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Dear Hyeri: A Disaster Redeemed Only by Shin Hye-sun’s Brilliance
Every so often, a K-drama arrives like a glittering promise, armed with all the ingredients to create something unforgettable. Dear Hyeri had them all—an intriguing premise rooted in mental health struggles, a leading actress in Shin Hye-sun known for her nuanced, soul-deep performances, and a director with enough pedigree to spin gold from good intentions.
But what we got instead was fool’s gold. Pretty from a distance, but the moment you draw closer, the flaws crack wide open like fault lines. What could have been a masterpiece ends up as something you can only admire from afar, like a painting smeared over by clumsy hands.
And yet, even in the chaos of that messy canvas, Shin Hye-sun shines like a beacon. As Joo Eun-ho, a news announcer fractured by trauma and societal indifference, she threads her performance with an aching tenderness and fire so tangible it feels like it could light a dark room. When she slips into her alter ego, Hye-ri, she radiates with a childlike vibrancy and warmth. Watching her perform is like seeing a virtuoso play a symphony while the orchestra behind her fumbles with their instruments. It’s breathtaking and infuriating all at once.
If only the writing had been worthy of her brilliance.
Instead, the script falters and flails, stumbling over its own ambition. What begins as a promising exploration of mental illness, emotional scars, and fractured relationships quickly devolves into a toxic romance that stifles any potential for genuine healing or growth. It’s as if the writers were handed a Stradivarius and chose to beat it against a rock.
Jung Hyun-oh, played by Lee Jin-wook, is meant to be a complicated love interest with his own set of emotional wounds. In reality, he’s about as engaging as a brick wall. His character is controlling, possessive, and somehow painted as romantic. For a man who supposedly broke Eun-ho’s heart with a brutal breakup that shattered her psyche, his return to her life feels less like a redemption arc and more like an unwanted guest barging through the front door. Lee Jin-wook’s performance doesn’t help matters—his delivery is as flat as week-old soda, all fizz gone with nothing but a bitter aftertaste.
What makes this dynamic even more unbearable is the deeply toxic nature of their relationship. Hyun-oh’s character is controlling, prone to jealousy, and perpetually invasive. Let us not forget that his decision to end their eight-year relationship was the catalyst for Eun-ho’s mental breakdown. And yet, he has the audacity to reinsert himself into her life under the guise of concern, all while displaying the emotional maturity of a teenager. The script’s insistence on portraying this relationship as redemptive or romantic is not just misguided; it’s outright insulting to the audience’s intelligence.
As if the main romance weren’t enough of a travesty, the plot’s resolutions are equally asinine. After endless episodes of Eun-ho struggling to reclaim her agency and vowing not to repeat past mistakes, she inexplicably returns to Hyun-oh, who—miraculously and without justification—is suddenly ready for marriage. It’s the kind of narrative sleight-of-hand that leaves viewers questioning whether the writers were as emotionally invested in these characters as they expected us to be.
The supporting cast offers some reprieve, albeit not enough to salvage the series. Kang Hoon’s portrayal of Kang Ju-yeon, the secondary romantic lead, is magnetic. His understated performance imbues the character with depth and vulnerability, and his interactions with Hye-ri provide some of the show’s most heartfelt moments. Similarly, Jo Hye-joo’s turn as Baek Hye-yeon is a breath of fresh air. Her character’s bright, comedic energy and genuine warmth often overshadow the main storyline, to the point where her romance with Ju-yeon becomes infinitely more engaging than the supposed central plot. If only the drama had leaned into this secondary storyline more—perhaps it could have salvaged some dignity.
Instead, we are subjected to some of the most aggravating side characters ever to grace the small screen. Yoon Joo-man’s portrayal of Jeon Jae-yong, a returning veteran reporter, is particularly egregious. Meant to provide comic relief, his antics are neither amusing nor endearing. Rather, they are a masterclass in how to derail a scene and test the viewer’s patience. It’s as though the writers were determined to pad the runtime with filler material, no matter how irritating or inconsequential.
Ultimately, the blame lies at the feet of screenwriter Han Ga-ram, who fumbled an intricate premise with the grace of a clumsy juggler. What could have been a deep dive into trauma and recovery instead feels like a soap opera with none of the satisfying melodrama. The tonal inconsistency leaves viewers adrift, struggling to latch onto a story that seems unsure of its own identity.
And yet, there is Shin Hye-sun. Steady, luminous, and unflinchingly present. Watching her navigate this mess of a script is like witnessing an artist paint masterpieces on scraps of torn paper. Her brilliance is the only thing that keeps Dear Hyeri from collapsing entirely under the weight of its own failings.
Dear Hyeri is a masterclass in how to waste potential. It is a drama that promised depth but delivered shallowness, that teased complexity but settled for clichés. For Shin Hye-sun fans, it is a painful reminder of what happens when a luminous star is forced to shine in a black hole of mediocrity. For everyone else, it is a cautionary tale: not all that glitters is gold.
Verdict: Dear Hyeri had the potential to be a riveting character study, but instead, it buckles under the strain of its clumsy writing and misplaced priorities. Shin Hye-sun’s performance is a diamond buried in the wreckage—radiant, invaluable, but ultimately wasted on a drama that didn’t deserve her.. For Shin Hye-sun’s sake, let us hope her next project is worthy of her immense talent.
