[Review] When life gives you mandarins: is the family really enemy of individuality?

The Netflix series “When life Dà Tanderines” took place on the island of Jeju in the 1950s, interpreting the romantic commota between AE-SOON (IU) and Gwan-Sik (Park Bo Gum). The drama received widespread attention and considerable success. Now, with his final episode recently, he concluded his touching story, leaving a profound impression on the public.

In a detailed cultural criticism published by Hankyoreh on March 28, the drama is described as a visually rich but ideologically limited family drama. The article claims that while the series extends over several generations and highlights the emotional life of women, in the end it cannot free itself from traditional family narratives, confining its female protagonists within romantic family roles and omitting a wider historical context.

But is this criticism completely right? Or do you risk neglecting the subtle power of emotional narrative and the deliberate creative choices made by the creators of the show?

Below is the English translation of that article:

Title: “When life gives you the romantic mandarins the family but it is not up to the feminist depth

Source of critics: Hankyoreh Culture Feature, 28 March 2025

“When life gives you mandarins,” he detected almost any conversation in recent Korea. But what people removed him varied: some are attracted by the breathtaking scenario of the island of Jeju; Others say that they remind them of their mothers and brings them to tears. Some compare it with the female version of “Ode a My Father”, while others compare it to the “Reply” series or remember the melancholy tone of the previous work of the director Kim Won-Seok, “My Mister”.

The weight of the love of parents as a debt for life

The drama follows three women: Gwang-Rye (Yeom Hye -ran), AE-SOON (IU, Moon So-Ri) and Geum-Yeong (IU), tracing the human life cycle through the season of spring, summer, autumn and winter. At the base, it celebrates love and sacrifice that make such lives possible. It is nostalgic for those who have lived the times and offers a characteristic sense of novelty for those who have not done so. A universal emotional language speaks: parents’ sacrifice, branch pity and pain of loss that transcends generations and borders.

However, while the drama moves the spectators, it also arouses uncomfortable feelings, in particular through its representation of generational debt. My mother often referred to herself as a “mother of 200 points”, a term taken from a belief that the daughters born first, followed by children, were more precious than gold. Like his daughter, the love he gave me often felt heavy. That love helped me survive, yes, but it also came with an invisible debt. If my life is framed as a return for the sacrifices of my parents, can I ever live freely like myself?

Love that completes the mother, through her daughter

Strictly of terms, the mother’s love in this story is directed to her daughter, but the mother’s sense of self is also needed. Gwang-Rye lives Ae-Soon life could not; Geum-Myeong becomes the Ae-Soon dream never realized. The daughter does not exist for herself, but as a “gold medal” that validates mother’s efforts. But what is a gold medal if not something to want to proudly hang around someone’s neck?

This is how exactly that Geum-Myeong works in history: always like someone’s daughter or someone’s lover. Despite having received elite education and go to Japan for the study, it has never been demonstrated as an independent and socially involved character. Even when his engagement breaks, his reasoning is childish: “How can I get married in this way? My and dad cried”. There are no significant friendships, no sign of his place in society. It is never just “herself”.

AE-SOON-SOCRIFICATED ALPOSSIONS FOR THE FAMILY

AE-SOON is no different. Once an exuberant and ambitious girl with dreams of studying on the mainland, ends up being tied to Jeju after being pregnant. His personal growth: passing the GED, buying a boat, running for a village office is shown but never deeply explored. The narration barely allows her to exist outside her role as her daughter, wife or mother.

This narration focused on the family is emotionally powerful but also limiting. “When life gives you mandarins” Romanticizes branch pity to the point where the characters cannot grow as individuals. The drama constantly reiterates family values ​​but never wonders how those values ​​can suffocate personal freedom.

Where is the world out of the family?

Although it covers decades of Korean history, the series avoids working with real socio-political contexts. The beautiful representation of Jeju of the 60s omits any mention of the revolt of Jeju 4.3 or its persistent trauma. It could be argued that omission is intentional, given the sensitive history of the topic. But also subtle notes – villaers who avoid the topic, a sense of silence – could have stratified the narrative with historical depth. Without this, the tragic deaths such as that of Dong-Myeong remain personal rather than political, related to the family rather than collective.

Geum-Myeong entered Seoul National University in 1987, the year of the June Democratic revolt of South Korea and returns from Japan in the early 90s, a moment of students’ absence. Yet his plot floats detached from these events. The staff is never linked to the politician, flattened the one that could have been a rich and multidimensional narrative.

The tragic irony: progress belongs to the patriarch

Ironically, the only character granted to growth and the symbolic “revolution” is the father, Gwan-Sik. At a time when men and women was forbidden to have dinner together, he literally turns half a circle at the table for his wife and daughter:

“At the moment when Dad turned, his mother never forgotten her. He said one hundred times that he had to have been the first man of Dadong -ri to do it. He fought his war. He never left his mother on the battlefield alone. That half of the ride, I realized while I was sipping the burnt rice soup, was a revolution.”

But why does this symbolic “Revolution halfway” belong to the father, not to AE-Soon or Geum-Myeong?

A story of potential that remains too safe

“When life gives you mandarins” he had all the ingredients to be a profound and feminist narrative that criticizes patriarchate and explores the lives of women in complex historical environments. Instead, it nestled safely under the hot but limited romantic family values.

It is not without merit. The drama portrays strong and resilient women: AE-SOON, Geum-Myeong and Haenyeo Eunties, as well as the suffocating weight of patriarchal expectations. But in the end, women remain confined within the family system, while men can symbolize progress.

Despite all his greatness and his emotional punch, the series stops shortly for revolution. Top familiar resumes: nostalgia, sacrifice, generational love without allowing its characters to transcend them. From “Ode to my father”, to “Reply 1988”, to “My Mister”, the journey ends up in the same place: a well -decorated sanctuary that ages the family.

And in this, the “revolution in the middle of the round” of the drama still seems halfway.

There are many contrasting comments on this post, with people who share their opinions on the series.

• There are as many different family structures as different lives in this world. We recognize that there is no right or wrong single.
• Some may believe that this writer does not face quite social issues, making it somehow unsatisfactory … but I think this drama acts as a textbook for the MZ generation, which is going beyond individualism in selfishness. They often complain that they do not understand the oldest generations, yet they enjoy the benefits of the sacrifices of their parents. The drama focuses on how, for parents, their children represent hope: a unilateral love. By keeping the theme clean and avoiding unnecessary social issues that could have made the story disordered, the drama remains compelling.
• It was both fun and touching, so why write such a terrible comment? Spectators decide alone. Why transform it into a philosophical debate? It’s annoying and gives me headache. Can’t you simply take it easy? Are you jealous of the writer?
• It is not natural that different opinions exist … ??? I didn’t really really like it …
• If they had tried to include every personal story in that drama, should it be a five or ten part series?

“What do you think of this series? And what are your thoughts on the perspective shared in the article above? Leave a comment below to let us know!”