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A Dog and a Plane — Sometimes Familiar Isn't Enough
I've followed Tay and New for almost ten years. Like many people, I first discovered them through Kiss the Series, long before BL became the phenomenon it is today. Since then, I've watched countless variety shows, YouTube videos and dramas featuring them. What has always made TayNew special isn't simply their chemistry. It's how different they are. Tay is naturally funny. Everything about him feels spontaneous, whether he's filming a series or simply appearing on a variety show. New, on the other hand, is much quieter and more reserved. Those completely opposite personalities have always balanced each other perfectly, and it's one of the reasons they became one of GMMTV's most iconic couples.A Dog and a Plane doesn't try to change that formula. In fact, it almost embraces it too much. Their characters feel incredibly close to the personalities they've been playing together for years. That's not necessarily a criticism because both actors remain as likeable as ever, but after a decade of watching them, I was hoping to see something that challenged them a little more. The acting certainly isn't the problem. Tay is as charming and effortlessly funny as always, while New continues to bring a calmer energy that complements him perfectly. Their chemistry remains completely natural, and it's easy to understand why audiences still enjoy watching them together after all these years. What has changed, however, is the image of the couple itself. New has visibly become much more muscular over the years, while Tay still has the same slimmer and softer appearance that fans know so well. Yet their dynamic never really evolves. The series continues to present Tay as the dominant partner and New as the more passive one, exactly as it has done for years. There's nothing wrong with that dynamic in itself, but after so many projects together, I couldn't help wishing the writers would surprise us by reversing expectations or exploring a different balance between them.
Another thing I noticed is how much their romantic scenes have changed. Today, both actors are in their mid-thirties, and compared to many newer BL couples, their intimacy is much more restrained. The relationship is almost entirely expressed through kisses and affectionate moments rather than physical passion. That isn't necessarily a weakness because not every BL needs explicit intimacy, but it does contribute to the feeling that the series never wants to leave its comfort zone. Ironically, the person I expected to challenge that comfort zone was Jojo Tichakorn Phukhaotong. After directing series such as 3 Will Be Free, Never Let Me Go, The Warp Effect and Only Friends, Jojo has built a reputation for pushing relationships into morally complex or emotionally risky territory. That's exactly why A Dog and a Plane surprised me. Instead of feeling bold, it feels unusually safe.
Comedy is clearly the priority. The problem is that comedy also needs drama. The funniest stories usually work because genuine emotional stakes exist underneath the jokes. Here, I kept waiting for those moments to arrive. I expected more from the accident. I expected the ex to create real emotional conflict. I expected situations that would genuinely test the relationship before allowing the comedy to take over again. Instead, everything remains relatively flat. The result is a pleasant series that never becomes memorable.
As much as I love Tay and New, I found myself enjoying them more than the story itself. That has happened to me before with some of their non-BL projects as well. I've never been particularly attached to the straight characters they play, even though I genuinely enjoy watching them as people. That's why I'm especially curious to see them in Scarlet Heart Thailand. With so many established BL actors appearing in one of GMMTV's biggest upcoming productions, I hope the script proves that the casting wasn't simply designed to attract existing fandoms. Great actors deserve great stories.
Final Thought
I don't regret watching A Dog and a Plane. Tay and New remain one of GMMTV's most lovable partnerships, and after almost ten years together it's impossible not to smile watching them share the screen again. Unfortunately, this time their chemistry carries a story that never reaches the same level. It's an enjoyable BL comedy, but one that plays everything surprisingly safe. I laughed, I smiled and I enjoyed spending time with the characters, yet when it ended I never felt the urge to immediately watch it again or add the DVD boxset to my usual GMMTV collection. For two actors I've followed for nearly a decade, I simply expected something a little more ambitious.
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The Next Prince — Spectacular to Look At, but Miscast Where It Mattered Most
There is no denying that The Next Prince is one of the most ambitious BL productions Thailand has ever made. The budget is on another level. The costumes are magnificent, the locations are breathtaking, the orchestral soundtrack gives the series a cinematic feeling, and every frame looks expensive. The production team even filmed scenes in London instead of relying on stock footage, created nearly one hundred costumes for Khanin alone, and trained the cast in fencing, archery, piano, and royal etiquette to make the fictional kingdom of Emmaly feel believable. It shows. This is probably one of the most visually impressive BLs ever produced.But beautiful visuals can only carry a story so far.
The original novel by Ceo ft. Ennice is actually much shorter than the series. Because of that, the screenwriters had to expand the plot to fill fourteen episodes, adding political intrigue and new storylines that weren't fully developed in the source material. Unfortunately, you can feel it. The pacing often becomes uneven, with long stretches where very little actually happens. Instead of building suspense, the series sometimes feels like it's admiring its own production design.
My biggest issue, however, is the casting.
I've never really been a fan of NuNew as an actor. He's an excellent singer, and his popularity is undeniable, but acting is a different skill. Khanin is supposed to evolve from an ordinary young man into someone capable of becoming a ruler, standing against centuries of tradition while surviving political conspiracies and assassination attempts. That journey requires visible growth.
I never really saw it.
NuNew plays Khanin almost exactly the same way from beginning to end. His naturally delicate mannerisms work perfectly in lighter romances like Cutie Pie, but here they constantly reminded me that I was watching NuNew rather than a future prince. Khanin needed to become stronger, more confident, more commanding. Instead, he often remained soft-spoken and emotionally dependent, even during moments that should have established him as a leader.
The same applies to Zee Pruk.
I like Zee as an actor, but Charan never convinced me as the kingdom's most feared royal bodyguard. He's handsome, charismatic, and physically fit, but his natural elegance sometimes works against the role. When I think of an elite protector trained to kill without hesitation, I imagine someone whose presence alone makes people step back. Zee's version of Charan feels more like the perfect romantic lead than a battle-hardened royal guardian.
Ironically, that's why the supporting cast often stole the show for me.
Net, JJ, Jimmy, Ohm, and especially Kris Charintip brought a different energy whenever they appeared. They had less screen time, yet many of them felt more believable within this political world. Kris, in particular, has an undeniable charisma that made every scene she appeared in more interesting. I often found myself wishing the story would spend more time following these characters instead of returning to the main couple.
The chemistry between Zee and NuNew is still there. After several projects together, it's impossible to deny how comfortable they are with each other. Their romantic scenes feel natural, and it's easy to understand why they're one of Thailand's biggest BL pairings. But chemistry alone cannot solve a casting mismatch. A believable romance doesn't automatically create believable characters.
