Taste of K-dramas

There’s a kind of defiance in the opening title sequence of Pachinko . One by one, the characters appear—each in their era, each in costume—dancing through the narrow corridors of a pachinko parlor. The camera moves with them as they sway, spin, and laugh, while archival footage—wars, protests, migration—flashes between frames. Over it all plays The Grass Roots’ “Let’s Live for Today,” an unexpected burst of 1960s pop in a story rooted in historical weight. Joy pulses against memory. The lights flicker, the past flickers too. For a moment, history doesn’t disappear, but it loosens. And these characters—shaped by loss, exile, and survival—make room for something else: movement, presence, rhythm. Watch Opening Title Sequence    That rhythm sets the tone for a series that unfolds slowly and deliberately across continents and generations. Based on Min Jin Lee’s acclaimed novel, Pachinko spans nearly a century and follows a Korean family navigating Japanese colonial rule, World ...

A Mother’s Umbrella: Fierce Love Beneath Palace Skies  The rain comes down hard on the palace rooftops, drumming against dark, weather-worn tiles. Under the low, heavy sky, the queen moves quickly—her breath measured, her hands lifting the hem of her hanbok just enough to keep pace across the slick courtyard stones. She weaves through the open space with urgency, her steps unbothered by the grace expected of a royal figure. The palace behind her murmurs with unrest. A crisis brews, and somewhere within its tangled roots are her sons. There’s no room for hesitation. Something must be prevented—now. It’s not the first time. Sometimes, she runs toward her sons. Other times, she walks beside them, tilting the umbrella just enough to shield them, even as her own shoulder is soaked. That image—quiet, simple, maternal—captures the soul of Under the Queen’s Umbrella ( 슈룹 ). The title 슈룹 comes from an old Korean word for “umbrella,” thought to be a pure Korean ( 순우리말 ) expression preda...

가깝고도 먼 ( Close, Yet Distant) The scene that lingers most vividly after watching  사랑 후에 오는 것들   ( What Comes After Love )—the one that returns like a half-remembered dream—is of cherry blossoms drifting like snow over a quiet lake in a Tokyo park. It’s where Hong jogs each morning, her solitary rhythm echoing beneath the soft flutter of petals. That park, steeped in memory, becomes a quiet stage for reflection, regret, and the slow, uncertain work of healing. The drama, based on a collaborative novel by Korean writer Gong Ji-young and Japanese author Hitonari Tsuji, follows two former lovers—Hong (played by Lee Se-young ) , a Korean editor, and Jungo  (played by Kentaro Sakaguchi) , a Japanese novelist—who meet again in Seoul years after a painful parting in Japan. As they navigate what remains after love has changed—or perhaps faded—the series gently explores identity, silence, and the fragile ties that endure across time and borders. The relationship between Korea an...