Brilliant lines, beautiful shots
Instead of choosing happiness, we laugh at the misery, more or less my personal motto (and has been for a while), and apparently could also be Park Hae Youngs motto too...Most of the time I am a character and fluff mood watcher. But to be honest I often seem to need to be dragged in to the depth of despair to truly love a drama. This drama excelled at the art of making a drama so powerful you don't really care if you love the characters or not , one where you get fed scene after scene, line after line with so much depth, emotion and thought it made me pause and rewatch several scenes some multiple times with such lines as:
" I don't get books like "please look after mom," iv got a different idea of "mom" from everyone else"
"My hair is pretty thick, if you start a fight and start pulling it, you might loose a finger"
While I did get annoyed with most of the characters in one way or another (because of their behaviour, and after a while its in a good way) The female lead was outstanding in every single way, actually most of the female characters in this had amazing lines, great acting and felt oddly relatable in very different slightly disturbing ways. The way hardship, mental illness, trauma fear and everything in between is displayed made me fall in love with this.
The power of words, the power of the sound of high heals, the power of silence and emotions are displayed in so many ways. The attention to detail it is indeed a true Park Hae Young (as you can read in the article me and Anquat wrote about her)
All this said I am going to admit that something was off in the last few episodes that kept me from rating this with a full 10 star rating but I will say this was brilliant.
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A Reflection of Life Itself
The cinematography is simply beautiful, but what truly makes this drama special is how human it feels. Every character carries their own insecurities, regrets, and dreams, making their journeys feel incredibly real and relatable. This isn't a story about perfect people finding perfect answers. it's about imperfect people trying their best to move forward despite life's uncertainties. Few dramas have made me reflect on myself as much as this one.By the end, it felt less like I was watching a drama and more like I was looking at a reflection of life itself.
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Great acting, torturous watch
Watching this drama felt like torture.Getting through the first few episodes was genuinely painful because the male lead's character was completely unlikeable. I kept waiting for him to grow on me, but it just didn't happen. If you manage to push through that rough start, the drama does get a little better and becomes more watchable—but honestly? It was still too much for me.
The thought of sitting through another 8 long episodes? No. Just no.
What made it even harder was watching the female lead struggle and not being able to fight back. It was frustrating rather than engaging. By the end, I started skipping scenes just to get through it.
The acting was great—I can't fault the performances. But great acting alone couldn't save this one for me. I just couldn't force myself to finish it.
Verdict: Great cast, unbearable watch. Only for those with a lot of patience.
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Makes you think
I liked this a lot at the start but I think it sort of fizzled out a bit.Some things that happen feel a little convenient, and there some other plot points that are set up but don't have the pay-off I expected. While I understand that this is more of a quiet and contemplative slow burn, the final episode left me feeling a bit unsatisfied.
With that being said, however, there were a lot of interesting themes introduced here — it addresses depression and envy in extremely creative ways, and I appreciate the drama even more for being brave enough to make its main character unlikable.
I think My Mister is still my top Park Hae Young drama by far, but anyone who enjoyed that and My Liberation Notes will like this one too.
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Emotional Realism
It is a slow-paced drama, but it still keeps me curious about how the characters’ stories will eventually unfold. Instead of focusing on success or dramatic achievements, it highlights everyday life pressure, disappointment, and the emotional weight of simply trying to keep going.The story mainly explores life struggles and different coping mechanisms. Each character expresses their emotions in their own ways that are hard to understand at first.
Watching this can bring out familiar feelings like envy and anxiety, especially when seeing others succeed while you feel like you are falling behind. The drama captures this emotional experience very well. It doesn’t just tell a story, it reflects something many people may have felt or are currently going through.
Some dialogues feel a bit unusual or influenced by language differences, but the acting is strong enough to carry the emotions. The negative feelings in the story are also presented in a subtle, sometimes satirical way, which adds depth to the narrative.
Overall, it is a quiet but emotionally heavy drama.
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This review may contain spoilers
One scene left an impact
I honesty didn't like the synopsis (bc I hate productions that delve in the jealousy and greed topic), but I was tempted to watch so I didn't start from episode 1, what's funny is that the first scene I landed on was ML getting a beating from his brother, no context what so ever, which really left an impact on me, and when I understood the context it got funnier and funnier (and darker). Looking back, I don't know if I like it if I watched it the way the it was filmed, but I think the series is very interesting. The balance between the comedy and the sorrow was well done.PS: removing stars, bc I don't like the ai propaganda. no party should have that much access and control over people's data.
