Summary
Heavenly Ever After doesn’t have a perfect ending, but it does have a sweet and meaningful one that pays off the show’s themes.
It’s probably fitting that a show as mixed as Heavenly Ever After has an ending to suit, with Episodes 11 and 12 providing some answers and reinforcing the theme of closure, but also feeling slightly scattershot and arguably unsatisfying, depending on what you’re into. The strange hodgepodge of supernatural drama and slapstick-y comedy hasn’t always worked, and there’s a ton of potential in the premise that has unfortunately been left on the table, but it was nonetheless an interesting idea for a show that didn’t quite have the legs for a full season.
And I think you can feel that by the climax. Episode 11 addresses the mystery of Eun-ho’s parentage, with the previous pair of episodes having found Som-i believing he was her child and Nak-joon explaining he was Hae-sook’s, and you can feel the efforts to drag the whole thing out. Similarly, in Episode 12, some addendums live up to the show’s identity crisis by muddying the themes somewhat, leading to a whimper of a conclusion more than a resonant finale.
Who Is Som-i Really?
As it happens, Som-i is the physical manifestation of Hae-sook’s state of mind when she lost her son, Eun-ho; almost like a version of herself frozen in time, shorn away from the whole by her grief. The story of Eun-ho’s death pulls a lot of pieces together. After getting lost in the market, Eun-ho had retreated to the church for safety, but thanks to Jajang, the dog, barking at him, Hae-sook never found him. He was taken away by the police officer, locked in a cold room with the window open, and died that night. The cop pretended he had never found him, and his high-speed escape resulted in Nak-joon being paralyzed in a traffic accident.
Som-i’s very existence is essentially a trauma response. In the wake of Eun-ho’s disappearance, Hae-sook never found closure. She became suicidal. But following Nak-joon’s accident, his dependency on her gave her something to focus on, to help her erase that painful memory. But another version of herself was created, the one who never moved on, and it’s in that version coming to terms with who – or more appropriately what – she is that leads to the real closure.
This, of course, requires grown-up pastor Eun-ho to essentially absolve his mother of her guilt, so both aspects of her identity can reconcile. I’ll be the first to point out that this is a really clever idea that I’m not sure works super well in execution, because the focus is too narrow and overlooks Nak-joon’s function in this story, but that’s a nitpick.
Hitting the Jackpot
The idea of destiny is toyed with through Young-ae’s subplot, which feels a little half-baked. Despite Young-ae’s hopes to linger and spend more time with Hae-sook, she’s forced to hurry off quicker than expected, with the winning lottery ticket being presented to her as a kind of shortcut. Only, she doesn’t end up buying the winning ticket, since she’s distracted by a man instead.
What the show’s saying here is that there are many ways of hitting the jackpot, some of them unexpected. Sometimes the easy path isn’t as fulfilling as the one with more risk, though both can ultimately lead to the same destination – happiness. And, after all, happiness was all Hae-sook wanted for Young-ae; for her to meet a guy who wasn’t bad, and to end up happy and satisfied. There’s a reassuring quality to the idea that she will find her own way there.
Love Is A Prison
Most of Heavenly Ever After’s ending focuses, quite rightly, on the relationship between Hae-sook and Nak-joon, a union that has been repeated over 20 times in various lifetimes. Heaven’s President even describes their relationship as being like a prison. In their next lives, they will find each other again, just like they always do.
Nak-joon has to consider, though, that he has consistently brought Hae-sook suffering and trauma. Her lives are never easy. On some level, he considers himself to blame for this and theorizes that if she perhaps meets someone else, she’ll be spared this pain. But the K-Drama is making an argument that there is a love so strong that no amount of suffering can break it. Even after a lifetime apart, when Hae-sook moves on in her next life, it’s Nak-joon who arrives to take her to the other side. Whatever happens, they always find each other.
The idea is reiterated in yet another reincarnation, two young faces meeting each other’s eyes from across the street and running towards one another. Hae-sook and Nak-joon are each other’s destiny, in heaven and on earth. It’s a nice sentiment, and a fitting one to bow out with. The show might not have been perfect, granted, but this essential relationship and its underlying messaging are nonetheless valuable and have been sweetly handled.
