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This drama is such a fresh take on villain protagonists. Song Joong Ki is perfect as the badass consigliere who takes justice in his own hands. Vincenzo has one rule: do not punish the innocent. Contrary to this rule are the corporate vile monsters who won't stop at nothing (even stoop to murder) to reach their goals. The acting is phenomenal, especially by Taec Yeon as the psychotic genius behind Babel. Not many Korean crime dramas infuse it with dark humor, although yes, sometimes it can be over-the-top and cringey. The funny scenes, I believe, try to give some humanity in a drama that showcases evil, nefarious deeds. The juxtaposition of comedy and cruelty works well in this case, the comedic relief mostly provided Vincenzo's oddball crew, namely the tenants of Geungnam Plaza, who have different quirks that may look ridiculous in most instances but their heart in protecting their building and their earnestness in helping other victims of corporate greed are endearing.
There's not much to be said about Vincenzo in the romance department though, as Song Joong Ki seemed to have more chemistry and more skinship moments with the other male actors than with Jeon Yeo Been. Even Inagzhi the pigeon has more chemistry with Joong Ki so if you are looking for romance, this isn't the right show for you, But if you want to see hotness in the form of a Mafia kickass-master flicking a lighter in every episode, then this is a must-see if you try to overlook some loopholes.
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More like “Wandered-Land of Love"
The drama opens with a spark that immediately pulls you in—the banter between Li Ni and Cui Lin is sharp, witty, and exhilarating. Their battle of wits sets the tone for a promising start, and I found myself leaning forward, eager to see who would outmaneuver the other. The dynamic between them is one of the strongest aspects of the show. And look, I’ll admit it — I was probably a little biased. I found myself rooting for Li Ni more than I should’ve, even though half the time I wanted to smack Cui Lin for torpedoing his plans. But to be fair, she wasn’t wrong. Their clash stems from different goals, and that tension is what makes their early interactions so compelling.Unfortunately, about a third of the way in, the momentum falters. Li Ni’s choices start to feel questionable, driven more by emotion than strategy. I get it — he was never the “conquer the world” type and didn’t have that ruthless drive—but when you’ve got an entire faction depending on you, a little more grit would’ve been nice. His lackadaisical approach becomes frustrating. The fatigue set in for me here, as the narrative lost the sharp edge it had in the beginning.
What really pushed my patience, though, was his father, the ultimate poster child for ungrateful dead weight. Li Ni literally risks everything to save this useless man, only for dear old dad to turn around and shower affection on his incompetent, shameless sons instead. That was the moment my eyebrows permanently migrated north.
By the time the drama heavily leaned into its romantic subplot, I was done. The lovey-dovey couple moments were so cloying they felt like toothaches, and I couldn’t push through the cringe. Despite a strong start and flashes of brilliance in the character dynamics, Wonderland of Love ultimately lost me before the finish line.
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The mystery wasn’t the crime—it was the script
I know I’m in the minority here, but this is just my opinion.After trying to watch a couple of episodes of this drama, it ended up frustrating me, and it’s no fault of the actors.
First of all, I can’t comprehend why anyone, especially someone who is supposed to uphold justice, would jeopardize an investigation by tipping off the suspect, so that the latter could escape, just because she didn’t get to handle the case. I know Ayako is sour about her not getting the credit for her hard work, but this being selfish on her part. She prioritized her feelings first and not being objective in the matter.
Secondly, I’m not denying the existence of misogyny, particularly in a patriarchal society, but the way she was treated by her colleagues and superiors was infuriating.
Thirdly, Am I supposed to believe that after swapping their bodies, that somehow their personalities also changed? What happened to the non-nonsense attitude that Ayako had? It seems that she lost her bravado once she lost her body. Granted, anybody in that situation will probably be fearful of the sticky situation she found herself in.
Fourthly, the way Ayako’s “partner-in-crime” quickly figured out that she swapped bodies with Haruto, as if this is an everyday occurrence, is beyond me. I know I have to suspend some disbelief in a supernatural drama, but even then, I can’t ignore all the loopholes. Sorry, dropped.
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My patience got possessed — I exorcised myself.
I started this drama out of curiosity, expecting gothic mystery with possession drama. Instead, the pacing wandered like a ghost without a haunting plan. The cursed-palace premise had bite, but the story kept circling without consequences. It wasn’t bad enough to rage-quit, but it wasn’t compelling enough to fight for.Atmosphere-wise, it flirted with my scare ceiling. The eerie framing worked — until they dropped a girl-in-the-well scare straight out of Ringu. I spent months as a kid unable to sleep because of that movie. I did not sign up for discount Sadako flashbacks. My nervous system demanded a drop.
Character-wise, Gang Cheol was the one thing holding me together. He carried the emotional weight the plot kept hinting at, and without him, I would’ve quit sooner. Meanwhile, Yeo Ri (no shade to Bo Na) was written way too subdued to keep up with all the bleeding walls and generational guilt.
