The Other Bennet Sister centres on Mary Bennet for better and worse
Sarah Quintrell’s re-imagining of Pride and Prejudice, like its protagonist, hits notes that sound right but lack feeling.
Add The Other Bennet Sister to your watchlist The Other Bennet Sister, the BBC adaptation of Janice Hadlow’s novel of the same name, retells and expands upon the events of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice through the narrow perspective of Mary Bennet (Ella Bruccoleri). She is the cloistered and bookish middle sister of the Bennet family; a serial refuser to join in. "I prefer facts to whimsy," she says with an inflexibility she maintains throughout much of the series, even as the Bingleys move into Netherfield and throw a ball that will introduce Elizabeth (Poppy Gilbert) to Mr Darcy (Victor Pilard). When, however, Mary threatens to open up at Netherfield, Mrs Bennet cruelly admonishes her. She sees little value in her "plain" daughter – cemented by costuming Bruccoleri in drab dresses and spectacles – and is keen she does nothing to impede her sisters; sisters with real marriage prospects. It’s a cruelty that defines The Other Bennet Sister, framing Mary as a victim of Longbourn, her family, and particularly her mother. It’s a defensible framework; one that lends itself to a modern audience who might have a different definition of family to that of Austen. A combination of excellent period costuming and production design, with casting that brings a refreshing number of regional voices into an adaptation in which we might otherwise expect to hear received pronunciation, should combine into an accessible period drama. But while Mary taking on her father’s tone as she proclaims her sisters are 'silly girls' makes sense, The Other Bennet Sister chooses to move Pride and Prejudice into a stereotypical high school tone in which Mary becomes a misunderstood intellectual who is bitter at anyone having more fun than her. This is taken to the extent that she becomes cruel to anyone she deems foolish – which is everyone. Fools are far from unusual in Austen. Indeed, Mary is arguably the most sympathetic fool of them all. An obnoxious and shallow girl in Pride and Prejudice, she recites what she reads without interrogation to the chagrin of her family. But she is also the middle child in a large family, neither possessed of the beauty that marks Bennet women nor the wit that makes Elizabeth so compelling. Her only other frame of reference is her father, to whom she regularly appeals for intellectual recognition. All of which he ignores. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/3/2026/03/BBC-TOBS-03a724a.jpg" width="4281" height="2854" alt="A young woman wearing glasses and a pale Regency-era dress stands in the foreground outdoors, looking determined. Behind her on a set of stone steps stands a small group of well-dressed people—several young women in colorful empire-waist gowns, an older woman in a floral dress, and an older man in a dark coat. They all look toward her as sunlight filters through the surrounding trees, creating the atmosphere of a tense moment in a garden setting." title="The Other Bennet Sister" /> Capturing Mary’s character and making it sympathetic is not an easy task and The Other Bennet Sister manages to capture a relatable pressure in Mary’s familial position. Yet The Other Bennet Sister, while insisting that Pride and Prejudice leaves Mary underdeveloped, offers her few dimensions beyond what Austen originally laid down. Even as the series grapples with found family within Austen’s framework, Mary’s growth is so glacial that she never becomes compelling (a curiosity, given how convincing Bruccoleri is as a lead). She remains pedantic and recalcitrant throughout. Instead, The Other Bennet Sister forces everyone around her into a cartoonishly bad light in the hope it might make Mary appear more sympathetic by comparison. Mrs. Bennet is a victim of that approach, here fashioned into an abusive mother marrying her daughters off to maintain a fragile sense of status. Her sisters, meanwhile, are rendered as high school mean girls who she is correct to judge for their fondness for ribbon, dresses, and the soldiers of Mertyon. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/3/2026/03/TOBS-2e9f1c4.jpg" width="4281" height="2854" alt="Two middle-aged women in ornate Regency-era dresses sit at a formal dinner table during a lively gathering. The woman in the foreground on the right wears a floral orange gown and looks sideways with a startled, suspicious expression, while the woman on the left turns her head sharply as if reacting to the same disturbance. The table is set with wine glasses, plates, and floral arrangements, and behind them other guests mingle in a candlelit room, creating the atmosphere of a busy social event or ball." title="The Other Bennet Sister" /> Claire Cage as Lady Lucas and Ruth Bennet as Mrs Bennet. Worse is saved for Charlotte Lucas (Anna Fenton-Garvey). Practical about her prospects in a way Elizabeth is not, Charlotte takes up with Mr. Collins (here, Ryan Sampson) in Pride and Prejudice. Rather than a relatable foil for Mary, The Other Bennet Sister frames Charlotte’s marriage as a conniving theft not just of a potential match for Mary, but also of Longbourn. Conversely, Mr. Bennet (Richard E. Grant) is an obvious conduit for sympathy towards Mary given his passive disinterest in his daughters outside Elizabeth. The Other Bennet Sister, however, suggests he does regard Mary as an equal, her recalcitrance as justified, and might even say so were it not for the abusive control Mrs. Bennet exerts. Mr. Bennet too often escapes criticism and The Other Bennet Sister has little interest in changing that. Instead, it unfurls a pattern of tired stereotypes for its women while absolving its men. A pattern that follows Mary to London. Staying with the Gardiners (Richard Coyle and Indira Varma) finally removes her from comparisons with her sisters. At one of their parties, Mary befriends Ann Baxter (Varada Sethu), but when she reveals her engagement to Tom Hayward (Dónal Finn), Mary begins to regard her with the same bitter envy she reserves for all the women in her life. The series never really interrogates that Hayward exhibits overt interest in Mary despite his engagement. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/3/2026/03/Bennet-fe976e4.jpg" width="5120" height="3413" alt="A young man and woman in Regency-era clothing sit facing each other on tree stumps in a sunlit forest clearing. The man, dressed in a dark coat and tall riding boots, holds a small notebook while smiling as he talks. The woman, wearing glasses and a simple dress with a brown jacket, listens attentively. Tall trees surround them, and soft sunlight filters through the forest, giving the scene a calm, intimate atmosphere." title="The Other Bennet Sister" /> A generous reading may be that we are simply seeing through Mary’s eyes and, by extension, her mother’s; that the intense jealousy she feels is a reflection of how threatened Mrs Bennet feels by women who might interrupt her daughters’ marriage prospects and we're observing a repressed Mary struggling to unlearn those behaviours. If that is the case, The Other Bennet Sister never communicates that in an adequate, or compelling, way. Instead, trying to bring everyone down to the level of Mary’s caustic personality backfires. It only makes Ann more sympathetic, along with Charlotte and, ironically, Elizabeth – Gilbert’s performance suggests she deserves a genuine stab at Austen’s heroine. Indeed, there’s no fault in any performance in The Other Bennet Sister. Brucolleri similarly suggests she’d make a better Elizabeth while enduring dulling material. Sethu and Finn are bright spots in Mary’s London sojourn. Unfortunately, for an excellent cast, there’s little substantive to work with. The result is an uneven expansion of Pride and Prejudice in which excellent performances and production never coalesce into a reason for being. Mary remains an underexplored and, ultimately, uncompelling protagonist in a retooling that, ironically for its subject, feels like a shallow misunderstanding of Pride and Prejudice.
The Other Bennet Sister, the BBC adaptation of Janice Hadlow’s novel of the same name, retells and expands upon the events of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice through the narrow perspective of Mary Bennet (Ella Bruccoleri). She is the cloistered and bookish middle sister of the Bennet family; a serial refuser to join in. "I prefer facts to whimsy," she says with an inflexibility she maintains throughout much of the series, even as the Bingleys move into Netherfield and throw a ball that will introduce Elizabeth (Poppy Gilbert) to Mr Darcy (Victor Pilard). When, however, Mary threatens to open up at Netherfield, Mrs Bennet cruelly admonishes her. She sees little value in her "plain" daughter – cemented by costuming Bruccoleri in drab dresses and spectacles – and is keen she does nothing to impede her sisters; sisters with real marriage prospects. It’s a cruelty that defines The Other Bennet Sister, framing Mary as a victim of Longbourn, her family, and particularly her mother. Read more: Miss Austen's future is finally confirmed Ruth Jones reveals what she told Gavin & Stacey icon Alison Steadman about the beloved Jane Austen role they now share It’s a defensible framework; one that lends itself to a modern audience who might have a different definition of family to that of Austen. A combination of excellent period costuming and production design, with casting that brings a refreshing number of regional voices into an adaptation in which we might otherwise expect to hear received pronunciation, should combine into an accessible period drama. But while Mary taking on her father’s tone as she proclaims her sisters are 'silly girls' makes sense, The Other Bennet Sister chooses to move Pride and Prejudice into a stereotypical high school tone in which Mary becomes a misunderstood intellectual who is bitter at anyone having more fun than her. This is taken to the extent that she becomes cruel to anyone she deems foolish – which is everyone. Fools are far from unusual in Austen. Indeed, Mary is arguably the most sympathetic fool of them all. An obnoxious and shallow girl in Pride and Prejudice, she recites what she reads without interrogation to the chagrin of her family. But she is also the middle child in a large family, neither possessed of the beauty that marks Bennet women nor the wit that makes Elizabeth so compelling. Her only other frame of reference is her father, to whom she regularly appeals for intellectual recognition. All of which he ignores. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/3/2026/03/BBC-TOBS-03a724a.jpg" width="4281" height="2854" alt="A young woman wearing glasses and a pale Regency-era dress stands in the foreground outdoors, looking determined. Behind her on a set of stone steps stands a small group of well-dressed people—several young women in colorful empire-waist gowns, an older woman in a floral dress, and an older man in a dark coat. They all look toward her as sunlight filters through the surrounding trees, creating the atmosphere of a tense moment in a garden setting." title="The Other Bennet Sister" /> Capturing Mary’s character and making it sympathetic is not an easy task and The Other Bennet Sister manages to capture a relatable pressure in Mary’s familial position. Yet The Other Bennet Sister, while insisting that Pride and Prejudice leaves Mary underdeveloped, offers her few dimensions beyond what Austen originally laid down. Even as the series grapples with found family within Austen’s framework, Mary’s growth is so glacial that she never becomes compelling (a curiosity, given how convincing Bruccoleri is as a lead). She remains pedantic and recalcitrant throughout. Instead, The Other Bennet Sister forces everyone around her into a cartoonishly bad light in the hope it might make Mary appear more sympathetic by comparison. Mrs. Bennet is a victim of that approach, here fashioned into an abusive mother marrying her daughters off to maintain a fragile sense of status. Her sisters, meanwhile, are rendered as high school mean girls who she is correct to judge for their fondness for ribbon, dresses, and the soldiers of Mertyon. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/3/2026/03/TOBS-2e9f1c4.jpg" width="4281" height="2854" alt="Two middle-aged women in ornate Regency-era dresses sit at a formal dinner table during a lively gathering. The woman in the foreground on the right wears a floral orange gown and looks sideways with a startled, suspicious expression, while the woman on the left turns her head sharply as if reacting to the same disturbance. The table is set with wine glasses, plates, and floral arrangements, and behind them other guests mingle in a candlelit room, creating the atmosphere of a busy social event or ball." title="The Other Bennet Sister" /> Worse is saved for Charlotte Lucas (Anna Fenton-Garvey). Practical about her prospects in a way Elizabeth is not, Charlotte takes up with Mr. Collins (here, Ryan Sampson) in Pride and Prejudice. Rather than a relatable foil for Mary, The Other Bennet Sister frames Charlotte’s marriage as a conniving theft not just of a potential match for Mary, but also of Longbourn. Conversely, Mr. Bennet (Richard E. Grant) is an obvious conduit for sympathy towards Mary given his passive disinterest in his daughters outside Elizabeth. The Other Bennet Sister, however, suggests he does regard Mary as an equal, her recalcitrance as justified, and might even say so were it not for the abusive control Mrs. Bennet exerts. Mr. Bennet too often escapes criticism and The Other Bennet Sister has little interest in changing that. Instead, it unfurls a pattern of tired stereotypes for its women while absolving its men. A pattern that follows Mary to London. Staying with the Gardiners (Richard Coyle and Indira Varma) finally removes her from comparisons with her sisters. At one of their parties, Mary befriends Ann Baxter (Varada Sethu), but when she reveals her engagement to Tom Hayward (Dónal Finn), Mary begins to regard her with the same bitter envy she reserves for all the women in her life. The series never really interrogates that Hayward exhibits overt interest in Mary despite his engagement. