As a survivor of the Korean War and a witness to the hardships of life, I find myself deeply moved by the raw emotions and painful truths that unfold in “Pachinko.” The characters’ struggles for survival, their courage, and their resilience in the face of adversity resonate with me on a profound level.
We’ve reached the close of this year’s span, isn’t it hard to believe that over five years have gone by since the initial episode? For some instalments, we found ourselves immersed in two distinct eras: 1945 and 1989. Yet, time has swiftly moved on from the war’s end, and the second season of Pachinko draws to a close in 1951, in the first timeline, and 1989 in the second. It seems like an extended summer for Solomon.
Over the last two months, I’ve been viewing the series as a tragedy, where the main characters are hindered by their own destinies, and it’s heartbreaking too. The Baek family’s sole focus was – and remains – survival. Post-war, life improved enough to allow some semblance of living: Noa could attend school, they could celebrate with a party, and Sunja could dream of eventually opening her own restaurant by chatting idly with a regular at the noodle stall. However, as she reminds Kyunghee this week, things haven’t magically become good. Kim Changho is missing, Yoseb is scarred, finances are still strained, particularly due to keeping Noa in Waseda.
In this narrative, I’ve been deeply touched by the resilience of life amid hardship, and it seems plausible that we’ve all become so engrossed in the tragedy that we’ve overlooked the choices that were made along the way. Perhaps a more fitting phrase would be “choices emerged,” as our female characters – predominantly them – seemed to see no other course of action but to comply. They were compelled to accompany Hansu into the wilderness due to the risk of death in Osaka, Kyunghee was forced to abandon true love to prevent additional pain for someone who had already endured great suffering, and Naomi found herself succumbing to Solomon’s charm despite having no compelling reason – just poor judgment.
The final episode emphasizes the repercussions of past decisions, leaving open the possibility for a future third season. However, the constant assurance that life continues often rings true – it persists relentlessly, showing no leniency towards Isak’s compassion.
1951
For a year now, Noa has been attending Waseda University, and what was once our shy student has blossomed. He remains polite and reserved, but his time in college has significantly increased his self-assurance. He even dares to assert, albeit somewhat arrogantly for a first-year student, that Tolstoy is unsuccessful. His teacher commends him as an exemplary pupil because of this. The classroom setting eventually leads to a romantic encounter behind the building with Akiko Nakazono – his passionate new girlfriend, who he had previously noticed speaking out against the American empire on a soapbox.
In Osaka, Mozasu showcases his unique abilities by demonstrating pachinko machine manipulation to his friends. Regular customer Goto-san, who frequents Sunja’s noodle stall, overlooks Mozasu’s actions due to his deep affection for Sunja’s culinary skills. Feeling embarrassed by her son’s behavior, Sunja contemplates various reprimands: punishments and academic focus. However, Goto presents an unexpected viewpoint on Mozasu that had never been considered before – he’s not like Noa. Despite his efforts at school, it appears that his talents lie elsewhere. This idea is so clear to Goto that he proposes hiring Mozasu himself. Goto can help Mozasu become a respectable man – this is important to him as he wants to reassure Sunja, who continues to express worry. Reluctantly, Sunja agrees. Mozasu’s joy is nearly bursting from him; he’s thrilled. Later at the parlor, he encounters Yoshii Sr., whom Goto advises Mozasu to keep his distance from. His grandson, young Yoshii – who will later inspire Solomon’s recklessness over three decades from now – is younger than Mozasu but friendly and kind.
In anticipation of this very situation, Kyunghee expresses disapproval towards Sunja’s choice to allow Mozasu to work in a questionable business environment, frequented by gangsters and misfits. Sunja resents her sister-in-law’s snobbishness, finding it surprising coming from someone as understanding as Kyunghee, given their challenging family finances – an attitude she would expect from Yoseb, not Kyunghee. Before heading to conceal a sealed letter from Kim Changho within a box containing similar letters, Yoseb overhears Sunja’s criticism. He keeps these letters hidden from Kyunghee, reminiscent of the secret in “The Notebook.” It seems that hearing Sunja’s judgment may have stirred up guilt within him, causing him to later give all the letters to Kyunghee, along with his confession that he intentionally hid them. The moment Kyunghee opens them is akin to someone who has been holding their breath for months. The content of the letters remains unknown throughout the story. This plot point could potentially be expanded upon in the third season.
The tension between Hansu and Noa becomes increasingly significant in the episode’s narrative, with their previous encounter in the countryside serving as a turning point. When Noa witnessed Hansu brutally attacking a farmer accused of theft, it shattered any illusions he held about Hansu being a benefactor of wealth and security. Despite this, Noa refused financial assistance when he was pursuing admission to Waseda, demonstrating his determination to go it alone. This decision instilled in him values such as discipline and resoluteness, which are reflected in his frequent lectures to Akiko about greed and avarice. For Akiko, who is a wealthy girl, these lectures are intriguing, adding an exotic allure to Noa. Being from a working-class background and Korean makes him appealing to her, yet their relationship would be unacceptable for the daughter of Japan’s Foreign Undersecretary. In essence, the improbability of them being together mirrors the unattainable nature of Solomon and Naomi’s romance, with Akiko portrayed as the cold-hearted character in this scenario. Noa’s ideals have a captivating effect on her.
