3
BL Sizzle Overwhelmed by Vibrant Historical Storytelling
Shine is an outstanding historical drama. The series opens in July 1969, its initial scenes set during the very moment of Neil Armstrong’s “great leap for mankind,” and that timeline places its events in a Thailand struggling to make democratic principles viable amidst a military dictatorship. This reviewer lacks the expertise in the history of Thailand to comment on the accuracy of the events portrayed across the series’ 10 episodes as a reflection of that country’s past. But I am not sure accuracy was ever a goal of the producers. They set out instead to create a triptych of a turbulent time—one panel devoted to politics and protest, one to cultural transformation and ferment, and the third to romance and lust. The blend of history, politics, and romance--atypical for a series created by any company known for BL productions—yields a series with strong characters and a compelling narrative. It is thoughtful, complex, and nuanced.
As a work of historical drama, Shine shines for its ability to evoke the zeitgeist of that period. Not just Thailand, but the whole world was inspired by mankind’s first steps on the moon. Not just Thailand, but the whole world felt the rush of new trends in music and fashion. Not just Thailand, but the whole world grappled with the implications of the Sexual Revolution, still unfolding. Not just Thailand, but many countries struggled to balance rapid industrialization with quality of life. Not just Thailand, but many western-allied countries struggled to balance fidelity to democracy to protecting against communist influence. The late 1960s were a turbulent era for cultures spread across many continents. What Shine does is convey a sense of how that era looked and felt in Thailand; how the people of Thailand might have behaved and believed. In this regard, Be On Cloud’s production succeeds in evoking the spirit of those times. The genius of Shine is that it may be specific to Thailand, but in many respects its depiction of 1969 has universal overtones.
Be On Cloud made a name for itself as a producer of BL series, notably 2022’s Kinn Porsche. Indeed, cast in lead roles for Shine are the same duo who headlined Kinn Porsche, Mile Phakphum Romsaithong and Apo Nattawin Wattanagitiphat. To rally the support of that series’ and duo’s considerable fanbase, marketing for Shine made clear that Mile’s and Apo’s characters would again become romantically involved. A clear expectation existed among the fandom that Shine would be a BL. The reality is somewhat more complicated. The only notable romances are indeed between male characters, and (typical of Be on Cloud’s production ethos) the sex scenes sizzle with steamy encounters between actors wearing very little clothing indeed. Nevertheless, the production team clearly had ambition beyond the romance-centered storylines commonly associated with the BL genre. Neither of the two principal romances drives the action. Neither evinces the sort of idealized fantasy romance commonly typical of BL. Indeed, the second-class status (and less, even, in 1969) of same-sex relationships bespeaks tropes associated with LGBT genre series more so than BL. The vibe is closer to “love that dares not speak its name” than to “idealized fantasy romance.” The "curse episode" (a customary BL trope) so plausibly, so effectively, uses a clandestine queer relationship against the characters that one feels queasy watching the plot unfold. In the end, pinning down Shine’s genre as either BL or LGBT strikes me as an irrelevancy. Its real purpose seems to be the portrayal of a moment in Thai history where protest helped wrest back control of the country from a military dictatorship. The romance never spurs the plot forward; a desire to discredit authoritarian government does.
The Thailand of 1969 was still modernizing. In economic terms modernization meant rapid industrialization, even where “progress” might impose harm on ordinary people. In social terms, modernization meant transitioning between a traditional social structure where oligarchic families concentrated power (economic, political, military) in their own hands (as the nobility once had) and a democratic society that rewarded individual brilliance regardless of the social class that birthed the person. Such transitions create contradictions and tensions, and Shine captures effectively the ensuring discomfort. The military justifies its control of society by the need to preserve order. Industrialists justify the development of industry as keystones to the nation’s future, even if their efforts cause harm to people living in the present. Students seeing the injustice of both (and certainly aware of student protest movements elsewhere in the world during the 1960s), take to the streets to protest all of the above.
