How K-Dramas Do Romance
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| Image description: The first meeting between the two romantic leads of my favorite Korean drama (so far), Memories of the Alhambra. When I say "romance," I'm sure everyone has a different idea in mind of what that looks like, and my idea is often very different from that of other people and especially from most media. But K-Drama romances have been some of the best, most unique, and most special romances I've seen in a while. Why? I hope to at least begin to answer that question with today's post. |
In an article about K-Culture as a phenomenon here in the West, Sam
Richards, a professor at Penn State University (my parents’ alma mater!), was
interviewed about the success of various Korean media. Although the article is
an oversimplification in some places, I found other parts extremely interesting,
most notably its assertion that part of what makes Korean media successful is
in fact its lack of sex. If you’ve read my other posts about Korean media, you again
may not be surprised by this. But from my point of view, it was delightful to
hear someone support the notion that lack of sex is the appeal of this media,
rather than a mere coincidence. According to Professor Richards:
“[Korean media] is not revealing, explicit, gratuitous,
or in your face. Sex is rarely shown and not discussed. A lot of people
appreciate this. Most people in the world are shy. [For example], Indian people’s
conceptualization of sex is much closer to Korea than to that of America.”
While these things often go beyond just “shyness” and into matters of preference,
comfort, or even necessity, Richards’ take is nevertheless very similar to my
own. I too am probably oversimplifying things, I admit, since I’m only able to
cover the small scope of what I personally know about media, culture, and the
institutions surrounding them. However, I know enough to be able to attest that
my experience with Korean media thus far has been very different from my
experiences with Western media. Of course, Korean culture is not completely
devoid of sexual content, and yes, there are K-Dramas with sexual content. But
overall, the way I’ve been able to interact with Korean media is safe in a way
that’s often rare for me – and that’s not only because sex is rarely present.
Rather, it extends into the way that most of these shows treat their
characters, their romance arcs (if they have them), and their stories.
If you’ve followed the blog for a while, you’ve heard me frequently discuss
things like tropes, stereotypes, and other harmful assumptions. But the dramas
I want to discuss are accessible to me primarily because they avoid, sidestep,
or even subvert these problematic tropes about what’s “normal” or “necessary” in
relationships, often creating better stories in the process. So today, I want
to explore what makes these K-Dramas different from most Western media,
specifically looking at shows that do portray romance. I think the uniqueness
of these shows and their relationships would beg to be discussed any time of
the year, but since Valentine’s Day is right around the corner, I can’t think
of a better time to discuss why I love how these dramas do love.
Non-Romance-Centric Stories
There are plenty of K-Dramas for which romance is in the
foreground. However, there are plenty of other shows where the romance is
either in the background or, if it’s an important part of the storyline, does
not divert the plot. That last element is especially important to me, because I
feel it’s common for media that was originally about something else to quickly
get diverted by romantic and/or sexual plot points. Before long, those things can
become the sole focus and their inclusion often means things must continually
be ratcheted up to keep the show going, leading to even more romance or sex or
both. K-Dramas, however, often have extremely tight plots, and as such the
romance is only one part of the story.
One of the best examples I can think of is also my favorite
K-Dramas thus far (if picking such a thing is even possible) – Memories of
the Alhambra. The show centers around Yoo Jin-woo, the CEO of a tech
company interested in acquiring an immersive fantasy-style virtual reality
roleplaying game. The inventor of the game is a Korean expatriate who lives in
Spain with his family, including his eldest sister Hee-ju, who provides for them
by running a hostel for Korean travelers. She and Jin-woo soon find themselves
at the heart of interconnected mysteries – the question of what happened to
Hee-ju’s brother, who has mysteriously disappeared, and the question of what is
happening to the game he designed, which is beginning to malfunction.
These two mysteries saturate everything that happens in the
story and the show explores them in great detail through beautiful sets and
locations, fascinating moments of gameplay mixing with reality, and several
plotlines that had me on the edge of my seat. And yes, while the romance that
develops between Jin-woo and Hee-ju is central to the story, it never detracts
from it; rather, the romance forms as a result of and alongside the plot,
slowly drawing both characters deeper into the mystery and closer to one
another. It is only when they trust and respect one another that they really
begin developing a connection – one made all the more meaningful because very
few people can understand what Jin-woo is going through as the malfunctioning
game begins causing very real problems in his life.