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/3/2026/03/Bennet-fe976e4.jpg" width="5120" height="3413" alt="A young man and woman in Regency-era clothing sit facing each other on tree stumps in a sunlit forest clearing. The man, dressed in a dark coat and tall riding boots, holds a small notebook while smiling as he talks. The woman, wearing glasses and a simple dress with a brown jacket, listens attentively. Tall trees surround them, and soft sunlight filters through the forest, giving the scene a calm, intimate atmosphere." title="The Other Bennet Sister" /> A generous reading may be that we are simply seeing through Mary’s eyes and, by extension, her mother’s; that the intense jealousy she feels is a reflection of how threatened Mrs Bennet feels by women who might interrupt her daughters’ marriage prospects and we're observing a repressed Mary struggling to unlearn those behaviours. If that is the case, The Other Bennet Sister never communicates that in an adequate, or compelling, way. Instead, trying to bring everyone down to the level of Mary’s caustic personality backfires. It only makes Ann more sympathetic, along with Charlotte and, ironically, Elizabeth – Gilbert’s performance suggests she deserves a genuine stab at Austen’s heroine. Indeed, there’s no fault in any performance in The Other Bennet Sister. Brucolleri similarly suggests she’d make a better Elizabeth while enduring dulling material. Sethu and Finn are bright spots in Mary’s London sojourn. Unfortunately, for an excellent cast, there’s little substantive to work with. The result is an uneven expansion of Pride and Prejudice in which excellent performances and production never coalesce into a reason for being. Mary remains an underexplored and, ultimately, uncompelling protagonist in a retooling that, ironically for its subject, feels like a shallow misunderstanding of Pride and Prejudice. The Other Bennet Sister premieres on BBC One and iPlayer on Sunday 15 March 2026. Check out more of our Drama coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast. Add The Other Bennet Sister to your watchlist on the <a id="OWA8b702c45-bee9-94e4-f018-57518e78041b" title="https://www.radiotimes.com/download-the-app/?af_xp=custom&pid=website&c=editorial_content&is_retargeting=true&af_reengagement_window=30d" href="https://www.radiotimes.com/download-the-app/?af_xp=custom&pid=website&c=editorial_content&is_retargeting=true&af_reengagement_window=30d" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-outlook-id="449c28d9-909e-4aab-b6b8-153454f55d5e" data-auth="NotApplicable" data-linkindex="0">Radio Times: What to Watch app – download now for daily TV recommendations, features and more.
The Other Bennet Sister's Ella Bruccoleri on stepping into Austen's world and stepping away from Call the Midwife
The Other Bennet Sister star talks about stepping into a lead role for the first time, discovering Austen late, and moving on from Call the Midwife.
“I love doing something different every few months.” That makes Mary Bennet, lead in the BBC’s 10-part drama The Other Bennet Sister an interesting move for actress Ella Bruccoleri. Nebbish, bookish, and, at least outwardly, pious, the middle sister of Pride and Prejudice’s Bennet doesn’t have change in her bones. You’d be forgiven for thinking that piety comes naturally to Bruccoleri, who was brought up Roman Catholic but tells Radio Times she’s now agnostic. She’ll be familiar to many as Sister Frances in Call the Midwife, others might have recognised her in a small role as Sister Rosita in Paddington in Peru. Those roles don’t find her because of her upbringing, however. “I just have this kind of nun-like face!” she says. “I maybe find it more difficult to play pious characters than would be expected because I've broken away from [Catholicism], and maybe I feel a bit of guilt because my family is still very Catholic,” she continues. “It would feel easier maybe to play a role that's more cynical of, or being worn down by, organised religion.” Appropriately, Mary Bennet’s relationship with religion is hard to decipher, even as the BBC’s adaptation of Janice Hadlow’s novel of the same name expands her beyond Pride and Prejudice. It grants Mary a complexity lacking in other adaptations but for Bruccoleri, in her first lead role, it was a new experience. “I was filming every day, sometimes six days a week, for four months,” she says. “It tested my stamina in ways that I’d never experienced.” For which, she suggests, Call the Midwife was the perfect training ground. Read more: The Other Bennet Sister star reveals why she left Call the Midwife and talks beloved Pride & Prejudice character Ruth Jones reveals what she told Gavin & Stacey icon Alison Steadman about the beloved Jane Austen role they now share Drama school hadn’t prepared Bruccoleri for interacting with the camera, so she learned on set. The fast-paced production of Call the Midwife – 15 seasons in 15 years – and embodying the same character for four seasons helped her “work the muscle repeatedly.” It made clear just how prepared one needed to be when coming onto set, whether that’s in Call the Midwife’s East London or The Other Bennet Sister’s shifting setting from Longbourn, London, and The Lake District (represented by the Brecon Beacons in-show). That movement made Bruccoleri's filming experience elastic. Portraying the more morose side of Mary in Longbourn and later Pemberley, “I felt really conscious that it was slightly on me to set the tone for how filming went,” she says. “I would sometimes start to inhabit Mary a little too much on the set of Longbourn because I had all my sisters around me with these beautiful dresses and I was there in my grey monk’s robe. I sometimes felt a bit grumpy.” <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/3/2026/03/BBC-TOBS-03a724a.jpg" width="4281" height="2854" alt="A young woman wearing glasses and a pale Regency-era dress stands in the foreground outdoors, looking determined. Behind her on a set of stone steps stands a small group of well-dressed people—several young women in colorful empire-waist gowns, an older woman in a floral dress, and an older man in a dark coat. They all look toward her as sunlight filters through the surrounding trees, creating the atmosphere of a tense moment in a garden setting." title="The Other Bennet Sister" /> When Mary’s sadness was harder to come by, Bruccoleri fell back on past experience – whether that’s in her own life or watching, she says, particularly depressing documentaries. As The Other Bennet Sister transports Pride and Prejudice into a more modern understanding of family, both families of origin and choice, Brucolleri dug into her own relationships for a mirror to Mary’s complex relationship with her mother, Mrs Bennet (Ruth Jones). “I have people in my life who are estranged from their families and have had to build a family from scratch through people they trust and not blood relations,” she says. “I would think about my friends and I would get really upset, [they’ve] done an incredibly brave thing by stepping away. That doesn’t get easier.” That contrasted with the experience of filming in London where, as Mary opens up under the purview of the Gardiners (Richard Coyle and Indira Varma), Brucolleri also lightened. This was, in part, for having children on set and that necessitating a less serious mood in between takes. “[But] they’re also like big children, Indira and Richard,” Bruccoleri says. “They’re such brilliant actors, and two of our most respected actors, [but] they’re incredibly silly people.” “One day, Richard just found an orange in his hand,” she continues,” and he was like, ‘I don’t know how this got here.’ He was genuinely shocked!” It’s part of a broader program by Varma and Coyle to help relieve some of pressure Bruccoleri felt by making “Ella regress into a million giggles,” she says. “A good reminder you shouldn't take anything that seriously.” That sense of support filters through the entire series for Brucolleri. First, with Richard E. Grant as Mr. Bennet – “he’s been wanting to play that character for a long time” – and Jones, and later Varma and Coyle. “I had days where I felt really held by other people,” she says. Not just by her more experienced cast-mates, but also a crew she says dedicated itself to bringing Austen and Hadlow’s world to life through a vibe that often ran counter to the drudgery that Mary experiences. “I've done jobs where I'm just showing up and doing the work and maybe I'm not insanely passionate about this, or invested in this,” she says. “I understand if other people show up and it's just a job for them. That was not the case with an ybody on that set. I was blown away by how everyone really cares and was really invested in the story and in their character, and people were putting in so much time and effort behind-the-scenes.” <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/3/2026/03/547460-3ec956f.jpg" width="5120" height="3414" alt="A young woman wearing a light beige, early-19th-century style dress sits in a wooden armchair beside a window. Soft daylight from the left illuminates her face as she gazes thoughtfully outside. She has short brown hair and wears round glasses. The room around her is dim and warmly toned, with patterned curtains, upholstered furniture, and a small table with fruit in the background, giving the scene a quiet, historical, period-drama atmosphere." title="The Other Bennet Sister" /> Now it’s over, Bruccoleri is settling back into the unpredictable rhythm of moving in and out of roles. That doesn’t mean she’s using her spare time to catch up on Call the Midwife, however. “I had best intentions of keeping up with it!” she says. “I just genuinely have not watched TV in a really long time.” Choice paralysis, she calls it, it’s too much commitment; she’s better at watching films. “I think I’m a bit of a commitment-phobe generally.” It also makes her reticent to take on anything as long-term as Call the Midwife right now. She doesn’t rule it out – nor a return to the series when it returns from its hiatus. “It would be nice to revisit that part of my life in a low-stakes way,” she says. Though adds that she feels she’s taken Sister Frances as far as she can. “Once I put something to bed, I do find it quite difficult to go backwards.” An answer that might have been different immediately after exiting when, with no work booked, she did doubt momentarily whether it was the right decision. But if leaving is something Mary fears then Bruccoleri has accepted the natural rhythm of a working actor that makes change a gift; albeit laced with the occasional worry when jobs end. “I just really love variety,” she says. “I love doing something completely different.” That makes what comes next for an actress that, despite an abundance of nuns in her career thus far, has already collated a body of curious and characterful roles. Here, however, her upbringing does have an impact. “I’d like to do more art-house cinema,” she says. “That’s the stuff I was raised on: I grew up on Shane Meadows and Ken Loach. I’d like to do more Northern stuff.” This prompts Bruccoleri – who hails from North Yorkshire – to return to The Other Bennet Sister for a final thought. As it brings modern sensibilities to regency period dramas, she takes a moment to note how the series is packed with Northern actors and, more importantly, Northern voices. It’s part of a diverse cast of voices that’s opening up a story often reserved for Southern voices on-screen. “Growing up, I was really into Brontë because Brontë feels more about where I’m from,” she says. “I thought Austen was really posh and alienating.” Having come to Austen later in life as a result, Bruccoleri hopes The Other Bennet Sister, following in the footsteps of series like Bridgerton – in which Brucolleri has also appeared – might erode some of the barriers past voices may have erected around period dramas. Whether it’s Northern actors still speaking with received pronunciation – “We were all a bit taken aback by how many Northerners they trusted to do that,” she says – or those speaking in their own regional accents. “I would like to see more regional accents on TV. I just don’t think you see enough of it. I think [Austen] feels just as much at home in that accent as it does in received pronunciation,” she says. “I do feel very proud of that – and I do feel proud of the colourblind casting, as well.” A recent trend in modernised period dramas, combining authentic production and costuming with more modern sensibilities and ideas, offers a more accessible way into period dramas. If The Other Bennet Sister changed some minds about Austen, and the broader genre; “if this could be a gateway drug to reading more Austen,” Bruccoleri says, “that would be really, really cool". The Other Bennet Sister premieres on BBC One and iPlayer on Sunday 15th March 2026. Check out more of our Drama coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast. Add The Other Bennet Sister to your watchlist on the <a id="OWA8b702c45-bee9-94e4-f018-57518e78041b" title="https://www.radiotimes.com/download-the-app/?af_xp=custom&pid=website&c=editorial_content&is_retargeting=true&af_reengagement_window=30d" href="https://www.radiotimes.com/download-the-app/?af_xp=custom&pid=website&c=editorial_content&is_retargeting=true&af_reengagement_window=30d" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-outlook-id="449c28d9-909e-4aab-b6b8-153454f55d5e" data-auth="NotApplicable" data-linkindex="0">Radio Times: What to Watch app – download now for daily TV recommendations, features and more.