The characters in Shine fit into all these groups, some more than one. Here, Apo portrays Trin, an intellectual groomed for a future serving his nation in government ministries. Trin returns from France in the first episode, having obtained the best western education possible. He will be snapped up for a position as an architect of the country’s economic development. Paraded like a prize at a high-society social event on his first day back Trin encounters Tanwa (Mile), the disaffected scion of an industrialist family. Tanwa is a classic long-haired slacker: he has deliberately failed out of college, refuses to be drawn into his father’s desired career path, and plays in a rock band. He smokes and drinks constantly, befitting that Sixties rocker vibe. (His hair and wardrobe also scream “San Francisco, Summer of Love” another element in how this series recreates the vibe of an era, albeit a style so on-the-nose for 1969 San Francisco that it may not yet have reached Bangkok that quickly.) Tanwa takes an immediate shine to Trin, and they engage a smoldering game of off-and-on flirtation for the remainder of the series. (Having professionally known many high achievers like Trin in my career, I am skeptical that Trin would ever be so strongly attracted to a chronic underachiever like Tanwa, but after all, anything is possible. Perhaps the “idealized fantasy romance” in Shine derives from accepting that Trin feels a spark with a slacker.) At any rate, most fans of the MileApo ship will feel satisfied by the actors’ interactions despite the plausible hesitance of the plot to commit to TrinTanwa.
As a side hustle, Trin also finds himself teaching a university class. That serves the narrative purpose of bringing him into contact with a group of students who have decided to take their discontent to the streets. The students mistrust Trin, since his family background and professional training position him as an opponent of their cause. Yet, his political sympathies prove more expansive than they expect. Even as he critiques their faith in socialist ideology, he acknowledges where their critiques of capitalism have validity. His willingness to listen, even as he challenges them, wins their trust. Trin becomes a de facto mentor to the group. Here, an element of Trin’s backstory becomes crucial. He was present in Paris during the student protests of 1968. Those upheavals scarred French society deeply, an historical analysis the script shortchanges. Understandably, since the story is about Thailand; yet, I cannot help but think that a deeper dive into Trin’s experience of Paris 1968 might have made his choices in Bangkok 1969 resonate even more deeply. When he chides the would-be revolutionaries for their naïve approach to the danger inherent to protesting, that caution speaks to what he witnessed in Paris. Lives were lost in the City of Light in ’68, and lives are at stake in the Great City of Angels in ’69. (Indeed, anyone conversant with the general history of student protests against military dictatorships can by Shine’s middle episodes anticipate the tragedy looming ahead.) Trin’s involvement with the younger generation also creates a love triangle when one of the students becomes enamored with the professor. Victor is the half-farang offspring of a dissident Soviet émigré. (Dad’s cynicism about the communist leanings of the student protestors resonates quite differently than the objections of the capitalist characters. His character’s point of view adds a nuance to the political discussion that demonstrates that the Cold War dichotomy “capitalism versus communism” had drawbacks no matter which side a developing nation might pick.) His character becomes the viewpoint character for the student protestors. In fact, I would argue, that Victor may actually be the most important character in the series because his various storylines thread through all thematic elements of the triptych. Certainly, his arc proves the most compelling to follow. The part was portrayed by debutant Ukranian-Thai actor Peter Deriy, and one can only hope the role springboards his career to leading man status.
Finally, Shine also features a second couple. Krailert is Trin’s uncle, but he is also an army colonel. In fact, he is the army’s public face, as press spokesperson. For the sake of his career, Krailert married a former commander’s daughter. (Flashbacks make clear he was maneuvered into the arrangement, because his romance with a male film star would have disgraced not just himself, but the service.) Inevitably, in a genre known for “idealized fantasy romance,” Colonel Army Press Spokesman will be drawn into an affair with a reporter hostile to the military dictatorship. Naran is a champion of liberal democracy and the free press, deeply suspicious of the government. He is also often at odds with his own editor, whose job entails not getting the paper shut down by the authorities if they openly oppose or subvert the regime. I shall eschew details of how Krailert and Naran transition from professional antagonists to torrid secret romance, but suffice it to say their relationship provides the most compelling romantic storyline Shine has to offer. Orchestrated via coded message, their rendezvous scenes convey danger, intrigue, mystery, desperation, and desire. Of course, 1969-70 is a bit premature to expect a same-sex couple to experience acceptance; so, that sense of impending doom that looms over the student protestors also haunts Krailert and Naran as their bond deepens. Lives are, indeed, at stake.
