This review may contain spoilers
Chaos in Couture
This drama feels like watching four shows at once—fascinating, baffling, and chaotic. Entertaining, but embrace the unpredictability and let it surprise you.
GENRE JUGGLING GONE WILD
The show's biggest challenge is its genre identity crisis. One moment, you’re chuckling at some dark comedy, the next you’re on the edge of your seat during a thriller sequence. Before you can settle in, it morphs into a mythical fantasy, then swerves hard into melodrama. It’s a wild mix that doesn't always transition smoothly. A huge shout-out to the actors, especially Kim Woo Bin, who navigate these abrupt tonal shifts with impressive skill, switching personas as fast as the show switches genres.
FASHION STATEMENTS OR COSTUME CONFUSION?
This sense of unpredictability extends beyond just the genre. The wardrobe department, for example, seems to have given the characters their own identity crises. Our female lead, played by Suzy and looking fabulous as ever, is a proclaimed psychopath running a repair shop in the countryside. One day she’s in a dreamy floral dress, the next a power suit, and then quiet luxury. Her incohesive styling feels more like a reflection of a multi-personality disorder than a psychopath’s quirk. The same goes for our Genie. He might appear in a preppy, Hamptons-ready Ralph Lauren look in one scene and a 90s club manager outfit in the next. The clothes are nice, but they don't help define who these people are.
HEAVENLY ROLES, EARTHLY QUESTIONS
The show's bold choices aren't limited to costumes. Casting Korean actors as characters with biblical and Arabic origins is a notable move, reminiscent of Hollywood’s ongoing debates about representation. The show gives a quick explanation, but it still raises questions about authenticity and intent. Honestly, it kind of mirrors the drama’s own identity crisis—bouncing between silly comedy and serious themes. These shifts are creative, sure, but they can feel a bit all over the place, leaving you to wonder if it all comes together or just adds to the chaos.
A VISUAL GRAB BAG
The same lack of cohesion crops up in its visual world. The settings feel like they were picked from a hat. We jump from comic book-style animations to a cheesy studio set of a desert that looks like it was borrowed from a daytime soap opera. Then, we’re thrown into a scene heavy with CGI, only to be pulled back to what looks like a slick tourism commercial. It’s visually jarring and makes it hard to feel grounded in the story.
SUBPLOTS PLAYING HIDE AND SEEK
This patchwork quality continues with the plot, which is a tangle of subplots. Some feel completely disjointed, while others disappear for several episodes only to reappear with a dramatic "ta-da, it was all connected!" It feels less like clever storytelling and more like a narrative scramble.
GRANDMA’S GREAT DISCONNECT
Even the heart of the story isn’t immune to this disconnect. Ga Yeong’s grandmother begins as a powerful presence in the story—her strength and warmth shine through evocative flashbacks, where she lovingly raises a child with a social disorder. But in the second half, everything changes: after the female lead wishes for her grandmother to become her own age, the character’s appearance and personality shift so drastically that it becomes hard to bridge the emotional gap. The two versions feel worlds apart, and this disconnect ultimately weakens the story’s emotional core.
THE IKEA EFFECT OF STORYTELLING
Overall, 'Genie, Make a Wish' is a tough show to connect with on a deeper level. It’s a beautiful, chaotic mess. But if you’re looking for pure entertainment and can switch off your brain, it’s a fun, unpredictable ride. Just don't ask too many questions and go with the flow. Watching this show is like assembling IKEA furniture without the manual—confusing, occasionally frustrating, and far from perfect, but not a bad experience overall.
GENRE JUGGLING GONE WILD
The show's biggest challenge is its genre identity crisis. One moment, you’re chuckling at some dark comedy, the next you’re on the edge of your seat during a thriller sequence. Before you can settle in, it morphs into a mythical fantasy, then swerves hard into melodrama. It’s a wild mix that doesn't always transition smoothly. A huge shout-out to the actors, especially Kim Woo Bin, who navigate these abrupt tonal shifts with impressive skill, switching personas as fast as the show switches genres.
FASHION STATEMENTS OR COSTUME CONFUSION?
This sense of unpredictability extends beyond just the genre. The wardrobe department, for example, seems to have given the characters their own identity crises. Our female lead, played by Suzy and looking fabulous as ever, is a proclaimed psychopath running a repair shop in the countryside. One day she’s in a dreamy floral dress, the next a power suit, and then quiet luxury. Her incohesive styling feels more like a reflection of a multi-personality disorder than a psychopath’s quirk. The same goes for our Genie. He might appear in a preppy, Hamptons-ready Ralph Lauren look in one scene and a 90s club manager outfit in the next. The clothes are nice, but they don't help define who these people are.
HEAVENLY ROLES, EARTHLY QUESTIONS
The show's bold choices aren't limited to costumes. Casting Korean actors as characters with biblical and Arabic origins is a notable move, reminiscent of Hollywood’s ongoing debates about representation. The show gives a quick explanation, but it still raises questions about authenticity and intent. Honestly, it kind of mirrors the drama’s own identity crisis—bouncing between silly comedy and serious themes. These shifts are creative, sure, but they can feel a bit all over the place, leaving you to wonder if it all comes together or just adds to the chaos.
A VISUAL GRAB BAG
The same lack of cohesion crops up in its visual world. The settings feel like they were picked from a hat. We jump from comic book-style animations to a cheesy studio set of a desert that looks like it was borrowed from a daytime soap opera. Then, we’re thrown into a scene heavy with CGI, only to be pulled back to what looks like a slick tourism commercial. It’s visually jarring and makes it hard to feel grounded in the story.
SUBPLOTS PLAYING HIDE AND SEEK
This patchwork quality continues with the plot, which is a tangle of subplots. Some feel completely disjointed, while others disappear for several episodes only to reappear with a dramatic "ta-da, it was all connected!" It feels less like clever storytelling and more like a narrative scramble.
GRANDMA’S GREAT DISCONNECT
Even the heart of the story isn’t immune to this disconnect. Ga Yeong’s grandmother begins as a powerful presence in the story—her strength and warmth shine through evocative flashbacks, where she lovingly raises a child with a social disorder. But in the second half, everything changes: after the female lead wishes for her grandmother to become her own age, the character’s appearance and personality shift so drastically that it becomes hard to bridge the emotional gap. The two versions feel worlds apart, and this disconnect ultimately weakens the story’s emotional core.
THE IKEA EFFECT OF STORYTELLING
Overall, 'Genie, Make a Wish' is a tough show to connect with on a deeper level. It’s a beautiful, chaotic mess. But if you’re looking for pure entertainment and can switch off your brain, it’s a fun, unpredictable ride. Just don't ask too many questions and go with the flow. Watching this show is like assembling IKEA furniture without the manual—confusing, occasionally frustrating, and far from perfect, but not a bad experience overall.
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