The War Between the Land and the Sea shows where TV is failing with disability representation
As the Doctor Who spin-off nears its conclusion, it leaves behind a tepid, overly careful look into the disabled experience.
Doctor Who is back in Russell T Davies’s five-episode spin-off, The War Between the Land and the Sea. Having previously introduced viewers to Ruth Madeley’s Shirley Bingham, the show has doubled down on disability representation — quite literally. Davies not only brings back Bingham but adds another wheelchair user to UNIT in computer expert Steve Chesney (George Robinson). Unfortunately, these casting decisions are as far as considerations about disability representation go in The War Between. Following a long history of media that believes representation ends with simply putting disability on-screen, the show, so far, exhibits no interest in disability beyond what can be gleaned at a glance. To its credit, The War Between does cast two disabled actors in these roles, something that has always been, and remains, uncommon; even in more positive examples of disability representation. Just this month, Wake Up Dead Man dropped onto Netflix with exemplary chronic pain representation in ambulatory wheelchair user Simone Vivane (Cailee Spaeney), and yet still cast a non-wheelchair user in the role. Beyond that, however, in the first four episodes of the new Doctor Who spin-off, Bingham and Chesney have been given little to do but spout sci-fi-isms and partake in UNIT’s roundtable discussions. In one especially revealing scene, one of those discussions is around a literal table – of the illuminated sci-fi variety. While colleagues casually lean over the display, Bingham and Chesney are made to crane over the table’s edge. Granted, this is a government organisation with all the baggage that entails in an ableist society. But The War Between is keen to be seen as progressive and inclusive, using UNIT as its mouthpiece. Yet, little consideration has been made to show how wheelchair users interact with their environment outside of the odd ramp. That may all be enough for many to celebrate. But don’t we deserve more in 2025? If The War Between’s writers are sincere about representation, we should acknowledge that wheelchairs are highly personal aids, for characters and their actors – and showing the advancement we've seen in wheelchairs would not only make sense as accommodations but would also look pretty sci-fi to most viewers (including some disabled viewers). Or, get a lower table, I guess. As we flit between UNIT offices and government buildings, it all could have been a way to demonstrate the vast chasm that exists between our insufficient accessibility accommodations and what it looks like to see needs met. Instead, Bingham and Chesney never appear outside the office. Both are left behind when the series becomes more action-oriented. Bingham briefly takes control of the office when everyone else leaves, though she is mostly anonymous in episode 3. Chesney simply disappears for that episode and is reduced to a few lines about deepfakes in the next. A charitable argument could be made that this is a specific reaction to Doctor Who’s history of disability representation. One which has cast wheelchair users as bitter, fraudsters, and villains. Though, that’s a history to which Davies challenged by re-introducing Davros, a wheelchair-using antagonist, as able-bodied in 2023 – something he justified by saying, "There’s a problem with the Davros of old, in that he’s a wheelchair user who is evil." This is an oversimplification. The trope of villains embittered by disability is overused, but so is overcorrecting to the point of anonymising disabled characters. Disabled people are just that: people, with all the complexity that entails. It makes Robinson’s casting unfortunate: a reminder of a more sincere and studied exploration of disability in Sex Education’s Isaac Goodwin. In the Netflix series, he’s a character who is integrated into the story with complex motivations (not all of them good) and who develops from a romantic rival – romance being another thing of which disabled people in media are often stripped – into a trusted friend. He does all this without losing the edge and bite that made him a compelling light-antagonist. The War Between doesn’t sink as low as other uses of disability in recent years, but nor should its "that will do" approach of just putting disability on screen be celebrated. In an ableist world, in which we are encouraged from youth not to stare and to look away from disabled people until we simply don’t want to see disabled people, any good The War Between might have achieved with its representation is undone by how many reasons it gives viewers to keep looking away. The War Between the Land and the Sea will end on Sunday 21st December. Doctor Who is available to watch on BBC iPlayer. Add The War Between the Land and the Sea to your watchlist on the <a id="OWA8b702c45-bee9-94e4-f018-57518e78041b" class="x_OWAAutoLink" title="https://www.radiotimes.com/download-the-app/?af_xp=custom&pid=website&c=editorial_content&is_retargeting=true&af_reengagement_window=30d" href="https://www.radiotimes.com/download-the-app/?af_xp=custom&pid=website&c=editorial_content&is_retargeting=true&af_reengagement_window=30d" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-outlook-id="449c28d9-909e-4aab-b6b8-153454f55d5e" data-auth="NotApplicable" data-linkindex="0">Radio Times: What to Watch app – download now for daily TV recommendations, features and more. Check out more of our Sci-fi coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Star Trek: Strange New Worlds needs to avoid a grave Captain Pike mistake
As we come to the end of Strange New Worlds’ third season, a troubling and ableist discourse continues to rumble on.
After a strong end to its previous season, Strange New Worlds’ third outing has been an uneven affair as it’s attempted to embrace Star Trek’s goofier side. But, beneath the baffling soap opera of Spock’s love life, another theme has emerged: the wonders of 23rd century medicine. We’ve watched Captain Batel (Melanie Scrofano) manage a previously untreatable parasitic infection, Erica Ortegas (Melissa Navia) immediately recover from having her guts rearranged by a Gorn, and Doctor M’Benga (Babs Olusanmokun) casually try to regenerate Ensign Gamble’s (Chris Myers) eyes as if it’s the most normal thing in the world – sorry, galaxy. Yet, as those miracles multiply, for some they begin to butt against the franchise’s future: specifically the disability of Captain Christopher Pike (Anson Mount). If, a small but growing online discourse asks, medicine is so advanced, surely Strange New Worlds’ writers can find a way to ‘save’ Pike from a disability that sees him using a combination of a power-wheelchair and an iron lung, paralysed and unable to speak. Ableist as this already is – and it’s an argument that often extends to magic in fantasy, too – as is often the case, it’s a smokescreen for a more troubling and revealing ableist sentiment. The argument here is less that 23rd century medicine should erase disability (which is bad enough) but because Mount has made Pike so likeable he especially ‘deserves a real happy ending’. Anyone else and it doesn’t matter. But Pike – we like that guy. It’s an odd argument for any purported Star Trek fan. Star Trek has historically treated disability with a similar acceptance as the other issues upon which it comments. This building on Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry’s ethos – as communicated to a reporter who, in response to Sir Patrick Stewart’s casting as Jean-Luc Picard, suggested that baldness would be cured by the time of The Next Generation – that, “No, by the 24th century, no one will care.” It’s not a philosophy Star Trek, or Roddenberry, has always observed. The Original Series two-parter The Menagerie, written by Roddenberry, sees Spock (Leonard Nimoy) kidnap Pike (then Sean Kenney) and deposit him on Talos IV, where he exists in a kind of psychic space hospice and an illusion of non-disability. The Menagerie doesn’t shy away from depicting disability or its challenges in the advanced realm of medicine certain fans posit should erase that disability, but it also reflects the shaky ground often fashioned by The Original Series around disability as it prefers cure to accommodation. This improved in The Next Generation. Geordi La Forge (LeVar Burton) is not only a blind senior officer, in sharp contrast to The Original Series’ view of blindness as career-ending, but prominently uses a sequence of advancing disability aids. Capping a range of other disability representations this carries through to recent series, with Keyla Detmer (Emily Coutts) using mechanical implants to manage battle injuries in Discovery, rather than writers magically healing them with space medicine. The intersection of advancing medicine and health – including disability – has been a running theme in Star Trek. We’ve watched characters rehabilitated from Borg assimilation, brought back to life with nanoprobes, cured of cancer, even handed a magic pill that reverses kidney failure, and, ironically, we’ve also seen Pike’s disability addressed in Strange New Worlds. Perhaps to head-off speculation and put questions about it to bed, Strange New Worlds makes Pike becoming aware of his future and processing his grief the overarching narrative of season 1. It was handled, for the most part, well; mirroring the impact of a host of similar real-world prognoses. Yes, there’s a hint of that tired trope of disability sacrifice – of course Pike is injured selflessly saving cadets and of course he accepts it almost immediately when doing otherwise could risk thousands of lives in a war with the Romulans. But it works, it feels real. Not just for disabled viewers but able-bodied viewers too. That’s a significant thing to ignore to pursue the idea of curing Pike. In doing so, not only are certain viewers wilfully misunderstanding disability, but also Star Trek. Yes, there could be more nuance to Star Trek’s depiction of Pike’s disability beyond what we saw in 1966 – though, one can justifiably argue that we’ve not come that far on disability since then. Star Trek is far from perfect on the subject, with Deep Space Nine’s clumsy handling of autism immediately coming to mind. But that’s the point. Star Trek at its holistic best grows; it understands the present and tries, not always successfully, to reflect that back to us in narratives that are more digestible through their abstraction in science fiction. If we see Pike’s disability again – rumours of a potential reboot of The Original Series make that a possibility – would it not make more sense to demonstrate a future that is more sincere, understanding, and particularly accommodating of disability (and thus, in the traditions of Star Trek at its best, a reflection of what our present should be)? Rather than indulging the limited idea of that future harboured by a small pocket of viewers certain that disability and happiness are mutually exclusive. I would much rather see Pike as a mirror to our own societal failings than simply adopting them. To be fair, Strange New Worlds has given no indications it even intends to show, let alone revisit, Pike’s disability. But in a modern television landscape that is far from impervious to the pressure of misguided online discourse and following a less-than-inclusive season 3, I’m not as certain of that as I’d like to be. Instead, I have to maintain hope that Roddenberry’s now-famous retort has staying power and that, to the question of whether disability should be erased by Star Trek medicine, whether it’s the 23rd, 24th, or the 21st century, the answer is no. Star Trek: Strange New Worlds is available to stream on Paramount+. Add Star Trek: Strange New Worlds to your watchlist on the Radio Times: What to Watch app – download now for daily TV recommendations, features and more. Check out more of our Sci-fi coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Austin review: Ben Miller's comedy delivers strong autism representation – but few laughs
Love on the Spectrum star Michael Theo is a bright spot in an otherwise tepid comedy whose representation possibly deserved a better platform.
