Mr. Plankton: A Silk-Smooth Genre Cocktail of Existential Drifters

A heartbreaking variation on finding one’s purpose in the grip of borrowed time and terminal illness

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(Author’s screenshot from Mr. Plankton.)

Mr. Plankton (Mr. 플랑크톤)
Netflix | 2024 | 10 episodes
Genres: Dramedy
Written by Jo Yong (조용)
Directed by Hong Jong-chan (홍종찬)

.  .  .

Just as I was reflecting on how deeply this series enchanted me, I stumbled upon a few viewer reviews expressing disappointment. While one can never expect a unanimous reception for any work of art, these comments momentarily dampened my enthusiasm—only to compel me to think more deeply about what exactly captivated me so much.

True to my habit, I didn't check the creators' credits beforehand, relying solely on what I saw and the impressions their impact left on me. As the story progressed, I became increasingly fascinated by its complexity. We encountered peculiar characters whose confused emotional worlds led to muddled decisions, evoking equally mixed feelings in the audience. They were far from perfect, and they made no effort to appear so. Their story unfolded in a genre mixture more eclectic than ever before, yet these elements merged into a silk-smooth, dense, and homogeneous cocktail.

Classified by many as a "romantic comedy"—one wonders if they saw the end of the drama at all. I would rather call it a romantic dramedy, where bitter tragedy is dissolved by a series of humorous and comic situations. From the intimate fields of romantic struggle, we occasionally wander into the territory of gangster films for some action, all while rodeoing on the winding highway of coming-of-age. What is truly extraordinary is how the frames of a contemporary and a historical drama alternate before our eyes—a brilliant invention we owe to the chaebol family. We glimpse into their lives exactly when a tradition-honoring event is taking place; the entire clan is dressed in hanbok from head to toe, and their meetings strictly follow the seating and behavioral codes of historical period dramas (sageuk).

(Author's screenshot from Mr. Plankton.)

Three peculiar figures stand at the heart of this story, but before we delve into them, what about this strange title: Mr. Plankton? One must wait quite some time before the drama provides an explanation—one that, despite the humor suggested by the sound of the word, is far more frail and poetic. Plankton is the protagonist's self-definition and his ideal. Let’s keep the latter as the secret of the series and look only at the frailty: plankton is the lowest element of the food chain, a helpless prey vulnerable to everything above it. For various reasons, all three protagonists feel this way, especially the young man at the center of the story, Hae-jo (Woo Do-hwan), whose idyllic childhood vanished in an instant. His conception was the result of a hospital error, and when this came to light years later, he lost not only his parents but his entire identity. He ended up on the streets, where a lady in her late teens operating a gambling den, Bong-sook (Lee El), took him in—leaving it to the future to decide whether she had found an adopted child or a lover. Hae-jo discarded his name and sustained himself through shady dealings alongside his street-smart but loyal assistant, Gi-ho (Kim Min-seok). Later, through flashbacks, we learn that Hae-jo was in a romantic relationship with Jae-mi (Lee Yoo-mi). Having grown up in an orphanage, Jae-mi – much like Hae-jo – felt wretched and unlucky; despite their deep love, they didn’t want to force their ill fate upon each other. Consequently, Hae-jo pushed the girl away, whom we later see as the fiancée of the heir to a wealthy family. The groom is an older, somewhat simple-minded but very warm-hearted man, Eo Heung (Oh Jung-se), who, in a belated act of rebellion for his love, defies the will of his mother, Ho-ja (Kim Hae-sook), who rules his life with tyrannical strictness.

Woo Do-hwan (Author’s screenshot from Mr. Plankton.)

Lee Yoo-mi (Author’s screenshot from Mr. Plankton.)

Oh Jung-se (Author’s screenshot from Mr. Plankton.)

The fates of these former lovers intertwine again in a hospital, where both receive terrifying diagnoses. Hae-jo learns that, likely as a genetic legacy, tumors have formed in his brain; he is in a terminal state, with three months to live. Meanwhile, Jae-mi—who could only tie her life to her fiancé by faking a pregnancy—faces the reality of premature menopause, making it impossible for her to have children. As a consequence, Hae-jo—as if fulfilling a final, time-sensitive homework assignment—wants to find his biological father, but to do so, he drags along Jae-mi, whom he abducts from her wedding. From here, the story continues through tangled threads. Due to a previous action, a gangster mob pursues Hae-jo, taking Gi-ho hostage. Meanwhile, the lovestruck groom sets out to find his bride while fleeing from his mother, who has set the family bodyguards on him. Yet, despite these adventurous, comedic situations, the result is not an action-comedy but a deep relational drama, part of a love triangle. This is possible because behind the bickering relationship of Hae-jo and Jae-mi lie unresolved, unspoken emotional ties. They attract and repel each other, while the girl is bound by a less elemental yet deep affection for Eo Heung, who fights persistently for her and promises a better fate. While chasing each other through improbable places, they inevitably grow closer. Thus, for Eo Heung, who practices traditional Eastern medicine, Hae-jo’s illness—which the boy hides from everyone—becomes apparent first. Though each is driven by individual interests, their numerous interactions eventually refine this "quintet" (including Gi-ho and Bong-sook), to whom even Eo Heung’s mother is strangely linked. But by then, they have traveled a long road, during which facing themselves was unavoidable for each of them. Naturally, they reached different results, but the clarification of initial chaotic feelings, the understanding of the other, the acceptance of themselves, and the intention to become better people apply to all of them.

