Can This Love Be Translated?: A Dazzling, Chaotic Case of False Expectations

Marketing a film or series is a tricky, complex art. You may have an extraordinary piece of cinematic art in your hands, but without the right promotion strategy, very few people might get to experience it. The production team needs to define their target audience and have a clear vision of their story’s tone and objective to create trailers, posters, and promotional material that will attract the right crowd. You’re treading a fine line here: your marketing campaign needs to spark curiosity, but not reveal too much. You need to set the right expectations — otherwise, your audience might feel fooled.

Netflix’s Can This Love Be Translated? is a good example of a series that struggled with this fine line. Sold as a classic romantic comedy, Can This Love Be Translated? requires its audience to recalibrate its expectations halfway through its twelve-episode journey. After all, this is a narrative that blossoms in all sorts of unexpected ways (and that’s not always a good thing).

Written by Hong Jeong-eun and Mi-ran, famously known as “the Hong sisters”, and directed by Yoo Young-eun, the long-awaited Can This Love Be Translated? arrived on the Tudum platform on January 16th. But, instead of delivering the cute rom-com that had been promised, the series soon reveals itself to be a romantic psychological drama.

No, Can This Love Be Translated? isn’t a story about two people who meet cute and fall in love, but about a kind and persistent young woman whose traumas come to the surface through a non-specified mental illness. We follow her on a journey in which she must overcome adversity, letting go of self-loathing and insecurity to live a more fulfilling life.

Banking on an exceptional cast and stunning locations, Can This Love Be Translated? starts as an emotionally layered, allegorical tale about self-worth and communication. However, the series stumbles in the execution of its narrative, losing track of its objective to offer a glamourised portrayal of mental health disorders through a convoluted sequence of events.

This review contains spoilers. Read it at your own risk! If you don’t want to risk it, why don’t you pin our spoiler-free summary at the bottom instead?

A Human Drama about Communication (at first)

Can This Love Be Translated? is the story of Cha Mu-hee (Go Youn-jung), an up-and-coming actress we first meet as she makes her way up to a hilltop village somewhere in Italy. She’s shooting a television show alongside the charming Kurosawa Hiro (Fukushi Sota), a Japanese actor who declares his love for her during the recording. Creating a bridge between Hiro’s Japanese confession and Mu-hee’s Korean ears is multilingual interpreter Joo Ho-jin (Kim Seon-ho).

Ho-jin’s hesitation to translate Hiro’s words doesn’t come from a lack of skill, but clear inner turmoil. Kim Seon-ho nails this kind of scene, in which his character is battling a huge internal conflict. His eyes show sorrow, but, through his lips, he voices Hiro’s confession, now in perfectly understandable Korean.

But, before we get to see Mu-hee’s reply, we’re taken back in time. A year before Hiro’s confession, Mu-hee was in Japan. With her nonexistent Japanese and fully relying on her smartphone to translate the world around her, Mu-hee travelled to Enoshima to chase after her ex-boyfriend, who suddenly abandoned her to “start anew” as a ramen chef in Japan. The following sequence chaotically brings Mu-hee and Ho-jin together as they navigate Japanese ramen, Korean curses, and Italian cries for help.

After Ho-jin helps Mu-hee convey her anger to her ex-boyfriend’s very Japanese (and very pregnant) new lady, the two of them end up spending the day together. Back then, Mu-hee was an aspiring actress with a few small roles to her name, dreaming of the day she’d have her own “festival”. Believing that they’d never see each other ever again, the two share their deepest secrets: Mu-hee threw her pride away because she just wants to be loved; Ho-jin is on Enoshima to honour the birthday of his long-time (and one-sided) crush.

They eventually go their separate ways and, once in Korea, Mu-hee keeps thinking of Ho-jin even as she films The Quiet Woman, an offbeat horror film in which she’s the protagonist. On the last day of shooting, she’s forced to do her own stunt — that is, she has to jump from a building — and suffers an awful accident when the safety cables break.

When Mu-hee opens her eyes again, waking up from a coma state of months, she’s faced with a completely new world. She’s now a superstar after the success of The Quiet Woman. Her character, Do Ra-mi, has become a worldwide sensation. She’s rich, famous, beloved. Her “festival” has finally begun.

Serendipitous encounters blend in with these characters’ own free will as Mu-hee’s and Ho-jin’s paths cross over and over again. For one reason or another, they both join a dating reality show called Romantic Trip. Mu-hee is to travel the world with Japan’s “Prince of Romance” Kurosawa Hiro, and Ho-jin, who speaks Korean, Japanese, English, and Italian fluently, will serve as the production’s interpreter.

