This review may contain spoilers
Some ghosts whisper. This one knew how to stare back.
There’s something I love about a horror story that doesn’t jump out screaming, but just… stands there. Watching. Revenant did that to me. It didn’t go for the cheap scare. It made me uneasy in that bone-deep, can’t-quite-name-it way. Like walking into a room and knowing something’s off, but the lights are fine and nothing’s moved—yet. That kind of dread hits harder than anything with fangs.
Kim Tae-ri? Unreal. She doesn’t perform “possessed”; she becomes this breathing battleground between her own unraveling and something darker clawing for control. It felt like watching a candle flicker in a sealed room. There’s a precision in her chaos. She never overplays it. Every twitch, every stare—it’s all calibrated, but it never feels calculated. You believe her. You ache for her. And at some point, you stop being sure which version of her you're watching anymore.
And then there’s Oh Jung-se. His character could’ve so easily been a cliché—the wise, aloof ghost-knower with the dusty books and haunted past. But he grounds it. There's a kind of exhausted elegance to him, like he’s been carrying this quiet hell for so long he forgot what silence without static sounds like. The fact that they didn’t even flirt with a romance? Bless whoever made that decision. Their connection felt heavier than any forced chemistry. Two people, wrecked by the same storm, just trying to hold a line together.
There were moments where the rhythm of the show slipped into that “monster-of-the-week” formula, and yeah, a couple of side plots didn’t quite land. You start noticing the gears turning. But weirdly, I didn’t mind as much. Maybe because even when the structure felt predictable, the emotion never did. It kept pulling me back with that undercurrent of inherited pain—the kind passed down without words, tucked in the corners of family photos and old keepsakes. It asked big questions without shouting them: What do we inherit, besides eye color and debt? What kind of curses stay in our blood?
What stuck with me most wasn’t any single scare or twist. It was that mood. That slow, suffocating sense of being watched by something that knows your name—and your mother’s name—and your grandmother’s too. Something ancient and angry and tired. I finished the show and didn’t feel relieved. I felt... accompanied. Like the show left a bit of itself behind.
It’s not perfect. But it’s sharp. Thoughtful. And maybe more terrifying because it never begs to be. Revenant didn’t just creep me out—it tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, “You come from ghosts too.”
Kim Tae-ri? Unreal. She doesn’t perform “possessed”; she becomes this breathing battleground between her own unraveling and something darker clawing for control. It felt like watching a candle flicker in a sealed room. There’s a precision in her chaos. She never overplays it. Every twitch, every stare—it’s all calibrated, but it never feels calculated. You believe her. You ache for her. And at some point, you stop being sure which version of her you're watching anymore.
And then there’s Oh Jung-se. His character could’ve so easily been a cliché—the wise, aloof ghost-knower with the dusty books and haunted past. But he grounds it. There's a kind of exhausted elegance to him, like he’s been carrying this quiet hell for so long he forgot what silence without static sounds like. The fact that they didn’t even flirt with a romance? Bless whoever made that decision. Their connection felt heavier than any forced chemistry. Two people, wrecked by the same storm, just trying to hold a line together.
There were moments where the rhythm of the show slipped into that “monster-of-the-week” formula, and yeah, a couple of side plots didn’t quite land. You start noticing the gears turning. But weirdly, I didn’t mind as much. Maybe because even when the structure felt predictable, the emotion never did. It kept pulling me back with that undercurrent of inherited pain—the kind passed down without words, tucked in the corners of family photos and old keepsakes. It asked big questions without shouting them: What do we inherit, besides eye color and debt? What kind of curses stay in our blood?
What stuck with me most wasn’t any single scare or twist. It was that mood. That slow, suffocating sense of being watched by something that knows your name—and your mother’s name—and your grandmother’s too. Something ancient and angry and tired. I finished the show and didn’t feel relieved. I felt... accompanied. Like the show left a bit of itself behind.
It’s not perfect. But it’s sharp. Thoughtful. And maybe more terrifying because it never begs to be. Revenant didn’t just creep me out—it tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, “You come from ghosts too.”
Was this review helpful to you?
