This is one of the surprise hits of the '22 BL season

“Love Class” is, in my opinion, a surprise hit of the ’22 BL season. It has the key features we’ve come to expect from shows out of Korea: quality acting, writing & directing. The only item missing from its impressive list of achievements is a catchy title song composed & sung by artists like Runy (Where Your Eyes Linger) or Coldin (Semantic Error). Han Hyun Jun, who stole the show in “Please Tell Me So”, is well teamed here opposite Kim Tae Hwan, who plays the tall lean and broody Ro-A.

Online credits for Director Lee SungTaek are sparse but he deserves more attention: “Love Class” is shot with economy & tight focus and doesn’t waste a moment of its precious 6 x 20minute episodes (in effect, a 2hour movie). At time of posting this, the writer is not known, but the script deftly weaves into its university student love story sub plots of unrequited love, jealousy, peer acceptance and stigma, as well as the darker subjects of outing, stalking (there is some violence) and internet trolling. Not a character is wasted, from Ro-A’s flatmates to their university tutor; each is fleshed out and dovetails into the drama.

Within the BL universe, "Love Class" is firmly in the realistic vein of story-telling, not the fantasy space occupied by "Cutie Pie" or "Enchante", for example. Ultimately, what makes this series watchable is the trajectory of its two leads: Ro-A’s attraction to Han Hyun Jun’s Ji-Woo and Ji-Woo’s self-discovery of the difference between having a crush and being in love. Highly recommended.

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Feels more like a soap than a BL.

Audiences will have to make their own minds up whether the good parts of “Don’t Say No” are better than the bad parts. To my mind, the good parts are worth watching. The problem is there aren’t enough good parts to have ever justified making this into a 727 minute long show. The consequence of the creators stretching out the various events in DNS is that it feels very episodic, not so much a BL series as more like a tv soap, where each episode is more or less self-contained with viewers left hanging at the end of each episode waiting to see how the cliff-hanger will resolve itself in the next. This also helps to explain why DNS is such a mixture of dramatic scenarios, uncertain of its own character.

Even so, I like how DSN tackles love AFTER the rosy falling in love stage. And also the trope of parent-conflict is reworked to the more harrowing depiction of a psychologically unwell mother.

Stories of how couples handle the day to day of their relationship are not commonplace in BL’s, but here Leo & Fiat are already an item at the start. Their love for each other though is no guarantee that they can handle the misunderstandings and the doubts and concerns that all couples experience in the early years until trust in and familiarity with each other settle in.

Beyond that, “Don’t Say No” goes into some dark places in broken families. Despite the wealthy surroundings in which Fiat grows up, the breakdown of his parent’s marriage is the initial source for his later young adult self-destructive pattern of sexual license. It seems at first as if, nurtured by the strong emotional support of his partner, Leo, he will confront the truth about his mother’s unstable behaviour; but Fiat is practiced at hiding the past from himself and will even risk his relationship with Leo to preserve his fragile mindset.

Leo, it turns out, is the gay bf/partner/husband every guy dreams about or wishes for - tall, good-looking, loving, faithful, devoted, supportive (the birthday scene is a treasure) and dedicated to Fiat’s happiness. (The public kiss on the basketball court at the end is a nice touch.) Ja Phachara Suansri brings to the role of Leo a perfect mixture of sweet doey-eyed charm & sexy allusion. And he is involved in what might be one of the ground-breaking scenes in the BL world: a prolonged amicable conversation between Leo and Fiat’s father about their love for Fiat and the transfer of responsibility for Fiat from parent to spouse.

Ultimately, though, “Don’t Say No” depends for its drama and our involvement in it on the character of Fiat, the show’s central protagonist. First Chalongrat Novsamrong comes to the part with the requisite combination of good looks and sexiness. There is even a suggestion that Fiat & Leo might indulge in some mutually consensual hard core bed play. But, more significant is the emotional baggage that Fiat brings to their relationship. For First, it is as heavy an acting burden as Fluke Natouch Siripongthon had to bear in “Until We Meet Again”; where the dramatic weight of the show depends on their character’s emotional journey and our belief in it. First gets most of it right especially given that tortured internal conflicts are harder for most young Thai BL actors. Occasionally he is left unsupported by the writer when he has to emote on his own; but the support he receives from Ja Phacara Suansri’s Leo in part helps cover many of the weak spots.

