Tanky Toon

So frustratingly stupid this Shu He.....he still keeps on believing that his brother will not kill him when he already knew the Crown Prince killed the king and Zi Ant was just trying to protect him. He would have died if not for Zi Ang. What an idiot.

I don't want to be THE MANIPULATED in rating dramas. :]

This drama was a weird little cocktail — equal parts ghostly hijinks, heartfelt moments, and existential chaos — and somehow, it worked. I went in expecting a quirky mystery with some mild horror, not a full emotional ambush. I didn’t think a show tagged with ghosts and supernatural chaos would make me cry that much, but here we are — ugly-crying over what was supposed to be a spooky comedy. It’s genuinely funny, surprisingly touching, and sneakily profound beneath all the absurdity.

Then came that ending. Surviving a two- or three-story fall with a bloodied head? Sure, miracles happen, but this one felt like it skipped medical realism entirely. And the second coma? At that point, it was less “tragic fate” and more “the universe needs new material.” Coming out of two comas before thirty without a hint of brain damage is... impressive, if not scientifically sound. So when he finally woke up again, I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or send flowers to his poor neurons.

Still, I get why they went for a hopeful close, even if part of me wished they’d let the story rest where it naturally wanted to. I know most viewers crave happy endings, but I’ll always choose an honest one over a convenient miracle. It’s how I write too — I follow where the story leads, not where it’s comfortable.

Despite my issues with the finale, this drama remains funny, heartfelt, and strangely moving. It’s messy in logic but rich in feeling — the kind of show that sneaks up on you, makes you laugh, and somehow leaves you crying anyway.

This is the kind of show that sneaks up on you, makes you laugh, and somehow leaves you crying anyway.

Full review in the spoiler below:

I gave this drama a fair shot before calling it quits. The setup felt eerily familiar, and my brain kept wandering back to Marry My Husband, which did the whole “second chance at life and revenge” premise with more conviction and emotional grounding. Over there, the leads were actually likeable — people I wanted to root for. Here, I mostly wanted to shake the male lead awake; he looked two yawns away from a nap in every scene.

To be fair, Marry My Husband had the advantage of time and context — coworkers with history, quiet familiarity, and believable chemistry. In Perfect Marriage Revenge, Do Guk and Yi Joo meet and suddenly we’re meant to buy into this destined connection, but it just doesn’t land. Even the villains feel flat in comparison – they were surface-level and predictable, offering no real tension or complexity.

The emotional stakes felt thin, and the drama leaned heavily on genre structure without building the depth needed to sustain interest. Perfect Marriage Revenge may appeal to viewers who enjoy stylized revenge setups, but for me, it lacked the pull and payoff to justify continuing.

Perfect Marriage Revenge may appeal to viewers who enjoy stylized revenge setups, but for me, it lacked the pull and payoff to justify continuing.

Full review in the spoiler below:

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x9o59la

😅😅😅

Started off promising—Tang Fan was sharp, the cases had some intrigue, and Sui Zhou had that quiet authority I usually like in an imperial guard type. But somewhere around episode 6 or 7, the tone started slipping. Sui Zhou softened way too fast, and not in a layered or earned way—just felt like they dulled him down to make room for buddy vibes. The tension dropped, and so did my interest.

Tang Fan stayed clever, but the drama kept throwing him into weird filler scenes. That whole chopstick revenge arc with Dong Er? Way too many scenes for something that didn’t matter. It felt like they were trying to force enemies-to-lovers trope between them, but it didn’t land. I don’t mind light moments, but this was narrative padding that stalled the mystery.

This isn’t a bad drama. It’s just one that mistakes chemistry for proximity and tension for soft smiles. The “pairing” feels more like a studio mandate than organic storytelling — a half-hearted wink to the censors rather than something the plot needed. Mysterious Lotus Casebook had a similar balance of male camaraderie and female side characters, but it trusted its central dynamic to carry the weight and let female characters exist without forced romantic framing. The bonds there felt natural; but here, they feel like PR damage control. I wanted to love it, but at 15%, I could already tell this case wasn’t worth solving, at least for me.

This isn’t a bad drama. I wanted to love it, but at 15%, I could already tell this case wasn’t worth solving, at least for me.

Full review in the spoiler below:

Ji Sung has always been good, but this drama unlocks something dangerously magnetic in him. I remember him from Kill Me, Heal Me and Protect the Boss — charming, intense, sure — but here, he’s pure smolder. The kind of gaze that could burn through courtroom robes and power suits alike. His Yo Han is the definition of “don’t stand too close, you might catch fire.”

Unfortunately, the women on the so-called “good side” don’t get the same electricity. Su Hyeon and Jin Ju barely register — written like moral wallpaper, existing only to react to men’s turmoil. Meanwhile, Seon A and Cha Gyeong Hui steal every scene they enter. One’s chaos in couture, the other ambition in a tailored suit — and together, they make the “good” women look like extras in their own story.

Narratively, the story is gripping. It asks the right questions: who gets to decide what justice looks like, and at what cost? Can you burn down corruption without becoming the arsonist? You want these monsters punished, but halfway through you realize the heroes are flirting with monstrosity themselves. The writing doesn’t excuse the moral rot; it forces you to look at it and ask, “Would I do the same?” It’s disturbingly satisfying, and that’s exactly why it works.

