The story of a boy who can read people and objects by touching them. A sprinkling of romance. A secret from the past. The effects of corruption. The warmth of human relationships. The issue of moral ambiguity. The need for redemption and the difficulty of forgiveness. Plot twists that make you sit up and pay attention, then leave you rattled.

Is this show able to keep your interest and make you come back for the next episode? Yes.
Do you become invested in the characters? Yes.
Does the story try to give an unexpected spin to otherwise predictable clichés? Yes.
Does the combination of cinematography, acting, pacing, music, and plot work? Yes.
Is it worth your time? Yes. Uhm… well… probably.
Is it worth rewatching? No.

It’s a type of show that is enjoyable to follow while on-air. Some of the gaps may become more visible when binge-watching.

He Is Psychometric is destined to suffer from the M. Night Shyamalan syndrome: the main draw is a Big Reveal gimmick; once the central mystery is resolved, the other components of the narrative don’t compel you to revisit it any time in the future. And unfortunately, to add to the viewer’s dissatisfaction, the show doesn’t successfully address one central point of the mystery: why was the coming together of the main couple—especially as trainer/trainee—so insistently and deliberately orchestrated? The reasons are implied, but not spelled out: a defect frequently found in Korean dramas which repeatedly state what is non-essential and obvious, but fail to clarify a core issue, leaving it diffuse or glossed over.

[NOTE: spoilers beyond this paragraph!]

As a viewer I found myself almost resenting the feeling that I could practically see the wheels turning in the screen writer’s head. If put into a monologue, it would go something like this: “Let’s see now… we need a spin on the childhood connection trope… Ah, Healer had this trio of the younger male and female leads, plus an older second male lead… And he was ambiguous most of the time, we couldn’t figure out whether he was a good guy or a bad guy… Let’s add this…Great… Now, what about the shared trauma and its potential to destroy the newly-formed couple? Hey, speaking of Ji Chang Wook projects, Suspicious Partner had this apartment fire thing… and the guy discovering that the girl’s dad is the one he blames for his parents’ death… but the dad is wrongfully accused… Awesome, this will work, let’s throw it in there in the exact same sequence, no need to mess with a working formula… Can’t make the parallels too transparent, though… How about a little twist here: the scale of the fire is a result of cutting corners because the big construction company is corrupt. Super! (Good call, BTW.) OK… So… what we need is a stark contrast between the puppy-cute young couple and a dark world of obsession and crime… Kind of like Strong Woman Do Bong Soon, but darn, we are not doing mixed genre parody here… hmmm… still, I like the creepiness of confining a woman to a lightless basement… alright, let’s do it! Major benefit: can link the backstory to the crime organization that appears at one point, then reinforce the arc on police cover-ups. (Another good call.) Well… we need to up the ante here… Let’s sacrifice a main character. Good, it’s unexpected! What else, what else… How about defy expectations and make the non-monster an actual monster? Oh, yeah, they won’t see THAT coming! [Pat on the back for being original]”

There’s nothing inherently wrong with this line of thinking. It could have been successful, too.

However, in order to create a really good story as opposed to a merely intriguing one, the focus needs to be more on the characters’ development in reaction to the events, not so much on the events bending and spinning the characters.

Lee Ahn and Kang Sung More, the two male protagonists, highlight this point.

Park Jin Young as Lee Ahn does a decent job, the character grows on the viewer with every episode. It’s a pitty that his presence in the story has so many underwhelming aspects. There should have been more coherence when presenting his psychometric abilities: how come he sees in 3D, outside of his own POV or the POV of the object he touches? If psychometry is draining for him, why isn’t this consistent or tied to specific contexts? How did he evolve, provided that he actually did improve? A lot of emphasis was put on his training and the unreliability of how to interpret what he was seeing, then it all dissolved into a non-issue. Ah, writing for K-dramas: rarely the paragon of logic and congruity.

Kim Kwon in the role of Kang Sung Mo is very, very good. He is nothing less than magnetic in the last episodes, his portrayal more heartbreaking than chilling. The writer’s decision that this character get the short end of the stick is unfortunate. He was humanized only to be dehumanized in the end. Why? His arc of atonement could have been served equally well—or even better—by emphasizing the amygdala difference, and making him act more out of panic rather than calculation. The pre-fire murders could have easily been presented as a knee-jerk reaction to the nosy building manager walking in at the inappropriate moment and seeing the contents of the suitcase.

To put so much effort to transcend genes, conditioning, physiology and life experiences, to develop ties of genuine affection, to become sympathetic through the need for human contact and love turns out to be futile for this character. What was the writer trying to say? A bad seed is a bad seed, no way around it? Very disappointing. It could have been so much better if the message was that trying to be better is worth it, that redemption is possible.

A major problem with this show is the fuzzy focus on what the story is actually about, apart from the suspense elements.

