Netflix’s series “When Life Gives You Tangerines” takes place on Jeju Island in the 1950s, portraying the poignant romance between Ae-soon (IU) and Gwan-sik (Park Bo Gum). The drama received widespread attention and notable success. Now, with its final episode recently aired, it has wrapped up its touching story, leaving a deep impression on audiences.
In a detailed cultural critique published by Hankyoreh on March 28, the drama is described as a visually rich but ideologically limited family drama. The article argues that while the series spans multiple generations and highlights the emotional lives of women, it ultimately fails to break free from traditional family narratives, confining its female leads within romanticized familial roles and omitting broader historical context.
But is this criticism entirely fair? Or does it risk overlooking the subtle power of emotional storytelling—and the deliberate creative choices made by the show’s creators?
Below is the English translation of that article:
Title: “When Life Gives You Tangerines” Romanticizes Family But Falls Short on Feminist Depth
Source of critique: Hankyoreh Culture Feature, March 28, 2025
“When Life Gives You Tangerines” has taken over nearly every conversation in Korea recently. But what people take away from it varies: some are drawn to the breathtaking scenery of Jeju Island; others say it reminds them of their mothers and brings them to tears. Some compare it to the female version of “Ode to My Father,” while others liken it to the “Reply” series or recall the melancholic tone of director Kim Won-seok’s earlier work, “My Mister.”
Table of contents
- The Weight of Parental Love as Lifelong Debt
- Love That Completes the Mother—Through the Daughter
- Ae-soon’s Ambitions—Sacrificed for Family
- Where’s the World Outside the Family?
- The Tragic Irony: Progress Belongs to the Patriarch
- A Story of Potential That Stays Too Safe
The Weight of Parental Love as Lifelong Debt
The drama follows three women: Gwang-rye (Yeom Hye-ran), Ae-soon (IU, Moon So-ri), and Geum-yeong (IU), tracing the human life cycle through the seasons of spring, summer, fall, and winter. At its core, it celebrates the love and sacrifice that make such lives possible. It’s nostalgic for those who lived through the times and offers a quaint sense of novelty for those who didn’t. It speaks a universal emotional language: parental sacrifice, filial piety, and the sorrow of loss that transcends generations and borders.
Yet while the drama moves viewers, it also stirs up uncomfortable feelings, particularly through its portrayal of generational debt. My own mother often referred to herself as a “200-point mom,” a term drawn from a belief that daughters born first, followed by sons, were more valuable than gold. As her daughter, the love she gave me often felt heavy. That love helped me survive, yes, but also came with an invisible debt. If my life is framed as a return for my parents’ sacrifices, can I ever live freely as myself?
Love That Completes the Mother—Through the Daughter
Strictly speaking, the mother’s love in this story is directed at the daughter, but it also serves the mother’s own sense of self. Gwang-rye lives the life Ae-soon could not; Geum-myeong becomes the dream Ae-soon never fulfilled. The daughter exists not for herself, but as a “gold medal” that validates the mother’s efforts. But what is a gold medal if not something meant to hang proudly around someone’s neck?
That’s exactly how Geum-myeong functions in the story: always as someone’s daughter, or someone’s lover. Despite receiving elite education and going as far as Japan for study, she’s never shown as an independent, socially-engaged character. Even when breaking off her engagement, her reasoning is childlike: “How can I get married like this? My mom and dad would cry.” There are no meaningful friendships, no sign of her place in society. She’s never just “herself.”
Ae-soon’s Ambitions—Sacrificed for Family
Ae-soon is no different. Once a feisty, ambitious girl with dreams of studying on the mainland, she ends up tethered to Jeju after becoming pregnant. Her personal growth: passing the GED, buying a boat, running for a village office is shown but never deeply explored. The narrative barely allows her to exist outside her role as a daughter, wife, or mother.
This family-centric storytelling is emotionally powerful but also limiting. “When Life Gives You Tangerines” romanticizes filial piety to the point where characters fail to grow as individuals. The drama constantly reaffirms family values but never questions how those very values can stifle personal freedom.
Where’s the World Outside the Family?
Despite covering decades of Korean history, the series avoids engaging with real socio-political contexts. The beautiful depiction of 1960s Jeju omits any mention of the Jeju 4.3 Uprising or its lingering trauma. One could argue that the omission is intentional, given the topic’s sensitive history. But even subtle nods—villagers avoiding the topic, a sense of silence—could have layered the narrative with historical depth. Without this, even tragic deaths like that of Dong-myeong remain personal rather than political, family-bound rather than collective.
Geum-myeong enters Seoul National University in 1987, the year of South Korea’s June Democratic Uprising, and returns from Japan in the early ’90s, a time of student self-immolations. Yet her storyline floats detached from these events. The personal is never tied to the political, flattening what could have been a rich, multidimensional narrative.
The Tragic Irony: Progress Belongs to the Patriarch
Ironically, the only character granted growth and symbolic “revolution” is the father, Gwan-sik. In a time when men and women were forbidden to dine together, he literally turns half a circle at the table for his wife and daughter:
“The moment Dad turned around, Mom never forgot it. She said a hundred times he must have been the first man in Dodong-ri to do that. He fought his own war. He never left Mom on the battlefield alone. That half-turn, I realized while sipping scorched rice soup, was a revolution.”
But why does this symbolic “half-turn revolution” belong to the father, not to Ae-soon or Geum-myeong?
A Story of Potential That Stays Too Safe
“When Life Gives You Tangerines” had all the ingredients to be a deep, feminist narrative that critiques patriarchy and explores women’s lives in complex historical settings. Instead, it nestles safely under the warm but confining blanket of romanticized family values.
It’s not without merit. The drama does portray strong, resilient women: Ae-soon, Geum-myeong, and the haenyeo aunties as well as the suffocating weight of patriarchal expectations. But in the end, the women remain confined within the family system, while the men get to symbolize progress.
For all its grandeur and emotional punch, the series stops short of revolution. It replays familiar tropes: nostalgia, sacrifice, generational love without allowing its characters to transcend them. From “Ode to My Father,” to “Reply 1988,” to “My Mister,” the journey ends up in the same place: a well-decorated but aging shrine to family.
And in that, the drama’s “half-turn revolution” still feels half-finished.
There are many mixed comments on this post, with people sharing their opinions about the series.
- There are as many different family structures as there are different lives in this world. Let’s acknowledge that there is no single right or wrong.
- Some might feel that this writer doesn’t tackle enough social issues, making it somewhat unsatisfying… but I think this drama serves as a textbook for the MZ generation, who are moving beyond individualism into selfishness. They often complain that they don’t understand the older generation, yet they enjoy the benefits of their parents’ sacrifices. The drama focuses on how, for parents, their children represent hope—a one-sided love. By keeping the theme clean and avoiding unnecessary societal issues that could have made the story messy, the drama remains compelling.
- It was both entertaining and touching—so why write such a terrible comment? The viewers decide for themselves. Why turn it into some philosophical debate? It’s annoying and gives me a headache. Can’t you just take it easy? Are you jealous of the writer?
- Isn’t it natural for different opinions to exist…??? I didn’t really like it either…
- If they tried to include every personal story in that drama, would it have to be a five-part or ten-part series?
“What do you think about this series? And what are your thoughts on the perspective shared in the article above? Leave a comment below to let us know!”
The post [Review] When Life Gives You Tangerines — Is Family Really the Enemy of Individuality? appeared first on KBIZoom. KBIZoom – Breaking news about K-pop, K-drama, Anime/Manga and worldwide entertainment KBIZoom – Breaking news about K-pop, K-drama, Anime/Manga and worldwide entertainment