It’s rare to see autism represented on screen; rarer still is seeing an autistic character played by an autistic actor. Yet, Ben Miller and Darren Ashton’s new BBC comedy, Austin, does both as it grants a sincere and positive glimpse into a broader spectrum of autism outside the usual tired trope of autistic savants. Even if it remains, across eight episodes, only a glimpse. The series opens with the titular Austin Hogan (Love on the Spectrum’s Michael Theo), an autistic forklift driver in Canberra, leaving work. His co-workers wish him bonne chance as he prepares for what appears to be a long-planned meeting with beloved children’s author Julian Hartswood (Miller). Julian is travelling around Australia (Austin is a joint Australian and British production, though it feels predominantly British) to promote his new book with wife, and illustrator, Ingrid (Sally Phillips). When Julian retweets a well-known neo-Nazi’s opinion on free speech, however, his immediate engagements are abruptly cancelled and his reputation sullied. In the now immortal words of Justin Timberlake, this could "ruin the tour". Things go from bad to worse when he and Ingrid attempt to salvage the Canberra leg of their tour by booking a gig independently, only to find themselves setting up in the Mein Kampf-laden store of the politest neo-Nazi in Australia ("I get it, I know all about finding things abhorrent," she says when Ingrid expresses reservations about the whole neo-Nazi thing). Into this developing farce walks Austin, claiming to be Julian’s long-lost son. Read more: Ben Miller: 'Cancel culture can ruin or boost careers – that’s worth making fun of' Professor T, starring Ben Miller, confirmed to return for season 5 Extricated from the bookshop, the three discuss Austin’s quest to find out where he came from in a local coffee shop. "How long can you commit to the bonding process?" Austin asks. For the self-obsessed Julian, the answer is not long at all. Not least when Ingrid does the maths and realises that Austin being 28 places his conception several months into her relationship with Julian and understandably storms out. Predictably, Julian blows Austin off. Yet, when his publisher catches wind of Julian’s long-lost autistic son, they suggest it could be a stellar PR vehicle to repair the writer’s damaged reputation. "Predictable" is an apt term as the series unfolds much as you’d expect. Orbiting Theo’s compelling performance and the surprise of seeing autism represented with so much sincerity – it should be noted that Theo is credited as a script consultant on the series – is a somewhat rote scripted comedy that at its best gently parodies the cynical way media uses minority voices but is largely light on laughs. Rather, Austin’s comedy is its weakest point. It’s loose, even uneven, as jokes hang in the air momentarily as if waiting for a laugh track to kick in. Jokes are rarely directly at Austin’s expense – preferring to take aim at Julian’s saviour complex – but so many of them rest on an audience that finds Austin’s bluntness or the misunderstandings that arise from his unfamiliarity with certain social situations amusing. A neurotypical audience may respond to that, and many autistic viewers may feel included in those jokes, but too often plenty may feel the joke is on them. Austin is clearly keen to represent its titular character’s autism positively – and it should be said that comedy involving disability is and should be a thing. But while it steps away from the long shadow of other more misguided representations such as The Good Doctor and South Korean hit Extraordinary Attorney Woo, it cannot avoid the stereotypes and missteps that bog down so many earlier representations. Stereotypes that feel incongruous with what we actually see on screen. For instance, Austin is often infantalised like so many autistic characters, not least by a mother who does not believe he can handle the rigours of travelling to London. Yet, everything we see of Austin is a collected, independent, and capable individual at odds with the assumptions of the characters around him. It’s a strong, positive representation that we seldom see in the media. If the intention of including these tired stereotypes is to undermine them through Austin’s character, however, the result feels more confused, which taps into a chronic lack of identity throughout Austin. This is not a series about autism. It’s a comedy, primarily, about change that happens to include an autistic character. Which is great. This isn’t a reparative series from neurotypical creators trying to assert allyship, but the kind of series many autistic and, more broadly, disabled viewers have been crying out for: a series in which disabled characters, depicted by disabled actors, just are. Austin allows for a broader scope of other stories within the narrative – Ingrid’s exploration of the art world as she wrestles with maintaining a romantic and professional relationship with a man who cheated on her is especially compelling. Yet, even though it clearly wants to say something about autism, an actual exploration of autism – and specifically Austin’s autism – is somewhat lacking. Austin prefers to shy away from the complexity – and the difficulties – of autism and its traits in favour of tepid laughs and occupying a very BBC quality of comedy that ultimately feels a little basic. That isn’t bad, per se – indeed, any other similarly middling comedy might be let off the hook. But Austin is defined by the media landscape into which it releases: one that seldom, if ever, truly engages with autism and disability more broadly. Austin, through its depiction of autism and its positive representation, is a media aberration. Whether unfairly or no, that means it cannot just melt into the background. That may be a bit of an injustice for an earnest, if perhaps too earnest, series, but throughout these occasionally charming eight episodes which include some of the best autistic representation put on screen, I couldn’t stop thinking: doesn’t our representation deserve to be attached to a comedy that’s actually funny? Austin premieres on Friday 4th April at 9:30pm on BBC One, with all episodes available to stream on iPlayer. Check out more of our Drama coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more from the biggest stars in TV, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Netflix's Doctor Slump embodies one of K-drama's most frustrating tropes
Netflix’s latest South Korean series is watchable, if unoriginal. But you have to get past its rough first episode to get to it.
Doctor Slump, Netflix's latest K-drama, gets off to a rough start. The much-anticipated series, which sees Park Shin-hye and Park Hyung-sik reunite for the first time since 2013's The Heirs, has a tough act to follow as it takes over from Welcome to Samdal-ri. But while it comes in hot in terms of expectation, does it live up to its potential? The South Korean romance centres on overworked doctor Nam Ha-neul (Park Shin-hye) and superstar plastic surgeon Yeo Jeong-woo (Park Hyung-sik). Having jostled through high school over the billing of top student, now their lives have diverged. Ha-neul is fighting the physical and psychological cost of working towards professorship under an abusive and incompetent mentor. Meanwhile, things are going well for Jeong-woo until a patient dies on the table in a seemingly freak accident – an incident that robs him of his reputation and almost bankrupts him through compensation payments. As he downsizes to pay off his debts, the only place he can find to live is the rooftop apartment owned by Ha-neul’s mother (played by Jang Hye-jin). It brings the erstwhile foes into each other's orbit once more. Though they reignite their rivalry almost immediately, as Ha-neul tries to find a healthier life and Yeong-woo attempts to prove his innocence, they slowly find solace in each other. It's not an original setup for a drama. There's room for surprises, but in spite of the series's surprisingly sincere exploration of depression and burnout, four episodes in we know where this is going. That's not a bad thing. Many South Korean series thrive on clichés and making only incremental changes to established formulae. Indeed, Doctor Slump is watchable and, at times, even endearing. There's enough here to keep audiences who aren't just here for Park Shin-hye and Park Hyung-sik entertained. The problem is, to get to Doctor Slump's more interesting elements, one has to make it through the exposition-heavy and mostly directionless first episode. An episode that is the K-drama equivalent to a meeting that could have been an email. Whiplash shifting from past to present and back again, meaningless earlier storylines, and inconsistent pacing combine to make the first episode of Doctor Slump one of the worst episodes of television in recent memory. Only for the second episode to pick up, mostly through settling into a vastly decelerated pace. A change of rhythm that makes Doctor Slump not just watchable but, albeit seldomly, brilliant when it centres on Ha-neul's depression diagnosis. But how many viewers will make it to that second episode when the first feels so disposable? It's part of a curious trend in South Korean television. Many series don't just start slow, they front episodes that not only don't reflect the quality of what's to come but are often removed from the overall tone and pacing of the series as a whole. Doctor Slump follows on the heels of Gyeongseong Creature, which took this to extremes. It was reputed online to improve after its third episode, more than three hours into its run (it did not, by the way). Better series in recent memory have started just as shakily. The otherwise excellent Live, Goblin, and Strong Girl Bong-soon fail to engage initially. Even Marry My Husband, which is remarkable for its tight storytelling, rushes through unnecessary exposition before getting to the core of its series. Perhaps it's a symptom of South Korea's tendency towards lengthy, single season series – something which is overwhelmingly positive but may inspire in writers a perceived need to dump as much context as possible upfront. In a landscape of diminishing media literacy, some of us need that hand-holding through what may sometimes appear basic ideas. It's inescapable, however, that it's starting to feel that many writers simply don't trust their audiences to understand the simplest of nuance in backstory. Or, perhaps, some writers lack the insight to weave those elements into their stories in a natural and compelling way. Whatever the case, it's a big ask to make an audience sit through at least an hour of exposition before getting to the meat of a story. This is especially true as we grow more time-starved, and often exhausted, as viewers. With so many great series releasing every week – January alone saw Like Flowers in Sand and the aforementioned Marry My Husband rake in viewers – it's difficult to stick with a series that begins with a roadblock as opposed to watching the many other, more accessible, series. View Green Video on the source website There is, naturally, a subjective element to this. Many highly-regarded K-dramas start in media res but won't engage certain audiences. Reply 1988 throws us straight into its familial drama but some viewers might wonder why everyone's so agitated without the context that comes later. Similarly, first-time viewers of My Mister might not comprehend who is truly contemptible among its cast of characters, and who is simply reacting to circumstance. Much of this depends on the viewer. Doctor Slump's immediate predecessor, Welcome to Samdal-ri, is a perfect example of the opposite issue: a drama bogged down in too many flashbacks throughout. It remains, however, that this habit K-dramas have of making first episodes dense and unnavigable with exposition tends to make one think of the other series we could watch instead. If a series and its writers won't trust us to pick up on simple context clues dusted throughout, can we trust it to deliver a compelling story? That remains to be seen in Doctor Slump. But as a lover of South Korean TV, it's sad to think of how many great K-dramas go unwatched because of uneven and inaccessible beginnings. When all that's needed to improve things is a bit of trust. Doctor Slump is streaming now on Netflix. Sign up for Netflix from £6.99 a month. Netflix is also available on Sky Glass and Virgin Media Stream. Looking for something else to watch? Visit our TV Guide or Streaming Guide. The latest issue of Radio Times magazine is on sale now – subscribe now. For more from the biggest stars in TV, listen to the Radio Times View From My Sofa podcast.
