Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
Re-watch value: 2 out of 5 stars
SYNOPSIS
Geu Roo is a young autistic man. He works for his father’s business “Move to Heaven.” Their job is to arrange items left by deceased people. One day, Geu Roo’s own father dies. Geu Roo is left alone, but his uncle Sang Koo suddenly appears in front of him. Sang Koo is a cold man. He was a martial artist who fought in underground matches. He went to prison because of what happened at his fight. Sang Koo now becomes Geu Roo’s guardian. They run “Move to Heaven” together.
~~Adapted from the nonfiction essay “Things Left Behind” written by professional trauma cleaner Kim Sae Byul.
RAMBLING
*Beware of spoilers*
This is another lovely healing drama that I think set out to do what the show Chocolate attempted to do, but where Chocolate floundered, Move to Heaven succeeded. (With Hometown Cha Cha Cha also bringing the restorative healing, is 2021 the year of healing dramas??)
Ever since the 90s boom of actors winning Oscars and esteem from playing mentally challenged characters (think Rain Man, Forrest Gump, and I Am Sam), it’s become out of fashion to do so. Now people cry for more inclusive casting, and there are a host of reasons (politically correct and ethical) for why actors don’t readily go this route anymore. But K-drama is different. It’s been steadily branching out the last few years, and shows like It’s Okay to Not Be Okay are getting the popularity, the big name actors, and the positive critical reception as they explore the subject of mental health. (I personally love and recommend It’s OK That’s Love over It’s Okay to Not Be Okay.)
I think Tang Jun Sang’s performance as Han Geu-ru with Asperger’s syndrome was perfect and endearing. I didn’t think the little dongsaeng from the CLOY crew even had it in him. Really beautiful performance.
His character goes through an arc of acceptance and relinquishment: after his father dies, he cannot let go of his ashes nor put him to rest alongside his mother just yet. He’s unable to give his uncle his father’s empty room, insisting that everything be kept the same. To me, it’s a form of denial, and Geu-ru grieves in his own way. Instead of explosive tears and wailing, he preserves what little he has left of his father and compulsively reminds himself of his father’s last words—that he’s always with him. A heartbreaking response, but one we can all sympathize or empathize with.
By the end of the show, Geu-ru is able to put his father’s remains to rest alongside his mother. Instead of a columbarium or a graveyard with rows of headstones and grass heaps, Geu-ru’s parents have their remains spread near a tree, their names attached to the trunk. I thought it was interesting but didn’t read into it at all—until Geu-ru, scared that his father’s gentle presence has left him for good, runs back to hug the tree. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Geu-ru’s name means “one tree”, and his parents are “buried” hugging this one beautiful tree, so even in death, they are embracing him and loving him. I lost it; I was bawling.
Lee Je-hoon (from Tomorrow with You and Signal) was marvelous as well. Instead of the clean-cut, proper persona I’m used to seeing, he was super effective as this messy, chain smoking, underground MMA fighter has-been, spit out by the prison system and back in the real world. He’s all muscle (i.e., he’s completely shredded) and brawn and lacks empathy and compassion. He’s everything Geu-ru’s father (aka Papa Jung-woo) wasn’t.
LJH is CUT!
The last time I saw an MMA fighter in K-drama was Fight for My Way, with Park Seo-joon. Just like last time, I got some Rocky vibes, but not because of any training montages. The final fight was him against a mean-ass Russian—hello?? Rocky IV and the fight against Drago!
I can’t remember a time when I saw a truly negative portrayal of a Korean family in terms of domestic abuse. Usually families are trying to steal, kill, or abandon each other for one reason or another in K-Drama Land, but here was a very real, almost mundane look at domestic abuse. Papa Jung-woo’s mom remarried, and her new husband was sickeningly abusive. The family also seemed to live in squalor. I found it shocking and refreshing and tragic all at the same time.
Lee Je-hoon’s character harbored much hate and bitterness toward his older half-brother (Papa Jung-woo) after he seemingly abandoned him on his birthday in 1988; Jung-woo never came to collect him from the neighborhood train station. Instead Sang-gu spent 3 days alone, waiting for him to show. The reason for this ends up being that Jung-woo was a victim in that infamous mall building collapse (also featured in Just Between Lovers) and could not meet Sang-gu before he was found and put in the system. I’m unsure if this sudden reveal was done right. It certainly explained why a loyal and loving hyung never came to rescue his baby brother, but it seemed to come out of left field narratively, as it wasn’t hinted at prior.
