0:00 Introduction and overall impressions

The first 24 minutes — Non-spoilery review

From 24:07 onwards We talk spoilers — big ones, little ones.

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Clearly the five years of separation is not about a test of loyalty and fidelity but a test of his mettle. Can Zhao Ling be the success story that the emperor saw him to be all those years ago?

Zhao Ling is special undoubtedly. More special in the fact that at a young age he has taken on the responsibilities of a head of household and wrestled with all the joys as well as woes of shouldering the needs/demands of those in his charge with so few resources at his disposal. It takes a certain kind of energy and perspicacity to hold it all together despite the odds.

Yu Jingxiu serves as a stark contrast. Apparently even with the head start he’s been blessed with, he’s turning out to be nothing more than a paler progeny of his powerful parents. In fact he’s turning out to be the biggest joke in the room — an overindulged child who throws tantrums when things don’t go his way because he is accustomed to being given things at the asking. Even when Mother Yu doesn’t approve of his choice of a wife, she relents eventually. This is a man child accustomed to getting his own way. The moral lesson of the day is clear: Be careful what you ask for because you might get what you want.

The wife of his choice isn’t necessarily bad. She’s obliging and dutiful even if she’s over eager to prove a point. More often than not she’s out of her depth. Unfortunately for her she’s married to someone who has an over inflated view of himself, hence she can’t hold his interest. Aside from all that there was deception at the start and she really doesn’t have the social wits to navigate the complicated world of the prominent set. Moreover she has no discernment judging by how much she allows her maid to affect her thinking. Honestly she’s just not clever or strong-minded enough to be a part of that household.

In a way, Fan Yake is right. Life is unfair. That world seemingly belongs to those who are born to privilege. However, that is only one side of the story. Enjoying privilege doesn’t necessarily mean that life gets easier. There’s also the maintenance side of rubbing shoulders with the upper echelons of society. Her poetry parties are a case in point. Respect doesn’t come easily even if they marry up. Not at all. The wealthy set can sniff out desperation and it’s clear to them that that the overly sensitive Fan Yake tries too hard. Indeed if all she had wanted was privilege and power, she would be hard headed enough to survive that world. As it turns out, the happiness that she seeks eludes her still.

In fact she should have seen from what happened to Tingyun and her family’s entanglements with Madam Zuo that privilege doesn’t necessarily make life easier. Even long-standing clans/families can collapse into ignominy with one wrong decision or if they offend the right people.

The elderly Grand Secretary Tian is a humorous and fascinating example of someone who knows that his position is precarious in the political tug-of-war of which he’s a part of. His persona as an indifference fence sitter is deliberately cultivated to ensure his political (and personal) survival as retirement looms large. Factional politics has been his bread and butter. He knows too well that one wrong move will upset the powerful and everything that one has build disappears overnight. He is an old political fox even if he gives a different impression. He plays the doddery old man as an indirect way of supporting the novice Zhao Ling.

As this show is fundamentally about marriage, it’s amusing to see domestic conflicts between the leads. They reunite the capital after 5 years apart and instead of going to see her right away, he stays away to protect her from the dangers of the job. She’s understandably upset and gives him the silent treatment when he finally makes his grand entrance. It seems petty on her part and yet it’s completely relatable. A woman wants her man to prioritize her by being present even if it’s not practical or safe. She wants living proof that he cherishes her by including her in his considerations. Two becoming one flesh encompasses all of life not just the marriage bed. It’s a promise that comes with blood, sweat and tears.

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Getting in their way are 1) former bestie Fan Yake (Fan Shiran), 2) the man who might have married Fu Tingyun, Yu Jingxiu (Dong Zifan), 3) his mother Mrs Yu (Shi Yueling) and 4) the bitterly resentful sister-in-law, Lady Zuo (Una You). And that I imagine is just the start.

Clearly the world they inhabit don’t make things easy for them even when they have made some profitable connections. Which makes sense. Certainly more sense than many C dramas. Independence comes at a price and the school of hard knocks is the foundation through which our duo is being prepared far greater challenges ahead.

Although The Road to Splendor is not a cluttered trope travesty that many C dramas are, it still begins life as a contract marriage. In this instance it’s an informal union that’s not formed out of the conventions of the day — an arrangement made between the elders of both families — but an expedient measure/transaction compelled by circumstances. Fu Tingyun and Zhao Ling have scarcely anything in common except pluck and determination. The old adage — fortune favours the brave — is their guiding light. Still courage isn’t enough to achieve their ambitions. Acting decisively without thought for consequences (as has been vividly demonstrated in the show) will end in self-inflicted calamity. One should hasten to add that the leads are different, in terms of skill set and personality. Shared goals, however, can see those differences leveraged for better outcomes if governed by a spirit of accommodation ie. knowing when to push back, step back and give in. It’s the understanding that losing an argument can mean a win for all concerned. Finessing collaboration also means using the right tools for the right occasion. A successful marriage understands this. Diversity in and of itself is not strength. Shared values on top of common goals have to underpin such relationships.

Shows featuring contract relationships succeed when the script understands that love without wisdom leads to egotistical recklessness and pragmatism without trust can never bloom into lasting love. To the credit of the writing, Tingyun knows only too well that she cannot get anywhere without a man’s protection while Zhao Ling gradually understands that he cannot protect the people he cares about without relying on her to navigate officialdom. In truth they desperately need each other and as the show demonstrates, it is no weakness to acknowledge that. Indeed it takes humility and strength to accept advice and help especially when emotions run amok.

Traditionally the belief has always been that marriage matures a man as it gives them someone to be responsible for. Zhao Ling is a good man but smuggling salt is a dubious short-term solution to a long-term feeding problem. He must exit that life to win at life. It is Tingyun who gives him that bigger picture as well as the motivation to fulfill his potential in in order to avoid the executioner’s sword. On the other hand, Tingyun is no match for brute strength or the common folk not of her milieu. They each bring something that the other needs in that relationship. Moreover in any good relationship, it behooves one party to prevent the other from rushing headlong into disaster and tragedy even as they beckon.

The Road to Splendor is a show about the journey that is marriage. The thesis here is that for them to succeed as individuals, they need to succeed as a couple first. It’s a reasonable enough assumption as one contrasts their relationship with those around them. They start from the bottom and the hope is that they will move their way up. The man who might have married Tingyun, Yu Jingxiu, is a self-righteous pompous prig. He claims to detest his mothers scheming but he’s doing his underhanded best to “escape” an arranged marriage. Mother’s scheming or scheming in general isn’t likely the problem. It’s just that he’s smart enough to know that Tingyun will be hard to bend to his whims. He marries the seemingly docile Yake mistakenly believing that she’s all about him. But in truth, the marriage is about her playing one upmanship. When push comes to shove, they are marrying one another under false pretences which is bound to end very badly.

Already this series is superior to Melody of Golden Age just for the fact that the leads don’t deliberately try to misunderstand… by not talking. Moreover it was beholden to tropes in a way this one isn’t. Life is hard enough when two flawed human beings are joined together in holy matrimony. Surely there’s no need to escalate conflict and compound problems by a refusal to communicate.

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01:07 Talking about what I’m watching. 01:28 Launching into The Road to Splendor featuring Ding Yuxi and Ancey Deng Enxi formerly of Melody of Golden Age. A new currently airing C drama about two young people trying to makes something of themselves in a hostile world. So far so good. (A first impressions post is taking shape and on the way)

22:34 absoluteM answers my question with 12 Letters and so we spend a bit of time talking about it. We talk about Ashes to Crown briefly.

27:17 I respond to absoluteM’s question about my recent diet of K dramas. I start with The East Palace which I mentioned in my most recent post.

33:55 We natter about Spooky in Love, yet another K drama with aggrieved spirits. Park Eun-bin plays the ghost-seeing CEO-heiress and Yang Se-jeong is her male lead as Prosecutor Ma Gang-uk.

38:49 absoluteM wants to watch A Shop for Killers season two but it’s on D+. Neither of us are currently subscribed to it.

40:45 We speak on the subject of Agent Kim Reactivated.

43:24 absoluteM admits she’s watching Royal Betrothal with Wu Jinyan and Chen Zheyuan as leads and struggling to continue.

51:25 absoluteM mentions that she wants to watch (so do I) Wang Xingyue’s upcoming drama Love in Red Dust.

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C dramas have a habit… a persistent one… of starting their leads at opposite ends of personality spectrum. It’s a common device used mainly to muddy the waters of misunderstanding and escalate conflict which could easily be avoided. Afterall (according to the C drama playbook at least) conflict is allegedly the most efficient way to begin building a 30 episode drama romance. Apparently there’s no better place to start than from zero. From verbal or ideological foes to comrades and then to lovers. It’s always a double-edge sword when their worst traits are on display especially as it colours audience perception of their professionalism.

