agree with some of the previous reviews saying the second F/ML story dominated the narrative at the end. It did make it frustrating when they were both placting 2ML mum, she was an awful person. She was only trying to protect her son but from what, her low opinion on the 2FL?, and it got nasty and then using physical violence, not good.
Overall 8.5 as it could have done with tighter story at the end, and post production could have been better(yes that ringtone was unnecessarily over used) but its rewatch value and chemistry between the characters made it for me. Recommended 💗

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Brutally Beautiful and Surprisingly Gentle

There is a particular kind of fantasy that almost everyone has entertained at least once. Not the fantasy of becoming rich. Not the fantasy of saving the world. The fantasy of watching someone who has spent years making other people’s lives miserable finally meet someone who simply refuses to tolerate it anymore.

Teach You a Lesson understands that fantasy almost immediately. It knows exactly why audiences are showing up. It knows why teachers are talking about it in staff rooms. It knows why parents are arguing about it over dinner. It knows why it exploded onto Netflix the moment it arrived. This is a drama built around catharsis, the kind that makes you grin, pump your fist, and then quietly wonder whether enjoying it says something uncomfortable about yourself.

And that is exactly why I could not stop watching.

But here is the thing about a show this popular, this gloriously violent, and this unapologetically provocative: it is never just about the punches. Beneath the bone-crunching action and the vigilante fantasy sits a mirror held up to a very real, very uncomfortable crisis in modern education. So grab a cup of tea and settle in, because this drama has me, and probably half the planet, completely hooked.

Let us start with the people who make this chaotic world worth watching, because Teach You a Lesson has an ensemble that feels less like a cast and more like a squad you would genuinely want on your side in a fight. At the center is Kim Mu‑yeol as Na Hwa‑jin, a former special forces captain turned field inspector for the fictional Educational Rights Protection Bureau. This is my first proper exposure to Kim Mu‑yeol’s work, and I have to say, I am utterly captivated by his acting (it helps that he has such a great smile too). He shifts effortlessly between drama, comedy, action, and tragedy within a single scene, and that versatility is exactly what makes his Na Hwa‑jin so magnetic. Here, he is all coiled intensity and quiet menace, a man who speaks with his fists because words have failed the system entirely. He is not a hero in the traditional sense, and that is precisely what makes him so attractive.

Then there is Lee Sung-min as Minister of Education Choi Gang-seok, the weary architect of this unconventional bureau, bringing a gravitas that makes you believe a man could lose his daughter to school violence and decide to burn the whole broken system down in response. He and Kim Mu-yeol apparently previously worked together on Juvenile Justice under the same director, and that reunion feels less like casting and more like fate.

The real scene-stealers, though, are Jin Ki-joo as Im Han-rim, a fellow inspector whose fighting skills could make action heroes weep with envy, and Pyo Ji-hoon as Bong Geun-dae, the KAIST genius who handles intelligence and tech support. Jin Ki-joo’s Han-rim is a perfect storm of ferocity and vulnerability; she gets one of the most terrific introduction scenes I have seen in recent memory. Pyo Ji-hoon, who many might know as P.O from Block B, brings an endearing geekiness that balances out all the testosterone and rage. Fans have lovingly dubbed this quartet the “Anti-Bully Avengers,” and I cannot think of a better description. They are flawed, messy, and often operating in moral grey areas, but by the end of the first episode I was completely invested in their mission.

Now, let’s chat about the story itself, because Teach You a Lesson is not your typical high school drama. There are no love triangles here, no agonizing over college entrance exams, no sweet friendship montages set to acoustic ballads. This is a show that opens with a student leaping from a school roof because the bullying has become unbearable. It is grim, and it is meant to be. The show is adapted from the popular Naver webtoon Get Schooled, which has generated over 2.3 billion won in revenue since its 2020 debut.

