Can This Love Be Translated? Review: Kim Seon-ho, Go Youn-jung Learn Love's Language in This Slow-Burn Romance

Netflix just dropped its latest Korean romantic drama, Can This Love Be Translated?, and fans are buzzing with excitement. The main buzz? Kim Seon-ho returns to acting after Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha, Go Youn-jung takes on dual roles, and the Hong Sisters bring their renowned writing, all setting sky-high expectations for the series.

But here's the deal: this isn't your typical K-drama where sparks fly in one episode, people lock eyes across a crowded room, fall headfirst into romance, and you're squealing by the second episode. This one's different. It asks you a question that is simple yet incredibly complex: what happens when two individuals speak the same language but still somehow can't quite understand each other? This one definitely takes its sweet time. 

What's it actually about?

Meet Joo Ho-jin, a multilingual interpreter who can switch between languages without breaking a sweat; Korean, Japanese, English, Italian, he's got them all down. But when it comes to his own feelings? That's a complicated language he's never really learned to speak. Kim Seon-ho as Ho-jin brings quiet restraint and understated charm to the role, observing everything but saying little.

Then comes Cha Mu-hee, a struggling actress whose life flips upside down overnight in the worst way possible. While filming the final stunt of her zombie film, her harness malfunctions and she falls hard. She's in a coma for six months, and when she wakes up, surprise: she's famous now. While she was unconscious, her zombie character went viral and became a global sensation, skyrocketing her status to international star.

But here's the thing: fame comes with unexpected baggage when you're not asking for it to find you. Turns out, Do Ra-mi, the zombie character Mu-hee played in the movie, won't leave her alone. Like, literally. Mu-hee starts hallucinating her everywhere. It's not just memory anymore, as this aggressive alter ego follows her wherever she goes, and it's revealed how the zombie haunts her as a manifestation of her past unresolved trauma and PTSD.

Mu-hee and Ho-jin first cross paths in Japan, reconnecting later during her promotional tour when Ho-jin is hired as a translator. Eventually they end up on a dating reality show together called Romantic Trip. What slowly unfolds between them isn't "love at first sight" but rather "two broken people trying to figure out if getting closer is worth the risk."

The show also introduces Hiro Kurosawa, a charming Japanese actor who initially can't stand Mu-hee but gradually falls for her without realizing when his feelings shifted. As the trio travels across stunning locations globally for the reality show, Ho-jin witnesses Mu-hee's struggles firsthand and begins to understand the person behind the celebrity mask.

The question at the heart of it all: Can two carefully guarded hearts actually let someone in despite everything?

Go Youn-jung absolutely devours this role

Let's be real: Go Youn-jung is the reason to watch this show. She's not out here just playing a celebrity dealing with trauma and sudden fame. She's playing someone actively fracturing and unraveling, trying to hold herself together for the showbiz while everything inside her is falling apart.

The way the show presents her PTSD-induced trauma through Do Ra-mi is genuinely amazing. Everything Mu-hee has been keeping bottled up comes roaring out through this zombie alter ego of hers she thought she'd left behind on set. Do Ra-mi isn't just another creepy hallucination. She's loud, intrusive, confrontational, and aggressive.

It's unsettling but also captivating to witness Go Youn-jung seamlessly switching between the two versions of herself: vulnerable Mu-hee and chaotic Do Ra-mi. As Mu-hee, she's nonchalant yet guarded, shielding herself from reality with sarcasm and humor. But as Do Ra-mi, she's brazenly unhinged in this weirdly compelling way.

It's honestly impressive how she navigates that split and gives her character so much depth that makes her feel startlingly real instead of just another lead with a tragic backstory. You can't resist rooting for her at every moment, even when she's making the most questionable decisions.

Kim Seon-ho's return is worth the wait

After the success of Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha, fans' expectations for Kim Seon-ho's return were sky-high. Good news: he delivers.

Ho-jin could've been another emotionally unavailable male lead archetype, all brooding stares, silences, and vague sadness. But Kim plays him with more nuance than that: pauses, glances, emotional hesitation rather than sweeping-off-the-floor declarations.

