imaseed

Goodbye, fortune teller, hello, boyfriend ;)

"If you believe the lines on your palm dictate your destiny, don't forget that destiny lies in your own hands."

This super cute short film serves as the opening to GMMTV's unpredictable and quirky "spiritual" series—a successful appetizer in its visuals, flavor, and aftertaste. The love story is nothing new, still following familiar tropes like rivals-to-friends-to-lovers, but the storytelling and theme are truly unique. Perhaps I don't have many words to describe the sweet, fluffy romance in the film beyond a single adjective: cute. When they're shy—it's cute. When they try to make a move—cute. When they're upset—cute. When they argue—cute. Making up, supporting each other, cheering, confessing, kissing...—cute, cute, super cute! It might sound like an exaggeration, but this is truly one of the few series where I felt a cuteness that was completely natural, not forced or awkward, and not the result of characters (or actors) trying to act cute for the camera. And this very "naturalness" is the core element that guides the entire narrative, weaving through every aspect of the production and reaching the viewer's eye straight through the screen. The natural chemistry isn't pushed with "fan service" gestures or a rushed feeling. Every plot point is perfectly placed, with events unfolding sequentially, allowing the film's pace to develop logically—never hurried, never dragging. Everything is perfectly arranged so that a series of just four short episodes can convey all of its intentions without stumbling into potential pitfalls: being forced, illogical, abrupt, or unbalanced in its narrative.

Before watching "Muteluv," I had my doubts about how the filmmakers would handle an anthology series with short stories set within this strange "spiritual" theme. I was skeptical about the polish and romantic pacing of "Hi by My Luck." Now, I can say I am quite surprised and pleased that this project is not the kind of cheap, churned-out series I was worried about. The film has a very clear vibe and concept, with well-developed and relatable characters, and a romantic storyline that is flawless within its limited runtime. If I had to categorize it, I’d say this installment has the feel of a "standard" teen series—but without feeling overly generic like some other youth-focused shows. It has a bit of goofy romance, a touch of maturity befitting their age on the cusp of university, an open-mindedness in its themes, while still retaining that endearing awkwardness and cringe of young love. Overall, the film met and exceeded my expectations.

That's about the filmmaking; now for the content—a crucial aspect that the scriptwriter nailed. I absolutely love the age-appropriate issues the film chose to explore. The love story is adorable, the friendships are enviable. Err is book-smart but slightly clueless, while Mawin is a goofy genius. Together, their love creates a relationship that is sweet, gentle, humorous, and also light, mature, and mutually supportive—in short, it's incredibly admirable. The twist about the fortune teller TK's identity isn't hard to guess, and the "hidden identity" trope isn't new, but it always provides a fun foundation. This time, "Hi by My Luck" handled the reveal quite well. Although it wasn't explained in great detail and felt a little too fantastical, as a vehicle to drive the plot and add a unique flavor, the fortune teller element fulfilled its role perfectly. It not only created a charming high school romance but also built conflict, developed the characters, and evoked empathy from the viewers. This is the part I want to praise the most—the way it addresses the struggles of students about to step into adulthood. It was handled so smoothly. While not deeply profound (due to the runtime), it was free of filler, forced moralizing dialogue, and shallow messages. That's why I say the film feels so incredibly natural. I love Mawin’s story, the way they told his story and the way he told it himself. On some level, it touched me deeply. I didn't find Mawin, Err, or anyone else pitiful, because they are all living their lives, just as we are living ours—ordinary people trying to explain, process, organize, and live their own lives. Mawin and Err, like their friends, are still moving forward, finding their way as they go. Some use a map to advance step by step; some charge ahead and turn back when they hit a wall; some don't know where they're going; some need to pause to find their footing... but no matter what, each is fumbling their way forward to find a path, to find themselves. Therefore, instead of feeling sorry for them, I feel happy—because they are still moving forward; because, despite their confusion and feeling lost, they are still thinking and struggling every day to find their way; because they are still young, with plenty of time for trial and error, with their whole lives ahead of them, and with each other. Mawin and Err are two horses, but they aren't on a racetrack; they are simply two horses fumbling their way along a long road, who happen to cross paths and journey together. Their meeting doesn't mean there are two fewer horses on the road; they are still there, still walking, heading toward an unknown destination. The only difference is, now we have two horses in love.

It's been a long time since I've watched a film I would describe as this "natural." The naturalness permeates every aspect, from content to form. Sea and Keen did an excellent job with their roles, so completely that while watching, I truly felt like I was watching Mawin and Err living out their youthful days—not Sea and Keen trying to follow directions from a script (which may sound like an actor's job, but not every actor can achieve this). Another shout-out to Sea—he truly embodied Mawin, creating the exact image of Mawin I had in my mind. After this series, I truly have a bit more hope for GMM's new generation of actors. They made their characters come alive on screen, and though it was brief, it was absolutely complete. Aside from the drawback of its short length (which could also be a plus—would a longer series have been ruined by drama and filler?) and a few other logical issues—and maybe a slight lack of more romantic scenes (:D)—"Muteluv: Hi by My Luck" is a perfect and complete film for a school-life BL romance. It meets all the criteria of a successful series.

