Netflix’s Underrated 2-Part Fantasy Series Is Still Worth Watching

Reincarnation is a tale as old as time. In a fantasy romance context, it’s the gift that keeps on giving, especially where the “destined soulmate” trope is concerned. Individuals who find one another across time, sometimes even defying fate to do so — what’s not to love? There’s one condition: if the emotional investment doesn’t match the stakes, and the female lead’s personality gets subsumed by her past life. (So, that’s two conditions.) Even though the journey matters more than the destination in K-Drama romances, a fact underscored by reincarnation’s very nature, audiences still need to care. Part of that care necessitates a leading lady strong enough to retain her present individuality rather than having it replaced by the memories of her past incarnations, a move that can invalidate all that came before.

Tale of the Nine-Tailed, a 2020 Netflix-distributed K-Drama by writer Han Woo-ri, offers an empowered, ferocious, competent female lead who’s rarely a damsel in distress. When she is, she isn’t happy about it. Contemporary K-Drama women have richly complex interior lives, yet Tale of the Nine-Tailed takes it to a refreshingly modern place with Nam Ji-ah (Jo Bo-ah, also the co-lead on Netflix’s Destined With You) without sacrificing the desired trifecta: a tender love story, high production value, and nimbly plotted escapism. Plus, there’s an ageless god falling in love with a woman while his nefarious arch-nemesis stirs up trouble.

What Is ‘Tale of the Nine-Tailed’ About?

Set in modern-day Korea, Tale of the Nine-Tailed‘s Ji-ah immediately sets herself apart. For one, she’s a television producer/journalist investigating urban myths. Through her work, she encounters Lee Yeon (Lee Dong-wook), an ancient nine-tailed fox spirit roaming through the human world in the guise of an unfairly handsome guy. This chance meeting isn’t the first time the two have crossed paths. Ji-ah has spent two decades looking for Lee Yeon, believing he kidnapped her parents and tried to murder her when she was nine years old. Instead, Lee Yeon protected her from certain death and wasn’t able to wipe the incident and his face from her memory — unusual, since he could do that in his sleep.

Lee Yeon is only part of the puzzle for Ji-ah, though, a necessary obstacle to overcome. Rescuing her parents is her true objective. She’s devoted her life in pursuit of that goal. Although she takes pride in her professional capability, hunting down supernatural creatures is no niche whim. After Lee Yeon fails to evade Ji-ah’s single-minded pursuit, she outfoxes the fox, manipulating Lee Yeon into revealing his powers. In other words, Ji-ah pulls a classic Lois Lane move, and she flings herself off a building. Lee Yeon has no choice except to fly down and rescue her (a task he does with a thoroughly exasperated, eye-rolling sigh). There’s triumphant awe in Ji-ah’s eyes; she’s got her man. Then, she stabs Lee Yeon with a hypodermic needle. Cue Episode 1’s end credits and a standing ovation for this proactive heroine!

Naturally, Lee Yeon isn’t Ji-ah’s man — well, he’s her man, but not her story’s villain. Neither is Lee Yeon a bastion of flawless heroism, as time reveals. He certainly takes the crown when it comes to sheer yearning. A 1,000-year-old god who guards the Baekdudaegan mountain range, he devotes his existence to protecting humanity from mystical threats. Working at the Afterlife Immigration Office is his 9-to-5 job. The real reason Lee Yeon bothers to operate in the modern human world — and perhaps the one reason he’s still bothering with existence — is because he’s tirelessly searching for the reincarnated soul of his first and only love: Ah-eum, a Joseon-era princess, died tragically, as is prone to happen in backstories. Lee Yeon blatantly broke the rules to guarantee her reincarnation. While many women have resembled Ah-eum across the centuries, none carried her soul. Lee Yeon’s haunted by her loss, a piece of his own soul cleaved away. He quickly dismissed Ji-ah after a cursory analysis; she doesn’t possess the tell-tale signs. Yet nothing about Tale of the Nine-Tailed is as it seems.

