Next Sohee Review: Korean Thriller Approaches a Serious Topic with a Steady Touch

      Note: This review was initially published as part of our 2022 Fantasia coverage. Next Sohee will be released in theaters on May 16.

      I used to believe that capitalism’s grip on the American education system through unpaid internships was concerning. However, as portrayed in July Jung’s extern drama Next Sohee, the situation in South Korea is even more severe. The issue revolves around incentives—not for the students, but for the institutions that profit from their labor. Major corporations, with their extensive executive salaries (as managers require their own managers in a system where hourly workers become mere statistics), seek cheap and inexperienced labor to fill roles in call centers or factories. They approach school boards with job offers. With school budgets tied to quantitative metrics, districts gladly accept and assign their students, threatening that quitting is not an option. Such "disgrace" is financially unacceptable.

      So-hee (Kim Si-Eun) is informed that she’s hit the jackpot. Despite being an animal care major with a passion for dancing, she is expected to feel honored to have received an offer from a subsidiary of a major Korean corporation. She dresses in her best attire for the interview, believing that prestige and professionalism are part of the opportunity. However, the interviewers barely engage with her and swiftly tell her she starts the following day. What is So-hee to make of this experience as a teenager who has never encountered such situations? Instead of recognizing the red flags that her new employer views her merely as a body to fill a position, she remains optimistic.

      During the first 70 minutes, Jung effectively illustrates the insidious nature of this dynamic. We witness So-hee’s vibrant identity and spirit gradually diminish. One early scene occurs in a restaurant with her friend Jjoonny (Hoe-rin Jung), who has dropped out of school because they wouldn’t allow her to quit her externship and is now earning money through online streaming. While they eat, a nearby table of men loudly discusses her exploiting her looks while they, the “talents” skilled in video editing, languish in poverty. Without hesitation, So-hee stands up to confront them, determined to show they are only being childish.

      Watching her exuberance when meeting a fellow dancer, Tae-jeon (Hyun-oh Kang), outside his workplace reveals a young woman with ambition. So-hee knows what she desires and isn’t hesitant to take necessary steps. Does she plan to answer phones for a telecom company forever, endlessly delaying customer complaints to extract as much money from them as possible before finally processing their cancellations? No. It’s a means to an end—a way to earn money to live and gain credits to graduate. If that path involves being belittled and bullied, it seems that’s just the status quo, according to those in authority, who deflect responsibility with textbook excuses.

      Much transpires in a brief timeframe, eventually leading to two deaths and multiple depressive episodes triggered by overwork. This paves the way for the film’s second hour, centering on police detective Oh Yoo-jin (Bae Doona). We’re not told why she took time off, but her first case back is considered a straightforward suicide by her chief. Yoo-jin agrees, and upon examining the evidence, that’s indeed what it appears to be. However, there's a complication: she knows the victim. This fact doesn’t automatically alter her analytical perspective, but it does cause her objectivity to falter enough to acknowledge that there is a perpetrator.

      Yet, like many stories of this nature, identifying this "culprit" is complex. It becomes apparent that the system consists of various co-conspirators, each shifting responsibility to another. Who is truly to blame in such scenarios? Is it the companies hiring inexperienced workers like So-hee for exploitation? The teachers allowing this to happen out of self-preservation? The schools that prioritize their finances over the psychological well-being of their students? The Ministry of Education creating an environment ripe for exploitation? The Labor Ministry? Lawmakers? The president? Or should Yoo-jin follow suit and blame the deceased—blame the victim?

      Next Sohee tackles a heavy theme with a deft approach. Jung reveals the gaslighting necessary to manipulate an entire generation of youth, exposing what perpetrators redefine as “strength” by capturing their faces as they involuntarily turn away in shame. The grim reality is that the heroes capable of enacting genuine change often do not witness its fruition. Whistleblowers face arrest or reputational ruin. Speaking out against authority often leads to either incentives to remain silent or emotional crises that result in desperate actions like suicide. When someone like Yoo-jin finally risks everything, who is ready to support her?

      Neither character is one to give up. We meet So-hee in a dance studio, persistently practicing a spin she cannot master despite repeated falls. We observe Yoo-jin tirelessly knocking on doors, determined to hold the true culprits behind