But director Hong Jong-chan, who also directed Juvenile Justice, made a conscious decision to approach the source material “through a more refined lens” and create something meaningful rather than just reproducing the webtoon’s more controversial elements. The result is a 10-episode procedural that feels like a superhero origin story set in the bleakest possible world. Each episode tackles a different school, a different case: a kindergarten teacher harassed by overbearing parents, an aspiring engineer caught between rival gangs, a social media influencer whose false accusations drive an innocent teacher to suicide. The format keeps things fresh, but the underlying message remains consistent, the system is broken, and someone has to fix it, even if that means breaking a few rules, and a few faces, along the way.

What I find most entertaining about Teach You a Lesson is how it refuses to offer easy answers. On one hand, it is pure catharsis. Watching Na Hwa-jin dismantle a bully’s entire world, exposing the corruption of a powerful politician father, and forcing the son to experience the same social ostracization he once inflicted on others, feels like justice served hot. It is the kind of revenge fantasy that makes you cheer out loud and immediately feel a little guilty for doing so. But the show is smarter than that. It constantly asks uncomfortable questions: Is this really justice, or just revenge dressed up in a nicer suit? When you fight violence with violence, do you become the very thing you are trying to destroy?

These are not new questions, but the show presents them with such visceral intensity that you cannot ignore them. The bullying scenes are in-your-face, deliberately uncomfortable, designed to make you squirm. And the show’s refusal to divide people into simple heroes and villains is one of its most refreshing qualities. Some teachers genuinely care, others are exhausted and defeated. Some students are irredeemable monsters, others are victims who have been pushed too far. It is messy, because real life is messy.

And speaking of messiness, what truly astounds me about Teach You a Lesson is how it threads the needles of action-comedy and tragedy with surgical precision, never letting one lane bleed into the other in ways that feel jarring or disrespectful. This is a show that will have you laughing at the ERPB team’s bickering antics one moment, particularly when Hwa-jin repeatedly reminds Han-rim to “please not kill anyone” during their field ops, as if she is a hyperactive child who needs constant supervision. Then, in the very next scene, you are confronted with the unbearable weight of a teacher who saw no way out other than ending their life, or a student who believed the world would be better off without them.

The tonal shifts are sharp, but never clumsy. It reminds me so much of Seoul Busters, another drama that excelled at maintaining separate, disciplined lanes for its comedy and tragedy. In both shows, the humor is never used to undercut the pain, and the pain is never so heavy that it smothers the moments of levity. They exist side by side, like two rivers flowing in parallel, sometimes close enough to touch but never contaminating each other. That discipline is a testament to the writing and directing. It takes a confident creative team to trust that audiences can handle the whiplash, and an even more confident one to pull it off without either tone feeling forced or out of place.

Visually and aurally, Teach You a Lesson is a masterclass in controlled chaos. Director Hong Jong-chan, working with cinematographers Yoon Joo-hwan and Lee Choon-hwi, creates this dystopian atmosphere that feels both heightened and painfully familiar. The schools are sterile, oppressive spaces, all fluorescent lighting and cold hallways, but the violence that erupts within them is raw and kinetic. The fight choreography is brutal and balletic; you can tell Kim Mu-yeol brings authentic action skills to the table, he is a real-life recipient of the honorary title “West Sea Guardian” from the Defense Ministry after all.

But the show is not just about fists and feet. There is a quiet, almost tender moment when the camera lingers on a quote from Albert Camus inscribed on a school wall: “Nothing is more despicable than respect based on fear”. It is a fleeting image, but it says everything. And then there is episode nine, which completely broke me. Na Hwa-jin and Choi Gang-seok are processing their grief separately, each in a different room, yet the show refuses to let them be truly alone. Gang-seok is drunk, laid down in Hwa-jin’s private quarters, while Hwa-jin sits in the living room, bent over a couch with his eyes fixed on the floor, lost in his own sorrow.

The director could have easily used a back-to-back shot, cutting between the two actors to emphasize their isolation. Instead, they chose a wide shot that captures both men in the same frame, separated only by the thin wall between their rooms. In that single, devastating composition, I saw two people carrying the weight of the entire broken system on their shoulders, unable to comfort each other even when they are just inches apart. It is powerfully sad, the kind of visual storytelling that does not need dialogue to break your heart. Oh yeah, that was some of several moments that I truly wept.

