Do You Like Brahms? – Full Season 1 Review

3 thoughts on “Do You Like Brahms? – Full Season 1 Review”

1. Yes, in many Korean shows the male characters can seem overly “reserved,” to Americans. But Korea has a very hierarchical culture, which is even reflected in their language — they speak differently to people depending on their age and status, relative to their own. Formality rules that culture, far more than in America. So it may be “a cultural thing” that Korean men often seem “unexpressive.” I thought at times that Joon-young could have cleared up some misunderstandings rather than allow Song-ah to be hurt by things she didn’t know, but I had to admit that his reasons for doing so were well-supported by the story. Joon-young had spent almost his entire life suffering in silence, because of his difficult family situation and his unrequited past love for Jyung-kyung. So he was inclined to “hold things in,” rather than let them out. Song-ah was painfully aware of the significance of the song “Träumerei” between Joon-young and Jyung-kyung, which is why Joon-young said he would never play it again. So when his teacher “stole” Joon-young’s performance of it and put it on Youtube, Joon-young went to great lengths trying to conceal this from Song-ah, knowing it would hurt her to hear it. The misunderstanding that followed ended up hurting her just as much, but there was simply no good choice Joon-young really had in that situation. True to his character, he chose “silence” to protect her, hoping the problem would go away. But it didn’t.

   I LOVED that the inspiration for the show was Brahms’ unrequited love for his colleague Schumann’s wife, Clara. This show really brought that to life, with TWO such love-triangles involving the six main characters. But what captivated me most was the show’s honest depiction of the collision between an artist’s love for their art, and the cruel realities of the highly political “business side” of art. Music as a career is very uncertain, and most musicians only enter into it out of genuine love and passion. When the world throws endless roadblocks in front of them for pouring their heart into something they love so deeply, an artist’s soul can become wounded. I spent much of my youth playing classical piano, so I’ll admit I was a sucker for this story, but I haven’t seen this theme so honestly portrayed, before. The scene where Song-ah says “goobye” to her beloved violin was especially poignant, for me. Her Senior Recital went extremely well, but she hadn’t won competitions or received notice when she was younger, and she knew the “Business” of Classical Music would only hire the more “promotable” names people already knew. So no matter how good she became, she could never sustain a career as a violinist. And it was time to finally let the instrument she’d poured her heart into for so many years go to someone else, who would do the same. Musicians develop a very intimate relationship with their instruments; even more so, I suspect, for violinists whose “partner” is such a delicate and fragile shell, but capable of such powerful emotion. Prized violins are often hundreds of years old; in good hands, they illuminate the joys and sufferings of humanity for generation after generation. Parting with something so historic, so connected to human emotion that it becomes an extension of the artist’s soul, is like a death. But in this case, Song-ah’s violin would live on and on. For her, letting it go was symbolic of her own death, or at least, the death of the dream that had defined her, until this point in life. But this separation was so painful, she could only do it gradually, over time. Letting go is hard. Just like Joon-young’s letting go of the 15 years he had silently loved Jyung-kyung couldn’t happen overnight, or the breakup of the 10-year relationship between Han Hyun-ho and Jyung-kyung. Thus, “Do You Like Brahms” explored one of life’s hardest lessons: that for new love to grow, sometimes an old love must die. The “thematic symmetry” between the difficult death-rebirth of the characters’ love-relationships in the show, and their passionate relationships with their art, was subtly but powerfully portrayed, I thought. So even if as an American I was sometimes frustrated that Joon-young could have been more forthcoming, I realized in hindsight that this was not only perfectly in line with his character and Korean culture, but also indicated that his transformation away from the feelings he’d held for Jyung-kyung for so long, to his new love for Song-ah, could only happen gradually. This painful separation from his past, and having to re-define his relationship with Jyung-kyung, paralleled and actually triggered his transition from gifted pianist who had come to hate his calling, to the rediscovery of his passion for piano. And this newfound passion would now forever be intertwined with Song-ah, the woman whose love caused him to reconnect with who he really was, and what he really wanted.

   I know, I know; Hollywood has force-fed Americans such a steady diet of “sex, drugs, rock ‘n roll” for so long, most Americans will be deeply uncomfortable with a TV show that dares examine the human condition, and explore matters of the heart. “Romance” has been a dirty word in Hollywood for a good 20 years or more. But for any American who still has a shred of humanity left, I can’t recommend “Do You Love Brahms” more highly. Especially for anyone who has ever dared follow a career path defined by true passion, and suffered the slings and arrows that inevitably follow.

2. All Korean shows are like that. Either they don’t speak up or they lie. It’s so rampant in Korean dramas, it does make one wonder if it is a reflection of Korean culture.

3. Thank you for the review.