Read More

Kagubata

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a horror movie that feels like a true horror movie. It strikes a perfect balance between the supernatural and the gory, with a vintage feel, a chilling atmosphere, and effective jumpscares. Unlike many modern films that boast about being "horror that doesn't rely on jumpscares," I actually prefer films like this. For me, the point of watching a horror movie is to feel scared, to be startled, to be on the edge of my seat, never knowing when the "scary things" will pop out. It's a way to challenge myself, which is why I'll always appreciate horror films that can effectively create a sense of fear.

The plot isn't overly cerebral, nor is it insultingly simple or predictable. It's a film that keeps you tense, wondering what will happen next, filled with bizarre actions and sudden developments. Although the core of the story is still a demon, the journey of unveiling the mystery, of searching for a way to exorcise it, only to discover that this demonic force has sunk its roots so deep into the human world that it's beyond saving—that's what needs to be constantly refreshed with new, unique, and diverse elements. And to think this film was made in 2005... it truly surpasses most of the horror I've seen recently.

I'm not a die-hard horror fan; I haven't seen that many, mainly because the pacing of the genre (especially in Western films) often doesn't click with me. The beginning is almost always a slow burn, the color palette is dark from start to finish, a ghost possesses some object, wreaks havoc, and kills people. Then, the main character finds an exorcist, uncovers some secret (usually about a restless spirit with lingering resentment or attachment), and in the end, the blame is pinned on human wrongdoing. This is a common formula in many horror films I've seen from various countries. And honestly, for me, what makes a horror film genuinely terrifying comes from things that have depth and layers—things that are unknown and ambiguous. People fear what they don't understand.

This time, the demon in Noroi is a real demon, an evil from the underworld. Although it was summoned by humans, it doesn't exist merely as a vessel to preach a moral lesson. Evil is just evil; it isn't reduced to the socially-conscious, philosophical mantra that "man is the real monster." This time, the supernatural force that humans have always feared is real: an ancient "demon worm" we know nothing about. We are completely in the dark about its origins, methods, form, and rituals. And above all, this unimaginable entity is presented as "existing" in a very real way through documentary-style footage featuring real people. This is the element that makes Noroi one of the most frightening films I've ever seen.

I've always loved this kind of old-school aesthetic. It feels like in our sleek, modern world, there's no place left for ghosts and demons. In a life that's become so mechanical, pragmatic, and reliant on science and technology, people just don't care about the supernatural anymore. Humans seem to think there's almost nothing left that they don't know or haven't figured out, so the value of a good ghost story has been reduced to a trivial joke. That's why I love the chilling sensation of watching something "outdated" in low-resolution footage that is nonetheless direct, bloody, gruesome, raw, and real. The fragmented editing, rather than making the film feel disjointed, creates the sense that the viewer is the one slowly piecing together the hidden story.

In its role as a horror film, Noroi delivers on all fronts. I believe it truly set a benchmark, a standard, and a foundation for the films that followed (from its premise and scare tactics to its ending and narrative style).

However, I have to admit that the beginning is a bit difficult to get through and it's easy to lose focus, so I can't give the film a perfect score. But if you can push through the initial part and truly immerse yourself in the movie, the ending will not disappoint you.

Read More

Everything in life has its own rhythm

Everything in life has its own rhythm: the beat of a song, the steps on the way home, the roar of an engine, a blink of an eye, the thump of a heart. All these "speeds" come together to create a unique flow, what we call the tempo of life.

A SOLID 9.

Gentle, warm, sweet, and deeply touching. This truly feels like it was written by a woman. That's all I could think of while watching "Thamepo" and even after it ended. The film is like a fresh, green meadow, a safe haven in a storm, able to mend a heart after broke it open. It doesn't try to hurt or torment you, but rather encourages you to look deep inside, facing those tough, nagging questions: "What am I living for?" and "What good do my actions bring to this world?"

Of course, these are universal questions of our time, for every individual; those big life questions are always there, and people never stop asking them, then coming up with different answers. Some believe that living means making an impact, and to show that impact, you have to be really successful, reach a high place, so your name is remembered in history, or at least leave something behind from the life you've lived.

I once read in a novel that each life on Earth is basically a temporary stay; eventually, the guest leaves, moving to another place, unburdened, leaving nothing behind. Is it true that life only has meaning if we leave our name in this world? Isn't it true that by the end of our lives, everyone's name will be carved onto a tombstone anyway? So, perhaps, everyone will have their name etched somewhere, precisely at the moment they return their temporary room and leave this world? Honestly, what the world expects of us is exactly what we expect of ourselves. People long to be recognized, respected, and loved; no one wants to live a pointless life, a life that's just existing. But how do you live a life that matters?