The music, composed by Kim Tae-seong, knows exactly when to swell with heroic triumph and when to pull back into mournful silence. The show understands that the most powerful moments are not always the loudest ones.

And yet, for all its polish and punch, Teach You a Lesson has not been without its controversies. The show has sparked fierce debates, particularly around an episode involving a female student who falsely accuses a male teacher of sexual harassment. Critics have argued that the show leans into a troubling male perspective, suggesting that such narratives are harmful in a world where real cases of harassment are often dismissed. Others have pointed out that the show’s reliance on “might makes right” is ultimately an escapist fantasy that offers no real solutions for the systemic issues it highlights.

Even Korean teachers have been split. Some have found the show deeply cathartic, a validation of their daily frustrations with unruly students and overbearing parents. Others have found it horrifying, worrying that viewers might come away believing that violence against students is somehow a necessary part of education. The Korean Federation of Teachers’ Associations issued a statement acknowledging that the show lays bare the harsh realities of modern classrooms, but stressed that “what this drama misses at its core is that what teachers need is not a fist, but legal protections”. It is a fair point, and one that the show itself does not fully address.

So, do I recommend Teach You a Lesson? Absolutely, with one caveat: this is not a show for everyone. If you want something light and fluffy, look elsewhere. This will make you angry, sad, and gleeful within the same episode, then make you question why you were cheering at all. It is one of the smartest, most addictive feel-good dramas of the year, and I say “feel-good” with every bit of irony that implies. It understands the pull of fantasy while never losing sight of how dangerous it is to indulge that fantasy too far.

And here is the thing I keep coming back to: I truly enjoyed every single minute of this drama, and I do not say that lightly. Teach You a Lesson has this rare, almost magical ability to close its stories in the most cathartic way possible. Every single plot point, every thread the writers carefully laid out, gets tied up with such satisfying precision that I found myself smiling, genuinely smiling, at the end of every episode. I cannot remember the last time a kdrama made me feel that way so consistently.

There is a rhythm to the storytelling that feels almost musical; each episode builds its own complete arc, delivers its emotional punch, and then resolves with a sense of closure that is both earned and deeply comforting. The karma always arrives, sometimes with a fist, sometimes with a quiet revelation, but it always arrives. And that consistency, that refusal to leave any character’s fate dangling in uncertainty, is what makes the binge-watching experience so addictive.

In fact, I so rarely wish for sequels. I’m usually content to let a good story stand on its own. But for Teach You a Lesson, I will make an exception. The procedural format is perfectly suited for more seasons, new schools, new cases, new bullies who desperately need a lesson, and new victims who deserve their moment of justice. The cast is strong enough to carry it, the premise is flexible enough to sustain it, and the world they have built feels like it has so much more to say. So yes, I am putting it out into the universe: I really do hope we get a season two.

The show knows that sometimes teaching a lesson means throwing a punch, and it also knows a punch is never the final answer. In the end, Teach You a Lesson is not really about teaching bullies a lesson at all. It is about holding a mirror up to a society that failed its most vulnerable, and asking, with all the subtlety of a fist to the face, what we plan to do about it.

That question, I think, is worth sitting with, even when the answer is not pretty.

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A Place Called Home (2026) - Review

Interesting movie. I was surprised to see Suzuki Airi in this kind of role, and she actually does a pretty good job. I had a completely different image of her before watching this.

As for the story, it's quite realistic and depicts something that happens fairly often—especially in Japan. It's about someone who doesn't want to go to school. There are a few plot holes here and there, though. For example, how does the protagonist not realize who she's talking to? Especially near the ending.

Overall, I'd recommend it. I honestly thought it was going to be worse. I rented the movie just because of Suzuki Airi, but it ended up being a really good surprise.