Netflix's The Bequeathed turns mental illness into a creature feature
In its portrayal of mental illness as violent and monstrous, The Bequeathed maintains a tired and harmful cliché that has no place in 2024.
Warning: This article contains discussion of subjects including mental health issues that some may find distressing. New Netflix limited series The Bequeathed is a K-drama of two halves. Created by Train to Busan director Yeon Sang-ho and directed by Min Hong-nam, the South Korean drama is an atmospheric, paranoia-inducing thriller in its first three episodes that evokes the creeping, ambiguous dread of K-horror. But in search of a twist, and powered by an insensitive misrepresentation of mental illness, it delivers a second half that lacks punch, cohesion and pushes an ending it doesn't at any point earn. The series begins with Yoon Seo-ha (Kim Hyun-joo) swiping through photographs of her husband leaving a motel with another woman when she receives a call from the police notifying her that an uncle she's never had any kind of relationship with has died. Little goes right for Seo-ha as she navigates an exploitative job and unsatisfying marriage, yet despite their estrangement, her uncle has left her a valuable tract of burial land. It's not a piece of land of that we see physically much of, but as her uncle's death turns into a murder investigation, it becomes central to the swirling agendas that filter through The Bequeathed's bloated six-episode run. A curiously festive mood settles on Seo-ha's uncle's funeral, until it's interrupted by a shambling, slack-jawed figure with a vacant look and jittery manner. He introduces himself as Yeo-ha's half-brother, Kim Young-ho (Ryu Kyung-soo) before grabbing her and screaming that he has just as much right to the family burial ground as she does. Had The Bequeathed kept its focus around the initial death and fashioned a gloomy thriller about a suspicious death linked to a development project, it might have made for an interesting story, especially as Min Hong-nam's direction is an expert lesson in pacing and creating a brooding tension. Yet, as the bodies pile up around Seo-ha and Young-ho is repeatedly cast as the culprit while also portrayed as troubled and mentally ill, The Bequeathed sags under the weight of its numerous clichés and stereotypes. Most of the clichés in Yeon's script are handled ably by Min, but once Young-ho starts stalking his sister, smearing her door with chicken blood and chasing her down in the street, the series peddles the same tired and harmful tropes about mental illness and violence that we've seen all-too frequently in film and TV. It's hard to pin down exactly what Young-ho's depiction is supposed to portray. Ryu's performance is ambiguous and often melodramatic, while Yeon's script is so slipshod that most elements of the story lack definition. Given Young-ho appears to suffer some form of auditory hallucinations, the best guess is that Yeon has tried to resurrect some clichéd version of schizophrenia. It's a characterisation that sits uncomfortably with the realities of mental illness and disability, especially as Yeon's script falls apart in later episodes and increasingly relies on making Young-ho appear increasingly erratic and violent to distract from the clumsiness of the series's second half. Disability is rarely depicted with sincerity – misrepresented, instead, for the sake of drama, with little to no regard of its effect on the disabled community. South Korea, in particular, has recently started to reckon with the concept more regularly. In some cases, that's done with sensitivity, such as how mental illness is explored in Daily Dose of Sunshine. At other times, it's portrayed with a reprehensible lack of regard for the subject, as in The Good Bad Mother and Extraordinary Attorney Woo. Where The Bequeathed sits on that scale, however, is uncertain. There is no doubt that Young-ho's depiction as an aggressive, often violent schizophrenic is an ugly and lazy characterisation, and one that deserves to be consigned to the bin. Perhaps worse is the fact that for much of its run time, The Bequeathed threatens to say something about how easily we suspect the mentally ill or assume them to be violent. Both Yeo-ha and the police insist that Young-ho is the murderer, despite a shrinking pool of evidence. Young-ho may be violent, but he's also the victim of violence, suspicion, and ableism. It reflects what we already know about mental health: that those with serious mental illness are less likely to commit acts of violence than those without, and more likely to be the victims of violence than the perpetrators. Yet, none of this feels like a definitive statement. Rather, Young-ho's mental health is constantly used as a tool for misdirection; a loud, aggressive monster in The Bequeathed's pseudo-horror telling that neither makes sense nor works. Perhaps that is why The Bequeathed is so disappointing. In its fumbling narrative and clumsy writing, Yeon somehow backs himself into a corner in which the show could have had something real to say about the very thing it portrays. Yet, the series ends on an unearned bait-and-switch, that only deepens the frustration that, in 2024, we are still seeing this kind of lazy trope – one that both grossly misrepresents the realities of mental illness and damages the disabled community. The Bequeathed's insincere representation of mental illness is just one of many issues that afflict this rote, wasted opportunity of a thriller. After a promising start, it falls flat under a string of clichés, an out-of-nowhere twist, and a bloated sense of itself. But most disappointing is, much as the series quickly runs out of ideas, Yeon – who also created Hellbound – lacks the imagination, the insight, to do anything but latch onto tired tropes to create a crime-driven creature feature which appears to demonise mental illness. If you have been affected by the issues raised in this article, please contact Mind. Mind provides advice and support on a range of topics including types of mental health problems. Call 0300 123 3393 or visit www.mind.org.uk. The Bequeathed is available to stream now on Netflix. Check out more of our Drama coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. Try Radio Times magazine today and get 10 issues for only £10 – subscribe now. For more from the biggest stars in TV, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Doona! ending explained: The bittersweet finale hides a more clichéd resolution
Doona! may look like it ends on an unhappy note, but not all is as it seems.
Doona!, Netflix's latest South Korean hit, which is based on webtoon The Girl Downstairs, is a quiet meditation on letting go wrapped in a typical K-drama romance. K-pop superstar Lee Doo-na (Bae Suzy) leaves showbiz behind to live a normal life, retreating to a house in Seoul where she meets newly arrived student Won-jun (Yang Se-jong). This being a K-drama, they fall in love… and Won-jun takes a lot of showers. It's not that simple, however. First, Won-jun's high school crush Kim Jin-ju (the excellent Ha-young) arrives at university. Then, as Won-jun and Doo-na appear to work it all out, Doo-na's manipulative manager Park In-wook (Lee Jin-uk) works to split them up and bring Doo-na back to K-pop stardom – to the point that Doo-na's management company threatens legal action, while Won-jun devolves into an uncomfortably jealous K-drama cliché. That all comes to a head in the final episode, with Doona! concluding its emotional story of letting go and the importance of community with Won-jun and Lee Doo-na torn apart – or does it? Doona! ending explained What happens to the gang? While the love triangle in Doona! looms over the series for most of its runtime, the series is about a group of friends coming together under one roof and being best buds. But, as real life seeps in during later episodes, the group splits. Doo-na returns to showbiz as a solo performer and Won-jun continues his studies. Jin-ju, having shed the cute bob that marks her as the third-party in a K-drama love triangle, jets off to Brazil, while I-ra (Park Se-wan) shacks up with the taciturn Koo Jung-hoon (Kim Do-wan). And Seo Yun-taek (Kim Min-ho) finally teaches women who feel unlucky in love how to get back out there. Miserable as Won-jun is, because that's his personality by this point, things appear to be moving smoothly for everyone – until Jin-ju comes to visit. She catches up with Won-jun and mutual pal Kook Su-jin (Joo Yeon-woo) in the latter's seafood restaurant, showing them her photos of the US and Brazil. Jin-ju then slides over to a photo of her and Doo-na from when Doo-na toured Brazil, pushing Won-jun into an even more sullen mood. What happens to Doo-na and Won-jun? Later, the gang reunites at the old house. It's rundown and covered in vines, and Jung-hoon wonders if it will be demolished. As they reminisce about their time there over beers, Yun-taek tactlessly complains that the gang isn't complete without Doo-na, earning a reprimand from I-ra and a depressed look from Won-jun. As he bundles them into a taxi, however, Won-jun returns to the house to retrieve his jacket, only to find Doo-na waiting for him, and the two share a bittersweet catch-up over drinks. Doo-na asks how the gang are and, finally, whether Won-jun has listened to her music. We never hear the answer. Instead, we cut to Doo-na entering her empty, lifeless flat and breaking down. She later rushes to Won-jun's apartment and confronts him, trying to break through his defences and demanding he apologise for treating her so coldly. He admits he regrets ending their relationship every day and they both confess to missing each other over a tearful hug. It feels like there may be a reconciliation, but no… that's it. We next see Won-jun, suited and alone, interviewing for a job before a glimpse of Doo-na's flourishing solo career. Doona! comes to an end with Doo-na in Japan, walking into a mall and past screaming fans. Inside, Won-jun peruses a bakery with an older colleague – apparently on a business trip. As Won-jun exits, he just passes Doo-na, who is walking the other way. But when he points his superior in the right direction, Doo-na turns, looking for the source of the voice, and clearly recognises Won-jun, though he never turns to meet her gaze. She walks away, Won-jun apparently oblivious, and the credits roll. Why didn't Won-jun and Doo-na get together? It's a refreshingly bittersweet ending to see the leads not end up together at the end of a K-drama. However, if you were watching closely, you will have realised that this isn't the case at all. The first important thing to understand, which might only become clear in the final episode, is that Doona! isn't playing out in the present. Rather, it's Doo-na's recollection, which is signposted at the end of episode 1, when her voiceover repeats the texts Won-jun sends her in episode 9. It's a reminder that the flow of time as we see it in Doona! might not be definitive. This brings us to the short scenes that preface most episodes. In the first, Doo-na looks over a train crossing with a smile, while in the second it's Won-jun doing the gazing. That scene is presented from a different angle in episode 6, with Won-jun and Doo-na looking at each other across the crossing. The scene is repeated again in episode 7. It would be easy to dismiss these brief moments at the end of the opening credits and overlaid with the series's title as part of the opening sequence. In fact, they all take place after the final scene in episode 9. We know this because they're all set in Japan. The show goes through great pains to remind us that Doo-na is due to tour Japan, something we see at the end of the final episode. Won–jun wears the same outfit in the prefacing scenes of episode 8 and 9, as he does in that final mall scene, confirming they're in Japan – if, that is, all the signs being in Japanese and the latter scene showing Won-jun and Doo-na meeting by a lake with the base of Mount Fuji sloping in the background wasn't enough of a clue. View Green Video on the source website What does it all mean? It's pretty clear Doo-na and Won-jun are still secretly seeing each other, something that's likely been happening since their final episode confession. With her life so heavily monitored in South Korea, and having been told to break up with Won-jun, that's probably easier to do in Japan. This becomes more obvious, however, if you've engaged with Lee Jung-hyo's previous work Crash Landing on You, in which a South Korean woman falls in love with a North Korean army officer. Kept apart at the end of the series, the two secretly date in Switzerland. It is, in many ways, exactly the same ending. Doona! can be read as a bittersweet and unfulfilled love story – indeed, it may be better that way – but a series of unsubtle clues let us know that the season actually ends in the same way as many K-romances, which is fitting, perhaps, given how hard it leans on K-drama clichés and tropes. Courtesy of the slight ambiguity in its ending, Doona! is whatever you want it to be. Doona! is available to stream now on Netflix Sign up for Netflix from £4.99 a month. Netflix is also available on Sky Glass and Virgin Media Stream. Check out more of our Drama coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. Try Radio Times magazine today and get 10 issues for only £10 – subscribe now and celebrate the 60th anniversary of Doctor Who with a special issue of Radio Times. For more from the biggest stars in TV, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Is The Glory on Netflix based on a true story?