While Memories of the Alhambra is excellent and I
highly recommend it to anyone who enjoys sci-fi and fantasy, it’s not
the only example when it comes to great stories that fuse romance with
the rest of the plot. Rather, that’s how a huge majority of the shows I’ve seen
have operated. And while it’s true that a lot of Western media does the same in
theory, I nevertheless feel like K-Dramas manage to do it differently. This is
a phenomenon I’ve discussed in previous trope essays, such as my post about
“Compulsory Romance” for instance, where plots routinely shoehorn romance in
even when it doesn’t make sense for the story or the characters, rather than
doing the work of setting up a romance that fits organically into a story.
For example, think of all the times I’ve discussed Star
Trek: Voyager episodes which forced Seven of Nine into out-of-the-blue
romance arcs, or Lady Mary in Downton Abbey being required to have a
romantic relationship despite her apparent wishes. To me, these serve as
examples of a show grinding to a halt to pick up a romance thread, and while
these may just be threads of larger plot points, they often don’t make sense
overall. But oftentimes in K-Dramas, the plot is supported by these romances,
rather than the romances detracting from the characters or their stories. This
is accomplished in many ways, but one of the best ways is through this next
point.
The Slow Burn
As someone who loves romance despite being aromantic, I
sometimes think that being aspec allows me to appreciate certain romance styles
more, such as the concept of the slow burn, in which a relationship takes a while
to develop throughout the course of the story and progresses only little by
little. In fact, I’ve always believed that slow burn romances are actually
quite friendly to certain types of aspec identities, because they encourage
getting to know a person rather than jumping right into the sex and/or romance,
and they’ve always been my preferred style of romance in media. Therefore, it
only adds to my love of K-Dramas that many of their romances take a while to
develop, during which time plot points are allowed to happen and characters are
allowed to grow.
The aforementioned romantic leads of Memories of the
Alhambra are in what I consider a great slow burn for those exact
reasons. Starting off as somewhat adversarial, Jin-woo and Hee-ju’s dynamic
slowly becomes one of mutual assistance as they try to help one another through
the frightening events that begin unfolding around them. At no point during the
show does this feel forced; rather, something I really appreciate about their
relationship is that all the changes they go through feel as though they make
perfect sense in every context. As such, they take a satisfyingly long time to arrive
at a romantic place. While Jin-woo and Hee-ju’s relationship seems to me like
an intentional slow burn, there are other relationships that seem to become
slow burns because, again, the main focus is the plot.
I’m put in mind of the sci-fi series Sisyphus, which
centers around the use of time travel to stop a nuclear war. The leads are Han
Tae-sul, whose company will invent the technology to send people and
objects through time (including the nuclear warhead that causes the future
disaster), and Gang Seo-hae, the young woman who travels back in time to find
him. Having lived most of her life in this post-nuclear landscape, Seo-hae is
determined to stop the war however she can, and has the skills to back it up,
protecting Tae-sul from the forces who might oppose them. Romance does
eventually develop between them, but again, it happens organically amid the
otherwise action-packed plot.
These slow burns add infusions of romance without characters
being forced into it. I feel this not only allows for the romances to be
something that audiences can get more invested in, but from my personal
perspective, it’s nice to see relationships form that are based on depth of
emotion and shared experience rather than just attraction or physical desire.
To reinforce this, when these relationships do finally come to fruition, it’s
almost never in a sexual manner. In fact, of all the K-Dramas I’ve seen, only
one or two have even contained especially passionate kissing. Because of these
well-crafted slow burn love stories, these romantic acts don’t need to be
“passionate” in the typical sense of the word for it to be understood that
these characters care for one another and that their love is genuine. Instead,
we are shown that through their repeated actions, which I feel makes for more
fulfilling stories that don’t rely on negative stereotypes or bad tropes.