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My Biggest Gripe was the open ended ending (leaving it open for a potential second season)

My Rating is 9/10

This was a solid medical romance K-drama with strong slice-of-life elements. I enjoyed the remote island setting, which added a fresh, grounded feel compared to typical hospital dramas. It offered plenty of insight into the daily challenges and rewards of doctors and medical staff in isolated areas, along with a unique military/public service twist that brought in interesting dynamics and conflicts. The blend of medical cases, community interactions, and romance worked well as a feel-good watch with heart and humor. I’d recommend it to fans of medical dramas and romantic comedies who want something relaxing yet meaningful. It’s enjoyable enough that I wouldn’t mind a rewatch, though I probably wouldn’t seek it out immediately—it was satisfying for its length.

Spoilers

Main girl (nurse Yook Ha-ri) frustrated me several times with how she treated the main guy (doctor Do Ji-ui). She could be quite mean or pushy toward the men in her life. Early on she told him to pretty much give the patients what they wanted then, when he did that, she was angry with him for it. Every time she was angry with him she would go off with second guy (doctor Hyun Chi-yeon). She did it again when she got angry with him for not encouraging her grandmother to pursue potentially life extending clinical trial treatment. She stayed angry with him about that for a bit even telling him to leave her alone while grieving her grandmother’s death. Which he did. But then she once again was acting flirty with the second guy (doctor Hyun Chi-yeon) in front of him despite their budding relationship. That felt unnecessarily hurtful and inconsistent. I also found her anger over the grandmother situation extremely unreasonable. As a nurse, she should understand that Doctor Do, as her grandmother’s doctor, had to respect the patient’s wishes and privacy. Her reaction came across as overly emotional and unfair, bordering on mean. From reading reviews I noticed other viewers noted the prickly early dynamics and occasional rudeness among characters.

Dr. Do's ex, Lee Hwa-young was particularly toxic. She was the source of so much of his psychological trauma. Broke up with him when they experienced such a shattering tragedy. Basically told him they should never be happy. Then, comes back years later, clearly hoping to get him back and when he doesn't want to leave the Island decides to try to paint him as a crazy mental patient "for his own good." I was like dude, you seriously dodged a bullet on that one. And, thankfully the series did not paint her as a sympathetic or noble character.

The other nurse (Nurse Eom Jeong-seon) who fell for the Korean medicine doctor (Yong Joo-cheon) was another character I struggled with. I had a hard time seeing the appeal or why he was drawn to her at times. The bee incident felt ridiculous and unprofessional—she came off as throwing a fit in a way that endangered others. Multiple times she said mean things about his wealthy background. It was clear she had a chip on her shoulder about it and brought it up frequently. Then, when she got pregnant, she wanted to keep it entirely to herself and not tell him immediately which was deeply hurtful. Two people create a baby, and the other parent deserves to know right away, in my opinion. Her general meanness toward him over his wealthy background also felt over-the-top; he can’t help his upbringing any more than someone from a poor one can. I didn’t hate their couple, but these elements made it hard to fully root for them. Other recaps highlight similar frustrations with her secrecy and their rocky reconciliation after the ectopic pregnancy loss. 

On the positive side, the islanders’ reactions, especially early on with the insurance/prescription frustrations, felt very realistic. The guy who got so mad about it illustrated perfectly how patient pressures can wear down doctors—I appreciated how the show portrayed that tension and its potential to “ruin a good doctor.” Balance in everything. It is true the patient likely knows a lot of things about their body a doctor wouldn't know but, at the same time doctors understand things about the patient that they learned through experience and intense medical study. But this show displayed the importance of that dynamic relationship well. Bullying a doctor to just do what they wanted often put the patients underlying conditions and long term health at risk.

I loved that Dr. Do did not cave to political pressure. His primary concern was his patients and the community. It took courage and a strong ethical and moral core to stand up to the corrupt politician and expose him.

I was disappointed that neither lead found a way to stay on the island long-term, as they seemed so integral to the community. The ending, with their relationship feeling solid but them heading in separate directions (him to a prison medical post, her pursuing hospital work on the mainland), leaned into long-distance territory, which rarely works out seamlessly in dramas or real life. It felt like a setup for a potential second season rather than a fully closed story. There was no emotional moment where they discussed parting and how they would handle the distance or anything like that. Not in any meaningful way.

