This review may contain spoilers
When Art, Love, and Ambition Burn Too Close
Burnout Syndrome isn’t your typical Thai BL—and that’s exactly why it hits so hard. This 10-episode GMMTV series (Nov 26, 2025–Feb 4, 2026) is a raw, character-driven drama about emotional exhaustion, creativity, power, and desire, set against a sleek but suffocating modern urban backdrop.
After Not Me, I’d been waiting for Off Jumpol and Gun Atthaphan to return to something this emotionally dense—and Burnout Syndrome absolutely delivers. The mock trailer sparked excitement, the official trailer raised expectations, and the addition of Dew Jirawat into a volatile love triangle made it impossible to ignore.
Directed by Anucha “Nuchy” Boonyawatana (Not Me) and written by JittiRain and Ben Sethinun Jariyavilaskul, the series follows Jira (Gun Atthaphan), a gifted artist reeling from burnout after losing his job. Numb and creatively blocked, he drifts into a quiet bar where he meets Pheem (Dew Jirawat), a seemingly gentle, grounded IT specialist who offers comfort and emotional safety. Then enters Koh (Off Jumpol), a brilliant but reclusive tech entrepreneur who hires Jira as the public face of his company—pulling him into a messy collision of work, power, attraction, and compromise.
What unfolds isn’t a simple love triangle, but a slow, painful study of flawed people making selfish, human choices. Koh appears cold and calculating, yet hides a fragile, needy core. Pheem presents as soft and caring, but harbours manipulation, jealousy, and rage beneath the surface. Jira may look innocent, but he’s self-aware, morally stubborn, and quietly in control more often than he lets on.
This series is heavy—emotionally brutal, messy, toxic, and deeply affecting. Off Jumpol excels in roles you love to hate, and Koh might be his most infuriating yet. Gun Atthaphan once again proves he’s in a league of his own; his performance is layered, restrained, and devastatingly real. Dew Jirawat delivers his best work to date—volatile, wounded, magnetic, sexy —and honestly feels like the MVP here. Emi Thasorn is rock-solid as Jira’s no-nonsense confidant, while AJ Chayapol finally gets a role that lets him shine.
Visually, Burnout Syndrome is stunning. The contrast between cold tech spaces and warm, organic art is deliberate and loaded with meaning. Flowers, rooms, paintings, and even silence are used as symbols. The cinematography lingers just long enough to unsettle you, while the music choices are impeccable—never intrusive, always emotionally precise.
At its core, this series isn’t just about romance. It’s an allegory about art versus technology, capital versus creativity, and what happens when artists are forced to survive in systems that consume them. Its critique of generative AI is sharp without being preachy, and its portrayal of burnout feels painfully current. No one here is purely good or bad—and that realism is what makes it so powerful.
If you’re expecting fluffy romance or neat resolutions, this isn’t for you. But if you’re open to discomfort, symbolism, moral ambiguity, and queer storytelling that treats its audience like adults, Burnout Syndrome is essential viewing.
Bold, intelligent, emotionally punishing, and unapologetically human, Burnout Syndrome is one of the strongest Thai series of the year—BL or otherwise. It lingers long after the final episode, like art that refuses to let you look away.
After Not Me, I’d been waiting for Off Jumpol and Gun Atthaphan to return to something this emotionally dense—and Burnout Syndrome absolutely delivers. The mock trailer sparked excitement, the official trailer raised expectations, and the addition of Dew Jirawat into a volatile love triangle made it impossible to ignore.
Directed by Anucha “Nuchy” Boonyawatana (Not Me) and written by JittiRain and Ben Sethinun Jariyavilaskul, the series follows Jira (Gun Atthaphan), a gifted artist reeling from burnout after losing his job. Numb and creatively blocked, he drifts into a quiet bar where he meets Pheem (Dew Jirawat), a seemingly gentle, grounded IT specialist who offers comfort and emotional safety. Then enters Koh (Off Jumpol), a brilliant but reclusive tech entrepreneur who hires Jira as the public face of his company—pulling him into a messy collision of work, power, attraction, and compromise.
What unfolds isn’t a simple love triangle, but a slow, painful study of flawed people making selfish, human choices. Koh appears cold and calculating, yet hides a fragile, needy core. Pheem presents as soft and caring, but harbours manipulation, jealousy, and rage beneath the surface. Jira may look innocent, but he’s self-aware, morally stubborn, and quietly in control more often than he lets on.
This series is heavy—emotionally brutal, messy, toxic, and deeply affecting. Off Jumpol excels in roles you love to hate, and Koh might be his most infuriating yet. Gun Atthaphan once again proves he’s in a league of his own; his performance is layered, restrained, and devastatingly real. Dew Jirawat delivers his best work to date—volatile, wounded, magnetic, sexy —and honestly feels like the MVP here. Emi Thasorn is rock-solid as Jira’s no-nonsense confidant, while AJ Chayapol finally gets a role that lets him shine.
Visually, Burnout Syndrome is stunning. The contrast between cold tech spaces and warm, organic art is deliberate and loaded with meaning. Flowers, rooms, paintings, and even silence are used as symbols. The cinematography lingers just long enough to unsettle you, while the music choices are impeccable—never intrusive, always emotionally precise.
At its core, this series isn’t just about romance. It’s an allegory about art versus technology, capital versus creativity, and what happens when artists are forced to survive in systems that consume them. Its critique of generative AI is sharp without being preachy, and its portrayal of burnout feels painfully current. No one here is purely good or bad—and that realism is what makes it so powerful.
If you’re expecting fluffy romance or neat resolutions, this isn’t for you. But if you’re open to discomfort, symbolism, moral ambiguity, and queer storytelling that treats its audience like adults, Burnout Syndrome is essential viewing.
Bold, intelligent, emotionally punishing, and unapologetically human, Burnout Syndrome is one of the strongest Thai series of the year—BL or otherwise. It lingers long after the final episode, like art that refuses to let you look away.
Was this review helpful to you?