Then came the last five minutes. Why. The finale could’ve sealed Kang Yo Han’s tragic brilliance with a full-circle ending — an atonement through death, poetic and earned. Instead, we get a ghostly farewell scene where Yo Han, presumed dead, casually strolls visits Ga On like he’s not the most recognizable face in the country. I’m not saying I’m not happy he’s alive, but if he is, where’s the consequence? Where’s the trial for blowing up a building, even if the occupants were human garbage? The show that questioned moral hypocrisy ends by committing it.

Still, even with that stumble, The Devil Judge delivers a rare blend of emotional tension, ethical chaos, and sheer charisma. It’s a courtroom dystopia that dares to ask who gets to decide what justice really means.

The Devil Judge delivers a rare blend of emotional tension, ethical chaos, and sheer charisma. It’s a courtroom dystopia that dares to ask who gets to decide what justice really means.

Full review in the spoiler below:

Actually according to interviews , the director and writer intended the film to be ambiguous. https://www.taiwannews.com.tw/news/5966195

I understand that in Japanese culture, it's common for unmarried adults to live with their parents, and I say this as an Asian and someone who also lived with mine until my mid-30s. Being sheltered might limit someone’s range of experience, but it doesn’t erase their capacity to reflect, grow, or develop internal depth.

Maturity doesn’t automatically come from worldliness, and lived experience doesn’t always translate to emotional clarity—the reverse can also be true.

So yes, I may have projected my own standards onto Manami, but that’s part of engaging with a character. What frustrated me wasn’t her lack of experience—it was her emotional recklessness and selective accountability. If she’s capable of rejecting her father’s control when it suits her, then she’s capable of making grounded choices. Her inconsistency isn’t just a product of being sheltered—it’s a narrative choice, and I’m critiquing how that choice plays out

I gave this drama a solid shot — halfway through of part one, even. The emotional core never quite clicked for me, and the female lead didn’t help matters. She was written in that frustrating mix of arrogance and self-righteousness that makes empathy hard work. I could see what the show wanted me to feel, but I just couldn’t get there.

Visually, yes — it’s stunning. The production is polished, the cinematography is rich, and the atmosphere is undeniably crafted with care. But I’m not someone who gets swept up by aesthetics alone. Then I heard about the double amnesia arc in part two and immediately checked out. Once is lazy; twice is punishment.

I get why others might call this a masterpiece — but I don’t use that word lightly. Personally, I wouldn’t even call my top-rated dramas that — feels like artistic blasphemy to Michelangelo and Da Vinci. Let’s just say this drama might be great for others, but for me? It was a gorgeous miss.

Full review in the Spoiler below:

ummm...you can check the tags..and it will tell you why.....

Now, about the male lead — I’m not saying he’s unattractive. He’s got that clean, polished “Smart-from-Top Form” appeal. But there’s a certain aesthetic — the ultra-smooth, almost lip-filler-adjacent kind — that just doesn’t resonate with me. It’s purely a matter of taste, of course, but I tend to connect more with performances than symmetry — and here, neither the prettiness nor the chemistry filled that gap.

And don’t even get me started on the fiancé. Why is this man spending more time talking to Manami’s friend than to Manami herself? It felt bizarrely misplaced, like the show forgot who his fiancée actually was.

Manami ended up being the least likeable for me. Her arc had potential, but the way she handled the breakup—absolutely not. The guy was already struggling, and instead of respecting Kaoru’s space, she bulldozed right over it. What made it worse was how the show framed it like some grand romantic gesture, when really it just made her look emotionally tone-deaf. I actually thought the breakup was a rare moment of mutual clarity—finally, something adult. But then she immediately backtracks, ignoring everything they’d just agreed on. She’s the older one here, supposedly the more grounded one, yet she completely disregards Kaoru’s boundaries like they were optional. At that point, I was out. I couldn’t root for them anymore, and I definitely wasn’t going to stick around to watch the show pretend that was growth.

By the time I dropped it, it wasn’t out of anger, just fatigue. The setup had promise, but the execution felt like it was trying to mean something without ever earning it. Sometimes, the most grown-up thing you can do — both in love and in viewing — is just move on.

I usually have a soft spot for noona romances — something about older-woman-younger-man dynamics hits that sweet mix of maturity and yearning. But this one just didn’t click. I made it past the halfway mark hoping the emotional core would finally show up, but the pacing and editing made it impossible to stay invested. Every scene faded out like it was afraid to commit, and the constant cuts made the story feel like someone stitched together a bunch of half-scenes and called it a drama.

Full review in the spoiler below:

Actually according to interviews , the director and writer intended the film to be ambiguous. https://www.taiwannews.com.tw/news/5966195

I found it after asking Co Pilot to give me an analysis of the film and the above article is one of its sources.

Here is Copilot's answer, just in case you're curious.

See You is built around emotional ambiguity and narrative restraint. The film deliberately leaves many questions unanswered to reflect the reality of grief, queer repression, and emotional fragmentation. It doesn’t offer closure because the characters themselves never got it. Here’s why those unanswered questions matter:

- They mirror Chien Yu’s emotional state: He’s left with fragments, not facts. The viewer experiences that same disorientation.
- They reflect the silence around queer pain: Chih Pang’s struggles were hidden, and even after death, they’re only partially revealed.
- They challenge the viewer to sit with discomfort: Instead of resolving the mystery, the film asks you to metabolize it — to feel the weight of what’s missing.

So yes, those questions around Ah Hao, Chih Pang, and Chien Yu remain unresolved. Not because the film forgot them, but because it refuses to simplify what grief and queer longing actually feel like.