It should be no surprise, therefore, in my opinion, that while the overarching themes in this series of relationships - past & present - guide the rough shape of the show, the screenwriter proves to be the weak spot in this drama. Rather than weave the themes together - as happens in real life - the writer breaks the plot developments into set pieces with little forewarning or poor preparation. The effect is to make the show stutter in its progress and, at times, slow to a painful crawl, as the drama, structured in 12 hour-long episodes, struggles to find enough action to fill the time. (Threading of plot lines & character development is one of the key reasons Korean BL’s are generally more effective dramatically than their Thai counterparts.) Silence, for instance, is an effective dramatic device, but not when it is used because the writer has nothing else for the characters to say & the director has nothing for them to do; then it becomes tedious and reveals a lack of ideas & imagination. Characters talking to themselves in an empty room is worse: that only makes the character appear to be demented instead of having an internal reflection.

“Don’t Say No” is also littered with the dramatic device of using song to expand emotional peaks. It is an over-used device, in my opinion, and suffers from the burden it places on the singer-songwriter. No artist, to my knowledge, has been able to write so many successful songs for the one show. In fact, usually, the opposite is the case - a single theme, such as the recurring melody in “Enchanté”, works more effectively than ten or more individual songs.

A mention should be made of the poor animal wrangling of Pob’s rescue cat, Pobjer. Every cat owner will see clearly, in the scenes in Pob’s apartment, that the cat is behaving wary in an unfamiliar space, exactly opposite to how the script describes. Professional film industry animal wranglers know to get an animal to relax on set. It’s way past time that Thai film producers shook off their acceptance of low standards and embraced real film industry performance in all departments.

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The happiest of endings

I love a happy ending, and “Cherry Blossoms After Winter” has as good an ending as any BL in the fantasy sector of the genre. Credit to the casting - Ok Jin Uk as Hae Bom and Kang Hui as Tae Sung, the two main leads, are a pleasure to watch and listen to, and their characterisations meld well with the mellow dramatic tone of the series where even the early conflicts with the high school bully threaten but don’t overwhelm the central love story.

In the now familiar fantasy BL world of privileged young men (for whom a university education constitutes no financial hardship of any kind) and whose friends are the most supportive in the world, the pathways to happiness are riddled with the bumps and misdirections of their own characters, not the world in which they live. Through gradual steps and confessions, doubts and then resolve, the young couple find reciprocated love and begin their life journey. Even the sudden last minute appearance of parental concern about how the wider world will treat the happy young couple is not a problem so much as an opportunity to showcase love as the ultimate decision-maker.

Feel-good stories such as CBAW look simple but require care to pull off. Credit to the production team; across the board, from Director Yoon Joon Ho, as much as in the wardrobe & makeup, the sets & lighting, camerawork & editing, this looked to me to be a team effort. It’s appropriate, in a metaphorical sense, that Tae Sung decides at the end that he is going to study to become a cake maker; the whole show has the pleasant feel of a cinematic confection.

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The title is both clue and metaphor

Rarely have I been so impatient for each successive episode to be released as I was for this series, such was its high level of enjoyment and anticipation and production.

Fathers and sons; mothers and daughters; and the notion what would we do differently if we had the chance to live our lives again - these factors underpin “Twinkling Watermelon”, whose title provides at the start no clue to the entertainment riches that will gradually unfold.

When so much of this production is good, two stars stand out for me: firstly, the character of Choi Se Kyeong is as unique and multi-layered a person as if she had leaped out of the pages of a 19th C. English novel. She is played by Seol In Ah with enormous spirit and exasperating ambiguity that is perfect for the part. She dominates almost every scene she is in. She is shaded only by the second star: Choi Hyun Wook as the younger Ha Yi Chan, in a performance that shines throughout the series, full of vigour and energy and the optimism of youth undisturbed by life’s curveballs, equally full of filial devotion and undiluted anger at parental neglect, impatient with life but still excited at its gifts and surprises, confused at first but then eagerly succumbing when falling in love for the first time. It is a remarkable performance by a 21 year old; for me it is the standout acting of this year.