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| Image description: Sure, kiss scenes are all well and good, but in my opinion, nothing beats K-Drama hugs, or other moments of gentle affection such as holding hands or resting heads on shoulders, such as Tae-sul is doing here with Seo-hae in Sisyphus. |
Long-standing Relationships and Enduring Love
Of all the good romance tropes I’m a sucker for, the notion of enduring love is my favorite. The idea of two characters staying devoted to each other despite circumstances and challenges keeping them apart speaks to me because it implies a specialness to their bond, a depth of feeling that is not so easily shaken. Naturally, I love seeing these types of relationships because I believe in the power of emotional depth at the core of all kinds of relationships – romantic and otherwise – but I also love it for the storytelling potential it has. In some stories, enduring love is simply about overcoming the unique circumstances of a real-world hurdle; but other times, depending on the genre, we can see romances that endure over time, across different worlds, and even bridge death (because death cannot stop true love, all it can do is delay it for a while). Naturally, I was delighted to discover that enduring love is at the core of many K-Drama romances – whether in the fantastical sense, or in an everyday sense.
Sometimes it seems like media is only interested in portraying these relationships for drama, but I think there’s something extremely valuable in portraying couples of all kinds where two people work as a team throughout life’s ups and downs. Two of my favorite examples can be found in Designated Survivor: 60 Days and Chief of Staff, where the leads are in long-standing committed relationships – President Park with his wife in the former and Jung Tae-jun’s five-year romance with Assemblywoman Kang Seon-yeong in the latter. Obviously people don’t need to be in romantic relationships to be fulfilled, and the real-life notion that they do is a big contributor to aphobia and amatonormativity. However, in the case of these shows, I appreciate that these character arcs aren’t about romance nearly as much as they are about being supported by someone.
The two couples discussed above are more real-world examples
of commitment and dedication. However, there are many K-Dramas about
supernatural topics such as death and rebirth, meaning their “enduring love”
plotlines are even more, well, enduring. A great example of this can be found
in Tomorrow, which focuses on a team of grim reapers dedicated to saving
people from suicide. In one episode, a woman who dies unexpectedly asks them to
help her husband, who is distraught by her death, and they allow her to comfort
him one last time. In most shows, I could easily see this being accomplished by
the woman telling her husband to move on; however, a big theme in Tomorrow
is the notion of being connected by fate, so the husband is able to recover
from his wife’s death because he’s comforted by the fact that he’s still tied
to her. In fact, the episode ends by making it seem like he’ll continue to be devoted
to her memory for a long time.
Tomorrow gives us another example of this in the
relationship that two of the reapers shared in life. When they were alive,
theirs was a beautiful long-standing relationship – they met in their adolescence, fell
in love, and eventually stayed married for many years. Later, it becomes a
surprising and poignant example of enduring love. The tragic event that
separated this couple in life lingers even after their deaths and rebirths, and
I feel it proves the depth of their love that an event from so long ago – which
one of them doesn’t even remember in future rebirths – nevertheless leaves a
wound that must be healed. How that wound is healed, however, gives us another
example of what I think makes K-Drama romances so fascinating.
Non-Traditional
Endings
Recently, I discussed the problem with the quintessential
“happy ending”. While some happy endings can be great things, I tend to enjoy
media that takes non-traditional paths when it comes to closing a story. A lot
of the K-Dramas I’ve watched so far only have one season, and while this can be
frustrating when I’d give anything for just one more episode, it’s a
deliberate choice, and one I can appreciate. It allows for the dramas to tell
tight stories, rather than stretching an idea past its breaking point due to
the demand for extra seasons. It also allows a lot of these stories to end in
places that aren’t what I’m used to, but nevertheless manage to be satisfying.
This also applies to many of the romances, where our leads maybe don’t get that
typical “happily ever after,” but that makes their story even better.