One aspect I genuinely appreciated was the directing. Aoftionz Kittipat Champa clearly understood the scale of the project. The action scenes are well choreographed, the political atmosphere is convincing, and the visual storytelling is among the best Thailand has produced in the BL industry. Every kingdom feels distinct, the fencing sequences are elegant, and the series often looks more like a fantasy film than a television drama.
Still, I kept asking myself the same question throughout the series.
What if the roles had been cast differently?
What if Khanin had been played by someone with a stronger commanding presence? Someone like Pond Ponlawit, Jimmy Jitaraphol, or even one of the newer actors who naturally project quiet authority. What if Charan had been portrayed by someone whose physicality immediately sold the image of an elite warrior rather than relying on the audience's affection for Zee?
I honestly believe this could have changed my entire opinion of the drama.
Final Thought
The Next Prince is a technical masterpiece. The production is extraordinary, the cinematography is stunning, the costumes are spectacular, and the amount of work invested in creating Emmaly deserves enormous respect. But for me, casting is just as important as production value. I never completely believed NuNew as a future king or Zee as the kingdom's deadliest bodyguard. Their popularity and chemistry made the romance work, but not the characters themselves. In the end, I admired The Next Prince far more than I loved it—and for a story built on emotion and destiny, that's a significant difference.
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This review may contain spoilers
Love at First Spike — When “BL” Becomes a Marketing Lie
This is not a BL. Calling this series a BL because there are gay characters around a straight protagonist is misleading. BL means Boys Love. Here, the main character is heterosexual, openly in love with a girl from beginning to end, and never emotionally or romantically engages with another man. Representation is not decoration. Queer characters are not background furniture.A Red-Flag Protagonist Without Growth
From the first episode to the last, the protagonist is written as aggressive, ego-driven, and emotionally violent. He does not grow. He does not learn. The script never truly questions his behavior, it excuses it. The story asks us to sympathize with him, but gives us no reason to. When a character remains toxic without consequence, the narrative becomes complicit.
The Cousin Is Not the Villain
Many viewers condemn the cousin for “betrayal.” I don’t. She is trapped in the same emotional conflict, and while honesty would have been the right choice, silence does not justify what happens to her afterward. Her actions come from fear and confusion, not malice. The real problem is not what she did: it is the emotional environment that made truth feel unsafe.
A Story With Nothing New to Say
Beyond the misleading label, the drama offers no fresh perspective. Its conflicts are predictable, its emotional arcs underdeveloped, and its message unclear. It does not challenge. It does not transform. It does not stay with you.
Final Thought
Love at First Spike is not offensive because it is bad. It is disappointing because it pretends to be something it is not. And in doing so, it wastes both its characters and its audience.
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Let Me Hear It Barefoot — Choosing Safety Over Love
I never understood the outrage about the ending. To me, it felt honest. This is not a tragic movie. It is a quietly realistic one. Like many Japanese queer stories, Let Me Hear It Barefoot is not about fighting society. It is about learning how to survive inside it.Two Men, Two Invisible Prisons
Yanase Maki is openly gay, gentle, and emotionally strong. He cares for his blind grandmother, Midori, who dreams of seeing him travel to America. To comfort her, he creates ASMR recordings that allow her to “see” the world through sound. It is already a lie told out of love.
Ari Naomi is trapped by his father, Tamotsu, a gambler who drains his son financially and emotionally. Naomi is constantly under threat, not just physically, but socially. He cannot build a future because his past follows him everywhere. They meet through sound. They connect through silence. They fall in love in the only safe space they have.
Love That Cannot Be Protected
Naomi wants to escape. He saves money. He dreams of starting again with Maki. But when his father’s debts catch up to them, violence follows. Naomi loses everything: his savings, his freedom, and his sense of worth. In prison, he chooses to push Maki away, not because he stopped loving him, but because he believes love will only destroy him. The dialogue is subtle, almost cold. But the meaning is clear to those who read between the lines. This is not rejection. It is sacrifice.
Why He Chooses a Woman
When Naomi leaves prison, he chooses a woman. Not because he is no longer gay, but because he is tired. Tired of fear. Tired of instability. Tired of fighting. In Japan, a criminal record already makes life difficult. Being openly gay makes it harder. Naomi chooses safety over authenticity. Like many people do.
The Meaning of the Ending
The final scene mirrors the opening: two cars passing, two lives moving forward in parallel, never touching again. Maki looks calm. Naomi looks haunted. They loved each other. They just did not choose the same life.
A Story About Pretending
Everyone in this film is pretending: Maki lies to his grandmother to give her peace. Naomi lies to himself to survive. Society pretends love is simple. This is not about homophobia. It is about parental and social control over personal happiness.
Final Thought
This is not a fairy tale. It is a mirror. And sometimes, the truth is quieter than we expect.
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The Shipper — When Fantasy Meets the Cost of Reality
Many people watched The Shipper only for the BL pairing. And that is exactly why so many people rejected it. This drama is not here to fulfill fan fantasy. It is here to question it. And that is what makes it uncomfortable. And, in my opinion, meaningful.This Is Not About Shipping. It Is About Projection
From the start, the drama places us inside the head of someone who projects a story onto two boys. We build a romance that exists only because we want it to. We imagine feelings, moments, futures, without knowing who these people really are. And then the series slowly removes the fantasy. Not by mocking it, but by confronting it with reality. We don’t just discover who the main boy was. We discover who he was and who he was not. The good. The selfish. The fragile. The mistakes. This is what hurts.
The Cruel Truth: He Was Already Gone
The biggest twist is not that he dies. It is that he was dead from the beginning. Everything we witness is already memory. Already regret. Already too late. Every confession, every realization, every moment of clarity comes after the accident. The people around him only learn how much he meant to them when there is no one left to hear it. This is not tragedy for shock. This is tragedy as message.
What the Drama Is Really Saying
This is not about BL vs straight love. It is about timing. About how people wait too long to say:
- “I love you.”
- “I forgive you.”
- “I’m proud of you.”
- “You mattered to me.”
We wait until it is safe. Until it is perfect. Until it is too late. And The Shipper forces us to face that.
Why the Ending Had to Be This Way
A happy ending would have betrayed the entire meaning of the story. This is not a romance to be consumed.
