Our Unwritten Seoul (2025)

One of those series whose true beauty unfolds only gradually

Happily, another jewel in the KDrama sky of 2025. Our Unwritten Seoul is one of those series whose true beauty unfolds only gradually—like the secret bloom of an evening primrose, opening quietly under the cover of dusk, revealing its radiance only to those who wait with patience.

Many voices have called the series emotionally profound, poetic, introspective, healing… It spent weeks in the global Netflix charts and entered the Top 10 in more than 28 countries. At its heart, it is a drama about identity, self‑perception, and familial wounds. And within it, Park Bo‑young surpasses herself in a dual role as Mi‑ji and Mi‑rae.

What first appears to be a quiet drama reveals itself as a finely woven net of fate, self‑deception, transformation, and quiet hope. It does not show a world that is better, but one that is honest. A world where dreams fail, families grow weary, people live side by side without listening to each other. And yet: there are strawberries. There are warm embraces. There is the possibility of beginning again.

The story of twin sisters who exchange roles may sound familiar, but here it becomes a meditation on identity, self‑worth, and the longing to be someone else.

Park Bo‑young does not merely carry the series—she shapes it. As Mi‑ji and Mi‑rae—and, in truth, as four substantial versions of them: each as herself, and each as the other in disguise. She grows through the subtle distinctions of expression, the quiet shifts in tone and posture, the evolving body language. Rarely has a double role been so convincingly embodied.

Lee Ho‑su (Park Jin‑young) is not the typical love interest. He is a man marked by scars, visible and invisible. Half deaf, half estranged from his own body, he becomes a mirror of imperfection—the very quality that makes the series so valuable. His relationships with mentor, mother, past, and with Mi‑rae and Mi‑ji are told without pathos.

The cafeteria jobs, the small‑town life, the broken dreams—these make Our Unwritten Seoul a counterpoint to dramas suffocated by glamour. Even though its stars come from the KPop orbit, their performances reach a new level: restrained, reflective, human. Even the supporting characters carry their own stories, which gradually draw us in. This makes the world believable and layered. The supporting actresses Cha Mi‑kyung, Kim Sun‑young, and Jang Young‑nam add depth without overshadowing.

And then the deliberate contrasts: city and countryside, high‑rise and strawberry farm. The farm scenes are almost meditative—a place of healing. Han Se‑jin’s departure from the hedge‑fund world is more than symbolic: it is about rediscovering a way of life that does not need to be efficient.

The theme of self‑compassion also finds its place here: the series asks not only how we see others, but how we treat ourselves when no one is watching.

The OST serves as an emotional companion. The visual design is carefully attuned to the story. The series employs a chiastic structure, working with opposites and reflections so that the characters’ development and healing become visible. Even the colors shift gradually, reflecting the inner states of the protagonists.

In the end, the story closes a circle. The characters return to places where they began—changed, grown, carrying their old wounds, which now can begin to heal. Subtle, beautiful. And, indeed: valuable.

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Interesting premise with insufferable leads and excessive flash-backs, slow-motion and voice-overs

A good drama follows conventional script-writing but excels in it. A great drama breaks that convention but executes it well. This drama, particularly this director, tries but fails miserably.

Typical dramas have a protagonist, a antagonist, conflict and resolution. This drama has a few antagonists that were not properly setup, nor did they get enough screen time.

The one basic thing 101 in scriptwriting that defines a good drama is "show, don't tell". Well this drama has a lot of telling, in the form of voice-overs. Dialogue is deliberately spoken a lot of times in very slow unrealistic speeds. It would work if the dialogue is engaging and touching, but most of the conversations end up like a poor rendition of poetry - they try to inspire but are bathetic.

Instead of having proper acting and conventional conversations, the drama uses excessive voice-overs to inform the audience what the actors are feeling instead of having the actors act them out. There is no nuance and finesse

The other part of the drama that is excessive is the use of flash-backs to the past. The young Yoo Mi-rae and Lee Ho-soo has so much screen time that they dominated in most of the episodes. Yet these younger actors are obviously only support cast, yet they feel almost like the 2nd female and male lead.

The leads also are not properly defined. The audience knows Park Bo-Young is the lead, but is left wondering whether Yoo Mi-rae or Yoo Mi-ji is the lead.

Yoo Mi-ji propels the drama in the first half as we are drawn into her situation without knowing what happened to her. The audience is left to wonder exactly what happened to Yoo Mi-rae, but , but Yoo Mi-ji instead dominated the screen time.

Lee Ho-soo (acted by Park Jin-young) is the male lead, but his screen time and screen presence relegated him to feeling like the 2nd male lead. His romance with Yoo Mi-rae starts only in the 2nd half of the drama, and even then was neither sweet nor dramatic. His character is one that is the most inconsistent and flips-flops.

He hates his mentor Lee Chung Gu for using underhanded ways to win lawsuits, especially in his use of media and affiliation with the judge for Kim Ro Sa's case, but yet asked him for help with Mi-ji's sexual harassment lawsuit. Right up to episode 9-10, he is a coward for breaking up with Mi-ji, lying about the funeral, and shouting at his mother.

Why do the characters in the show lie without batting an eye-lid, and self-pity, make assumptions and self-blame so much until growth only happens at episode 10-11?

The really only good parts were the first moment when the Yoo Mi-twins hugged and cried, moments between Yoo Mi-rae and her grandmother, and Yoo Mi-rae's conversation with Kim Ro Sa (acted by Won Mi Kyung).

Park Bo-Young's acting in both her roles were good, but was given way too self-hating and self-pitying roles (Mi-ji) all the way to almost the end of the drama. She is often typed-cast for cute energetic roles, with a bit of a irrelevant personality, and Mi-ji has sort of that vibe. Mi-rae's role was way to gray - even for a person who suffered from office abuse. She is often cast in those roles because of her stature and "cute" face.

Contrast her performance here as Mi-rae to her performance in Concrete Utopia. Both were adult roles in their 30s. Park Bo-Young shines in Conrete Utopia with her mature acting.

Overall, Our Unwritten Seoul is overhyped. Park Bo-Young delivers somewhat, but everything else falters.

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