In closing, Shine offers a narrative rich in character detail, ripe with flavors of the time period, and textured with complex, nuanced political statements. Its queer romances provide emphasis and distraction; they do not drive the action forward. But those romantic yearnings do rather tie together the disparate threads into a whole. Journalist Naran has professional connections with the student protestors; Soldier Krailert has the familial connection to Trin; and both colonel and reporter tangle with economic project overseen by Tanwa’s father’s conglomerate. So, all three elements of Shine’s thematic triptych weave together into a cohesive series. It’s all fiction, of course. But it’s a fiction that seems to slot right into the world of 1969 Thailand. From beginning to end, Shine is a compelling watch.
As a work of historical drama, Shine shines for its ability to evoke the zeitgeist of that period. Not just Thailand, but the whole world was inspired by mankind’s first steps on the moon. Not just Thailand, but the whole world felt the rush of new trends in music and fashion. Not just Thailand, but the whole world grappled with the implications of the Sexual Revolution, still unfolding. Not just Thailand, but many countries struggled to balance rapid industrialization with quality of life. Not just Thailand, but many western-allied countries struggled to balance fidelity to democracy to protecting against communist influence. The late 1960s were a turbulent era for cultures spread across many continents. What Shine does is convey a sense of how that era looked and felt in Thailand; how the people of Thailand might have behaved and believed. In this regard, Be On Cloud’s production succeeds in evoking the spirit of those times. The genius of Shine is that it may be specific to Thailand, but in many respects its depiction of 1969 has universal overtones.
Be On Cloud made a name for itself as a producer of BL series, notably 2022’s Kinn Porsche. Indeed, cast in lead roles for Shine are the same duo who headlined Kinn Porsche, Mile Phakphum Romsaithong and Apo Nattawin Wattanagitiphat. To rally the support of that series’ and duo’s considerable fanbase, marketing for Shine made clear that Mile’s and Apo’s characters would again become romantically involved. A clear expectation existed among the fandom that Shine would be a BL. The reality is somewhat more complicated. The only notable romances are indeed between male characters, and (typical of Be on Cloud’s production ethos) the sex scenes sizzle with steamy encounters between actors wearing very little clothing indeed. Nevertheless, the production team clearly had ambition beyond the romance-centered storylines commonly associated with the BL genre. Neither of the two principal romances drives the action. Neither evinces the sort of idealized fantasy romance commonly typical of BL. Indeed, the second-class status (and less, even, in 1969) of same-sex relationships bespeaks tropes associated with LGBT genre series more so than BL. The vibe is closer to “love that dares not speak its name” than to “idealized fantasy romance.” The "curse episode" (a customary BL trope) so plausibly, so effectively, uses a clandestine queer relationship against the characters that one feels queasy watching the plot unfold. In the end, pinning down Shine’s genre as either BL or LGBT strikes me as an irrelevancy. Its real purpose seems to be the portrayal of a moment in Thai history where protest helped wrest back control of the country from a military dictatorship. The romance never spurs the plot forward; a desire to discredit authoritarian government does.
The Thailand of 1969 was still modernizing. In economic terms modernization meant rapid industrialization, even where “progress” might impose harm on ordinary people. In social terms, modernization meant transitioning between a traditional social structure where oligarchic families concentrated power (economic, political, military) in their own hands (as the nobility once had) and a democratic society that rewarded individual brilliance regardless of the social class that birthed the person. Such transitions create contradictions and tensions, and Shine captures effectively the ensuring discomfort. The military justifies its control of society by the need to preserve order. Industrialists justify the development of industry as keystones to the nation’s future, even if their efforts cause harm to people living in the present. Students seeing the injustice of both (and certainly aware of student protest movements elsewhere in the world during the 1960s), take to the streets to protest all of the above.
The characters in Shine fit into all these groups, some more than one. Here, Apo portrays Trin, an intellectual groomed for a future serving his nation in government ministries. Trin returns from France in the first episode, having obtained the best western education possible. He will be snapped up for a position as an architect of the country’s economic development. Paraded like a prize at a high-society social event on his first day back Trin encounters Tanwa (Mile), the disaffected scion of an industrialist family. Tanwa is a classic long-haired slacker: he has deliberately failed out of college, refuses to be drawn into his father’s desired career path, and plays in a rock band. He smokes and drinks constantly, befitting that Sixties rocker vibe. (His hair and wardrobe also scream “San Francisco, Summer of Love” another element in how this series recreates the vibe of an era, albeit a style so on-the-nose for 1969 San Francisco that it may not yet have reached Bangkok that quickly.) Tanwa takes an immediate shine to Trin, and they engage a smoldering game of off-and-on flirtation for the remainder of the series. (Having professionally known many high achievers like Trin in my career, I am skeptical that Trin would ever be so strongly attracted to a chronic underachiever like Tanwa, but after all, anything is possible. Perhaps the “idealized fantasy romance” in Shine derives from accepting that Trin feels a spark with a slacker.) At any rate, most fans of the MileApo ship will feel satisfied by the actors’ interactions despite the plausible hesitance of the plot to commit to TrinTanwa.