It is a lesson to be lived. It tells us:
- Don’t dream about the lives of others.
- Don’t write stories for people instead of knowing them.
- And don’t delay love.
A Final Note on First
First Kanaphan is magnetic here. There is a sincerity in his performance that makes the emotional collapse feel human, not dramatic. This role is one of the reasons he became so loved today — and he deserved that recognition.
Final Thought
The Shipper is not what you expected. But maybe it is what you needed. Because sometimes, stories are not meant to please us. They are meant to wake us up.
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Payback — When Sex, Power and Revenge Share the Same Currency
I have watched many BLs advertise themselves as revenge dramas, only to forget about the revenge as soon as the romance begins. Payback never makes that mistake. It is one of the strongest revenge BLs I have seen in a long time because the love story does not interrupt the darker plot. Sex, ambition, corruption and revenge are all part of the same system. The Thai drama adapts the Korean Payback manhwa by samk and Fujoking, with Lee Yoohan becoming Sun while Yoon Jay retains his name. Sun enters the entertainment industry after learning the truth about the betrayal and death that destroyed his family, while Jay secretly holds considerable influence inside the company and offers the access Sun needs to complete his revenge. The official uncut version is rated for adults, and that tone is evident throughout the production.What interested me most was the way the series presents sex as another form of currency. Powerful people can exchange roles, protection and professional opportunities for access to someone’s body, while young performers are left trying to decide whether they are consenting or simply accepting what appears to be their only route forward. The explicit scenes are therefore not unnecessary additions created only to attract BL viewers. They are part of the corruption the story wants to expose. At times, the series is almost soft pornography, and with Min Thanakorn I honestly did not mind. The production is clearly aimed at a young-adult-to-adult audience, and pretending these characters exist inside an innocent romantic world would have weakened the story. The sex scenes are physical and erotic, but they also reveal who holds power, who is trying to regain control and who sees every relationship as another transaction.
The entertainment industry depicted here may appear exaggerated, but its basic mechanisms are not difficult to believe. The Harvey Weinstein cases and the wider #MeToo movement showed how powerful people could connect professional advancement with sexual access, silence and fear of retaliation. Even years after the movement became internationally visible, industry research continued to show that many workers doubted powerful offenders would actually face consequences. What makes Payback particularly interesting is that it places male performers inside that system. It is already extremely difficult for women to admit that someone exploited their ambitions or professional vulnerability. For men, expectations surrounding masculinity, strength and supposedly constant sexual willingness can create additional shame and make disclosure even more difficult. Research into male sexual victimisation repeatedly identifies stigma, fear of disbelief and masculine stereotypes as barriers to reporting.
The series places that discomfort directly in front of the viewer. These men are not only selling performances, faces and carefully constructed public identities. They are surrounded by people who believe their bodies can also become part of the business agreement. This is not a romance filled with hearts and flowers; it is a revenge story set in a world where intimacy, ambition and exploitation have become almost impossible to separate. Comparing the live-action adaptation with the manhwa makes the strengths and weaknesses of the casting much clearer. Min is remarkably close to how I imagine Lee Yoohan in reality. Fujoking’s Yoohan is lean, sharp-featured and emotionally guarded, carrying guilt and anger without constantly displaying them. Min has that same controlled coldness, making Sun appear as though every movement has been considered before anyone else enters the room.
Min Thanakorn is also incredibly beautiful, but his appearance is honestly the least important part of what he achieves here. His performance reminded me of the cold, brilliant investigators often found in Chinese police dramas: men who rarely show emotion but always seem to understand the situation before everyone else. Sun’s revenge never feels impulsive because Min makes it look like something he has carried, studied and refined for years. He understands how to act through stillness. He rarely needs to raise his voice or create exaggerated expressions because his eyes, posture and breathing already tell us what Sun is thinking. The same control makes the explicit scenes work. Min does not simply rely on nudity or choreography to make them erotic; the desire begins in his face and body before anything physical happens. At 26, Min already has extensive performance experience through idol training and televised competition programmes, and that familiarity with cameras is visible in the precision of his close-ups. Payback proves he is not simply a performer trying acting as another career extension. I can easily imagine him succeeding in crime dramas, psychological mysteries and films where a character’s intelligence or danger must be communicated without constant dialogue.
Toptap’s casting becomes more complicated when compared directly with Yoon Jay from the manhwa. In Fujoking’s artwork, Jay is broader, more physically imposing and visibly more mature than Yoohan. He carries himself with the relaxed arrogance of someone who knows he owns the room, while his smiles can feel playful, possessive or vaguely threatening depending on what he wants. The original Jay is not merely a rich sponsor who helps Yoohan. He is unpredictable, shameless and slightly frightening, with enough power that the reader can never be completely certain whether he will protect Yoohan or become another danger Yoohan must survive. The licensed novel even introduces him as an eccentric man whose apparently ridiculous behaviour hides much more dangerous secrets. Toptap is 22, while Min is 26, and the difference matters because the younger actor was asked to embody the older, more experienced and powerful character. Toptap is handsome and performs the emotional and intimate scenes well, but his naturally softer presence rarely communicates the physical or psychological authority associated with the original Jay. His age and youthful screen image are documented even though DramaBL’s profile had not yet incorporated that biographical information.
This concern was already visible among readers when the casting was announced. Several fans questioned the missing height difference, Jay’s younger appearance and the absence of the intimidating, imposing aura established by the manhwa. After watching the completed series, I understand exactly what they meant. The adaptation effectively reverses part of the original visual power dynamic. Min looks like the more mature, dangerous and controlled man, while Toptap often appears like the softer partner standing beside him. That does not destroy their chemistry, but it changes Jay’s position in the story. Instead of feeling like an unpredictable force capable of overpowering Sun, he sometimes feels more like Sun’s lover and financial supporter. Someone such as Ngern Anupart or Net Siraphop might have created the mature, physically dominant presence associated with the webtoon character more immediately. Even Boss Chaikamon appeared more threatening during several scenes than the man supposedly controlling the entire entertainment company. Toptap was not bad, but Min’s authority was so strong that Jay struggled to feel like his equal. That imbalance gradually transformed the whole series into Sun’s story. Everyone else felt like a supporting character attached to his revenge, while Jay mainly became the man closest to him and the person sharing his bed. This is quite different from the manhwa, where Yoohan and Jay generate tension because both men are dangerous in completely different ways.