There is so much to admire and the quality is high throughout. It sees churlish to find fault but a mention should be made of the Kdrama penchant for an evil character, the whipping post for deflected disappointments and difficult struggles. In this case, it is the step-mother Lim Ji Mi, played by Kim Too Ryoung with appropriately steely dark eyes and pursed lips. Jin Soo Wan’s script contains so much nuance that it is a shame the “bad guy” in this case gets no such layering.

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A lightweight comedy of cooking and cuteness.

The handsome 21 year old successful Japanese model Ohiro Shuzo is the star of this mini-series, playing the role of Amai Koichi, a 2nd year high schooler “obsessed with sweets”. Koichi candidly admits that his story is about falling in love for the first time, and we can see clearly that his gaze falls only on other boys at school.

There are only 5 episodes in “8.2 By no Hosoku” and each one is centred on yet another boy for whom Koichi has the hots. But each boy has a problem and Koichi hopes to work his way into their hearts by solving their problem; Koichi, it turns out, is no slouch in the kitchen and the way into their hearts passes through their taste buds. Each episode features Ohiro Shuzo with cooking apron on preparing a different dessert for each of his love interests. Please note that Koichi’s failure to convert each of these boys to his arms is not due to any culinary inadequacies on his part.

Part of the charm of this confection of a show is that the character Koichi uses the character of each dessert to communicate a helpful message to each of the boys. Without giving too much away, the repeated chase resolves itself finally when the pursuer becomes the pursued.

Ohiro Shuzo makes for an amusing Koichi, determined to score a boyfriend for himself; and judging by some of the scenes in which Koichi fantasises about these pairings, Koichi’s desires are not so much romantic as full-on erotic. Sadly, anyone hoping for the ubiquitous BL trope of a shower scene of the toned and muscled model, will have to watch Shuzo’s video interview with Elle magazine instead.

The cast overall is good, the pacing of the show and the directing compliment the script which never lingers or sags. I recommend to watch all episodes at the one time: the 50 minutes will fly past very enjoyably.

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How to bury a maybe-BL under a whole load of other stuff

This remake of the earlier censored "Addicted" is like being offered water after you've already drunk several bottles of Soju. Lacking the sexual tension and physical interactions of "Addicted", "Stay With Me" becomes a long (24 episodes? Really??) slog through a history of 3 families, connected by marriage, divorce and accident. The relationship between the two boys too often takes a back seat to the melodrama of parent conflict, child-rearing and earning a living. The series looks great: photography and action on-screen is top grade, although the missing millions of Beijing (car scenes on empty streets, for instance) is bizarre.

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In parts yes, in parts no.

This follow-up series to the pairing of Meen & Ping in "Ai Long Nhai" shows improvement in acting skills of both leads, although Ping could benefit from doing improvs in front of a mirror to reduce his squishing of his eyes for most emotions. Their romantic scenes worked well and showed the benefit of both actors being familiar with each other.

The show is very much a hybrid of mafia and romance and its production bifurcation is reflected in having two DOP's. I suspect one was chosen to apply the lush cinematographic effects to certain critical scenes, most especially the romantic ones, while the remaining scenes feel stock standard Thai soap in character.

The action scenes are plentiful as entertainment if one ignores the equivalency of portraying a man who kills without compunction with a faithful lover willing to sacrifice a lucrative life in crime for a gay nest. Balancing all these factors causes the storyline to be rushed with the result that critical life decisions are raised and resolved in the time it takes to order at a restaurant, which is a pity because this show has a supporting cast many would envy. Winner as the third wheel in the relationship comes close to tipping the scales away from Guy's boyfriend, Thiu. Tonlew looks as if she could handle roles with more meat. Tinn is clearly working below his class in this show while Nitta and Paam are worth seeing again in other projects. Tommy could be the find of the year if he improves on his acting, but this series is based on a webtoon, and much of it felt cartoonish anyway.