We explain all on whether the harrowing drama is rooted in real-life events.
This article contains details of bullying and violence that some readers may find upsetting. In Netflix's recently concluded The Glory, we're introduced to a fantastical Korea in which people are the worst versions of themselves. In both the first and second parts of the hit K-drama, we witnessed horrifying and extreme acts of bullying carried out by a young Park Yeon-Jin (Ye-Eun Shin) and her group of friends, tormenting Moon Dong-Eun (the young version played by Jung Ji-So) and others. And sadly, the drama is rooted in real-life events, as has been seen in numerous other Korean dramas. Speaking at a press conference prior to the release of The Glory part 2, screenwriter Kim Eun-Sook suggested that inspiration for the drama initially came from her daughter asking her about bullying. She later spoke to real survivors of bullying and school violence, which cemented the idea in her mind. View Green Video on the source website But looking at Korea's recent history reveals that, as is so often the case, truth really is stranger than fiction – or in this case, more brutal. Read on to learn more about the inspiration behind Netflix's The Glory. Is The Glory based on a true story? Back in May 2006 at a girls' school in Cheongju, South Korea, a student was reportedly subjected to 20 days of intense bullying by three other girls, who have not been identified. The teenage students allegedly assaulted the classmate after she refused to give them money they demanded from her. This included apparently pushing the girl around with a baseball bat, scratching her with a barrette, beating her, and burning her arms with a curling wand. In an interview with The Korea Herald, the victim claimed that her body was unable to heal because the bullies would burn her every few days, even peeling her scabs with their nails as punishment. Korean publication Hankook Ilbo (via K-Pop Post) also replayed the victim's testimony: "I couldn’t escape because two people were holding my arm so tight I couldn't. It was so painful I thought I was going to die." Her injuries required approximately six weeks of hospitalisation. The details are grisly but in the wake of The Glory, they sound remarkably similar to the torment Park Yeon-Jin inflicted on Moon Dong-Eun. But counter to what we see in the drama, those allegedly involved in this real-life case didn't escape consequences. One girl was arrested while a number of teachers who failed to act had "administrative measures" taken against them. Still, there are limits to what measures can be taken when most of the perpetrators are under or around the age of 14, which was noted by school inspector Choi Woo Sung during an MCB Radio discussion about school violence. He felt that as exaggerated as the bullying in The Glory appears, he believes "these scenes expressed parts of reality", before going on to say that bullying is "getting more violent and sophisticated". This is driven home by reports that school violence is increasing across South Korea following the return to in-person learning after the COVID lockdown. Bullying has formed the basis of numerous Korean dramas – recent releases include All of Us Are Dead, My Mister, and Tomorrow – both in the school and the workplace. But while it's deeply dramatic and shocking to witness, some feel it's a representation of reality both in South Korea and across the world. The Glory isn't based on one singular real-life event, but is an amalgamation of true stories and experiences that make for a truly shocking watch. If you have been affected by any of the issues discussed in this article, you can visit Childline or call 0800 1111 for help and support. You can also visit Kidscape for further advice. The Glory is available to stream on Netflix. Sign up for Netflix from £4.99 a month. Netflix is also available on Sky Glass and <a href="https://www.awin1.com/cread.php?id=489797&clickref=radiotimes-1800730&awinmid=6399&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.virginmedia.com%2Ftv%2Fstream%3Futm_source%3Dawin%26utm_medium%3Daffiliates%26utm_campaign%3Dcable_acq_immediate.co.uk%26utm_content%3D489797%26buspart%3Duk_aff_acq_cable_immediate.co.uk%26callwinid%3D489797%26sv1%3Daffiliate%26sv_campaign_id%3D489797%26awc%3D6399_1678811471_649c3fff4636f8232c3fd9a1516b58ab%26dclid%3DCMDTlYvs2_0CFbAjBgAdp8MFVQ" data-id="iframe-0-anchor-12" rel="sponsored" target="_blank">Virgin Media Stream. Check out more of our Drama coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to see what's on tonight Try Radio Times magazine today and get 12 issues for only £1 with delivery to your home – subscribe now. For more from the biggest stars in TV, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
The Glory ending explained: What happened to Park Yeon-jin?
Hit drama The Glory, which has captured a global audience with its blend of K-drama cliches and unpredictable revenge plot, has reached its brutal conclusion. Part 1 ended with Moon Dong-eun (Song Hye-kyo) finally gearing up to unleash her revenge in earnest, but two questions loomed as we headed into the home straight: would Dong-eun succeed? And if so, what would follow? The final eight episodes of The Glory answered that and more. So, without further ado, let's examine what unfolded. Warning: Spoilers for the ending of The Glory... obviously. The Glory ending explained What happened to Park Yeon-jin and her brutal band of bullies? Despite the many characters involved in The Glory's web of revenge, the story hinged on the conflict between Dong-eun and Park Yeon-jin (Lim Ji-yeon). As ringleader of the bullies that tormented a young Dong-eun, she remained the focus of the retaliation plot throughout the series. Dong-eun used Yeon-jin's crimes to bring her down in a series of brilliant, if somewhat far-fetched, twists (it's a K-drama, we don't come here for realism), with Dong-eun always at least seven steps ahead. It was apt given how much Go figured into both the story and Dong-eun's adult life – a game Dong-eun was simply too sharp to lose. First, a former target of Yeon-jin's, Yoon So-hee, was murdered. When young Yeon-jin spotted her in a matching dress, she demanded So-hee strip. She then fled but later found herself trapped on a roof while Yeon-jin continued to torment her. When So-hee finally pushed back against the abuses Yeon-jin and her gang inflicted on her, Yeon-jin set her alight and in the ensuing struggle pushed her off the roof. Though a cold case – literally, So-hee's body was kept on ice at the Seoul Joo General Hospital - Dong-eun pushed a formerly apathetic detective towards the evidence to incriminate Yeon-jin. The final sting of The Glory's first part came with the murder of Myeong-o (Kim Gun-woo). As he attempted to blackmail Yeon-jin with the information about So-hee Dong-eun, she bludgeoned him with a liquor bottle. We later discovered that the killing blow came from Yeon-jin's assistant Gyeong-ran (Ahn So-yo), but Dong-eun ensured that Yeon-jin took all of the blame. It's worth noting that Gyeong-ran was probably the most tragic character in the series having been subjected to the gang's abuse for far longer than anyone else, including being sexually assaulted by Myeong-o. Yeon-jin eventually wound up in prison. She was stripped of the trappings that had previously kept her insulated from taking accountability for her actions, including her husband, who divorced her when he learned of her history and crimes, and her mother, who Dong-eun manipulated into committing murder before forcing her to give up her daughter in front of Yeon-jin. It's one in a series of symbolic ends. Yeon-jin used her wealth to justify her crimes – only to become nothing without money. The brutal Myeong-o was brutalised himself, his life extinguished in a shower of blood from a head wound. Lee Sa-ra's (Kim Hi-eora) drug use was also exposed – there is a whole other discussion to be had about the moral framing of addiction in The Glory – along with her part in tax evasion, before she was imprisoned for stabbing Choi Hye-jeong (Cha Joo-young) in the neck, which is a kind of punishment in and of itself for someone whose insecurities drove her to shout above others. View Green Video on the source website Jeon Jae-jun (Park Sung-hoon), who spent her time leering after bullying victims and borderline stalking his child with Yeon-jin, was blinded when Hye-jeong spiked his eyedrops – all before he's pushed into a vat of drying concrete by Yeon-jin's ex-husband Ha Do-yeong (Jung Sung-il) to ensure that he won't follow his daughter to the UK. Does Dong-eun find peace? When asked what she planned to do when her decades-long revenge plot was finished, Dong-eun replied that she wants to be happy. "Happy enough to die," she said. "I want to be happy, just by that much." It hung over her story, even when it appeared she might settle down with her overbearing beau and accomplice Joo Yeo-jeong (Lee Do-hyun). But it's not an abstract statement. After an evening of drinking and laughing, Dong-eun disappeared. She returned to the roof on which she stood as a teenager, intent on taking her own life, the same roof from which So-hee was pushed. She was about to step off when she was stopped by Yeo-jeong's mother. Having uncovered the significance of the place to both So-hee and Dong-eun, she arrived at the last minute and begged Dong-eun to help her son find similar closure with the man who killed his father – her husband. Dong-eun backed away from the ledge and in a rapid set of scenes, we saw her return to Yeo-jeong, with whom she shared a jarring K-drama kiss. The pair of them then began to set in motion a fresh revenge project. Their target was moved to a new prison and they both secured jobs inside. The series wrapped up with Dong-eun's exuberant accomplice – and mother figure – Kang Hyun-nam (played by the brilliant Yeom Hye-ran) looking despondent as she carried out a mundane task, and without her daughter. But her situation quickly changed once again when Dong-eun enlisted her into one more adventure. She excitedly locked up her shop and raced off to join Dong-eun, probably with a bag of eggs while Dong-eun and Yeo-jeong started working on their implied new vengeance plot. View Green Video on the source website Given how well Dong-eun's revenge came together, it might seem odd to leave that loose end dangling, but it does leave the door open for a second season. There was a sharp contrast between Yeo-jeong's frantic, knife-obsessed failure and the cold and efficient way Dong-eun realised her goal, so there's undoubtedly more to explore there. Perhaps a second outing will address the question of whether Dong-eun should take on revenge, a key issue that season 1 failed to interrogate. There's been no word from the streamer on The Glory's future, so watch this space for updates. The Glory is available to stream on Netflix. Sign up for Netflix from £4.99 a month. Netflix is also available on Sky Glass and <a href="https://www.awin1.com/cread.php?id=489797&clickref=radiotimes-1800520&awinmid=6399&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.virginmedia.com%2Ftv%2Fstream%3Futm_source%3Dawin%26utm_medium%3Daffiliates%26utm_campaign%3Dcable_acq_immediate.co.uk%26utm_content%3D489797%26buspart%3Duk_aff_acq_cable_immediate.co.uk%26callwinid%3D489797%26sv1%3Daffiliate%26sv_campaign_id%3D489797%26awc%3D6399_1678811471_649c3fff4636f8232c3fd9a1516b58ab%26dclid%3DCMDTlYvs2_0CFbAjBgAdp8MFVQ" rel="sponsored" target="_blank">Virgin Media Stream. Try Radio Times magazine today and get 12 issues for only £1 with delivery to your home – subscribe now. For more from the biggest stars in TV, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