Shogun Paramee provided some necessary softness and remained as naturally charming as usual. His presence prevented the production from becoming emotionally exhausting without undermining its adult tone. I am now even more curious to see him in Not Yours, whose international uncut premiere is scheduled for September 26, 2026.
The adaptation may not reproduce every part of the original character balance, but it understands why the revenge story works. It keeps Sun’s guilt, determination and complicated relationship with punishment at the centre rather than reducing the webtoon to sexual scenes. The explicit content receives considerable attention, yet the production never completely loses the corruption, betrayals and professional power games surrounding it.
Final Thought
Payback understands that a successful revenge drama cannot become afraid of its own darkness. It uses the BL relationship as part of the corruption rather than an escape from it, asking whether desire can ever be completely free when careers, money and influence control every decision. The comparison with the manhwa also explains why the casting produces such an uneven result. Min captures Lee Yoohan’s appearance, coldness and internal control remarkably well, while Toptap softens Yoon Jay into a younger and less intimidating figure. Their physical chemistry works, but the dangerous balance between the original characters becomes far less convincing. Fortunately, Min is powerful enough to carry the entire adaptation. He makes Sun’s revenge feel more important than every other relationship surrounding him, while his beauty, restraint and extraordinary command of the camera turn an already strong character into the centre of the production. Payback is unapologetically sexual, morally uncomfortable and far more interested in power than conventional romance. Most importantly, it never forgets why its main character entered the entertainment industry in the first place.
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Sin and Love — A Good Story Filmed Like an Amateur Production
I don't think Sin and Love is bad because its story is bad. In fact, I gave the story a good score because the idea behind it is exactly the kind of Korean BL I want to see more often: police corruption, drug trafficking, undercover identities, kidnapping, power, sex, betrayal and an old relationship buried underneath everything. On paper, this could have been an excellent adult crime BL. Unfortunately, watching it sometimes felt less like watching a drama and more like watching an amateur video made by people who had never directed or edited one before.And no, I don't think a small budget automatically excuses that. I couldn't find any publicly disclosed budget for the series, so I don't actually know how little SEEKMedia spent. But some things do not require enormous amounts of money. Knowing where to place a camera, maintaining continuity between two shots, allowing an actor's reaction to finish before cutting away, using sound properly, or directing two actors so that an intimate interaction has motivation are questions of filmmaking before they are questions of money. DramaBL even had a viewer pointing out continuity mistakes where the actors physically change position between consecutive shots of the same scene. That is not something an expensive set would have fixed. The strangest thing is that Sin and Love clearly wanted to look adult. Even the promotional material sells darkness, danger and sexuality. SEEKMedia described a world where “love and sex” have become instruments of control and exchange, and the official premise involves criminals, corrupt police, undercover agents and people using one another for survival. It therefore creates an expectation of something dangerous and sensual, not necessarily explicit, but at least emotionally and physically convincing.
Instead, the series is surprisingly prudish. I kept thinking that it looked like gay porn with the sex removed. I know that sounds harsh, but it is genuinely the closest comparison I can find. The poster and staging suggest something erotic, the actors are positioned like something is about to happen, and then we get what feels like fake preliminaries without the desire that should explain why these men are touching each other in the first place. Intimacy does not need nudity or explicit sex to work. A look can be more erotic than an entire NC scene when the characters actually appear to want each other. Here, too many interactions seem to happen because the script says they should, not because the direction has built enough attraction, fear or obsession to make them inevitable. That is particularly frustrating because the story itself provides plenty of motivation. Se Hyun and Seong Ho have ten years of history behind them. Hyeok Jae is supposed to be a respectable senior police officer hiding ambition and corruption underneath, while Min Ho exists inside the same compromised system. These are not innocent university students wondering whether holding hands means they are dating. They are adults surrounded by violence, secrets and compromised loyalties. The emotional and sexual tension should have been suffocating.
Instead, the production repeatedly removes that tension just when it needs to become stronger. It also makes me wonder what SEEKMedia actually wants from these dramas. The company describes itself as a cross-cultural studio with an integrated production system and years of experience, but its recent BL catalogue has been built heavily around compact, digitally distributed productions. Tide of Love, followed quickly by a second season, already received criticism for abrupt editing, weak storytelling and scenes that seemed disconnected from one another. Its IMDb score currently sits around 3.9/10 from more than 140 ratings, which is not an enormous sample but is large enough to show that the negative response was not limited to one person. Even before Sin and Love premiered, viewers familiar with SEEKMedia were openly hoping that the company had learned from the criticism of its previous dramas.
That worries me because there is a difference between creating inexpensive BL and creating BL that looks inexpensive. Some excellent queer films have been made with almost nothing. A limited budget can even force directors to become more inventive because they cannot hide behind huge sets, expensive equipment or elaborate action scenes. If you only have four important characters and a handful of locations, then those limitations should become an advantage: concentrate on performances, framing, dialogue, atmosphere and tension. Sin and Love has ten episodes of around twenty-five minutes, meaning there was enough screen time to make four characters compelling. Instead, limiting the cast actually makes the mystery easier to predict. When so few people can realistically be responsible for what is happening, the ending gradually becomes less of a revelation and more of a confirmation. A crime thriller needs suspects, uncertainty and enough competing motivations to keep us questioning what we know. Here, I reached the ending with the feeling that there simply weren't enough pieces on the board for it to surprise me.
The actors are the reason I refuse to judge this series as harshly as the finished product probably deserves. Jung Myeong Cheol and Kim Hyeon Seo had already worked together as the leads of Tide of Love and its second season, so SEEKMedia clearly sees value in keeping them together. Kim Seong Hyuk, however, was the actor I particularly wanted to see because I loved him as Milk in Choco Milk Shake. That series showed how expressive he could be with very little dialogue. Milk's personality came through his movements, expressions and comic timing, and Seong Hyuk managed to make an intentionally strange fantasy character feel completely natural.
That is why I don't suddenly believe he forgot how to act. Hyeok Jae is much harder to play. He is officially described as a wolf in sheep's clothing: respectable and dignified on the outside while cunning, ambitious and dangerous underneath. Playing that type of villain requires restraint because the audience has to believe both versions of the man. If the performance becomes too obviously sinister too early, the disguise disappears. If it becomes too restrained, the danger disappears instead. There are moments where Seong Hyuk overplays it, and I noticed them. But I also saw flashes of the actor I remembered from Choco Milk Shake. Certain expressions, pauses and changes in his eyes show that he understands what Hyeok Jae is supposed to be. The problem is that those moments are surrounded by direction that often seems to ask for something larger and more obvious. When an actor is still developing, that guidance matters enormously.