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Two good lead actors wasted in unwatchable series

This was a long wait through far too many episodes in Act 1 to reach the pay-off in Act 2 and I doubt many viewers would be so patient, primarily because the producers had paired two sympathetic lead actors with two other actors with performances so wooden, you wondered where the attraction was to bring each of these two couples together. Other reviewers have dissected the plot with precision: I don’t think it deserved such careful consideration. I suspect that Thai screenwriters, chained to their source material and observant of manga conventions and Thai cultural behaviours, have either avoided or abandoned any effort at any meaningful psychological understanding of their own characters. People are reduced to cliches - such as a child deprived of a mother’s love - to explain a person’s entire life, and by this single notion, to represent the totality of that person’s contemporary behaviour. Here in this series, the father is prepared to use violence to control his son’s behaviour but manages an epiphany within two episodes. This total change of heart is shown not by the character himself but by the explanation of another character altogether, as if all ogres are basically good at heart, if you look hard enough. Thai producers of BL series had better be careful; they think they’re in clover and can keep expanding the viewer market exponentially. I understand 75 shows are slated for 2022. I think they’re taking their audiences for granted. They shouldn’t. Viewers won’t put up with low quality like this forever.

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Too long, too slow, too thin - there's better shows out there to watch instead of this.

Some of the worst aspects of Thai BL production awfulness are on display here, and it has to be asked why did the producers think viewers would commit over 12hours of their time to a show like this? One hour episodes for this? Really??

To be fair, the three leads are good actors and deserve a better script than this; writer Chim Sedthawut Inboon is credited on MDL with 5 series scripts in the last two years alone. Based on these first two episodes, they must have all been first drafts, its dialogue being almost cartoonish. Director Kapper Worarit Ninklom suffers from the newbie mistake of shooting the location instead of the drama, wanting to show off the expensive house Nine lives in rather than adding anything to the action.

And then there are the usual Thai BL suspects: bedrooms lit like ballrooms expecting us to believe the characters actually sleep in that blaze of light all night long, an upmarket house master bedroom decorated like it was a student dormitory with photos stuck on the wall, actors sitting unnaturally on couches or at table for the sake of the camera rather than to portray realism, the addition of annoying sound effects because of course we, the audience are so stupid, well we have no other way of knowing when people are behaving comedically instead of dramatically.

This show rests on one premise only: will Daonuea and Nine get it on again after their hot one night stand at the resort? For my part, I wish they would give in to their animal urges and clear lust for each other and just do it and spare us this long trawl to the last episode. And we can all get back to watching better Thai BL’s; there are plenty of them out there this year.

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Contrived but also refreshing and satisfying

“The Eighth Sense” succeeds despite its drawbacks; the happy ending of the two main characters, Jae Won (Im Ji Sub) and Ji Hyun (Oh Jun Taek), feels right, even if the steps to get there carry contrivance in script and direction. But the two leads are overwhelmingly convincing in their performances and interactions to sweep nitpicking aside.

Joint Directors Werner du Plessis and Inu Baek have delivered a soft surfing tale, from the opening credits which hark back to films from decades ago, to scenes of sea, sand and surf, bestowing an ambience of young vigour and first-time love. We may not be on the surf beaches of South Africa, Hawaii or Australia, but as the camera lovingly explores the collection of surfboards in the surf shop, and lingers over the body-hugging wetsuits, all that is missing is the burning summer sun and suntan lotion. The music soundtrack is also especially worthy of note and adds to the series’ appeal.

A highlight of “The Eighth Sense” is the satisfying arc of the relationship between the two main characters. Im Ji Sub and Oh Jun Taek are especially good in their scenes together, awkward at the start despite or even because of their mutual attraction, wholehearted in their giving into their desire, and increasingly open and honest in their understanding and commitment to their affection.

A feature of this series is the depressing depiction of corrosive behaviour amongst the characters’ peer groups. Jan Young-joon as Tae Hyung is Jae Won’s thoughtless and manipulative “best friend”; Park Hae In as Eun Ji is Jae Won’s scheming and caustic ex-girlfriend; Bang Jin Won, as Ji Hyun’s childhood friend Joon Pyo, is self-serving in being both physically gluttonous and emotionally clinging. Worse, Jae Won’s therapist is both accusatory and unprofessional, chiding Jae Won for her inability to pay her rent because she didn’t get the fee for an appointment he missed.

There is a brief nod towards the issue of social disapproval of open gay relationships in South Korea, but overall the creators’ drive is towards the goal of Love Conquers All, and the final two episodes are well crafted towards that end.

