Queen Woo: Episodes 5-8 (Final)

by solstices

In a race against time, our titular queen rallies both knowledge and wit to recruit allies and counter her enemies. Queen Woo attempts to cobble together its disparate plot threads in its latter half, but its scattered narrative leaves viewers with barely more than a lackluster journey and an unsatisfying conclusion.

 
EPISODES 5-8

Leveraging on an anecdote Go Nam-mu once told her, Woo Hee directs her entourage towards the youngest prince Go Gye-soo’s territory — Ba’euitu, named for the bank of rocks that a wise general built and lured his enemies under. Upon Woo Hee’s order, Mu Gol cuts the ropes as they pass, and the rocks crumble down on the White Tiger hunters. Only Nwe-eum and a few others survive, while Nwe-eum’s son (Ahn Ji-ho) crumples under the rocks after Woo Hee shoots his horse. Hellbent on revenge, a grief-stricken Nwe-eum snarls that he’s no longer capturing the queen alive; he’ll kill her on sight.

Now that they’ve successfully distanced themselves from their pursuers, our party swerves away from the fifth prince. It turns out Woo Hee had only intended to use Ba’euitu as a means of dispatching their enemies — her true destination is the fourth prince Go Yeon-woo. He’s a vain manchild who covets the queen, and Woo Hee uses his vapid cotton-filled brain to her advantage. Deliberately playing into his lust by coyly tempting him, Woo Hee easily has the flustered fourth prince agreeing to a levirate marriage.

Our queen’s mind is sharper than any, and she quickly connects the dots of her sister’s betrayal. Not only had Woo Sun ratted them out to Go Bal-ki, but she’d also sunk even lower. Earlier, Woo Sun had torn a scrap of fabric off her skirt and left it behind for the hunters to follow — and when that hadn’t panned out, she’d deliberately stayed behind to strike a deal with Nwe-eum by offering to lead them to Woo Hee.

A flashback contextualizes Woo Sun’s obsession with the king, and wryly mirrors the way she’d been tricked by Sabi. Frustrated with the lack of a royal heir, the calculative and conniving family head Woo Do had sent Woo Sun to Go Nam-mu’s military camp. Through a drug-addled haze inflicted by Sabi, Go Nam-mu sees Woo Sun as his beloved Woo Hee, and she takes full advantage of that fact. The next morning, the king is simmering with a quiet fury as he dismisses Woo Sun, sparing her only on her sister’s account.

In the present, our queen leads her selfish sister into a trap, then confronts her about her betrayal. When Woo Sun whines that everything Woo Hee possesses now should have been hers, Woo Hee cuts right to the heart of the matter: Woo Sun always turns her nose up at things, then covets them once they become Woo Hee’s. Cornered, Woo Sun draws her bow against her own sister, and Woo Hee draws hers in turn. Both fire — and while Woo Sun’s arrow misses, Woo Hee’s finds its mark.

There’s no time to waste on mourning, though. (What a wasted opportunity to explore Woo Hee’s pragmatism and guilt! But I digress.) Woo Hee’s retinue must return to the palace before sunrise, despite the White Tiger hunters lying in wait. Banking on Eul Pa-so being on the same wavelength, Woo Hee trusts that he will understand her strategy — and indeed, he does. Just as they ride up to the ferry docks, a wave of arrows commanded by Eul Pa-so comes raining down on the hunters. Safe at last, our party sets sail for the palace.

Back in the royal court, Woo Hee informs the ministers of the king’s death, then claims that his dying wish had been for Go Yeon-woo to ascend the throne through levirate marriage. Not quite the truth, of course — but Go Nam-mu’s last words to Woo Hee had been for her to protect herself, so perhaps the sentiment does ring true. Ever the spoilsport, Go Bal-ki saunters in to voice his opposition (and hilariously, the timid Go Yeon-woo hides behind Woo Hee when Go Bal-ki draws his sword).

The court manages to turn the violent third prince away, but only temporarily. Go Bal-ki seeks the exiled crown prince Go Pae-eui out in Liaodong, inviting him to exact vengeance upon the late king by seizing the throne. Donning an ornate mask to conceal his disfigured nose, Go Pae-eui mobilizes his troops alongside Go Bal-ki’s mounted warriors. He will declare war on the palace.

While Woo Hee was on her quest for a marriageable prince, Eul Pa-so has been furthering his investigation of the king’s poisoning. All traces seem to lead to Sabi, but when he attempts to take her into custody, they’re accosted by a horde of blade-wielding eunuchs. Amidst the chaos, one manages to stab Sabi. Alas, Sabi doesn’t manage to eke out anything useful before succumbing to her wound.