As a side hustle, Trin also finds himself teaching a university class. That serves the narrative purpose of bringing him into contact with a group of students who have decided to take their discontent to the streets. The students mistrust Trin, since his family background and professional training position him as an opponent of their cause. Yet, his political sympathies prove more expansive than they expect. Even as he critiques their faith in socialist ideology, he acknowledges where their critiques of capitalism have validity. His willingness to listen, even as he challenges them, wins their trust. Trin becomes a de facto mentor to the group. Here, an element of Trin’s backstory becomes crucial. He was present in Paris during the student protests of 1968. Those upheavals scarred French society deeply, an historical analysis the script shortchanges. Understandably, since the story is about Thailand; yet, I cannot help but think that a deeper dive into Trin’s experience of Paris 1968 might have made his choices in Bangkok 1969 resonate even more deeply. When he chides the would-be revolutionaries for their naïve approach to the danger inherent to protesting, that caution speaks to what he witnessed in Paris. Lives were lost in the City of Light in ’68, and lives are at stake in the Great City of Angels in ’69. (Indeed, anyone conversant with the general history of student protests against military dictatorships can by Shine’s middle episodes anticipate the tragedy looming ahead.) Trin’s involvement with the younger generation also creates a love triangle when one of the students becomes enamored with the professor. Victor is the half-farang offspring of a dissident Soviet émigré. (Dad’s cynicism about the communist leanings of the student protestors resonates quite differently than the objections of the capitalist characters. His character’s point of view adds a nuance to the political discussion that demonstrates that the Cold War dichotomy “capitalism versus communism” had drawbacks no matter which side a developing nation might pick.) His character becomes the viewpoint character for the student protestors. In fact, I would argue, that Victor may actually be the most important character in the series because his various storylines thread through all thematic elements of the triptych. Certainly, his arc proves the most compelling to follow. The part was portrayed by debutant Ukranian-Thai actor Peter Deriy, and one can only hope the role springboards his career to leading man status.
Finally, Shine also features a second couple. Krailert is Trin’s uncle, but he is also an army colonel. In fact, he is the army’s public face, as press spokesperson. For the sake of his career, Krailert married a former commander’s daughter. (Flashbacks make clear he was maneuvered into the arrangement, because his romance with a male film star would have disgraced not just himself, but the service.) Inevitably, in a genre known for “idealized fantasy romance,” Colonel Army Press Spokesman will be drawn into an affair with a reporter hostile to the military dictatorship. Naran is a champion of liberal democracy and the free press, deeply suspicious of the government. He is also often at odds with his own editor, whose job entails not getting the paper shut down by the authorities if they openly oppose or subvert the regime. I shall eschew details of how Krailert and Naran transition from professional antagonists to torrid secret romance, but suffice it to say their relationship provides the most compelling romantic storyline Shine has to offer. Orchestrated via coded message, their rendezvous scenes convey danger, intrigue, mystery, desperation, and desire. Of course, 1969-70 is a bit premature to expect a same-sex couple to experience acceptance; so, that sense of impending doom that looms over the student protestors also haunts Krailert and Naran as their bond deepens. Lives are, indeed, at stake.
In closing, Shine offers a narrative rich in character detail, ripe with flavors of the time period, and textured with complex, nuanced political statements. Its queer romances provide emphasis and distraction; they do not drive the action forward. But those romantic yearnings do rather tie together the disparate threads into a whole. Journalist Naran has professional connections with the student protestors; Soldier Krailert has the familial connection to Trin; and both colonel and reporter tangle with economic project overseen by Tanwa’s father’s conglomerate. So, all three elements of Shine’s thematic triptych weave together into a cohesive series. It’s all fiction, of course. But it’s a fiction that seems to slot right into the world of 1969 Thailand. From beginning to end, Shine is a compelling watch.
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