However, he can’t bring her to his room quite yet. Instead, he needs to attend his weekly dinner date with a person Akiko calls “Hansu,” who is actually known as Hansu. Even though Noa might have managed to avoid Hansu’s influence in Osaka, in Tokyo, Hansu’s support is crucial. This transformation significantly affects Noa, causing him to speak sharply to Akiko when she insists on meeting Hansu – something we’ve never seen from Noa before. In fact, during last week’s unusual confrontation with Mozasu, where they urged Yoseb to leave the house, he was more restrained. It seems that a fundamental change has occurred within Noa – he appears hardened now.
When Noa shows up for dinner, Hansu is engaged in a discussion with Kurogane – a budding politician and now his son-in-law – who has softened his approach towards Hansu following the unfortunate incident where Hansu’s father-in-law passed away in the koi pond. Despite not explicitly mentioning Noa as his son, Hansu does acknowledge him as a budding scholar of politics. However, Noa challenges this perception by addressing Kurogane with his Korean name, causing a bit of tension. To further escalate the discomfort, Hansu hands over an envelope filled with additional yen as a wedding gift before departing.
In a setting reminiscent of grand feasts of old, where tables stretch humorously long to symbolize distance rather than closeness, I find myself seated opposite the insightful and straightforward Han-su. Unlike some politicians, he aspires to be a mentor. His passion for literature resonates deeply with me; so much so, that Han-su diligently reads every book assigned in our school curriculum to stay abreast of my studies. However, he seems skeptical about the practicality of pursuing a degree in this field (and I can’t help but feel that Koh Hansu is throwing subtle shade at those of us considering it).
After they return home, Noa scolds Akiko for her disrespect, which she shows no remorse about whatsoever. Recognizing that no amount of justification will ever satisfy someone who believes they are owed everything, he makes it clear that he doesn’t want any further contact with her. Akiko challenges him: Does it have something to do with Hansu being his father? Although by this point in the story I had begun to notice something unusual about Noa, I still found it hard to believe that he would grip her wrists or choke her against a wall, even as a response to her question. It seemed like an extreme change for a character who is known for his kindness. However, I don’t doubt that he could be filled with anger – unlike his saintly aunt Kyunghee and father Isak, he is only human. But the idea of him grabbing Akiko by the throat felt completely out of character.
The scene feels too simplistic in portraying that Noa, like Hansu, might have violent tendencies due to their shared blood. Given the episode’s focus on consequences – such as the repercussions of secrecy or sacrificing principles for safety – it seems inconsistent that Noa’s actions appear more like a reflection of a stereotype rather than genuine character development. Perhaps there were alternative, more creative methods to demonstrate the aspects of Hansu that Noa may have internalized during their time together?
When Hansu validates Akiko’s suspicion, Noa’s eyes widen unusually, suggesting that something must have occurred between Hansu and Sunja which was unfair or manipulative. However, Hansu denies this allegation, instead urging Noa to move on as he did after witnessing him using force at the farm. Adopting the same menacing expression he used to terrify a weakened Yoseb, Hansu grips his son’s face and declares: “You belong to me.” He appears somewhat relieved to have the truth exposed, but he is also clearly delusional – Noa, being aware of this, will never allow himself to be manipulated for Hansu’s sinister plans.
Rather than stopping by a bar and getting drunk, Noa heads straight home to Osaka instead. Upon reaching home, he unexpectedly encounters Sunja outside. Startled, she assumes something must be wrong since Noa is acting strangely. However, Noa insists everything is fine; he’s just missing her. Despite his repeated assurances that things are normal, Sunja senses a deep unease, but it’s too late for her to convince him to stay. Moments after leaving, she suddenly realizes what has happened – he’s gone. She chases after him in panic, shouting his name, but it’s already too late.
And he is gone gone. Not even Hansu’s men have been able to locate him yet, though they are on the case. “I’ll find him no matter what,” Hansu promises, but Sunja doesn’t look soothed. She is characteristically already blaming herself: if she hadn’t forced Noa to go to Waseda when didn’t want to, none of this would have happened. She recognizes her son’s mercy at seeing her one last time before he left, but it’s not nearly enough to bring her comfort. When she gets home, she collapses on her bed, spent from despair, sadness, anger. It sucks that we have landed here again, just when things seemed like they were about to change.
