[Can romance’s fantasy of wealth survive the labor rights
movement? Let’s ask, uh, this frothy K-drama.]
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PORTSIDE CULTURE

KING THE LAND IS A NETFLIX HIT ABOUT LOVE AND LABOR RIGHTS  
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Aja Romano
August 18, 2023
Vox
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_ Can romance’s fantasy of wealth survive the labor rights
movement? Let’s ask, uh, this frothy K-drama. _

Im Yoon-ah (Yoona) and Lee Jun-ho star in King the Land, currently
streaming on Netflix., Netflix

 

_Aja Romano [[link removed]] writes about pop
culture, media, and ethics. Before joining Vox in 2016, they were a
staff reporter at the Daily Dot. A 2019 fellow of the National Critics
Institute, they’re considered an authority on fandom, the internet,
and the culture wars._

As the WGA/SAG-AFTRA double strike
[[link removed]] wears
on, the constant flow of brand-new, original Hollywood content seems
headed toward a dripping, dribbling end. With many shows and movies
delayed
[[link removed]],
viewers are already feeling the lack, which in turn means finding
other stuff to watch. On Netflix [[link removed]],
international content, especially popular Spanish telenovelas and
Korean dramas, have long been part of the platform’s core offerings.

Currently, Korean rom-dramedy _King the Land_ has spent eight
straight weeks
[[link removed]] in
Netflix’s global Top 10. The show began airing on Korean TV in June,
after which Netflix picked it up and released its 16 episodes weekly
over the past two months. In that time, it’s racked up a gargantuan
66 million views on the streamer. That puts it in a tier with major US
hits like _Lincoln Lawyer_ and _The Witcher_.

On the surface, the show, about a cute hotel concierge (Im Yoon-ah,
a.k.a. veteran K-pop star Yoona of Girls’ Generation) who becomes
entangled with the hotel magnate’s rebellious son (Lee Jun-ho,
a.k.a. veteran K-pop star Junho of 2PM), seems somewhat standard
within the pantheon of similar rags-to-riches, hate-to-love Korean
rom-coms in its class. But _King the Land_’s low-stakes vibes are
impeccable, replete with soft lighting, a lush K-pop score, likable
characters, and infectious chemistry between Yoona and Junho as they
navigate their prickly relationship toward a happy ending.

While its tropes may be pedestrian, however, _King the Land _also
features a streak of acknowledgment about their dark underside — in
this case, the way rom-com’s longstanding fantasy of wealth, power,
and privilege rests on a romanticization of labor exploitation and
class struggle. It’s the kind of Korean drama we’re seeing more of
in a post-_Parasite_
[[link removed]], post-_Squid
Game_
[[link removed]] landscape.
It’s also the kind of show that occupies an interesting place in a
world where unions [[link removed]], workers’ rights,
and labor exploitation are getting more and more attention. For
viewers who find themselves watching this particular delightful
K-drama as a result of the writer’s strike, the irony will be
what’s really rich.

_Note: This story contains a major spoiler for _King the
Land_ season one._

Romance has always been built around a fantasy of benevolent wealth
— but in the typical K-drama, that’s complicated

In so many ways, romance is a genre built on fantasies of attainment.
The characters in romance novels and rom-coms pursue true love, and
once they attain true love, they often find a cornucopia of rewards in
addition: more money, a found and/or new nuclear family, their dream
career, more adventure or stability (depending on which one they need
more), and above all a more full and meaningful life.

Romantic love in this genre becomes a form of power — and actual
power and privilege become romanticized. Power in a romance leads to
protection, security, and abundance, not just for the person who has
it, but for their community.

The ur-version of this trope is the classic Cinderella story
[[link removed]]:
A poor character, often one with a dysfunctional family dynamic
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meets a very rich character, and they fall in love. The course of this
love elevates the Cinderella figure, ultimately giving them a way out
of their former unhappy life and a new identity as a wealthy,
enfranchised member of society.

In this basic scenario and in countless variants, wealth, power, and
privilege are all inherently benevolent: Marriage further stabilizes
the rich character’s wealth and power, which benefits the community
at large. The typical romance sees the rich character learning,
through the evolution of falling in love, to become more worthy of
their wealth so they can use it even more wisely.