"Thamepo" tackles that question head-on, using a mix of comparisons, trial, and error to give answers that are direct but not shallow. I've noticed that GMM series always try to slip in some kind of social message, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, and this time, GMM really hit the mark.

The storytelling is clever and subtle, keeping the plot from being predictable or boring, even though it's just about two lovers, an idol's complicated romance, or the dark side of showbiz – themes that have been seen hundreds of times. While dealing with these familiar topics, "Thamepo" this time brings in a different story, a different message, told in a fresh way. It explores the bond between idols and their true fans (also mark a gentle reminder), friendship, family love, love as a safe place to return to, and most importantly, the very tempo of life itself. Live at your own tempo, listen to your heart's beat, just live without worrying – that's the answer to everything.

The segment that truly gave me goosebumps was the one about the tailor's dream. He had lived over 60 years, doing the same job, so happy and positive that people assumed it was his dream. But then he chuckled, admitting it wasn't a dream at all; he had never had one, yet he was still living. I believe that many others, not just me, saw themselves in that statement. No dreams, no goals, no destination – do these alone predict that we cannot succeed because we have no way to reach our aspirations? Does it mean our lives are meaningless, and we ourselves are worthless?

Actually, for a long time, I haven't thought that way. And this time, I was amazed, because the truth is that many others share my feelings. Our mere existence in this life, the way we interact with the world, is enough to leave our mark. What defines me is not an IELTS certificate, a gold medal, or millions in my bank account, but the tears I've shed, the half-eaten cake in my fridge, the glass of water I've drunk, the paths I've walked. I exist in this world through the image I leave in others' eyes, my smile, my foolishness, and through the image I leave in my own eyes – my helplessness, doubts, and even my worries and anxieties.

Every second, every minute, every step we take, every breath we draw, adds to the flow of the life we live, and that of those around us too.

What are expectations, what is peer pressure? One is a set tempo forcing us to follow it, the other is the tempo of others – people who are also struggling, taking steps just like us. It's still the same truth: "fuck it" – just ignore it. Being selfish for yourself isn't truly selfish; instead, it's respecting your own tempo, as long as you also respect the tempo of others.

I've written too much about my thoughts and ideas in a review again, but a film that can spark such reflections in me proves it's still a good film, capable of making me connect deeply enough to feel its hidden message, instead of just watching for surface entertainment. "Thamepo" isn't outstanding in terms of keeping you glued to the screen, nor is there explosive chemistry, but everything unfolds gently, naturally, telling a story of pure and incredibly "green" love. Talking about love (a pretty main theme) in the film, this is a healing love, a comfort zone for both characters; one finds peace for emotional wounds, the other finds themselves through that love. Their love is very pure, like a first love. I have a piece of music to send to Thame and Po:

"The rain falls, gently watering the soul

And the rain is regenerating us (regenerating us)

The rain brings you gently into my life

And after the rain, the heart also blossoms

The sky is so blue, sunlight bathes the young leaves

Morning embraces the soul since you came (since you came)

And love begins when we look into each other's eyes

I see my heart reborn after many pains"

That's it. Watching the film, even though Thamepo's love story doesn't involve complex misunderstandings or overly intense drama, perhaps only situational issues, it still makes you want to love and be loved. I like the scenes where Po cries; his crying makes you feel heartbroken too, both fragile and strong, mature and cute (kudos to Est). I like listening to Thame's voice, gentle, clear, easy to listen to, very soothing (kudos to William). Although their relationship is naturally soft, so their conversations felt a bit cheesy to me, that's just their style of romance, and I find it quite charming. Another kudos for the pretty intimate kissing scene.

The story of friendship, love, dreams, and life is told very completely, with an ending that closes one chapter and opens a bright future for youth and love, continuously moving forward with one's own tempo – and that of their lover – I'll wait for you, you'll wait for me, everyone living the most meaningful life, in this temporary stay.

But of course, there were still some moments that threw off the film's tempo for me. Some details felt forced and unnecessary (like Jun and Po parts), some parts were a bit too slow; I prefer the problem-solving parts to be a bit more fast-paced. The metaphors and imagery were really good (the steps, Jun and Thame playing at the amusement park, their gazes...) but it felt like they were worried the audience wouldn't get it, so some explanations made the film feel a bit less deep. The film is a bit too idealized, everything's a bit "unrealistic," and there are some plot holes (like Thame being famous but walking around holding hands like a normal person), but hey, that's also a way to get the message across, so it's fine.

The film still gave me a full experience – the emotions I look for when watching a movie: joy, excitement, sweetness, depth, touching moments, warmth (truly super heartwarming, especially the parts about the boyband, it just melts your heart). The film surprised me quite a bit when it needed to, and throughout the whole thing, because I had watched the first few episodes and found the tempo too slow, not engaging enough, a bit boring, but watching it again, I realized how lucky I was to give the film another chance.

