Glitch: Episode 1 (First Impressions)

by alathe

“Unsettling” is the word I’d use to describe Glitch — and I mean it as a compliment. With its offbeat humor and its glorious commitment to weirdness, this first episode was certainly entertaining. Our heroine, stuck in a dead-end relationship and an uneasy dynamic with her parents, fights to hide what she thinks are hallucinations. However, when she starts seeing aliens all around her, she knows she can’t go on ignoring her fears — especially when her visions turn out to be the key to a much darker mystery.

Editor’s note: Coverage will continue with a second comprehensive review, so please refrain from discussing any plot points beyond Episode 1 in this post.
 

EPISODE 1 FIRST IMPRESSIONS

Our heroine, HONG JI-HYO (Jeon Yeo-bin), blends classic mid-twenties malaise with some unusual neuroses all her own. On the face of it, she’s your average Joe: a quiet, bespectacled office worker with a modest career (courtesy of her father), and a boyfriend of four years. Her best friend, OH SE-HEE (Choi Soo-im), is deeply enamored by the thought of Ji-hyo and her picture-perfect life. She’s prone to getting tipsy and touchy-feely, whilst waxing rhapsodic over Ji-hyo’s beauty, coolness and overall success — and bemoaning her own single status.

Despite having successfully filled every check box for the conventional life her friends covet (career: check; boyfriend and future husband: check; no-nonsense approach to giving out tech support: check), Ji-hyo can’t seem to muster much enthusiasm. At least, not without taking regular breaks from the perfectness of it all in order to spend time vaping sadly in the corner. She makes it through the day with the disassociative resolve of a shell-shocked soldier approaching a battlefield. She stays in control. She doesn’t drink. Each morning, she begins with an unusual mantra: Hong Ji-hyo is rational. Hong Ji-hyo is sensible. Hong Ji-hyo does not believe in anything that has no scientific substance.

On balance, this is probably to do with the aliens she sees on a regular basis. As a child, she witnessed something inexplicable: the bright light of a spacecraft emerging from the night sky. Ever since, she’s been haunted by inexplicable visions — and it’s getting worse. In the grocery store, she’s stopped short by the appearance of a gloriously cliché CGI alien: all squat, gray body, huge black eyes, and incongruous green helmet. Gritting her teeth, she ignores it.

What’s harder to ignore is the unsettling behavior of her laptop. Back at the office, as she works into the night, the screen flickers oddly, tuning in to a baseball game with the Hyundai Unicorns. Then, it fizzles of its own accord onto a cloyingly cheerful children’s show. Then, a public speech about how we must all face the truth. A nature program. The wide-eyed stare of an alien. As she slams the laptop shut, every computer in the room flares into life, blaring brightly-colored nonsense as she staggers in disorientation. It’s deliciously trippy — the perfect mood for light psychological horror.

Ji-hyo’s extraterrestrial woes are juxtaposed by her relationship with the most boring man alive, LEE SHI-GUK (Lee Dong-hwi). In a belated manner that’s neatly representative of his status as an afterthought in her life, he is introduced halfway through the episode, in a sex scene that… truly has to be seen to be believed. Ji-hyo lies vacant and perfectly still — too apathetic to even register annoyance — as Shi-guk approaches his task with all the enthusiasm and ardor of a man working a toilet plunger. Very memorable. Also, excruciating.

One wonders whether they are both under the impression that a normal relationship entails flat indifference. However, even Shi-guk is taken aback by Ji-hyo’s utterly noncommittal response when he asks her to move in with him. To be fair, he doesn’t ask so much as treat it as a fait accompli… but then, to be even fairer, Ji-hyo is preoccupied with working out why she would have hallucinated an entire pro baseball team. Ultimately, though, she knows what her answer must be. She’s decided her father and stepmother prioritize normalcy over her happiness. Marriage and children are just part and parcel of those expectations. As they meet the couple over dinner, her family alludes to her strange behavior as a child — behavior they are glad she has seemingly put behind her.

Ji-hyo abruptly nopes out of dinner in order to brood. She’s interrupted by a horrific sight. There on the street, invisible to all bystanders, is a gigantic version of the alien she saw before: tall as a skyscraper, and groping towards her. She runs. As she evades the enormous arm, she finds herself not in the city, but in a crop field, approaching a van. Inside, female voices overlap and giggle. It’s a memory from childhood. As she approaches the door, she is blown back — appearing atop a tall building, feet poised on the very edge of the roof.

