Falhon Cyril

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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Is that the ending?

I first was really into the story. The tension was really high and I was wishing that they will be as much drama as regular drama. But no... They missed the mark by quickly ending the series. I wanted more father-son fight head to head to prove himself. I was hopping that Pat's evolution as a strong man (he's always crying) will be also shown. Gays are not the kind who are crying everywhere, because we never wanna show our weaknesses. I also wished for more between Pat and his ex, and also Jeng and his ex. It was way to flat and could have used more.

I think that Tee was too ambitious in this project and took a very complicated drama and cut it short for GMMTV. It's sad because I really had hope that it would be a good one. Everything changed when Pat quit his job. From then, it turned very fast. So fast it makes you feeling upset because you want to know more. When everything was slow at the beginning, it went so fast with so many things at once you loose the plot and interest and just wanna know the ending.

And lets not forget the frustrating story of Jaab and Jane. Not only it was one side story I loved, I also wanted much more from it. But as soon as they kissed, they became nearly invisible. Of course, it took time, but when Jane told Jaab he broke up with his boyfriend, thing could have become a reverse flirt with Jane trying to get Jaab, even if he wouldn't succeed and leave to Japan, it would have been better than just make them dessaper from each other's life. Jaab is so cute, he could have finish by being with Pat's ex, Put. They do work in the same environment and could have been better together at the end, after Jane left to Japan.

And who wasn't exited to see AA again. I wish he was going to be one of the main couples when I saw him, but he's only Jeng's friend and business partner. He could have been Moon's new boyfriend after Jane left him after kissing Jaab.

They missed so many things that it was hard to watch until the end. I do love the cast, and it is not about the acting (they were all fantastic), it is only about the storyline.

Plus, having a very high profile actor like Pete Thongchua to play Jeng's father and Orn Ornanong Panyawong to play Pat's mother mean that is was not a problem of money for this to be amazing.

So yes, I am disappointed. If only GMMTV would give more attention to the story instead of pushing for only short series, it would be good. I do love dramas because it is shorter than US series that goes for years. But when you have a good story, it could also be a bad thing !

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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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Your Summer, My Storm — A Beautiful First Love That Forgot to End

Casting Fukada Ryusei and Ukisho Hidaka opposite each other was an obvious and very clever idea. They are both members of ACEes, this was their first acting project together as members of the group, and ACEes even performed the theme song. Of course fans were going to be curious about seeing two members transformed into a romantic pairing on screen, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with using that existing connection to attract an audience. In fact, it gives the actors something useful from the beginning: familiarity. Fukada and Ukisho already know one another, so Natsuki and Sota never suffer from the stiffness that sometimes appears when two actors are suddenly asked to create intimacy in a short Japanese romance. Their interactions feel relaxed, playful and comfortable, which works particularly well for a story about a first love developing almost accidentally. The problem with building a drama around that kind of pairing is that the story eventually has to become more important than the novelty of seeing the two idols together. For most of its ten episodes, "Your Summer, My Storm" manages that very well. Then the ending stops just before it has to make the most important decision.

The story itself is simple but charming. Natsuki is a high-school student approaching university entrance exams with terrible results, no clear direction and the emotional damage of recently being dumped by his girlfriend. Sota arrives as his tutor and, supposedly, his sister's boyfriend, making him the worst possible person for Natsuki to fall for. What starts as irritation slowly becomes admiration, attraction and eventually the confusing experience of discovering that his first serious love may be another man. I liked that the drama never needed to turn that discovery into a huge identity crisis. Natsuki is confused because he is falling for Sota, not because the screenplay decides homosexuality must automatically become tragedy. The family story is equally important because Natsuki's future, his parents' expectations, his sister and the increasingly obvious relationship developing under the same roof all become part of the same summer. Even the academic storyline has a purpose: Sota does not simply become someone Natsuki wants romantically; he helps Natsuki discover that he is interested in clouds, weather and meteorology, while Sota himself already has a dream connected to architecture and bridges. Their relationship therefore develops alongside the question every young person eventually faces: what kind of life do I actually want?

Fukada works particularly well because Natsuki needs to feel emotionally transparent. His embarrassment, jealousy and confusion are rarely hidden very successfully, which makes the character cute without turning him into an idiot. Ukisho has the more difficult role because Sota initially appears almost impossibly perfect: attractive, intelligent, patient, good with the family and capable of teaching Natsuki without humiliating him. The script gradually gives him enough uncertainty to stop him becoming merely a fantasy boyfriend, and Ukisho's experience helps. Their chemistry is gentle rather than explosive, but that suits the series. I never needed an explicit scene or even a dramatic kiss to believe that something important had happened between them. What mattered was the accumulation of little things: studying together, attention becoming more personal, the way Natsuki begins looking at Sota differently and the way Sota slowly understands that his own attachment is no longer simply that of a tutor or family friend. The supporting cast also gives the drama warmth because "Your Summer, My Storm" is as much a family comedy as a BL, and that prevents the romance from existing inside an artificial bubble.