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Between wounds and softness, we keep trying
We Are All Trying Here is the kind of drama that never tries to impress with huge plot twists or overly dramatic scenes. Instead, the series shines through its sincerity, softness, and deeply human way of portraying emotional wounds, loneliness, and the need to be loved and understood. As the episodes go on, you naturally grow attached to the characters, to the point where it feels like you’re becoming part of their daily lives.One of the drama’s greatest strengths is obviously the duo formed by Koo Kyo-hwan and Goo Yoon-jung. Their chemistry is simply incredible. Nothing between them ever feels forced: their looks, silences, and small everyday interactions are enough to convey so many emotions. Their relationship develops with a lot of naturalness and tenderness, which makes every scene even more touching. It becomes impossible not to grow attached to Dong Man and Eun A because their story feels so sincere and realistic.
And honestly, Koo Kyo-hwan delivers an exceptional performance here. His acting is subtle, nuanced, and deeply emotional. He manages to portray his character’s pain, emotional exhaustion, and vulnerability with disarming simplicity. On the other hand, Goo Yoon-jung brings so much softness and sensitivity to the drama. Together, they completely carry the series and make every moment memorable.
The supporting cast also deserves a lot of praise. No character feels useless or poorly written. Every relationship adds something meaningful to the story, whether it’s lightheartedness, comfort, or more melancholic moments. The drama truly takes its time developing the supporting characters, which makes the world feel even more alive and immersive.
The OST is also beautiful. The music perfectly supports the emotions of each scene without ever feeling overwhelming. Some songs make the romantic moments even more intense, while others strengthen the melancholic and comforting atmosphere of the series. It’s definitely the kind of soundtrack you keep listening to long after finishing the drama because it leaves such a strong impression.
As for the ending, I have mixed feelings about it. Even though it stays consistent with the realistic and melancholic tone of the drama, I found it slightly frustrating. After becoming so emotionally attached to the characters, I expected a conclusion that felt a little stronger emotionally and more satisfying for certain storylines. The ending intentionally leaves a feeling of emptiness, which may deeply affect some viewers, while for others it may feel somewhat incomplete.
Despite that, We Are All Trying Here remains a deeply human and comforting drama, carried by an exceptional cast, incredible chemistry between the leads, and an emotional atmosphere that stays with you long after the final episode. It’s the kind of soft and melancholic series that manages to touch your heart without ever falling into exaggeration.
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This review may contain spoilers
When I almost gave up on k-drama
When I almost gave up on watching k-drama this show brought me back. It was hard to get into, but I kept trying because of the reviews and Koo Kyo Hwan (who’s acting I enjoyed in DP) and by the end of the first episode I was hooked. I loved almost every scene and every character - even unlikable ones (one exception is FL ex - he is simply deplorable)… Everything worked beautifully together. Every scene was worth watching and meaningful. I also liked that romance was subtle yet heartwarming. Personal highlights: strong female characters Hye Jin and Eun A, Mi Ran and Eun A friendship, Dong Man a cat person! 😻🐈⬛🤜🤛😅I only wished we got more insight at Dong Man’s depressive episode during the shooting and it’s development and more realistic ending (all friends and smiles was almost too cheesy) but compared to the whole - these didn’t take away from my enjoyment of the show. Happy to see photos in the end - it seems to be rare nowadays. Superb storytelling, acting and direction 10/10 ❤️🌹🏆👏👏
p.s. What happened to Knock knock knock?!
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Man, what a good piece of art
I rarely give anything anything above 8, but this one deserves it.Complex, well-written characters. Heavy topics tastefully mixed with lighthearted comedy.
Beautiful cinematography, well-matched music, great acting from everyone. Editing enhances overall atmosphere of the show.
So why only 8.5 and not more?
Pacing and conclusion some threads.
The overall pacing of the drama can appear slow. For me it is fine. I like to dive deep into characters and overthink what the author had in mind, so slow pacing works for me. (it is psychological drama in the end). But for some viewers it might be too slow. Last episode is at the same time faster than the rest, but also holds slow tempo of the rest of episodes. But overall everything is concluded gracefully.