Read More

When no one hears your sound, you begin to doubt whether you made one at all.

When no one hears your sound, you begin to doubt whether you made one at all. 52Hz isn’t the frequency of loneliness—it’s a fervent call to the vast, silent blue, not expecting an answer, only yearning to speak to the sea.

Extraordinary Attorney Woo isn’t just the story of South Korea’s first autistic lawyer. It’s a story—or countless stories—about a whale with a singular, unreachable frequency. 52 Blue, the loneliest whale on Earth, whose call at such a unique pitch no creature can hear or answer. Woo Young-woo, a soul adrift in her own world, misunderstood by others who can’t grasp what she feels. But when no one understands you, do you lose yourself, too? Without others to see your essence, your individuality, your unique self, do you fade?

Yet, is there truly only one such whale on Earth? Or is 52 Blue merely a shadow cast by the ocean’s depths?

Woo Young-woo is special, singular, but never alone. Because everything human is like that—special, singular. That shared uniqueness binds us, even if no one fully understands another, even if we barely understand ourselves. When we dare to sing our song, we’re wrapped in a rare energy, no matter the frequency, melody, or tune. That song makes us exist, makes us swim, keeps us there, at the ocean’s floor. Young-woo, with her autism spectrum disorder, is unlike any of us. Even among others with autism, no two are alike—they don’t easily “connect” with shared struggles. They face discrimination, scorn, pity, and misconceptions. Yet she’s also like all of us— with her own voice, her own tone, daring to sing, to join the vibrant anthem of sea and sky, to dive into timeless love. She’s like us because we’re all different, because everyone is. This isn’t the first series to amplify a specific “minority” community’s voice. Like others in its genre, Extraordinary Attorney Woo carries the distinct flavor of its creators, its story, its characters—everything. That’s its greatest charm, its most lovable trait.

Extraordinary Attorney Woo isn’t merely a legal drama about a lawyer and her cases. It’s a story about humanity. What sets it apart is its deep dive into civil cases—stories that seem simple, relatable, yet burn with urgency and deserve more attention. Humans are flawed; the good aren’t always virtuous, the bad not always wicked. The heart of the 16 episodes revolves around this truth—humans and their choices, their consciousness, their actions. Justice and law are measured by conduct and moral compassion, but isn’t the law, created by humans, meant to protect them, too? Lawyers stand for people, regardless of their goodness or flaws. The law protects humanity, not just legal principles.

“Do you choose to be a lawyer who defends justice or your client?”

In the series, Woo Young-woo and her team, after many steps, choose justice. Sometimes that justice is their client, sometimes it’s their faith, sometimes it’s themselves. But justice isn’t perfection. Facing justice doesn’t always mean facing evil. A villain isn’t inherently bad—just opposed to the hero, sometimes standing on a different angle, not clashing, not converging, simply apart.

Ultimately, the law regulates human behavior, not a yardstick for right or wrong.

Because human actions aren’t dictated by reason alone—they’re the embodiment of the heart. Every character, whether central or fleeting, right or wrong, paired or merely stirred by a fleeting spark, has loved and been loved. Love in Extraordinary Attorney Woo isn’t just romantic—it’s a kaleidoscope of emotions, some named, others too vast for simple words. At the start, Young-woo mimics expressions from pictures; by the end, she feels her emotions without needing to label them. Each episode brings a new case, a new story, but the thread weaving them together is emotion—a distinct current of feeling. Marital bonds, neighborly ties, parent-child love, ambition, desire, kinship, or even a fiery devotion to personal ideals. Everyone has their own ideals, their own way of thinking. “Every action and thought stems from love or fear,” because humans love themselves, love others, love life—loving with reason, with adjusted behavior, fearing mistakes. Each episode illuminates these truths.

Beyond its profound, moving, and wonderfully strange story, a great series needs more. It’s the stellar acting—actors nailing their roles and connecting with the audience, conveying characters’ emotions with striking clarity while leaving room for interpretation. The performances are truly remarkable, whether portraying champions of justice or those defying it. Every tear, every smile, every message shines through meticulous care. The visuals and color palette are sweet, serene, and utterly lovable, fostering empathy. The pacing is neither rushed nor sluggish, never frustrating. The male lead, our beloved “green flag,” is a standout, and the supporting characters are well-crafted. (Though, perhaps because Jun-ho is Young-woo’s light, his individual arc feels a bit sparse beyond their shared moments.) Team Leader Jung is phenomenal, the colleague and Geu-ra-mi are fantastic, and the friends, passersby, or those who linger all fulfill their roles beautifully. The whale CGI is impressively magical. Overall, the series is meaningful, humane, healing, gentle, polished, and deserving of its high ratings.