Where the drama lost me was the finale. Sota announces that he is leaving for the UK for two years to pursue the future he has always wanted. Natsuki, who has finally begun finding his own direction, moves toward university and meteorology. They remain connected, their feelings are clear, and technically there is nothing tragic about what happens. Yet I finished the episode thinking: is that really it? The ending does not feel like a strong promise of a second season, because nothing dramatic is left hanging enough to make me desperate for another chapter. But it also does not close the first season decisively enough to make the separation itself emotionally meaningful. It sits somewhere in the middle, and that is the least satisfying place an ending can be. An open ending can be beautiful when ambiguity is the point; here, I felt as though the story simply stopped while the relationship was still waiting for its final sentence.

What frustrates me is that either direction could have produced a much stronger conclusion. I would actually have accepted a sad ending. First love does not always become a relationship, and sometimes the love we remember most intensely is precisely the one that never had enough time to become ordinary. Sota could have left, Natsuki could have understood that this summer changed him forever, and the story could have ended with the painful acceptance that some people arrive in our lives mainly to awaken something before disappearing again. That would have hurt, but it would have meant something. The opposite ending could have worked just as well: allow time to pass, let Natsuki's new ambition push him farther academically, and eventually reunite them abroad. Sota helped a boy with no direction discover a future; imagine Natsuki eventually reaching that future partly because loving someone made him want to become more than the student who once needed a tutor. That would have transformed their romance into motivation rather than simply memory. Either ending would have completed the emotional logic already present in the story.

The unfinished feeling is particularly surprising because this was not an inexperienced little web production trying to find its feet. "Your Summer, My Storm" was an original TV Asahi drama produced with Storm Labels and Fine Entertainment, with Yuko Matsuda writing the screenplay and an experienced directing team behind it. Matsuda has worked in Japanese television for decades, including major mainstream dramas, so the light family-comedy structure and accessible emotional rhythm make sense. Fukada was taking on his first solo lead in a continuous drama, while Ukisho already had considerably more acting experience, and the production surrounded them with established adult actors rather than expecting two idols to carry everything alone. Technically, the series looks exactly as competent as that background suggests. The problem is therefore not lack of professionalism. It is a creative decision. The writers seem to have wanted something soft, youthful and hopeful, where first love changes both boys without requiring them to make permanent promises at eighteen and university age. I understand the intention. I simply think softness still requires conclusion.

Final Thoughts

"Your Summer, My Storm" was a warm, attractive and genuinely enjoyable first-love drama, and pairing Fukada Ryusei with fellow ACEes member Ukisho Hidaka proved to be much more than simple fan service. Their existing comfort helped create a believable relationship, while the story connected romance with family, education and the frightening moment when young people have to decide what comes after school. I did not need a kiss, sex or a conventional boyfriend declaration to validate what existed between Natsuki and Sota. I only needed the finale to decide what that love meant when summer ended. A tragic goodbye could have been beautiful. A future reunion could have been beautiful. Instead, the series chose an open door without giving me a strong reason to either walk through it or close it behind them.

Some first loves are meant to last, others are meant to become memories—but the most frustrating ones are those whose story ends before we know which they were.

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Mr.Kill — A Friendship That Killed, but a Story That Didn’t

Mr.Kill had almost everything required to become one of the strongest Thai thrillers of the year. A famous manga artist discovers that murders are reproducing scenes from his work, a police inspector has to determine whether the artist is connected to the crimes, and both men gradually realise that the investigation reaches into their own pasts. Add Dew Jirawat, Tee Teeradech and Off Jumpol to that premise and the potential becomes enormous. I enjoyed watching it, sometimes enormously, but by the end I was left with a strange contradiction: the friendship at the centre of the series felt completely alive while the murder mystery surrounding it rarely did.

The first thing worth knowing is that Mr.Kill is not a BL. It circulated heavily inside BL spaces, Dew and Tee were promoted together, and the closeness of their characters naturally encouraged speculation before and during the broadcast, so I understand why many BL viewers arrived expecting something more. But Kaye and Phat are friends. There is no hidden romance suddenly waiting in the finale, and personally I am completely fine with that. I actually prefer a drama allowing two men to develop an extraordinarily close relationship without deciding that emotional intimacy must inevitably become romantic. Male friendship deserves stories too, and forcing Kaye and Phat across that line simply because viewers enjoy Dew and Tee together would have weakened what makes their relationship special. What bothered me was not that Mr.Kill refused to become a BL. It was that after removing romance from the equation, the thriller needed to become strong enough to carry everything else. A murder mystery should make me suspicious, uncertain and constantly aware that something I believe might be wrong. It should give me several possible explanations and then make each one credible enough that I hesitate before committing to an answer. Mr.Kill gave me an excellent premise for exactly that kind of story, yet I felt surprisingly little suspense because the person I suspected almost immediately remained the person I suspected until the end.