The ending, which opened up this whole new story line about being a doctor for a prison, was unsatisfying. It was a soft ending. Which frustrated me because it deviates from the classic K-drama strength of complete, self-contained 16 episode seasons with satisfying resolutions. They have now reduced it to twelve episode on many of the streaming platforms and are leaving more open endings to decide if they want to do another season. Platforms seem to be pushing open-ended formats only for possible sequels and profit, which risks undermining what made the format so beloved. Many viewers share this sentiment about the bittersweet, slightly open feel and the leads’ separation.  I wouldn’t have minded a prison setting arc if Season 2 was ready, but the wait and potential need to rewatch dampens the experience. A lot of second seasons may not get good viewership as that does not model what the typical drama fan does or likes.

Overall, the character growth, healing themes, and community warmth carried it, but the female leads’ behaviors and the ending held it back from a perfect score for me. Still a 9/10 watch because the writing was good, the cases were interesting and the friendships and romances were heartfelt and believable.

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When Destiny Takes Aim at the Heart: Love, Fate, and the Beauty of Waiting

Some stories don't rush to capture your attention—they quietly invite you into their world. My Man Is Cupid is one of those rare dramas. It blends fantasy, romance, mystery, and destiny into a heartfelt journey that feels both whimsical and deeply human.
At its heart, this is more than a love story. It explores the loneliness of waiting, the courage it takes to love despite uncertainty, and the invisible threads that seem to connect people across time and fate. Every episode carries a gentle emotional warmth while gradually revealing new layers of mystery, making the experience both comforting and intriguing.
The chemistry between the leads is natural and sincere. Their relationship grows with tenderness rather than grand gestures, allowing every smile, glance, and quiet conversation to carry genuine emotional weight. The supporting cast also contributes meaningfully, creating a world that feels alive instead of existing solely around the main romance.
Visually, the drama is elegant. Soft lighting, beautiful color palettes, and carefully framed scenes create an almost dreamlike atmosphere that perfectly complements its supernatural premise. The soundtrack quietly enhances each emotional moment without overwhelming it, making many scenes linger in your mind long after the episode ends.
The pacing may feel gentle for viewers expecting constant twists or fast-moving action. Instead, the drama chooses emotional development over spectacle. Those who enjoy character-driven storytelling will likely appreciate its deliberate rhythm, while others may find it slower than typical fantasy romances.
What makes My Man Is Cupid memorable is its ability to remind us that love is not always loud. Sometimes it exists in patience, sacrifice, understanding, and the quiet hope that two destined souls will eventually find each other. It asks whether fate truly controls our lives or whether love itself is the force that gives destiny its meaning.
Rather than relying only on fantasy elements, the series grounds its magical premise in authentic human emotions. By the final episode, what remains isn't just the memory of supernatural events, but the feeling that every meaningful connection has its own story waiting to unfold.

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i know you would love to comment about rating

I think this drama completely misunderstands the difference between a complex character and an unbelievable one.

My problem isn't that the male lead suffers too much. My problem is that the writers are trying to make him every possible thing at the same time. He's a victim, a villain, a grieving father, a loving husband, a terrible husband, a respected doctor, a criminal, a fugitive, and somehow still the person we're supposed to root for.

His child dies. He drunkenly wishes his wife would die. He appears to be having or had an affair with another doctor. He steals from his in-laws. He's on the run from the police. A cop dies in front of him. Then he and his friend literally fire a shotgun at a police officer.

At some point I stopped seeing a human being and started seeing writers throwing random misery and controversy at a character to keep viewers talking.

The police are somehow even worse. They spend episode after episode talking, theorizing, gossiping and accomplishing almost nothing. They can't find the wife. They can't catch the husband. They seem more interested in discussions than actual investigations. For a supposedly serious thriller, the police work feels embarrassingly incompetent.

The villain is decent, but even that storyline starts dragging. The more the show goes on, the more it feels like events happen because the plot needs them to happen, not because the characters naturally drive the story.

