1
AudienceofOne
Dreamy, surreal and almost ethereal, A Piece of Your Mind is now my favourite Korean drama from this year.
Unfortunately, like an emotion, it has to be felt to be understood. Just like words frequently falter at expressing our feelings so they also falter at describing this beautiful drama.
With dismal ratings in Korea, the show even ended up being cut to 12 episodes. But even though the loss of those four is a tragedy and the show was forced to speed up its storytelling to compensate, it is still an almost-perfect study of grief, loss and how we grapple with the hole people leave in the world when they pass.
Jung Hae-in always gives lovely understated performances and his portrayal of the inventor Moon Ha-won is no exception. Ha-won has loved and lost but always from afar as he observes life but fails to live it. He is an inventor in the world of artificial intelligence working on recreating the personalities of lost loved ones for therapeutic purposes. He is driven by the need to understand both the sudden death of his mother when he was 18 and the loss of his childhood friend, Kim Ji-soo (Park Joo-hyun), whose husband insisted she break ties with him after their marriage.
While working on the project he acquires a recording studio to lay down voices and meets orphaned sound engineer, Han Seo-woo. Chae Soo-bin is wonderful here as the warm but still grief-stricken Seo-woo. These two embark on a healing relationship of mutuality and reciprocity. This couple's ability to understand and accept the other's losses and to each give and take to an equal extent is heartwarming to watch unfold.
At one point in the drama, Ha-won suggests Banbogi: a meeting between two people who love each other at a midway point between the two. Bangobi encapsulates the reciprocity and mutuality between the two. One does not go to the other, whether physically or emotionally. They always meet in the middle.
Our core couple orbit the black hole that is the loss of Ji-soo. But around them swirl a host of other damaged characters. Ha-won's niece , Moon Soon-ho (Lee Ha Na) who has taken nine years to get over a bad breakup. Jis-oo's controlling and almost-abusive husband, Gang In-wook (Kim Sung-gyu). And the found family of guests living in the boarding house that Seo-woo took shelter in after the death of her family.
While the show examines grief in all its iterations - whether through the death of a loved one, a relationship, or even the person you used to be - it's also about the way in which we grapple with the hole a person leaves in the world when they're gone. How we want just a piece of them to hold onto and how we struggle with the realisation that we will never know what they were thinking because we can never speak to them again.
The Ji-soo AI that Ha-won creates becomes that piece. But it's through Ha-won and In-wook's reactions to that piece that we see most clearly what this drama is trying to say. People are not pieces or object to possess, control or dominate. We will never own them, just as we will never know truly what they think and feel. But that isn't necessary to gain comfort and strength from them and to give that comfort and strength in return.
Grief is overcome by connection and community but most of all through true mutuality. And that's the most heartwarming message of all.
I can only hope that now it's over, people can finally realise what a gem this show was. And maybe, just maybe, next time Korea produces something as finely-written and beautiful as this, people will watch it.
Unfortunately, like an emotion, it has to be felt to be understood. Just like words frequently falter at expressing our feelings so they also falter at describing this beautiful drama.
With dismal ratings in Korea, the show even ended up being cut to 12 episodes. But even though the loss of those four is a tragedy and the show was forced to speed up its storytelling to compensate, it is still an almost-perfect study of grief, loss and how we grapple with the hole people leave in the world when they pass.
Jung Hae-in always gives lovely understated performances and his portrayal of the inventor Moon Ha-won is no exception. Ha-won has loved and lost but always from afar as he observes life but fails to live it. He is an inventor in the world of artificial intelligence working on recreating the personalities of lost loved ones for therapeutic purposes. He is driven by the need to understand both the sudden death of his mother when he was 18 and the loss of his childhood friend, Kim Ji-soo (Park Joo-hyun), whose husband insisted she break ties with him after their marriage.
While working on the project he acquires a recording studio to lay down voices and meets orphaned sound engineer, Han Seo-woo. Chae Soo-bin is wonderful here as the warm but still grief-stricken Seo-woo. These two embark on a healing relationship of mutuality and reciprocity. This couple's ability to understand and accept the other's losses and to each give and take to an equal extent is heartwarming to watch unfold.
At one point in the drama, Ha-won suggests Banbogi: a meeting between two people who love each other at a midway point between the two. Bangobi encapsulates the reciprocity and mutuality between the two. One does not go to the other, whether physically or emotionally. They always meet in the middle.
Our core couple orbit the black hole that is the loss of Ji-soo. But around them swirl a host of other damaged characters. Ha-won's niece , Moon Soon-ho (Lee Ha Na) who has taken nine years to get over a bad breakup. Jis-oo's controlling and almost-abusive husband, Gang In-wook (Kim Sung-gyu). And the found family of guests living in the boarding house that Seo-woo took shelter in after the death of her family.
While the show examines grief in all its iterations - whether through the death of a loved one, a relationship, or even the person you used to be - it's also about the way in which we grapple with the hole a person leaves in the world when they're gone. How we want just a piece of them to hold onto and how we struggle with the realisation that we will never know what they were thinking because we can never speak to them again.
The Ji-soo AI that Ha-won creates becomes that piece. But it's through Ha-won and In-wook's reactions to that piece that we see most clearly what this drama is trying to say. People are not pieces or object to possess, control or dominate. We will never own them, just as we will never know truly what they think and feel. But that isn't necessary to gain comfort and strength from them and to give that comfort and strength in return.
Grief is overcome by connection and community but most of all through true mutuality. And that's the most heartwarming message of all.
I can only hope that now it's over, people can finally realise what a gem this show was. And maybe, just maybe, next time Korea produces something as finely-written and beautiful as this, people will watch it.
Was this review helpful to you?