7 episodes on, I have mixed feelings about whether to persevere. I’ve put it on hold for a several days now and wonder if I’m missing anything. Admittedly, the disputes are somewhat interesting even if it’s increasingly predictable that the clients are holding back some crucial piece of information . The parties involved in the cases are often unsympathetic which certainly creates unpleasant conundrums for the judges and their lawyer. Qin Rui insists on doing God’s work but is it possible with clients who are their own worst enemy?

Much less frustrating and much more fun has been The East Palace which I managed to binge over a 24 hour period at 1.5 speed. Even as I respect the showrunner’s right to title the drama as he/she wishes, the grumpy pedagogue in me revolts. Clearly donggung is equivalent to the Chinese 东宫 ie. dong gong which is more commonly and elegantly translated “eastern palace’.

Still none of that speaks to the quality of the actual drama. Overall it’s an entertaining watch although I suspect that the target audience is a much younger one than the one I’m a part of. Those who watch C dramas habitually will probably recall that the eastern palace is the official residence of he-who-is-next-in-line for the throne. The term itself is often used as a metonymic reference to the crown prince. This is an important fact to highlight because the untimely death of the crown prince is the catalyst for the fiasco that ensues.

The king of the day (Cho Seung-woo) does what he can to dispel anxious speculations that the crown prince has fallen prey to some kind of curse against the royal succession — pronounced by a resentful consort whose spirit now haunts the palace as a pond spirit. To bolster their case for a supernatural explanation, mention is made of several contenders for the throne have met a similar fate in recent years. Hence, it’s not completely unreasonable that the royal court is in a state of panic. Rather reluctantly and in an attempt to appease his officials, the king seeks out his favourite monk to get to the bottom of things. Said monk laments that his ghost hunting days are over and points His Majesty in a different direction.

Enter our young male protagonist. Nam Joo-hyuk is a layabout imposing on the hospitality of the temple. The lad (Nam Joo-hyuk doesn’t seem to have aged much since Cheese in the Trap) has the ability to see spirits and enter into the unseen realm that co-exists with the visible realm. He flatly refuses to help. Who can blame him when death is on the line. But the desperate monarch kidnaps the whippersnapper and breathes down threats. To ensure that Gu Cheon does his bidding, the king sends a “court lady” (Roh Yoon-seo) to keep an eye on him. Neither trusts the other at the start but through a series of life-threatening events, the pair of youngsters quickly develop a strong bond. The chemistry is good although it’s not immediately obvious if romance is on the cards. The audience member will take whatever they can get but for a show like this, it really doesn’t matter all that much.

Unlike some comments I’ve seen online, it’s really not that difficult a plot to follow despite the numerous twists and turns. It’s a dark fairy tale at it’s core. There might be a Rapunzel story in there somewhere although Gu Cheon is no prince. However, despite the kicking and screaming there’s something noble about Gu Cheon. At the start he seems an unlikely saviour and yet when push comes to shove, it turns out he’s the most reliable person in the room.

Although it’s billed supernatural horror, it’s unlikely to cause any hardcore fans of the genre sleepless nights. Koreans certainly love making monster dramas but this isn’t Kingdom. If anything it’s Kingdom lite sans zombies. The political ramifications fall along similar lines in that living human beings are far more terrifying than the undead.

Speaking of things supernatural, I’ve had a look at the more light-hearted Spooky in Love. So far there’s nothing especially groundbreaking about where it’s headed but then it’s not a show that takes itself too seriously . Park Eun-bin’s character, CEO Cheon Yeo-ri can see ghosts and to get them off her back, she goes body hunting. Other shows like Missing: The Other Side, Sell Your Haunted House are much more earnest in their aims. Yeo-ri finds her gift burdensome especially because her greedy relatives would love nothing more to dislodge her from the top job in the family business. In one of her nighttime misadventures she bumps into Prosecutor Ma Gang-uk (Yang Se-jeong) and that becomes the first of various encounters between our leads. It’s a lonely life for Yeo-ri. She can’t get too close to anyone lest they start seeing ghosts too.

With such a title, romance is definitely in the air. More than that, the show is already insisting on a love triangle early in the piece. An old friend of the family (Ong Seong-woo) has returned and he means to woo the lady. Evidently he’s too late because there’s someone else on the scene who has pipped him as the front runner.

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Stripping away the European backdrop and adding a more South Korean flavour is Agent Kim Reactivated. So Ji-sub whom I’ve never particularly loved, is playing yet another action hero in a Netflix series after the bloody Mercy For None. He’s a fascinating choice because he’s not a likely candidate to play any kind of tough guy. What sells the character here is his signature bewildered tortured look. Despite his hidden abilities, he is, at his core, a father in a state of panic. The opposition is never his primary consideration — they’re merely hurdles that he has to leap over to get to his ultimate goal. As a single dad who solemnly promised his late wife on bended knee to care for their daughter, Kim takes his vow seriously. Except that once she’s a teenager with teenager problems, he’s helplessly out of his depth.

These days it’s not a Korean drama if there’s no mention of school violence. Daughter Min-ji is being bullied in school and that’s where the trouble starts. It’s the usual story. The chief mischief maker of the mean girls is the overindulged daughter of the thuggish CEO Ju Gang-chan (Joo Sang-wook) who oversees a large construction firm with deep pockets. To her credit Min-ji doesn’t take being targeted lying down and pushes back. This causes a ruckus in school which becomes the precursor to a Taken-style hunt.

The baddies are many in this series. Ju Gang-chan surprise surprise isn’t the only or biggest one. Yes, he’s your typical corrupt businessman found too often in K dramas but there are other agendas at play which may or may not work in his interest. The identity of Kim goes deeper than that of a dutiful conscientious white-collar worker. So deep that it leads to unexpected and unwanted ripples in North-South relations.

The set-up is decent enough but the show takes a while to get going. Through flashbacks as well as dad-daughter interactions, the aim is to establish that single-father Kim tries his best but is ill-equipped to deal with an adolescent offspring with growing pains. Children once they start school grow up at breakneck speed and parenting becomes an entirely different game once they enter high school. Good intentions aren’t enough.

Thematically the show is about dads and their daughters. Or more specifically, it is about 2 dads and 2 daughters. It’s another one of those cautionary tales with not-too-subtle points of comparisons. The message is simple in the extreme: Parents reap destruction when they don’t raise their children rightly.

The show finally kicks into gear when Min-ji is “taken”. I imagine it depends on what you think this show is as to whether you think the plot unfolds in the manner that the set-up seems to suggest. It is unquestionably about a dad saving his daughter. It is also about a dad with a past that catches up to him. There’s also an undeniable political dimension that is established from the beginning. Like it or not, a former North Korean operative taking matters into his own hands even to save his daughter is crossing the line into forbidden territory.

The best thing about this drama is the way the antagonists are featured and the turn-taking that is allocated. There are plenty of them and how the plotting weaves them into the narrative elevates the material somewhat. Without the rogue’s gallery the father-daughter storyline can’t hope to go the distance. While antagonists serve as obstacles, they also firm up the parent-child bond that’s been weakening due to largely a lack of communication. Kim seems like the Everyman on the surface but it’s a role he plays willingly because he deems it the best course of action as a dad. But the Agent Kim persona is reactivated when the office worker identity reaches its limits and outlives its usefulness. The goal is the same: Being the best possible father that he can be with the skills he’s kept hidden is the motivation for what comes after.

On some level it’s laughable that Min-ji gets shifted around like a game of passing the parcel. So laugh we must. It is ridiculous that she’s assumed dead but then no one thinks to check properly. On top of that, she somehow manages to survive the ill-treatment as she’s carted from one location to another. It’s almost farcical. Then there’s the reliable albeit goofy sidekicks Seong Han-su (Choi Dae-hoon) and Park Jin-cheol (Yoon Kyung-ho) to bring some levity to a sombre scenario.

The action sequences are good. Humorous even. When Agent Kim is unleashed, bones break and there’s some blood-letting. The types that go after him don’t hold back even when he does. Ju Gang-chan has plenty of money to send minions after him but there’s something satisfying to see his best laid plans get thwarted at every turn. I still have to do a double-take every time Joo Sang-wook makes his appearance. Seeing him as a villain does take a bit of getting used to even if he had a bit of a trial run pretending to be one in Special Affairs Team TEN all those years ago.

Agent Kim Reactivated won’t be everyone’s cup of tea primarily because of the violence. Still it’s not entirely mindless violence either. The lengths that the characters will go to get what they want is also on display here. The stakes are undoubtedly high. Moreover the pacing at the start is certainly not consistent as the show feels the need to back fill all the details of their lives. It’s not always clear if all of it is necessary to the plot and might end up muddying the waters for viewer expectations.

All in all, it’s a good watch and if you don’t mind seeing bad people get their comeuppance in painful but effective ways, it’s not a bad way to while away several hours of your time in some escapist fare.

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0:58 absoluteM asks and I answer. We discuss My Royal Nemesis: The good, the bad and the indifferent. Heo Nam-jun’s breakthrough role and the landmines of using temporal devices

21:34 absoluteM praises Reborn Rookie — a recent drama in the manner of Reborn Rich featuring Lee Jun-young and Son Hyun-joo.

