Pachinko Season 2 Episode 3 Review: Chapter Eleven

The wail of air raid sirens opens Pachinko Season 2 Episode 3, “Chapter Eleven,” as Sunja and her family are forced to flee Osaka, upending their lives once again as American bombs begin to fall.

It is June 1945, mere months before the U.S. will drop nuclear bombs on Japan, and while the war may be winding down, Sunja’s life has already been irrevocably changed.

The scenes of the terror in Osaka are some of Pachinko’s most harrowing, as a teeming mass of humanity runs through dark streets lit only by dim, hand-held lanterns, pushing toward designated shelters that look like little more than blanket forts. It feels like the end of the world and for Sunja, in many ways it is. At least, the end of the world she knew.

With Isak dead and Yoseb still in (gulp) Nagasaki, Sunja and Koh Hansu are thrown back together. He is, quite literally, her knight in shining armor, arriving to rescue her and her family by spiriting them away to a country refuge that will be out of the path of the bombers.

Kyunghee balks at the idea of getting in a car with Hansu and his friend/personal spy Mr. Kim, but thanks to the relentless approach of the Americans, she has little real choice in the matter. It’s this or near-certain death. 

After arguing over which meager items from their home can be salvaged and closing their ears (and hearts) to the pitiful cries from the people in the street — throngs of women weeping, begging them to open their car, to take just one child, to help —- the family escapes with what feels like mere minutes to spare. Literally. 

The shot of bombers strafing overhead just as the car pulls away from the city center is certainly conveniently timed, but also strangely beautiful, as each plane lights pockets of fire on the horizon. As Noa turns back to watch the only home he’s ever known burn, the light of the flames glow in the reflection of the car’s review mirror, and it’s one of the more haunting images this series has managed to date. 

The country accommodations that Hansu has secured for Sunja and her family are….well, let’s just call them rustic. The group is forced to move into what is essentially an abandoned barn, complete with dirt floors and few comforts. Kyunghee is taken aback by how little they have, and the fact that Hansu intends for Mr. Kim to stay with them as protection. 

Sunja, clearly desperate to not have Hansu in their lives any more than necessary insists that they’ll be fine since she grew up in the country herself. Despite the hardships they’ve endured together, it’s evident how little either of these women has truly learned about the desperation that deprivation and fear can drive people to. Think of the children, Hansu argues. Mr. Kim stays. 

The family does what they can to adjust to their new lives. The adults earn their keep by working on a rice farm, though their fellow laborers are pretty unfriendly and racist about the fact that Sunja and Kyunghee are Korean. 

I don’t think I’ve praised Pachinko’s decision to represent spoken Korean and Japanese as two different colors in the show’s subtitles, which visually adds an extra layer of alienation and distance between the two groups, even though many of them can speak both languages.

From women who speak Japanese because they know Sunja won’t understand it, to the awkwardness Kyunghee faces because she can, these moments add a frisson of more immediate tension to their interactions than we might understand otherwise. 

“Chapter Eleven” does its best to remind us that not everything, however, is darkness. As uneasy as Sunja is about Hansu’s continued presence in their lives — and how much she’s already indebted to him for his help — his visits are bright spots for the whole family.

He brings a radio, along with candy for Mosazu and newspapers for Noa, encouraging Sunja’s eldest to learn media literacy by reading “what is not there”. He even brings a kite, and the group enjoys a rare afternoon of levity and fun, before a squad of bombers heading north reminds them once again of the looming horror of war. 

Sunja, despite herself, seems grateful for Hansu’s presence, though she’s anxious about him being around Noa so often. What if her son starts to suspect the truth of their relationship? What if he starts to forget the only father he knew because her ex is around so much? 

Truthfully, Sunja doesn’t seem to have much to worry about. It’s evident that Noa, despite not having taken to life in the country as gleefully as his younger brother — no school means Mosazu is living his best life — has internalized many of his adoptive father’s core beliefs about justice and mercy. 

When the boys discover a local chicken thief is actually one of Noa’s former bullies from school, Mosazu is eager to see him punished, not only for his thievery but for everything he did to his older brother when he was powerless to stop him.

But Noa chooses differently, asking about the boy’s situation — as one of the refugee families they’re always hungry — and not only letting him go but giving him some eggs to take back with him.

Mr. Kim is proud, claiming “Mr. Kim is proud, claiming, “It is better to have an enemy owe you than the other way around,” but I think it’s evident that isn’t why Noa chose to help his enemy either. Isak’s legacy truly does live on is what I’m saying. 

Meanwhile, in 1989, Solomon’s scheme to take down Abe-san isn’t any more interesting now than it was last week. But at least “Chapter Eleven” sees the return of Anna Sawai’s Naomi and Jimmy Simpson’s Tom, two characters that make Solomon a more compelling character simply by being around them. 

But the best part of the 1989 timeline is Sunja, who, while still feeling embarrassed over Solomon’s outburst in the grocery store, is awkward when a strange man approaches her in the same shop to tell her he thought her grandson was brave to say what he did. 

Though this is perhaps the most awkward meet-cute ever, the two are utterly charming together. An unexpected potential romance, but one that is very easy to get behind. (Sunja deserves some good things in her life!)

The pair end up feeding ducks at a and talking about the world — both the one they left behind, and the one they live in now. Sunja, sadly, says she’d assumed Solomon would have an easier time of it, in a world where the war was over and more opportunities existed for Koreans like them. Her new friend sagely reminds her that life is never easy, no matter what time period you’re born into. 

And if that isn’t just the moral of Pachinko in a nutshell. 

Stray Thoughts and Observations

• It has to be said: Naomi is so much more interesting as a character than Solomon is. But the scene in which he acknowledges how smart and capable and hardworking she is, while also admitting that she’ll never get recognized for it at her current place of employment is such a gut punch. (And it’s more incisive than many of us — read: me — likely thought Solomon was capable of being.)
• Kyunghee and Mr. Kim are really sweet together, even if this is inevitably going to be messy once Yoseb is back in the picture.
• I still feel really bad for the old woman Solomon convinced to sell her home, and I hope she got a truckload of money for it. 

What did you think of this episode of Pachinko? Share your thoughts in the comments below!

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