(My nitpicks: it didn’t fully grip me, maybe because it’s slice-of-life. The twists and actions are sometimes great but occasionally predictable, which frustrated me when characters didn’t see them coming. I also longed for the surprise I craved—it didn’t quite hit that peak. Imperfect characters are a strength, but some felt too perfect. I wished for a more cohesive flow; at times, it felt a bit disjointed. The main and supporting couples’ chemistry is solid, but their wholesome vibe left me slightly restless—sorry!)

Read More

Twinkle, twinkle, little star - How I wonder what you are

And if one day I could count 1,000 stars, I would certainly wish to watch this film again, with the original emotions of the first time. "A Tale of Thousand Stars" tells a beautiful story like a fairy tale with melodious tones from the mountains of Northern Thailand. At first impression, surely everyone would exclaim that the film's title is so beautiful, full of dreamy and mystical colors, and usually the title portrays the nature of the film as clearly as possible. And indeed, the film has created a story as beautiful as a painting, not the noble beauty of princesses and princes, nor solely a dreamy pink color, but a beauty full of poetry and feelings emanating from the flavor of mountains and forests, love, heart, and soul of each character.

The film isn't simply about a prince meeting his knight, about the "puppet" and the "green giant"; the fairy tale in the film tells about their village, about life, focusing on beauty from the farthest hills. Everything originates from the heart of a volunteer teacher who died in a traffic accident and was given to Tian's body. At first, such a trope gives the feeling of a tragic and tense body swap story - but the moment he decides to return to the mountainous area with "Hill of a Thousand Stars" to fulfill the wishes of the heart's original owner in his body, I knew that "A Tale of Thousand Stars" would be a truly bright fairy tale, bringing light, heading towards light, and radiating light like stars.

In a place where electricity is scarce, where you have to go to the stream to bathe, where you have to go to the market in town to buy goods, a beautiful love story blossomed. Indeed, "the brightest star shines in the darkest sky" - difficult circumstances make the warm human connection of all the villagers shine brighter, illuminate the eyes of ethnic children, the sense of responsibility to protect the country of the forest rangers, the sacrifice of everyone to protect the peace of the village.

In the end, after many events, amidst the gloomy sounds of mountains and forests and many imminent dangers, viewers, like the young volunteer teacher SeeTian, see the sky clearer, see that difficult mountainous region more beautiful, see that the shortages here are nothing compared to the happiness he received. And then, along with 999 other stars, Phupha found his final star, the brightest one, coming from the city. Just like how Tian accomplished the most difficult task, more difficult than apologizing and recognizing mistakes: deciding to forgive himself, returning Torfun's fairy tale book to her to write his own story; both he and his Chief opened their hearts - "If you want someone's heart, sincerely give yours first."

Hidden in the love story born and grown from misunderstandings, reassurance, and the purest emotions, the love that sparkles like starlight bringing healing flavors to both, "A Tale of Thousand Stars" also speaks about other humanitarian ideas such as forgiveness, faith, self-acceptance, sacrifice, responsibility to the homeland, happiness lying in dedication to life. After watching the film, I suddenly found life more meaningful, warmer, and brighter. The film reinforces viewers' faith in life, like healing. "If you are confident that what you did today was right, then you don't need to worry about tomorrow's mistakes" - the film teaches us to slow down, enjoy every moment in life, find joy and ourselves from the smallest things, about how to find passion and pursue the right direction.

I like the film's storytelling, very everyday, familiar, rustic, and gentle, also mixed with some humor. The climactic situations of the film aren't exaggerated, resolving conflicts quickly mainly because the characters' personalities are very good. The character building is consistent and appropriate, the chemistry is super stable, and, oh my, Mix's acting superbly conveys emotions. At the end of each episode is a small quote, not too grandiose but good and familiar.

Finally, "A Tale of Thousand Stars" is a very complete fairy tale, about the film's atmosphere, characters, story, humanitarian meaning, ideology, and the ending that points towards a very sparkling future. However, sometimes the film wasn't very engaging for me (probably because each week only one episode was released, so at that time I got tired of watching, who knew I would drop it right before the climax episode, I have to say I also like the sadder episodes a bit more), the pace of the film isn't slow and is just right but maybe when I watched it I needed something "faster." The music is good, truly ethnic yet melodious, suitable for both sad and happy moments, and the dialogue, oh my, so cheesy but adorable.

Read More

A Journey Through Time, Without a Destination, Only a Direction - Towards You

I watched "Our 18x2 Youth: Journey Towards You" during the early afternoon hours of summer, in the sweltering heat, fighting against drowsy sleepiness, but miraculously, the 120-minute film still made me feel warm, right in the middle of a hot summer day. A Taiwanese film in collaboration with Japan, featuring names that guarantee youth cinema, should have set very high expectations for me, but strangely, before and while entering the theater, I still didn't expect too much excitement or surprise from this film. Perhaps thanks to that, I could let myself drift into Jimmy's journey without a destination to Japan, immerse in the love story of two people who loved each other but never expressed it in words, in an atmosphere full of poetry and beautiful, shimmering scenes set in misty Japan and Taiwan lit up with lights.

