This review may contain spoilers
A Hundred Memories, Only a Few Worth Keeping
Disclaimer: I went into this drama with unusually high expectations. The time period was exactly the kind of setting I love, the premise appeared fresh, and, most importantly, it featured one of my favorite actresses, Shin Ye Eun, in a role that promised emotional depth and quiet strength.
Acting / Cast
The cast is, without question, the drama’s strongest asset. Shin Ye Eun delivers a compelling performance as Seo Jong Hui, a woman carrying the weight of a tragic past yet presenting herself as capable, resilient, and fiercely protective of the vulnerable. Her character instantly drew me in. She balances mystery, moral conflict, and emotional restraint in a way that anchors the entire show.
Kim Da Mi, as Ko Yeong Rye, initially adds an interesting contrast as a timid young woman from a financially struggling family. However, her indecisiveness and self-effacing nature quickly became exhausting. Her constant willingness to sacrifice herself for nearly anyone in her vicinity felt less like a character trait and more like a narrative burden.
What surprised me most is that despite my issues with Yeong Rye’s characterization, Ye Eun and Da Mi have genuinely strong on-screen chemistry — arguably the best dynamic in the entire series. Their early interactions are engaging, natural, and brimming with understated tension. I honestly enjoyed those first episodes largely because of how well they played off each other.
Then, unfortunately, the male lead enters the picture. Heo Nam Jun’s Han Jae Pil begins as a promising, layered character, but the writing strips him of nuance with every episode. His emotional volatility and constant “love reversals” made him increasingly frustrating to watch. He isn’t a red flag, exactly — more someone who is addicted to feeling things for the sake of emotional stimulation. His bond with Jong Hui dissolves the moment it becomes inconvenient for the plot. His pursuit of Yeong Rye feels transactional, almost like he’s checking obligations off a list rather than falling in love.
By the end, the love triangle not only weakens the cast dynamic — it actively damages it.
Score: 8/10
Writing
This is where the drama falters most. The setup is undeniably strong: Two female bus conductors navigating the tight constraints of 1980s Korean society — family expectations, economic hardship, danger on the job, and personal dreams. Their contrasting personalities create a natural balance and enormous potential for character development, social commentary, and a deeply textured friendship arc.
But instead of cultivating that foundation, the writing gradually funnels everything into a conventional, unnecessary love triangle that diminishes both women and overshadows their personal journeys. The hints of complex female friendship — and even potential queer subtext — are abandoned without payoff. Their bond, which initially felt layered and quietly intimate, becomes flattened into cliché “love rivalry” tropes that strip both characters of individuality.
The drama repeatedly suggests it wants to explore themes like:
– women’s solidarity
– social class struggles
– the emotional cost of survival
– the contradictions of female independence in a conservative era
But none of these threads are given real development. There is no narrative build-up, no clear motivation, and ultimately no cohesive message. By the time the finale arrives, the story feels like it has taken a hundred illogical routes, losing sight of what made it compelling in the first place.
Most disappointing is the ending: the writers chose the most predictable path by pairing the main couple, despite their stark lack of romantic chemistry. Jong-hui and Yeong-rye worked far better as a mirroring duo, and ironically, the two women had more chemistry with each other than had with the male lead.
Score: 5/10
Direction / SFX / Music
The direction is serviceable but inconsistent. The early episodes are atmospheric and grounded, effectively capturing the social rhythms of the 1980s. As the drama falls deeper into melodrama, though, the direction becomes flatter, as if following the writing into less inspired territory. Cinematography and set design are solid throughout — enough to make the period feel lived-in rather than decorative. The OST did not particularly stand out to me, it was fine but rarely enhanced the emotional beats.
Score: 7/10
A Hundred Memories could have been something special: a textured portrayal of two women balancing friendship, duty, and desire in a turbulent era. The setting is promising, the cast talented, and the initial chemistry — especially between the two female leads — is genuinely compelling. But the drama ultimately sacrifices its uniqueness for a tired romantic framework, reducing its protagonists to conventional tropes and abandoning the themes that could have made it memorable.