Circling back to the two grim reapers in Tomorrow, once
their previous relationship is revealed, I found myself hoping they might be
able to be together again – and, if the number of fan videos for them is
anything to go by, I’m not alone. But instead of the pair’s romance rekindling,
what occurs between them instead is a more complete understanding of one
another in an extremely meaningful way which allows them to move on and do
their work together. The show ends with them side by side and, although this is
less explicitly a “happy ending” than a kiss or an affirmation of love would
have been, it’s a satisfying demonstration that the old, deep wound of what
happened to them has been healed.
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| Image description: The two grim reapers from Tomorrow, as they were in life. Despite the fact that we don't even know they were married in life for a large majority of the show, they still managed to become one of my absolute favorite K-Drama romances, and possibly one of my favorite romances ever. |
Part of what makes non-traditional endings like this one so refreshing to me is that they show a range and depth of emotion beyond just what media usually trains us to expect. While romantic happy endings can be done well, they sometimes achieve their “happiness” only by tossing out all other emotions. Too often I’ve seen characters who aren’t given time to mourn, process things that have happened to them, feel emotions, or explore their own selves because media is too concerned with a happy ending – one that is often explicitly spelled out as romantic. I love it when my favorite pairing can be happy together, sure, but I also love stories that make me think and encourage me to draw my own conclusions.
To illustrate this, I turn again to Memories of the
Alhambra. The ending of the show gives us another instance of enduring
love, where Hee-ju continues to love Jin-woo despite not knowing what’s
happened to him. Although this is a sad thing and the ending leaves things
ambiguous, it also feels somewhat hopeful to me. The fact that they’ve already gone
through so much makes me feel like they’ll find a way to be together somehow,
and I think these types of endings help redefine what happiness is. I find it
touching to imagine Hee-ju considers Jin-woo her one true love, and isn’t so
easily swayed to move on from him; meanwhile, I like that Jin-woo’s sacrifices
actually are sacrifices, and that the show allows his trials to mean something.
While a more traditional ending could’ve worked, this ending instead speaks to overcoming
adversity in a way that I enjoy.
While these endings are non-traditional based on what we’ve
come to expect from romance, many K-Dramas also have endings that are
non-traditional in the sense of how they portray the happiness even of couples
who do end up together. Back when I did that post about happily ever afters, I
expressed my frustration that many supposed “happy endings” involve the
requirement of having children (even in instances where characters don’t want
them). Something I appreciate about the endings of many K-Dramas is that having
children isn’t something explicitly mentioned in many cases, and the romantic
leads are allowed to find fulfillment not just in their romance, but in things
outside of the romance too.
A good example is the end of Alchemy of Souls, a
historical fantasy drama set in a realm full of magic – including the forbidden
titular magic, in which a mage can swap their soul with another person. The
premise centers on young mage Jang Uk and his pursuit of magical learning from
an assassin who shifted her soul into another body to avoid capture. By the end
of the story, Uk and his love interest end up together and are specifically
described as married, but we also see they’re dedicating their time to keeping
the kingdom safe together. Because many of the other romantic couples in the
series do have children or are planning to, it makes it even more noteworthy
that the lead pairing doesn’t. Although some characters hope the pair will eventually continue their family lines, the series nevertheless makes a point to show they’re fulfilled in
their work, rather than falling into the belief that they can only be seen as
being happy or fulfilled through children.
This is likewise true in The King: Eternal Monarch. This
fantasy drama depicts two parallel worlds – one where South Korea exists as
normal, and one where it’s a kingdom ruled by King Lee Gon. Eventually, Gon
discovers the parallel world and crosses over, determined to stop the plot that
threatens both worlds with the help of policewoman Jeong Tae-eul, who somehow
has ties to his past. Now, because Gon is a king in his world, people do
mention that he needs to pick a queen and produce an heir; however, the fact
that he doesn’t explicitly have either by the end of the series is impressive.
Although he and Tae-eul are together – and the show implies that they stay
together for the rest of their lives – it doesn’t specifically mention them
getting married or having children, which I found fascinating.
