As Park Seo-joon prepares to make his Hollywood debut in The Marvels, we look at an earlier action hero role…
Hwarang is a K-pop version of how an elite corps of warriors were established to assist the rise of one of the greatest kings of the period, King Jinheung of Silla (c. 500 CE). As history, it’s hogwash (other than King Jinheung and Hwarang did actually exist); as a coming-of-age story, it’s vivacious, affecting and one of this reviewer’s personal favourites despite its notable flaws.
The Kingdom of Silla is segregated by a harsh, censorious Bone-rank system: Sacred-bone (the royal family); True-bone (aristocracy); Head-ranks (general populace); half-breeds (reviled offspring of a True-bone and a lower-caste); and, at the bottom of the heap, country peasants.
Currently, at the top of the heap is Queen Jiso (Kim Ji-soo, A Korean Odyssey). Tenacious, ruthless, a skilled politician, arch-manipulator and stone-cold vicious, for more than a decade she has ruled as regent. One faction of powerful officials would dearly love to remove her—there’s no small measure of misogyny flying about—as well as get rid of the king-in-waiting. Nevertheless, she has successfully battled those corrupt officials while her young son, King Jinheung (Park Hyung-sik, Our Blooming Youth), has grown up, basically in protective custody, out of the public eye, roaming from place to place under the care of his devoted guard/tutor/fretful nanny Pa-oh (Yoo Jae-myung, Itaewon Class).
Meanwhile, in a village outside the capital two young men were fostered under somewhat mysterious circumstances. Unknown to him, Mak-moon (Lee Kwang-soo, Inseparable Brothers) was removed from his family in a vengeful act against his father by Queen Jiso (hell hath no fury like a scorned queen!). Dog-bird (Park Seo-joon, Itaewon Class, The Marvels) was so abruptly abandoned as a baby he had no name; he’s only known by the nickname earned by his incredible athletic abilities. (He also has what appears to be a form of epilepsy so occasionally passes out at truly inconvenient moments for him, but terribly convenient ones for the plot.)
Mak-moon is desperate to find his family, especially his sister, and so these best buddies sneak into the capital, despite peasants entering the capital being an ‘off-with-their-head’ offence. At the same time the young King has also entered the capital for an ‘I would like my throne please, mummy dearest’ talk that does not go well, to put it mildly. To be fair, he didn’t expect it to. Like many court officials (particularly the ones who want to assassinate him), he believes she likes power and wants to keep it. Hence, a tragic collision course is triggered.
Because if a peasant in the capital is a crime, according to the Queen anyone seeing the King’s face is a bigger one. To cut out a lot of crucial detail, that’s exactly what happens to Mak-moon—with the result that he and Dog-bird are hunted down by the Queen’s faithful dog—oh, sorry! Commandant. Mak-moon is killed, Dog-bird survives but only because, after a frantic search, they’re found by Mak-moon’s father (Choi Won-young, Mystic Pop-up Bar) the capital’s finest physician and a True-bone to boot.
So at this point we’re perfectly set up for the King to repeatedly butt-heads with his mother; for Dog-bird to vow revenge on the King (if only he knew what he looked like); for Mak-moon’s father to announce Dog-bird is his son (knowing he’s not); for Mak-moon’s sister Ah-ro (Go A-ra, Haechi) and Dog-bird to fall in love; and for the Queen to mount further spiteful schemes and devious political moves. One of which is asking a disgraced official Lord Kim Wi-hwa (Sung Dong-il, If You Wish Upon Me) to establish Hwarang as a tool to shore up the royal family. Sung Dong-il, a veteran actor who is always good value, is wily, wise, a great if eccentric teacher, and has his own ideas about what Hwarang should do and they don’t exactly align with the Queen’s.
By wonderfully underhand means opposition officials can’t immediately outmanoeuvre, Lord Kim traps their beautiful sons—and being beautiful is a requirement (historically, this is accurate)—into Hwarang. Of course, it’s inevitable that by hook or by crook the incognito King (infuriating his mother) and Dog-bird (to the anxiety of his fake family) wind up there too.
This is the thrust of the story: how these various young men with their political factions, personal rivalries, caste prejudices, confused affections, hidden identities and disparate motives become a cohesive team—despite the vile political machinations going on in the background and their own shifting loyalties. To the credit of the series, it doesn’t come quickly. It’s not easy to acquire a social conscience. It’s a gloriously bumpy ride. This is very much a story where the sins of the parents are visited upon their offspring—and it’s left to the offspring to sort out the mess, if they can only sort out their own heads.
Actually, it’s all very exciting.
Now, to the performances…
“Is the legendary woman who captured the hearts of…” I’ll go no further with the quote as it’s a significant spoiler. However, many viewers will be wondering the same thing by that point. Go A-ra, who has done well in other roles, is grossly mis-cast, mis-directed and (not her fault) mis-written as Ah-ro. Altogether it’s a big miss as she plays such a central character and so much action revolves around her.
