Out of Sync

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about something else that influences how much I like a show: how much other people like it. Now that I’m watching some dramas as they air, I spend the wait between episodes reading what bloggers have to say about what’s going on. Sometimes this extracurricular consideration has a positive influence, like when I was watching Flower Boy Next Door. The online discussion of every subtle detail and tiny shading of motivation encouraged me to slow down and really appreciate the show as a stand-alone work of art, not just another in the long string of Kdramas I’ve glutted on during the past year.

People on the Internet also really like Jang Ok Jung: Live in Love, the series I’m watching now. Everywhere I go, someone is squeeing about the chemistry between its leads, its beautiful scenery (inclusive of said leads), or its clever re-imagination of historical fact. Even the blogger at The Vault has some not-entirely-negative things to say about it, which is practically unheard of when it comes to fusion sageuks.

In spite of all the good buzz, most of this show has been at best okay for me. Nothing about it is terrible: the cast is doing fine work, the visuals are wonderful, and the story is moving forward at a decent clip. My gripes are more with the spirit of the thing than its execution.

Kdramas always start out extra punchy and high concept to grab viewers’ attention, so I didn’t worry when the first few episodes gave me whiplash by veering between dark melodrama and fluffy impossibilities. But after the hard work of making a strong impression was done, the show settled into standard-issue sageuk territory. It lost its distinctive voice to the same ten guys in fake beards who plot world domination in every sageuk. The people who made Jang Ok Jung decided to turn recorded history on its ear by recasting a traditional villain as their leading lady, so why didn’t they go all the way? As a counterfactual history of a maligned woman, the story seems awfully content to follow the standard, guy-centered sageuk tropes. Early on, at least Jang Ok Jung got to stretch beyond the boundaries of being someone’s woman: The show played with anachronism by allowing her to design the kind of Western-style summer dress you could buy at the mall today. But now she’s just stuck in the palace, walking through the same plot lines featured ten years ago in Jewel of the Palace. 

And the fast moving-plot comes with its own failings, too. Instead of using events to show us its character’s hearts, the script relies on easy exposition. Jang Ok Jung says she makes clothes to make men fall in love, but we see no evidence to this effect. She says that clothes are like armor when she speaks to the King, and then the drama wastes the perfect opportunity to show us this when she dresses like a boy in a subsequent episode. It never bothered to give the experience a soul, skipping over all the slow and boring parts like putting those clothes on and coming to realize just how much power they had over the person within them.

Last week’s episodes took a big step toward becoming what I hoped this drama would be all along—a powerful, doomed romance between a commoner and a king who feels the heavy weight of his crown. But having abandoned the playful essence that set it apart from every other drama on the subject, I worry that it’s all downhill from here.

Jang Ok Jung isn’t the first drama I’ve reacted to differently than most of the drama community, and I bet it won’t be the last. Here’s a rundown of a few other shows I missed the memo about.

What they think: Derivative and dull.

What I think:Helmed by Gong Yoo in a rare anti-hero role, this 2006 melo is criminally underrated. The story couldn’t possibly be more packed with sordid family secrets, forbidden love, and tragic ailments, and its no-holds-barred approach to the tawdry nature of its storyline just made me happy. One Fine Dayis also notable for its interesting backdrops—part is filmed in Australia, and many episodes take place in the neon-blue glow of the aquarium where the female lead gets a part-time job. My unreasonable love for this show probably stems from the fact that it was one of the first Kdramas I watched. (I sometimes think every drama grade I give should be seen in the context of the total number of dramas I’ve watched—a grade A, drama 10 is quite different from a grade A, drama 110.)

What they think: A bombastic and overblown soap opera riddled with cliché and bad acting.

What I think: This gloriously, riotously uncool Cinderella story pushed all of my buttons. There’s nothing I didn’t love about it, from its melodramatic-but-not-too-melodramatic script to its gorgeous leads to its swoony, earnest love triangle. Fairy-tale castles, Coldplay montages, and intense, shaggy-haired pianists are like catnip to me, and this drama gave me all of them.

What they think: A classic cohabitation comedy with lots of sweet moments and a cute, young Rain.

What I think: Not much, because I never even made it through the first episode. The problem here may be that I arrived at this particular party too late—when the show was new, it was probably refreshing and funny. Nine years later, it’s a hodgepodge of regrettable fashion choices, bad acting, and boring clichés. Full House might have been the originator of those clichés, but that doesn’t mean I can unwatch all the subsequent shows that did the same things much, much better.

What they think: Great, comedic romances with steamy chemistry.

What I think: The common theme these dramas share: jerky protagonists who torture their women instead of woo them. One of them is distinguished by some poorly integrated supernatural mumbo-jumbo in the form of body swapping; the other has a gaggle of immature forty year olds. As far as I’m concerned, neither is funny, sexy, or worth watching. (A note: I’m well aware that I’m the only person on the planet who feels this way.)

What they think: Voted the best drama of 2012 by users of Dramafever, this fusion sageuk weaves romance and supernatural elements into a story of court intrigue.

What I think: Shallow and immature, thanks to clumsy storytelling and remedial directing. The acting was nothing to brag about, either—even my beloved Kim Soo Hyun couldn’t the day. The only body part he used to convey emotion during the course of this overlong drama was his neck; it was always clenched and roped with sinew, not unlike the star of that childbirth documentary they made us watch in sex ed class.