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| Image description: Gon and Tae-eul in The King: Eternal Monarch, whose unconventional love story plays out in ways I found extremely interesting and rather satisfying. |
Like I said, although other characters hope these couples will have children, I feel these instances are framed uniquely. In the case of Alchemy of Souls and The King: Eternal Monarch, the fact that the leads are not actually shown to have children, nor do they seem to be prioritizing it in the end, is a refreshing departure from a Western show like, say, Downton Abbey, where every romantic pairing is practically required to have children. Even if our romantic leads in these K-Dramas or others do eventually have children, the problematic nature of the usual trope is still side-stepped nicely, because it’s shown that they can be happy even without those things and that those things are not a prerequisite to their happiness.
Another thing to point out is that these relationships don’t
have to be shown as explicitly sexual to be understood as long-standing
relationships. Rather, these things are demonstrated through the arc the
characters go through together and how these trials help them grow, both
together and separately. They support each other and make each other better as
they pursue things that fulfill them, making these relationships true
partnerships in every sense of the word. Not only are they sharing life’s
hardships together, but in many cases, they’re also sharing its triumphs, its
important work, and its worthwhile efforts – and that to me is a great happy
ending for any pairing.
Alternate Types
of Relationships
Many K-Drama relationships – romantic or otherwise – are
about trust and understanding. Oftentimes, when romances do develop, it’s
because the characters were in another type of relationship first, and were
colleagues, confidants, or friends before the actual romance begins. As stated
above, the best romances I’ve seen thus far are ones where the characters are
truly partners or something similar. Alchemy of Souls is a great example
of this, where having a mentor is most important to Uk, and romance develops
organically as he begins to trust and understand his mentor and she does
likewise for him. For a reverse example, there is Tomorrow and the
relationship between the two grim reapers, who come to appreciate and
understand one another all over again to form a stronger bond in their
important work.
I love that these relationships are never seen as “less
than” – that these non-romantic connections are not invaluable and that, when
they lead to romance, it’s because the trust they’ve gained through these
relationships allows romance to blossom. As an aspec person, I enjoy these
dynamics because they seem to go beyond mere physical attraction; instead, they
seem to say that one of the most attractive things is trusting and knowing a
person on an emotional level, and we see this play out in many of the dramas
I’ve discussed throughout this post. Beyond this, many dramas that either don’t
feature romance or only feature it sparingly will often feature other types of
relationships instead, highlighting the trust and understanding found in those
types of bonds as well.
For instance, The Uncanny Counter, a show about a
team of demon hunters known as Counters, does an amazing job of building up the
team as a family. However, it also highlights other strong platonic bonds and
never feels like it needs a romance because it instead allows these
relationships to flourish and take center stage. Too often, it feels like
romance is demanded at the expense of other relationships, or that a romance
will steamroll anything that came before it, becoming solely about passion and
attraction. But many K-Dramas allow these various bonds to exist side
by side – from great romance to amazing friendships to others - allowing their characters to flourish in all types of relationships, which is something I’ve longed to see more of in media.
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| Image description: Mun (on the right), the young protagonist of The Uncanny Counter, with his two best friends. The plot of the show involves Mun getting special powers and being thrust into the strange world of demons and demon-hunting, but he nevertheless remains devoted to his friends and they to him in a way that's extremely well done. |
I also find myself a little worried that, as K-Dramas do get more
attention, they’ll become more Westernized, and that the things I love the
most about them will start to get winnowed away. However, I’m doing my best to
remain optimistic about both the future of K-Drama, and about all the dramas I
still have to watch. I know very well that not every drama will be this good
about their romances; even the dramas listed here are not always "perfect" (whatever that might mean). But
they don’t need to be. The fact that they exist and that so many of them allow
me to watch in safety is a huge step forward for me.
During his acceptance speech for his Best Director Academy Award for the film Parasite, director Bong Joon-ho told viewers that if they could overcome the one-inch barrier at the bottom of their screens (subtitles), their worlds would open up. I know that has certainly been true for me. Despite the length of this post, I feel as though I’ve only just scratched the surface of what I want to discuss when it comes to K-Dramas, and that excites me in a way very few things often do, so expect more thoughts on the subject soon. Overall, I think K-Dramas can expand the world of so many people, and I hope this post has helped expand yours.
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