Episodes 8-10 (Part 2 Review) MGG

Gyeongseong Creature: Episodes 8-10 (Part 2 Review)

by solstices

Gyeongseong Creature wraps up with some answers, a lot more questions, and sacrifices with a side of betrayal. The show hurtles toward the finish line while simultaneously limping its way there, hindered by its inconsistent pacing and underdeveloped character arcs. It has its thrilling moments, but its squandered potential keeps it from achieving what it set out to.

EPISODES 8-10

At long last, several threads of the central mystery are unraveled, laying bare some awful truths. When LADY MAEDA (Soo-hyun) heads to Ongseong Hospital to seek answers, COLONEL KATO (Choi Young-joon) — a.k.a. our psychopathic researcher — explains that the Najin parasite only amplifies the predator instinct. It drives its host to mindlessly hunt for human brains with heightened aggression, speed, and healing, but it doesn’t alter their morphology.

As such, we see our newly-minted Najin host MYUNG-JA (Ji-woo) terrorize her victims while retaining her human appearance. She seems to display brief moments of lucidity, instinctively protecting her unborn child, but unfortunately she’s soon apprehended. Before that, though, her rampage culminates in a bloody act of karmic justice that eliminates a villain I’m not at all sad to see go.

That raises the question — how did SEISHIN (Kang Mal-geum) transform into the titular creature? The answer is the anthrax serum she’d been injected with, mirroring the horrific experiments of Unit 731.

As a whole, Gyeongseong Creature is a mixed bag of things it did well and things it didn’t. On one hand, some of its foreshadowing paid off, such as the Chekhov’s gun that is Myung-ja’s baby, which resurfaces as expected but plays out in a way I didn’t see coming. (Midwife Colonel Kato — who would have thought!) On the other hand, though, the show requires some hefty suspension of disbelief, most of which doesn’t particularly feel earned. All its central characters have thick plot armor, allowing them to hold their own against a horde of trained combatants or survive direct explosions. Then we get a post-credits scene that raises way more questions than answers, which is clearly intended to set up a second season, except I’m not sure I’m keen for more.

I wholeheartedly echo @quirkycase’s sentiment in the Part 1 review that the show’s uneven pacing is its biggest detriment, because it winds up undercutting its own suspense. One glaring example is when we see Chae-ok wracked with guilt over leaving Tae-sang behind in the hospital — except it’s set directly after the scene in which he escapes. We know Tae-sang’s already safe, so the weight of his sacrifice and Chae-ok’s regret doesn’t land as heavily as it could have.

Such pacing issues impact not only the overall narrative, but also the central romance we’re supposed to be rooting for. On paper, I get it — they’ve weathered horrors together, they fight for the same cause, and they’re the light at the end of the tunnel for each other. In execution, though, Chae-ok and Tae-sang’s romance felt overly sanitized — romanticized even — and instead of demonstrating enduring love in a tumultuous time, it felt incongruous amidst the somber setting.

Consequently, the drama did hit the requisite romantic beats, but without the necessary development. Chae-ok and Tae-sang’s dialogue had grand declarations, but lacked authenticity. With the romance motivating arguably one of the most significant plot moments in the show, its lack of depth means the pivotal scene isn’t as emotionally anchored as it ought to have been.

To the show’s credit, there was more romantic development in Part 2, and it may have redeemed the couple to some extent — it just didn’t quite work for me, because the show failed to sell me on the romance from the start. I could tell what the drama wanted me to feel, I just couldn’t quite conjure up those emotions, because I hadn’t been convinced of their love for each other. That’s not to say that I’m averse to romance in this premise — I do love a good star-crossed lovers tale — but I felt that the show didn’t quite manage to pull off a high-stakes, high-devotion romance all that well.

One storytelling choice I liked, though, was the show’s threadbare characterization of its main villains. The lack of in-depth backstories or compelling motivations would be frustratingly one-dimensional in any other show, but here it actually works. We aren’t given any leeway to understand these antagonists, and that’s precisely the point. Their actions are depraved and incorrigible, just like the real-life horrors of Unit 731, and there are no excuses to be made.

I’m not sure whether this was deliberate, given the show’s proclivity to questionable writing decisions, but I thought it worked on a meta level. These characters may not have been written with much nuance, but their fellow countrymen afford them further characterization through contrast. An example would be the conscience-stricken Sachimoto, who demonstrates that being born on the side of the oppressors doesn’t necessitate the forsaking of one’s morals.

The exception to this, however, is Lady Maeda. For all that she’s an intriguing character, the backstory between her and Seishin is too little, too late. Why does Maeda address Seishin as “Teacher”? Why does she pledge her unwavering support to Kato, for the simple condition of Seishin’s obedience? Despite being heavily hinted at since Part 1, this particular mystery is never fully explained save for a few cursory lines, which leaves it feeling anticlimactic and incomplete. I’m aware they’re likely saving the answers for Season 2, but too few breadcrumbs and you risk losing your audience’s interest.

As for Seishin, her life was wrested away from her, but death came only on her own terms and no one else’s. It’s a powerful message, except her survival of the explosion meant to kill her undermines the immense sacrifice it took to rig it. Once again, the show has its standout moments, but they’re mostly found in meta analysis. Narratively, while there may be scenes of intense emotion, there often isn’t sufficient buildup to create truly compelling arcs.

In a similar vein, the show features character choices that are narratively dramatic, but ring hollow. It’s understandable that these characters would make such rash decisions in the throes of despair, but when they make personal sacrifices without considering the fallout, it comes across as somewhat shortsighted. An act of vigilante justice reflects not only upon the person who blatantly fired the gun, but also upon the allegiance they are affiliated with, and I half expected the Japanese authorities to go through with their threats of retaliating against the entire Joseon-born population.

To the very end, the show’s characters largely moved in service of the plot. In the show’s extensive cast of diverse personalities — a fair number of whom I found either likable or intriguing — there were barely any that resonated emotionally. It’s such a shame, because many actors delivered solid performances, but their characters were sorely underutilized.

For example, there was an opportunity for a heart-wrenching storyline centered around the guilt of betrayal, but the ramifications of these prisoners’ decisions under duress weren’t fully explored. It did convey a poignant message of empathy, but while the magnanimity of that forgiveness displayed the strength of human bonds, it also precluded a complex journey of navigating the fallout and rebuilding trust.

By the time I finished the final episode, my overall impression of Gyeongseong Creature was that it felt very scattered, as if it couldn’t quite decide what it wanted to be. A thrilling heist movie? An epic romantic comedy? A grim reimagining of historical horrors? I came into this show hoping for the latter, but its inconsistent tone did its subject matter a grave disservice.

Ultimately, the show tried to achieve too much, but ended up doing far too little. It had a sprawling cast, multiple concurrent storylines, as well as complex historical implications and political machinations to delve into. However, it chose to draw out its scenes excessively and unnecessarily, which meant we spent ages on a single plot point and then jumped far too quickly to the next one. Had the show told its tale more efficiently, it could have weaved a compelling narrative of patriotism, sacrifice, and love against all odds. As it stands, however, I’m left disappointed because of its unfulfilled potential — it could have been great, but it didn’t quite get there.

 
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