While the insomniac King is wandering about the capital he comes across Ah-ro doing one of the many jobs she does to earn money so her father can treat the poor for free—telling romantic tales at the Okta House (in line with the k-pop vibe it’s more youth club than dodgy kisaeng brothel). Her stories put him to sleep. Oh, would they do the same to us! If her style is meant to be comic, it fails. If it’s meant to be enthralling, it’s only the audience reactions that alert us to this. If we’re meant to believe this is how the King begins to fall in love with her, it’s a stretch. If it’s meant to be grating, however, it does hit the wince mark. Though Dog-bird is spared the storytelling, it’s difficult to believe he falls for her too. That crucial spark of physical chemistry has gone walkabout. A-ra spends the greater part of her time looking miserable and petulant, even when she’s supposedly happy. She’s often wilfully stupid, in tears or just plain annoying. To engage our sympathy as scripted requires an inherent charm she can’t seem to muster.
Maybe it’s a woman-to-woman thing, but she does up her game with the arrival of the King’s sister Princess Suk-myung (Seo Yea-ji, It’s Okay Not To Be Okay) onto the scene. But then, everyone has to up their game when she’s about.
Because it’s the ‘bad’ or, if not completely bad, at least ‘not so good’ women that flex the female muscle here. Queen Jiso is a juicy role and Ji-soo squeezes the most out of the melodrama. Overprotective mother or power-mad fiend? Hard to tell. She holds fast to the ambiguity—and when she’s nasty bitch she does it with all her bile. As a mother she’s bad and she ain’t sorry. Yea-ji as the icy Princess is simply wonderful. Subtle, convincing in both her chilliness and vulnerability. And sadly, there’s more of that indefinable chemistry between her and Seo-joon in their relatively brief scenes than in all those he has with A-ra put together. You find yourself halfway wishing… ah, well…
At the end of the day, it’s the relationship between the two Parks, Seo-joon and Hyung-sik, that beat the drum forward. They play off each other brilliantly—the rivalry, jealousy, uncertainty about who the other is, the desire for revenge and the yearning for an ally, for friendship—they are, in their own ways, match-fit. Hyung-sik inhabits a sense of melancholy that defines the King and suit the circumstances he’s been subjected to so far in life and sees little sign of abating in future. He recognises he’s young and weak (he’s been told so many times by mummy dearest, he could hardly miss the point—she’s not there to boost his ego). Not physically weak, by the way—the lad can wield a strong sword and land a mighty punch. But thanks to the Queen’s stranglehold protection plan, he’s been living in hiding all his life. As the pressures mount, as he should step forward as ruler, he finds hiding a hard habit to break. Really, our hearts go out to him.
Dog-bird seems to possess all the leadership skills he lacks, even though he’s presumed to be one of the despised half-breeds. Seo-joon portrays him as athletically imposing, disdainful of conventions, content in his own skin and harbouring a suicidal sense of justice—from start to finish, he’s marvellous. When the time comes he impressively and impassively holds his own against chief minister and cunning villain, Park Young-shi (Kim Chang-wan, Bad Prosecutor) who would very much like the throne himself, ta. Lord Kim describes Young-shi as a ‘poisonous mushroom of a man’ and Chang-wan’s permanently sour expression ensures it’s laugh-out-loud accurate. And one of the script’s many amusing flourishes (although the instances of toilet humour fall flat).
We opened by saying this is a k-pop version of history and this is reflected in the casting of the Hwarang recruits. At least three are members of internationally renown bands and many others are solo artists. While this may clue us in as to the target audience, it doesn’t make it any less enjoyable for anyone else. Musicians often makes a smooth transition to actors and these engaging performances speak for themselves. Particularly Choi Min-ho (The Fabulous) playing Kim Soo-ho. He never loses his effortless charm yet when he’s justifiably pissed-off, we believe it; he even makes his daft loyalty to the Queen believable as well as infusing it with unerring kindness. He’s a great character. Kim Tae-hyung (aka V) as Seok Han-sung exudes a winsome innocence that makes his ultimate tragedy a genuine gut-punch.
Music is also brought to the fore when Hwarang must learn to play instruments and dance for an upcoming festival. Arts and entertainment is part of the discipline Lord Kim is instilling in them: serve the people. For Hwarang it’s a lesson in bonding. Their clumsy attempts at becoming a dance troupe are hilariously good fun. Kudos to the lads because in real life we know these fellows can dance their socks off at the drop of a hat. Overall, the soundtrack is rousing and infectious. Regrettably, it does haul out the strings in dramatic moments that do the scenes no favours. They almost, though perhaps not entirely, render the emotions they’re meant to heighten ridiculous.
There are a few plot holes and relationship head-scratchers. For one thing, it’s difficult to grasp that of Ah-ro’s with her father, who appears to have foisted their debt problems on her shoulders and carelessly left her to get on with it unaided and unsupervised. This could have done with better fleshing out. For another, how exactly the two ‘peasant’ boys were secretly managed into care is a plot hole worth filling.
As for the two Parks, amid the further twists in this tale, watching these characters wrestle with their respective tensions, grow up, grow together, break apart, threaten positions and beat their own paths to wisdom and strength is why we’re here. A healthy obscurity to where and how far friendship will take them is maintained right to the end. The finale is tense and exhilarating.
For all its flaws, for all the many times this reviewer has seen it, Hwarang remains a firm favourite. Heroes, villains, the morally impaired and romantically confused, it’s as inviting as a bowl of popcorn and a bag of sweets. Delicious.