There are some plot threads that I have problem with, because they are concluded with bare minimum.
Mainly ML's brother's thread could have been slightly more complex (not much) and better spread out throughout episodes instead of concluding hurriedly in the last episode.
Generally I recommend this show. It is well-written and good from technical side. The story is coherent, complex and enjoyable to watch.
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Give it a chance
The story was amazing from beginning to end. All the relationships felt real and the drama did a good job of showing “you never know what a person is thinking.” I heard a lot of people say they dislike the ML personality, which is understandable, but like my headline “give it a chance” you will grow to love him. The only problem I truly had was that it had a couple of drawn-out, short moments. Ex: A scene of just silence, with a character seated, would be 20 seconds long. Which I know was for emphasis just didn’t really like it.I thought I wouldn’t like it because I didn’t really like My Liberation Notes, but I really enjoyed it
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Four Episodes Away of Perfection
I have been watching Park Hae-young’s work for two years now, and honestly, I still do not know how to correctly review it. My Mister humbled me. My Liberation Notes finished the job. And then We Are All Trying Here arrived and did something neither of those managed to do, it made me question whether I had the language for this at all, not just in any of the five languages, but in the one I built specifically for this space. How do you put into words something that was always going to be better experienced than explained? I am genuinely not sure you can. But Park Hae-young did not write this drama for critics. She wrote it for the person sitting alone at midnight, heart still racing twenty minutes after the credits rolled, wondering why they cannot stop thinking about people they have never met. So consider this less a review, and more a letter from someone who got found.Park Hae-young sits in an SSS tier (mirroring Kiseki’s Bracer’s Guild ranking) of her own making in my book, a designation I do not hand out lightly and have never had reason to revisit. My Mister and My Liberation Notes remain two of the finest dramas I have ever watched, and both earned their place through the same terrifying gift: her ability to create a spectacle out of the mundane, to weaponise silence and negative space until the absence of sound becomes louder than anything a score offers, and to write human beings with a precision making you feel personally targeted. When We Are All Trying Here was announced, my expectations were already set at an altitude most writers never reach. What followed was something I did not anticipate even then: a writer I thought I understood, showing me she had been holding something back all along. Park Hae-young did not repeat her previous language here; she pushed it into new territory. The result is a drama that feels like a step forward in ambition, even if it is slightly constrained by its shorter twelve-episode structure compared to her usual sixteen.
It is not a comfortable watch. It is not an easy watch. It is, however, unmistakably a Park Hae-young work operating at near-peak intent, even when the format occasionally tightens around it.
I need to confess something: the character who almost made me quit this drama is also the reason I ended up loving it. Koo Kyo-hwan plays Hwang Dong-man, our male lead and, in a first for any Park Hae-young drama I have watched, a character who actively repulsed me in the opening episodes. Dong-man is an aspiring film director who has spent nearly two decades failing to debut while his entire social circle, a prestigious industry film club called “The Eight,” has long since surpassed him. He talks too much, he picks fights at dinner tables, and he radiates that desperate, sweaty energy of a man who is trying too hard to prove he still matters. His brother works odd jobs to keep them both afloat, the people around him walk on eggshells to manage his emotions, and he repays all of it with contempt aimed outward. It is much harder to feel compassion for someone cushioned by other people’s love who still chooses to be cruel, and for three episodes I was ready to file a formal complaint with Park Hae-young herself.
But here is the trick Park Hae‑young pulls. She wrote him as repulsive on purpose. Because once you sit with that discomfort, once you stop flinching and start looking, you see the layers underneath. What she did with him afterward belongs in the section below, but here I want to give Koo Kyo-hwan his full due: he plays Dong-man with a raw, almost frightening vulnerability that never feels like acting. There is no visible effort, no actorly plea for sympathy, no performance asking you to notice it. A man in a body that has been at war with itself for twenty years, and Koo Kyo-hwan makes every scene feel like something happening rather than something being performed. He fakes an injury just to have a moment of rest. He climbs a hill and screams his own name into the void so he can feel like he still exists.