The moment Than appeared, I looked at Off Jumpol and thought: there is my problem. Off is a very good actor, and darker characters suit him remarkably well because he can make friendliness feel slightly wrong without immediately turning into a theatrical villain. But that also means the screenplay had to work much harder to convince me that Than might not be involved. A recognisable actor appearing in a concentrated suspect pool already attracts attention; if the writing then gives him enough unusual behaviour to reinforce that attention without constructing equally persuasive alternatives, suspicion quickly becomes certainty. The final revelation therefore did not feel like the moment when separate pieces suddenly formed a new picture. It felt more like the drama finally confirming the picture I had been looking at for most of the series. That would not necessarily destroy a thriller if the real suspense came from somewhere else. Knowing who committed a crime can still be fascinating when we do not understand why, how, who else is involved or whether the protagonists will uncover the truth in time. Mr.Kill had all those possibilities because the murders copied Kaye's underground manga, immediately raising interesting questions about authorship and responsibility. Was someone inspired by his work? Did the drawings contain memories he did not fully understand? Was somebody close enough to know unpublished material? Was Kaye consciously hiding something, or had he unknowingly transformed a traumatic experience into fiction? Those possibilities could have made the manga itself feel dangerous. Instead, the story progressively narrowed when I wanted it to become more unstable.

Kaye was the greatest missed opportunity. Dew Jirawat has exactly the acting ability required to make a character simultaneously vulnerable and frightening. There are moments in Mr.Kill when Kaye's expressions change, when the mirror imagery hints at another side of him, or when his relationship with violent imagery makes you briefly wonder whether the harmless man Phat is protecting is really the entire person. Those moments interested me far more than simply discovering another clue. I wanted the drama to make me seriously afraid of him. Not by lazily giving him a mental illness and equating psychological disturbance with murder, but by making him morally unreliable. Let him lie convincingly. Let Phat discover something he cannot explain. Let his anger become disturbing. Let the audience spend an episode wondering whether the person we like might actually have done something terrible. That uncertainty would also have made the friendship much stronger. Phat is a police officer investigating murders modelled after Kaye's work. Trust should therefore be dangerous. If he begins caring about Kaye, the drama has an excellent ethical conflict: does affection make him less objective, or does understanding Kaye allow him to see evidence everyone else is misreading? Instead, Kaye becomes emotionally safe too quickly. Phat may question situations, but I rarely felt that the relationship itself was genuinely at risk because he believed Kaye could be guilty. The series wanted us to enjoy Dew and Tee together, and I think it became too protective of that enjoyment.

That is where the fan-service atmosphere started interfering with the genre for me. Dew and Tee are extremely enjoyable together, and their real-life friendship gives them an ease that cannot easily be manufactured. They know how the other reacts, how long to leave a pause and how to make ordinary exchanges feel natural. Watching them work together genuinely looks like two people enjoying the experience, and that pleasure transfers to the viewer. The problem is that a thriller should sometimes be willing to destroy that comfort. I wanted an episode where I stopped enjoying their friendship because Phat had discovered something horrifying. I wanted Kaye to frighten him. I wanted Phat's investigation to feel like a betrayal. Then, if trust survived, it would carry considerably more weight. Dew is easily one of the main reasons I stayed invested. I already admired his acting, but Mr.Kill confirmed what makes him unusual for me: I rarely feel that I am watching him perform. There is very little visible preparation before an emotion appears. His face can change almost imperceptibly, and he allows reactions to arrive as though Kaye is thinking rather than an actor waiting for the correct moment in a scene. This kind of natural performance is particularly valuable in a mystery because a tiny hesitation can become suspicious without needing exaggerated music or dialogue announcing that something is wrong. Unfortunately, the screenplay rarely exploited that ability as aggressively as it could have. Dew was capable of making me doubt Kaye far more than the story allowed him to. Tee Teeradech deserves just as much attention. It would have been very easy for him to disappear beside Dew, especially with Phat being the comparatively controlled character, but he never does. His calmness gives the relationship balance. Dew can make Kaye unpredictable and emotionally restless while Tee gives Phat the steadiness of somebody whose profession requires him to observe before reacting. More importantly, Tee listens on screen. That sounds simple, but many inexperienced actors spend another person's dialogue preparing their own expression. Tee often looks as though Phat is genuinely processing what Kaye has just said, and that is one reason their conversations feel so comfortable. Together, they prove something I hope GMMTV understands: they do not need to be lovers to justify being paired in another drama. Chinese television has long demonstrated how compelling recurring male partnerships can become through friendship, investigation, brotherhood or professional rivalry. Dew and Tee could do the same. Their connection is strong enough without romance, and preserving that friendship gives them access to stories where making them another fixed BL couple might actually become limiting. I would happily watch them as detectives, brothers, enemies, soldiers or two men trapped in another mystery. What matters is giving them material worthy of what they can do together.