What disappoints me most is Namkoong Min himself. Not because he's bad—he's actually doing his best with the material. The problem is that the writers have given him an impossible job. They want him to be guilty and innocent, sympathetic and disgusting, broken and emotionless, victim and villain all at once.

A real person can be contradictory, but the writing never makes those contradictions feel believable. Instead, it feels like the character changes depending on what the current episode needs.

I keep seeing people defend the character because they love Namkoong Min. But that's exactly the issue for me. I shouldn't be watching Namkoong Min trying to save a poorly written character. I should be watching the character and forgetting the actor exists.

Instead, all I can see is Namkoong Min carrying a script that doesn't know what it wants its protagonist to be.

By Episode 5, I no longer cared who kidnapped the wife. I no longer cared about the mystery. I was just wondering what ridiculous tragedy or personality change the writers would throw at the male lead next.

A good thriller makes me believe in its characters.

The Husband made me believe the writers were making things up as they went along.

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8/10 My Name Is Gabriel (ep 1-3 with Park Bo-gum)

8/10 My Name Is Gabriel (ep 1-3 with Park Bo-gum)
Just watched this tonight, in June 2026, and loved it. What a lovely and talented bunch of people The Ramparts are, and how lovely and welcoming the parents were towards their temporary son. It was so touching seeing the choir members talking about how the choir had impacted their lives. And it was clear that whilst they were paying tribute to their true long time choir leader, there was also genuine warmth and appreciation for their temporary 'Rory'. I only watched due to having recently discovered the actor Park Bo-gum, especially in the incredible 'When Life Gives You Tangerines', and 'Record Of Youth'. I'm so glad I did, as 'My name is Gabriel' was a great and fun concept, and it was truly heartwarming to watch Park Bo-gum being his own lovely self, and enjoy being a part of The Ramparts if only for just 72 hours.

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A Royal Curse, a Cursed Story

When I started The Palace of the East, I knew exactly what I was getting into: a fantasy horror thriller set during the Joseon era, but also a drama written by the co-writers of The Guest (a good one) and Bulgasal (not a good one), and directed by Choi Jung Gyu, the man who gave us, among other things, the magnificent The Devil Judge in 2021. Aesthetically speaking, it is truly beautiful, putting forward an oppressive atmosphere reminiscent of the movie Silent Hill, or even the series Stranger Things in some visual aspects, through its lighting choices and its blockbuster fantasy feel. The series starts off at full speed during the first three episodes, which establish the setting. Unfortunately, the short format imposed by Netflix and the storytelling shift that occurs in the second half left me with a bitter aftertaste. I felt that the narrative was losing some of its ambition. Do not expect a revolutionary story, as this is something we have seen many times before. But it is everything else that makes the difference, and given the budget allocated to it, it really could not afford to fail. Let’s take a closer look.

At the heart of the royal palace, a mysterious curse seems to have fallen upon the King’s family. After several unexplained deaths and the sudden collapse of the last Crown Prince, the King (Cho Seung Woo) calls upon Gu-cheon (Nam Joo Hyuk), a man capable of crossing the boundary between the world of the living and the world of spirits in order to hunt supernatural creatures and ghosts. He acquired this cursed ability as a child during a tragic event and has carried it as a burden ever since. To accompany and watch over him, he orders Saeng-gang (Roh Yoon Seo), a court lady who is actually his only daughter, to join him. He exiled her as a child because she possesses the ability to hear the dead. Together, they must uncover the secrets of the Eastern Palace, the residence of the heirs to the throne, a place consumed as much by political conspiracies as by supernatural forces, where every discovery brings them closer to a truth that some people are willing to kill to preserve. The Dowager Queen (Jang Young Nam) and the King’s brother, Prince Ik-Sang (Tae In Ho), are also lurking in the shadows, each serving their own interests.

