As a gamer who’s spent countless hours immersed in narratives that span generations and continents, I can wholeheartedly say that Apple TV+’s Pachinko is a masterclass in storytelling. The series has an uncanny ability to weave historical events with personal stories so seamlessly that it often feels like you’re living these tales yourself.
When Sunja (Yuh-jung Youn) challenges a recently met acquaintance (Jun Kunimura) regarding buried secrets from his past, he responds with an acceptance that suggests these matters are no longer surprising to him. Instead of reacting with surprise or denial, he provides accounts that are more like rationalizations than defenses. He acknowledges that she’s correct in stating that his past cannot be altered. However, he queries, “So, what are we meant to do next? Are we destined to be shackled by it for the rest of our lives?”
Sunja’s story in Apple TV+’s “Pachinko” doesn’t offer a clear resolution, mirroring this theme throughout the series. The unique structure that alternates between two timeframes suggests the difficulty of finding answers, as events from the past can sprout up unexpectedly at different times and in various forms. As was done effectively in the series’ captivating opening chapter, creator Soo Hugh skillfully extracts poignant emotions from these unforeseen developments, leaving a lingering taste of bittersweetness even after the credits have finished playing.
The second series resumes with both parts of the narrative continuing from where they previously ended. In 1945, a woman around thirty named Sunja (played by Minha Kim) and her family are transported to a safer area in the Japanese countryside during World War II, arranged by Koh Hansu (Lee Minho), who is both Sunja’s questionable ex-lover and the biological father of her eldest son, Noa. Concurrently, in 1989, Sunja’s grandson Solomon (Jin Ha) devises a plan for retribution against Abe (Yoshio Maki), a man he holds responsible for damaging his professional life.
As I navigated through the vibrant landscapes of Sunja’s wartime odyssey, starkly contrasting with Solomon’s towering metropolis, “Pachinko” resonates deeply due to the intricate weave of our narratives. Often, subtle transitions blur the lines between scenes, leaving remnants of one moment linger into the next, making it hard to distinguish if young Sunja’s family dinner has truly ended and Solomon is alone with his ramen supper.
In 2024, some of the struggles experienced by the Baek family seem quite predictable to us. You don’t necessarily need to recall the Japanese financial crisis of 1990 in great detail to recognize echoes of the 2008 economic downturn in Solomon’s questionable real estate promotions. While the Japanese occupation of Korea might have appeared as distant history to most American viewers, the period leading up to V-J Day may feel more familiar. The moment when Kyunghee (Eunchae Jung), Sunja’s sister-in-law, mentions that her husband, Yoseb (Junwoo Han), has been deployed to a munitions factory in Nagasaki – we understand the implications immediately. The climactic ten-minute sequence before this event, skillfully directed by Arvin Chen, is shot in gritty black-and-white and presented in an old-fashioned aspect ratio, with a chilling ticking sound of a countdown clock adding to the tension.
Once again, Pachinko’s greatest strength lies in its keen observation. It notices everything – the worn-out collar of a shirt, the loving care with which a mother packs her son’s luggage, the casual use of Japanese words in Korean conversations among adolescents like Noa (Kang Hoon Kim) and Mozasu (Eunseong Kwon), and the discomfort that briefly appears on the faces of older Korean relatives who overhear it. Each detail contributes to the richness of its portrayal of reality, building up a collective weight that feels like a lifetime’s worth of experiences. Even as the family experiences significant historical events, these seemingly ordinary memories keep us grounded in the everyday world.
However, while Pachinko shines in its small, poignant moments, it occasionally struggles to reconcile the intimacy of its narrative with its broader aspirations. In contrast to the first season’s focus on Sunja and her journey toward new emotions, new lands, and new family, this second season revolves around the Baek family becoming more introspective. Koh exerts a powerful influence over them, acting like a controlling moon that affects their destiny and attempts to shield them from external forces. Characters such as Sungkyu Kim’s tormented henchman of Koh, and Anna Sawai’s Naomi, who is Solomon’s love interest in Shogun, come across as transient interruptions rather than significant relationships. The latest installment, spanning eight hours, lacks the expansive potential found in earlier episodes; however, a shift in focus toward Noa (Tae Ju Kang) in the latter half hints at new possibilities for season three.
Moreover, there’s an absence of complexity in some aspects as well. Despite every portrayal of Sunja being endearing, the younger one appears too virtuous – Minha Kim is skilled at expressing a wide range of feelings through her innocent expressions alone. It would have been intriguing to witness what she could do with more complex emotions introduced into her character. The characters in the 1940s are also depicted quite ideally. A bittersweet love triangle keeps all parties on the moral high ground, while a prolonged trauma response seems to be resolved quickly after a stern conversation.
Regarding that aspect, Solomon takes on a role similar to a bracing cold gust, cutting through the emotional sweetness. He’s not as straightforward as a character like Koh, being more prickly than his gentle grandmother. Moreover, he seems less transparent than she does, and his storyline is significantly less captivating, relying on a rather dry and slow-moving financial plan.
Experiencing these narratives separately leaves one with an incomplete picture, but together, they create a complex, unforeseen, and deeply layered tapestry. They weave the tale of a dream, not just a life. In the heart of the 20th century, Sunja perseveres, yearning for her offspring to one day find a more promising tomorrow. As the clock winds down on this era, Solomon finds himself both reaping the rewards and grappling with the constraints of these sacrifices. In a moment of raw honesty, he confesses his feelings to a woman of Korean descent (Hye Jin Park), around Sunja’s age. “I’ve led an abnormally easy life,” he confesses. “When I gaze upon your eyes, my grandmother’s eyes gazing upon me, can’t you help but wonder, ‘Was all that struggle truly worth it for this?'”
On this occasion, the program presents a compassionate response. She confesses to him, “I hold no regrets about my existence. I believe I lived a life worth living,” she says. Whether or not the Baeks’ tales unfold as they had envisioned, Sunja of 1989 appears perplexed at certain moments by the transformation of her world. No matter what the result, Pachinko suggests that each step along the way is valuable enough to appreciate.
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2024-08-20 02:25