"Our 18x2 Youth" first and foremost is still a love story. It's not a different, unique story that has never appeared on screen, because essentially, any love story, whether in films or real life, is similar, all originating from the same wonderful feelings. Jia Ming's first love came unexpectedly amid such heartfelt stirrings; one could say he was struck by love at first sight on a clear day, when a basketball, which was also his childhood dream, slowly rolled to the feet of a Japanese girl. Then, the story is told through Jimmy's dreams, revisiting his memories, continuing like that, with summer seeming to stretch endlessly. Jimmy recalls the story of his first love, remembers Jia Ming, the young man full of passion but easily shy and embarrassed when standing before his first crush, remembers the trips on his motorbike around small Tainan, much smaller compared to places Jimmy visited later, but also more special, much more. At that time, Jia Ming was 18 years old, not knowing what he dreamed of, not knowing what the future would hold, what the destination of his life would be. Now, Jimmy is 36, pausing his career pursuit to embark on a new journey, to find himself, to find the woman he loves. The section with the shifting perspective and narrator, with the separate story from Ami's narrative, wasn't really surprising, but it was like the way something expected finally arrives, filling my soul and longing. It turns out both were oriented towards each other; it turns out there are loves in this world where no one confesses because they both understand, no need for words, no need for kisses, words of love, no need for affirmation or confirmation. They just loved each other, peacefully like that, sadly like that, soaked in tears. That was first love, those were the feelings, also the warmth, the light, the cherry blossom rain falling forever, the snowflakes covering their lives, until much later.

"Our 18x2 Youth" is also a story about trips, about journeys. The truth about itinerary in the film is a very poetic association, but extremely simple. Each trip is actually a stroll in a new land, to interact with new people, new cultures, to fall in love with a strange place, to look back at ourselves, to love ourselves, to love where we were born. Traveling is wandering, steps without a destination, feeling throughout the journey we take, preserving scenes only we can see, moments that exist only for an instant. Both Jimmy and Ami wished their journey would never stop; they wrote their wish on a lantern released into the sky. I believe their dream will come true and has already come true, because each life is a journey, we travel without knowing where we'll go, that journey is also like a visit, an expedition, observing humanity, feeling love, loving lands, people, life. More profound than a trip to Taiwan, Japan, or around the world, the film also conveys the human ideal of living, we keep moving forward, resting is to start a new journey, perhaps that's what the filmmaker wanted to convey?

And, finally, "Our 18x2 Youth" is a collaboration between Taiwan and Japan. Therefore, I could clearly feel the culture of both countries skillfully interwoven throughout the love story, about youth and growth, about messages in journeys. Taiwan, Tainan simple, vibrant, bright with lights from night markets, bearing the features of a rural area; Taipei hurried on electric trains, modern under neon lights, bustling, busy. Japan in a noodle shop at night, hidden in pure white snow, passing on trains crossing rivers, dreamy with cherry blossom rain, sparkling with lanterns released into the high sky. Not just cultural interchange in landmarks, geographical areas, the feeling and atmosphere have very slight changes, but harmonious throughout the film. The art of filming is distinct, soothing and gentle from beginning to end, the flexible tone shifting between cold and warm for scenes alternating between present-past, adulthood-youth, 18-18x2, frames creating a feeling of confinement in a box with settings stretching far away, the subtlety in mixing light, film rhythm fast and slow, colors... All contributed to creating a film as beautiful as a Japanese animation, covered with the nostalgic breath commonly seen in Japanese and Taiwanese films, a unique quality no one can copy.

Final words must praise the actors in the film. All were very natural; Greg Hsu perhaps has received enough praise to build several cities, truly a box office guarantee. I often joke that just having him participate in a role means the filmmaker has already succeeded halfway. The difference between Jimmy and Jia Ming sometimes made me think they were two different people (just exaggerating haha). The actress playing Ami was also very beautiful; she played her role perfectly, cute and full of first love vibes always. In general, the good chemistry comes from the accomplished acting of both actors :D

Despite all this praise, I don't think I really empathized much with the film, so it was hard for me to have as many emotions as I expected. I couldn't feel too much pleasure in traveling, although the film did make me want to travel a bit more, nor could I deeply absorb the profound love between the two (it had only been a month, sigh). I yawned quite a bit during the beginning, the storytelling wasn't very smooth, many shots made me wonder why they transitioned scenes like that, the tears near the end of the film were a bit forced... Anyway, the film deserves its current success, but perhaps it's not underrated at all.

Read More

To fall in love with a rival... but as for who that rival is, Wu Su Wei isn't telling.

