Mercy for None: Where Sad Eyes and Fists Do All the Talking
If John Wick had a Korean cousin who once limped out of gang life by literally slicing his Achilles tendon, you'd get Nam Gi-jun—our brooding anti-hero in Mercy for None. Played by So Ji-sub with all the emotion of a man who’s just realized the last dumpling is gone, Gi-jun is quiet, deadly, and has a personal vendetta that could fuel three seasons of pure, poetic punching.
The story kicks off when Gi-jun’s little brother, who was clearly not gifted with survival instincts, gets himself killed after joining a rival gang. That’s Gi-jun’s cue to put down the rice bowl, dust off the trauma, and go full avenger mode. What follows is a wonderfully absurd but entertaining journey through seedy alleys, boardroom betrayals, and enough dramatic stares to give your reflection a complex.
It’s bloody, it’s moody, and it has more “men staring in silence” scenes than an indie art house film. Everyone’s always standing in the rain or the shadows, contemplating betrayal or just... life in general. No one smiles. Except maybe the extras, and even then, only when they’re not being punched.
Now let’s talk about the action. It’s crisp, brutal, and stylish. If you ever wanted to see a man dismantle a crime empire with just a frown, a limp, and a strategically timed uppercut, this one’s for you. But don’t expect complex character arcs. Most of the cast is there to either get beat up, betray someone, or monologue about “the past” before dramatically dying.
Is it deep? Emotionally? Not really. But it tries. It wants to be noir with heart, but mostly ends up being noir with occasional bro-hugs. Still, there’s a weird comfort in watching So Ji-sub glare people into submission. Honestly, give that man a drama where he just silently judges the world from a rooftop and I’d still watch it.
Mercy for None doesn’t reinvent the revenge genre, but it does give it a slick Korean polish. It's stylish, savage, and strangely satisfying. Think of it as a gritty bedtime story—with less lullaby, more knuckle sandwich.
The story kicks off when Gi-jun’s little brother, who was clearly not gifted with survival instincts, gets himself killed after joining a rival gang. That’s Gi-jun’s cue to put down the rice bowl, dust off the trauma, and go full avenger mode. What follows is a wonderfully absurd but entertaining journey through seedy alleys, boardroom betrayals, and enough dramatic stares to give your reflection a complex.
It’s bloody, it’s moody, and it has more “men staring in silence” scenes than an indie art house film. Everyone’s always standing in the rain or the shadows, contemplating betrayal or just... life in general. No one smiles. Except maybe the extras, and even then, only when they’re not being punched.
Now let’s talk about the action. It’s crisp, brutal, and stylish. If you ever wanted to see a man dismantle a crime empire with just a frown, a limp, and a strategically timed uppercut, this one’s for you. But don’t expect complex character arcs. Most of the cast is there to either get beat up, betray someone, or monologue about “the past” before dramatically dying.
Is it deep? Emotionally? Not really. But it tries. It wants to be noir with heart, but mostly ends up being noir with occasional bro-hugs. Still, there’s a weird comfort in watching So Ji-sub glare people into submission. Honestly, give that man a drama where he just silently judges the world from a rooftop and I’d still watch it.
Mercy for None doesn’t reinvent the revenge genre, but it does give it a slick Korean polish. It's stylish, savage, and strangely satisfying. Think of it as a gritty bedtime story—with less lullaby, more knuckle sandwich.
Was this review helpful to you?
