The MVP: Kim Min-ha Elevates Pachinko’s Most Heartbreaking Goodbye

Editor’s Note: Welcome to The MVP, a column where we celebrate the best performances TV has to offer. Whether it be through heart-wrenching outbursts, powerful looks, or perfectly-timed comedy, TV’s most memorable moments are made by the medium’s greatest players—top-billed or otherwise. Join us as we dive deep on our favorite TV performances, past and present:

As a series that takes place in a devastating time period defined by discrimination and war, Pachinko unsurprisingly has plenty of heart-wrenching moments. But through its first two seasons, nothing hits quite as hard as Season 2, Episode 2 (“Chapter Ten”), which delivers a long-awaited return and tragic goodbye in a 49-minute-long rollercoaster ride. While the show’s production design, thoughtful direction, and sharp writing are essential elements to this episode’s success, one of the main reasons these ups and downs hit so hard is Kim Min-ha’s performance as Sunja, who gets across shock, grief, and acceptance in each shifting expression.

At this point in the story, it’s 1945, and our central Korean family is still stuck in Osaka as American forces close in on Japan. Neighbors receive letters that their sons were killed on the frontline, and inescapable doom hangs in the air. It’s been seven years since Isak, Sunja’s husband, was arrested by the Japanese government for helping Korean workers organize against their inhumane treatment, but despite it all, Sunja has managed to keep what remains of her family together, working to support her sons, Noa and Mozasu, as well as her sister-in-law Kyunghee. Against these dire circumstances, something unexpectedly good happens; Isak finally comes home. On paper, it’s everything they’ve wanted, but of course, this comes with a catch, and it’s clear that after years of horrible treatment in prison, Isak’s lingering tuberculosis has left him on death’s door.

It’s a complicated situation, one of hope and despair, and Kim Min-ha gets across these nuances as Sunja rushes home following the news, her face full of worry and hints of happiness. She’s tense as she enters the room where her husband is resting, but as he turns to see her, she forcefully changes her demeanor, trying to lift his spirits with a slightly forced joke. Even around Isak, one of the kindest and most giving characters in the series, Min-ha captures how Sunja is put in yet another situation where she feels forced to wear a brave face, something she does even though she shouldn’t have to. A subtle, clever detail here is that as Isak turns away for a second, Sunja’s mask briefly slips off as concern floods her features, only for her to quickly suppress this when he turns back around.

As Isak rests, Sunja resolves to do something about the situation, turning her grief into action, as she always does. She pushes her own feelings aside and goes to find a doctor, who are hard to come by since most of them have been forced to help the military in the Pacific theater. But while her trademark determination is front and center, Min-ha mixes something else in as well: desperation. Kyunghee points out that it may be better for her to stay with Isak and savor the time they have left rather than going through with this seemingly futile endeavor, but Sunja is defiant and somewhat angry as she argues that her husband recovered from the brink before, and could again. Her words are almost too forceful, as if she’s trying to convince herself as much as her friend. After this long-delayed return, things can’t end this way, can they?

Unfortunately, after she finally manages to find a doctor, the news is grim. Sunja is told that her husband only has a short time to live, Min-ha’s chin trembles in a way we rarely see from her. There’s a wide-eyed, pleading look on her face as Sunja promises she can get the doctor more money to heal him, her penchant for problem-solving making it impossible to accept these circumstances right away. For someone who almost always manages to stay on top of things despite immense pressure, this is a side of Sunja we rarely see, but Min-ha keeps it all perfectly in character by avoiding anything over-the-top, instead letting a searching expression do the work as she stares past this doctor, the war, and everything else.

And then comes the most shattering scene of all. As Sunja lies down next to Isak on his deathbed, they have one final conversation. The two speak softly, and Min-ha keys into a completely different register. Sunja has put aside her usual action-oriented demeanor as she finally gets a chance to say things she’s waited a long time to express.

When Isak was abducted by the secret police seven years ago, Sunja was obviously incensed at the authoritarian Japanese government, but also at her husband. The man had never told her he was working with underground communists to help secure better working conditions for his compatriots in Japan. She was understandably angry that he had kept such an important secret from her and had put their family in danger. How could he do something so risky, and how will she financially support her sons? She doesn’t want a martyr, she wants someone who can help them get through the war.

But, by the time Sunja reunites with Isak, her perspective has shifted. We can tell through the sincerity in Min-ha’s tone that the character hasn’t just forgiven her husband because he’s dying, but because she’s come to believe in what he did. She compassionately explains that in the years since he was taken, she’s been told by countless people that Isak’s boundless kindness made an impact by giving this beleaguered immigrant community a much-needed sense of unity, dignity, and purpose. There’s such resolve and pride in her voice, as Min-ha’s soft smile fades into something more serious, conveying how important it is for her to get this sentiment across before the end. It’s a crushing moment that shows how deeply Isak’s actions have resonated with Sunja, someone whose unforgiving life has frequently caused her to put her family’s wellbeing above any kind of greater good. More than this, we also see how these actions remind her of the compassion he expressed when they first met, something that’s kept her going despite everything.

And then, as Isak admits that he’s afraid, that he wants to see his kids grow up, and that he doesn’t want to leave his wife behind in a moment of profound vulnerability, ripples of pain spread over Sunja’s face as her eyes dart back and forth, processing the weight of these words. But her tone remains strong and unbroken as she consoles him that she will continue to be a pillar for her kids, convincing both us and Isak. It’s only after his eyes close that she sheds a tear, leaves the room, and finds a moment of privacy to let out everything she’s been bottling up as Min-ha communicates backbreaking loss in her crumpled posture and soul-shattering sobs.

While Min-ha’s Sunja is hardy and unyielding throughout Pachinko, this episode captures every facet of the character, from her determination to protect those close to her to vulnerable displays of grief. Considering the character’s general poise and repression, the performance does an excellent job using subtle facial expressions to key us into the big emotions underneath her usually stoic demeanor, each small detail carrying added meaning. Min-ha’s portrayal of this protagonist is always excellent, but here, she showcases range that sells each gut punch, crescendoing in a final release that perfectly captures how devastating this outstanding series can be.

Elijah Gonzalez is an assistant Games and TV Editor for Paste Magazine. In addition to playing and watching the latest on the small screen, he also loves film, creating large lists of media he’ll probably never actually get to, and dreaming of the day he finally gets through all the Like a Dragon games. You can follow him on Twitter @eli_gonzalez11.

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