This review may contain spoilers
A Postcard Romance That Forgot to Send the Feelings
Encounter is the kind of drama that makes a stunning first impression. It arrives dressed in sunset tones, full of poetic framing and wistful music, whispering about fate and freedom and all the aching beauty of a love that feels slightly impossible. You sit down expecting to be swept off your feet — and for the first couple of episodes, you just might be. But then the story settles into a rhythm so soft, so cautious, that somewhere along the way, it loses its pulse.
There’s no denying that Song Hye-kyo and Park Bo-gum look beautiful together. Their chemistry is tender, like a memory you don’t want to disturb. And that’s the thing: it’s all so delicate. Their relationship unfolds in polite conversation, lingering looks, and the kind of silences that are meant to speak volumes — but often feel more like ellipses that never finish their sentence.
Song Hye-kyo’s Cha Soo-hyun is a woman wrapped in quiet sorrow, composed almost to a fault. There’s a weariness to her that feels earned, but the drama seems afraid to let her fully unravel. And Park Bo-gum’s Jin-hyuk is essentially a walking warm breeze — idealistic, endlessly patient, and so pure-hearted it almost hurts. But that gentleness, while lovely in theory, leaves very little room for actual tension. You don’t wonder if they’ll be together. You wonder why the story seems afraid to let them actually feel the things it keeps hinting at.
Thematically, the show reaches for rich territory — the push-pull between personal freedom and social expectation, the quiet desperation of those who’ve lived for others for too long. But instead of diving into those ideas, Encounter tiptoes around them like it’s afraid of breaking its own aesthetic. Every confrontation is subdued. Every dramatic beat, muffled. It’s a drama more concerned with maintaining mood than deepening emotional stakes.
And look — the mood is gorgeous. The cinematography is soft and cinematic, with shots that linger like paintings. Havana is a dreamscape of color and contrast. The hotel sets are bathed in warm light. It’s all very romantic... visually. But at a certain point, I stopped feeling inside the story and started feeling like I was watching someone else’s carefully curated vacation photos. Beautiful, but distant.
There are moments of genuine connection — especially early on, when their meeting feels serendipitous and open-hearted — but they’re rarely followed by anything that builds. The show coasts on the idea of emotional depth without ever truly sinking into it. And as the episodes go on, that fragility becomes less poignant and more frustrating.
Encounter isn’t hollow. It’s thoughtful, intentional, and sincere in its way. But it’s also incredibly safe. It flirts with melancholy without ever embracing it, hints at rebellion without ever defying anything. By the time it wrapped, I wasn’t angry or disappointed — just slightly wistful, like I’d been promised a symphony and got a lullaby instead.
It’s not a bad drama. It’s just too polite to make a mess of your heart.
There’s no denying that Song Hye-kyo and Park Bo-gum look beautiful together. Their chemistry is tender, like a memory you don’t want to disturb. And that’s the thing: it’s all so delicate. Their relationship unfolds in polite conversation, lingering looks, and the kind of silences that are meant to speak volumes — but often feel more like ellipses that never finish their sentence.
Song Hye-kyo’s Cha Soo-hyun is a woman wrapped in quiet sorrow, composed almost to a fault. There’s a weariness to her that feels earned, but the drama seems afraid to let her fully unravel. And Park Bo-gum’s Jin-hyuk is essentially a walking warm breeze — idealistic, endlessly patient, and so pure-hearted it almost hurts. But that gentleness, while lovely in theory, leaves very little room for actual tension. You don’t wonder if they’ll be together. You wonder why the story seems afraid to let them actually feel the things it keeps hinting at.
Thematically, the show reaches for rich territory — the push-pull between personal freedom and social expectation, the quiet desperation of those who’ve lived for others for too long. But instead of diving into those ideas, Encounter tiptoes around them like it’s afraid of breaking its own aesthetic. Every confrontation is subdued. Every dramatic beat, muffled. It’s a drama more concerned with maintaining mood than deepening emotional stakes.
And look — the mood is gorgeous. The cinematography is soft and cinematic, with shots that linger like paintings. Havana is a dreamscape of color and contrast. The hotel sets are bathed in warm light. It’s all very romantic... visually. But at a certain point, I stopped feeling inside the story and started feeling like I was watching someone else’s carefully curated vacation photos. Beautiful, but distant.
There are moments of genuine connection — especially early on, when their meeting feels serendipitous and open-hearted — but they’re rarely followed by anything that builds. The show coasts on the idea of emotional depth without ever truly sinking into it. And as the episodes go on, that fragility becomes less poignant and more frustrating.
Encounter isn’t hollow. It’s thoughtful, intentional, and sincere in its way. But it’s also incredibly safe. It flirts with melancholy without ever embracing it, hints at rebellion without ever defying anything. By the time it wrapped, I wasn’t angry or disappointed — just slightly wistful, like I’d been promised a symphony and got a lullaby instead.
It’s not a bad drama. It’s just too polite to make a mess of your heart.
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