That is also why I am harder on Mr.Kill than I might otherwise have been. The performances are not the problem. The visual production is not the problem either. The manga imagery gives the drama a recognisable identity, the crime scenes have atmosphere, and the series generally looks polished. Even the concept of an artist confronting violence apparently generated by his own imagination is strong enough to support something much darker. What failed for me was the dramatic construction. The screenplay rarely made me change my mind, and a mystery where the audience never needs to reconsider what it believes has surrendered one of its greatest pleasures. The secondary characters could have helped create that uncertainty, but their trajectories were often equally easy to anticipate. When somebody began moving toward a darker decision, I usually understood where it was going. When family connections became important, they confirmed rather than transformed the story. Even developments involving Phat's sister felt more inevitable than shocking. None of those ideas were necessarily bad; they were simply presented too cleanly. A good thriller needs noise around the truth. Characters should have secrets unrelated to the murders, witnesses should lie for reasons we misunderstand, apparently suspicious behaviour should occasionally be innocent, and someone trustworthy should give us a genuine reason to reconsider them. Otherwise solving the mystery becomes less like assembling a puzzle and more like waiting for the characters to reach the answer already visible to the audience.

I also think the story confused smoothness with control. Mr.Kill moves very easily. There are few truly disastrous scenes, the acting remains strong, the friendship is pleasant, and every episode carries us comfortably toward the next. But a murder thriller should not always be comfortable. Sometimes the plot needs to become ugly, confusing and emotionally dangerous before resolving itself. By making Kaye and Phat such an appealing duo and preserving that appeal for most of the series, the production created something very watchable but less unsettling than its own premise deserved.

Off Jumpol nevertheless makes Than work as well as the writing allows. He has enough control to avoid reducing the character to obvious evil, and when the darker parts surface they fit him naturally. If anything, his performance reinforced my frustration because I could imagine a version of the same story where Than was used as deliberate misdirection. Make him suspicious enough that experienced viewers immediately accuse him, then give us evidence strong enough to feel foolish for doing so. Make Kaye increasingly disturbing at exactly the moment Than appears more innocent. Let Phat choose the wrong person because he trusts the man beside him. Then reveal what was happening. The same cast could have produced a considerably more dangerous mystery without changing the central premise. What ultimately saved Mr.Kill for me was therefore exactly what its title cannot describe: friendship. Kaye and Phat become the reason to continue even when the investigation stops surprising me. Dew and Tee have the kind of natural screen relationship directors usually spend an entire series trying to manufacture, and the fact that it remains friendship makes it more interesting rather than less. There is affection without the obligation to transform it into desire, loyalty without a kiss waiting as a reward, and intimacy without pretending that two men cannot be emotionally important to one another unless they eventually sleep together.

But friendship should have been the emotional centre of a great thriller, not the substitute for one. Once viewers discovered there would be no BL romance, plenty of us kept watching anyway because Dew and Tee were enough. That should be reassuring for GMMTV. Actors with genuine screen presence do not need a manufactured possibility of romance to keep an audience. Trust them, trust the viewers, and then commit completely to whatever genre you have chosen.

Final Thought

Mr.Kill frustrates me because I can see the excellent series it almost became. Dew Jirawat is outstanding, Tee Teeradech proves that he can stand beside him without being overshadowed, Off Jumpol makes a naturally effective antagonist, and the manga-copycat murder premise should have given all three actors something considerably darker to play. The friendship between Kaye and Phat works so well that I would gladly watch Dew and Tee together again without ever asking for romance.

What I needed was a story brave enough to threaten that friendship.

Make me believe Kaye could be dangerous. Make Phat wonder whether his affection has compromised his judgment. Give Than enough ambiguity that recognising the actor does not effectively solve the mystery. Let the sister surprise me. Allow somebody apparently innocent to behave badly for reasons unrelated to murder. Give the audience several convincing truths before revealing which one was real. A thriller should make suspicion uncomfortable because anyone we care about might disappoint us. Instead, the drama used only a fraction of what its actors could have delivered. Their chemistry remained effortless while the mystery became increasingly predictable, and by the finale I was watching primarily because I liked being around Kaye and Phat rather than because I desperately needed to know who had done it.

That is why the title of this review feels appropriate to me. The friendship killed. Dew and Tee made it alive, natural and memorable without needing to turn it into BL. The story didn't.