Is it about the struggle between Nature vs. Nurture? Is it presenting a negativistic, “evil is relentless, effort is futile, endeavor is meaningless” worldview? Or is the sudden flip in favor of biological determinism simply a ploy to make the viewer uncomfortable, just because?

Or is the story about the difficulty of possessing, gauging and effectively using abilities that are considered paranormal? Is it about reality and interpretation, and the limitations of perception, no matter how augmented? Is it about the value of knowledge and training – or the irrelevance of either?

Is the show introducing violence in order to talk about repentance and forgiveness? Their possibility? Their impossibility? Which one, exactly? Even if the main point is the inherent ambiguity of notions such as love, hate, good, evil, this should be made clear. Annoyingly, core ideas are left undefined.

It doesn’t seem that the writer put any significant effort to conceptualize the big-picture story. It hurts both the value and longevity of the show, which in hindsight remains fairly pointless.

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Angels and Demons

There is a reason why so many watchers of Watcher enthusiastically endorse it as worth the watch.

(If the repetitiveness in this first sentence grated on your nerves, it’s by design: it foreshadows being subjected over and over again to the same tricks of the storytelling trade, even when not absolutely necessary.)

The most frequently used techniques you will encounter in this show: swift turns in loyalties and alliances, constant use of the moral grayscale, motivations and character traits that invert from clear-cut to murky. It's compelling. Could become tiresome, when done solely for the sake of maintaining viewer interest.

One major plus of this show is that the writer has a good grasp of where the story is going. Minimal meandering, plot holes, fillers. A blessing in K-drama world. Each episode is tightly written, and advances the plot coherently. It’s an example of very good writing. What keeps it from being great is the decision to focus more on the twists and turns in unlocking the secret rather than the inner workings of the characters. The way the puzzle is revealed is too convoluted for its essential simplicity. At its core, the show is a study of the blurred lines between good and evil, of how easy it is to fall from the grace of justice into the damnation of crime. It makes more sense to build it as a psychological rather than a mystery thriller.

By design, the characters are formulaic: The Ambiguous Key Figure, The Stonefaced Bitch, The Bitter-Yet-Idealistic Youngster. The actors are wonderful in fleshing them out and giving them depth.

Han Suk Kyu as Do Chi Gwang maintains the character’s mystique to the end while inspiring in the viewer a deep desire to not end up resenting him.

Seo Kang Joon has a string of strong performances under his belt, and he doesn’t disappoint as Kim Young Koon. In the final stretch of the show it is immensely satisfying to see his character display serious fighting skills, and practically demolish a swarm of attackers.

Kim Hyun Joo deserves serious praise for her turn as Han Tae Joo. It seems to be a trend in K-drama world that strong and competent female characters have an inexplicable drive for acting underhanded, unfeeling and cruel. It is a great compliment to the actress that she manages to avoid turning her into the focus of the viewers’ hatred.

As a catalyst for the majority of the sharp veers in the narrative, Han Tae Joo deserves to be mentioned in more detail. Her moral standing and motivations are the least understandable: she wants revenge so passionately as to be a serial sell-out, yet she backs off from pursuing it to the root cause; when threatened with torture, she chooses herself over her husband, yet years later in the same situation is selfless on behalf of a person who is external to her life; she flip-flops so many times that “when is Tae Joo going to turn and bite you” becomes something of a drinking game. Essentially, her character is the sacrificial offering at the altar of the plot: her decisions provide the twists and turns to the story, while psychological consistency becomes less and less discernible as the show progresses. A fail for the writer, an achievement for the actress.

For those familiar with the relationship between the term “watcher” and biblical angels: if you wonder whether the show’s title references this connection, the answer is – yes. The Watchers—observers and sometimes helpers of mankind—are evoked as both holy, like in the Book of Daniel or either holy or fallen, like in the Book of Enoch. Some watcher-like characters start with pure intentions to bring forth justice, and end up ushering in even more violence and cruelty as they fall into crime. Sometimes, as the reveals pile up, their brutality is so seemingly random and exaggerated that it hurts the logic of the narrative.

The “angels and demons” leitmotif is obvious and becomes explicit in the finale. It is stated verbally in one character’s newly found mission: to become “a Watcher of the Watcher,” someone to openly keep vigil over a brother in arms who is constantly teeter-tottering on the edge of a metaphorical abyss. It is also stated visually: as The Ambiguous Key Figure is giving an official statement, cinematography gives the answer whether we are looking at someone on the side of good or on the side of evil. The solution is offered through a slow vertical span of the camera, which repositions the way the mascot on the coat of arms projects behind the character, either as horns or as wings, ending on… well, you will have to see. It is enjoyable to watch – the show as a whole, and especially this last vignette.

In short, if you are wondering whether to become a viewer of Watcher: it’s worth the time at least to start.

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