29:46 After a brief exchange about AI in dramas, we talk about Tan Jianci and Wang Churan’s Love Has Fireworks, a workplace cohabitation that has finally seen the light of day.

38:24 absoluteM talks about a youth sports romance, Road to Success led by Esther Yu and Chen Jingke.

41:19 I talk about the premise of The Apartment Job that’s just started airing. It stars the ever reliable Ji Sung as the head of a ragtag household and Ha Yoon-kyoung as his contract wife planning to scam an apartment complex.

47:03 I review So Ji-sub’s latest offering Agent Kim Reactivated — another enjoyable mindless action series with a Taken flavour.

53:38 Trailers spotlight: Against the Current (Tan Songyun and Liu Xueyi) and The Road to Splendor (Ding Yuxi and Ancy Deng)

55:33 absoluteM is undecided about Meng Ziyi’s latest, Blossoms of Power a court intrigue with a reverse harem and cross-dressing.

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As the story unfolds what immediately strikes me about My Royal Nemesis is how derivative it is. Several past dramas come to mind: Mystic Pop-up Bar, Tomorrow, then See You in My 19th Life, Rooftop Prince, Bulgasal and also the vastly underwhelming Moon in the Day. Calling it derivative is not necessarily derogatory if the usual tropes are handled skillfully although it will invite the inevitable comparisons. My Royal Nemesis is entertaining and occasionally amusing but it’s not a particularly sophisticated or polished script considering the ambition driving the storytelling. Stories with dual timelines are very hit and miss which reflects the K drama industry’s track record with time skip shows. This one doesn’t do anything impressive with the temporal device. In fact it relies heavily on the actors to lampshade plotting issues at the cost of wholesale character development.

It turns out that like a lot of K dramas of late, characterization and even plot has become subservient to the theme. As I said in my podcast with absoluteM, the show is thematically self-aware right out of the gate. As it turns out, the show plonks every one of its cards on the proverbial table within the first five episodes. There’s not much mystery to be unravelled and it’s in-your-face about the messaging — the weaving of narrative by vested interests, how public discourse has been controlled and how the so-called “winners” occupy the marketplace of ideas to shape perceptions of public figures. No one would disagree that the technological tools currently at our disposal exacerbate the problems many times over as the jokes about “deep fakes” are meant to illustrate. Furthermore few would dispute that history is far more complex and messy than most would be comfortable with.

Unfortunately theme and plot don’t mesh seamslessly considering there’s plenty of scope for in-depth exploration in a 14-episode drama. There will be some who are tempted to make the romance culpable for the show’s underlying weaknesses but romances are ultimately written by people who lately for reasons only to them are always trying tinker around the edges of the genre — often in a fit of vanity rather than inspired artistry. From the perspective of an audience who lives on a diet of romance, tweaking the romance in a misguided bid for originality usually means changing the recipe needlessly.

Because the romance is the main thing here, it is odd (to this viewer at least) that it’s entire construction is so flimsy that it reflects poorly on Seo-ri’s character development. She’s put through the wash cycle. She alternates between hot and cold depending on what advice she’s getting on the day. Then it’s rinse and repeat because somehow the push and pull must go on. Part of the problem is that she becomes the vehicle of an incoherent diatribe against fatalism. There’s a lot of hair-splitting mumbo jumbo about karma and changing one’s fate that doesn’t seem to be reflected consistently in the loop de loop timey wimey convolutions.

The person I feel most sorry for is Jang Seung-jo. It isn’t because he’s playing a villain again. The problem is that he’s playing a fairly generic K drama villain that the writer wants us to sympathize with. Jang Seung-jo has great chops but in this, his talents are underutilized although I liked Choi Mun-do’s relationship with his son. Even then, there are missed opportunities there. A lot more could have been done also regarding the chairman’s relationships with the biological grandson and the “placeholder” successor. In general it’s a flaw of the show that supporting characters feel like passing ships in the night. They are part of the scenery undoubtedly and for the most part they are just cardboard cutouts that get shifted around to remind us that they exist in this universe. Only Se-gye (Heo Nam-jun) gets the kind of development that is sorely missing for most of the cast.

At the end of the day, My Royal Nemesis offers nothing that hasn’t been seen before elsewhere and in some instances, done better. Mystic Pop-up Bar is a case in point. The humour and tragic aspects there are far better balanced. It even features a similar type of female lead. My Royal Nemesis is not terrible but neither is it memorable. 14 episodes is too long for a story like this one. It’s a one time watch for me and I lament that none of the more interesting aspects of the script get the proper treatment they deserve.

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The Education Rights Protection Bureau (ERPB) established by Education Minister Choi Gang-seok (Lee Sung-min) stirs up controversy wherever it goes while attempting to address school violence, and the flagrant disregard of learning rights, taking a leaf right out of the Harry Callahan manual for dealing with hard core criminals. The ERPB exists due to the fact that schools have been transformed into battlegrounds emulating the wider dysfunction and violence that afflicts the supposed world of adults. Hence, a case can be made that the adults have exported the worst behaviours to the impressionable via modern tools — and at the speed of light.

Na Hwa-jin (Kim Mu-yeol) is the front man of the ERPB. He’s a newly appointed school inspector in search of trouble spots and given the heavy responsibility of taking out the rubbish because the school refuses to do so. Kim Mu-yeol is the picture of affability and there lies the mistake of many a school ruffian. They think he’s just another weak-kneed substitute teacher so they throw a punch to exploit loopholes in the system. That is until he punches back. At that moment the delinquents don’t know what hit them. First impressions can be very misleading indeed. Hwa-jin is ex-special forces with a personal reason why the ERPB has become his new mission. Behind him is Minister Choi who bears the brunt of any political fallout.

After his surprise introduction Hwa-jin is joined by Bong Geun-dae (P.O) and the over-the-top screechy Im Han-rim (Jin Ki-joo). The trio are in effect the clean up crew and if the stories are to be believed, the purging of South Korean schools of nasty elements is a herculean job. There are deep-seated cultural attitudes at the core of everything.

Not too surprisingly, there are those who don’t want the ERPB to succeed. Choi Gang-seok has fought tooth and nail for its existence but his political enemies are just waiting to pounce on any mistake to dismantle this new task force in a heartbeat. Assemblyman Hwang Gi-tae is such a figure, framed as one of the shows many villains. The actions of ERPB inevitably ruffle feathers. The eye for an eye approach taken by the bureau causes some uneasy but as the show demonstrates, the language of violence is the only one some will understand.

The ERPB is the equivalent of Avengers or Justice League tackling intractable school issues. The show follows the template of the superhero narrative almost to a T. Injustice cries out for a saviour. Who will come to the rescue of the vulnerable from the evil powerful forces? Everyone can only cower in fear and despair. Oh look! It’s the ERPB giving the baddies a dose of their own bitter medicine. I don’t mind admitting that there’s something quite satisfying about watching an unpleasant character get their just desserts soon after the rage bait that sets it up. It’s catharsis at work. There would be no need for superheroes if the rule of law was adhered to and therein lies the problem.

The primary of the show is to explore the underlying toxic culture that feeds not just the school violence or the ridiculously competitive incentive structures that perpetuate the problems for young learners. Education systems which are meant to democratize the access to a better future is all too easily hijacked by all kinds of vested interests. The rich can pay their way into intensifying the competition and set the terms for what is “normal”, leaving low income families in the dust. This is eloquently exemplified in one of the later episodes where a son is being given regular doses of ADHD drugs to keep him on track to fame and glory — snagging a spot in SNU’s medical programme. Not only that, she also withholds food, sleep and affection punitively while turning a blind eye to symptoms of physiological and mental health issues. Many dramas have addressed this but none have come up with a strategy quite like the one conjured up by Na Hwa-jin.

Despite the gravity and horrors of the subject matter, this show manages to be one of the more humorous offerings in recent times. It is surprisingly funny — darkly slapstick in action sequences and in the execution of so-called “revenge”. Like in Taxi Driver, revenge in the ordinary sense isn’t really the agenda. Minister Choi and Na Hwa-jin have a common grievance, it would be understandable to retaliate on some level. But that’s not what they’re after in essence. They want to radically change attitudes and remove unjust gatekeeping. What Na Hwa-jin wants is for really bad kids to be punished and perhaps be redeemed. Sadly, however, not every offender can change or wants to change their trajectory.

In a real enough way the show is not about them. Although they have a personal stake in making sure the ERPB succeeds, this is a show about the victims and the perpetrators as well as the broken system that perpetuates the vicious merry-go-round. The interventions dished out may seem extreme but there’s a satirical season that’s unmistakable. If the Taxi Driver met Mary Poppins and somehow took a few classroom tips from Mark Thackeray, the result would be something akin to the ERPB.

