Korean Drama: where the queer crossroads go
Lee Ye-jin
Queer media representation in Korea is reaching its peak in the 2020s and is expected to continue to rise in the coming years. But while the entertainment industry capitalizes on the popularity of homosexual erotica, wider Korean society protests against anti-discrimination laws and openly expresses homophobia. Queer identities introduced in the public domain are thereby accompanied by a mix of expectations and misgivings. Despite the positive trend toward increased visibility, Korean media still relies on superficial and conventional depictions of queer characters; it needs to achieve a deeper understanding of queer lives, identities, and relationships for a more authentic representation of queer dynamic. For this to occur, Korean creators must understand the scope of representation of queer relationships, and hard as it might be in a rigidly heterosexual system, try to overcome the stigma and censure surrounding queer relationships to broaden the spectrums of identity. Extraordinary Attorney Woo and Run On are two prominent dramas that show important shifts in the portrayal of queer relationships.
Wowing Attorney Woo: Going Beyond Plot Twists
In Korean media, arguments for non-heterosexual relationships often revolve around the conventions of heterosexual romance. Many, if not most, of the popular shows depict a romantic relationship between two people of the same perceived gender. They intentionally draw upon the common ground of monogamous love, arguing that partners of same-sex relationships have similar desires for relationships and marriage. It feels like the only difference between these queer relationships is that the participants of the romance are either two men or two women. A more authentic portrayal of queer relationships would provide alternatives to heterosexual marriage and even convey the actual difficulties surrounding non-heterosexual marriage.
Extraordinary Attorney Woo (2022) focuses on queer relationships as a politically controversial issue foremost, depicting same-sex couples and marriage from a legal standpoint. This Netflix original hit follows Attorney Woo, an autistic lawyer in a Korean law firm, and the different legal issues she deals with in each episode. It features Park Eun-bin as Woo Young-woo, a rookie attorney with autism, employed by a prominent Seoul law firm. Despite her unique communication style, which is perceived as unconventional by her neurotypical colleagues,Woo proves herself through her exceptional intelligence and photographic memory. The drama was well-received for its sharp depiction of social issues since it addressed topical issues such as discrimination against people with disabilities, children's rights, gender-based violence, and discrimination against women in the workforce.
The drama’s second episode, titled “The Wedding Dress That Slipped Off," deals with marriage laws and heteronormative expectations. In its climax, the episode reveals a plot twist where the engaged legal client Kim Hwa-young, is revealed to be in a long-term, same-sex relationship. At a luxurious wedding organized by a hotel corporation, the bride Hwa-young’s dress slips down when she stumbles, exposing herself. Her father, who arranged the wedding for financial gain, hires Woo’s firm to sue the hotel instead of accepting their compensation. The man pretends to be enraged on his daughter’s behalf, but he just wants more money out of this legal mess. Hwa-young, the actual victim, is unsatisfied and sullen about the whole matter, but it seems like her unenthusiastic attitude toward the wedding is hiding something else. The episode ends dramatically with Hwa-young withdrawing from the lawsuit and declaring independence from her father by announcing that she has a long-term romantic relationship with her girlfriend, Jung Min.
While the show successfully served as an entry point for many Korean spectators into queer relationships, boasting the highest viewing rate of 17.5 percent, its discussion of queerness lacks depth. Primarily, it presents a same-sex relationship as merely an alternative to the heteronormative marriage narrative. Each episode, serving as a secondary plot to the overarching legal drama, misses the opportunity to delve into the intricate court rulings surrounding same-sex marriage rights. Instead, the series places the obligated marriage and the indignant father at the forefront of its narrative.
Moreover, the show weaves in heterosexual romantic tension between Attorney Woo and her love interest even in this episode centered on queer individuals. Their legal struggles merely serve as the backdrop to the progression of Woo and her love interest’s relationship; the subplot of marriage becomes a convenient vehicle for Woo’s male love interest to see Woo in a wedding dress. Through this tactic, the narrative cleverly draws comparisons between the heterosexual tension of the protagonists and the queer relationship of their client. After withdrawing a lawsuit due to the catastrophic failure of an arranged marriage ceremony, the ex-bride declares,
“If I had to marry someone... It’ll be with her. With the person I love.”
Two minutes later, the legal episode concludes with the couple slowly exiting the courtroom, their hand-in-hand walk resembling a wedding march. However, I find that this march, while symbolically powerful, replaces—rather than presenting more possibilities departing from—a heterosexually coded processional.