"Revenged Love" is certainly a peculiar show. My viewing experience with it was very different from other series. It’s been a long time since I followed a show weekly as it aired, only to then take a long break and wait for it to finish before binging the final 10 episodes. It was a fragmented viewing journey and not my usual style, but thankfully, the show did not disappoint.

I think a series like "Revenged Love" in 2025 is a truly unique breath of fresh air. It combines character tropes straight out of 2015 with plot points that feel uniquely its own, all filtered through modern sensibilities. This blend creates a show that is simultaneously humorous, endearingly silly and cringey, cliché, and charming. The funny thing is, I always felt like I was watching novel characters performing a play, as the series is so strongly reminiscent of danmei (BL) from a decade ago. And I mean that as a compliment; it's been a while since I've seen a show that pushed its character archetypes to the absolute maximum like this.

When talking about "Revenged Love," I want to divide it into three parts—the beginning, middle, and end—each with its own adjective: Interesting, Conflicting, and Serene.

The first part, roughly the first 10 episodes, was perfectly paced for weekly viewing, leaving you eager to watch the behind-the-scenes footage while you waited. The character interactions were cute in that cringey, shy, and awkward way that makes you both laugh and squirm with delight. Wu Su Wei's journey to woo his rival was a process I’ve never seen in any show before, simply because the characters' train of thought is truly one-of-a-kind. It was incredibly cute and silly.

The second part began to unravel the past of the main trio: Chi Cheng, Wang Shuo, and Guo Cheng Yu. This is the section that made me put the series on hold. Partly because I didn't want my opinion to be swayed by others, and partly because the piled-up misunderstandings felt a bit illogical and weren't quite to my taste. I'm a big fan of angst, but these angsty arcs felt dragged out and the execution was peculiar, unfolding in ways I didn't expect. The complicated relationships of their past made me a bit hesitant.
Fortunately, when I binged the entire second half in one go, the initial warmth and charm returned, concluding the series with a sun-drenched warmth that successfully warmed my heart.

After saying all that, I just want to affirm that "Revenged Love" is a very different kind of show, both in my subjective viewing experience and in a more objective sense. It is a rare Chinese BL drama in today's market, pioneering a new path for a genre that has been "shunned" in mainland China. The show caused quite a stir during its run, and witnessing that, I feel it has truly laid a brick in the road ahead. Where that road leads is anyone's guess—it could be a resurgence of BL dramas in China and the world, or it could lead to even harsher censorship. But regardless of the path, I believe "Revenged Love" has undeniably etched its name onto the landscape of television.

Honestly, "Revenged Love" is a simple series, meant purely for entertainment. It succeeded in its role of delivering laughter, fluttery feelings, emotion, and food for thought to its audience. And that's everything a show like this needs to be.
As for the cast and characters, the chemistry is solid, especially the main couple in the early episodes and the side couple in the later ones (and throughout the whole show). I hate to admit it, but I found myself leaning a little more towards the side couple by the end. And, though I know it's an impossible wish, I often thought that Zi Yu and Tian Hu Ning would be perfect for a campus romance series; perhaps a role like that would feel more effortless than their characters here.

Read More

They hired me to romance an assassin, but they didn't know I was the real heart killer.

This is a film that has ideas and has "da vibez," but lacks the ability to bring them to life. The Heart Killers came to me as a contradiction—in its expectations, in the reviews, and in the feelings of those who had seen it. There was praise and there was criticism, and it seemed this was not an easy watch for everyone. In other words, one’s feeling about the film is entirely a matter of taste, and this time, it fell outside of mine.

This is a strange film. I had to exclaim that it was "strange" multiple times while watching—it was beyond my imagination, beyond my threshold for acceptance, and yet simultaneously below it. This time, "strange" is not a compliment. Before I dwell on its strangeness, I want to talk about what the film did well. First, the idea: a freelance tattoo artist, whose main concern is his younger brother, is "hired" to seduce an assassin to uncover the mastermind behind the deaths of several high-society figures, all in exchange for having his criminal record wiped clean. Meanwhile, his friend, a car mechanic—a tough, somewhat reckless, defiant, and fearless soul—joins the plan to "seduce" another assassin to help his friend succeed. The "seduce them for the mission" trope is always an interesting one, offering a safe path to creating a film that is sufficiently humorous, dramatic, thrilling, and even heartbreaking. The moment the heart killer is discovered by the literal killer is also the moment he realizes the heart he just stabbed is his own—this is the "peak" moment I always anticipate, the turning point that activates a cascade of heightened emotions. This trope will always lead to that trigger—successfully or not—and I had every right to be hopeful. And indeed, The Heart Killers followed the roadmap perfectly. It wasn't innovative, but it was safe enough to keep me invested: there were clear motives, a lighthearted and humorous "seduction" phase, budding feelings, the thrill of nearly being discovered, the shattering moment of discovery, reconciliation, and finally, teaming up. It even threw in a sharp turn at the end to ramp up the pace for a completely satisfying conclusion. The film's color grading and cinematography also made an effort to build a fairly "cinematic" atmosphere; the scenes didn't feel "low-budget" and showed a certain level of investment.

