If I were to think of a superpower that could best describe Netflix’s Cashero, it wouldn’t be super strength or telekinesis (i.e. the ability to move objects at a distance). No, the most important superpower in Cashero certainly is the writers’ ability to design an entire series purely based on convenience.
An incredibly loose adaptation of Team Befar’s popular webtoon of the same name, Cashero promised to be the ultimate superhero K-drama. After all, it was banking on a great cast, a strong premise, a well-liked IP, and the resources and platform only Netflix could grant. However, Cashero‘s eight cartoonish episodes โ written by Lee Jae-in and Jeon Chan-ho and directed by Lee Chang-min โ didn’t bring anything extraordinary to last year’s Boxing Day.
This review is spoiler-free! But if you’re in a rush, you can pin our summary at the bottom!
A Battle of Good x Evil
The drama version of Cashero follows Kang Sang-ung (the always charismatic Lee Jun-ho), an ordinary civil servant who lives with his long-time girlfriend, Kim Min-suk (a strong Kim Hye-jun), a meticulous accountant. Their goal is a very common one among young couples: they would like to buy a house together. But, as Min-suk jokes, the thing that stars in the night sky and apartments in Seoul have in common is that “there are so many of them, but you can’t get one.“
They then decide to get married so that they can apply for a newlywed lottery initiative that could help them achieve their dream more easily. That’s when Sang-ung receives a message from his dad, with whom he’s never had a particularly close relationship, asking him to pay his family home a visit. Sang-ung expects his dad to give him the usual bag of “radish or cabbage” (don’t ask), but what he gets instead is an extremely tight handshake that transfers to him his father’s superpower: the ability to gain strength and healing capabilities equivalent to the amount of cash he possesses.
After illustrating his brand-new abilities by shooting his own son in the head, his dad declares that there are only two rules: Sang-ung has to quietly help those in need, and he shouldn’t touch other people’s money.
Conveniently, these two rules are never respected, and other rules are introduced according to the needs of the script. But what matters is that this predicament will inevitably make Sang-ung ever poorer, of course. With his new fee-based super strength, he now has to use his own money to save others.
Sang-ung tries to plead and complain, but there’s nothing he can do about it. His dad also received this superpower from his own dad against his will, so he’s just doing what he’s meant to do. Because, for some reason that is never revealed to us, “someone has to do it“.
So, to Sang-ung, with great power comes great debt.
With that unexpected twist, he and Min-suk find themselves further and further away from their dream โ after all, whatever cash ends up in Sang-ung’s hands immediately disappears every time he uses his strength. Min-suk finds the ability completely useless, and so, she asks him not to use it. But there’s another catch: every time Sang-ung deliberately ignores a person in need, he gets an awful skin rash.
So, should Sang-ung help others and empty his bank account? Or save his money for an apartment and learn to cope with his psoriasis? The moral conflict of selflessness versus self-interest ends up in the background, drowned in clichรฉd speeches and dramatic sacrifices, when the series establishes a much clearer antagonist: the Mundane Vanguard, a huge, all-powerful conglomerate led by Jo Won-do (Kim Eui-sung) and his children, Anna (a marvellous Kang Han-na) and Nathan (the versatile Lee Chae-min). The Mundane Vanguard has been conducting medical experiments on superpowered humans in order to develop drugs that can kill millions.
Since Sang-ung’s power seems too good to be ignored, he becomes the Mundane Vanguard’s latest target. That’s when he meets the Society of Korean Superhumans, whose remaining (or so it seems) two members are lawyer Byeon Ho-in (Kim Byung-chul) and Bang Eun-mi (Kim Hyang-gi). While Ho-in can move through walls according to how much alcohol he drinks, Eun-mi has telekinetic powers equivalent to how many calories she consumes.
This odd (but conventionally adorable) trio then lead a predictable battle between good and evil, in a journey that also summons the help of loan shark Park Jeong-ja (Kim Kuk-hee) and detective Hwang Hyeon-seung (Jang Hyun-sung).