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Lost to Light — When the Intimate Scenes Outshine the Drama

Lost to Light sounded considerably better on paper than what eventually appeared on screen. A struggling T-pop group is approaching disbandment, young performers are trying desperately to become idols, management is fighting to keep a failing company alive, and two romances develop inside an industry built around image, popularity and commercial success. There is enough material there for comedy, romance and even a rather interesting look at how brutal the Thai idol industry can be. Instead, I spent much of the series wondering how something with this much potential could feel so amateur. The premise immediately attracted me because idol culture provides almost unlimited material for a BL. These characters are not simply young men trying to fall in love. Their appearance, friendships, behaviour and public image are potentially products. Success can depend on views, fan engagement, management decisions and whether the public finds them marketable. The opening idea of an idol group doing so badly that its members end up wearing mascot costumes and singing for kindergarten children is actually funny and painfully believable as industry satire.

There was a good series hidden inside this. Unfortunately, the writing and direction frequently turn it into something closer to pantomime. The comedy is extremely broad. Expressions are exaggerated, reactions are pushed far beyond what the situation requires, arguments feel staged rather than spontaneous, and emotional scenes frequently announce what we are supposed to feel instead of making us feel it. At times I honestly felt as if I were watching a RuPaul's Drag Race acting challenge: everyone has been told that comedy means bigger faces, bigger voices and bigger reactions, while the direction keeps encouraging them to go one level further. That comparison has nothing to do with the actors' sexuality. Some of the characters and performances are deliberately camp or effeminate, and that never bothered me. BL certainly does not need every gay man to behave like a masculine action hero. My problem is that camp requires control just as much as serious drama does. The funniest drag performers know exactly when to exaggerate and when to stop. If everyone is performing at volume ten all the time, there is nowhere left for a scene to go. It becomes especially damaging when the drama suddenly wants emotion. A fight that should hurt feels choreographed. Tears look summoned because the script says this is now the crying scene. Intimate conversations have the same artificial rhythm as the comedy. Even when two characters are supposedly deeply connected, I rarely felt that connection happening naturally between the actors. That is why I don't really want to blame the cast.

Dome Phemadech appears to have had very little significant screen experience before taking the central role of Jeng, while LaFolk Ratchanon and Ford Posan also have relatively small visible acting portfolios. Aomstin Thakrit has more BL experience, including Dinosaur Love and an appearance in Petrichor. Around them are much more experienced performers such as Gunsmile Chanagun, Mean Phiravich and Tonnam himself. The difference in experience is sometimes painfully visible. But that is precisely what directors are supposed to manage. A young actor does not arrive on set automatically knowing how large an expression should be for a close-up, how long to hold silence, how to make anger feel spontaneous or how to cry without looking as though he is waiting for the cue. Training, rehearsal, blocking, editing and direction exist partly to create consistency between performers with very different levels of experience. Here, I often felt as though everyone had simply been allowed to perform in whatever register came naturally to them. The unevenness became more surprising when I discovered that Lost to Light was directed by Tonnam Piamchon and Zaanook Jukkroww, because they also directed Dinosaur Love. Ultimate Troop produced both series. That earlier BL was not particularly well received either, and some of the weaknesses I remember from it—awkward performances, tonal problems and scenes that do not quite know how seriously they want to be taken—are still visible here. Ultimate Troop itself has actually done better work. The Yearbook and especially Remember Me showed that the company is capable of producing quieter emotional storytelling, and Remember Me received considerably stronger audience feedback than Dinosaur Love. So I cannot simply say this is a studio with no ability. What worries me more is that the particular creative combination behind Dinosaur Love returned three years later without enough visible evolution.

And then something happened that I genuinely never expected to write in one of my BL reviews: The sex scenes were probably the most professionally made scenes in the entire series. Normally I am the person arguing that an explicit scene cannot save a bad BL. Sex is not chemistry, nudity is not romance and two attractive actors moving convincingly in bed cannot compensate for ten episodes of weak storytelling. But here I found myself thinking, "Where was THIS level of control during the rest of the drama?" The intimate scenes are explicit without becoming vulgar. The camera knows where to be. The actors appear more focused. Movements are less theatrical. The rhythm suddenly becomes calmer and more convincing. For once, the production seems confident about exactly what it wants the audience to feel. That creates a very strange problem. If the most believable connection between two characters happens when they are having sex, but their arguments, conversations, affection and emotional intimacy all feel forced, then I still don't believe the relationship. A good NC scene can confirm attraction that already exists. It cannot manufacture a romance retrospectively. And I absolutely cannot judge a BL as good simply because its best-directed scenes happen in bed.

The irony becomes even stronger because Lost to Light is supposedly about performers. This is a story about idols trying to become professional entertainers, yet the series itself often looks insufficiently rehearsed. When characters perform, fight, cry or react dramatically, I should be seeing the difference between deliberately exaggerated idol personas and the private people underneath. Instead, almost everyone appears to exist within the same theatrical register. That wastes one of the most interesting aspects of the premise. Imagine what could have been done with public versus private performance. An idol who is charming in front of fans but exhausted backstage. Someone who is terrible at manufactured fanservice but naturally affectionate with the person he actually loves. A failing group watching another label manufacture viral success. Young men discovering that talent is not enough because popularity depends on algorithms, visuals, management and luck. Pieces of those ideas are there. They rarely become anything substantial.