Score: 5/10
But what we got instead was fool’s gold. Pretty from a distance, but the moment you draw closer, the flaws crack wide open like fault lines. What could have been a masterpiece ends up as something you can only admire from afar, like a painting smeared over by clumsy hands.
And yet, even in the chaos of that messy canvas, Shin Hye-sun shines like a beacon. As Joo Eun-ho, a news announcer fractured by trauma and societal indifference, she threads her performance with an aching tenderness and fire so tangible it feels like it could light a dark room. When she slips into her alter ego, Hye-ri, she radiates with a childlike vibrancy and warmth. Watching her perform is like seeing a virtuoso play a symphony while the orchestra behind her fumbles with their instruments. It’s breathtaking and infuriating all at once.
If only the writing had been worthy of her brilliance.
Instead, the script falters and flails, stumbling over its own ambition. What begins as a promising exploration of mental illness, emotional scars, and fractured relationships quickly devolves into a toxic romance that stifles any potential for genuine healing or growth. It’s as if the writers were handed a Stradivarius and chose to beat it against a rock.
Jung Hyun-oh, played by Lee Jin-wook, is meant to be a complicated love interest with his own set of emotional wounds. In reality, he’s about as engaging as a brick wall. His character is controlling, possessive, and somehow painted as romantic. For a man who supposedly broke Eun-ho’s heart with a brutal breakup that shattered her psyche, his return to her life feels less like a redemption arc and more like an unwanted guest barging through the front door. Lee Jin-wook’s performance doesn’t help matters—his delivery is as flat as week-old soda, all fizz gone with nothing but a bitter aftertaste.
What makes this dynamic even more unbearable is the deeply toxic nature of their relationship. Hyun-oh’s character is controlling, prone to jealousy, and perpetually invasive. Let us not forget that his decision to end their eight-year relationship was the catalyst for Eun-ho’s mental breakdown. And yet, he has the audacity to reinsert himself into her life under the guise of concern, all while displaying the emotional maturity of a teenager. The script’s insistence on portraying this relationship as redemptive or romantic is not just misguided; it’s outright insulting to the audience’s intelligence.
As if the main romance weren’t enough of a travesty, the plot’s resolutions are equally asinine. After endless episodes of Eun-ho struggling to reclaim her agency and vowing not to repeat past mistakes, she inexplicably returns to Hyun-oh, who—miraculously and without justification—is suddenly ready for marriage. It’s the kind of narrative sleight-of-hand that leaves viewers questioning whether the writers were as emotionally invested in these characters as they expected us to be.
The supporting cast offers some reprieve, albeit not enough to salvage the series. Kang Hoon’s portrayal of Kang Ju-yeon, the secondary romantic lead, is magnetic. His understated performance imbues the character with depth and vulnerability, and his interactions with Hye-ri provide some of the show’s most heartfelt moments. Similarly, Jo Hye-joo’s turn as Baek Hye-yeon is a breath of fresh air. Her character’s bright, comedic energy and genuine warmth often overshadow the main storyline, to the point where her romance with Ju-yeon becomes infinitely more engaging than the supposed central plot. If only the drama had leaned into this secondary storyline more—perhaps it could have salvaged some dignity.
Instead, we are subjected to some of the most aggravating side characters ever to grace the small screen. Yoon Joo-man’s portrayal of Jeon Jae-yong, a returning veteran reporter, is particularly egregious. Meant to provide comic relief, his antics are neither amusing nor endearing. Rather, they are a masterclass in how to derail a scene and test the viewer’s patience. It’s as though the writers were determined to pad the runtime with filler material, no matter how irritating or inconsequential.
Ultimately, the blame lies at the feet of screenwriter Han Ga-ram, who fumbled an intricate premise with the grace of a clumsy juggler. What could have been a deep dive into trauma and recovery instead feels like a soap opera with none of the satisfying melodrama. The tonal inconsistency leaves viewers adrift, struggling to latch onto a story that seems unsure of its own identity.
And yet, there is Shin Hye-sun. Steady, luminous, and unflinchingly present. Watching her navigate this mess of a script is like witnessing an artist paint masterpieces on scraps of torn paper. Her brilliance is the only thing that keeps Dear Hyeri from collapsing entirely under the weight of its own failings.
Dear Hyeri is a masterclass in how to waste potential. It is a drama that promised depth but delivered shallowness, that teased complexity but settled for clichés. For Shin Hye-sun fans, it is a painful reminder of what happens when a luminous star is forced to shine in a black hole of mediocrity. For everyone else, it is a cautionary tale: not all that glitters is gold.
Verdict: Dear Hyeri had the potential to be a riveting character study, but instead, it buckles under the strain of its clumsy writing and misplaced priorities. Shin Hye-sun’s performance is a diamond buried in the wreckage—radiant, invaluable, but ultimately wasted on a drama that didn’t deserve her.. For Shin Hye-sun’s sake, let us hope her next project is worthy of her immense talent.
Score: 5/10
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