
Song Joong-ki
Loh Kiwan

“I have decided to survive in this land.”
After defecting from North Korea, Loh Kiwan struggles to obtain refugee status in Belgium, where he encounters a dejected woman who has lost all hope.
I’ve been thinking about the moment Loh Kiwan steps off the train in Brussels, his breath visible in the cold air, his eyes scanning the platform like a man who’s just realized he doesn’t know how to ask for directions. It’s a small thing, that first shot—no dialogue, just the weight of a body in a place it doesn’t belong. And yet, it’s the kind of quiet detail that sticks with you long after the credits roll. My Name Is Loh Kiwan is a film that wants to be about big things: displacement, survival, the bureaucratic violence of borders.
But its heart lies in these fleeting, wordless moments, where the camera lingers just a second too long on a face, a gesture, a hesitation.
That’s the paradox of Kim Hee-jin’s debut. It’s a film that announces its ambitions loudly—refugee drama, star power, a Netflix Original with global reach—but delivers its most powerful moments in the spaces between the plot’s grander gestures. The problem isn’t that it tries to do too much; it’s that it doesn’t always trust the audience to sit with the silence.

Song Joong-ki, an actor best known for his charisma and swagger in shows like Vincenzo and Reborn Rich, strips all of that away here. His Kiwan is a man who moves through the world like he’s already been erased—shoulders hunched, gaze lowered, voice barely above a whisper. It’s a physical transformation that goes beyond the usual actorly weight loss.
There’s a stiffness to his posture, a way of holding his arms close to his body, as if he’s trying to take up as little space as possible. It’s the kind of performance that doesn’t announce itself as a performance, which is both its strength and its limitation. You believe in Kiwan’s exhaustion, his fear, his quiet rage.
But there are moments when the script seems to forget that Song is doing the heavy lifting, and the film lurches into melodrama or, worse, exposition.
Take the scene where Kiwan first meets Marie (Choi Sung-eun), the former athlete turned addict who becomes his unlikely ally. They’re both outsiders in Brussels, both carrying the weight of lost mothers, both drowning in their own ways. The writing wants this to feel like a meet-cute, but the tone is all wrong.
Netflix’s 2024 drama My Name Is Loh Kiwan marked a bold return to weighty storytelling for Song Joong-ki, stepping away from the action-packed roles that defined his post-Vincenzo era. Directed by Kim Hee-jin, the film follows Loh Kiwan (Song), a North Korean defector turned Belgian refugee, as he navigates survival, love, and bureaucracy in a foreign land. latestnetflix.com's view is that with a runtime clocking in at over two hours , the movie promised emotional depth—but did it deliver, or did it overstay its welcome?
Loh Kiwan stands out in South Korea’s film landscape, where refugee stories are seldom explored with such granularity. The film’s premise—rooted in displacement and the search for belonging—aligns with global conversations about migration, but it’s framed through a distinctly Korean lens. Song’s character, a former athlete fleeing North Korea, grapples with trauma while forming an unlikely bond with Marie (Choi Sung-eun), a struggling single mother in Belgium.
The choice to set the story in Europe, rather than South Korea, adds a layer of isolation, emphasizing the universality of Kiwan’s struggle. However, the film’s pacing has divided audiences. At 131–133 minutes , some viewers found the runtime excessive, with one snippet calling it "this fucking film" in a frustrated review . Others praised its unflinching portrayal of refugee life, though concrete critical consensus remains elusive—evidence of its polarizing reception.
For Song, Loh Kiwan was a gamble. After dominating Korean screens with hits like Reborn Rich and Vincenzo, he traded sharp suits and witty one-liners for a role demanding raw vulnerability. His performance as Kiwan—a man stripped of agency, dignity, and even language—showcased his range, but the film’s muted tone may have alienated fans expecting his usual charisma.
The supporting cast, including French-Algerian actor Waël Sersoub and veteran Kim Sung-ryung, added depth, but the spotlight remained on Song. Whether this role will redefine his career or become a footnote depends on how audiences reconcile his star power with the film’s somber realism.
Details about the production are scarce, but a few tidbits emerge from the limited evidence:
My Name Is Loh Kiwan is a film that demands patience. Its themes are timely, its performances earnest, but its execution may have faltered under the weight of its own ambition. For Song Joong-ki, it’s a rare misfire in an otherwise stellar career. For audiences, it’s a reminder that not every socially conscious drama lands with the intended impact.
Whether the film will find its footing in retrospect remains to be seen. For now, it’s a curious entry in Song’s filmography—one that prioritized message over mass appeal.
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