Further, Extraordinary Attorney Woo spotlights same-sex relationships primarily as a legal and societal issue. Famed for its portrayal of controversial issues, the drama only handles homosexual relationships as a final plot twist. In Korean society, where rampant homophobia and the legal erasure of queer identities persist, same-sex marriages are indeed a controversial legal issue. Instances of homophobic protests against queer characters in other dramas further highlight the challenges.
Considering these voices of opposition, it seems valid for Extraordinary Attorney Woo to focus on the legal and societal dimensions of same-sex relationships, particularly in the context of the father's religious expectations and greed in forcing the arranged marriage. The drama sheds light on factors contributing to the oppression of queer women and expresses hope for the bride's independence from her relatives.
However, the depiction leaves me wishing for further attempts to center a queer narrative. While the drama effectively reveals the social stigma against queer identities and provides alternatives to heterosexual marriage, queerness is used for its shock value—a plot twist for the viewers. The frequent naming of queerness at the beginning of several episodes reinforces the notion that queer relationships are mere novelties. The attorneys' frequent use of "wow" and "extraordinary" following the bride's momentous coming out scene reflects the drama's agenda. It is attempting to toe the line by refraining from saying anything radically progressive and coaxing the audience to cheer for this new type of romance.
So how could this be improved? Well, for instance, more information could be given about Jung Min, the partner, to give the queer plot more depth. Drawing on the courtroom drama genre, the show could have further explored the current legal standing of queer relationships, rather than just using queerness as a ‘controversy' to add an element of surprise. The legal struggles that occur in reality could have been included in the plot, with each case facing uncertainty about whether the court rule will recognize same-sex relationships. While the drama brings same-sex relationships into the marriage discourse, portraying the couple’s struggles before or after the bride’s coming out would have brought the drama closer to the true struggles of being queer.
Running Onward: To a Nuanced Representation
A hint of how more nuanced representations could be encouraged lies in Run On, a JTBC love drama that aired from 2020 to 2021. According to the show’s official introduction, the characters “find love and comfort that may not be passionate or intense.” The plot revolves around two main heterosexual couples but goes beyond heteronormative conventions. The first main couple is Ki Seon-gyeom, a marathon-runner-turned-agent who is disenfranchised about his regimented life, and Oh Mi-joo, a subtitle writer who challenges any sympathy regarding her background as an orphan. The second couple is Seo Dan-ah, Seon-gyeom’s ambitious agent challenging her patriarchal family, and Lee Yeong-hwa, a dedicated art student.
This drama successfully resists the temptation to tokenize queer identities by allowing these characters to exist authentically within the storyline. While Extraordinary Attorney Woo challenges heterosexual assumptions with its plot twist, Run On questions and destabilizes these assumptions with sufficient character development and exploration. It introduces queer supporting characters, such as Go Yae-joon, a gay childhood friend of Yeong-hwa (the artist), and Park Mae-yi, an asexual character who appears as Mi-joo’s mentor (the translator). These diverse character settings and relationships challenge heteronormative relationships. Though it is not free of flaws—as it was criticized for queerbaiting—, Run On largely explores the complexities of identities and relationships by urging viewers to question fixed stereotypes in romantic narratives.
Mae-yi, though a minor character in the overall plot, plays a crucial role as a friend and housemate to the female lead. She boldly presents her sexuality, challenging heterosexual norms with a nonchalant attitude. While she identifies as arosexual (experiencing little to no sexual attraction), she is not aromantic (experiencing little to no romantic attraction). When the main characters discover her romantic relationship, Seon-gyeom poses a question that confuses the aro and ace spectrum, asking why, as an asexual, she is in a relationship or kissing. Mae-yi's simple response is, “Oh, I’m not aromantic.” To the confused Seong-yeom, Mi-joo explains:
“Y’know, the spectrum is really broad.”
She accompanies this remark with a quick look, asking her lover to take a hint and try not to be rude. I was pleasantly surprised by this, as there has been minimal recognition in Korean society for the meanings of the aro and ace identities, and even fewer instances in the media correctly identifying each aspect. This scene matter-of-factly presents the idea of gender as a spectrum, firmly asserting that heterosexual audiences should not have been surprised.
Despite this insertion of a queer lifestyle, the show has not escaped unscathed from criticisms of heteronormative clichés. Mae-yi is, after all, a short-lived character. Much of the show’s flaws come from the portrayal of a more prominent gay character, Go Yae-joon, the third wheel in Yeong-hwa and Dan-ah’s relationship. Throughout the show, we consistently see scenes where Go Yae-joon is pining after Yeong-hwa, his best friend. However, this is accompanied by cliché queer tropes: we witness as he grapples with his first love, attempts to understand Dan-ah, his rival, and open up to his staunchly Christian mother about his sexuality.
