This review may contain spoilers
Come for the Romance, Stay for the Fast-Forward Button
There’s a golden rule in drama-land: if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Beautiful Gong Shim starts out as an adorable, slightly quirky romantic comedy with just the right dose of heart, humor, and haphazard wigs. The setup? Two polar opposite leads clashing and crashing into each other’s lives — classic K-drama formula — and it works so well.
Namkoong Min as Ahn Dan Tae (or Suk Joon Pyo, but we’ll get to that identity crisis later) is the absolute heart and soul of the series. His chaotic energy, comedic timing, and boyish charm are a one-man genre. Meanwhile, Bang Min Ah’s Gong Shim is refreshingly un-glamorous, socially awkward, and genuinely endearing. Together? Fireworks. Awkward, hilarious, delightful fireworks.
For the first 10 episodes, I laughed. I shipped. I rewound scenes. I even tolerated the love triangle, which was mild by K-drama standards and never truly threatened to derail the Dan Tae–Gong Shim magic. Life was good. The drama had a perfect setup for a feel-good, slow-burn romance with just a touch of personal growth and family shenanigans.
And then... came the plot twist nobody asked for: a murder mystery.
Yes, because clearly what this rom-com needed was a conspiracy-laced subplot involving a missing chaebol heir, identity theft, and a villain with the subtlety of a Saturday morning cartoon. The writing team apparently took a long lunch break and came back having binged The Talented Mr. Ripley, and thought, “You know what this story needs? Identity theft, shady heirs, and unhinged ambition.”
What followed was a tragic case of genre identity crisis. The charming romantic banter gave way to long, brooding stares. The light-hearted pacing got buried under flashbacks, secret documents, shady board meetings, and character decisions that made less sense than Gong Shim’s wig.
Let’s talk logic — or the gaping absence of it. The murder mystery arc demanded so much suspension of disbelief that I needed a chiropractor. Characters made decisions purely to serve the plot: like ignoring obvious red flags, trusting the villain with anything, or letting boardroom politics overshadow... I don’t know, common sense. The antagonist had all the depth of a soggy tissue — underdeveloped, unconvincing, and vaguely menacing in a generic, “I’m here to ruin things because... reasons” kind of way.
By Episode 12, I was skipping entire scenes. The only reason I stuck around was for the scenes where Dan Tae and Gong Shim shared the frame. Everything else? Background noise. The show dragged itself toward the finish line like it was being held hostage by its own bad decisions.
But let’s give credit where it’s due: Namkoong Min carried this drama like a seasoned athlete dragging a sprained team across the court. His performance is genuinely charismatic, making even the clunkiest scenes bearable. Without him, this drama would’ve flatlined by Episode 8. He is the redeeming arc, the emotional anchor, the reason I was invested after the plot flew off the rails.
In the end, Beautiful Gong Shim had all the ingredients for a memorable rom-com: lovable leads, quirky humor, and that offbeat charm that makes K-dramas addictive. But instead of staying in its lane, it took a random detour into melodrama territory and never found its way back.
Final Rating: 6.0/10
Best enjoyed for the first 10 episodes — preferably with snacks, a forgiving mood, and a remote ready to fast-forward through the nonsense. Watch for the chemistry, stay for Namkoong Min, and feel free to mentally delete the crime arc from your memory. It’s okay. We all did.
Namkoong Min as Ahn Dan Tae (or Suk Joon Pyo, but we’ll get to that identity crisis later) is the absolute heart and soul of the series. His chaotic energy, comedic timing, and boyish charm are a one-man genre. Meanwhile, Bang Min Ah’s Gong Shim is refreshingly un-glamorous, socially awkward, and genuinely endearing. Together? Fireworks. Awkward, hilarious, delightful fireworks.
For the first 10 episodes, I laughed. I shipped. I rewound scenes. I even tolerated the love triangle, which was mild by K-drama standards and never truly threatened to derail the Dan Tae–Gong Shim magic. Life was good. The drama had a perfect setup for a feel-good, slow-burn romance with just a touch of personal growth and family shenanigans.
And then... came the plot twist nobody asked for: a murder mystery.
Yes, because clearly what this rom-com needed was a conspiracy-laced subplot involving a missing chaebol heir, identity theft, and a villain with the subtlety of a Saturday morning cartoon. The writing team apparently took a long lunch break and came back having binged The Talented Mr. Ripley, and thought, “You know what this story needs? Identity theft, shady heirs, and unhinged ambition.”
What followed was a tragic case of genre identity crisis. The charming romantic banter gave way to long, brooding stares. The light-hearted pacing got buried under flashbacks, secret documents, shady board meetings, and character decisions that made less sense than Gong Shim’s wig.
Let’s talk logic — or the gaping absence of it. The murder mystery arc demanded so much suspension of disbelief that I needed a chiropractor. Characters made decisions purely to serve the plot: like ignoring obvious red flags, trusting the villain with anything, or letting boardroom politics overshadow... I don’t know, common sense. The antagonist had all the depth of a soggy tissue — underdeveloped, unconvincing, and vaguely menacing in a generic, “I’m here to ruin things because... reasons” kind of way.
By Episode 12, I was skipping entire scenes. The only reason I stuck around was for the scenes where Dan Tae and Gong Shim shared the frame. Everything else? Background noise. The show dragged itself toward the finish line like it was being held hostage by its own bad decisions.
But let’s give credit where it’s due: Namkoong Min carried this drama like a seasoned athlete dragging a sprained team across the court. His performance is genuinely charismatic, making even the clunkiest scenes bearable. Without him, this drama would’ve flatlined by Episode 8. He is the redeeming arc, the emotional anchor, the reason I was invested after the plot flew off the rails.
In the end, Beautiful Gong Shim had all the ingredients for a memorable rom-com: lovable leads, quirky humor, and that offbeat charm that makes K-dramas addictive. But instead of staying in its lane, it took a random detour into melodrama territory and never found its way back.
Final Rating: 6.0/10
Best enjoyed for the first 10 episodes — preferably with snacks, a forgiving mood, and a remote ready to fast-forward through the nonsense. Watch for the chemistry, stay for Namkoong Min, and feel free to mentally delete the crime arc from your memory. It’s okay. We all did.
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