Let's take a moment to acknowledge the brilliance of Korean dramas. They have their own hits and misses, but the former genes are so extremely dominant that most K-dramas end up converting you into a fan. And oh boy, when these shows work, they give you the impression that nothing in the world is as terrific as whatever you just witnessed. Many of these South Korean imports on Netflix run for 10–16 episodes (each episode or a bunch of them are released strategically every week until their conclusion). Instead of making you groan or filling you with tedium, these cinematic endeavors use their large canvas to firmly plant you in a particular setting so you can easily comprehend the characters, their decisions, and their environment. These South Korean shows have patience as well as ambition. Their narrative is fairly crowd-pleasing, though what catches your attention is the visual and emotional scale. It's expansive; it's intimate.
The Korean title of When Life Gives You Tangerines is Pokssak Sogatsuda, which means "Thank you for your hard work." Who is receiving this compliment? You can say that Ae-soon is thanking Gwan-sik for always supporting her. She constantly pushes him away because she wants to marry a rich guy and leave the small island. Gwan-sik, though, is adamant. Unlike Ae-soon, he doesn't have any professional ambitions. His only goal is to marry her. Such subservient characters are typically played by female actors in most Bollywood and Hollywood productions, but in Tangerines, this tweak doesn't come with a loud "feminist" statement (only our mainstream shows and films take this clumsy message-y route). Why does Gwan-sik continue to chase Ae-soon even after multiple rejections? In one of the scenes, he highlights her qualities by mentioning that she's clever, is a good speaker, and has grand aspirations. I wondered if there was really no other smart girl in the area, but a scene in Episode 4 where an angry Ae-soon runs towards Gwan-sik's boss clarifies why this man has bound himself to this girl. Anyway, both IU (aka, Lee Ji-eun) and Park Bo-gum perform with such energy, such conviction that you ignore the logic behind their attraction. Their fierce performance infuses their characters' romance with a sense of wild chaos that threatens to rip a hole in the space-time continuum. The madness the actors unleash on the screen gives Tangerines a dynamic force. Ae-soon's passionate screams have the power to render the frames unstable. When Gwan-sik jumps from the ship, swims towards her, and the lovers hug each other, you feel as if someone has detonated a nuclear bomb. I think only Aanand L. Rai can make something like Tangerines in Bollywood. His images have a comparable conviction and vigor, and his characters are as crazy as Gwan-sik and Ae-soon (perhaps they are crazier than these two lovers - they are demented).
Tangerines is split into three distinct timelines, and in one of them, a middle-aged Ae-soon (Moon So-ri) has a young daughter. What do you know, this daughter could be thanking her mother for raising her under harsh conditions! The Korean title could very well be referring to her. Ae-soon, after all, sacrificed her dreams to raise her little girl. A calm and gentle So-ri provides Ae-soon with a tender warmth. The character looks mature - an adult who has lived life and gained experience. The contrast between IU and So-ri is its own reward. When the show cuts away from the former's young, rebellious countenance and lands on the latter's composure, you believe you are watching someone with a vast, complex past. And when Tangerines moves from So-ri's Ae-soon to IU's, you think about your own mother and wonder what kind of person she might have been as a teenager. What dreams did she sacrifice to look after her children? Bo-gum's Gwan-sik, on the other hand, helps you understand why fathers generally act so tough. It's impossible to see your parents as teenagers, but something about Tangerines convinces you that this is precisely how your own parents lived when they were young. The actual details might be different, but not the essence.
Dig a little deeper, and you will realize that Ae-soon could also be expressing gratitude to her mother, Gwang Rye (Yeom Hye Ran), for believing in her. Gwang Rye didn't allow her daughter (Kim Tae-yeon) to become "haenyeo" because she wanted her to turn into a great poet. It rains when Ae-soon deviates from this shared goal, and characters say that Gwang Rye might be crying from heaven (she dies due to some health complications, thanks to her profession). The emotional moments, when they come, sting you like a sharp needle. But Tangerines doesn't manipulate you with melodrama. It's actually a hilarious and energetic show. I loved how Ae-soon's screams are turned into a joke. Still, something seems missing from Tangerines. It hasn't yet wholly dived into Ae-soon's mind. When she hears on the radio that girls are embracing short skirts enthusiastically, what does she think? When Ae-soon and Gwan-sik arrive in Busan, we don't get to hear their thoughts about the city (we only get a jokey remark about Busan's hospitality). Here are two people who had spent their lives within the confines of a small place like Jeju Island. I am sure they must have had plenty of things running in their minds while navigating the streets of this big city. However, what's quite absurd is that we never ever find Ae-soon discussing poetry. Who are her role models? What attracted her to this medium? Does she have a favorite poet or poem?
Well, wait for the release of the remaining episodes, as they may provide more information. For now, the first four episodes suggest that the series might have been better off keeping its original Korean title. Thank You For Your Hard Work sounds more appropriate than When Life Gives You Tangerines, but there are still 12 episodes left. Maybe the English name would end up achieving a little more significance.
Final Score- [8.5/10]
Reviewed by - Vikas Yadav
Follow @vikasonorous on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times