Tales From A K-Drama Widower

I had created a monster. My wife was consuming K-drama like a cannibal at a beach party and it was mostly my fault. I had introduced her to Asian cinema, helped her to dip her toe in the great ocean of Eastern art that remains such a part of my life. Obviously I had cherry-picked what ones she should watch; she didn’t seem overly impressed by ‘One-Armed Boxer’ when it found its way into the DVD player…

1st Shop Of The Coffee Prince

“Why has that Japanese guy got fangs?” she asked of the villain.
“Oh, er, it’s a Wang Yu film and he tends to make the Japanese look a little bit odd. It’s his thing.” I nervously replied.
When an Indian fighter began to literally pump himself up and inflate before our very eyes, I feared I’d lost her forever.

Thankfully there were always good rom-coms and dramas available as an antidote to the weirder old school kung-fu films. A particularly good one of the former could neutralise the effects of the latter, a formula I gradually began to understand. If she’s caught a bit too much ‘The Secret Rivals’, I would go straight in with ‘Love On A Diet’ and normality would be restored. We could both get the Far East fix we needed. But the warning signs were there and she began to dive into Korean weepies with complete abandon. ‘My Sassy Girl’ was once enough to squeeze the ‘oohhs’ and ‘ahhs’ from her little mouth, yet now the hard stuff was needed like ‘The Classic’. And then she discovered television drama from Korea’s prodigious output…

Boys Over Flowers

Initially, just the odd episode here and there of ‘1st Shop Of The Coffee Prince’ would satiate her hunger. A little bit of deep-voiced Lee Sun-Kyun surrounded by beautiful Seoul photography was ample and I could rest assured. ‘Boys Over Flowers’ arrived to change that. I had heard it was the series that had caused more minor heartaches among Korean women than anything else – doctors from Incheon to Gwangju were worried by the power it had over their young patients. Fluttering hearts could be heard all the way in Kim Jung-Il’s opulent Northern abode. (It was rumoured that the great leader himself would croon to the shows insidious ‘Almost Paradise’ theme, using an ivory-handled hairbrush as a makeshift mike).

“So you’ve got weapons grade plutonium ‘Great Leader’? We’ve got flawless young actors in lovely knitwear – beat that!”

Cinderella Man

I had heard the term ‘metrosexual’ a lot, but only when I sat through a mini ‘Boys Over Flowers’ marathon did I truly understand what it meant. The four male stars are preened and polished like supermodels, their hair looks like it has had the world’s greatest scientific minds working on it to achieve maximum floppiness. And they had that arrogant swagger that made me wonder if we existed on the same planet, let alone both had Adam’s apples.

After a few hours in the company of F4, I must have been a great disappointment. From four supermen, cantering around like prize race horses, draped in only the finest natural fabrics, I was a poor replacement. A polyester football shirt with remnants of Chicken & Mushroom Pot Noodle still on its surface, a haircut by George A. Romero and a distinct stumble rather than swagger, this was a poor example of manhood (even though the male leads of ‘Boys Over Flowers’ seemed to have more make-up on than KISS). I could no longer bemoan her ability to kick like Angela Mao as I was a melted waxwork of mankind compared to F4.

You’re Beautiful

I tried to wear more fashionable knitwear, but it hung on my body like a hessian sack on a barb-wire fence. There’s was no sweet K-Pop ballads humming in the background when I got up in the morning and my life looked distinctly mundane compared to my rivals. They would tussle with issues of angst and love, melodrama liberally poured onto their lives, I would stand in the queue at Barclays picking my ear with a house key wondering what to have at Subway for lunch.

From those accursed ‘Boys Over Flowers’ came ‘Cinderella Man’, then ‘Full House’, then ‘You’re Beautiful’. All had actresses who were so ludicrously cute that I felt I was offending their beauty just by looking at them without permission. I could tell they smelled of ‘L’oreal’ and bounced through life breathing in a higher grade of oxygen than me. And the male love interests tried to outdo each other for sheer metro sexuality, making F4 look like Irish navvies in comparison.

Full House

My wife’s descent into K-Drama hardened my resolve. I moved onto the hard stuff myself, watching Godfrey Ho films like it was the most normal thing in the world. Once I would have watched a Bruce Le film in a darkened room, I would now proudly sit through ‘Bruce Le In New Guinea’ as if it was ‘Seven Samurai’. Only the worst dubbing could satisfy my needs and while my wife was bombarded by images of floppy-haired magnificence, I would only be happy if one of the characters I observed had a hairy mole. So luv’ you’ve got ‘Secret Garden’ to watch? Well I’m sat in front of ‘Ninja The Protector’ in the next room and I don’t care who knows it! A war of attrition has begun…