A young graduate (Seo In-guk) doing it very tough in the existential scramble for jobs, has come to the end of his tether. After several years of juggling part-time jobs and not achieving that holy grail — a corporate position at Taekang Group — he concludes that his life has been an absolute failure. From the top of a high rise, he takes the plunge, ends his life, leaving behind a loving single mother and his longtime ex-girlfriend. It is important to note that his despair is exacerbated by a particularly bad day that culminates in a break-up with his girlfriend which he initiates after seeing her with another man. One thing after another he believes that his death is the solution to all his problem and will end all the agony that paralyzes him. That is until he wakes up and finds himself in a kind of purgatorial location face to face with Death herself played by a suitably menacing Park So-dam. This begins a drawn out debate between Death and our protagonist about the value of his life and life in general.

I went into this not knowing much except the bare essentials and on hindsight the surprises increased my engagement with the plot. The element of surprise pumps an extra layer of enjoyment as there are plenty of thrills in the offing especially in the first 4 episodes aka Part 1. Be warned: It’s not for the faint-hearted. The crime elements are unyielding in this and there’s bloody violence all about in precarious situations. If violence is no barrier to entry, this can be an amazing adrenaline rush as the viewer embarks on this seemingly convoluted journey of discovery with Yee-jae who reluctantly… and often defiantly takes on each challenge to prove his case.

From the perspective of a seasoned viewer, it’s undoubtedly one of the more creative K drama endeavours I’ve seen in awhile. The plotting here is everything. On the surface it appears to be just another one of those transmigration stories that have become K drama staple but from the way it blends genres, it’s a superior work of art to all the others.

The other highlight has got to be the top tier cast. Plenty of familiar faces and the director certainly used the best of the best to optimize the storytelling. It’s also good to see the underrated Kim Ji-hoon getting a lot more work these days in these bigger high profile productions. But the star of the enterprise is the script begging the question... when was the last time a K drama had plotting this good?

My analysis — best read after viewing and not before… Spoilers ahead.

Somewhere between the third and fourth episodes, it occurs to me that Death’s Game is a darker, certainly more violent reimagining of Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life. And while we’re at it, why not throw in Charles Dickens’ great classic, A Christmas Carol for good measure? We know which inspired which there. So what do these stories have in common? For one they are second chance stories but the protagonists in these stories aren’t necessarily aware that they are being offered a second chance at the start. They undergo an arduous punishing journey of self-discovery that on the surface is more excruciating than edifying. If Death is to be believed, then Yee-jae is being punished for committing suicide.

But is he, really? Should we really take Death at face value or are her threats strategically made to egg him on to play the game game and force him out of his despondency? Is she manipulating him with reverse psychology. Hell awaits if he fails and it’s a terrifying thought now that he’s seen what it looks like. If punishment is really the endgame, then why take Yee-jae on this journey to solve a matter of grave injustice but to give him a glimpse of what’s life like for those who are left behind? If he was the burden he believed himself to be, why are his mother and ex-girlfriend, Ji-su still grieving for him?

Because the first “body” belongs to the second son of Taekang Group, it signals immediately that these challenges are somehow linked to Yee-jae’s life before death. But how do these pieces of the puzzle fit together? Why can’t he see the forest for the trees? Corporations in K dramas are seldom portrayed positively and yet it seems to be the dream of every university graduate to seek employment in these detached monoliths. Yee-jae attends two interviews at Taekang. The first is a write-off as a result of his encounter with a suicide victim on his way. In the second seven years later he interacts with Park Tae-woo (Kim Ji-hoon) the oldest son and CEO of Taekang Group and mistakenly assumes he has had a positive encounter with his potential employer. It’s an illusion. One of many. Park Tae-woo is a double-faced psychopath with violent tendencies. He’s a fraud. His benign public image is a cover for something far more sinister. He uses his clout as CEO of a corporation with deep pockets to pay off corrupt officials to cover up his crimes. He can use his infinite resources to engage organized crime. He sets himself above the law. He styles himself as Milton’s Satan ruling in hell. No one can get to him. Except through a miracle.

Furthermore the purpose of Taekang Group in the narrative is not only that it represents a festering merciless evil behind the facade of wealth but it is a symbol of a larger critique of materialism that drives the rat race and the participants to despair. The society in which these people live define success in terms of wealth, status, possessions. Yee-jae mentions this more than once that everyone has the same goals — a good job at a large company, marriage, children who do well at school, financial security. The reality however is that not everyone can achieve all of this. Nor might they want to. It is in the interest of these corporations with the help of governments to turn men and women into economic units — slaves of a system that tethers them to the economic engines of the nation with no regard for their spiritual, mental, physical well-being that make up the whole person. Big Business is first and foremost about profits. Governments are about control. They don’t see their clientele or electorates as individuals but entities to be exploited managed.

This perspective is given added merit by the fact that when Yee-jae finally realises that the people around him are more important to him than clinging on to wealth that’s not even his, he finally has clarity about the nature of Death’s game. It isn’t punishment per se but revelations/insights into his life that were not available to him previously. These insights serve a dual purpose insofar as they offer him an opportunity to re-evaluate his life and a compelling reason to exist. He didn’t have much by way of material wealth. In the order of things he was a “nobody” but he loved and was loved. His life had value by virtue of the fact that he was born.

In his case Yee-jae’s depression arose from unrealistic, unhealthy social values that just don’t account for individual differences and the unpredictability of life. Working for Taekang isn’t that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow but it has become a lie perpetuated in his world to prop up a class based social system that devalues the “losers” based on their monetary value. This is also reiterated in the other highlighted suicide where unlike Yee-jae, the individual makes it at Taekang for a while and lives the South Korean dream only for the bubble to burst in middle age when all his accomplishments and attempts to climb up the corporate ladder are rendered meaningless in a single moment. The problem with material possessions is their transience and lifelong pursuit of them is meaningless. Our ability to cling on to them in life is tenuous at best. And no can take it with them when they die.

At the core of this is the question of what makes us human. Are we just mere bodies to be “filled” by a soul? Are we just a sum of our memories? Like in Neo in The Matrix, Yee-jae is able to “download” abilities ie. access the abilities of his “hosts” and use them for a far greater purpose that transcends the lives of any of these morally dubious men. He is able to co-opt their memories for a greater cause — justice for victims of heinous crimes.

Hence the analogue to It’s A Wonderful Life and to a lesser degree A Christmas Carol. Instead of Clarence the angel or the three Christmas ghosts, Yee-jae’s instructor and messenger is the hard task master Death who brings out the whip and cracks it with unholy glee to keep him on his toes. As with the case in these second chance stories, these men come to realise that material prosperity isn’t everything but the relationships, the people we leave behind when we die are the true legacy of our lives. It’s not punishment at all but compassion to be shown how you’ve been led astray and be given another chance to refashion one’s life not governed by the materialistic impulses of our culture.