That is why I gave the cast a high score despite criticizing several performances. Young or relatively unknown actors do not have the power of established stars. When someone finally gives them a main role, they cannot casually tell the director that the staging looks ridiculous, the scene lacks motivation or the edit is making their performance worse. They do what they are asked to do because refusing work when nobody knows your name can mean losing the opportunity entirely. The responsibility therefore cannot stop with the faces we see on screen. The director is Kim Im Jin according to current production listings, but regardless of one name, a drama is made by an entire team. Direction, cinematography, sound recording, editing and production supervision collectively decide what finally reaches our screens. An actor can give several versions of a scene; the production chooses which take remains. An actor can perform an emotional transition; the editor can destroy it by cutting at the wrong moment. An actor can try to create chemistry; poor blocking can make the interaction look forced.
That distinction matters even more in Korean BL right now. There are increasingly many small Korean BL productions competing for the same international audience, and attractive actors are often enough to generate the first click. Sin and Love had an especially marketable cast: the returning Tide of Love pairing, Kim Seong Hyuk from Choco Milk Shake, and a dark promotional concept filled with handsome men, crime and sexuality. It is difficult not to wonder whether some of these productions are becoming showcases for actors rather than dramas created because somebody genuinely has the resources and vision to tell the story properly. If the objective is simply to create footage so agencies and casting directors can see an actor's face and basic abilities, there is nothing inherently wrong with that. Make a short film, a pilot, a workshop scene or an acting reel. But once something is packaged internationally, sold through platforms such as iQIYI and Heavenly, promoted as a ten-episode drama and offered to paying viewers, I think it deserves to be judged as a professional production. SEEKMedia itself presents its work as internationally distributed content rather than student filmmaking. That is the part that frustrates me most because Sin and Love had a genuinely good story underneath all of this. The problem wasn't that there was nothing worth filming. The problem was that the production never transformed those ideas into something that felt dangerous, sensual or cinematic. A corrupt police system, drug organisations, an undercover operation and men whose past relationships interfere with their loyalties should create tension almost automatically. Yet so many scenes feel strangely empty that the story appears cheaper than it actually is.
Final Thought
Sin and Love is exactly why I don't automatically excuse a BL because it was probably made with limited resources. Budget determines how much you can build, how many locations you can use and how spectacular your action can become. It does not determine whether you understand your own actors, whether consecutive shots match or whether two people touching each other look as though they actually have a reason to do so. For me, this occasionally felt like watching gay porn without the sex: attractive men, suggestive staging and a poster promising something far more provocative, followed by intimacy that feels like awkward preliminary acting for a scene that never arrives. That would almost be funny if the underlying crime story were not good enough to deserve much better.
I also refuse to place most of that disappointment on the cast. Kim Seong Hyuk has already shown what he can do in Choco Milk Shake, and even here I could still see pieces of that ability beneath a villainous performance that sometimes became too exaggerated. The other actors were working inside the same limitations. When performers are still trying to establish themselves, they take the opportunities available and depend on experienced people behind the camera to make those performances work. SEEKMedia now has enough BL productions behind it that these problems are becoming harder to dismiss as simple growing pains. Tide of Love received many of the same complaints about editing and storytelling, and viewers were already nervous about Sin and Love before it premiered. That is a small body of evidence, but it is becoming a pattern worth paying attention to.
I would much rather see fewer Korean BLs made with enough preparation to make them memorable than an endless supply of attractive actors placed inside productions that look unfinished. Sin and Love had the story, the cast and even the right provocative concept. What it needed was someone behind the camera capable of making all three look as good as they sounded on paper.
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Smile After Tears — Beautiful Ideas, Missing Emotions
Taiwan has produced some of my favorite BLs over the years. Whether it's We Best Love, See Your Love, Plus & Minus, Be Loved in House: I Do, or The On1y One, Taiwanese productions have a unique way of making emotions feel genuine. That's exactly why I was looking forward to Smile After Tears. The premise had everything I enjoy: first love, music, fantasy, grief, and a director, Chiang Ping Chen, whose previous BLs I have loved. Unfortunately, this is one of those rare Taiwanese BLs that left me emotionally disconnected. The story itself was never the problem. A romance interrupted by death, with one character trying to help the person he loves move on from the afterlife, is a beautiful concept. It's also a theme we've seen in several BLs before. Whether through reincarnation, ghosts, or unfinished goodbyes, many series have explored the idea that love can continue after death. Smile After Tears doesn't reinvent that formula, but it didn't need to. What mattered was making me feel the loss.Sadly, that's where the series struggled the most. Death should completely change the emotional atmosphere of a story. Here, it almost feels like another plot point. The characters cry very little, the grief comes and goes incredibly quickly, and before I had time to process what happened, the story had already moved on to the next scene. Instead of allowing silence, sadness and absence to settle, the editing constantly pushes the narrative forward. As a result, I never truly felt the weight of losing one of the main characters.
Brian Cheng's character also made that emotional journey more difficult for me. I understand why he exists in the story. Loving someone since childhood while knowing that person loves someone else could have added another layer to the grief. Instead, I often found his presence frustrating. Rather than helping me experience Jun Jia's loss, his storyline repeatedly pulled my attention away from the emotion I was supposed to be feeling. That also affected Chang Junjia's performance. At first, I wondered if he simply wasn't expressive enough. But the more I watched, the more I realised I don't think the acting was the real issue. I actually believe the problem came from the directing and especially the editing.
There are moments where Chang Junjia clearly shows pain. He cries, he breaks down, and you can see the emotion is there. The problem is that those moments rarely last. The series cuts away so quickly that the audience never has time to stay with his grief. A few minutes later, he's smiling again, continuing his daily life, and the emotional impact almost disappears. Because of that, the title itself started to lose its meaning for me. A smile after tears should feel earned. It should represent healing after a long journey through grief. Here, the smile often arrived before I believed the tears had even ended. Instead of seeing someone slowly learning to live again, I sometimes felt as if Jun Jia simply accepted everything far too easily. He kept telling us how much he missed Yan Kai, but I rarely felt that longing through the way the story was edited.