Marking an idealistic but important moment in Korean media, Yae-joon’s coming out is received with a gradual acceptance from his friends and family. When his family witnesses his conflict with a past male lover, his mother’s immediate response is a resolute refusal of his identity; she continually says “don’t” and “it couldn’t be,” and even pushes religious homophobic rhetoric like "starting this weekend, you’re coming to church with me." Beside her, his younger sister watches with silent but unmasked sympathy. Yae-joon, who looks resigned but resolute, simply responds to his mother with:
“You can deny it all you want, but this is who I am.”
Although the mother immediately leaves the scene, she repents “not seeing things properly” and not paying attention to his son. This is immediately followed by the younger sister's finding Yae-joon, making a lighthearted yet meaningful remark that "she likes men as well.” These reactions sketch a sympathetic picture of an imperfect but mending Korean family. While the elder generation struggles with diverse sexualities, they try to come to terms with new identities for the family’s sake. The younger generation finds gender spectrums easier to accept and communicate solidarity.
Before I end this section, I must address the concerns of queer-baiting within Run On from a scene where Dan-ah falsely comes out as a lesbian. In many ways, Dan-ah’s coming out process confuses the viewers, as it seems incongruous with her romantic entanglements with Younghwa. Until the last episode, the show does not clarify whether she is a lesbian, a bisexual, or simply someone who must escape a forced marriage. Only in the end is it revealed that Dan-ah falsely came out to escape the patriarchal expectations of her family. (Noting the contrast between Dan-ah’s and Yae-joon’s households, viewers will find the show does not enforce only positive perceptions of the family.) Dan-ah is thus reestablished as an independent heroine with a solidly heterosexual identity. But she does not gloss over her mistake or treat the phrase “coming out” as a meme like many other Koreans. Instead, she apologizes honestly to Yae-joon.
“[Coming out] might’ve been a lifelong burden for somebody but I used it as an excuse, so I’m sorry.”
Yae-joon only faintly smiles in response. We are left to wonder whether the conflict is fully resolved or whether it is a bittersweet smile. Either way, he does not deny the apology, and he does not easily offer words of forgiveness.
The confusion regarding Dan-ah’s coming out, I feel, is in part designed to keep audiences interested in the plot by using the “Will-They-Won't-They” trope in romance. But this is not all the story is trying to do. It also brings heterosexual perspectives into a queerer narrative. In my opinion, Dan-ah’s honest apology in Run On can be interpreted in two ways. It might be directed toward those who have been burdened by the process of coming out. Or it might be a pointed remark about how Korean audiences consume queer-coded relationships, without thinking about the interpersonal conflicts and social repercussions within a queer narrative. After all, the confusion regarding Dan-ah’s sexual identity is something all individuals might go through in societies where spectrums of identities are recognized.
While watching this show, I found myself asking the question:
Are we entitled to know someone’s sexual identity to enjoy a romance show?
Dan-ah might be bisexual or demisexual, for all the audience might know. Run On does not end in marriage, nor does it advertise the need for a romantic relationship for all individuals—it recognizes people with their own complicated stories and identities and leaves parts of these characters unknowable to one another and the audience. Thus, the drama forces the viewer to question fixed stereotypes of affectionate relationships by bringing queer identities and relationships into consideration.
Queering the Narrative - Where The Crossroad Leads
In analyzing Extraordinary Attorney Woo and Run On, a common theme emerges: the need for a more nuanced portrayal of queer relationships in Korean dramas. Extraordinary Attorney Woo introduces same-sex relationships as plot twists, missing opportunities for deeper exploration. In contrast, Run On subverts heteronormative norms, integrating queer characters organically into the plot. Both dramas underscore the crossroads in Korean media's approach to queer representation, calling for more authentic and nuanced portrayals beyond surface-level entertainment.
The inclusion of queer themes in mainstream entertainment reflects a broader societal shift towards acceptance; yet instances of censorship and show cancellations highlight the persistent challenges faced by the queer community. As the future of queer representation unfolds in Korean media, a continued dialogue is crucial. Spectators are entitled to, and should, celebrate positive portrayals of more diverse individuals. But in going forward, we must also critically examine the pitfalls and shortcomings in current depictions. The emphasis lies on moving beyond superficial entertainment to achieve a deeper understanding of queer lives, identities, and relationships. In doing so, Korean shows can create a media landscape that authentically mirrors the richness and diversity of the queer experience.