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Unlike many Cinderellas, Jinzhao is no pushover. Her youthful appearance belies savvy and wisdom beyond her years. While her half sister, Gu Lan was being pampered by her concubine mother and servants, Jinzhao learned the ropes of navigating recalcitrant relatives from hands on experience in the Ji business empire. The Ji family however wealthy and influential are still only of the merchant class. Supporting them is Chen Yanyun (Ci Sha), the youngest holder of high office in the land of Dayan with a radical reformist land distribution agenda that could potentially shake the foundations of the nation. The show leaves little doubt that Chen Yanyun (style name: Jiuheng) ‘s plaudits and current position are earned rather than just bestowed as the third son of a longstanding prominent family or for the fact that he is the favoured pupil of the chief minister of the court, Fu Hailian (Wu Gang).

Despite the title, the romantic subplot of A Splendid Match is largely driven by a reverse harem vehicle. Jinzhao with her can-do attitude and pluck attracts the attention of Chen Xuanqing (adopted nephew of Chen Yanyun), the ne’er-do-well heir apparent Ye Xian (of a military marquisate) and eventually the older Chen Yanyun himself. Though banal, it is accurate to say that the men in her life all love her for various reasons. Chen Xuanqing is flattered by her obvious interest in him and soon reciprocates only to reject her soon after for the usual pragmatic reasons. Bad boy Ye Xian (Winwin) falls for her because she doesn’t suffer time-wasting playboys gladly. He’s affronted initially (how dare she stand up to him) but soon sees the error of his ways. When first we meet him, Ye Xian is a spoilt brat with a large chip on his shoulder. We’re meant to pity him of course. The lad has a heart condition much to war hero dad’s disappointment that his only son can’t follow in his footsteps into the battlefield. He’s the stereotypical male lead of many K dramas and manga stories in days gone by — a kind of hothead underdog figure that’s dragged into a hero’s journey with much kicking and screaming. The fact that this drama doesn’t make him the primary male lead is something worth noting. The stakes are very high. Furthermore it’s never really in much doubt who the male lead is, even when Jinzhao is not in love with Chen Yanyun.

Chen Yanyun is undoubtedly the most important reason why A Splendid Match shines for me when so many shows of this kind tend to feel like deteriorated facsimiles of one another. Ci Sha’s nuanced performance helps a great deal. The sagacious restraint and faint expressions of amusement are absolutely right on the money for this character while exuding a gentle stoicism that veils deep hidden passions. Chen Yanyun is arguably the best written male lead that I’ve seen in a romance-centred drama for the longest time. These days most C dramas seem averse to… or even terrified of a strong male lead lest he (God forbid) overshadow the female lead. These days most male leads have some kind of trauma or hang up so it’s a breath of fresh air to have someone at the helm of a narrative who is already a fully functioning responsible adult and doesn’t need the female lead to make him a better man although in this case, she does draw out the warmer parts of his personality.

It should also be said that A Splendid Match presents a strong Austen strain. By that I don’t necessarily mean Pride and Prejudice or Sense and Sensibility or Emma per se. The domestic drama contains aspects of Austen characters and scenarios that have become universal romance tropes. Jinzhao has to navigate not only her immediate family but her extended one too. Politics is everywhere in this narrative and it begins right at home especially in polygamous situations when the head of the household mismanages with extreme prejudice. Literally. The fourth son of the Gu family aka Jinzhao’s unreliable father by his choices becomes the architect of a tragic family opera that brings about unwarranted angst.

It helps too that this is the kind of marriage of drama I can root for unreservedly: two people who complement and share a life together which mostly means keeping those communication channels open. Husband and wife move as a team except for that one time. Chen Yanyun has no secrets that his new bride doesn’t know about. The problem with most hidden identity stories is that the lack of transparency inevitably leads to perpetual unease and eventually… unnecessary strife. Of course the hidden identity trope is meant to elicit laughs. However a joke that is repeated often will quickly be as delectable as a stale one-week-old bread.

Thematically what pulls everything together is desire. Desire for family, desire for status, desire to better oneself, desire to do good and the desire for love. Make one bad decision and desire degenerates into an uncontrollable fire that leads to the bowels of hades. The villains of the piece are a case in point. None of them begin by wanting to inflict pain and suffering. The chief villain regrets very little. His only mistake, as he sees it, is impatience. An overeagerness to succeed. An oversight in the scheme of things. Eagerness may be a contributing factor but it isn’t the only failing that leads him down the path of ultimate self-destruction. His desire for absolute power held only by the sovereign sees him to turning a blind eye to unscrupulous activities in his backyard. He can’t tolerate dissent and fears it like every good despot. He cannot tolerate murmurs even within his own circle because no one can be allowed to stand in his way of achieving his goal. As a result much evil is done in the name of good.

The leads are good together and separately. Ci Sha is a pleasant surprise adding another layer to the character of Chen Yanyun with his martial arts background. In the romance department, their chemistry is quite organic. In fact Ren Min’s chemistry with all her suitors are equally good. It’s more a case of character and circumstance — as one might expect — rather than visuals that possibilities become impossibilities. I spent the first half the drama wanting to give Ye Xian a black eye or a good kick in the rear end. Winwin as Ye Xian is adequate in his comfort zone when playing brats (cf. Perfect Match) but when he’s trying to maintain a serious demeanour, out pops what becomes a signature glazed look that’s neither here nor there. Among my favourites is the young emperor who is not as confused as he looks. Considering his age, the monarch’s a sharp lad who definitely has a finger on the pulse of his court.

There’s been some criticism regarding the finale that may be perceived as a mark against the show. C dramas have a perennial problem coming up with good endings for some reason — I suppose it has something to do with the consequence of keeping audiences on the edge of their seats right to the end without having the skill to pull it off. This one ends with some unanswered questions but it’s not the worse one I’ve seen (Looking at you The Princess’ Gambit) and it makes some sense considering the human disaster that comes from the villain’s machinations.

I forgive the show the less than satisfying finale because overall it is one of the better romance-centred historical dramas I’ve seen in the last few years. A) It doesn’t curtail the role of the male lead to elevate the female lead or the so-called second male lead and B) it doesn’t play fast and loose with implausibilities.

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0:51 The Heir starring Yang Zi and Elvis Han

13:16 A Splendid Match featuring Ren Min and Ci Sha

25:29 I’m not necessarily singling out Pursuit of Jade for criticism but just highlighting why dramas changing direction can trigger the ire of viewers.

29:36 My Royal Nemesis with Im Ji-yeong, Heo Nam-jun, Jang Seung-jo. The show I was thinking about and couldn’t remember it at the time of recording is Moon in the Day.

42:14 I’ve been watching Teach You A Lesson which sees Kim Mu-yeol play cough cough***Taxi Driver*** cough cough.

49:37 Ashes to Crown a very idol drama that features Chen Duling and Zhou Yiran as leads. Supposedly.

53:46 The First Jasmine and Bai Lu.

56:06 My recent spate of Tang dynasty dramas — Strange Tales of Tang Dynasty 3 and The Tang Mist.

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Zhan Zhao Adventures or 雨霖铃 has its origins as a piece of fanfiction based around an older novel called The Seven Heroes and Five Gallants which has been adapted to the small screen several times. Zhan Zhao has been such an integral part of Justice Bao lore that I just keep expecting the famed statesman to make an appearance in this drama. The fact that he doesn’t is suggestive. Although this new addition to the Justice Bao universe has all the appearance of a detective story in the vein of all the others, the narrative has more pressing concerns. Zhan Zhao, a respectable representative of the legendary Kaifeng court, epitomizes a rare breed of heroism in a world ready to succumb to the temptations and corruptions that is the path of least resistance. More than a good investigator, he is a good man or perhaps it is more accurate to say that because he is a good man, he has the perspicacity to be an excellent investigator.

When Zhan Zhao stumbles onto a large scale conspiracy with ramifications for national security, the testing of his character comes into focus. The aforementioned “adventures” is actually a protracted discovery of not only the game that’s afoot but soon becomes the trial of the man whose reputation precedes him. Can he pass the greatest test of his life? Can his reputation as a martial arts pugilist and justice warrior stand up to intense scrutiny and assaults from all directions? Will he maintain his cherished principles when the people around him get hurt?

The stature of a hero is arguably determined, to a large extent, by the company he keeps. Or the kinds of followers/companions that he gathers around him. How does he inspire loyalty? To what lengths would they go for him? Would they even … perish the thought … make the ultimate sacrifice? Judging from Zhan Zhao’s relationship with Bai Yutang (Alen Fang) and Huo Linglong (Zhang Ruonan), the brand of heroism that he represents brings out the best in them. A loose canon and a sheltered heiress become his minders, trying to keep him alive come hell or high water. There’s no romance just good old fashion camaraderie. And why not? Friendship is a lost art in dramas catering to the appetites of their target audience.