Ironically, that's what disappointed me the most. This wasn't a script problem. The ideas were all there. The fantasy element works, the relationship between the leads is sweet, and the music naturally connects the different stages of their story. Even the production remains beautiful from beginning to end, something I've come to expect from Chiang Ping Chen's work. Considering he previously directed series such as Be Loved in House: I Do, Plus & Minus, See Your Love and Secret Lover, I honestly expected the emotional pacing to be much stronger.
Final Thought
Smile After Tears isn't a bad BL. In fact, I actually liked it. It has a touching premise, a lovable cast, beautiful cinematography and several genuinely heartfelt moments. But when a story is built around love, loss and learning to smile again, the audience needs time to grieve alongside the characters. Unfortunately, the series never allowed me to stay in those emotions long enough. Instead of making me cry with its characters, it simply showed me that they were sad before quickly asking me to move on. That's why, despite enjoying the story overall, I never connected with it as deeply as I hoped I would.
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Fake Fact Lips — A Rivalry That Ends Before It Really Begins
Fake Fact Lips started with exactly the kind of premise I enjoy. Two talented colleagues competing to become the best while secretly dealing with feelings they've buried for years sounded like the perfect recipe for an entertaining office romance. I expected ambition, tension, jealousy, and two equally stubborn men constantly trying to outdo each other. Unfortunately, that exciting premise disappears much sooner than I expected.The biggest disappointment is how quickly the competition loses its importance.
At first, it feels like the story will build the romance around their professional rivalry. Every success, every mistake, and every interaction seems ready to become another battle between two people who refuse to lose. Then, almost without warning, that dynamic simply fades away. Instead of continuing to push each other to become better, the competition becomes little more than background decoration.
That's a shame because I think it was the one element that could have made the drama stand out.
The fact that they've loved each other for a long time doesn't mean the rivalry had to disappear. On the contrary, it could have made it even more entertaining. Imagine two men who are deeply in love but still refuse to lose to each other. Competing at work, teasing each other outside the office, constantly trying to see who gets jealous first or who manages to surprise the other next. Their relationship could have become another friendly competition, making both the romance and the comedy much more memorable.
Instead, once the romance begins, the story follows a much more familiar path.
The series becomes a pleasant office BL, but also one that feels very similar to many others. Rather than taking advantage of its original premise, it gradually settles into a comfortable formula that never really surprises me again.
The cast does a good job throughout the series. The chemistry between the leads is convincing, and it's easy to believe these characters have known each other for years. Their performances make the romance enjoyable even when the script becomes more predictable, and they carry the emotional scenes naturally.
The production is equally solid. The office setting feels authentic, the pacing remains smooth, and the direction never gets in the way of the story. My criticism has very little to do with the technical aspects. It's simply that I kept waiting for the rivalry to return and become the driving force of the drama again.
Final Thought
Fake Fact Lips is a cute and enjoyable office BL with likeable characters and good chemistry. I simply wish it had stayed true to the idea that made me want to watch it in the first place. The rivalry between the two leads had the potential to make this drama genuinely different, but it disappears far too early, leaving behind a story that's pleasant but ultimately much more ordinary than it could have been.
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Magic Move — A Title That Promises Magic but Delivers Melodrama
The biggest problem with Magic Move starts before the first episode even begins: the title. It sounds like a fun romantic comedy full of charm, misunderstandings, and light-hearted moments. That's exactly what I expected. Instead, what I got was an increasingly dramatic story built on lies, manipulation, and emotional conflicts that became harder and harder to believe.The first episodes actually made me optimistic. The premise was entertaining enough to suggest an enjoyable romance, and I thought the series was setting up something original. Unfortunately, the further the story progressed, the more exaggerated everything became. Instead of developing naturally, the plot kept introducing new twists that felt increasingly forced until it eventually lost me completely.
The character decisions didn't help either.
The biggest example is the central conflict surrounding the lie. When the truth finally comes out, the character reacts as though everyone has betrayed him simply because they already knew and decided to play along. I understand the embarrassment and the humiliation. Those feelings are perfectly believable. What I couldn't accept was the way he immediately positioned himself as the victim. Instead of feeling sympathy, I mostly found the reaction frustrating because the situation had become the direct consequence of his own decisions.
The cast is probably the strongest aspect of the drama. The actors do a respectable job with the material they're given, and I never felt that the performances were the reason the story failed. Several emotional scenes are convincing, but good acting can only do so much when the script keeps pushing the characters into increasingly implausible situations.
Technically, the production is perfectly fine. The direction is competent, the cinematography is pleasant, and nothing feels particularly cheap. My disappointment comes almost entirely from the writing. The drama constantly asks the audience to accept increasingly unrealistic developments without earning them emotionally.
Final Thought
Magic Move started with an idea that genuinely interested me, but it gradually disappeared beneath melodrama and increasingly far-fetched plot developments. I honestly think the title is misleading because there is very little magic and very little fun. A title closer to "The Magic of Lies and Manipulation" would probably have prepared me much better for what this drama actually wanted to be.
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Love Upon a Time — A Beautiful Journey Across Time That Was Worth the Wait
I've always had a weakness for stories about travelling through time and past lives. Whether it's in novels, manga, manhwa, or dramas, there's something fascinating about two people finding each other across different eras. Love Upon a Time reminded me exactly why I enjoy this type of story so much. I already loved the novel, and thankfully the adaptation captures the same emotional feeling that made the original so memorable.The story balances romance and fantasy beautifully. Rather than using time travel as a simple gimmick, it explores destiny, second chances, and the idea that some relationships are powerful enough to survive the passage of time. Every discovery about the past gives new meaning to the present, making the romance feel richer with every episode. It never becomes confusing despite the different timelines, which isn't always easy to achieve with this kind of narrative.
I also appreciated how faithfully the series respected the novel. As someone who already knew the story, I never felt that the adaptation betrayed the source material. It understands that the emotional connection between the characters matters more than spectacular fantasy elements, allowing the romance to remain at the centre of everything.
One of the biggest surprises was the pairing itself.
Net Siraphop is already an actor I enjoy watching, but seeing him opposite JJ Radchapon wasn't something I expected. I still remember them talking about filming this project during DMD Friendship: It Takes Two, long before the series finally aired. Knowing how long the production took made finally watching it even more satisfying. Despite my initial surprise, I quickly accepted them as a couple.