(Author's screenshot from Mr. Plankton.)

While all three protagonists of the drama struggle with the notion of being unfit for life, Hae-jo is understandably in the most desperate situation, as his time is unfairly cut short. Mr. Plankton actually represents a type of drama that is not too common even in the world of Korean series, which often line up various physical and mental agonies. However, it is frequent enough for the most talented young actors to regularly attempt it: portraying the tragedy of facing a fatal disease attacking a young life. This is a challenge in every respect, as the difficulty of authentically showing physical suffering might even pale in comparison to living through the psychological processes—which, as we see here, lead from disbelief through anger and despair to acceptance. This process is as if someone were gathering all the life experiences in an accelerated manner for which others have decades at their disposal. We have seen various precursors: in Midas, No Min-woo struggled with a fatal disease as a supporting actor; Kim Woo-bin appeared as the protagonist in the desperate situation of Uncontrollably Fond; and among them is the more fortunately concluded Devilish Joy, where Choi Jin-hyuk showed the pains of the main character's decline embedded in a sunnier story. Woo Do-hwan’s performance is entirely on par with his famous predecessors, while maintaining its unique characteristics. Hae-jo’s physical condition continuously deteriorates; the symptoms of every stage appear before us unvarnished, hiding neither his terror nor his suffering. Yet all this "remains in the background" next to the portrayal of mental agony, which Woo Do-hwan makes painful for us too—often using self-irony and sometimes cynicism—but his performance is devoid of any exaggeration. Still, it is infinitely moving when he asks his final questions accusing his fate, reaching the lowest point from which he must arrive at another interpretation of "plankton-existence," or more precisely, the interpretation applied to himself.

Kim Hae-sook (Author's screenshot from Mr. Plankton.)

Woo Do-hwan and Lee El (Author's screenshot from Mr. Plankton.)

Alex Landi and Oh Jung-se (Author's screenshot from Mr. Plankton.)

Lee Yoo-mi as Jae-mi heroically holds her ground amidst the waves of Hae-jo’s emotional fluctuations; she can be both childishly lost and a furious soul, but the most beautiful part of her performance is how she begins to understand and accept the boy’s agitated world, which leads her somewhat to accepting herself. However, she must achieve this in the force field of two excellent actors whom no one would find easy to measure up to: alongside Woo Do-hwan, the groom struggling with adult-aged adolescent conflicts is played by Oh Jung-se, a supreme master of portraying wounded characters. Only later did I realize that this trio somewhat reminded me of the protagonists of It’s Okay to Not Be Okay, which is no coincidence, as both stories were written by the same Jo Yong. The complexity mentioned at the beginning is perhaps her merit; alongside the countless ways the main characters interact, she organically integrates the supporting characters into the plot, endowing them with strongly developed traits. It is the greatness of the actors that makes these characters even more alive through their non-verbal expressions, as seen from Lee El and Kim Hae-sook. Furthermore, humor is not far from the writer’s reach; the integration of the character played by the rarely-speaking Alex Landi into the cast is truly entertaining.

It is worth noting the ingenuity with which the creators play with the Mr. Plankton (Mr. 플랑크톤) title card; beyond adjusting it to the mood of each episode, they display it in the most unexpected places.

(Author's screenshot from Mr. Plankton.)

(Author's screenshot from Mr. Plankton.)

Director Hong Jong-chan is an old hand who has held his ground in several genres—to mention only those I’ve seen: Her Private Life, Juvenile Justice, Life. Here too, he guides the story with a steady hand; there are no dead spots, his frames are tasteful, and he has a sense for expressing intimacy just as much as for grandiose perspectives capable of showing primal passions or questioning the ultimate questions of fate. Thanks to the two great creators and the excellent actors, the drama does not echo the notes of tragedy in us, but those of reconciliation.