There's warmth underneath the restraint, playfulness hiding behind professionalism. He's someone who has spent so long suppressing pain as a survival mechanism that he doesn't even recognize it anymore, dismissing his own heartbreak as insignificant even as it weighs him down. Kim shows you that hurt without making it evident. It's in the way Ho-jin looks at Mu-hee when she's not watching, the moments where you can tell he's holding something back.

The chemistry between Kim Seon-ho and Go Youn-jung works because it feels refreshingly natural. Their growing closeness feels earned rather than manufactured. They just seem comfortable together. Their interactions have this easy flow, with no exaggeration or forced attraction, that makes you believe these two people might actually get each other, eventually.

Supporting cast adds warmth without crowding the narrative

Sota Fukushi deserves special mention as Hiro Kurosawa, the second male lead, who manages to avoid all the usual traps that role comes with. His character's emotional journey, from openly disliking Mu-hee to genuinely showing affection eventually, is handled with such sincerity, and honestly, you get it. When he dislikes her, you understand his frustration. When he begins to care, that shift happens gradually enough that it feels believable instead of convenient.

The relationship between Mu-hee and her manager Kim Yong-woo (Choi Woo-sung) also stands out to audiences. They bicker like siblings, get on each other's nerves, but their loyalty remains unwavering. Those scenes give Mu-hee's glamorous celebrity world some grounding, becoming a heartwarming reminder that she has people who care about her beyond what she can offer professionally.

A visual feast that mirrors emotional landscapes

The show was filmed across multiple picturesque locations of Korea, Japan, Canada, and Italy, and every frame is gorgeous. But it's not just pretty and aesthetic for the sake of it. The locations actually mirror what the characters are going through, shifting alongside their emotional states, from crowded cities to wide-open reflective spaces.

The color grading is particularly smart. Warm oranges and yellows contrast with cool blues and greys, visually representing that push-pull between wanting connection and staying isolated.

The pacing will test your patience

Here's where things get tricky: this show is slow. Like, really slow.

The first few episodes move along just fine, but then the middle section hits and everything... slows... down. The show lingers with emotions longer than it probably needs to. The cycle of misunderstandings, breaking up, and making up starts feeling repetitive after a while. If you're someone who expects major plot twists or intense dramatic moments constantly, you might find yourself scrolling on your phone.

But that slowness is also kind of the point. The show wants you to sit with the emotions, to really invest time understanding the discomfort of two people struggling to communicate. Whether you find that profound or just plain boring depends entirely on how much slow-burn storytelling you can handle.

Translation works as a metaphor for connection

The whole "translation" concept isn't just a gimmick. The show keeps coming back to this idea: knowing someone's language doesn't mean you understand them. You can translate words perfectly and still completely miss what someone's trying to say.

That becomes the whole metaphor of Ho-jin and Mu-hee's relationship. They're both fluent in emotional avoidance, and watching them slowly learn to actually communicate (messy and imperfect as it is) feels surprisingly real. Love isn't about perfect communication but being willing to keep trying even when you're both speaking past each other and listening to what isn't being said as much as what is.

In a genre that usually loves perfect timing and grand confessions, the show's argument that love is more about patience than passion feels refreshingly real. Whether that resonates with you depends on where you're at.

Final verdict: a gentle romance that lingers

Can This Love Be Translated? won't be everyone's cup of tea. It doesn't promise to revolutionize K-dramas. If you want fast-paced romance with constant butterflies and dramatic declarations, this might frustrate you.

But if you're in the mood for something quieter; a romance that treats miscommunication as normal, that shows intimacy as messy and complicated, that believes understanding takes time, then yeah, this is worth your weekend!

Go Youn-jung's performance alone makes it worthwhile. The cinematography is stunning. The soundtrack supports without feeling overwhelming. And while the pacing might drive some people up the wall, the emotional payoff is there if you stick with it.

Just go in knowing what you're getting: a slow burn that prioritizes feelings over fireworks. This isn't a show that tries to blow you away. It just asks you to sit still, pay attention, and maybe recognize yourself in all those awkward silences.

Rating: 4/5

All 12 episodes of Can This Love Be Translated? are now streaming on Netflix.

(All images courtesy of Netflix)