Raw, rare look behind the not so glamorous side of the Kpop curtain
I absolutely loved Time to Be Strong, a poignant South Korean drama that had a run time of 102 minutes. Even though I'm not usually a fan of sad movies, this one pulled me in with its unflinching honesty about the K-pop world, especially for those idols who chase the spotlight but end up in the shadows. It's not based on a single true story but draws heavily from real-life experiences in the industry—director Namkoong Sun interviewed former trainees and idols to craft these characters, and the film was commissioned by Korea's National Human Rights Commission to highlight the human cost of fame.
That grounding in reality makes it feel like a truthful exposé, not just fiction, and it's a rare film that dives deep into the unglamorous side of South Korean pop culture.
The story follows three retired K-pop idols—Sumin (Choi Sung-eun), Sarang (Ha Seo-yoon), and Tae-hee (Hyun Woo-seok)—as they finally take that long-overdue school trip to Jeju Island, a chance to reclaim the childhoods they sacrificed for their dreams. But things unravel quickly, forcing them to confront the scars they've carried from their failed careers.
Sumin, the former leader of her girl group, is a total mess; she's developed bulimia from years of brutal weigh-ins and constant pressure to stay thin, to the point where she can't even keep food down anymore. It's heartbreaking watching her throw up repeatedly, a stark reminder of how the industry chews up young women and spits them out.
Then there's Sarang (Ha Seo-yoon), so emotionally shattered from it all that she's suicidal, popping handfuls of pills and lashing out irrationally at anyone who even glances her way—her anger feels like a shield against the world that broke her. The group is still reeling from the suicide of one of their former bandmates, which adds this heavy layer of grief and unspoken guilt to their journey. When she finally turns the corner and decides she wants to live, realizing her death would further shatter the friends she cares about she is the one that says the iconic line "time to be strong."
Tae-hee stands out as the most "normal" of the bunch, still flashing his old idol charm to strangers, but even he's drowning in debt from those exploitative trainee contracts that promised stardom but delivered chains.
I caught subtle hints of chemistry between him and Sumin—maybe a crush on his side—and part of me wished for some romance to lighten the mood, but the film's commitment to realism keeps it grounded; in this world, survival trumps sparks. It also cleverly weaves in the group's dynamics with a super fan they encounter, who starts off irritating and intrusive but turns out to be genuinely kind, flipping the script on those obsessive followers who can be so insensitive and boundary-pushing.
What really struck me is how the Jeju trip exposes just how much these idols give up: no school memories, no normal teenage milestones, all traded for grueling training that often prioritizes "looks" over talent. Tae-hee can't even sing properly, which underscores the industry's shallow obsession with visuals—Tae-hee himself drops the bombshell that agencies used to physically beat idols, a dark nod to the "slave contracts" of the past that trapped them in debt and abuse, even if things have supposedly improved.
The film doesn't shy away from the mental health toll, from anxiety and depression to eating disorders like anorexia and bulimia, or the financial black hole that keeps many in poverty long after the lights dim. It's a truth-telling story: you might not make it big, but you'll still bear all the scars—from toxic fan interactions to a lifetime of therapy-worthy trauma.
For fellow fans of South Korean cinema and K-content, this is a must-watch. It's not your typical glossy idol drama; it's a deep, empathetic look at the human side of the hustle, reminding us that behind the shiny stages are real people paying a steep price. If you've ever wondered about the "what ifs" for those who don't become the next BTS, Time to Be Strong will intrigue and linger with you long after the credits roll. Highly recommend—grab some tissues and dive in.
That grounding in reality makes it feel like a truthful exposé, not just fiction, and it's a rare film that dives deep into the unglamorous side of South Korean pop culture.
The story follows three retired K-pop idols—Sumin (Choi Sung-eun), Sarang (Ha Seo-yoon), and Tae-hee (Hyun Woo-seok)—as they finally take that long-overdue school trip to Jeju Island, a chance to reclaim the childhoods they sacrificed for their dreams. But things unravel quickly, forcing them to confront the scars they've carried from their failed careers.
Sumin, the former leader of her girl group, is a total mess; she's developed bulimia from years of brutal weigh-ins and constant pressure to stay thin, to the point where she can't even keep food down anymore. It's heartbreaking watching her throw up repeatedly, a stark reminder of how the industry chews up young women and spits them out.
Then there's Sarang (Ha Seo-yoon), so emotionally shattered from it all that she's suicidal, popping handfuls of pills and lashing out irrationally at anyone who even glances her way—her anger feels like a shield against the world that broke her. The group is still reeling from the suicide of one of their former bandmates, which adds this heavy layer of grief and unspoken guilt to their journey. When she finally turns the corner and decides she wants to live, realizing her death would further shatter the friends she cares about she is the one that says the iconic line "time to be strong."
Tae-hee stands out as the most "normal" of the bunch, still flashing his old idol charm to strangers, but even he's drowning in debt from those exploitative trainee contracts that promised stardom but delivered chains.
I caught subtle hints of chemistry between him and Sumin—maybe a crush on his side—and part of me wished for some romance to lighten the mood, but the film's commitment to realism keeps it grounded; in this world, survival trumps sparks. It also cleverly weaves in the group's dynamics with a super fan they encounter, who starts off irritating and intrusive but turns out to be genuinely kind, flipping the script on those obsessive followers who can be so insensitive and boundary-pushing.
What really struck me is how the Jeju trip exposes just how much these idols give up: no school memories, no normal teenage milestones, all traded for grueling training that often prioritizes "looks" over talent. Tae-hee can't even sing properly, which underscores the industry's shallow obsession with visuals—Tae-hee himself drops the bombshell that agencies used to physically beat idols, a dark nod to the "slave contracts" of the past that trapped them in debt and abuse, even if things have supposedly improved.
The film doesn't shy away from the mental health toll, from anxiety and depression to eating disorders like anorexia and bulimia, or the financial black hole that keeps many in poverty long after the lights dim. It's a truth-telling story: you might not make it big, but you'll still bear all the scars—from toxic fan interactions to a lifetime of therapy-worthy trauma.
For fellow fans of South Korean cinema and K-content, this is a must-watch. It's not your typical glossy idol drama; it's a deep, empathetic look at the human side of the hustle, reminding us that behind the shiny stages are real people paying a steep price. If you've ever wondered about the "what ifs" for those who don't become the next BTS, Time to Be Strong will intrigue and linger with you long after the credits roll. Highly recommend—grab some tissues and dive in.
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