The romances have the same problem. Jeng and Mai begin with enough friction for a fun enemies-to-lovers dynamic, while Sithian and Bailiu already have history as former high-school lovers now positioned on opposite sides of the business. One relationship could have explored attraction developing inside professional competition; the other could have shown how two adults revisit something unfinished after careers and pride have changed them. Instead, both relationships are continually pushed toward emotions that the series has not earned. Characters become angry because the scene needs conflict. They become tender because romance is now required. They cry because the episode has reached an emotional climax. They become sexually intimate because this is an uncut BL. What I rarely felt was one emotion naturally producing the next. That is the difference between a script containing romance and a viewer experiencing romance. Even the show's release structure somehow manages to make the production feel less organised. Officially, iQIYI presents Lost to Light as five episodes followed by two special episodes. DramaBL therefore understandably lists the original run as five episodes ending on July 18. But those two later "specials" continue the characters, relationships and career storyline, including developments viewers would reasonably consider part of the ending. Why? A special episode usually gives us something additional after a complete story: a holiday, a wedding, domestic life, fanservice, an alternative perspective or simply one more evening with characters we already said goodbye to. When the material is necessary to complete the characters' trajectories, that is not really a bonus. That is episode six and episode seven wearing novelty name tags. The confusion was real enough that viewers online specifically thanked people for telling them the specials existed, while another viewer commented that the first one should simply have been called a regular episode. The second special finally brings the group to the stage and continues relationship developments. That sounds remarkably like an ending to me. Someone finishing episode five because every database and streaming interface tells them they have reached the finale could therefore reasonably believe they have watched the complete series. That is unnecessarily messy.

I also cannot hide behind the argument that this is simply a tiny BL nobody was meant to take seriously. It aired on GMM25 and its uncut version was distributed internationally through iQIYI. This exists in a Thai BL market where viewers now have an enormous number of alternatives every week. Small productions do not need GMMTV budgets, but they do need to understand that viewers are comparing them against everything else available. Budget cannot explain every weakness anyway. A more expensive camera does not make an actor cry convincingly. A luxury location does not create chemistry. Better CGI does not fix comic timing. Rehearsal, performance direction, blocking and intelligent editing can improve a scene without requiring a huge production budget. That is why I find Lost to Light more frustrating than simply cheap. There was talent available. There was an appealing premise. There was an established BL production company. There were two directors who had already made a series together and therefore had three years to learn from what did and did not work in Dinosaur Love. And somehow the result still frequently feels like a first attempt.

I know some viewers enjoyed it considerably more than I did. The audience discussing the special episodes described it as cute, fluffy and entertaining, and some specifically praised the leads and their kissing. iQIYI's own user score is also extremely high, although platform scores should never be treated as directly comparable with broader ratings; IMDb currently has only a tiny sample of ratings and sits much lower. Reception therefore varies substantially depending on where you look. And that is fine. Someone looking for camp comedy, attractive actors, T-pop chaos and explicit romance may genuinely have fun with this. Not every BL needs psychological complexity or award-winning acting. But "fun" and "good" are not automatically the same judgment.

Final Thought

Lost to Light is one of those BLs where the synopsis makes me wish I had watched the version that existed in my imagination instead. A failing idol group, a desperate entertainment company, secret motivations, former lovers, new attraction and the absurdity of trying to become famous in an industry where a few thousand views can mean failure could have produced a genuinely funny and clever BL about Thai idol culture. Instead, much of it feels under-rehearsed, overacted and strangely disconnected. The cast is not hopeless. In fact, the surprising competence of the intimate scenes proves that several of these actors can become convincing when the direction, staging and atmosphere are controlled properly. That almost makes the rest more frustrating. If you can direct an explicit sex scene with restraint, rhythm and confidence, why do arguments look fake? Why do tears feel forced? Why does ordinary affection sometimes look less intimate than sex? Those are directing problems as much as acting problems. And perhaps that is my biggest disappointment. After Dinosaur Love, I hoped the same creative team would have evolved. Instead, Lost to Light feels like many of the same weaknesses transferred into a more interesting premise. The two "special episodes" being necessary to properly finish the story only adds to the sense of a production that was never completely sure how to package what it had made. So yes, there are attractive actors. There are funny moments. There are surprisingly tasteful and professionally filmed sex scenes. There is even a decent story somewhere underneath everything. But with the amount of BL available in 2026, "somewhere underneath" is no longer enough for me.

Watch it if the premise really interests you or if you simply want something camp and undemanding. Otherwise, skipping Lost to Light will not leave a hole in your BL education. And unfortunately, I suspect that in a few months, most viewers will struggle to remember much about it beyond those unexpectedly good NC scenes.