Acknowledgment should be given also to the three supportive female characters: Jung Seo In as the owner of the restaurant where Ji Hyun works, Seo Ji An as the intuitive Ae Ri and Lee Mi Ra as Yoon Won, the mother figure of both the surf club and its family of members. Amidst trouble and taboos, these characters at a personal level redeem somewhat the social difficulties faced by Jae Won and Ji Hyun in the broader scheme.

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Light but for the alcohol

Light is the operative word to describe “All The Liquors”, a low budget Korean BL about a young marketing lad falling in love with the small restaurant-owning chef he persaudes to front one of his company’s alcohol product launches. Key to the series is the 20 year old Kim Jun Hyung, who combines light comic elements with his inherent cuteness to maintain interest in this love versus work plot line. His partner in love is played by debuting model/actor Won Do Hyun, whose wooden acting ironically turns out to be perfect for the hesitant lover.

The cast is small, as in similar low-budget Korean shoots, like last year’s “Individual Circumstances” and the locations are limited. “All The Liquors” has the benefit of a city locale which adds some interest, although the poor audio quality inside the undampened box-like location of the chef’s restaurant represents an unusual drop in film production standards from a Korean production team.

“All The Liquors” had the potential it seemed at first to tackle a much more serious issue of over-consumption of alcohol in Korean society but managed to drop the ball on this opportunity and to reaffirm instead the dubious notion that too much Sujo is a good thing where it assists romance to flow.

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An interesting premise that failed to deliver

Nicely shot with an engaging musical soundtrack, this low-budget Korean BL suffers from being low ideas as well.
Two film major students fall in love with each other at university without confessing it to each other, and later, as professionals in the industry, link up on a love story project whose subject mirrors their own experience. This premise ought to provide an engaging dynamic of characters learning about themselves and each other, but it is hampered by the limitations of a small cast, no subplot worthy of mention and overuse of the main location.

“Individual Circumstances” turns itself into a two-hander which would be fine if the individuals were fully fleshed out; they emerge instead as thin, without much in the way of endearing characteristics on which to explain their attraction to each other. The Director and his cameraman strike me as being aware of how thin is the script by shooting the house location more than the characters and at one point, in an effort to mix things up, crossing the line in one of their numerous sit-down static exchanges. The cast themselves do an admirable job: Kang Jun Kyu is the more experienced of the leads and it shows in his efforts to project Woo Jae’s inner turmoil; Han Jung Wan handles his debut role with confidence.

Ultimately, though, a drama in which there is so little physical action requires a concentration on the characters’ internal conflicts which underlie so much of the best Kdrama. Here, it’s hard to know what motivated either of these two guys to be drawn towards each other, other than the daily ritual of going with someone to grab a bite to eat.

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I haven't cried this much since UWMA

“Peach of Time” is as much a kdrama as it is a BL; in fact I suggest it is unique in being a hybrid and a very good one at that. It owes much to first-class performances from two of its leads.

A ghost story might seem an unusual choice for the first Thai-Korean BL production to reach our screens; even more so as the story is not treated as a comedy. Had it done so, BL fans might have been as forgiving and accepting as they were with other ghost BLs such as “Something in my room” (2022), “He’s Coming to Me” (2019), “HiStory 1: My Hero” (2017), “So Much In Love” (2020). Dark subject matter, on the other hand, can generate negative reactions from fans who prefer their BL series to have happy endings.

The bad reviews of “Peach of Time” make me think there must be a lot of BL fans who have studied and read “Basic Behavioural Elements of Ghosts” or who have done courses on “Profiles & Studies of the Psychology of Ghosts in Human Interaction” (School of SE Asian Cultural Studies, 2020-2022). (I’m kidding - there are no such books or courses. But you get my meaning I hope.)

“Peach of Time” is not concerned with ghosts, and neither, I believe, need be the audience. Well, not actual ghosts (if you pardon the oxymoron). The ghost element is both a metaphor and a dramatic device; and the ghosts that feature large in “Peach of Time” are, as Mario describes them in Ep.3, the “ghosts” of resentment, or sadness, the emotional issues in our lives that we don’t address and leave unresolved, between ourselves and those we love, and that linger, like ghosts that hover and surround our lives. Hence, the series' main focus is in its title: time, and whether we make the most of it.