From the very first minutes, The Palace of the East makes a strong impression. The cinematography is exceptional, the production design is incredibly rich, the music is magnificent, and the visual effects reach a level rarely seen in a Korean drama. The result is genuinely cinematic. The CGI is perfectly integrated, and the whole production has a very strong visual identity. On these aspects, I even find the drama superior to Alchemy of Souls or Kingdom, for example, which are fairly recent. The direction is remarkably elegant, fluid, and impressively effective. The universe sometimes evokes FromSoftware games, especially Demon’s Souls, with its majestic palaces, atmosphere of decay, and disturbing creatures. Let’s be very clear about this: it looks incredible. The story, without being innovative, uses its unsettling atmosphere to take us on an adventure close to a fantasy horror thriller. I really enjoyed the first three episodes because the protagonists are quickly identified, there are not too many of them, and our main duo is likeable. In short, from the beginning, you can feel that we are dealing with people who know their craft and know how to put their expertise into practice. The story, which seems simple at first glance, will gradually multiply false leads, encouraging us to question the true intentions of certain characters.

Unfortunately, this excellent first impression gradually fades away. I found the second half more intense and certainly more fast-paced, but while the action side takes over, the storytelling gradually falls apart as we get closer to the ending. The story seemed promising, but ultimately lacks development. Aside from Saeng-gang, Gu-cheon, and the King, most of the other characters are without depth, especially the Dowager Queen, Prince Ik-Sang, and the shaman. They mainly exist to lead us toward false leads. As for the antagonist, he is introduced in a clumsy way, used as a tool, and poorly exploited. The viewer discovers his importance very late, even though he could have become a much more memorable antagonist.

The true threat hidden from the beginning turns out to be the Crown Prince (Kwak Dong Yeon), who was poisoned by his father at the time, when the latter discovered that he was practicing occult sciences.

In reality, it is the entire cast of characters, despite being quite small, that suffers from a lack of writing and, for some of them, a lack of substance. The conclusion easily falls into over-the-top territory. Some scenes lack coherence, such as the notable absence of the royal guards (they must have had a swimming pool day). We are still inside the King’s palace. The lack of extras is also quite puzzling for a place that is supposed to be alive. The thriller aspect is gradually abandoned in favor of action, leading to a finale worthy of Mortal Kombat but without a Fatality... Although, maybe. In the end, we leave the drama with more questions than answers:

Why did the King decide to kill his own son, knowing that this act would trigger a terrible curse? Why are the Prince and the Shaman presented as threats to the Crown if their roles are ultimately so limited? What is the role of the Dowager Queen and what are her true intentions? Why make the prince played by Kwak Dong Yeon such a central character in the revelations when he is barely developed?

For me, the real missed opportunity of the script lies there: the drama never truly settles the Crown Prince’s guilt. And that is a shame, because it would have given much more depth to both the King and the Crown Prince.

The writers know how to create an atmosphere, establish mystery, and bring fantasy to life. However, they struggle to give their characters enough depth and to transform their many plot threads into a fully satisfying conclusion. To end on a positive note, I would say that the duo formed by Nam Joo Hyuk and Roh Yoon Seo works extremely well, and that we thankfully avoided the easy and unnecessary mistake of adding a fake romance that would have served no purpose.

In the end, The Palace of the East impresses more with what it shows than with what it tells. The writers know how to create an atmosphere, build mystery, and stage fantasy with real mastery. Visually and musically, it is a true success, with stunning cinematography, ambitious production design, and direction that sometimes gives it the feel of a cinematic production. I also really liked the presence of Ggeomeoksali, this small creature with an almost innocent appearance that brings a lighter touch to an otherwise very dark universe. Like a Mogwai from Gremlins, it could easily have become just a cute element designed to appeal to viewers, but it ultimately finds its place within the drama’s fantasy mythology. Unfortunately, this visual ambition is not always matched by the writing. The many threads introduced throughout the episodes do not all receive satisfying conclusions. It is a shame, because the whole story is missing a tragic depth that could have elevated it. Nevertheless, The Palace of the East remains a largely positive experience thanks to its unique atmosphere, carefully crafted fantasy universe, and above all, a duo that works remarkably well. This drama is not revolutionary, but it remains entertaining and enjoyable. It nevertheless leaves me with a feeling of incompleteness, with a script that ultimately failed to live up to its ambitions.

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