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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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My Romance Scammer — Great Cast, Completely Wrong Pairings

The biggest disappointment of My Romance Scammer isn't the story. It's the way the story is told.

On paper, a romance built around deception, wealthy families, and redemption could have become an entertaining drama. Instead, everything is exaggerated to the point where it almost feels like a sitcom. Every episode follows the same rhythm: a revelation, a shocked reaction, an over-the-top confrontation, then almost immediate forgiveness before moving on to the next problem. After a while, I stopped taking the conflicts seriously because nobody seemed to learn anything from them.

The writing asks the audience to believe things that I simply couldn't accept.

As a scammer, I honestly couldn't imagine crawling back to the person I manipulated and expecting love to erase everything. Even less when the victims forgive so quickly. The series puts so much faith in the power of love that it sometimes feels like it belongs in a Disney fairy tale rather than a drama about fraud and betrayal. Rich people making one unbelievable decision after another, getting married almost immediately without even discussing a prenuptial agreement... I honestly wouldn't trust any of these characters to run the companies they're supposedly inheriting.

Ironically, I really liked the cast.

Mark Jiruntanin is incredibly handsome and has the presence of a fashion model. Unfortunately, he keeps falling into the same acting pattern I've noticed in his previous work. He constantly looks stressed, as though he's an introvert being forced to speak in front of hundreds of people. It suits certain scenes, but after a while it becomes repetitive.

Junior tries hard to sell every emotional moment, but for me something is still missing. His background in comedy is obvious, and while his comic timing works well, the more dramatic scenes never fully reached me emotionally. I understood what the character was supposed to feel, but I rarely felt it myself.

Poon Mitpakdee is naturally funny and incredibly likeable. He brings warmth to almost every scene he's in. My problem wasn't with him—it was with the pairing. With Ohm Thitiwat, I never felt the connection I was expecting. I kept thinking back to Ohm's work with Fluke Natouch, where everything felt effortless and emotionally natural. Here, something always seemed to be missing. Ironically, I've also found Ohm more relaxed and convincing in several of his heterosexual dramas than in this particular pairing.

That brings me to another thought I had while watching the series. As BL continues to evolve and more openly LGBTQ+ actors begin taking leading roles, I personally find myself paying much more attention to authenticity. That's simply my own impression, but in this drama I never completely believed either couple. They felt like actors performing a romance rather than two people genuinely falling in love, and that made it much harder for me to become emotionally invested.

The production itself is perfectly respectable. The pacing is energetic, the visuals are polished, and the comedy is clearly intentional. My issue is that the emotional side of the story never reaches the same level, making the entire drama feel much lighter than its premise suggests.

Final Thought

My Romance Scammer had a cast I genuinely enjoyed watching, but I never believed the relationships they were trying to sell. Between a script that asks for too many unrealistic decisions and pairings that never fully convinced me, I finished the drama feeling that the actors deserved a much stronger story than the one they were given.

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The Boy Next World: My Destiny — Japan Does It Better Again

The Japanese adaptation is simply much better than the Thai version. Better cast, better writing, and a much more convincing romance. Once again, Japan proves that a smaller budget doesn't automatically mean a weaker drama. Sometimes, it produces something that feels much more authentic than a larger production.

The story benefits enormously from the adaptation. The emotional moments have more impact, the pacing feels smoother, and the relationship develops in a much more believable way. Rather than trying to impress with bigger production values, the series focuses on what really matters: the characters and their emotions. That's exactly what I wanted from this story.

The cast is another major improvement.

One thing I appreciated immediately is how natural the two leads feel together. They don't look like they're trying to convince the audience they're in love. They simply look comfortable with each other, both on and off screen, and that sincerity makes the relationship much easier to believe. It's the same feeling I had while watching the Japanese version of Love in the Air. There is a level of authenticity that I personally don't always find in other adaptations.

That's also why I find it unfortunate that Japan's LGBTQ+ entertainment industry remains much more discreet than Thailand's. Even so, the actors here project a confidence and comfort that make the romance feel genuine instead of performed. Whether that's through their chemistry, their acting style, or simply the direction, the result feels incredibly natural.

The production itself is another reminder that money isn't everything. The series may not have the biggest budget, but the direction, the writing, and the performances constantly compensate for it. Rather than trying to compete through spectacle, it succeeds through simplicity and emotional honesty.

Final Thought

The Boy Next World: My Destiny is another example of why I enjoy Japanese adaptations of MAME's novels so much. They may look simpler on the surface, but they often understand exactly where the emotional strength of the story lies. For me, this version improves on the Thai adaptation in almost every important aspect, making it one of the strongest Japanese BLs of the year.

