My Liberation Notes: A remarkable depiction of an unremarkable life

A screenshot from Korean drama series "My Liberation Notes." Korea Times file

By David A. Tizzard

I wasn't necessarily expecting to like "My Liberation Notes." Most of the domestic Korean media had been talking about "Our Blues" and the controversial issues of teenage pregnancy, actors with disabilities and Lee Byung-hun's capacity for swearing and violence. Meanwhile, western media seems solely focused on the hyperreal and violent content of things like "Squid Game" and "All of Us are Dead." But it wasn't The Guardian, the BBC, or Twitter telling me to watch "My Liberation Notes." It was Korean people. And so, after too many recommendations for me to feasibly ignore, I turned it on.

Just as films such as "Requiem for a Dream" and novels like "Trainspotting" brought to life and perfectly encapsulated the sights and sounds of schizophrenic America and the British drug community, so does "My Liberation Notes" resonate with a depiction of South Korea that feels intimate to all those who know it. The pace is slow, characterizing the ennui of life ― waiting for the explosion of excitement that media promises but never comes. It's lubricated by constant drinking. Not the pass-out-drunk-and-carry-you-home type we often see caricatured in other features, but instead the kind that numbs reality ― the drinking that helps you sleep and forget.

The monotony of the commute. The suffocating heat. The omnipresent din of cicadas. The unspectacular millions that make up the city of Seoul, possessing neither marvelous looks nor spectacular talents but who nonetheless have dreams, fears and annoying habits. Those who spend their time in unremarkable clothes and without make-up. People with barely 300 Instagram followers. In a contrast to other dramas, in "My Liberation Notes" the pretty people are the background characters. They exist back there, often shallow, uninteresting and two dimensional. Instead the focus is on the unremarkable. The person whose name you can never quite remember. The every-person.

In normal Korean dramas, everyone is beautiful but no one is horny. Here, it's the opposite. What's more, their wants, their topics of conversation and their lives mirror that which we find around us: the quest for love, the feelings of inadequacy, the longing for fulfilment and meaning, and the fear of not being married. These kinds of things won't often make waves on social media amidst a sea of girl-boss chanting and cries of singledom for life. Yet one could reasonably argue that what "My Liberation Notes" offers are the thoughts and feelings of the majority of the Korean population. The silent emotions brought to life and reflected in the drama.

The writing is very good, a continuation of the critical acclaim Park Hae-young achieved with "My Mister" (2018). But more so than the pacing, the character development and the fully realized storylines, is the acting. It's understated and real. Because of how adeptly people play their roles, in this drama you'll recognize many of the people you see around you: in your extended family, in the universities, the radio stations, the pubs and the convenience stores.

I've often thought that one of the unique characteristics of Korean movies and dramas is the long lingering shots you get of characters without any narration or dialogue. You are simply meant to look at them. Infer the emotions, empathize. Rather than being spoon-fed what exactly is happening, this technique allows for a more subjective interpretation and personal connection with the story being presented to you ― a time of reflection.

For those expecting fast-paced action, violence, gore, zombies or incredibly beautiful people with perfect skin and hair even while sleeping, this series is likely not the drama for you. It's also worth questioning whether it will resonate strongly with viewers in their teens or early twenties. This series is not an adolescent coming of age story. It's an adult drama precisely in that it reminds us of the trials and tribulations of adult life. It's also a Korean drama rather than a K-drama. But it's all the better for it.

Dr. David A. Tizzard (datizzard@swu.ac.kr) has a Ph.D. in Korean Studies and lectures at Seoul Women's University and Hanyang University. He is a social/cultural commentator and musician who has lived in Korea for nearly two decades. He is also the host of the Korea Deconstructed podcast, which can be found online. The views expressed in the article are the author's own and do not reflect the editorial direction of The Korea Times.

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