It’s evident that Hansu isn’t coping well either. In one of his bars, he’s even physically abusing women. With tears brimming in his eyes, he seems to be contemplating the consequences of his actions, much like a classic villain would. I can’t help but think that if Kim Changho had stayed, he could have provided valuable guidance in this situation. Given his familiarity with both sides of the Baek family’s tragic past and his role as more of an older brother than a father, Noa might have been willing to listen to him. However, it’s too late for that now. Noa has already moved to Nagano, adopted a new Japanese identity as Minato Ogawa, sold the gold watch Hansu gave him, and found work at a pachinko parlor.
1989
Decades later at his own pachinko parlor, Mozasu receives a notification from the bank that his loan has been fully repaid. Upon closer examination, he learns that Solomon Baek is the one who paid off the debt. Eager to thank him, Mozasu tracks down Solomon at a conference where he convinces potential investors about the success of a golf course project by dismissing economic downturn rumors and predicting Japan’s growth into the world’s largest economy. From the back of the room, Mozasu watches his son, just as Solomon once watched Abe, but they don’t have a chance to talk before Solomon leaves.
In this scene, it’s revealed that Mozasu is addressing Yoshii, instructing him to keep away from his son. Despite their younger selves interacting later on, it’s clear they have a deep and complex history. The specifics of their past are yet unknown, but it promises to be significant: “I never wanted your grandfather’s love,” Mozasu tells Yoshii, a statement that carries an air of tragedy. If he had followed the advice of his father and brother during a previous conflict, it seems Mozasu will show no mercy towards Yoshii now. He even warns him of his capabilities. This revelation about Mozasu’s character caught me off guard. I thought of Mozasu as a source of light-heartedness, humor, and mischief, but it seems there’s a darker side to him that may have been passed down from Yoshii. What a twist!
Additionally, not only did more troubles arise, but Sunja’s relationship with Kato also crumbled. On their subsequent date, Sunja reveals to Kato the findings of the private investigator regarding his past. Remarkably, he remained steadfast upon hearing the truth. With a sense of remorse, he admitted, “I am a murderer.” He attempted to justify himself, discussing the harsh conditions he faced as a soldier and the psychological manipulation that was a crucial aspect of war tactics. “We were barely human,” he explained to her. To be fair, he was more forthcoming about his criminal actions compared to others like Hansu, who would rationalize them, or Mozasu, who concealed them — at least he acknowledged his wrongdoings. However, his error lay in his attempt to forget his past as much as possible. This not only seemed unforgivable to Sunja but also implausible. She had endured the hardships of the past more than anyone else, and the notion that it could be erased was an affront to her Herculean resilience. She gave him a wrapped book as a parting gift, wished him well, bowed from the waist, and departed. Upon returning home, she discarded all the potted plants they had tended together. It was as if he had killed a beloved pet in front of her.
In the meantime, Solomon is reveling in the budding prosperity of his golf course business with Tom, who opted to work for Yoshii instead of Shiffley’s and chose honesty over family reconciliation. Solomon doesn’t express an ounce of sympathy for Abe, certain that he’ll be ruined by the impending financial bubble burst. However, this sentiment doesn’t surface until later when news breaks about Abe’s lifeless body being discovered in Chubu Sangaku National Park, having fallen from a cliff – a suicide. One might say to Solomon at this moment: Are you happy now? Yet, such words seem unkind. Here’s hoping that if a new season unfolds, Solomon will strive to rectify some of the harm he caused in his pursuit of vengeance.
Sunja poses a thoughtful query to Mozasu during their dinner: “Why is it that some people manage to live on while others don’t?” She wonders this, with only the two of them (and Solomon, who resides somewhat afar) in their immediate company. They have consistently stood together as a family, embodying an abundance of courage. Yet, they contemplate whether their courage is enough to safeguard them; history shows that it hasn’t always been sufficient.
Pinball Thoughts
It might have been overly obvious that what Noa disliked so much about Tolstoy’s work, “War and Peace,” was its absence of a portrayal of the fight for survival, an aspect also lacking in the lives of many at the affluent Waseda. This observation holds merit, yet it feels too direct when it comes to the emotional heart of the story. As I penned this recap and delved into “Pachinko,” I found myself questioning the essence of a tragedy. In his “Poetics,” Aristotle posited that a tragedy’s events stir up “sympathy and dread, to bring about the purging of these feelings.” We resonate with tragedies because we share both fear and sympathy; this emotional connection is deeply rooted. However, I invite you all to explore Parul Sehgal’s essay, “The Case Against the Trauma Plot,” for further reflection on the nature of tragic narratives.
How do we navigate the growing impact of trauma in our society? Stay alert at the intersections. Modern life may appear more traumatic due to heightened empathy and awareness, but it might also indicate an over-sensitivity, seeing everything as a potential wound. In a culture that idolizes victims, does trauma function as a ticket to prestige — our badge of courage? This question could seem tactless: it’s inappropriate to debate the symbolic significance of suffering when genuine healing and justice are hard to come by. Many deep discussions are set aside when it’s time for enjoyment.
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2024-10-11 14:54