According to KIM BYUNG-JO (Ryu Kyung-soo), a cheerful police officer who helps track her by CCTV, she never left the city. Instead, she ran towards the building and paused, as if in deep thought. When he threatens her with prosecution, she dissolves into tears — rubbing her cheeks, as if surprised at her own emotional capacity. Backpedaling, Byung-jo gives her an ineffectual yet heartfelt pep talk, attempting to dissuade her from suicide. Shi-guk, when he catches up, issues a far less endearing admonishment. Without a fraction of a clue how to handle each other’s emotions, they snipe at each other sadly.

It’s all too much for our heroine. Why is she seeing aliens again? And, less pertinent, but no less confusingly — where do the Unicorns fit in with all of this? A terse conversation with her stepmother, followed by a reproachful lecture from her father, act as two swift emotional kicks to someone who’s already down. It’s no wonder she ends up collapsed in a bar, knocked flat by a single bottle of soju. Here, Shi-guk discovers her.

Drunk and resigned, she realizes she has no hope of making him understand. She tries, though. She asks him if he’d still want to move in with her if she was crazy. You’re not, though, he replies. Yes, she says, but what if I was. Hypothetically. He pauses. Considers. You’re not, though, he says. Having cycled through this twice, she suggests they break up. Then, for good measure, she says it again.

Shi-guk wanders the streets alone, pausing to morosely contemplate his digital watch. It tells him he’s reached his recommended amount of steps for the day. It’s mark of how good this drama is at capturing mundane moments of tragicomedy that this is an act of considerable pathos.

As he mopes, he notices a bright light coming from the sky. It intensifies. Standing, he moves for a clearer view, only for the light to overwhelm him. Wind whips through his hair as he brings out his phone camera — only for the screen to blank at the glare. The phone drops. Shi-guk disappears.

The first episode’s final blow is a brief, post-credit segment flickering into action: the voice of our co-star, Nana. She’s telling us to like and subscribe to her alien-spotting Youtube channel… Moonhole TV.

That’s it for Episode 1! I’m officially intrigued. Jeon Yeo-bin’s understated yet precise acting is a delight to watch. Despite — or because of — her contained air of repression, Ji-hyo is a compelling character. Fearing her family’s judgement, she’s been hiding a vast amount of suffering and anxiety. It’s no wonder she looks on everyday life as a high-stakes performance: one in which she must score full marks, or face humiliation.

This first episode was one of gradual build, but it never felt boring. It doesn’t feel generically Netflixy in its narrative beats; to me, it feels like genuine experimentation. I’m already fond of its subtle, slightly twisted sense of humor. The awkward, nineties-inspired alien design; the deadpan take on Ji-hyo’s stultifying relationship with Shi-guk; the slightly offbeat dialogue… it all makes for an entertaining start. Here’s hoping it gains a little momentum as it goes, though — I’m more than ready for things to speed up.

I’m also pretty excited by this show’s vague queer undertones. Se-hee’s friendship with Ji-hyo is fascinating; according to the latter, the former acts like an “ex-girlfriend” around her. Ji-hyo, whether she is straight or not, represents a square peg in the round hole of compulsory heterosexuality. She clearly chafes against the need to conform as a future wife and mother. Netflix, meanwhile, categorizes this show mystifyingly as “Offbeat,” “Sci-Fi,” and “Gal Pals” — the last of which carries a wealth of implications! I can’t wait to see Ji-hyo and Nana’s character interact. At minimum, I suspect this is going to be a show about complex relationships between women… perhaps the female equivalent of bromance?

If there’s one thing I love, it’s a drama that makes its characters feel believably weird, in ways that highlight their humanity. Ji-hyo is this to a T. Shi-guk is so boring as to feel quite sympathetic — in a way, his very dullness loops straight back around into making him interesting. What little we saw of Byung-jo confirmed that he is also pretty strange. That awkward monologue in which he tried to console Ji-hyo — and her puzzled indifference — had me giggling. The only characters who feel a little flat are Ji-hyo’s parents, both of whom feel more like stock characters than human beings. If this is deliberate, it needs to be more exaggerated; if not, they could use some development. Still, with nine whole episodes to go, I can’t judge the first one too harshly.

Overall, I’m delighted to get the chance to binge-watch this drama over the next few days! Whether or not the series lives up to its initial potential, I’m betting it’ll be a fun ride.

 
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