Not very promising: a legal/crime drama starring a young actor who plays an attorney on the autistic spectrum? Well, thousands if not millions would disagree enthusiastically in favour of this award-winning South Korean series that was the most viewed non-English drama on Netflix in July 2022. It racked up the best actress award for its star, Park Eun-bin, and also best picture in Korean drama, and is the highest-rated drama in Korean cable TV history. All this for a relatively minor channel.
The director Yoo In-Sik and the writer Moon Ji-Won have created a story that is predicated on how prejudiced we all are about 'difference', and what our own reactions say about us when confronted with it. It is, needless to say, a very sensitive subject, to film for public consumption a drama that focuses on a character's autism, furthermore, that the actor playing Woo Young-woo is herself 'neurotypical', in other words, not at all on the spectrum. The production team waited a year to have Park Eun-bin agree to take on the role, as it worried her that she might offend those she portrayed. She was quoted as saying her concern was to bring 'caution and discretion', and she has achieved this. She manages to be funny, vulnerable and yet steely, all in one shot.
What, then, is this about? Woo Young-woo has been brought up in a single parent family by her father, formerly an admired lawyer, a job he gave up to be able to raise his daughter, and he now runs a gimbap restaurant, a sort of fast food, Korean rice rolls with fillings. There is a mystery about her mother, which the series writer admits is slightly a cliché, but it may turn out to explain something about the daughter.
The viewer is tossed into the story at the point where Young-woo has joined one of the two most respected Korean law firms in Seoul, Hanbada, having come top of her class at law school. We later, through a flashback, see her as a child suddenly quoting verbatim from one of her father's law books, and he realises that not only is she extraordinarily clever, but she also has a photographic memory. The die is cast. The law becomes her calling. Her father, played by Jeon Bae-su, captures perfectly the worry and pride he feels for his unusual daughter. He also conveys clearly the trials of every parent, not just one with an autistic child.
It is not easy for Young-woo, and it was painful as a child, being bullied and misunderstood. Her mannerisms, her inability to relate easily to others, her misunderstandings and mis-readings of human engagement, all constantly create anxiety for her as she attempts to find a way through the jungle of relationships at work and in the world at large. That said, it is impossible not to empathise with her.
Autism, we can see, is an extreme exaggeration of 'neurotypical' feelings, experienced to some degree each day by everyone. Young-woo has trouble crossing thresholds (not to mention coping with revolving doors), which, taken as a metaphor, is true for everyone who has ever felt intimidated on entering a new situation. Her colleagues are at first hostile – some positively devious – envious that she is so clever; the clients are baffled, until they see that she is the one who comes up with the solutions to their cases; and gradually a team builds around her. There is her friend from law school, played by Ha Yoon-Kyung, and also from her childhood, the actor, Joo Hyun-Young. As in all good dramas, there is a potential romantic interest, a role inhabited with attractive naturalism by Kang Tae-oh, struggling himself to understand his feelings.
Sometimes her naiveté leads to failure, but her goal is to become a good attorney, despite setbacks. Each episode sees a tricky case for the litigation team, often resolved in court, which heightens the drama. For instance, there is the case about a man who won a large lottery prize; a North Korean defector; gender discrimination; a bride whose wedding dress malfunctions; a question of rape; fraud; property development and greed.
What there is not is gore, hyped office behaviour, car chases and guns. Instead, we are treated to reason, research and some office politics as well as fierce competition – skulduggery included – between law firms. Korean manners, not to mention fashion, all contribute to this fascinating mix, set to an interesting soundtrack, including whales.
There needs to be a mention of the whales. Whales feature. The writer has said that she wanted to have a way of presenting the inner thoughts of Woo Young-woo, and that often those on the autistic spectrum have a particular thing they focus on. Whales are Young-woo's focus. She has always loved them, they inhabit her mind, especially when she is stressed or working to solve a problem. CGI whales float across the plate glass windows of the upper storeys of the offices of Hanbada, only seen by Young-woo of course; they appear on billboards; over the shoulders of a colleague. When they do, they herald a breakthrough idea or a direction of research that no-one has anticipated.
Somehow, despite the seriousness of how an autistic person copes with adversity, the script (and the series can be watched either dubbed or with subtitles) conveys a great deal of humour and kindness. This is not to say there are not moments of fear and anger, but overall it is intriguing to see how everyone – if they are open to it – benefits from engaging with 'difference', and accepting their own fallibility and, indeed, their own 'differences'.