So yes, I bailed. Not out of hate — but out of self-preservation. Creepy enough to linger, slow enough to yawn.
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Some seas are better admired from the shore.
I really tried with this drama. I gave it my best sleepy-eyed effort, but this drama had me dozing off every ten minutes like clockwork. It took me longer to crawl through three episodes of this than it did to binge a 40-episode melodrama with five love triangles and a reincarnation subplot. At some point, I realized I wasn’t watching—I was surviving. And then I gave up.To be fair, I’m not here to drag the entire production. I could feel the directorial intent—there’s a quiet, deliberate artistry to the pacing, the framing, the pauses. But had I actually checked the tags before hitting play, I would’ve spotted “slice of life” and politely backed away. That genre and I have an unspoken agreement: I don’t touch it, and it doesn’t bore me into a coma. The one thing that kept me chugging through the first 25% was Umi. The child actor playing her? A revelation. Precocious without being cloying, emotionally intuitive, and just plain adorable—she’s the kind of kid who could carry a drama on her tiny shoulders. And here, she basically does.
Mizuki, her mother, is another story entirely. The show frames her as a free-spirited woman in control of her own life, but her choices land more as selfish detours dressed up as independence. Giving birth without telling the father isn’t some whimsical quirk—it’s a seismic decision. The ripple effects hit everyone around her, years later, and the drama treats it like a poetic mystery instead of the emotional grenade it truly is. Autonomy is valid; accountability is not optional.
Between the snooze-fest pacing and the ethical frustration, I couldn’t go further. Beautifully shot? Absolutely. Quietly poignant in parts? Sure. But I need more than aesthetic sadness and soft piano to keep my eyes open.
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Pretty visuals, painful choices, and a romance that needed therapy, not tragedy
Over the last 4-5 years, I’ve adopted a policy of dropping dramas that fail to engage me early on. There’s probably over 300 dramas that I rated 7.0 below, and in a lot of these cases, I regret having finished these low-rated dramas solely to avoid the social pressure or sense of obligation or just for the sake of saying that I’ve watched them.In retrospect, I could have allocated my time to alternative entertainment options; however, my viewing habits were less discerning in the past due to a limited selection of high-quality dramas, whereas the current proliferation of excellent dramas has enabled me to cultivate a more selective approach to my viewing choices.
This rather long segue for a drama that I dropped is perhaps unnecessary, since I have already exceeded my tolerance and continued despite my disinterest, hoping I would change my opinion, but I didn’t.
First, I had issues with the pacing. Although the cinematography in this low-budget drama was undeniably beautiful, I unfortunately found myself compelled to repeatedly fast-forward through numerous excessively long shots of rain and snow, which, while visually appealing, ultimately proved to be somewhat tedious and distracting from the narrative.
Secondarily, the drama presented the ML as an unlikeable character. I understand the rivals-to-couple-back-to-enemies-to-lovers trope, but I wouldn’t date someone who repeatedly tried to kill me. Therefore, I deeply admired the SML’s sacrifices for the FL and his unwavering loyalty.
Thirdly, since I had no intention of continuing with this drama, I checked the ending and discovered both main characters died. Mind you, I am not against a tragic ending if the plot calls for it. I knew, in fact, that at least one had to die, but not both, particularly given how it concluded. Their deaths would have been acceptable if logical, but abandoning their child is infuriatingly selfish. The idea of supporting someone who would resort to suicide after their partner’s death fills me with an immense sadness. As a parent, leaving my child because of my heartbreak is unacceptable; my child deserves better than to be orphaned.
Given what I know now, I’m happy I didn’t waste my time on a mildly interesting drama—or I would have burst a coronary.
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Apparently, seeing a guy for five seconds is true love now
I really should look at the tags more carefully and ran when “Female Chases Male First” popped up. The high rating blinded me and my friends’ suggestions swayed me into giving this one a try. After watching the first episode, I was ready to drop it, but I didn’t since I did like the FL in “Exclusive Fairytale.” But as the story progressed, the more I got pissed because it gave me a serious case of ISWAK vibes, and I seriously dislike people (not just females) who don’t have the dignity and follow a guy around just because you saw him for like five seconds and decide that he is your forever after.On top of all that, I hate the disparity of a clueless, clingy female chasing an apparently good-looking, smart guy who thinks he’s too cool to be with regular folks. Dropped, as this ain’t for me.
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I came for the hype, stayed for the hush between notes
I almost didn’t pick this up. The title, the poster, the vibes — everything screamed slice-of-life, and that genre and I have a long-standing cold war. But the internet wouldn’t shut up about it. “Best thing since sliced bread,” they said. I caved. And while I won’t echo that sentiment (and don’t get me started on the word masterpiece — it’s been diluted to the point where it’s lost all meaning --- even my 10/10 favorites don’t get that crown), I’ll concede: Twinkling Watermelon is quite good.The beginning is slow, yes, but it earns its pace by laying out Eun Gyeol’s family dynamic with care. Ryeo Un, whom I hadn’t seen before, delivers a quietly compelling performance — a son caught between sound and silence, duty and dream. He doesn’t overplay it, and that restraint makes his emotional beats land harder. Seol In Ah, usually relegated to supporting roles, gets to stretch here. Playing two distinct characters, she’s versatile and surprisingly grounded.
