A historical epic, filmed in Korean and Japanese and following several generations of a family along two timelines? It sounds like a time investment you might never get around to making, but season two of Pachinko confirms that this show is worth the effort – and that effort is in fact minimal, since drama as deft and heartfelt as this can never be a chore.
Sunja (Minha Kim) is a Korean woman living in Japan in the last years of Japanese colonial rule over Korea. We rejoin her in 1945 in Osaka, where she works hard to bring up her sons, Noa and Mozasu, in the absence of her husband, who has been imprisoned for sedition. Meanwhile, in Tokyo in 1989, Solomon (Jin Ha) – the son of Mozasu and grandson of Sunja – is trying to make his fortune amid economic uncertainty.
Although specifically about Koreans who left home to work in imperial Japan before the second world war and never went back – partly because the Korea they knew ceased to exist – Pachinko is a methodically observed drama about the agonies of being human. Characters eternally try to overcome insuperable circumstances. These include suffering discrimination and being buffeted by political events beyond your control. Growing up in poverty and being unable to leave that behind – so you are aware of the size and splendour of the world, but also know that most of that wonder will remain inaccessible – is a fundamental theme.
But even as it shows its characters battling their own insignificance, Pachinko never treats their emotions lightly. The biggest of their struggles stem from flaws of temperament that lead to bad, life-changing decisions, and family secrets that cannot stay hidden. In season two, the fact that the dashing Koh Hansu (Lee Min-ho) – in wartime Osaka, a successful “businessman” who has done a deal with some kind of devil – takes such an interest in Sunja and her family because he is Noa’s real father is a gun that must, at some point, go off.
Fine performances abound. Minha Kim carries the weight of the drama as the humble, grafting young Sunja, her soft demeanour belying a fierce survival instinct. Lee Min-ho has the perfect combination of matinee-idol flamboyance and fear as Hansu, whose money and power cannot make him the dad he wants to be. Jung Eun-chae is excellent as Sunja’s selfless, thwarted sister-in-law Kyunghee, as is Kang Hoon Kim as the nervous Noa, while Eunseong Kwon as cheeky little bro Mozasu lights up every scene he is in.
Although we fervently wish for their humblest hopes to be realised, we always have one nervous eye on the bigger picture. Having remained largely unaffected by the war, residents of Osaka in 1945 increasingly fear Japan being decisively bombed by the US, but are unaware of the form this attack will take. Kyunghee’s husband, Yoseb (Junwoo Han), has gone away to Nagasaki and, as August arrives, Pachinko changes to black-and-white to visit the factory where Yoseb works, introducing a typically understated story that very abruptly ends.
after newsletter promotion
Balancing big historical events and the micro-dramas of households and workplaces pushes Pachinko close to classic status, but something is lost in translation for viewers who speak neither Korean nor Japanese, especially the impact of which language bilingual characters speak at a given moment. More troubling is how season two’s timelines fail to interact meaningfully. Elder versions of Sunja and Mozasu are present in 1989; the absence of Noa there casts a shadow over the series almost as dark as the one of war. But the ironies and revelations that can come from following people at different times in their lives are muted by the mature Sunja and Mozasu being peripheral. Solomon’s trials are portrayed with the diligence that goes into every moment of Pachinko, but aren’t as involving as those of his ancestors in 1945. We are left wondering how much better Pachinko might be if the 1980s scenes were junked and we stayed with the younger Sunja throughout.
In a world where showrunners were less worried about cancellation, Pachinko might have been a successor to the German classic Heimat, gradually accumulating huge emotional power by following its creations through decades of turmoil. As it is, though, this is still an excellent drama powered by a rare emotional intelligence.