One rom-com subgenre sets this trope within the workplace. The rich
character is usually the owner of, or heir to, a huge corporation, so
their character growth directly impacts all their employees. In a
string of films released just before the end of the aughts — _Two
Weeks Notice_, _Maid in Manhattan_, and _The Proposal_ — the
primary conflict that has to be resolved is a question of power: Will
the cocky rich boss remain cocky, or will they learn to humble
themselves and become a better person and a better manager and
caretaker of their corporate environment?

Movies like these took the worldview that the boss’s maturity and
the health of the corporation were inherently linked. But these themes
wouldn’t outlast the era of Occupy Wall Street. As anti-capitalist
sentiment increased in the US, many Hollywood rom-coms (if not all;
Hallmark still loves a good Cinderella story) quickly moved away from
this power dynamic toward ones in which either both parties were
roughly economic equals, à la _Set It Up_
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or else the richer character ultimately proved willing to walk away
from their wealth, à la _Crazy Rich Asians_
[[link removed]].

Korean dramas, however, have fully embraced the office romance trope.
Since the typical K-drama is serialized, their plots tend to be more
dizzyingly indulgent than American rom-com films, replete with classic
romance tropes and cliches. That also means there are countless
K-dramas of workplace romance involving a very rich character and a
very average working-class character, with the latter usually
educating and humbling the former. _King the Land_ is no exception:
Its very light plot hinges around the spoiled rich kid Gu Won (Lee)
learning to pay more attention to his employees and care about their
well-being.

But _King the Land_ is also reflective of a South Korean
entertainment landscape that frequently nods
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South Korea’s own economic issues. Shows like _Squid Game_ present
characters whose personal financial struggles mirror the nation’s
own collapse and slow recovery during the 1997 Asian financial crisis.
So, while Korea still clings to capitalism and generally
remains staunchly anti-communist
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Korean drama is typically self-aware enough about capitalism’s dark
underbelly that it won’t straightforwardly present a romantic
fantasy of a benevolent corporate overlord without some effort at
acknowledging that things aren’t that simple.

Getting Gu Won to care more about his employees and their struggles
isn’t a huge stretch; it quickly becomes clear that his brusque
exterior masks a soft heart, and that while he may have been groomed
for corporate life, he distrusts the empire his father has built. That
empire, the King corporation, is a vast machine that’s built to
depersonalize the entire experience of work. So Gu Won finds himself
trying to inject some humanity back into the flagship King Hotel; he
seeks out older employees to learn their stories, goes on a road trip
with his new girlfriend and her working-class friends (who all work
for various King subsidiaries), and improves working conditions where
he can.

Ironically, he falls for the bright-eyed Cheon Sa-rang (Im) even
though she’s everything he is wary of: a perfectly professional
concierge whose winning smile and ambitious work ethic make her a
favorite with guests. To Gu Won, these are the fake and insincere
trappings of a false corporate facade. Sa-rang, however, has wanted to
work at King hotels since she was a child; she sees the luxury and
service it provides as a true form of escape from daily life, and
initially sees the work she does as a kind of calling. For her
dedication, she’s rewarded with getting to work at the highest
concierge level — the King the Land VVIP lounge, literally on the
top floor.

The idea that a customer service job could be a calling is in itself a
fantasy of capitalism, but _King the Land _makes clear that the
reality is much drearier. Sa-rang and her two best friends are
consistently exploited, bullied, or harassed by their customers,
managers, and co-workers, with nary an HR department in sight. When
Sa-rang nearly dies because she’s sent on a physically harrowing
work trip, the company higher-ups don’t want to waste the money it
would take to save her life. The corporate drudgery and pressure to
increase their work performance is relentless. When Sa-rang finally
reaches the pinnacle of her profession, she finds the work she’s
tasked with to be utterly dehumanizing: She’s ordered to don a
maid’s uniform and perform the role of silent servant to the Gu
family.

At this point, you might be thinking: 1) None of this sounds very
romantic, and 2) this hotel could sure use a union!

_King the Land_ addresses the first problem with copious amounts of
swoony scenes of the couple being cute and endless flashback montages
to the swoony romantic scenes you just watched. There are drone
fireworks and carnival rides, lots of banter, and a hot make-out
session under an alarm sprinkler system. It’s charming.

The second problem, though, is much trickier.

Why we can’t have nice things in K-dramas — and by “nice
things,” we mean “unions”

In South Korea, unions are largely socially stigmatized and
scrutinized heavily by the government. Just 14 percent of the
workforce [[link removed]] is
unionized, and the only legally authorized unions are split into two
large trade union networks
[[link removed]], the
more liberal of which, KTCU, is frequently targeted by the government
[[link removed]].