The drama plays out amidst a group of characters whose time together has ended prematurely by an unforeseen event. Each of the main protagonists, Jimmy Karn Kritsanaphan as Peach, Choi Jae Hyun as Yoon Oh (the two nascent lovers), and Jung Ae Yun as Dr Moon, Yoon Oh’s mother, react differently to the shock & suddenness of tragedy. How and whether they each come to terms with this is the real determinant of whether this series can be said to have a happy ending or not.

Cultural differences and similarities feature large in the drama. Peach is Thai and on this, his first trip to Korea, reacts at once with his traditional Thai view of parental regard to what he regards as Yoon Oh’s disrespect towards his mother; Jimmy plays these scenes with the diffidence and reserve familiar to all of us from so many Thai BL’s. Dr Moon, for her part, forgets her duty of care towards her one and only son; Jung Ae Yun gives expression to the high standards of achievement Korean parents expect of their children and the disappointment that her own success is not mirrored in her child. Yoon Oh anticipates his mother’s rejection of his expected repeat failure of the highly competitive Korean CSTAT exams. Choi Jae Hyun’s finely nuanced performance shimmers with the pressure and resentment young Koreans face today towards succeeding throughout their entire youth and early adult lives.

The background story of Yoon Oh’s mother, a practising cardiothoracic surgeon, who knowing the Thai language and has taught it to her son, helps explain Yoon Oh’s choice of Thailand for his holiday/runaway location, where he and Peach meet each other. Peach begins to study Korean to be able to speak with his friend as their relationship progresses. Those who quibble about the actors speaking in one language and being answered in another have, I would suggest, had no experience of how people in multicultural households communicate with each other. It was common, for instance, in my family and migrant community, for people to do the same as the characters in this show, and even to swap from one language to another mid-conversation, if not to do so even mid-sentence. Keep in mind that exchanging basic conversation, does not equate to being fluent; later we see Peach mix up the labels of the cakes in the cafe because he cannot read the Korean script correctly.

Being a kdrama, the plot carries with it a criminal-detective mystery component surrounding the event around which this story revolves. And added, also, is the story of a possible medical malpractice issue against Yoon Oh’s mother. There is a further subplot involving Tommy Sittichok Pueakpoolpol as Mario, a long lingering ghost at the resort owned by the Moon family. As is the way with kdrama, these concurrent plot lines simultaneously prolong the drama’s timelines while also - and this is a feature lacking in early low-budget Thai BLs - broaden the supporting world of characters beyond the immediate love interest leads.

The show loses its focus somewhat towards the end in striving to wrap up all its loose ends, but its conclusion rests in the safe hands of its principal leads, especially Choi Jae Hyun. At one point, Peach searches for the unhappy Yoon Oh; he realises Yoon Oh has voluntarily put himself inside his “naughty cupboard”, a relic of his upbringing, imposed or self-created we do not know. When Peach prises open the cupboard door, he observes that Yoon Oh has decorated the inside walls of the cupboard with photos of himself and his mother from happier childhood days. Peach’s face registers shock, but Choi Jae Hyun, without a word, through his eyes alone, speaks to us in this act of self-punishment, of his sadness and shame at what he perceives as his failure as a son.

Peach seems at first to be a slight character, as slight as his figure; but he is pivotal to the emotional journey of the main characters. Faced at first with learning about the tragic event which happened shortly before his arrival, he is confronted with having to make a decision for which he has no prior experience; but drawing on his own nature, his fondness for Yoon Oh and his Thai cultural background, he stays to do what he can to help Yoon Oh and his mother through their turmoil. Gradually, even Mario recognises in Peach an inner power towards love and reconciliation, which, to Mario’s surprise, aids him also.

Yeu Jeong Seob’s 5-year vigil for his daughter Eun Bin, in a coma, is another relationship under pressure and in distress.

The two investigative police detectives are also at odds with each other over the case; the senior officer feels for Dr Moon and the loss of her only child while the junior officer bristles at the investigation continuing and is content to wrap it up without further effort, even to the point of lying to his senior about obtaining critical video evidence. And at Dr Moon’s hospital, the administrator has been maintaining an approach solely to avoid a lawsuit against them by Yeu Jeong Seob, without any consideration for the father’s loss. Dr Moon, in turn, just as Peach has helped her, helps the grieving father by drawing a parallel between her reluctance to accept her son’s fate. This is a turning point in the Yoon Oh story; in their mutual grief, both parents recognise their mutual humanity. The father, in turn, reports to the police detectives a critical fact he had withheld.

