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More Heart Than Humour
Just finished Pro Bono, and it really sticks with you; though not always in the ways you might expect. Let me start with this: the cases are the real stars of the show.
This is where the drama finds its conscience. Through its legal cases, Pro Bono shines a light on the cracks in the system—migrant workers fighting to keep their dignity, people with disabilities navigating a world that rarely accommodates them, and celebrities stripped of their humanity the moment scandal hits. These stories don’t feel like filler; they form the moral core of the drama and are often emotionally honest and quietly impactful.
Kang Dawit’s journey anchors it all. Watching him shift from a careerist to someone shaped by the people he represents is the most compelling throughline. His growth feels gradual and earned, carried by a restrained performance that gives the drama emotional weight even when other elements wobble.
But here’s my real talk moment: the comedy just… didn’t land for me. Which is a shame, because it’s listed as a comedy-legal drama. Some of the side characters (looking at you, Nan Hui and Jun U) felt more grating than funny. Their loud, exaggerated moments often clashed with the quieter, more emotional tone of the cases. I found myself fast-forwarding through some of their scenes just to get back to the courtroom or the client’s story.
And while I really respected what the show was trying to do with characters like Gippeum, a passionate fighter for justice, sometimes her intensity crossed into overbearing. On the flip side, Jang Yeongsil’s quiet transformation was a real highlight. From timid to quietly courageous, his arc felt real and earned.
All in all, Pro Bono is a mixed bag; but one worth digging into if you care about law dramas with social conscience. Don’t go in expecting big laughs. Go in for the cases, for Kang Dawit’s meaningful journey, and for a drama that isn’t afraid to show how the law touches real, vulnerable lives.
This is where the drama finds its conscience. Through its legal cases, Pro Bono shines a light on the cracks in the system—migrant workers fighting to keep their dignity, people with disabilities navigating a world that rarely accommodates them, and celebrities stripped of their humanity the moment scandal hits. These stories don’t feel like filler; they form the moral core of the drama and are often emotionally honest and quietly impactful.
Kang Dawit’s journey anchors it all. Watching him shift from a careerist to someone shaped by the people he represents is the most compelling throughline. His growth feels gradual and earned, carried by a restrained performance that gives the drama emotional weight even when other elements wobble.
But here’s my real talk moment: the comedy just… didn’t land for me. Which is a shame, because it’s listed as a comedy-legal drama. Some of the side characters (looking at you, Nan Hui and Jun U) felt more grating than funny. Their loud, exaggerated moments often clashed with the quieter, more emotional tone of the cases. I found myself fast-forwarding through some of their scenes just to get back to the courtroom or the client’s story.
And while I really respected what the show was trying to do with characters like Gippeum, a passionate fighter for justice, sometimes her intensity crossed into overbearing. On the flip side, Jang Yeongsil’s quiet transformation was a real highlight. From timid to quietly courageous, his arc felt real and earned.
All in all, Pro Bono is a mixed bag; but one worth digging into if you care about law dramas with social conscience. Don’t go in expecting big laughs. Go in for the cases, for Kang Dawit’s meaningful journey, and for a drama that isn’t afraid to show how the law touches real, vulnerable lives.
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