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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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Lovely Writer — A Refreshing BL That Finally Lets Adults Be Adults

One of the first things I appreciated about Lovely Writer is that it finally moved away from the usual university setting. Instead of another campus romance, we follow adults with careers, responsibilities, and problems that feel much closer to real life. That alone made the series feel refreshing in 2021, especially when so many BLs were still telling similar coming-of-age stories.

The premise is also surprisingly clever. By focusing on a novelist and the adaptation of his own work into a BL series, the drama quietly explores the entertainment industry itself. It questions fan service, shipping culture, and the way actors are sometimes expected to sell a fantasy outside the screen. I wasn't expecting that level of self-awareness, and it gave the story much more personality than I initially imagined.

Kao Noppakao once again proves why I enjoyed him so much in Until We Meet Again. He's incredibly likeable on screen. Whether he's smiling, embarrassed, frustrated, or emotional, everything feels natural. He has this warmth that immediately makes you care about his character, and it's very difficult not to root for him throughout the series. On top of that, he's simply a very handsome actor with a screen presence that naturally draws your attention.

Up Poompat, however, left me with mixed feelings.

I honestly couldn't decide whether my problem came from the actor or from the way Gene was written. The character is naturally quiet, reserved, and emotionally restrained, so perhaps Up was simply following the script exactly as intended. Even so, I often found him lacking the emotional presence needed to balance Kao's performance. While Kao constantly brought energy and subtle emotion to every scene, Up remained much more static, making me wonder whether he was limited by the writing or whether this was simply his acting style. I genuinely couldn't tell.

Fortunately, the strength of the story keeps the drama engaging. The romance develops naturally, the industry satire remains entertaining without becoming cynical, and the pacing allows the relationship to grow at a believable rhythm. The series doesn't try to reinvent BL, but it succeeds in showing that the genre can tell stories beyond school corridors and engineering faculties.

The production is solid throughout. The office environment feels authentic, the direction remains consistent, and the overall atmosphere is mature without losing the charm expected from a romantic drama. It may not be visually spectacular, but it never needs to be.

Final Thought

Lovely Writer was exactly the kind of BL I wanted to see more of in 2021. It showed that adult characters, workplace settings, and stories about the entertainment industry could work just as well as university romances. Kao Noppakao is undoubtedly the heart of the series, while Up Poompat left me wondering whether the limitations came from the character or the performance itself. Either way, the story was strong enough to make the drama an enjoyable and refreshing watch.

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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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TharnType — The BL That Dared to Go Further

I honestly didn't expect a BL to go this far. Most series until now have been fairly innocent, but TharnType isn't afraid to portray physical attraction as an important part of a romantic relationship. The intimate scenes are some of the hottest I've seen in a BL, not because they show everything, but because of how they're directed. Through the tension, the performances, and the chemistry between the actors, the series manages to be incredibly sensual without relying on explicit nudity. It feels bold, mature, and surprisingly realistic.

What impressed me even more is that those scenes aren't there just for shock value. They help build the relationship between Tharn and Type and show how their feelings evolve over time. Their physical attraction grows alongside their emotional connection, making the romance feel much more believable than in many BLs where a simple kiss is treated as the ultimate reward.

The story is another major strength. At first glance, it seems like a simple enemies-to-lovers romance, but it quickly becomes much more than that. Type is a complicated character whose hatred of gay men comes from a traumatic past, while Tharn patiently tries to understand him instead of giving up. The series constantly explores trust, forgiveness, jealousy, family, friendship, and personal growth, making every episode feel important. There are plenty of twists throughout the story, but they never feel unnecessary because they all contribute to the development of the main characters.

Mew Suppasit and Gulf Kanawut are excellent together. Their chemistry is undeniable and carries the entire series from beginning to end. Gulf, despite being new to BL, delivers a remarkably convincing performance. His emotional scenes feel genuine, and he handles the romantic moments with a confidence I honestly wasn't expecting. It's easy to understand why this series is bringing him so much international attention. Mew also perfectly captures Tharn's patience, confidence, and vulnerability, creating a character who remains likeable even during the story's more difficult moments.

The supporting cast also deserves praise. Rather than existing only to fill screen time, most of the secondary characters have their own personalities and conflicts, making the university setting feel alive. Some subplots are stronger than others, but they all contribute to the feeling that this is a world where every character has their own story.

The production isn't perfect. Some editing choices are a little rough, and the soundtrack isn't particularly memorable. There are also moments where the drama becomes more melodramatic than necessary. Still, those flaws never prevented me from becoming emotionally invested in the story.

Final Thought

TharnType is one of the boldest BLs I've watched. It combines excellent chemistry, memorable characters, emotional storytelling, and a level of romantic intensity that feels genuinely refreshing. Mew and Gulf make every scene believable, and together they create a relationship that's impossible to ignore. Whether because of the romance, the drama, or the chemistry, this is a series I won't forget anytime soon.

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