The last major strike by a workforce was the 2009 strike of workers at
auto manufacturer Ssangyong, which was referenced in _Squid Game_.
This strike led to violent crackdowns
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the strikers, the arrests of hundreds, and thousands of workers
[[link removed]] losing
or leaving their jobs [[link removed]], with many
later dying from suicide or other related health conditions brought on
by the strike. Ssangyong’s union, as well as the original
organizers
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are still dealing with the fallout
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15 years later. Today, unions are relegated to little more than salary
and wage negotiations; broader forms of political organizing via labor
unions are illegal, and the government’s increasing crackdown
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union members see as legal union activity led one chapter leader
to carry out a protest suicide
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May.

It’s within this agitated sociopolitical context that _King the
Land_ lobs one of its only real twists. Throughout the series, Gu Won
has been searching for information about what happened to his mother,
who used to work for King Hotel, married his father while on staff,
but was then abruptly banished and sent away for unknown reasons,
after which nearly all records of her history with the hotel were
erased. In its penultimate episode, she shows up abruptly for a
confrontation and tentative reconciliation with father and son. During
their first meeting, Gu Won’s father casually drops this bombshell:
His mother was kicked out of the family, not for any of the usual
K-drama scandals, but for trying to start a union.

To the Gu family, this was an act of sheer betrayal, one that had to
be punished by separating Gu Won’s mother from her son and then all
but erasing her identity. The series’ emphasis on scrubbing her
history from the hotel records was never about personal drama, but
rather about making it harder for her to serve as an inspirational
figure to any labor organizers that might come after her.

Gu Won’s mother refuses to apologize for her union activity back
then. Instead, she castigates Gu Won’s father for abandoning the
principles and beliefs they once both believed in. From the context of
Gu Won’s journey toward responsible stewardship, we understand that
these values are probably about workers’ rights and freedoms, about
valuing people above profits.

But while she may be steadfast and not at all apologetic, the show is
not nearly so bold. This revelation, coming so late in the season, has
little effect on the overall plot, and once it gets brought up, it’s
simply never dealt with again. We don’t learn what new socialist
rabble-rousing Gu Won’s mom has done in the intervening decades; we
don’t even learn what she’s done with her life since, whether
she’s remarried, or even what her career is. Learning about the
union doesn’t inspire Gu Won and Sa-rang, nor anyone else, to start
a trade union or begin a new era of labor reformation at the King
Hotel. Instead, the show strongly implies that the problems of the
workforce can be fixed with things like better coffee and massage
chairs in the break rooms.

The relationship of this show, with its 66 million Netflix views, to
the conversation around labor, especially arriving during the time of
the Hollywood strike, is something of a paradox. Korean dramas, now
well-known for attracting global audiences
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don’t exist in a vacuum; in the age of massive international Netflix
audiences, they have to appeal to a huge variety of cultures outside
of their own. (A case in point: The show received considerable
backlash for one troubling stereotype of an Arab prince, for which it
has since apologized
[[link removed]].) Yet,
to be successful, most K-dramas also have to reflect the socially
conservative cultural norms of their home country. As a
K-drama, _King the Land_ doesn’t bother to suggest that the answer
to the many problems its workforce faces might be to unionize;
instead, as a thematic compromise, it does the bare minimum: It
acknowledges that unions could potentially exist, then completely
sidesteps the possibility of them existing here. So, while
international shows like _King the Land_ are gaining more attention
and importance during the strike, _King the Land_ itself
inadvertently becomes a subtle commentary on the strike.

It’s also worth noting that as the strike carries on in the US,
Netflix is currently refusing to meet with
[[link removed]] the
Korea Broadcasting Actor’s Union, South Korea’s version of SAG, to
discuss the platform’s refusal to pay its Korean actors residuals.

_King the Land_ essentially plays out in a world where a union is
virtually unthinkable. That means the onus of the romance plot —
because this is still about romance — is that true love has to make
the corporate overlord better because his benevolence is the only
thing the workers can really depend on if they want better
livelihoods.

At one point in the series, Gu Won surprises the workforce by handing
out cash bonuses. When his astonished assistant asks him why he
didn’t just go with the usual minor perks, he replies that when he
conducted a survey of the workers, most of them said they wanted
money. So he gave them what they wanted.

Listening to workers, it seems, can be surprisingly effective. If only
there were some structured way to make their voices heard.

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