Three years after Our Beloved Summer, screenwriter Lee Na-eun returns with another Valentine’s Day drama that reels you in with romance—only to remind you that love is never just about love.
I was not prepared for the range of emotions Melo Movie put me through over the course of a Sunday. I was just looking for an hour or so of Netflix procrastination before I started preparing for Monday's workday.
Some 10 hours later, my to-do list forgotten and eyes puffy from tears, I found myself both cursing the Netflix marketing team — for making me think this was a light-hearted rom-com (spoiler alert: it isn’t) — and wondering if my Sunday binge had somehow healed a part of me I didn’t even know needed fixing.
I should have known better.
As the second drama from Our Beloved Summer (2022) writer Lee Na-eun, Melo Movie uses romance as a familiar bait, only to pull you into something deeper—a quiet, unflinching look at the ways our past shapes us, the masks we wear to protect ourselves, and the slow, sometimes painful but necessary process of healing.
The Story
Choi Woo-shik, once again playing the boy-next-door we can’t help but root for, is Ko Gyeom, a cheerful film buff whose childhood was built around movies—their magic, their escape, their ability to make life feel bigger than it is. His older brother, Ko Jun (Kim Jae-wook, Her Private Life), spent most of his time working to provide for them, leaving Gyeom to raise himself in the company of film.
He is drawn to Kim Mubee (Park Bo-young, Daily Dose of Sunshine), a woman who has spent her entire life resenting being named after movies. Named after them by a father who seemed to love filmmaking more than his own daughter, she grew up believing film had stolen something from her—her father’s time, his attention, his love.
The story is also held up by two compelling supporting characters: Ko Gyeom’s best friend, Hong Si-jun (Lee Jun-young, The Impossible Heir), a struggling songwriter cheered on by his longtime girlfriend, Son Ju-a (Jeon So-nee, Parasyte: The Grey), who one day leaves him to pursue her own dreams of becoming a screenwriter.
The Review
In the fictional worlds Lee Na-eun creates, real life isn’t just a romance, a comedy, or a tragedy—it’s all of them, sometimes all at once. Her characters are complex beings shaped by childhood wounds, wearing masks to hide their deepest fears, and wielding defense mechanisms to protect their most vulnerable selves.
This means Melo Movie isn’t a movie but a 10-episode journey of healing and growth.
After the initial spark between them, Ko Gyeom suddenly disappears from Kim Mubee’s life to care for his brother after an accident and decides to channel his love for films into a career as a movie critic. This choice, however, unknowingly reopens Kim Mubee’s deepest wound: abandonment. Her entire life, she felt her father constantly abandoned her for his first love, movies, and so she became a director—determined to prove that one can create films without sacrificing everything else in the process.
Meanwhile, Hong Si-jun is a rich kid from a family of doctors trying to prove he can succeed as a musician despite no one believing in him, except for Son Ju-a, who devoted seven years of her life to supporting him and his dream to the point that she barely had time to figure out her own goals and dreams. When sheer dramaland fate makes their paths cross again five years later, they are forced to confront old wounds and insecurities and somehow heal the inner child within them.
These heavy topics, however, are delicately wrapped in layers of witty banter, charming flirtations, and the baby-faced cheeks of Choi Woo-shik and Park Bo-young. The tone is never heavy or depressing, aided by warm and artistic cinematography, making the series feel like a soft hug even when it tugs at your deepest wounds.
This has now become Lee Na-eun's signature: taking viewers on a gentle stroll through rekindled romances and second chances along a sunlit path littered with pain and hurt.
In the fictional world of Melo Movie, Ko Gyeom believes that real life has a finite amount of misfortunes so you can carry on believing that happiness will eventually come. However, as this series is not just about romance, happiness comes not from happy romantic endings but from resolving childhood traumas, confronting fears and acceptance of things beyond our control. In fact, the episode titled “Happy Ending is Mine” arrives in the middle of the series, as if to remind us that real fulfillment isn’t about getting the perfect love story. It’s about healing.
STREAM: If you’re in the mood for a poignant, introspective drama that goes beyond romance.
SKIP: If you’re looking for a light-hearted, feel-good rom-com.
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