K-Drama Rewind, Queen of Tears: Kim Soo-hyun's toxic, selfish lead drives hollow tale, Kim Ji-won exists to suffer

Queen of Tears surpassed Crash Landing on You—a headline that dominated entertainment news last year. Ratings for Kim Ji-won and Kim Soo-hyun soared past those of Son Ye-jin and Hyun Bin’s soapy melodrama, which had long stood as a global symbol of Korean romance. The excitement was feverish, with fans clamouring for extra episodes and bonus scenes to dive deeper into the fictional story of a couple trapped in a fractured marriage.

But forgive us for asking, why did people crave to see a show about a show filled with toxic, self-absorbed male leads—outranking even Lee Min-ho’s brattish days with Boys over Flowers and The Heirs. QOT had none of the addictive theatrics of CLOY, the storytelling from Goblin, then what brought this show to such fame? The chemistry—a driving factor for K-Dramas when writers give up all hope—turned tepid fast, too. The acting was still commendable, but when everything else is going so nightmarishly wrong, there is little that you can praise.

QOT, at its heart, had an intriguing premise. A couple, who were once deeply in love, are now trapped in an unhappy marriage. Trauma, loss, grief and politics have driven an iron-clad wedge between them, and the bitterness reflects in every barbed exchange and curt meetings. Meanwhile, the show also turns back the clock to their happier, softer times—falling in love, the sheer giddiness of being together, the promises that they make to each other, unaware that they might not ever keep those vows.

There was so much potential to explore with that angle, but instead, the show went for all the low-hanging fruits in screenwriting. In the first episode: Baek Hyun-woo (Soo-hyun), who is just about to call for a divorce from Hong Hae-in, learns from her that she is suffering from brain tumour. She doesn’t have much time to live. It’s already ingratiating that you have an inkling of how that’s going to go: A woman will be put through intense suffering, so that the man redeems himself.

But, somehow, the show manages to kick it up a notch. Hyun-woo, celebrates, and worse, it’s passed off as humour, a jarring punchline—where he is seen sleeping peacefully, to show that he has finally had a good night’s rest. From that point on, QOT becomes a glorified redemption arc for Hyun-woo, whose suffering is spotlighted, while Hae-in’s is minimised. To be honest, Hong Hae-in had a lot of spark and sassiness, combined with a quiet rawness that we never get to dwell fully on, because it's sadly just Hyun-woo's tale.

Hyun-woo decides against filing for divorce, believing Hae-in doesn’t have much time left. This morally fraught decision is briefly confronted in an emotional, vulnerable moment with Hae-in—but the show quickly pivots to redeem him, stripping the scene of any lasting impact.  The following episodes unfold in parallel timelines: One tracing their past love story, the other chronicling Hae-in’s deteriorating health, which conveniently casts Hyun-woo in the role of the saviour. He steps in to shield her from yet another toxic character Park Sung-hoon, who then devolves in full villainy so that Hyun-woo gets to shine.

Even the core tragedy—the loss of their child—is filtered almost entirely through his pain. Hae-in, despite being the one who physically and emotionally endured the loss, is reduced to a supporting role in her own grief. In one scene,  she removes all the baby cots and things from the room, and he takes it personally—moving out of the room, leaving his wife—who has just lost her child, if we may reiterate, to be alone.  Her resilience is brushed aside, her brokenness barely explored. Her suffering exists so that Hyun-woo can be guilted into changing himself, and become the iconic husband of sorts. In other words, Hyun-woo becomes the misunderstood hero, lionised in ways that feel disturbingly hollow.

Add to this a smorgasbord of K-drama clichés, amnesia, evil matriarchs, last-minute cameos, and yes, even a gunfight, and the emotional integrity of the show crumbles. By the time Hyun-woo takes a literal bullet (again), it's clear the story is less about mutual healing and more about male sanctification.

Queen of Tears is a misfire on nearly every level. Stellar performances are overshadowed, and the few emotionally resonant moments are buried beneath bloated storytelling and an overwhelming current of toxicity. Kim Ji-won’s character deserved far better—and frankly, would have been better off choosing divorce for good.