For the first six episodes, Mu-hee and Ho-jin get to know each other through fairly standard rom-com fare. As their every step brings them closer, falling in love becomes a joyful, adorable, and butterfly-inducing endeavour. They make for an incredibly charming couple, and it’s addictive to see Kim and Go performing together. Slowly, Can This Love Be Translated? becomes an alluring dance between two souls who yearn to be loved and struggle to communicate despite sharing the same language.

The narrative is then built through a series of conflicts and events that arise from misunderstandings and misinterpretations. In its first half, Can This Love Be Translated? allows every single element and exchange to reflect its core theme: communication. It doesn’t take much for one to see how important this theme is, as the script isn’t particularly subtle about it. Characters often (and literally!) share how difficult it is to effectively communicate with one another, with novelist Kim Yeong-hwan (played by the marvellous Kim Won-hae) offering a line that couldn’t summarise these six episodes better: “There are as many languages as there are people. Everyone speaks their own language. That’s why people misunderstand, misinterpret, and offend each other.“

This nuance — of saying one thing but meaning another, of understanding others through our own perspective of the world, of learning each other’s unique language — is carefully and earnestly conveyed through a story that allows its characters to be vulnerable. Ho-jin is blunt without ever being callous, while Mu-hee is lonely and anxious without ever losing her resilience. Even when they fail to convey what they truly want and feel, it’s Ho-jin’s kind fairness and Mu-hee’s charming candour that establish a warm, tender tone that counteracts Mu-hee’s eerily low self-esteem.

From the very beginning, Mu-hee is a character who carries a sort of darkness within her. Her behaviour reflects a young woman who shoulders the pain of abandonment, loss, and ostracism. After her big breakthrough, Mu-hee is forced to reconcile her sorrows with the fact that she’s now beloved by many. This contrast, between her dark inner world and her bright external environment, quietly punctuates the narrative throughout its first half as Mu-hee starts hallucinating Do Ra-mi after her coma. Like a ghost, Ra-mi constantly haunts the now famous and cherished Mu-hee, telling her that she isn’t worthy of love, she isn’t good enough, and that she’s meant to be a lonely failure forever.

With these hallucinations, Can This Love Be Translated? breaks away from the rom-com genre to make its way towards a more human drama. Ho-jin serves as an almost supporting character who is here to help Mu-hee, the protagonist, complete her character arc. Initially, the Do Ra-mi hallucinations serve as a clever and compelling allegory for negative self-talk, a visual illustration of the little monster that lives within us all and casts doubts on our self-worth and self-confidence.

And so, Can This Love Be Translated? establishes itself as the journey of a young woman who needs to defeat that pesky little monster and prove to herself that yes, she’s worthy of love. Yes, she’s capable of chasing her dreams. And yes, she’s definitely good enough.

Capsizing Your Narrative: Can This Love Be Translated? as a Psychological Drama

However, the allegory is thrown out of the window when Do Ra-mi stops being a hallucination and becomes Mu-hee’s alter ego. This is never openly discussed, but Mu-hee has dissociative identity disorder (or so we guess) that leads to sudden shifts between these two identities.

The thing is: considering Mu-hee’s background and her characterisation, this “dissociative identity disorder” doesn’t fit in the narrative. Even worse, it isn’t portrayed with the minimum respect.

Mu-hee’s emotional instability, upsetting thoughts, impulsive behaviour, and extreme fear of abandonment could indicate a borderline personality disorder, but there’s nothing in Can This Love Be Translated? that points to DID. That is, before it becomes convenient to the story.

Mental disorders, for Can This Love Be Translated?, are nothing but a plot device, which is then romanticised as another of Mu-hee’s “quirky traits.”

Mu-hee starts using her Ra-mi personality when she’s scared of facing reality, switching it on and off as the script requires. Meanwhile, Ra-mi drugs people, burns through Mu-hee’s credit card, and gives the middle finger to Mu-hee’s awful relatives.

Does anyone care? Not really.

Unbelievably, this unexpectedly chaotic, naughty, but considerably more self-assured persona doesn’t raise any flags. Except for Ho-jin, who negotiates Mu-hee’s future with Ra-mi as if she were some family friend, no one else realises that Mu-hee isn’t really Mu-hee anymore.

From the end of episode 7 onwards, the story is dictated by the whims of Mu-hee’s alter ego. Forget that “alluring dance between two souls who yearn to be loved.” The rhythm is now set by Ra-mi, who strips all characters of their agency and takes on the role of deus ex machina in this narrative. Instead of making their own choices, Ho-jin, Mu-hee, and even Hiro are forced to dance to Ra-mi’s tune as she determines what would be best for everyone.

The momentum that had been built in the first half simply fizzles out: the communication theme becomes background noise, and the relationship between Ho-jin and Mu-hee becomes an angsty push-and-pull that unravels with the sensationalism of a makjang melodrama.