Opposite him is Go Youn-jung as Byeon Eun-ah, in a role that finally made me sit up and seriously notice her. Eun-ah is a producer known in the industry as “The Axe” for the precision of her screenplay critiques, and she is the perfect emotional foil and counterbalance to Dong-man. Where he externalises everything, she keeps it all locked inside, speaking in short quiet bursts while carrying her own deep trauma of abandonment. The role demands enormous subtlety, minimal facial expression, and the ability to deliver devastating emotional weight through the smallest possible physical gesture. Go Youn-jung devoured every scene. There is a two-minute sequence in episode two, almost entirely silent, where she does more with a hesitation and a forced smile than most actors manage across an entire series. After this drama, she climbed straight into the same category in my mind as Shin Hae-sun, and I will be watching everything she does next with considerable attention. Byeon Eun-ah was definitely the quintessential Park Hae-young’s experience that I’m familiar with and she dragged me back in, kicking and screaming.
Of course, a Park Hae‑young drama is never just about the two leads. There is a whole ecosystem of side characters, and while I will not list all of them, a few supporting performances absolutely stole the show for me. Oh Jung‑se is, as always, reliably excellent as Park Gyeong‑se, a successful director who is secretly just as insecure as Dong‑man but hides it by lashing out at him. Then there is Kang Mal‑geum as Ko Hye‑jin, who became one of my favorite supporting characters in the entire drama. Hye‑jin owns a small production company with a bar underneath, and that bar serves as the main hub where all the characters gather and where most of the plots evolve. Kang Mal‑geum delivers a standout moment when her character finally snaps and tells Dong‑man the brutal truth about how his behavior affects others. It is the kind of scene that makes you hold your breath.
Another supporting character who charmed me completely was Jung Min‑ah as Park Jeong‑min. She is effortlessly funny and warm, and her character functions as one of the primary pressure release valves of the narrative as Park Gyeong‑se’s co‑writer. Her ability to flip back and forth between comedy and the more melodramatic moments as the plot evolves made me put her firmly on my radar for future works. And finally, I have to include Han Sun‑hwa as Jang Mi‑ran. I first noticed her in Welcome to Samdal‑ri, then accidentally stumbled upon her in Work Later, Drink Now. From romcom to straight comedy to now a dark comedic melodrama, I have started to see her range, and I genuinely look forward to whatever she does next.
We Are All Trying Here marks something of a departure for Park Hae-young in one specific way: it is her first drama to lean meaningfully into comedy, and the tonal balance she maintains between the genuinely funny and the quietly devastating is one of its quieter achievements. The first three episodes tested my trust in her more than anything she has written before. Hwang Dong-man was hard to love. He was, to put it plainly, bleeding other people to fund his own dysfunction, and the empathy contract Park Hae-young has always maintained with her audience felt deliberately fractured. Where her previous leads carried their wounds inward, Dong-man wore his outward and aimed them at the people who loved him most. However, as the narrative progresses, that perception breaks down. Dong-man is revealed as someone constantly drowning in unspoken anxiety. His noise is survival. His cruelty is deflection. His chaos is regulation. I felt guilty for briefly feeling relieved when his friends finally set their boundaries. This guilt, I later understood, was the drama working exactly as intended.
Because what Park Hae-young was building underneath the irritation was this: Dong-man and Eun-ah are distorted mirrors of the same wound. He externalises, she internalises. He creates noise, she creates silence. He fills every room he enters, she empties herself to make space for others. But underneath all of it, both are trying to say the same impossible sentence, help me, and the tragedy is that neither of them has ever learned how. Dong-man talks endlessly because silence feels like drowning. Eun-ah stayed quiet through things that would break most people, including a mother who crossed her off at nine years old and an ex-partner who erased her name from work she co-wrote, because asking for help was never something the people around her made available. Their relationship is not a Kdrama rescue mission. It offers something far more radical: the idea that comfort does not come from someone telling you everything will be fine, but from someone saying “I know why you are like that,” and meaning it without condition. This is a story about people finally willing to ask for help, and discovering it does not diminish their worth.
The OST deserves a mention, because this is a Park Hae-young drama and the music always pulls its weight. Starlight by Lucy anchors the lighter comedic register with exactly the right amount of warmth, and Pieces by TAEYEON is a standout in holding the emotional weight of the heavier sequences. I will admit I was surprised Sondia did not appear on this OST given her near-permanent presence in Park Hae-young’s previous works, but every selection here earns its place with the same quiet precision the writing demands.