Huo Linglong is at first not a particularly discerning character. She’s too eager to prove herself on her first outing into jianghu (the martial arts world) and make hasty simplistic judgments about various encounters. However, while everyone seems to insist that she’s enamoured with Zhan Zhao’s heroics, what’s far more important is that her admiration for Zhan Zhao’s character makes her a wiser candidate for the Huo clan’s leadership position. Out of the comfort zone of Linglong Mansion she soon realises that even her family’s success is shrouded in murky secrecy. She’s challenged repeatedly to choose sides. Furthermore it’s noteworthy how the villains frame the so-called dilemma. It’s Zhan Zhao or us, they would say. Of course for the morally compromised that would be their paradigm. They paint the conflict as two morally neutral sides in an existential struggle and may the stronger side win. The truth is much clearer than that. Otherwise what’s the point of law enforcement and a judiciary. Linglong, Bai Yutang and Tang Tianhao represent a new generation in jianghu rising from the ashes of what was razed to the ground by an old guard that have lost their way. The more recent progeny trade on the reputation of what the past generations built without the nobility that underpinned their success.

There are reverberations of The Blood of Youth here. The problems of jianghu can be attributed directly, on the one hand, to the influence of the show’s mastermind. On the other hand, the main reason why he is able to have such a strong grip on jianghu’s prominent families are the compromises and various unseemly transactions they’ve indulged in for the last decade and a half. It’s led to a tangled morass of corruption so it’s up to Zhan Zhao and friends to undertake the Herculean task of cleaning out the jianghu stables. Even the seemingly admirable desire for one’s clan to build/maintain a legacy can become the devil’s foothold for something quite insidious indeed.

I can hear Tina Turner’s husky vocals swirling around in the o’l cranium, “We don’t need another hero”. But Zhan Zhao’s skirmishes say otherwise. Heroes are always needed as long as we understand even the best of us have clay feet and Achilles’ heels. His opponents are keen to deconstruct Zhan Zhao the hero which is why he is constantly injured and poisoned. Superman has kryptonite to depower him so Zhan Zhao has to be crippled to prove that there’s more to the man than his fighting skills.

For a crime aficionado, the various mysteries are not complicated puzzles that require much brain power to unravel. Rather it is about the who’s who and the why. And what they all add up to. The mastermind is revealed relatively early and although one has an inkling of what he might be after, it’s how he’s trying to achieve his ultimate goal that is the mystery.

Yang Yang’s Zhan Zhao certainly has the physicality that brings the character to life. He’s adequate to the task and he doesn’t need to be much more. Visually he plays off Alen Fang’s Bai Yutang with the right kind of restrained mirth. He’s quietly amused with the other man knowing that the outbursts come from a heart of gold. Alen Fang who left no doubts about his comedic chops in A Journey to Love reliably brightens up the scenery with his cutting remarks and braggadocio. Like my Chinese aunt who nagged relentlessly at my total disregard for cleanliness as a child, it is left to Bai Yutang to wag his fingers when Zhan Zhao lurches from crisis to crisis with no thought to the state of his injuries. Zhang Ruonan doesn’t particularly stand out nor is she misplaced. Her boisterous naivete and lack of elegance is exactly what’s called for here.

Zhan Zhao Adventures is unabashedly old school wuxia in that the fight scenes are part of the storytelling not just filler or just attention grabbing fanfare or an overabundance of testosterone seeking an outlet. How practitioners fight in a wuxia says plenty about who they are. The different schools develop styles in accordance to their beliefs and principles which they propagate with pride. Poisons are also part of the weaponry of the various sects and their ubiquity is a reminder that for many the end justifies the means. There’s no such thing as a fair fight if an advantage can be found. Low blows are par for the course in a continuing bid for supremacy.

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Park Hae-soo and Lee Hee-joon play two former school mates who become the centre point of a police investigation into a series of murders in a presumably fictitious regional area known as Kangseong. The real life stocking murders of Hwaseong which have been the inspiration of dramas the likes of Signal and Tunnel is also the source of this new crime drama. Competent detective Kang Tae-joo (Park Hae-soo), who is sent packing back to his hometown after making waves in Seoul, soon stumbles onto the trail of a home grown serial murderer. And since it’s a Korean drama, one can be sure that the police especially in 1988, would make a dog’s breakfast out of an already difficult situation. Former school chum Cha Si-young (Lee Hee-joon), an ambitious prosecutor cum social climber, is both ally and nemesis in Tae-joo’s search for the truth, depending on where his interests lie in the moment. Bedfellows are often made under duress and no doubt the show makes Tae-joo’s desperation a large part of the what drives him to act at times with reckless abandon. Aiding him is plucky journalist Seo Ji-won (Kwak Sun-young) who could be also a love interest except that everyone’s too busy trying to identify a killer in their midst.

Anyone who has seen the K version of Life on Mars or anything concerned with said period know that police brutality was par for the course. There are two types of investigators in K crime dramas — the type that wants to catch the killer and the other that wants to close the case — and never the twain shall see eye to eye. To the former, the truth and saving lives matter and for the latter, it’s about playing the political game of survival to get to the next promotion.

In a place where everybody knows almost everybody, the suspect pool should be small. And quite frankly it is. It’s not hard to guess the identity of the perpetrator and through a thoughtful process of elimination, he would have been nabbed sooner rather than later. At least that’s what the show implies. Tragically however, the police are the public’s own worst enemy. A case that could have been resolved in months or years, takes decades because of internal corruption. Technological advancements certainly help but when the approach taken in an investigation is wrongheaded to begin with, a kind of hell on earth breaks loose to muddy the waters.

From over a decade of watching K dramas, I’ve observed that Korean crime shows aren’t really into police procedurals as much as they create allegories of the political and moral decay that’s prevalent in their social order. Serial killers in these types of stories are, to use an organic metaphor, a symptom of a deeper malaise. As was in Beyond Evil, serial killers thrive because of the corruption in the system. Heinous evil begins with the smallest acts of evil: small moral compromises, turning a blind eye, the abuse of authority, even the desire for recognition can seed an unhealthy ambitious nature.

More than a police procedural, this is a psychological study of three men: the cop, the prosecutor and the culprit. All three come from the same town and their lives intersect from their earliest days. Tae-joo and Si-young are offspring of adultery and dysfunction — a baggage they carry around with resentment that seeps out in different ways. On hindsight it seems they are destined to be lifelong adversaries because their choices lead them onto opposite moral trajectories. Si-young can never acknowledge his culpability making a bad situation worse because it would mean accepting that his career and success has been built entirely on on single very big LIE.

The ending of the show marks beginnings — beginning of the end for some, the beginning of restoration and healing in relationships torn apart by deception as well as corruption. The show is fortunate to have the calibre of actors such as Park Hae-soo, Lee Hee-joon, Jung Moon-sung and a whole host of seasoned performers to carry the full emotional force of the narrative. It’s a familiar tale told in many ways before but the experienced cast and competent director still manage to breathe new life into a well-worn path.

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In the latest iteration of the Justice Bao mythos, actor Yang Yang plays Zhan Zhao. Here Zhan Zhao traverses jianghu in search of answers to a conspiracy aimed squarely at the throne. Jianghu is the landscape of wuxia stories — the martial arts world, populated by a panoply of powerful if eccentric pugilists/schools cooperating or competing with each other. Traditionally the affairs of the court seldom spill over to jianghu but gradually there’s been an encroachment. The pugilistic community are forced to take sides and many become stooges to various political figures in a bid to maintain/boost their prestige among their peers. Loyalty to the incumbent ruler or patriotism is no longer a common cause for good.

When the show opens an injured Zhan Zhao is on the run after being tasked with delivering an explosive message to the capital. His reputation precedes him wherever he goes. At a tavern he encounters the brash and indiscreet Huo Linglong (Zhang Ruonan) and together they save a mute lad from multiple interested parties all willing to kill. She’s running away from an arranged marriage with an official. It’s par for the course that fights between rival sects break out at the drop of hat and to hasten a fatal end to a fight, poison is added to the mix.

One thing is immediately obvious about this more old-school style wuxia story are the fight scenes. They are well staged, executed and exuberant. Whatever his limitations are as an actor, Yang Yang does great justice to that side of the character. His Zhan Zhao lives up to his reputation as a skilled fighter seldom equalled and a righteous law enforcement officer — a boy scout with superpowers. Zhang Ruonan’s Huo Linglong, on the other hand, I’m less enthusiastic about. She’s running away from an arranged marriage with an up and coming official. While she might be excited about travelling jianghu after an overly sheltered life, she comes across as impulsively garrulous in dangerous places.

It’s certainly the case that there’s a lot of exposition dumping in those first five or six episodes. There’s also the matter of trying to get one’s head around various characters and their connections in the martial arts community. They pop in and out of the narrative at breakneck speed. Once the set-up is done and all events are set in motion, the show definitely comes into its own.

To round out the triumvirate, is Alen Fang’s Bai Yutang. Fang Yilun who was delightful in The Journey to Love, is a similarly shrewd cavalier pugilist here but with more of an edge and less goofiness. His entry certainly livens things up and quickly becomes Zhan Zhao’s comrade-in-arms as the trio dodge assassins and spears for their troubles.

The series demonstrates plenty of potential. With C dramas I hate to make predictions about where this might be headed. I’ve been bitten too many times. But as someone who really likes the theme and world building, I am optimistic but with the usual added dose of caution.