Mu-hee’s mental health is never explored with the care and compassion required. She’s never seen receiving a diagnosis, following any sort of treatment, or being encouraged to ask for help. There’s no need for that, of course, because love cures all. Once Ho-jin and Mu-hee get together, Ra-mi simply “disappears.” No more identity shifts, hallucinations, or lack of self-esteem.

Towards the end of the series, Ho-jin and Mu-hee laugh at her alter ego, with Ho-jin saying that he’s “used to her antics” and calling Ra-mi the “wonderful interpreter” he needed to help him understand Mu-hee’s language. Can This Love Be Translated? transforms a mental disorder into a fantasy element, a whimsical idiosyncrasy that offers the plot all the twists and turns, romantic revelations, and closure it desires.

Due to this narrative detour, Can This Love Be Translated? is forced to forgo… well, pretty much everything else. Mu-hee’s family problems, which lie at the heart of Mu-hee’s trauma and are referred to constantly throughout, receive a rushed, illogical resolution in the last episode. Meanwhile, Ho-jin’s background is given a single instalment in which we’re spoonfed his complicated family history in a dialogue between him and his mom. Hiro ends up underdeveloped, mostly serving as a plaything to Ra-mi and comic relief to the script.

The shallow characterisation of secondary characters goes hand-in-hand with the lack of attention given to character dynamics, whose seemingly intricate love stories are void of essence. We never get to understand why Ho-jin is, initially, so desperately in love with Producer Shin Ji-seon (Lee Yi-dam), his long-time crush. We’re never given a reason why Hiro initially despises Mu-hee so much (was it just because she didn’t recognise him at a party? Really?) or why Hiro changes his mind. There’s nothing in their dynamics that justifies Hiro’s later infatuation, just like there isn’t much set-up for Mu-hee’s agent, Yong-u (Choi Woo-sung), to fall head over heels for Ji-seon.

The more you try to analyse it, the more loose ends and questions are bound to arise. Besides Ra-mi’s influence in the narrative in the second half, the script also starts relying more and more on contrived events and silly stereotypes. The Japan-Korea relationship that could’ve been explored with Hiro’s presence in the story is never even mentioned, and the whole “multicultural” vibe quietly lives in the shadows of the story’s main melodrama. The overall structure ends up repetitive, bloated, and mechanical; the thematic objective becomes jumbled.

The Technical Details that Elevate the Script

Visually, Can This Love Be Translated? has excellent production design and stunning locations in Japan, Canada, and Italy. Even though some compositions look ridiculously artificial (due to extremely shallow depth of field and flat lighting), this is certainly a series with some seriously impressive craftsmanship.

But the best thing about Can This Love Be Translated? is, without a shadow of a doubt, Kim Seon-ho and Go Youn-jung. Kim and Go inhabit their characters, offering the script the subtlety it often lacks. Kim’s ability to navigate a romance is remarkable: the gentleness and yearning in his gaze are unparalleled. His delivery is so full of detail, care, and sheer charisma that it becomes an absolute joy to watch him bring Ho-jin to life. With her “dual role,” Go surprises and honestly amazes. She gives Mu-hee and Ra-mi two very different personalities in a performance full of heart and vigour.

Supporting roles also rely on solid performances, with Fukushi Sota offering a second male lead that is different from his usual. In Japan, Fukushi is often the charming gentleman who gets the girl. Here, he’s a petty and often hilarious drama queen who can’t enchant his beloved to save his life. His comedic timing works well, and the chemistry between Kim, Go, and Fukushi gives the show some well-needed light-heartedness.

That light-heartedness is welcome for a show that, despite its vague categorisation, works hard to always keep a foot in the rom-com realm. If you’re a fan of romantic films, you’ll find shades of Shinkai Makoto’s 5 Centimetres per Second (2007), Nora Ephron’s Sleepless in Seattle (1993) and You’ve Got Mail (1998), Roger Michell’s Nothing Hill (1999), and (quite obviously) Garry Marshall’s Pretty Woman (1990) in Can This Love Be Translated?. After all, that’s what Netflix wanted to sell.

Should You Watch Can This Love Be Translated?

Can This Love Be Translated?, however, is best enjoyed as it is: a messy psychological drama whose protagonists just happen to fall in love. Maybe the series tried too hard to be more than the clichés of its assigned genre, maybe it tried too hard to be “profound” and “complex”. Had this narrative chosen not to give in to an extravaganza of sensational twists and “quirky” plot devices, we would’ve enjoyed a quietly humane, emotionally resonant tale about an oft-forgotten challenge we all face every day.

What really makes Can This Love Be Translated? worth watching is the simplicity of Ho-jin and Mu-hee’s dilemmas as they come to realise that love is all about striving to learn each other’s unique language. What I’m trying to say is: if you take this narrative at face value and accept the show’s portrayal of mental health as a mere fantastical element, you’ll find an optimistic and often entertaining story led by two hugely charismatic performers who show us some of the beauty this world of ours has to offer.

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