Visually, the drama understands negative spaces in a way few others do. Those long silences, the shots of Dong‑man walking alone at night, Eun‑ah sitting in a room full of people and saying nothing. Park Hae‑young has always been a writer who weaponizes what is not said, and here the camera follows her lead.
Here is where my heart genuinely hurts. The real flaw of We Are All Trying Here is the narrative estate. Twelve episodes are simply not enough for Park Hae‑young to tell her story, and that constraint becomes painfully obvious in the final episode. She tried, she really did, and almost every plot point does get closed. But an 80‑minute finale is brutally tight pacing for a writer who usually luxuriates in 16 episodes. Something had to give. And what gives is Eun‑ah’s story with the script. Her conclusion is nowhere near as clean or as satisfying as the rest of the drama, especially when I compare it to Park Hae‑young’s other works. I do not say this lightly, but it left me feeling slightly dirty, like she became the sacrificial lamb because Dong‑man’s story needed more room to land. There is a strange and uncomfortable irony in a drama about a woman who spent her life being made invisible choosing to leave her resolution the least visible of all. I would have understood more if they had sidelined Hwang Ji‑man’s plot line instead, but they did not. And so here I am, sitting with the knowledge that this drama was four episodes away from my third Perfect 10 of the year. I am genuinely grieving those four episodes we should have had. This imbalance does not break the drama, but it does reveal its boundaries. The final stretch feels less like failure and more like a visible ceiling placed on an otherwise expanding emotional architecture.
As is typical of Park Hae-young’s writing, this is a drama you have to experience yourself. Behind the mundane and deceptively ordinary surface of people simply being people, layers fold into layers, and no summary does them adequate justice. She remains the only writer who has ever made me cry purely from dialogues. No swelling score, no camera tricks, no close-up held a beat too long to cue the emotion. Two people in a room, talking, and somehow I was undone.
For a drama that began with me wanting to remove Hwang Dong-man from the premises entirely, Park Hae-young got me to the point where the two leads’ unconscious cry for help shattered me completely. It is terrifying how thoroughly she dismantled every resistance I brought to this drama: an obnoxious lead, a gimmicky device I dismissed in episode two, a tonal register I did not recognise as hers at first. Because it is one thing to write within a viewer’s established preferences. It is another thing entirely to identify exactly what makes a viewer resistant and then dismantle that resistance so carefully and so precisely that by episode eight I was sitting there thinking she probably could have made me love a love triangle. That is not just good writing. That is a writer operating with complete command of her audience’s emotional interior.
It is, ultimately, a reminder of what Park Hae-young does best, and what she might achieve with even more narrative space. It really is unfortunate that the drama is four episodes short of what it needed. She needs the narrative estate. She deserves it. Give Park Hae-young all the narrative estate she needs, damnit. Hell, give her 20 episodes like Mr. Sunshine. She’d knock that out of the park too.
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A drama that cuts deep but heals at the same time
For a show that is characterized by the loud tantrums and bickering between each of its characters, I wonder how much of the creation of those characters was done in quiet contemplation followed by the echoes of the click-clacking of the writer's keyboard. Park Hae Young, the writer of this show , has undoubtedly outdone herself this time but it's no surprise once you realize she has also given us similarly spectacular works such as My Liberation Notes and My Mister.Particularly, I found the 'emotion watch' to be an excellent narrative device that gave way to the complex portrayal of each of the characters insecurities, worries and hopes. It features performances and writing so strong, that at times it made me wonder whether the creators of the show could see me through my screen and were talking to me directly. If you are not depressed, watch this show. If you are depressed, you MUST watch this show. Despite being a (sort of) meta-commentary on the film industry from the perspective of the writer, the dialogue pulls no punches and is happy to deliver potent doses of a wide range of emotions again and again and again.
If I had a dollar for every time I was spellbound when watching this show, I would have about 10. Which is not a lot, but it's surprising that it can happen to me when I'm 200+ shows deep into Kdrama viewing. Aside from a rushed ending, I believe this show is excellent and deserves all the praise it is getting and more.
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