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0:43 absoluteM talks enthusiastically about My Royal Nemesis starring Im Ji-yeon, Heo Nam-jun and Jang Seung-jo.

3:47 absoluteM mentions A Splendid Match.

4:01 I’m currently watching The Scarecrow, a crime investigative drama featuring Park Hae-soo, Lee Hee-joon, Kwak Sun-young.

14:00 We get a tad nostalgic about OCN dramas.

15:04 I speak briefly about Light the Night which features Dylan Wang as a profiler; Swords into Plowshares a heavy historical C drama with Bai Yu and Zhou Yutong as leads; and expressed my interest in watching Hold the Court Now.

19:44 Piggybacking on absoluteM’s impressions of Hold the Court Now, we discuss slice-of-life C dramas as a sub-genre. I mention The Heart as my favourite mainland medical drama led by Mark Chao, Jin Shi-jia and Rachel Mao.

22:23 absoluteM shifts our attention to Perfect Crown spearheaded by IU and Byeon Woon-seok. Judging from the synopsis, it sounds like a remake of Goong or Princess Hours.

26:56 absoluteM gushes over Wallace Chung’s latest The Epoch of Miyu, a romance with a strong workplace focus in the hospitality industry. She laments the lack of dramas with older actors.

34:46 We highlight an example of a terrific C drama with a strong cast of mature actors, Ordinary Greatness — wonderful slice-of-life show revolved around community policing.

39:59 I talk about how jaded I feel about micro dramas

40:29 Talking about micro dramas I am reminded of Melody of Golden Age and all the problems I had with it.

51:11 absoluteM looks forward to The Heir which combines the star power of Yang Zi and Elvis Han. (already showing)

53:52 Does the length of a drama really matter? Some examples featured include Fake it Till You Make It and The First Frost.

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I’m putting spotlight on the drama not because I think it is a particularly good one. It certainly has its standout moments but it seldom rises above a banal use of idol drama tropes while pushing the female empowerment line in the usual contradictory ways that C dramas do. To my mind there are about 6-8 really good episodes while the others are a mix of mediocrity and face palming embarrassment.

During my early days driving, I used to hear it said that one should navigate the roads on the assumption that everyone (else) is an idiot. Now that I’ve driven for over three decades, I’m convinced that most people drive as if they’re the only person on the roads. Many make spur-of-the-moment decisions without thought of how it affects the traffic or other drivers.

The vast majority of C dramas are trope driven shows. That in itself isn’t a problem. But tropes often come packaged with very specific genres. So this blending of genres is not only about skill but also requires the script to transcend tropes. Take Melody of Golden Age for instance. The female lead Yan Xing’s only mission in life is to solve cases and be a crime investigator. It’s all about justice and justice must be hurried. She seems to know her way around a crime scene and makes her deductions accordingly. She’s got coroner type skills and at face value would be a more than suitable complement to the male lead, Shen Du — the country’s notorious top cop. Unknown to him, they have a shared past albeit briefly and she’s keen to help him redress wrongs that were directed towards his father and clan. On their first encounter as adults, they manage to rub each other the wrong way. Sort of Pride and Prejudice like. In a twist of fate, the empress dowager regent decrees that Shen Du marry Yan Xing’s older half sister. Older half sister has a scholarly suitor she likes, gets cold feet and quite irresponsibly they do a runner. So to protect her family from serious repercussions for defying a royal edict, Yan Xing volunteers to be the substitute bride.

The problem with using Pride and Prejudice or that particular popular romantic comedy trope in this instance is that the bad first impression trope only really works when both parties don’t know each other. It is about the discovery and that gradual self-awareness of one’s own flawed presuppositions that makes the initial conflict and subsequent pairing palatable. Fundamentally it’s about growth. In the case of Melody of Golden Age, a pile of misunderstanding between the leads could have been avoided if she had just open her mouth and told him about their childhood connection. On top of that, her reticence makes her look immature, petty and foolish which to my mind goes diminishes all the effusive praise she gets for being a pioneering woman. What that shows is that there’s a correlation between characterization and how tropes are used as connective tissue in storytelling.

If this were purely a show about romance, it wouldn’t matter quite as much but the show is first and foremost a police procedural so the kind of audience it’s trying to pull in is somewhat different with other kinds of expectations. Much more importantly it flies in the face of what we’re supposed to believe about the clever female lead — the so-called strong independent woman who harps on about how women can be detectives like men can. Except that much of the show demonstrates otherwise. Because she’s eager to prove that she’s a capable investigator on her own, she often acts recklessly — the old adage “fools rush in where angels fear to tread” springs to mind — and puts herself in harm’s way only to be saved by Shen Du who saunters into the scene in nick of time. While she’s passionate about solving cases and righting wrongs, she has no martial arts ability to extricate herself from dangerous situations. Yet over and over again she gets herself into a situation where she needs to be rescued. When she realises what she’s up against in terms of their adversary’s determination to succeed, it finally dawns on her that her family might get dragged into the fray. All throughout the story is obvious that she can’t be a detective without him — his clout, his strength and his love. She would be bleeding out in an abandoned building before any truth can come to light.

To be fair the script has both leads do this sort of thing once too often. Repeatedly the leads don’t communicate well and each do their own thing. Again it might be alright if we’re not solving crime where honesty and trust is important for a good working relationship. And for justice to prevail. Instead they bicker, drag out the push and pull for twenty plus episodes because 40 is the magic number. Even when he finds out who she is, he says nothing about how he feels about her and pretends that their childhood connection is somehow irrelevant. Until that is… he overhears her say to his romantic rival that divorce is inevitable between them because there’s someone he likes.

So yes, for two supposedly intelligent people, they do a lot of unnecessarily stupid things. Because the script needs them to.

No doubt the show wants to be something like The Imperial Coroner and The Legend of Yunxi (and there are certainly echoes of both here) without understanding what made them successful. The Imperial Coroner has many humorous moments and a sweet romance but the leads are always likeably consistent because Chu Chu and Xiao Jinyi are not governed by romance tropes in their relationship. It’s a criminal investigation show with some romance thrown in. Moreover their romance develops out of their common interests and shared goals — two nerds gravitating together organically with no drama. Chu Chu is in awe of Jinyi and Jinyi finds a female version of himself. On the other hand, with a show like Melody, it’s as if the writer is deliberately using romance tropes to prevent a romance from developing or developing too early.

The result is frustration. In every sense of the word. Apart from frustrating the narrative itself, it is also frustrating to watch two supposedly intelligent detectives misunderstanding or purposely misunderstanding each other because … they don’t want to be married to each other?? That’s the million dollar question. Even when they do want to stay married to each other, they don’t speak up until the misunderstanding reaches a crisis point. There’s no plausible reason like in Unveiled: Jadewind to keep mum. What’s even more absurd, (a device common to C dramas) is that the female lead seems wholly oblivious to the male lead’s change in attitude towards her. Yes, it’s also his fault for being overly transactional and belligerent at the beginning but again his disagreeable attitude is forced onto the narrative. Afterall he is a person holding high office and he knows how the political game is played. More importantly he doesn’t behave in a manner befitting his station threatening a young woman acting under duress.

Not surprisingly the best episodes come after Shen Du’s confession. After he’s opened up and all her insecurities are allayed, they talk about how to proceed and work together harmoniously. Once the show is stripped bare of all the goofiness and takes itself more seriously, it’s not hard to see the wasted potential of what could have been. The elements are present for the whole show to be a solid production.

The last few episodes however revert back to all the show’s bad habits. It feels like Shen Du has learnt nothing when he plays the noble idiot when there’s really no sense in going down that route. Then there’s the eye-rolling take down of the show’s main baddie. Shen Du’s scheme is unbelievably bad. There aren’t any real surprises there once we get to Episode 39 especially if you watch a lot of micro or mainstream dramas. It also does this microdrama thing of resolving everything thing in the throne room in a stagey Shakespearean sort of way — people mouthing threats and waving around swords with no desire to actually use them — while monologuing hysterically.

The loose cannon cop is of course a longstanding trope in US cop shows. But the reason why a John McClane, Harry Callahan or an Axel Foley gets away with it, is because not only are they resourceful, they can use weapons and have physical strength to defeat their opponents. It’s a male character stereotype for many reasons. They are also the right type of maverick to deal with the intractable criminal problems that the usual solutions are helpless against.

Female empowerment stories are increasingly less about women having more choices or gaining respect for the work they do traditionally but women becoming male stereotypes. One of the reasons why I love Jane Austen as a writer is because her female protagonists are all different. Anne Elliot is different from Elizabeth Bennet and from Elinor Dashwood. They all exude strength under different and trying circumstances but they’re not afraid to be vulnerable when they hit breaking point. As I get older appreciate Anne much more because as Frederick says, she’s sensible and reliable. He falls in love with her again because she can maintain her wits about her in moments when all others are losing their heads.