The K-Drama ‘Tale of the Nine-Tailed’ Subverts Expectations

Unsurprisingly, Ji-ah is absolutely Ah-eum’s only reincarnation. It’s not the reveal of her identity but the surprising story avenues and character journeys the series pursues along the way. In a refreshing subversion, Ji-ah remains her own person. Ji-ah witnesses her past life in bits and pieces. She untangles a web of messy half-truths, secrets, and context, grappling with her new reality. She recognizes some of Ah-eum’s traits and habits in herself and lets them inform her future without losing sight of what makes her Ji-ah. Nor does she stay at home to pine over Lee Yeon and fret for his safety. She’s stubborn, she’s determined, she’s a journalist, and she’s dedicated 21 years of her life to rescuing her parents. Ji-ah makes active plans, collaborates with Lee Yeon, and achieves her goals with ruthless conviction. When Ji-ah learns that Imugi, the mythical reptile responsible for Ah-eum’s death, might be her parents’ captor, Imugi becomes the subject of her unwavering vengeance.

None of these characteristics forbid Ji-ah from retaining her (and Ah-eum’s) characteristic generosity. Neither does needing a dramatic rescue now and again invalidate her carefully cultivated independence. She falls in love with Lee Yeon because he’s Ji-ah’s perfect match, not Ah-eum’s lost love. Ji-ah ah is so accustomed to having nightmares that they barely register; waking up to a dark and empty room, however, takes its toll. After meeting Lee Yeon, Ji-ah looks for him during her moments of distress. He gets past her tough shell, which is a trope commonly reserved for the male half of a heterosexual couple. Tale of the Nine-Tailed granting Ji-ah emotional range and narrative autonomy, makes her a well-defined heroine and provides a more engaging watch than K-Dramas loaded with dated gender politics.

It’s worth noting Ah-eum died with her agency intact. She made the call to protect Lee Yeon because this couple saves each other. She was also a precocious, adorable child who decided to become besties — then lovers — with the lonely mountain god. Neither woman is an innocent, either. Ah-eum’s the king’s daughter, whereas Ji-ah is a modern professional woman, but each is world-wise, heroic, in their 30s, and a sexual being. Contrasting with K-Drama heroines of the past, Ji-ah initiates kisses and actively participates, and reciprocates, during her and Lee Yeon’s atmospheric sex scene. She’s an independent woman who doesn’t need a man, but she wants one and gets one. That’s queen behavior.

Netflix’s ‘Tale of the Nine-Tailed’ Is a Perfect K-Drama Binge

Image via Studio Dragon

Advertisement

Intrinsic to Ji-ah and Tale of the Nine-Tailed‘s success is Jo Bo-ah, an effortlessly engaging performer who nearly steals the spotlight from Lee Dong-wook — who just happens to be an industry icon. Lee established himself in 2005, struck hit after hit series, and became a certified legend after co-leading Guardian: The Great and Lonely God. Lee Yeon is a new brand of leading role for the actor, one as fitting as a bespoke suit. Lee Yeon’s perfectly pure longing understood the assignment for an epic fantasy-romance drama, a facet emphasized by his mop of floppy — and fetching — red hair. Lee Dong-wook balances the romantic fantasy demands with a light, winking wit and a graceful physicality that lends him credibility as an ancient god, and, frankly, as a badass, despite the action scenes leaning toward silly.

All his longing aside, Lee Yeon deserves his flowers for falling in love with Ji-ah because of the woman she is instead of unfairly superimposing his Au-eum angst and expectations onto her. It’s another fantastic upending of conventions, demonstrating how Tale of the Nine-Tailed prizes Ji-ah as an equal lead. The mountain god never forgets Ah-eum, but he equally loves Ji-ah. The pair are an elite power couple with frankly ridiculous chemistry. Whether they’re bickering about Lee Yeon eating human livers (he doesn’t), sharing a tub of ice cream, having platonic sleepovers with a hangover cure breakfast, or Lee Yeon literally enduring actual hell for her twice over, Jo Bo-ah and Lee Dong-wook spark and sparkle off one another’s energy. It’s impossible not to smile-cry when a smitten Lee Yeon daydreams about a future where his hair goes gray. He wants to become human, take long walks with Ji-ah, share good ramyeon, and die by her side. He wants the impossible.

Ultimately, Tale of the Nine-Tailed is about treasuring love’s precious fragility. Lee Yeon muses that “living as a human being is dealing with unpredictable pain,” but it’s also about cherishing your firsts and your lasts. Tale of the Nine-Tailed is a twisty, perfectly satisfying binge that’s still a must-watch six years later. And even in a series anchored by Lee Dong-wook, the stereotype-shattering Ji-ah is this K-Drama’s peak: the independent heroine of our dreams.