The best Korean TV and films you can stream right now
For the past few years, we’ve been lucky enough to receive a steady stream of high-quality Korean programming, much of which has captured the minds of western audiences. Popular shows like Squid Game and Crash Landing on You have served as introductions to Korean media for many, while in Extraordinary Attorney Woo and Little Women we’re continuing to receive some of Korea’s highest-performing shows. But what’s next? With such a range of options, it can all feel a little overwhelming. If Squid Game was your jam, where do you get your next sci-fi fix? If you loved Crash Landing on You, how do you find more Korean romance? RadioTimes.com is here to help with this list of the best Korean TV and films you can stream right now. Expect corruption, adorable couples, gross boyfriends, and a whole lot of love. Stranger View oEmbed on the source website After the murder of a former prosecutor with high-ranking political ties, fellow prosecutor Hwang Si-mok (Cho Seung-woo) is assigned to discover the identity of the killer. Unable to feel empathy due to childhood brain surgery, he teams up with the effervescent Lieutenant Han Yeo-jin (Bae Doona) as an intricate web of lies and corruption unravels before them. Stranger is the perfect introduction to Korean thrillers. One of Netflix’s first Korean originals, it contains all the tropes seasoned campaigners have come to expect, with a solid mystery at its core. But if you come for the intrigue, stay for Lieutenant Han and Prosecutor Hwang. In the face of Si-mok’s lack of empathy, Han makes it her mission to make him smile and their friendship is one of the most adorable things you’ll see on TV. The chemistry between Bae and Cho is electric, and it’s great to see a show cast its leads as best friends rather than romantic partners. Seriously, I love everything about them. They’re even my phone lock screen. You can stream Stranger now on Netflix. The Wailing View oEmbed on the source website After a Japanese stranger (Jun Kunimura) arrives in a wet, rural village, a strange sickness starts to overtake the townsfolk. Turning them into cannibalistic, rage-filled monsters. Jaded and burned-out police officer, Jong-goo (Kwak Do-won) is pulled into the mystery when his daughter becomes sick. But is the Japanese visitor to blame or is it the strange woman (Chun Woo-hee) that hangs around Jong-goo’s home that’s the real culprit? A good horror film isn’t always a good film, but the Wailing is both. It’s a slow burn, but never feels as long as it is thanks to excellent pacing and engrossing performances. Even six years after its release, its themes and lingering horror feel appropriate for pandemic stricken, post-Brexit world. You can stream The Wailing now on Prime Video. All of Us Are Dead View oEmbed on the source website In a school in which raging hormones are everywhere, it’s the raging zombies spreading from the science lab that soon become the real problem. While most of us couldn’t wait for school to end, in All of Us Are Dead a group of teenagers must barricade themselves in their classrooms while a zombie horde takes over the city of Hyosan. One of a raft of Korean originals Netflix release in 2022, All of Us Are Dead turns the zombie genre on its head. Both fun and horrifying, it’s like a strange mix between Sex Education and The Walking Dead. Zombies… but with horny teenagers (well, as horny as teenagers can be in Korean dramas). Includes a few interesting twists on established zombie canon that make the confirmed second season even more exciting. Just don’t get attached to any of the adults. You can stream All of Us Are Dead Now on Netflix. Twenty Five Twenty One View oEmbed on the source website When the IMF financial crisis forces her school to slash funding to its fencing program, Na Hee-do (Kim Tae-ri) sets out to join the team of her idol – and Olympic gold medallist, Ko Yu-rim (Kim Ji-yeon) by any means necessary. When the adage “never meet your heroes” proves true, however, she must navigate a bitter rivalry with the Olympic champion, as well as her burgeoning relationship with an older man. What follows is arguably one of the best sports shows on TV. While the series relies on typical romance tropes for its romantic plot – including a pretty unlikable male protagonist – it’s carried by Kim Tae-ri’s joyous performance as Na Hee-do and her relationship with Ko Yu-rim. Interestingly, the final episodes proved unpopular in Korea. For all its reliance on K-drama tropes, it bucks lots of trends which makes for a far more interesting romance than most K-dramas. Plus, the fencing scenes are filmed to perfection. This is a big show for anyone who wants some 90s nostalgia or to fill the gap that Friday Night Lights has left. You can stream Twenty Five Twenty One on Netflix now. Grid View oEmbed on the source website Disney’s foray into Korean originals has been pretty ill-fated so far, but given how science fiction has been driving the “Korean Wave” of late, the choice to lead with a sci-fi show was a smart one. When a solar flare threatens to make the planet uninhabitable, the world attempts to deploy a planetary shield – known as the grid – to protect the atmosphere. The data, originating in Korea, was delivered by a mysterious time-travelling woman (Lee Si-young), who returns to make sure the barrier is erected in time. When she returns once more, she leaves a string of murders in her wake. Grid team member (Seo Kang-joon) and detective Jung Sae-byeok (Kim Ah-jung) team up in a race against time to find the woman and understand what her return means for the grid. Written by Lee Soo-yeon, Grid combines the tight thriller plotting of their previous work, Stranger, with the high-concept science fiction that has become so important to Korean TV. Think Danny Boyle’s sunshine, but with murders. You can stream Grid now on Disney Plus. My Mister View oEmbed on the source website I'm a crier. I cry at a lot of things. My cat’s tiny feet, the songs in Pitch Perfect, when cereal tastes good. Yet nothing – nothing – has made me weep as much as My Mister. As forty-something engineer Park Dong-hoon (Lee Sun-kyun) battles the weariness of life, work, and marriage, he strikes up an unlikely friendship with twenty-something temp Lee Ji-an (Lee Ji-eun, that’s IU for the uninitiated). Though they struggle with different problems, they soon realise how they feel is remarkably similar. Where other shows might have seen this blossom into an office romance, My Mister is a story about an isolated young woman finding a community she never thought possible. It’s a beautiful story and while it leans on typical tropes of corporate corruption and shenanigans, the real meat of the show is the coming together of a group of people around a vulnerable young woman that shows family can be found everywhere. There’s a reason this is one of the highest rated shows on IMDb, and not just because it will have you shouting “BUY HER SOME SOCKS” at the TV. You can stream My Mister now on Netflix. Signal View oEmbed on the source website Cocky, unlikable criminal profiler Park Hae-yeong (Lee Jehoon) is haunted by a cold case from his childhood. When he discovers a walkie-talkie in the back of a truck, he teams up with fellow detective Lee Jae-han (Cho Jin-woong) to finally solve it. The kicker, Detective Lee is in 1999. Together with Lee’s former mentee, Cha Soo-hyeon (played by the ageless Kim Hye-su), Park hunts down clues in the present. But is there enough information to finally bring the case to a close? And can Park and Cha save Lee’s life in the past? Signal is granted a thread of realism thanks to using many real crimes as inspiration. But this is the height of Korea’s merging of science fiction and detective drama, and perhaps one of the most seminal shows in recent history. You can stream Signal now on Netflix. Kingdom View oEmbed on the source website With the king stricken by a sudden illness, Crown Prince Lee Chang (Ju Ji-hoon) sets out to investigate the cause of the ruler’s sudden decline. What he finds is a plague spreading across Joseon that turns people into bloodthirsty zombies that only come out at night. With the help of a rag-tag crew, including physician Seo-bo (Bae Doona), Lee tries to solve the mystery of what this plague is and where it comes from. If you were disappointed with what Game of Thrones and The Walking Dead became – and how could you not be? – Kingdom is the balm for your hurts. Taking what is normally an exclusively modern-day concept and transplanting it into 16th century Korea, Kingdom is a far more rewarding and interesting entry into the zombie pantheon. Though there is no confirmation of when a third season might appear, the first two seasons give you plenty to sink your teeth into. You can stream Kingdom on Netflix now. Parasite View oEmbed on the source website As one of the most popular Korean films of all time, and a global award winner, Parasite almost needs no introduction. Living in a semi-basement apartment and struggling to make ends meet, the Kim family forms a symbiotic relationship with the clueless Park family. The kims carefully assimilating themselves into all facets of the Parks’ lives and, in so doing, affecting a glamour of wealth in the family’s absence. Having supplanted every other worker in the house, however, the Kims are in for a rude awakening. Bong Joon-ho’s dark comedy includes everything you’d expect from his previous films, in particular the commentary on Korea’s class-divide. While it’s fair to say Parasite is one of the best Korean films ever, it’s also one of the best films – full stop. Though, two films, really. One half a dark comic comment on the chasm between rich and poor in Korea, and the other a horror. It’s a carefully choreographed film that has a global appeal. If you watch one Korean film in your life, it should be this one. You can stream Parasite now on Prime Video. Reply 1988 View oEmbed on the source website Nothing sums up everything that is great and good in Korean TV like Reply 1988. K-pop star Lee Hye-ri (of Girl’s Day fame) plays Sung Deok-sun, one of five teenagers on the cusp of adulthood in the Seoul neighbourhood of Ssangmundong. Starting with the opening ceremony of the Seoul Olympics in 1988, in which Deok-sun has a starring role, Reply 1988 traces the lives of these five teenagers and their families as they transition to adulthood. Reply 1988 can be classified a romance or slice-of-life, but it’s more than that. It’s a show about family and friends, an an idealised remembrance of a part of our lives so many of us found difficult. It came to me in 2016, right around the time my friends all abandoned me after I became disabled. Filling a very fresh hole in my heart with its timeless and nostalgic depiction of the tumults of teenage friendships and relationships. Also, the 80s! If you thought Stranger Things was nostalgic, you haven’t seen anything yet. There’s no specific viewer to recommend Reply 1988 to, everyone should watch it. It is, genuinely, a perfect television show and will have you weeping from start to finish. Good luck not falling in love with Bo-ra. You can stream Reply 1988 on Netflix now. If you’re looking for something else to watch in the meantime, check out our TV Guide or Streaming Guide visit our dedicated Drama hub. Try Radio Times magazine today and get 12 issues for only £1 with delivery to your home – subscribe now. For more from the biggest stars in TV, listen to the Radio Times View From My Sofa podcast.