Ignore the negative comments: “Peach of Time” is good and worth watching. But while it presents as a BL, it is more than that and what it sets out to do, it does very well. Audiences should approach it for what it is rather than what they hope it will be but isn’t.

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A serious subject handled well ... well, almost.

There is one over-riding reason to watch “The Effect”: to see the moving and deeply affecting performance of James Prapatthorn Chakkhuchan as Shin, the first year university student whose life is dramatically changed by his relationship with an older student. He captures the demure innocent-looking freshman with a convincing sincerity.

Shin admits he’s not an ‘A’ grade or even a ‘B’ grade student, but that does not mean he can’t think for himself or have his own opinions. When senior student Keng (played with a nice degree of ambiguity by Oat Chakrit Boonsing) spots him on campus and, taking a liking to him, contrives to meet him, it sets in motion what could have been a story of the younger man discovering himself and falling in love for the first time. That would have made for a conventional Thai BL series familiar to all by now; but that is not what happens.

Instead, Shin’s misfortune is to be impressed by Keng’s surface allure of an A grade senior who, beneath his impressive resume, conceals his own secret struggle. Add to this Man, (played impressively if a little too villainy by Mike Weerapat Nimanong), a fellow senior who openly pursues the reluctant Keng, and “The Effect” takes this triangle love interest into the darker side of the powerful forces unleashed by attraction amongst the young.

The damaging forces that align to catapult Shin into injury, shame, depression and worse are painfully written in the performance of James Prapatthorn, who displays a remarkable emotional grasp of his character’s despair. The first-time director, Worawut Thanamatchaicharoen, does well to give him all the screen time he needs to chart his Hades-like descent, because in three hour long episodes, there is little time left over for the many other issues the drama raises.

The limited scale of this series results in numerous other matters being dispensed as if reading from a pamphlet on sexual violence; on top of that, parents are showing over-reacting with inappropriate responses, friends turn up with glib advice, doctors dispense pre-emptive medication with vivid descriptions of side effects for an affliction feared but not yet established and without at any time suggesting counselling for Shin’s trauma which is evident for all to see.

Worse is that the perpetrator of the violence keeps reappearing, spurred it would seem by the writers’ intent to fashion somehow, incredibly, a happy ending from the poisonous seed they’ve already sown into the plot. Certainly, Shin, with considerable justification, has made up his own mind about the senior he initially respected, yet the writers persist & insert a fantastical final plot twist, which is to no-one’s credit.

“The Effect” production is also plagued by the seemingly incurable Thai BL filming sins of staging dialogues in unnatural line poses, over-lighting interiors and unrealistic coincidences of characters arriving at a scene at exactly the right time to intervene in the action.

The series does not make for easy viewing. Still, the creative team are to be commended for tackling such a serious subject, and, thanks hugely to the casting of James Prapatthorn as Shin, they get most of it right.

Shin’s initial admiration of Keng stems from what he himself calls his gut instinct; he is more guarded later when Man takes a surreptitious photo and uses his seniority to imply that he could be trusted how he will use it. As events escalate, Shin’s confusion about developments beyond his control and his powerlessness in the face of a social media tide are both etched in his face and reveal better than words his struggle to articulate responses that will steer him between the competing elements that have invaded his life. When he senses he may have feelings for Keng, his instinct stops him from acting on them; but what is at play here is no longer Shakespearean - Shin’s fate doesn’t rest on his own character. Instead, it has become classic Greek tragedy, where Shin has become a plaything of the gods, at the mercy of others.

When, at the series end, he finally wrests back control of his own life, it would be nice to think that the bad that happened to him was now in the past. But here the creatives upended their own good works; we know traumas such as Shin suffered are not magically erased by three years of work & study and gaining a degree; nor are wrongs erased by wistfully sighting the guy you still have feelings toward after a long absence.

There is a postscript note the producers have inserted referring to Shin and Keng having found a new place; in my view, it is as crass a piece of after-the-event plot connivance as I’ve come across. It should be ignored.

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