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Rebirth, the so-called much belated sequel to Princess Agents is best thought of as an alternate universe or fanfiction. Sequels, contrary to what production houses think, are a gamble. It helps with marketing but not much else especially if the quality or storyline doesn’t meet audience expectations. Considering how poorly this has been received, I should have given this a hard pass. Still curiosity got the better of me especially because Li Yunrui took on the challenge of playing the standoffish Zhuge Yue and of course I just had to have a look.

And in all honesty, I’m glad I did. Not because it is great television but because it gets some things right. And the things it gets right matter to me because not that many C dramas do them in such unrelenting force. Consider this muted praise coming from someone who followed Princess Agents religiously while it was airing and hated how it ended. The flaws are many here but Princess Agents had its own too. It may also be better if you’ve never seen Princess Agents or read the novel before taking the plunge.

Now that Chu Qiao is out of Yong and roaming the world out there she’s a persistent advocate for freedom and the abolition of slavery. She’s a very lonely voice in the wilderness of corruption and often feels out of place as she faces off monarchs, generals and chieftains. In these early days Huangyang Tiantian’s inexperience with stoicism shows. On some level I can see why she was picked — she bears a passing resemblance to Zhao Liying and has a dance background — but her age poses all kinds of problems for the production team. Further to that, I routinely wonder about the wisdom of giving such a demanding role to a young actress who has to romance a considerably older and more experienced actor. Li Yunrui carries a lot of the show on his capable shoulders and his Zhuge Yue is warmer than Lin Gengxin’s Yuwen Yue. It makes sense in that Zhuge Yue post-ice lake is a changed man. The weight of being the scion of the Zhuge family and the head of Qingshan Yuan is no longer foremost in his mind. He can let loose and spend those bitter winters in Ximeng snuggling up with his beloved Xing’er. Also now that he’s a had a near death experience and has come back from it, he’s made it his mission to protect his beloved Xing’er and help her build a brave new world she’s envisaging. Fortunately for everyone on the right side of history, he’s usually the smartest man in the room.

I’m not a fan of how characters are shot here. The way the director uses closeups is distracting in a way that wasn’t in The Double. At least I don’t really remember thinking about it once. Frontal half shots and closeups I suppose are meant to create that immersive experience of being in the moment. Instead one comes away feeling that a fourth wall has been broken.

So the leads are reborn. Chu Qiao may have escaped the horrors of Yong but there are more horrors to come. She goes to Yanbei with Yan Xun, her comrade-in-arm. He wants to make her his empress but even with a bout of temporary amnesia, she knows that something’s not right. She eventually escapes Yan Xun’s obsessive clutches and heads to Biantang with another admirer Li Ce, the crown prince with problems of his own.

Wherever she goes the former slave, garners attention. Her reputation precedes her. On the other hand her adventures into various territories provide insight into the geopolitics of that world. This is where my interest in the show is at its height. Every country featured — Yong, Yanbei, Biantang, Ximeng, Lingyue — is distinct geographically and culturally. In this regard the show does a decent job with the world building. The first stop, Yanbei, is home to inter-tribal politics. To consolidate his position, Yan Xun, the former hostage prince and only survivor among his illustrious father’s offspring, must gain the support of the various chiefs. They cast a leery eye at him and the former slave he’s brought back from Yong. Inevitably she becomes a point of contention despite his rigid stance on making her his empress It is up to his most loyal lieutenant to take matter into his own hands. Chu Qiao then hitches a ride with Li Ce who has his hands full once he’s back in the capital navigating a dissolute apparently indifferent emperor-father and a resentful empress -mother who is obviously plotting to seize power.

The political setting provides insight into the themes of the show. Despite the differences, each territory is beset by the same kind of corrupt degenerate leadership that cares little for its subjects. The usual kinds of power struggles and machinations run amok with no regard for those caught in the crossfire. Princess Chun’er who follows Chu Qiao also serves as a contrast to the show’s female lead. She personifies a kind of relentless evil born out of privilege, resentment and entitlement. Chun’er sees herself as a victim while leaving death and destruction in her wake. She blames Yan Xun and Chu Qiao for destroying her life. From a certain perspective, they could be said to be responsible for creating the monster but not everyone who has suffered betrayal or loss feels the need to see the world burn. What can be seen in Chun’er’s arc is a pattern of self-sabotage and never taking responsibility for her own terrible decisions. She’s not the only one. The empress of Biantang, Li Ce’s birth mother, is a similarly loathsome character who whines about what others have done to her. It’s laughable when people of status lay claim to victimhood with one side of their mouths and abuse their power without batting an eyelash.

Evil is pervasive in this climate. It often starts with greed and ambition. The abuse of power then becomes the breeding ground for lawlessness. Evil then spawns its offspring of enslavement and manipulation. If the law only applies to those who cannot fight back, then it’s the rule of might all the way.

Internal issues, whether man-made or natural, inevitably lead to resource and/or border disputes among the nations. It’s easier just to take than to buy or negotiate a deal. However it is also the case that Zhuge Yue and Chu Qiao cannot escape their respective pasts even if they try to create their own slave-free utopia. Soon Grandpa Zhuge comes knocking. Yong’s military might lays siege to their brave new world. Not a lot has changed. A web of competing motivations constantly leading to accommodation and recalibration — shifting alliances, table turning and all manner of backstabbing.

In this kind of world, a depowered, ordinary Chu Qiao shines brightly. She’s the much needed contrast to the entitled Chun’er, who born into privilege falls into deep despair in the face of betrayal. Chu Qiao, a slave for as long as she can remember — a fact that her opponents never fail to remind her — rises up as a champion for the oppressed and the vulnerable by putting her money where her mouth lies. Despite bearing witness to all the evil have done to the lowest of he low, her compassion never fails even for her enemies. She is the Christ-like saviour born out of suffering. She is loved by many and despite the odds, her determination to reshape her world never falters. Chu Qiao is the anomaly of that cruel world and the catalyst for change. Because power corrupts, whoever wields it will succumb to its charms. As long power animates everything, nothing changes. Only a contrary self-sacrificing compassion can make a genuine difference.

The ending though controversial is really quite straightforward. Utopia is achieved though not without bloodshed. Unfortunately the multiple time jumps don’t help with the tying up of loose ends and this recent preoccupation by C dramas to chuck in “what could have been” alternate endings continues to be mind-bogglingly jarring.

Trying to cram stuff into 40 episodes seems par for the course in most C dramas these days. More and more it seems like no one can tell a selectively focused balanced story with time limits. Sadly Rebirth falls prey to the sin of trying doing too much. Still, there’s a streak of ruthless political realism that a viewer like myself applauds and appreciates.

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Veil of Shadows is a fantasy wuxia drama by writer-director Guo Jingming arguably best known for Journey to You — a show that I started watching when it was airing but had very little patience for. Guo Jingming seems to be a kind of C drama auteur where his signature style tends to divide audiences. While Veil of Shadows draws heavily on Chinese mythos to lay the groundwork for the architecture of this story, it has all the hallmarks of a modern superhero show. Or at least it tries desperately to be one. Chinese fantasy offerings featuring gods and monsters aren’t my cup of tea in general but this one looked set to differentiate itself from all the others.

Somewhere in the 29 episode morass of visual assaults, subplots, flashbacks and attempted character arcs conceals a good story still waiting to be told. To be fair, it can’t be easy adapting a story with this many characters and subplots. Sad to say this one falls short of its own ambitious aims largely because the man at the helm fails the balance test. Half way into the story, there seems to be a fixation on one character at the exclusion of others in the ensemble. In fact there’s no actual character development per se but just a lot of chess pieces with pasts, assembling on the board at key moments to do battle with the show’s antagonist.

Hence the overabundance of flashbacks that overlay more flashbacks.

The show starts out strongly. Visually, it’s arresting — watching these otherworldly types gather at one location to solve a murder mystery a la Agatha Christie. Occasionally they break out into spectacular fights that break the VFX budget. Inevitably someone dies and everyone who gathers in the mansion looks mighty suspicious. Those in attendance have a past containing secrets. Just like all good whodunits. The goal of the chief investigators is to peel away the layers, lay bare the secrets and get at the truth. It’s par for the course that people lie but it’s the reasons for lying that is the primary concern of the narrative.

Deception is really at the heart of the storytelling. In the hands of someone with more directorial finesse, deception is a finely tuned instrument used sparingly. But here the show has the audience bamboozled by plot twists and turns that would amaze even a seasoned contortionist. It’s fine at the start but it’s the law of diminishing returns at work. Overuse a device and it becomes tiresome. Beware of too many twists lest he tie himself into knots. So everybody lies even if it’s for a good cause. However, lies are unnecessary and even an impediment when there’s a Thanos level villain lurking about. It’s understandable when the primary villain hisses half-truths and lies without impunity but when the so-called good guys lie by omission, it’s frustrating, breeding mistrust in all the wrong places. In effect, partial truths and white lies are used to make everything much more convoluted than it really is.