Netflix's Little Women isn't just another adaptation
If you want a faithful retelling of Louisa May Alcott's novel, the new Korean drama is a resounding failure – and that’s a good thing.
What would you do if you had money? This is the central question in Netflix’s latest Korean original, Little Women. If you’re expecting a faithful adaptation of Louisa May Alcott’s novel, that question should make you think again. In the annals of Little Women adaptations – from the first lost film in 1917, to the Japanese anime of the 1980s (yes, Little Women anime is a thing), through to Greta Gerwig’s 2019 version – this iteration stands out. Directed by Kim Hee-won (Vincenzo) and written by Jung Seo-kyoung (The Handmaiden), Little Women follows the Oh sisters. Three women living in a different kind of poverty to their novel counterparts. Gone is the soft-natured Marmee encouraging her daughters to be kind and self-sacrificing while their father serves as chaplain in the Civil War. In their place is a cruel, inept mother and an absent father who gambled away the family savings before fleeing to Singapore. The first chapters of Little Women the book cement the March family’s charitable nature as they donate their Christmas dinner to a poorer family. Little Women the series' first episode, however, sees Oh In-joo, played by Kim Go-eun (Guardian: the Lonely and Great God) and her sister In-kyung, Nam Ji-hyun (365: Repeat the Year) save money for their younger sister In-hye – played by Park Ji-hu, fresh from her breakout role in All of Us Are Dead – so she can take a school trip to Europe for her birthday. Only for their mother to steal the money and abscond to Singapore herself. Despite this tonal change, the parallels between the Oh and March sisters are apparent from the off. Much like Meg, In-joo, who works as a bookkeeper for Orchids E&C, feels responsibility to provide for her sisters in their parents’ absence. In-kyung, rather than an aspiring writer, is a journalist for OBN who swigs tequila from a mouthwash bottle to keep from crying at sad stories. In-hye is a reserved artist, like Amy, attending a prestigious art school on a scholarship. View oEmbed on the source website Each of these roles leads the sisters into the same mystery. In-joo struggles to relate to the privileged women around her. Instead, she befriends Jin Hwa-young (Choo Ja-hyun), a woman from a similar background. When she finds Hwa-young dead in her flat – and 2 billion won addressed to her in a locker – In-joo tries to find out what happened to her friend and the 70 billion won she stole from Orchids E&C’s illegal slush fund. A trail that leads her to aspiring politician Park Jae-sang (Um Ki-joon), who In-kyung investigates for OBN; all while In-hye paints his daughter. It’s a web of disparate narratives that, in the best tradition of Korean thrillers, is certain to converge as the story goes on. If it wasn’t clear by now, this isn’t just another adaptation of Little Women. Netflix and TvN’s iteration eschews themes of perseverance and self-sacrifice. Notable, too, is the absence of an avatar for Beth (whose disability doesn’t fit into Korea’s outdated social mores). Similarly, the coding of Jo as a woman chafing against gender norms and their binary expectations is pulled back to In-kyung facing sexism in the workplace and In-joo dealing with a man with a foot fetish. Instead, Little Women transports the basic tenets of Alcott’s novel into a cynical, money-driven Korea. All the better to fit the typical themes found in Korean thrillers: the division between rich and poor, and the corruption of government and business (which are never as separate as they should be). It may feel like a betrayal of Alcott’s intentions, but it’s the show’s greatest strength. One that Alcott may well have approved of. Alcott, who regularly rejected femininity (she once said, “I am more than half-persuaded that I am a man's soul, put by some freak of nature into a woman's body”) – hated Little Women, and how it became synonymous with supposed “girlhood". She preferred stories of adventure and independent daring – seen, at the time, as “boys’ stories” – and one can’t help but think Alcott would have loved these representations of her characters. In-joo doesn’t happily marry, rather she’s divorced from a conman. In-kyung isn’t trying to preserve the happy days of her family’s poverty, she’s attempting to uncover the corruption of a public figure. In-hye loves art, but she also sees it as a way to make money and break away from her family. It may have been easier to create a Korean period piece that directly echoes the original novel – and so Little Women might have joined a plethora of average shows Korea has imported from the west. But in twisting every expectation of a Little Women adaptation, Jung Seo-kyung has created something daring and far more appropriate to the modern world. Coupled with Kim Hee-won’s direction, which often lingers on wide shots that highlight the inequity between the Oh sisters and the privileged people around them, most traces of what we know as Little Women are gone in a show that bears more resemblance to the dark tones of Netflix’s The Stranger than the light, juvenile motifs of Gerwig’s and Armstrong’s adaptations. This is a show about justifiably bitter women who, no matter how hard they work, cannot break the cycle of poverty they’ve been forced into. It’s a theme fans of Parasite will recognise, and a staple of Korean thrillers. It’s in this that the show improves upon previous iterations: it’s relatable. Not intended as a glimpse into sacrificial poverty but as a window into our own lives amid an ongoing economic catastrophe not of our own making. If you come to Little Women looking for an adaptation of Louisa May Alcott’s book, you’ll be disappointed. But stick around and you might start to recognise phantoms of Alcott’s Little Women before getting swept up in another tight, gritty Korean thriller that shows not every adaptation needs to be respectful of its source material. As an adaptation of Little Women, this show is a resounding failure – and that’s a good thing. Little Women is available to watch now on Netflix. You can also read our guides to the best Netflix series and best Netflix movies to keep you entertained, check out our Drama hub for more news, interviews and features, or visit our TV guide for more to watch. The latest issue of Radio Times magazine is on sale now – subscribe now and get the next 12 issues for only £1. For more from the biggest stars in TV, listen to the Radio Times podcast with Jane Garvey.
Netflix's Extraordinary Attorney Woo is breaking the mould - here's why
The Korean drama tackles ableism in a way rarely seen on-screen.
Did you know that 3.1 per cent of characters on television are disabled? This is concerning when you consider that, in the UK, 21 per cent of working age adults and 42% of pension age adults are disabled. In children's television, that meagre representation drops below 1 per cent – and that's a 10 year high, which means when a show that centres disabled characters arrives on our screens, such as Extraordinary Attorney Woo, it matters. Like Squid Game and Twenty-Five Twenty-One, Netflix's new Korean hit has topped the streamer's television charts and captured imaginations globally. Extraordinary Attorney Woo follows the titular Woo Young Woo, played by allistic actress Park Eun-bin (The King's Affection), an autistic lawyer who has recently been hired by the Hanbada law firm. The series takes the time to explore the challenges she faces while navigating an allistic world – well, ish. When disability is represented in film and television, it is overwhelmingly for the benefit of able-bodied, neurotypical viewers. We are inspirational stories; objects of sympathy and pity. Extraordinary Attorney Woo, unfortunately, is no different. It gets a lot of things wrong in its approach to autism. But it does succeed in one particular area. As a disabled viewer, what I find most relatable is how the series portrays ableism. We're all familiar with how prejudice is typically presented on-screen. It's overt and aggressive, showcasing the most extreme forms of right-wing ideology. By contrast, covert discrimination, which is often much more prevalent, rarely features in TV shows and films. By always centring the former, it creates complacency for viewers. They come away thinking, 'I'm not like that, so I can't be bigoted.' And it also makes them blind to the discrimination unfolding around them every day, from systemic bigotry that has seen tens of thousands die within the UK’s welfare system to the casual discrimination disabled people face every day that props up all other forms of ableism: the sly comments behind smiles, the exclusion of disabled voices from conversations about inclusivity, the resentment of colleagues regarding small accommodations, and now the complaints about remote work. It's this ableism that Extraordinary Attorney Woo brings to the forefront in a way few other shows do. In episode 3, Woo Young- Wo is charged with defending Jeong-hun, an autistic man accused of murder. There is an immediate undertone. "Are you assigning me this case because I'm autistic?" she asks. The answer is yes. It's not an intended slight, but that's irrelevant. The fact that his first instinct is to assign a case involving an autistic client to an autistic lawyer is ableism in action. Later, Hanbada argues that Jeong-hun – who is on the more severe end of the autism spectrum – isn't always able to understand his own behaviour, to which the prosecutor argues that Young Woo must be unfit to defend him given that he is also autistic. Both examples demonstrate how readily able-bodied, neurotypical people perceive those on the disability spectrum as a homogenous group. As a disabled person, it was meaningful to see something myself and other disabled people are all too familiar with tackled in a show which is widely watched by able-bodied, neurotypical viewers. It also demonstrates that light entertainment and the grim realities of life can co-exist without compromising one another. Extraordinary Attorney Woo is, fundamentally, a romantic comedy, but it doesn't suffer from showing at least some of the realities of disabled and autistic life. Not long after I became disabled, I remember discovering the Golden Girls episodes in which Dorothy tries to convince doctors to take her chronic fatigue seriously – much as I was at the time. As I watched her defend herself in the face of callous medical professionals, it felt like she was standing up for me – and it still succeeded in making me laugh. It takes a delicate hand to highlight realistic struggles while keeping the tone light, and more often than not the episodes that tackle weightier topics feel separate from the general rhythm of a series. But those moments are seamlessly baked into Extraordinary Attorney Woo, which makes it far more representative of the real world, to a certain degree at least. Inversely, the show also takes steps to ensure that it remains palatable to allistic audiences. When Jeong-hun's mother makes a comment about her hope that he will "get better", Young Woo says nothing. She looks flustered but remains silent – as she does in the face of all discrimination. Instead, it is up to her able-bodied, neurotypical colleagues to defend her because we couldn't possibly have a show about disability without giving able-bodied people something to pat themselves on the back for. Of all the unrealities in the show, Young Woo's colleagues being as supportive as they are is probably the least realistic. In reality, disabled people have to be their own advocates because no one else really cares. It would be no different for Young Woo, and she's better placed than most to know her rights. While Extraordinary Attorney Woo shows some of the realities of disability, it stops short of unpacking how the challenges that disabled people face in an able-bodied, neurotypical world could be addressed. But its portrayal of ableism chimes with my own experiences of discrimination in a way that is rarely seen on-screen. Able-bodied, neurotypical viewers might not see it – the show does a lot to make sure they don't feel guilty – but the fact that it's there is important because if it's not part of the cultural conversation, how will we begin to recognise it in real life? Extraordinary Attorney Woo is available to stream now on Netflix. Check out our lists of the best series on Netflix and the best movies on Netflix – or see what else is on with our TV Guide. Visit our Drama hub for all the latest news. The latest issue of Radio Times magazine is on sale now – subscribe now and get the next 12 issues for only £1. For more from the biggest stars in TV, listen to the Radio Times podcast with Jane Garvey.