Eul Pa-so narrows down his suspicions to the head secretary Song Woo, who oversees the eunuchs, and a clever tactic of swapping two carrier pigeons indeed yields a confirmation. Song Woo’s secret letter ends up delivered to Eul Pa-so’s windowsill, serving irrefutable proof that Song Woo is the mole who’s been leaking information. But nothing quite points to the poisoning culprit just yet.

In the meantime, there’s much more to our prime minister than first meets the eye. Rewinding to the time a young Eul Pa-so accidentally stumbled upon his grandfather’s decayed corpse sitting in the archives, we learn that the Eul clan had once been the royal family of Juna. But King Taejo of Goguryeo — fearful of their brilliant minds — destroyed Juna, then crippled Eul Pa-so’s grandfather and left him to rot.

That was the impetus that catalyzed Eul Pa-so’s diligent studying, honing his razor-sharp intellect to avenge his clan. Since Jolbon blood runs in his veins too, he’d approached Yeon Bi on the pretext of reclaiming the stolen Jolbon land for her, asking for her military might in exchange. Eul Pa-so’s covert scheme is to incite a rebellion through Go Bal-ki — and if Go Nam-mu dies early, then a levirate marriage will spur the princes into a bloody fight for the throne. Which is exactly what things have come to.

For now, Eul Pa-so bides his time, observing from the sidelines. But Woo Hee is already several steps ahead, in more ways than one. To continue their interrupted chess game, she’d written no less than five subsequent moves beforehand, predicting all of Eul Pa-so’s moves right up to a checkmate in her favor. It’s an echo of their childhood chess match, asserting that Woo Hee is more than just a pawn on a board.

That analogy lies at the core of Woo Hee’s will — she will take charge of her own destiny by taking control of the board. “All the things I was told I could not do by virtue of being a woman — it is simply that I did not do them. Now, I will show you what I am capable of.” In the face of the imminent insurgence, Woo Hee seeks to reunite the five tribes that once swore an oath to the founding king Chumo. And her effort pays off.

Not only does Woo Hee’s deliberate choice to marry the feeble Go Yeon-woo earn her the Great Priest’s might, but she also obtains the support of the North faction. Alongside the faithful prince Go Gye-soo and his commitment to honoring Go Nam-mu, Woo Hee has amassed enough strength to defend the country against the approaching rebellion. Pulling on her armor, Woo Hee grasps her bow and arrows. She will fight alongside her people to defend her country.

And the drama ends right there. No payoff, no answers, nothing — just an eight-hour preamble that probably hoped to end on a grandiose scene, only to peter out along the way. Queen Woo attempted to reel in viewers with a shocking and sensationalized first half, only to flounder in its second half. Open endings that leave off on a climactic point can be effective and impactful — given a cohesive build up and sufficient investment in the characters’ journey. Not when the narrative meanders its way to a half-finished conclusion while dragging the frayed halves of its incomplete plot threads behind it.

Who poisoned the king? Who ordered the hit on Sabi? What are the Chief Priest’s true motives? How will the (anti)climactic battle end? Well, that last question can be answered by the history books, but that defeats the point of watching everything before it in drama form. Queen Woo failed to make the most of its medium, relying instead on superfluous action to fill the yawning gaps of its scant substance.

The wasted potential is such a shame, because there’s so much of it. The bond between Go Nam-mu, Woo Hee, and Eul Pa-so was perhaps the most compelling part of the show — their unmatched intellect, their staunch beliefs, and their childhood connection — yet it languished merely in brief flashbacks.

Eul Pa-so’s line to Woo Hee, after realizing she’d deliberately lost chess games to Go Nam-mu, stands out: “Please do not play losing moves any longer.” It’s at once an affirmation of her competence, and an acknowledgement of her as an equal. One that echoes his eventual decision to renounce his vengeance and support her, demonstrated through him returning her childhood daenggi he’d kept all this time.

As for our royal couple, all their wistful flashbacks paint a tragic tale of true love torn apart by political maneuvering. Whether it’s Go Nam-mu planting a plot of flowers that hark back to the color Woo Hee wore on their first meeting, or stationing the loyal Mil-woo by her side to keep her safe, or tenderly calling out for his “Hee-ya” when seeing her face instead of Woo Sun’s — there was so much of the king’s love packed into such fleeting scenes.

But these character beats are few and far between, and it does feel like grasping at straws. All of the royal brothers were underutilized, many characters were reduced to one-note tropes, and time could have been better spent delving into character relationships instead of drawing out scenes unnecessarily. Woo Hee is the center of the show, yet we rarely get a glimpse into her thoughts. The capable actors were the main saving grace, but even good performances alone cannot save a sinking ship of poor writing and loose directing.

At the end of the day, I’m still not quite sure what Queen Woo wanted to be — a titillating thriller? An exploration of an intriguing period in Korean history? A tribute to a strong woman who empowered herself? In trying to tick off too many boxes at once, this drama failed to establish a clear direction, leaving its fractured narrative falling flat.

 
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