On the other hand, I was less convinced by Choi Hyun Wook. I couldn’t decide if he was overacting or if the writing forced his hand, but the disconnect between his youthful portrayal of I-chan and the subdued adult version (played by Choi Won Young) was jarring. It stood out even more when compared to that with Yun Cheong A — a character, played by two actresses and yet they somehow kept the character’s essence intact across timelines. That consistency made her arc more emotionally resonant.
Now about the time travel mechanics? Just suspend your disbelief. The drama isn’t about that. It’s about perspective — how seeing someone’s past can reshape your understanding of them. Eun Gyeol learns to see his parents not as obstacles, but as people with their own silent battles. The theme of communication runs deep, especially in a story where three characters are deaf/mute. Their condition forces effort, while others (like Cheong A’s stepmother) weaponize silence. The older I Chan’s outburst — “How will I know if you don’t tell me your dreams?” — hits like a gut punch, because it tells you that communication IS important.
Then there’s warmth too: I Chan’s grandmother feeding a band of teenagers despite her humble means, grounding the show in small acts of love. I wasn’t here for the romance, and honestly, I wanted more closure on Eun Gyeol’s parents — how I Chan and Cheong A found each other again after the timeline shift. And the ending? I wish it leaned into earned understanding rather than rewriting their lives into glossy success. A return to their humble beginnings, with Eun Gyeol choosing to communicate and pursue music anyway, would’ve been more honest. The “magic eraser” ending felt too clean.
Still, if you overlook the shortcuts, Twinkling Watermelon is a warm, thoughtful drama. Not a masterpiece — let’s retire that word for a while — but a story that understands the power of perspective, and the quiet revolution of being truly heard.
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After watching a quarter of the drama, I was not motivated to watch it for a few reasons: mainly, the ML's annoying fake laughter and secondly, the FL's sickly-looking character. The over-the-top antics of the villagers and the one-dimension caricatures in the drama did not aid in supporting my need to watch this drama. Then knowing there was all the ill-fated and illogical coincidences, ML losing memories, FL losing baby, SFL losing her man, SML losing his love, really did not entice me to continue. Was this review helpful to you?
If boredom were a misdemeanor, this drama would have plead guilty by episode three
I picked up this drama expecting a trifecta: noona romance, a strong female lead, and Hwang In Youp doing his best tender-eyed puppy impression. Unfortunately, it delivered on exactly one of those—barely. If you tuned in for sizzling chemistry or any semblance of emotional payoff, I hope you brought snacks, because you'll be waiting a while.Let’s talk about our leading lady. There’s cold, and then there’s clinical detachment dressed as trauma response. This woman isn't so much strong as she is icy with a superiority complex. Yes, she’s competent. Yes, she’s had it rough. But her “strength” comes laced with a quiet menace that makes her less magnetic and more… repellant. I don’t need my FLs to be saints, but I do need a reason to root for them beyond “she's better than the corrupt men.” That’s a low bar, and this drama still manages to trip over it.
At the end of episode three, I tapped out—frustrated, underwhelmed, and mildly annoyed at myself for ignoring the warning signs (read: that moody black poster practically screamed this is not your fluffy noona romance). I kept waiting for “Extraordinary Attorney Woo” vibes and got legal jargon, steely glares, and a romance that felt like a footnote in a courtroom PowerPoint.
Humans are flawed, sure. But there’s a difference between complex and flat-out unlikeable, and this FL leaned so far into the latter that even Hwang In Youp's soulful glances couldn't salvage it. If you came here for healing, warmth, or anything resembling a K-drama heart flutter—you’re in the wrong courtroom. Case dismissed.
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My Dearest? More like My Detachment.
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.
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Came for the actress, stayed for… actually no, I left.
This isn’t a bad drama, and I can see exactly what it’s trying to do. The commentary on toxic fan culture, boundary‑crossing “supporters,” and the way the entertainment industry flips its loyalty the second an idol stops being profitable — all of that is valid, necessary, and honestly refreshing to see addressed so directly. Celebrities are humans, not emotional vending machines, and the show makes that point clearly.But the execution doesn’t always land. The scenes meant to highlight how dangerous obsessive fandom can be feel oddly muted, and the company’s reaction — treating criminal behavior like a PR hiccup — ends up more frustrating than impactful. The message is strong; the delivery wobbles.
The mystery element doesn’t help. When I can identify the killer before the story even settles, the suspense loses its footing. Predictability isn’t fatal, but it does make the viewing experience feel flatter than it should.
I’m not angry at the drama — just quietly stepping away before mild disappointment turns into irritation. I’ll give it a respectable score for the actress and the intention behind the commentary, but this isn’t something I need to push through.
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