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The course of true love never did run smooth, for sure, but in The Interest of Love, the journey is so contorted, twisted, filled with deep potholes and rabbit warrens—-in short, wonderfully complicated—-and then finally you see the light as the question arises, was it love in the first place? Why did you travel this far, and put yourself through so much? After sitting through 16 exhausting (and I mean that positively, believe it or not) episodes, the show is very far from where it began. And that, ironically is a good thing.
Warning, you need utmost patience for The Interest of Love—-because there will be times that you want to wring the necks of the main leads in sheer frustration, owing to their constant indecision, hesitation and layered insecurities. Yet, it is so beautifully real and painful—-because it hits too close to home for viewers. It hurts because it shows the damaged human psyche at a close range—-not just shows, but delves so keenly into it, that it leaves you uncomfortable and wearied. At the surface, the story seems simple—-entwined love stories between four people at a bank. Sang-su (Yoo Seon-seok) has always been riveted by his seemingly demure Su-yeong colleague (Moon Ga-young). An attraction grows between them and they decide to go on a second date—and it goes wrong for our leads from there. A few seconds of hesitation on Sang-su’s part leads to Su-yeong’s worst demons being triggered. She cannot understand his worries and baggage—she’s too caught up in her own, and this lack of communication is the touchstone of their story.
Rejection follows, and like us, Sang-su is unable to comprehend the venom and anger that rises in Su-yeong. Her backstory is revealed in pieces, which entails a broken family, the shame of not completing a degree, and being stuck in a bank. She forms a relationship with the security guard of the bank, Jong-hyun (Jung Ga-ram), a man with his own set of anxieties, as he tries to take the police exam. He appears loving and cheery at first, and wants to bring her joy—-and she readily snatches it because he is the easier option—-she doesn’t feel inferior to him, like Sang-su. She is intoxicated by the idea of a boyfriend, love and moving in—-and even forces him to move in with her, though he feels that he would be a burden to her. In one of the most anguish-ridden moments, she begs him to stay with her and not leave. And so, he does. However, life is filled with curveballs and cruel revelations, and she realises that his anxieties wear her down. She cannot fix him, and yet the two continue doggedly with a dead relationship. It’s the wrong decision, and she realises it. But she can’t go back to Sang-su, as her fractured self-esteem cannot tolerate it.
On the other hand, a distraught Sang-su tumbles into a relationship with the affable, chirpy Mi-gyeong (Keum Seo-Rok). She is attracted to him and his reserved nature and is determined to squeeze some emotion out of him. He honours the relationship, while pining for Su-yeong. Mi-gyeong is another minx of a character, who is deeply flawed, but clearly fleshed out—-a woman, with severe abandonment issues, trying desperately to make a relationship work, though she knows that she is not receiving anything in return. It’s another lifeless relationship, and they both know it, but how does one let go? At these points, life in a K-drama has never felt so cruel, as you watch the four leads struggle in their lives.
Life catches up and decisions have to be made and you can be assured that Su-yeong chooses the worst possible way to butcher her relationships. It’s almost a massacre of emotions, and there is hardly a proper closure between her and Jong-hyun. Their ending is almost cruel and his suffering is undeserved. Her character is written in such a way that though you understand, empathise with her at points—-you can never root for her. Her cold, blank stares and monosyllables cover up her brokenness—-and it’s only Sang-su who can understand the mess that is Su-yeong. He cannot ever let her go—-despite seeing the destruction she has caused. It’s a frantic, earnest emotion that he has towards her, always finding her when she runs away, and yet, unable to be completely honest about his feelings towards her. The chemistry between them is overpowering yet slicing because you worry whether this intense feeling will finally amount to something or not. But that’s not the point of the show, as you begin to realise. The acting between them is masterclass—-it takes incredible amount of effort and depth to play such deeply layered and nuanced characters, with unpredictable motivations.
Mi-Gyeong echoes most of the viewers emotions when she tells Su-yeong years later, “I have never been able to understand you.” Mi Gyeong has the most character growth and development amid all the heartbreak and tears—-she learns to let go and looks ahead, finally. The dialogues between her and Sang-su are so completely entrenched in pain, that you almost feel that you are invading their privacy as you watch their scenes unfold. You almost wonder, was all this suffering really necessary?
The Interest of Love toys with the ideas of what-ifs, and what-could-have-beens in its rather open-ended conclusion. By the end, you don’t really expect the fairytale happy ending, but you aren’t left dissatisfied as well. It’s a curious mix of underwhelming and awe. Has a show made you feel so much confusion and introspection with just simple dialogues and small insignificant moments? Nothing monumental as such happens towards the end of The Interest of Love —-just the reiteration that our characters have landed where they wanted, a little more at peace with themselves than before, if not completely. The last few moments of the show are beautifully poignant, leaving the question open—-was it really love or was it just the idea of love?
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