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This review may contain spoilers
CASTING A SPELL ON YOU — OR ATTEMPTING TO, AT LEAST
Every once in a while, life gets too loud. Deadlines, bills, existential dread — the usual chaos. And in those moments, all I want is to sink into my couch and watch fictional people make dumb decisions so I can feel slightly better about mine. That’s how I ended up watching Casting a Spell on You — mostly because I needed a break from the legal drama marathon I was running with Suspicious Partner (40 episodes of intense plot twists will fry your brain cells, I swear).
Let me start with the male lead. He’s your classic kdrama chaebol — silver spoon, expensive suits, ego the size of Seoul. But plot twist: he’s actually broke. His family cut him off, handed him a debt-ridden property from Grandpa, and told him to figure it out. Character development via financial ruin? We love to see it. And of course, there’s a deeply traumatic childhood backstory — because heaven forbid a kdrama protagonist has a normal past. That trauma explains why he left Korea and spent years drifting around like a handsome nomad.
Now, here’s where things get messy. The female lead. I don’t even know where to begin without my blood pressure spiking. It’s not her storyline that’s the issue — it’s the way she was written. Or maybe the way she was directed. Or maybe both. This character makes "unhinged" look like an understatement. She’s loud. Not just “expressive” loud — I mean eardrum-shattering, neighbor-calling-the-cops loud. If I earned a dollar every time she screamed instead of speaking like a human being, I could buy the drama’s debt-ridden property and renovate it myself.
As if one chaotic female character wasn’t enough, we had to deal with the second female lead — who felt like she walked straight out of a psychological thriller. Her entire existence revolved around emotionally blackmailing the male lead, from episode 1 to the finale. I spent half the drama waiting for someone to file a restraining order or praying for the white truck of doom to show up.
Strangely enough, the side characters were the ones carrying this entire mess on their backs. When your main leads are causing migraines and you start genuinely looking forward to scenes with the quirky café owner or the overly invested landlady, something has gone very, very wrong.
So why did I finish it?
Two words: Sung Joon.
The man could read a cereal box and I’d still be glued to the screen. His acting? On point. His face? A national treasure. Somewhere between his jawline and emotionally tortured gazes, I got sucked in. So yes — maybe the spell almost worked. Not because the plot was groundbreaking (it wasn’t), or because the romance was heart-fluttering (it really wasn’t), but because Sung Joon stood there looking like that and doing the absolute most with the little he was given.
Would I recommend this drama? Only if you’ve got noise-cancelling headphones and a high tolerance for chaos. But hey, at least it gave me something to yell about — and isn’t that what kdramas are all about?
Let me start with the male lead. He’s your classic kdrama chaebol — silver spoon, expensive suits, ego the size of Seoul. But plot twist: he’s actually broke. His family cut him off, handed him a debt-ridden property from Grandpa, and told him to figure it out. Character development via financial ruin? We love to see it. And of course, there’s a deeply traumatic childhood backstory — because heaven forbid a kdrama protagonist has a normal past. That trauma explains why he left Korea and spent years drifting around like a handsome nomad.
Now, here’s where things get messy. The female lead. I don’t even know where to begin without my blood pressure spiking. It’s not her storyline that’s the issue — it’s the way she was written. Or maybe the way she was directed. Or maybe both. This character makes "unhinged" look like an understatement. She’s loud. Not just “expressive” loud — I mean eardrum-shattering, neighbor-calling-the-cops loud. If I earned a dollar every time she screamed instead of speaking like a human being, I could buy the drama’s debt-ridden property and renovate it myself.
As if one chaotic female character wasn’t enough, we had to deal with the second female lead — who felt like she walked straight out of a psychological thriller. Her entire existence revolved around emotionally blackmailing the male lead, from episode 1 to the finale. I spent half the drama waiting for someone to file a restraining order or praying for the white truck of doom to show up.
Strangely enough, the side characters were the ones carrying this entire mess on their backs. When your main leads are causing migraines and you start genuinely looking forward to scenes with the quirky café owner or the overly invested landlady, something has gone very, very wrong.
So why did I finish it?
Two words: Sung Joon.
The man could read a cereal box and I’d still be glued to the screen. His acting? On point. His face? A national treasure. Somewhere between his jawline and emotionally tortured gazes, I got sucked in. So yes — maybe the spell almost worked. Not because the plot was groundbreaking (it wasn’t), or because the romance was heart-fluttering (it really wasn’t), but because Sung Joon stood there looking like that and doing the absolute most with the little he was given.
Would I recommend this drama? Only if you’ve got noise-cancelling headphones and a high tolerance for chaos. But hey, at least it gave me something to yell about — and isn’t that what kdramas are all about?
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