Anna (2022)

A Taste of Precarious Power

반짝반짝 작은 별 (twinkle, twinkle, little star)
아름답게 비치네 (how beautifully you shine)
동쪽 하늘에서도 (in the eastern sky)
서쪽 하늘에서도 (in the western sky)
반짝반짝 작은 별 (twinkle, twinkle, little star)
아름답게 비치네 (how beautifully you shine)

The soft and familiar melody of this children’s song appears throughout the director’s cut of 안나 (Anna), not in its innocent original form but as a slow, aching piano variation—unfolding like a memory warped by time, flickering with something both tender and off-key. It threads through all eight episodes with quiet persistence, surfacing during moments where emotion swells yet remains unspoken. What once evoked lullabies now arrives as something more fractured, its purity diffused through the character it shadows: Yoo-mi, played with remarkable restraint by Bae Suzy.

In this longer version of the drama, shaped with a studied subtlety by director Lee Joo-young, the soundtrack centers on two emotional pillars: the melancholic, dissonant renditions of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and the bold, operatic movement of La Esmeralda. Together, these two musical threads create a layered emotional register, contrasting delicacy with theatrical sweep. The six-episode commercial edit released by Coupang Play, by contrast, leans almost exclusively on La Esmeralda, amplifying its grandeur and forward momentum while leaving behind the introspective texture the lullaby once carried.

Adapted from Jung Han-ah’s novel 친밀한 이방인 (The Friendly Stranger, 2017), the drama follows Yoo-mi, a woman born far from privilege, who gradually begins to inhabit a life not originally her own. The novel’s introspective tone finds resonance in the director’s cut, where the narrative unfolds with slow-burning clarity, allowing viewers to linger in the contradictions that define Yoo-mi’s transformation. The commercial version, more streamlined, trims the narrative for pace, but retains the underlying question: what does it mean to perform one's way into belonging?

Performance moves through 안나 as the mechanism by which every relationship, every social gesture, is constructed. Yoo-mi does not merely adopt another identity; she rehearses it like a second skin, studying its cadence until it becomes muscle memory. Every element of her presence—her polished speech, her studied elegance, the subtle choreography of her posture, dress, and shoes—functions as part of a carefully maintained act, crafted not for deception but for survival. She knows that to be accepted is not to be authentic but to be convincing in the role others expect her to play. Watch her "performance" here

Her husband’s world—an arena of politics, prestige, and strategic alliances—requires its own performance, staged on a very different kind of platform. As he prepares for his campaign to become mayor of Seoul, he learns to speak with calculated fluency about vision and values, often invoking historical gravitas to anchor his brand. Image becomes both armor and currency, and in this, their ambitions mirror each other: both striving to be seen, to be affirmed, to earn the gaze of a world that does not give it freely.

There is a dinner in Episode 4 of the director’s cut (Episode 3 in the commercial version) that captures the atmosphere of this performance with haunting precision. Yoo-mi/Anna attends a formal 한정식 (hanjeongsik) banquet—a traditional Korean full-course meal—with her husband and a table of political elites. The setting is impeccable, the plating delicate, the pace of the meal ceremonial. But behind the elegance lies a quiet discomfort. Yoo-mi is not simply attending; she is being displayed.

Hanjeongsik once belonged to the rituals of the royal court and the aristocracy. Today, it often functions as an exhibition of tradition, refinement, and cultural capital. Every dish arrives in a meticulous sequence: perhaps 전 (jeon) served on a lotus leaf, 갈비찜 (galbijjim) glistening in rich soy glaze, or 신선로 (sinseollo) bubbling gently in a brass vessel. But here, the food is not merely nourishment; it is a symbol. Like the clothing Yoo-mi/Anna wears, the tone she adopts, the intellect she exhibits—each component belongs to a mise-en-scène of belonging, rehearsed and refined.

As the evening unfolds, Yoo-mi/Anna becomes part of the décor, necessary but not participatory, elegant but voiceless. Her presence affirms her husband’s brand more than it expresses her own agency. Compliments come her way, but only to liken her to a flower—graceful, supportive, ornamental—praising not her thoughts but her ability to quietly adorn the ambitions of the man beside her. Watch the scene here

Historical figures haunt the series, serving as symbols of longing, reinvention, and fragile power. The name “Anna” evokes Anastasia Romanov, the lost duchess whose myth was kept alive by impostors (like Anna Anderson), by stories, by a collective desire to believe in survival over disappearance. In much the same way, Yoo-mi’s self-invention is both a bid for visibility and a reflection of a society that prefers the beautiful lie to the uncomfortable truth.

Other references deepen this web of meaning. 추사 김정희 (Chusa Kim Jeong-hui), a scholar-exile who reinvented the art of calligraphy and left his mark on Korean aesthetics, offers a point of contrast. Where Chusa’s transformations emerged from authenticity, Yoo-mi’s mimicry raises the question of whether repetition can ever generate the real. Her eloquence, her style, her taste—they are studied, not inherited, and this labor of refinement invites both admiration and ambivalence.

Then there is 정도전 (Jeong Do-jeon), political thinker and architect of a new order during the foundation of the 조선 (Joseon Dynasty). His vision for a reformed state took form in the very design of 경복궁 (Gyeongbokgung Palace)—though he would never live within its walls, cut down before his vision could fully materialize. Yoo-mi/Anna’s apartment overlooks that palace, as if claiming proximity to history might lend her a sense of legitimacy, even if not acceptance. The symbolism is rich and heavy. Like Jeong, she lives near power, within view of its splendor, but not within its protection. Her gaze reaches toward a legacy that never had space for her. Yoo-mi steps into Anna’s high-rise above Gyeongbokgung

In Anna, power is rarely loud. Those who seek it must not only speak its language, but also master its posture, appearing effortless while constantly adjusting to the gaze. And when Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star returns once more, it no longer comforts. It flickers, taut with tension, a trembling echo of a life endlessly performed.

The star still shines, faint and flickering, asking quietly from above: how far must one go to be seen?

🥢 Bite-sized Korean: Identity, Class & Legitimacy in Anna

1. 짭 (jjap)
Slang for fake or knock-off
In online discussions, viewers often refer to Yoo-mi as 짭안나—a “fake Anna.” This term, originally used to describe counterfeit goods, now critiques people who copy elite lifestyles or identities without “authentic” origins. Yoo-mi’s transformation into Anna—a woman of status, polish, and pedigree—is seen by many as imitation rather than reinvention.

2. 찐 (jjin)
Slang for real, genuine (from 진짜)
By contrast, Yoo-mi’s former boss—the original Anna—is sometimes called 찐안나, the “real Anna.” She’s a true gold spoon, raised in wealth and cultural capital. The tension between 짭 and 찐 doesn’t just reflect identity theft—it exposes how Korean society constantly distinguishes between the original and the imitation, the inherited and the performed.

3. 흙수저 (heuk sujeo)
“Dirt spoon”; slang for someone born into poverty or lower social class
Yoo-mi’s real background fits this term. She grows up with limited resources and opportunities, far from the world of fine art, galleries, and designer shoes she later inhabits. Her desire to escape the fate of a 흙수저 drives her transformation—but the price is steep.

4. 금수저 (geum sujeo)
“Gold spoon”; slang for someone born into wealth and privilege
The real Anna, whose identity Yoo-mi assumes, is a textbook 금수저: daughter of a furniture magnate, raised with elite education, international exposure, and a luxury lifestyle. Her identity is not performed—it’s inherited, and therefore uncontested.