I found more meaning and catharsis with Sang-gu accompanying Geu-ru on this bizarre pilgrimage to the theme park, to eat pizza, Chinese food, and chicken, and finally to the now abandoned train station (where a promise was left unkept). Sang-gu later unlocks the storage closet where Geu-ru methodically placed a bag of popcorn mysteriously, and that’s when it all clicks into place. Jung-woo felt so much guilt and regret over his little brother that he celebrated his birthday every year, in the same manner that the child Sang-gu wanted. The pilgrimage was all the frenetic, innocent wishes of a child: fun at the theme park, pizza, chicken wings, jajangmyeon, and a pair of new Nike sneakers. Where Sang-gu thought his brother withheld love, he was bursting with it: 20+ years of Nike sneakers, birthday well wishes, and missing child posters. </3
One thing I wanted to touch on was the adoption reveal, which cropped up around the same time. I feel like this was powerful in a way that left me speechless. Geu-ru being adopted and loved endlessly was juxtaposed against the story of Matthew Green, an adoptee who was deported from the U.S. and sought to reconnect with his birth mother before he tragically died of a congenital heart condition. I don’t know the nuances of why or how South Korea became such a huge exporter of adopted babies, but the fact that Matthew’s new American parents canceled the adoption after discovering his medical condition was… painful. And the final exposé from the famous news anchor on the adoptees and Matthew’s story struck a chord within me. She says it is Korea’s great shame to have this record number of babies being adopted to other countries, and that 1 in 10 fail to gain citizenship. My best friend was a DREAMER, and I grew up very close to her immigration struggles: the tears of joy when she got a work visa, the tears of sadness when her application for asylum was denied, the awkward limbo of her immigration status after her sister married an American and could claim only their parents for citizenship but not her. I don’t pretend to know what’s right and wrong in the immigration debate, but I do understand the emotions and the stress. Matthew Green’s story completely wrecked me, and I felt deeply for Geu-ru when he mused that it could very well have been him, too.
I found great solace and comfort in seeing how Geu-ru came into Papa Jung-woo’s life. How Jung-woo was a caring and devoted firefighter and husband before he committed fully to loving this baby, a stranger’s child. I’d like to believe that the people who adopt are all so benevolent and tender hearted—to love something that didn’t come from you, has nothing from you in it, can’t be easy. If this part of the show left you as emotionally stranded as me, then I highly recommend watching the movie Blue Bayou; it’s a perfect companion piece, though maybe even more uncomfortable and heart rending.
Switching gears, I am totally that person who follows those professional biohazard cleaners on Tik Tok, so the Move to Heaven business of trauma cleaning was rewarding to see. Of course, the show took it one step further with Geu-ru providing the service of closure to those closest to the deceased. All of the stories were emotionally charged, but I gravitated toward the vignette of the elderly couple that died together (by suicide). I’ve seen my fair share of family members receive grim medical outlooks and waste away, suffering until their deaths. I wouldn’t wish it on anybody. I think if you can sell a house that’s too small for you, get rid of a car that’s not working for you… or be pro-choice in the abortion debate, then the ailing patient should also be able to choose how their life ends. Euthanasia isn’t discussed much, as it’s, I guess, just not that important to people anymore or relevant in the political landscape, but it’s hard to look into a family member’s eyes and see pain, see the loss of their personality, and know that you can’t fix it, you can’t end it. In the show, Sang-gu gets angry at the elderly husband for killing his good wife, thinking of him as cowardly or selfish. It’s the social worker (played by Choi Soo Young from So I Married an Anti-Fan!) who begs to differ. Sang-gu does end up seeing the mercy and agency and love in their deaths; he learns to empathize.
The story of the young, gay doctor who never did reconcile with his cellist lover also broke me. I cried when the lover played “Wish You a Merry Christmas” at the concert in honor of him.
At 10 episodes, Move to Heaven is stuffed with robust narratives that make you question your own life, your own regrets and joys. I wonder what would be in my yellow box, what mementos an unbiased trauma cleaner would find meaning in. Maybe we can all learn from what others leave behind and live a life you’d be proud for others to find after you’ve made your last move to heaven.
Did you see Move to Heaven? Tell me your thoughts in the comments below!
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