For a superhero show with a serious antagonist there is an inordinate amount of exposition by dialogue. Exposition here comes in the form of bombardment. It is then left to the audience to decide which pieces of exposition is actually relevant to the cause. On the one hand, we are given to believe that the stakes are cosmic level high and yet the time allocated to copious amounts sof explanations saps any sense of urgency in dealing with the looming threat. As a result the drama feels like a series of superhero origin stories cobbled together to postpone the main event for as long as possible.

I can only imagine that the hand that’s guiding the narrative wants to tell everyone’s tragic backstory to make a point. Heroes are made through the crucible of trials and tribulations because sooner or later they will be called upon to sacrifice themselves. This is the sort of message that’s been delivered with more clarity by something like The Blood of Youth. Thematically it would also partly explain the show’s fixation with the Ji Ling character and relegating a more “important” one in the overall scheme of things to a de-powered support role.

The Blood of Youth is a suitable comparison because it’s always clear who the protagonist is while having a solid ensemble cast taking it in turn to shine. As far as character development is concerned, Blood of Youth is streets ahead. Unfortunately the only character in Veil of Shadows that gets actual character development is the weasel demon You Chi.

Romance is written and delivered as a double-edged sword here. In this universe romance can leave one torn apart. It’s a weakness in the wrong hands — a common enough message in C dramas. The Ji Ling - Lu Wuying duo gets the lion share of the romance pie and it’s not entirely clear why that is. Or even why their romance comes to dominate the narrative later on. The romances don’t bring great joy to this heart. One is overdone, the other is underdone. Again it seems as if the director’s biases are showing. One could speculate that director Guo Jingming is besotted with Ji Ling, an underdog figure with burdens to bear, possibly perceiving him to be the most relatable one of the lot. This certainly leads to Joseph Zeng’s character getting the short end of the stick especially after all the build up that he gets. It all ends up being a colossal waste of a potentially great and powerful character.

On top of all that I’m not a fan of how temporal devices are used in this show. The first time it’s deployed, it worked to reveal facts about the past. But in the latter half of the show it’s used 1) to sledgehammer home the main romance and 2) to finally take down the ubiquitous antagonist. As an avid watcher of sci-fi, I’ve seen it far too often — the use of temporal devices to resolve an impossible situation that writers create to raise the stakes which includes Avengers: Endgame. The consequence of all that is death and the effort at world building are rendered meaningless in one fell swoop.

While I had no difficulty following the story, I can see why others might have found it confusing. Often it’s not clear whether one is watching a real memory, a fake memory, something that could have happened in another timeline, or something that is presently happening. The lines are not that well delineated and much of the clarification has to come from the dialogue. Coherence becomes an issue.

The first 15 episodes of the show demonstrated the show’s potential. It began with a unique take on the fantasy genre blending in detective elements. Nine-tail foxes show up to the party to butt heads with mortals and demons. There’s talk of dragons and their importance. Even a Pinocchio type character that could bring something fresh to the table rocks up. As more characters are added to the roster, others pop in and out. Their stories though mildly interesting don’t really add much to an already crowded plot. There’s little investment in them as characters. Only their powers matter. Their looks… the bonus for tuning in.

The biggest beneficiary of this project would be Tian Jiarui who got the biggest slice of the cake playing multiple characters and partnering up with Ju Jingyi. Their chemistry is good and Ju Jingyi turns in a decent performance — most likely her best to date even if she looks like she’s been attacked with a lipstick/eyeliner. As a whole the actors did their best with what they were served up but I didn’t think every character had to have a sob backstory to delve into. It’s not rewatch material for me but I’m glad to have discovered the very charismatic Yan An who is definitely a male lead in the making.

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Even if a drama claims to be “female centric” it still has to justify why a rising military star with one or two successful exploits is promoted beyond her experience and competence. Well, apparently it’s politics as usual and we are meant to believe that two supposedly shrewd operators are playing political football with the female general’s newfound popularity. They send along a screechy and petty eunuch who really believes himself to be the emperor’s proxy rather than his messenger. His antics (I can only speculate) are meant to elicit a laugh or two but they come across as time-wasting filler that adds no value to the storyline. In fact, it is likely at this point that the showrunners have completely given up on seeing through a coherent resolution to the narrative.

As a prop the young puppet emperor is scarcely any better. A ventriloquist doll would have saved them time and money. I’m not even sure why Chancellor Wei Yan thought that installing the lad was ever a good idea. For a mere puppet, he whines so much. All of this also speaks to the chancellor’s judgement and commitment to the nation’s well-being. If Wei Yan was able to invest so much in his nephew’s upbringing, why couldn’t he have done the same for the emperor? Between Qi Sheng and Qi Min, a strong case for a dynastic change could easily be made. One’s a manchild, the other’s a paranoid mad man lusting over a woman who finds him revolting. Seems like good help in Dayin is really hard to find when the best man for the job of ruling is a boy wet behind the ears notable for craving sweets.

The jumbled trope fest reaches its pinnacle with the use of aphrodisiacs by the evil people so the leads can finally have that bedroom scene long after the push and pull has outstayed its welcome. Except it’s a bathroom scene which the leads seem to teleport into. It’s a plot device overused in the world of C dramas. It’s in every micro drama (that or a drunk scene) usually to ruin someone’s reputation or to force a pregnancy.

Nothing is worse than when the show gropes around in the political arena. The show takes the term “political circus” to new levels of absurdity. The emperor’s a clown for one, then there’s so much verbal and mental acrobatics going on in the royal court which leaves heads spinning in befuddlement. When it finally comes, the palace coup that the villain had planned for his entire life feel is akin to auditions for Romeo and Juliet.

Thankfully the show puts us out of our misery when Wei Yan finally tells us what really happened 17 years ago with an efficiency of a team meeting that nobody wants to be at: several minutes with a powerpoint presentation. I mean who cares right? It’s not as if the Jinzhou massacre was all that important in the scheme of things. Many good men died. A good man had his reputation dragged through the mud. Killers were dispatched to silence the curious. A crown prince switcheroo took place. Yeah. Just a footnote.

By far the greatest casualty in this girlboss adoration is the character of the Marquis of Wu’an. As the show progresses he transforms into a side character and love interest and little more. The great war hero of Dayin is not much more than a trophy husband. He fared better in Lin’an. We assume he’s doing a fair bit of fighting offscreen as most of his screen time he’s seen nursing injuries or barking orders. Otherwise he’s pining for the woman who keeps telling him to marry someone else. The political aspects of being Marquis of Wu’an are barely touched on. It would have been far more interesting to see him leveraging his title and accomplishments on the battlefield in defiance of his uncle to get at the truth regarding the Jinzhou massacre. Confrontations between the two men over the truth of the matter would have elevated the show and kept it coherent. Instead we get the slop of dragging Fang Changyu into a shouting match between Grand Tutor Li and Chancellor Wei Yan with the clueless emperor nervously hedging his bets.

More importantly the diminishing of Xie Zheng demonstrates why “showing” is far more effective than mere “telling”. It is not enough to have side characters talk/gossip about the Marquise of Wu’an and his military prowess, the audience also needs to see him in action for significant reasons. True we caught glimpses of his speed and skill when assassins were afoot in Lin’an but very little of that translated into crucial battles with larger opposing forces. In fact, the muting of his character correlates with how small the show actually feels. Distances and timelines are compressed. How long does it take for Xie Zheng to get from his post to Xigu Alley? There’s no feeling of scale, size, time, awe or achievement. The downside to all this is that much of the payoff feels easy, convenient and unearned.

That is how important the Marquis of Wu’an character is.

A better and more logical way to conduct the final act would have been for Xie Zheng to head off to the capital to deal with the palace shenanigans after the skirmishes with Prince Changxin’s troops while Changyu returns to Xigu Alley to rebuild her town or deal with the aftermath with her ragtag team. Changyu has a Scouring of the Shire moment on reaching home. Looters and bandits have laid claim to Xigu Alley so she uses her newfound skills to take out the rubbish aided by her ragtag team. The townsfolk struggle to put the pieces back together and the wayward boys who have travelled afar get to shine in their hometown. Changyu is proclaimed hometown heroine. Later the leads reunite in the capital where truth about 17 years ago come to light and Changyu puts forward a petition to redress the wrongs levelled at her father. During that time, Qi Min puts his plan for a palace coup into motion in vengeful fashion but is thwarted by the leads. The emperor who was pretending to be an obsequious idiot all that time works with the leads to repel the enemy reveals to the world what really happened 17 years ago in Jinzhou. Grateful for the leads’ contribution in saving the country he rewards them and grants Changyu a title of County Princess. The leads return to Lin’an and start their married life afresh in the town that brought them together.

It’s a shame really because I was so enchanted by the first 17 episodes. They were magical. I didn’t mind the next 12 although the show gradually began to lose its lustre. And the last 10 episodes… well I’ve done my rant. Sadly it’s the sad state of C dramas these days — the longer they are, the more opportunity those in charge have to stuff them up.

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Thanks for your continuing support regardless.

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