In the vast and often unpredictable world of Korean dramas, there occasionally comes a show that doesn’t just miss the mark but obliterates any semblance of potential it might have held. Such is the tragedy of Dear Hyeri, a drama that had everything going for it on paper: an intriguing premise centered around a protagonist grappling with Dissociative Identity Disorder, a stellar cast headlined by Shin Hye-sun, and the pedigree of a seasoned director. Yet, despite these promising ingredients, the final product resembles a culinary disaster—a burnt offering of what could have been a Michelin-starred feast.

Let me begin with the one element of this series that shines—nay, blazes—with unbridled brilliance: Shin Hye-sun. As Joo Eun-ho, the beleaguered announcer burdened by societal indifference and personal trauma, Shin Hye-sun delivers a performance that is nothing short of transcendent. Her ability to convey a kaleidoscope of emotions through her nuanced expressions and impeccable timing is mesmerizing. Whether she is embodying the reserved and wounded Eun-ho or the effervescent and ever-optimistic alter ego Hye-ri, she transitions between these personas with a seamlessness that defies belief. Watching her is like witnessing a master pianist at work, each note played with precision and soul. It is a testament to her prowess that the director seemed compelled to linger on her in numerous close-ups, as though he, too, recognized that she was the only salvaging grace in this sinking ship.

And yet, for all her Herculean efforts, Shin Hye-sun's talent is utterly squandered on a script so fundamentally flawed it’s a wonder it ever made it to production. The premise—a woman grappling with mental illness while navigating fractured relationships and professional hurdles—could have been a gold mine for storytelling. Instead, what unfolds is a nonsensical, meandering plot that prioritizes a toxic romance over meaningful exploration of Eun-ho’s struggles.

Let’s talk about the male lead, Jung Hyun-oh, played by Lee Jin-wook. Hyun-oh is Eun-ho’s ex-boyfriend who, despite their breakup, continues to hover around her life like an unwelcome specter. On paper, he is a star announcer harboring his own hidden wounds. In reality, he is one of the most insufferable, charisma-devoid characters I have ever had the displeasure of encountering in a K-drama. Lee Jin-wook’s flat, uninspired portrayal only exacerbates the problem, making every scene he occupies an exercise in endurance. Watching him opposite Shin Hye-sun—whose performance so thoroughly outclasses his—feels akin to watching a high school talent show where one participant is a prodigy and the other barely learned their lines.

What makes this dynamic even more unbearable is the deeply toxic nature of their relationship. Hyun-oh’s character is controlling, prone to jealousy, and perpetually invasive. Let us not forget that his decision to end their eight-year relationship was the catalyst for Eun-ho’s mental breakdown. And yet, he has the audacity to reinsert himself into her life under the guise of concern, all while displaying the emotional maturity of a teenager. The script’s insistence on portraying this relationship as redemptive or romantic is not just misguided; it’s outright insulting to the audience’s intelligence.

As if the main romance weren’t enough of a travesty, the plot’s resolutions are equally asinine. After endless episodes of Eun-ho struggling to reclaim her agency and vowing not to repeat past mistakes, she inexplicably returns to Hyun-oh, who—miraculously and without justification—is suddenly ready for marriage. It’s the kind of narrative sleight-of-hand that leaves viewers questioning whether the writers were as emotionally invested in these characters as they expected us to be.

The supporting cast offers some reprieve, albeit not enough to salvage the series. Kang Hoon’s portrayal of Kang Ju-yeon, the secondary romantic lead, is magnetic. His understated performance imbues the character with depth and vulnerability, and his interactions with Hye-ri provide some of the show’s most heartfelt moments. Similarly, Jo Hye-joo’s turn as Baek Hye-yeon is a breath of fresh air. Her character’s bright, comedic energy and genuine warmth often overshadow the main storyline, to the point where her romance with Ju-yeon becomes infinitely more engaging than the supposed central plot. If only the drama had leaned into this secondary storyline more—perhaps it could have salvaged some dignity.

Instead, we are subjected to some of the most aggravating side characters ever to grace the small screen. Yoon Joo-man’s portrayal of Jeon Jae-yong, a returning veteran reporter, is particularly egregious. Meant to provide comic relief, his antics are neither amusing nor endearing. Rather, they are a masterclass in how to derail a scene and test the viewer’s patience. It’s as though the writers were determined to pad the runtime with filler material, no matter how irritating or inconsequential.

The ultimate failure of Dear Hyeri lies squarely at the feet of its screenwriter, Han Ga-ram. To be handed such a rich premise and such a talented cast, only to squander it on a muddled narrative and one-dimensional characters, is nothing short of criminal. The series’ indecision about its own identity—whether it is a romance, a character study, or a melodrama—results in a tonal dissonance that leaves the audience adrift. By the time the credits roll on the final episode, it’s clear that even the writer had lost sight of the story they set out to tell.

If Dear Hyeri were a dish, it would be the culinary equivalent of a charred beef roll made from Kobe beef. The ingredients are exquisite, but the execution is so profoundly flawed that the end result is not just disappointing; it’s offensive. One can only hope that Shin Hye-sun was compensated handsomely for her efforts because she deserves far better than this mess of a drama. Her singularly outstanding performance, paired with Jo Hye-joo’s comedic brilliance and Kang Hoon’s heartfelt portrayal, provides fleeting glimpses of what could have been. Unfortunately, these glimmers of hope are drowned out by the sheer incompetence of the writing and direction.

Dear Hyeri is a masterclass in how to waste potential. It is a drama that promised depth but delivered shallowness, that teased complexity but settled for cliches. For Shin Hye-sun fans, it is a painful reminder of what happens when a luminous star is forced to shine in a black hole of mediocrity. For everyone else, it is a cautionary tale: not all that glitters is gold.

Likes:
- Shin Hye-sun’s magnificent dual-role performance. Her portrayal of both Joo Eun-ho and Joo Hye-ri is a tour de force, carrying the emotional weight of the drama on her capable shoulders.
- Kang Hoon’s understated and magnetic performance as Kang Ju-yeon, whose interactions with Hye-ri provide the show’s few heartfelt moments.
- Jo Hye-joo’s vibrant portrayal of Baek Hye-yeon, bringing much-needed energy and humor to the series, often overshadowing the main storyline.

Dislikes:
- A nonsensical plot that sacrifices meaningful exploration of mental illness for a toxic and unconvincing romance.
- Lee Jin-wook’s charisma-free portrayal of Jung Hyun-oh, whose character’s toxicity and lack of development are insufferable.
- Aggravating side characters, particularly Yoon Joo-man’s Jeon Jae-yong, whose attempts at comic relief fall painfully flat.
- Forced and unearned resolutions that insult the audience’s intelligence.

Verdict:
On paper, Dear Hyeri had the makings of a classic, blending psychological drama with romance and featuring a powerhouse lead in Shin Hye-sun. In execution, however, it is a catastrophic failure, undone by a lackluster script and baffling narrative choices. For Shin Hye-sun’s sake, let us hope her next project is worthy of her immense talent.