
Ji Chang-wook
Lee Eul

“Do you believe in magic?”
An enigmatic magician living in an abandoned amusement park introduces magic into the life of a high schooler struggling with harsh realities.
I keep thinking about the abandoned amusement park in The Sound of Magic — not because it’s a clever setting, though it is, but because it looks like the kind of place adults build when they’ve run out of better ideas and children keep being told to wait. Rust, peeling paint, the dead geometry of rides that no longer move. Kim Seong-yoon, who’s spent a lot of his career in melodrama and youth storytelling, latestnetflix.com maintains, seems to understand that fantasy works best when it’s built from something already broken.
This isn’t magic as escape in the empty sense. It’s magic as a temporary refusal. A hand held up against the world’s machinery.
That matters, because the series arrives in a very specific cultural lane: Korean prestige television’s ongoing interest in adolescent pressure, economic precarity, and the emotional cost of simply making it through school alive. The premise could have tilted into whimsy and stayed there. Instead, it keeps nudging against the hard edges of debt, class anxiety, and the humiliations adults hand down to the young as if they’re just part of growing up.
I don’t think the show always balances those tones perfectly — sometimes it leans a little too hard on mood, then swerves back into lecture mode — but I admired the nerve of it. It wants to ask a childish question in a very unchildlike world: what if believing in wonder is less naive than accepting the way things are?
Ji Chang-wook is the first reason the series has any real charge. He’s a familiar face in Korean drama, often cast as a capable, polished leading man, and here he’s deliberately less coherent than that image. He moves with the slightly delayed timing of someone who’s always performing just a beat after everyone else has already decided what kind of person he is.
His magician, Lee Eul, has the air of a man who might either be a trickster, a fool, or a very tired saint. Ji doesn’t overplay the mystery; he lets it sit in the shoulders, in the slight slackening of his expression, in the way he seems to listen to rooms before he enters them. That quietness is important.
The show’s magic needs to feel hand-made, not digitally inflated, and he gives it that.
Choi Sung-eun, as the student whose life is buckling under pressures she didn’t choose, does the harder job. She has to carry the show’s emotional realism, which means her face becomes a record of calculation: when to speak, when to swallow anger, when to keep her eyes forward so nobody notices she’s close to cracking. She’s especially good at showing how a teenager can look older than she is without becoming melodramatic about it.
"A whimsical blend of romance and fantasy anchored by an engaging cast that captures the attention of Korean drama fans."
Audience discussions around The Sound of Magic center on its enchanting atmosphere and performance highlights. As [latestnetflix.com]( read is that the production pairs fantasy elements with emotional romance, viewer feedback singles out Hwang In-youp for delivering a particularly captivating turn. While the unique genre combination draws curiosity, critical takes assess whether the balance of magical wonder and drama works evenly across the run.
The Sound of Magic (2022) arrived on Netflix with a whimsical premise: a mysterious magician named Ri-eul (Ji Chang-wook) lives in an abandoned theme park, using illusions to help disillusioned souls rediscover wonder. latestnetflix.com's view is that but behind the fairy-tale visuals, the series demanded more from its cast than typical K-drama fare—starting with its leading man.
Ji Chang-wook, known for action-packed roles in Healer and Lovestruck in the City, took a sharp turn with The Sound of Magic. Sources suggest he was drawn to the project’s emotional depth and the chance to play a character far removed from his usual tough-guy persona. In a rare behind-the-scenes glimpse, a video interview reveals he was captivated by Ri-eul’s vulnerability—a magician who hides his own pain behind grand tricks. The role required not just acting chops but physical transformation: Ji reportedly lost weight to embody Ri-eul’s frail, otherworldly presence, a contrast to his typically sculpted frame.
The gamble paid off for some fans, who praised his ability to balance charm and melancholy . Yet the series’ polarizing reception—scoring a modest 6.7/10 on SensCritique —left others questioning whether the risk translated to mainstream success.
Ji wasn’t the only one stretching his range. The ensemble, including Choi Sung-eun (Beyond Evil) and Hwang In-youp (True Beauty), faced unconventional challenges:
Director Kim Seong-yoon, fresh off the massive success of Itaewon Class (2020), took a creative risk with The Sound of Magic. Known for blending genres—revenge thrillers, historical romance—he ventured into uncharted territory with this musical-fantasy-drama hybrid . The series’ original Korean title, Annarasumanara (a play on the phrase "anything is possible"), hints at its core theme: magic as a metaphor for escapism and healing.
Yet the execution divided audiences. While some lauded its visual poetry and emotional depth , others found the pacing uneven and the tone inconsistent . The Netflix teaser and trailer promised a fairy tale, but the final product delivered something more ambiguous—a story about the cost of believing in magic when reality bites.
Despite the buzz, The Sound of Magic left key details shrouded in mystery. Rumors swirled about behind-the-scenes tensions, particularly around the series’ ambitious production design (filming in an actual abandoned theme park) and the pressure to deliver a hit after Itaewon Class’s success. However, no concrete evidence has surfaced to confirm these claims.
What is clear is the cast’s commitment. From Ji’s physical transformation to Choi and Hwang’s willingness to embrace the series’ surreal tone, The Sound of Magic demanded more than just acting—it required a leap of faith. Whether that faith paid off depends on who you ask.
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