I would recommend it only with caveats:
Watch it for Shin Ye Eun, for the early episodes, and for the glimpses of what it almost became. But be prepared — the story loses its way long before the end.
Overall score: 8/10
Acting / Cast
The cast is, without question, the drama’s strongest asset. Shin Ye Eun delivers a compelling performance as Seo Jong Hui, a woman carrying the weight of a tragic past yet presenting herself as capable, resilient, and fiercely protective of the vulnerable. Her character instantly drew me in. She balances mystery, moral conflict, and emotional restraint in a way that anchors the entire show.
Kim Da Mi, as Ko Yeong Rye, initially adds an interesting contrast as a timid young woman from a financially struggling family. However, her indecisiveness and self-effacing nature quickly became exhausting. Her constant willingness to sacrifice herself for nearly anyone in her vicinity felt less like a character trait and more like a narrative burden.
What surprised me most is that despite my issues with Yeong Rye’s characterization, Ye Eun and Da Mi have genuinely strong on-screen chemistry — arguably the best dynamic in the entire series. Their early interactions are engaging, natural, and brimming with understated tension. I honestly enjoyed those first episodes largely because of how well they played off each other.
Then, unfortunately, the male lead enters the picture. Heo Nam Jun’s Han Jae Pil begins as a promising, layered character, but the writing strips him of nuance with every episode. His emotional volatility and constant “love reversals” made him increasingly frustrating to watch. He isn’t a red flag, exactly — more someone who is addicted to feeling things for the sake of emotional stimulation. His bond with Jong Hui dissolves the moment it becomes inconvenient for the plot. His pursuit of Yeong Rye feels transactional, almost like he’s checking obligations off a list rather than falling in love.
By the end, the love triangle not only weakens the cast dynamic — it actively damages it.
Score: 8/10
Writing
This is where the drama falters most. The setup is undeniably strong: Two female bus conductors navigating the tight constraints of 1980s Korean society — family expectations, economic hardship, danger on the job, and personal dreams. Their contrasting personalities create a natural balance and enormous potential for character development, social commentary, and a deeply textured friendship arc.
But instead of cultivating that foundation, the writing gradually funnels everything into a conventional, unnecessary love triangle that diminishes both women and overshadows their personal journeys. The hints of complex female friendship — and even potential queer subtext — are abandoned without payoff. Their bond, which initially felt layered and quietly intimate, becomes flattened into cliché “love rivalry” tropes that strip both characters of individuality.
The drama repeatedly suggests it wants to explore themes like:
– women’s solidarity
– social class struggles
– the emotional cost of survival
– the contradictions of female independence in a conservative era
But none of these threads are given real development. There is no narrative build-up, no clear motivation, and ultimately no cohesive message. By the time the finale arrives, the story feels like it has taken a hundred illogical routes, losing sight of what made it compelling in the first place.
Most disappointing is the ending: the writers chose the most predictable path by pairing the main couple, despite their stark lack of romantic chemistry. Jong-hui and Yeong-rye worked far better as a mirroring duo, and ironically, the two women had more chemistry with each other than had with the male lead.
Score: 5/10
Direction / SFX / Music
The direction is serviceable but inconsistent. The early episodes are atmospheric and grounded, effectively capturing the social rhythms of the 1980s. As the drama falls deeper into melodrama, though, the direction becomes flatter, as if following the writing into less inspired territory. Cinematography and set design are solid throughout — enough to make the period feel lived-in rather than decorative. The OST did not particularly stand out to me, it was fine but rarely enhanced the emotional beats.
Score: 7/10
A Hundred Memories could have been something special: a textured portrayal of two women balancing friendship, duty, and desire in a turbulent era. The setting is promising, the cast talented, and the initial chemistry — especially between the two female leads — is genuinely compelling. But the drama ultimately sacrifices its uniqueness for a tired romantic framework, reducing its protagonists to conventional tropes and abandoning the themes that could have made it memorable.
I would recommend it only with caveats:
Watch it for Shin Ye Eun, for the early episodes, and for the glimpses of what it almost became. But be prepared — the story loses its way long before the end.
Overall score: 8/10
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