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[Drama 2018] My Mister, 나의 아저씨 - Best Drama at 2019 (55th) BaekSang Arts Awards

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It's so nice to hear that this drama continues to win hearts and minds with its story and characters.  I wish all dramas were written this way.  


PDH and LJA will forever have a special place in my heart.  :heart:


Now, let me just finish my current drama lineup and I'll rewatch this again.  Hahahaha.

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This scene still makes me tear up whenever I rewatch it. I hope IU, LSK and My Ajushhi team will win many deserving awards for this gem of a drama.          

Detailed analysis - Last scene   If Dong Hoon was still being the old Dong Hoon, he would just say "가 / Go on "   Before the time skip, every time DH and JA had to part ways, he al

Ep. 12 Text Preview (translated):   Dong-Hoon has an all-night conversation with Yoon-Hee, who knew everything.   He leaves early in the morning to play soccer, but during the game

This is a great review by Brooks Riley, a Western film critic and more, who seems to know a whole lot about Korean culture, too. It's a very long review but so worth a read.


The ‘Beauty Of Sorrow’ In The TV Masterpiece, My Mister

by Brooks Riley


Being Korean is a behavioral science all its own. There are formalities at all levels of society and potential affronts lurking in every social engagement. Ageism is set in stone, and in honorifics that define older or younger persons, friends, siblings and relatives, as well as differing levels of social standing. Personal humiliations are many and varied, some of them universally recognizable, some of them exclusive to Korea’s tight-knit family structures or evident hierarchies. It goes beyond how to address someone: How to drink soju, how to pour it for a superior, how to bow, when to bow, who to bow to, when to get down on your knees—the list goes on.


This is why the title of the magnificent Studio Dragon series My Mister is unable to quite capture the honorific implications of Ahjussi, a man who is one’s elder by at least 20 years, who may or may not be your uncle. No matter. Part of the pleasure of watching this Netflix series is marveling at the many ways that behavior is stratified without harming the spontaneity and pleasures of social interaction.


If there’s a double helix running through the Korean psyche, then it consists of two strands, han (한) and jeong (정) two concepts that seem to infuse Koreans with states of mind that their dark history of multiple occupations has delivered right to their genes.


Han, a feeling of ‘unresolved injustice’, sadness, resentment, hate, ‘a badge of suffering’ is both collective and individual. If the term is relatively new, the feeling has been around forever. Japanese art critic Yanagi Sōetsu coined it in 1907 to mean the ‘the beauty of sorrow’ infused into Korean art by the country’s troubled history. But with more anguish ahead for Koreans in the decades thereafter, han transcended the realm of aesthetics and found resonance in the collective unconscious and individual struggles of every Korean. Anthony Bourdain once referred to han as an ‘engine’, one which, according to one Korean vlogger, drives Koreans to want to be better at everything than anyone else—which they often are—as a form of retroactive justice or a postmodern form of revenge for the inferiority long imposed upon them.


The other Korean feeling with a name, jeong, is harder to define, but involves fondness, love, bonding. Sharing food, a common social custom in Korea, is an example of jeong. It seems a kind of social solidarity, a mutual empathy. I’ve observed jeong in Israel too, where the shared feelings of belonging are especially evident.


It’s not necessary to be acquainted with han and jeong to be caught in the currents and undertow of anguish and joy that move through My Mister. Like most great works, it succeeds on levels beyond social specificity. But knowing of han and jeong enriches the experience as the interplay of these two opposing forces propels the series forward in unexpected ways, like a revolving, emotional pas de deux.


With subtle, aching performances by Lee Sun-kyun (who played the velvet-throated rich husband in Parasite) and Lee Ji-eun (a.k.a. IU, a well-known Korean pop singer), My Mister tells the story of the unlikely bond between a life-weary middle-aged structural engineer hauling his han through a frustrating life, and a sullen young office temp struggling to survive poverty and physical abuse. What may sound like a Hollywood nutshell is far from the kind of sentimental rendering that might be applied to such a premise. This is no May-December story.


In My Mister, every character belongs to the walking wounded and they all have tales to tell. Dong-hun’s two brothers are middle-aged failures who still live with their mother, his wife is having an affair with his boss, his mother is consumed with worry about her sons, and his best friend left town to be a Buddhist monk, abandoning a devastated fiancée who has never recovered.


As the only successful son, Dong-hun assumes responsibility for his dysfunctional family, personifying that ubiquitous Korean meme of carrying someone on one’s back, which appears in nearly all the Korean dramas and comedies I’ve seen, including Parasite. Dong-hun redresses their humiliations, just as he uses force against the people who would harm Ji-an, with whom he has a troublesome détente. There are echoes of Falling Down in this series. But Dong-hun is no William Foster. His anger is as well under control as it is righteous.


It all begins with an incident at a large construction company in downtown Seoul where Dong-hun works: An envelope containing a bribe is delivered to the wrong person, to Dong-hun, leading to repercussions which will change him and everyone else who matters in his life.


Read the rest here: https://www.3quarksdaily.com/3quarksdaily/2020/07/the-beauty-of-sorrow-in-the-tv-masterpiece-my-mister.html

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Even after more than two years, My Ahjussi keeps getting new fans that captivated by this masterpiece 

There are Great Dramas, Then there is “My Ahjussi”



After finishing “My Ahjussi” (My Mister/나의 아저씨, 2018), I’m certain there are no words that can possibly do it justice, but I owe it to this absolute precious gift of a drama to at least try. First of all, I hesitate to even refer to My Ahjussi as a K-drama because it doesn’t feel like one; it’s more like a movie in 16 parts. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen and I agree with the K-drama sunbaes who’ve said there may never be anything like it. It’s that rare of a gem.


Read the rest here



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