JJ, in particular, surprised me. Before this drama, I never naturally imagined him in a BL lead role. His public image and the content he was known for gave me a completely different impression. None of that mattered once the series started. He fully convinced me as his character, and his chemistry with Net developed naturally enough that I completely forgot my first doubts after only a few episodes.
The production also deserves praise. The historical settings are beautifully recreated without feeling artificial, the costumes fit the period perfectly, and the cinematography constantly reinforces the nostalgic atmosphere of the story. The soundtrack may not be unforgettable, but it quietly supports the emotional scenes without ever becoming distracting.
Final Thought
Love Upon a Time is exactly the kind of drama I always hope for when I see a story involving time travel and past lives. It respects its source material, tells a touching romance, and creates a world that's easy to become immersed in. Net Siraphop and JJ Radchapon turned out to be a pairing I never expected but genuinely enjoyed. Sometimes, the biggest surprises become the best casting decisions, and for me, this was one of them.
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The Lie We Lived In — An Excellent Thriller That Forgot Entertainment Matters Too
I admire what The Lie We Lived In was trying to do. Instead of following the usual Korean BL formula, it dives headfirst into a murder mystery filled with betrayal, hidden pasts, violence, and moral ambiguity. It wants to be treated as a serious crime drama where the romance simply happens to involve two men. That's an ambitious idea, and in many ways, it succeeds. The problem is that somewhere along the way, it forgot that watching a drama should also be enjoyable.The story itself is genuinely interesting. A murder investigation, characters carrying painful secrets, and two men finding themselves on opposite sides of the truth create plenty of tension. I never questioned the mystery because it kept me curious until the end. What I questioned was the pacing. Korean thrillers with this level of complexity usually run for twelve or even sixteen episodes of around forty-five to sixty minutes. Here, everything is compressed into only eight episodes of roughly twenty minutes. The result is a drama that constantly rushes from one dark revelation to the next without giving either the characters or the audience enough time to process what has just happened.
That relentless darkness eventually became exhausting.
Every episode is filled with death, blood, betrayal, trauma, or another shocking revelation. There is almost no humour, very little warmth, and barely any emotional relief between the heavier scenes. I kept waiting for a quieter moment—a conversation, a joke, some physical affection, or simply a chance to enjoy watching the characters together. Not because every BL needs sex scenes or constant romance, but because every story benefits from contrast. Without lighter moments, the tension never rises or falls. It simply stays at the same emotional level until it starts losing its impact.
Ironically, the romance suffers because of that choice.
The chemistry between the leads is believable, but their relationship never receives enough space to grow naturally. Since the mystery dominates almost every episode, I often felt like I was watching a crime drama that happened to include a BL relationship rather than a BL enhanced by an excellent thriller plot. A little more balance between the investigation and the romance would have made both aspects stronger.
The cast, however, is outstanding.
Every actor fully commits to the material, and the performances are consistently convincing. On top of that, the cast is incredibly attractive. Korea has a remarkable ability to find actors who aren't simply handsome but genuinely charismatic on screen. More importantly, they know how to act. Whether the scene required fear, grief, anger, or vulnerability, I never doubted the performances for a second.
The production is equally impressive. The cinematography creates a tense, claustrophobic atmosphere that perfectly suits the story, while the direction maintains the suspense from beginning to end. Technically, this is one of the strongest Korean BLs I've seen. That's exactly why I found the missed opportunities so frustrating. Everything surrounding the script is excellent, but the script never allows the audience to come up for air.
Final Thought
The Lie We Lived In proves that Korean BL can successfully explore genres far beyond romance. As a thriller, it's ambitious, beautifully produced, and brilliantly acted. As entertainment, however, I found it too relentless. The mystery never stopped, the darkness never lifted, and the romance never had enough room to breathe. Sometimes, even the most serious stories need moments of light, because those moments are what make the darkness hit even harder.
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Your Dear Daddy — A Story Full of Good Ideas That Never Feels Complete
Your Dear Daddy is one of the most frustrating BLs I've watched in a long time. Not because the story is terrible, but because it constantly introduces interesting ideas without ever fully exploring them. I finished the series with the feeling that I had only watched half of the story. The foundations were there for something memorable, yet the drama never seemed interested in finishing what it started.The premise immediately caught my attention. The romance between Saitharn and Sila develops naturally, and the quieter atmosphere allows the characters to breathe instead of rushing from one dramatic moment to another. For several episodes, I genuinely believed I was watching another strong production from Studio Wabi Sabi. Unfortunately, the further the story progressed, the more unfinished it became.
My biggest criticism is the writing.
Too many important storylines are introduced and then almost abandoned. We never truly understand Saitharn's family. The story surrounding his ex-boyfriend's suicide is mentioned but barely explored, leaving one of the most emotionally significant events in his life without proper development. The complicated history between Sila and Maenmueang also deserved much more attention, as did Jakkrit's secret with Sila, which feels far less important than the series initially suggests. Those are only the largest examples. Throughout the drama, several supporting characters appear to have meaningful stories, only for the series to move on before giving them satisfying conclusions.
The casting also made one aspect of the story difficult for me to believe.
SaengNuea Jitaboon perfectly fits a 23-year-old character. His youthful energy, personality, and appearance all match the role naturally. Fluke Pusit, however, never convinced me as a man supposedly in his mid-thirties. The script keeps reminding us of the age difference, but visually it simply isn't there. Fluke still has a very youthful face, and no amount of dialogue can create a ten-year age gap the audience cannot actually see. Personally, I think the production would have been stronger if they had either adjusted Sila's age or cast someone who naturally looked older.
That being said, I don't think either actor is the problem.
SaengNuea fully embraces his character, and Fluke delivers a sincere performance throughout the series. Their chemistry is pleasant, and several emotional moments genuinely work. My criticism is directed at the casting decision itself rather than the performances. Both actors do everything they can with the material they're given.
Perhaps that's what disappointed me the most. Studio Wabi Sabi has produced or co-produced some of my favourite BLs, including Until We Meet Again, Love Mechanics, Between Us, A Boss and a Babe, Perfect 10 Liners, and Fourever You. At the same time, the studio has been handling an impressive number of productions, with When Oranges Fall currently airing, Fourever You Part 2 having just finished, and highly anticipated projects like Be My Player Two already on the horizon. Watching Your Dear Daddy, I honestly found myself wondering whether the studio is simply taking on too many projects at once. I obviously can't know what happened behind the scenes, but this drama feels like one that wasn't given enough time to refine its script before filming began. I'd much rather see Wabi Sabi produce fewer series each year if it meant every story received the same level of care that made the studio one of the most respected names in BL.