Cashero: A Series of Contrived Events
Cashero is full of characters whose storylines never really fit together, subplots that are introduced for the sake of drama but never really followed through, and a sequence of contrived events that is always determined by what favours the narrative the most, rather than what is logical within the circumstances.
Actually, the narrative of Cashero fully relies on what is convenient: events happen how and when they happen because the script needs them to take place in that way. The show forgoes any sort of worldbuilding, establishment of tension of cause and effect, solid characterisation or character development. Supporting characters exist as mere plot devices, and the story unravels with all the elegance of a bull in a china shop.
Our protagonists have a shallow set of values, which are so flimsy and trite that they fail to represent any sort of theme. Cashero becomes a story void of essence: was this supposed to be a critique of capitalism? An exploration of poverty? A discussion on how children often have to pay for their parents’ mistakes? A battle between kindness and greed? No, the series chooses to become a superhero cartoon in which its “exciting fighting scenes,” “high-stakes events,” and “quirky main trio” hope to be charming enough to have us ignore the complete lack of a sound narrative or clear theme.
If anything, Cashero is a celebration of capitalism, since the main message its protagonist conveys by the end of his journey is that willpower will get you anywhere you want. With our hearts giving us the power we need, miraculous solutions are bound to appear! As if he could bring an omnipotent and omnipresent conglomerate down without strength, money, or influence. As if he could buy his beloved apartment without money. As if.
That’s how tricky the characterisation of Cashero becomes: we know what Sang-ung wants, but the narrative never establishes what he needs. He might have an outer goal, but he doesn’t have an inner one, making him a one-dimensional protagonist. Sang-ung does get what he wants by the end of the story, but how and why is unclear.
Meanwhile, the antagonists are mere shells. Anna seems to be a simplistic narrative pawn so that Nathan can emerge as an almighty character โ a god-like being who always knows exactly where our protagonist is, what he’s doing, and where he’s going, even when they are in two completely different countries. Oh, he can also survive pretty much anything (when required by the script, of course) โ and that’s all without any sort of superpower. The backstories, dynamics, and secondary storylines among the Jo family pop up so randomly throughout the series that, once again, they only serve to give the main plot a convenient set of circumstances for the overall narrative to work.
The Netflix Signature: Dialogue & Visuals
Cashero also commits the greatest (but now quite common) Netflix sin: the overly descriptive narration. Sang-ung narrates everything, all the time. We discussed this recent Netflix trend when we reviewed Melo Movie last year, so I won’t be repeating myself here. What I will say is that there’s barely any silence in Cashero: characters are either chatting or Sang-ung is narrating โ his thoughts, his emotions, who the characters in front of him are, or what is happening. It’s as if Netflix is telling us: don’t worry! Feel free to watch Cashero as you scroll on your phone, do the ironing, orโฆ play chess for all I care! Give this show a quarter of your attention, and you’ll still be able to follow it just fine!
When it comes to the visuals, Cashero‘s sharp cinematography and visually creative sequences work well with the tone of the series. The VFX is effective most of the time, but compared to some recent Netflix originals (see Last Samurai Standing, for instance), the fight choreography leaves much to be desired.
It’s also important to note that the cast is incredibly charming and they do their very, very best with the script they were given. However, it’s almost impossible for them to offer these characters any subtlety or nuance when the narrative itself has no real subtext or artistry to it. In Cashero, what you see is what you get.
Should You Watch Cashero?
Cashero does work as goofy entertainment โ and not much more. Basically, you’ve got a marvellous cast, a fun premise, and all the superhero tropes expected, so the show’s certainly got something going for it. If you’re looking for a simple, formulaic, and caricatured heroic tale that doesn’t require much of your attention, this will definitely do the trick. If, on the other hand, you’re looking for a complex, well-crafted narrative, my telepathic superpowers tell me Cashero might not live up to your expectations.
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