However, within these points of praise lie obvious flaws. What the film produced was a promising idea, a by-the-book plot progression, and polished scenes—but the one crucial element needed to make it a good film was invisible: connection. If making a film is like putting together a jigsaw puzzle, The Heart Killers had the frame and all the pieces, but somehow, the person assembling it couldn't make them fit. The edges of the pieces were overlapping, misaligned, and unable to touch. Some parts were missing, others were superfluous. The final result is a clunky, uneven picture. To be precise, this picture lacks smoothness. The first time I noticed this was after finishing an episode and feeling no compulsion to watch the next (perhaps this would be less apparent if I watched it weekly, but when binged, this flaw becomes glaring). The plot points lack the glue to connect everything, including the viewer, to the film. The very structure, which clearly divides the narrative between two couples, makes the composition feel disjointed, dry, and disconnected. This lack of connection doesn't just exist within the film itself but also creates an emotional disconnect between the film and the viewer (not to mention that the interactions between characters sometimes feel lacking).

And in a film this "patchwork," the acting becomes a critical element to discuss. This time, First and Khaotung delivered solid performances. Perhaps thanks in part to a more fluid and fitting script, the loveline between their characters, Bison and Kant, felt more genuine, mature, and logical to me. From their initial impressions of each other to Bison falling into the trap and pulling the heart-killer Kant down with him, to the truth being revealed, Bison's desire for revenge (for hatred is a sign of lingering love), and Kant's own confirmation of his feelings (though the psychological development here felt a bit abrupt—resolved after a single conversation?), they reconcile and become an official couple. This arc was a relatively peaceful current, with only occasional moments meant to emphasize Bison's dangerous, unhinged nature. Otherwise, their relationship was low on drama. Even the BDSM element (beyond just adding aesthetic flair) was cleverly implemented to create a high-stakes payoff during the climax (the penguin), which made me appreciate its purpose and prevented it from feeling like mere fanservice or cringe. Yet, for some reason, First and Khaotung's chemistry this time around didn't feel explosive. They fulfilled their roles, and their relationship was stable, but it was missing that certain spark. Was it the maturity of the relationship? Or was this dynamic simply not to my taste?

Next, we must discuss Fadel and Style's storyline. In contrast to Kant and Bison, their relationship felt clunky, awkward, and far more turbulent. First, I must acknowledge the improvement in Joong and Dunk's acting (mostly Joong—the last film I saw him in was *Star in My Mind*, so his progress felt significant. Dunk also tried, but generally still came across as stiff and not fully immersed in his role). But for whatever reason, the romantic development between their characters felt forced. Fadel's psychological shift was present but difficult to trace, making him feel out of character at times. It was hard for me to pinpoint the specific "sparkle" moment between Fadel and Style; their relationship remained ambiguous and hard to define. I understood they were in love, but my own feelings were conflicted, which I found odd: at times it was cheesy, at others dry, sometimes logical, sometimes nonsensical. This, in turn, made me question their performance. What if Kant and Bison's storyline was smoother simply because the actors carried it?

Beyond these contradictions, the film suffers from several plot holes and logical inconsistencies. Why would the police send a tattoo artist with a prior theft conviction to investigate a dangerous assassin syndicate (a point many have raised)? Why would Kant lure his friend, Style, into a perilous plan involving contact with a killer? Why would the villainess behind it all murder an entire family just to adopt the child and train him as her assassin—why not just adopt an orphan? Why were there so few people involved in such critical missions (like the revenge plot in the final episode)? The scene where Fadel and Style meet the two uncles on the road was also very contrived (it existed only to resolve their conflict and set up the iconic bathtub scene). In short, it felt like the filmmakers came up with certain scenes first and then tried to build supporting details around them to justify their existence. These elements became mere tools to get to the "important" scenes they wanted, without investing equal effort into every part of the story. This turns certain details and characters into disposable plot devices, easily forgotten, and contributes to the lack of cohesion in the overall picture. This focus on specific puzzle pieces also obscures the ultimate meaning. The film's messages—letting go of the past, looking to the future, violence is not the solution, learn to love yourself and let yourself be loved—are mostly delivered through unnatural-sounding philosophical lines and are not clearly woven throughout the narrative. It all becomes incomprehensible when, after getting out of prison, Fadel and Bison—with Style, Kant, and their families watching—choose to kill Lily.

In conclusion, The Heart Killers has potential and many opportunities to stand out, but its filmmaking approach is clichéd and unpolished. This results in a journey that is bumpy, uneven, and ultimately not smooth or easy enough to swallow for my taste.

Read More