Technically, the production remains solid. The cinematography is attractive, the rural setting creates a peaceful atmosphere, and the direction is never amateurish. That's what makes the weak storytelling even more frustrating. Everything around the script works, but the script itself constantly leaves important pieces missing.
Final Thought
Your Dear Daddy isn't a bad idea. In fact, it's full of good ideas. That's exactly why it disappointed me so much. The cast is likeable, the romance has genuine potential, and several emotional moments really work. Unfortunately, too many important storylines are left unfinished, preventing the drama from becoming what it could have been. For me, this wasn't a failure of the actors—it was a failure to give an otherwise promising story the time and attention it deserved.
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Impression of Youth — Proof That Taiwan Understands Emotional Storytelling
There is a reason Taiwanese BL continues to be my favorite. While every country has its own strengths, Taiwan consistently produces stories that feel more mature, more grounded, and more interested in the characters than in simply selling a romance. Whether it's We Best Love, Plus & Minus, Kiseki: Dear to Me, Unknown, or The On1y One, there's a level of emotional sophistication that I rarely find elsewhere. Impression of Youth is another reminder of why I keep coming back to Taiwanese productions.On the surface, the story is simple. There are no elaborate conspiracies, supernatural twists, or exaggerated villains. Instead, it follows two people whose lives slowly become intertwined as they confront feelings they never expected to have. But what makes the series special is that it understands love isn't always the biggest obstacle. Sometimes the biggest obstacle is ourselves.
Age differences. Past relationships. Personal regrets. Fear of starting over. Fear of being judged. Fear of hurting someone you care about.
Those are the conflicts that drive the story, and they're handled with surprising maturity.
What I appreciated most is that the series never tries to create unnecessary drama. Nobody suddenly becomes evil. Nobody spends half the series plotting against the couple. The emotional tension comes from believable insecurities rather than artificial plot twists. That gives the romance a quiet authenticity that feels much closer to real life than many BL dramas.
The acting fits that style perfectly.
Neither lead tries to overact. Their emotions are subtle, often communicated through silence, hesitation, or a simple glance. Taiwanese BL has become exceptionally good at trusting its actors instead of relying on exaggerated dialogue, and Impression of Youth follows that tradition beautifully. Their chemistry isn't explosive or overly passionate—it feels safe, comforting, and deeply human. Sometimes that's far more romantic than endless kisses or dramatic confessions.
Visually, the series is exactly what I expect from Taiwan. The cinematography has a warm, natural quality that makes everyday moments feel intimate. Cafés, apartments, quiet streets... everything feels lived in rather than artificially designed for television. It creates the impression that you're watching real people instead of fictional characters, and that realism makes the emotional moments even more effective.
Another thing I really admire is how naturally the drama treats sexuality. The fact that the characters are gay is never presented as the central conflict. Their problems aren't rooted in their orientation but in their emotional baggage and personal circumstances. That's something Taiwanese BL has been doing particularly well in recent years. It normalizes same-sex relationships by allowing the stories to focus on universal human emotions instead of making sexuality the only defining characteristic of the characters.
The soundtrack doesn't particularly stand out, but it understands its role. It supports the atmosphere without trying to manipulate your emotions, allowing the performances to remain at the center of the story.
If I have one small criticism, it's that the pacing occasionally becomes a little too restrained. Because the drama deliberately avoids major conflicts, there are moments where the story risks becoming almost too quiet. I personally didn't mind that, but I can understand why viewers expecting a more conventional romance might find it slower than anticipated.
Final Thought
Impression of Youth isn't a drama that tries to impress you with shocking twists or grand romantic gestures. Instead, it quietly tells a story about two people learning to accept themselves before they can fully accept each other. That's exactly why it works. Taiwan continues to prove that BL doesn't need to be loud to be powerful. Sometimes the strongest love stories are simply the most honest ones, and Impression of Youth is a beautiful example of that.
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Mystique in the Mirror — When the Truth Hurts More Than the Mystery
This is one of those dramas that hits you emotionally in a way you don’t expect. I went in thinking I was getting a mystery with supernatural vibes, maybe something sad but still comforting in a “tragic love story” kind of way. Instead, what I got was something way more brutal emotionally — the kind of story that slowly breaks your heart while you’re still trying to understand what’s even real.The thing that destroyed me the most was discovering the truth at the same time as the main character. The whole drama plays with perception: memories, ghosts, hallucinations, identity. You spend most of the story wondering if what you see is supernatural… or psychological… or something even worse. And when the reveal comes, it doesn’t feel like a twist for shock value. It feels like grief. Pure grief.
A lot of viewers connected the story to themes of memory loss and dementia rather than traditional ghost storytelling, which honestly makes the emotional impact even heavier. The narrative slowly builds this idea that what looks like haunting might actually be memory, trauma, or loss reshaping reality itself. That reveal hit people really hard because it’s not fantasy horror anymore — it’s real life horror.
What makes this drama so powerful is that it forces you into the same mental state as the protagonist. Confusion, denial, hope, fear… you feel all of it. We can even compared the emotional reveal to psychological films where you realize the truth way too late, when you’re already emotionally attached to the illusion.
And that’s exactly why I cried so much watching it.
But at the same time… it’s not a comforting drama. Not at all. Once you know the truth, the story changes completely. The mystery disappears. The emotional punch is still there, but the discovery is what makes this drama special. It’s not built to be rewatched for comfort — it’s built to be experienced once, deeply. And honestly, I respect that, even if it hurts.
The acting carries a huge part of this. The emotional restraint, the confusion, the vulnerability — it all feels very grounded. Nobody is overacting the sadness. It feels like watching someone slowly realize they’re losing pieces of themselves, and that’s terrifying in a very human way.
The music works, but it’s not the emotional core. It supports the atmosphere instead of trying to force feelings, which actually fits the tone of the story really well.
At the end of the day, this isn’t a “feel good” BL or mystery. It’s closer to psychological tragedy with emotional romance inside it. It’s about truth, memory, identity, and how love exists even when reality starts breaking.
I loved it.
But I don’t think I could watch it again.
And I think that’s exactly the point.
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