Written by Jung Ji-woo & Han Ji-wan | Directed by Jung Ji-woo.

What happens when the desire to be seen draws us towards someone who may not see us as we wish to be seen? In Somebody, a South Korean series that finds unease in the search for intimacy, connection becomes both a promise and a risk, revealing how loneliness can shape what we desire and what we are willing to accept in return. Even the title plays with this idea: in Korean, 썸 (“some”) describes the uncertain stage before two people become a couple.

To call someone a vice is to romanticize the very thing we know might harm us, a guilty pleasure we struggle to give up. In Somebody, this idea takes on a darker meaning. Neither a conventional romance nor a typical crime drama, the series explores the complicated territory between loneliness and longing, where the desire for connection can blur our understanding of danger. Through restrained visuals, unsettling performances, and a deliberate pace, it invites us to sit with the discomfort of wanting to be understood, even when the promise of understanding comes at a cost.

At the centre of the story is a dating app, a digital space built around one of our most enduring human needs: to find someone with whom we can share a part of ourselves. Yet the promise of connection is not always what it seems. In Somebody, technology becomes a reflection of our vulnerabilities, revealing how easily the desire for closeness can become entangled with manipulation and danger. The series does not rely solely on shock. Instead, it allows tension to settle gradually, in the distance between what people reveal and what remains hidden. Its quietness is not an absence of emotion, but a way of making us attentive to what goes unspoken.

There is something almost surreal in the way the series transforms the familiar into something strange, recalling David Lynch’s ability to make ordinary spaces feel charged with an inexplicable menace. Yet Somebody remains closely tied to the psychological consequences of human choices. Its strangeness emerges not simply from what feels unfamiliar, but from the uncomfortable recognition of something familiar within it. The series invites us to question the boundaries between desire and obsession, intimacy and control, without offering the reassurance of easy answers. It trusts the audience to remain with that uncertainty, even when understanding a character does not necessarily mean being able to understand their actions.

Beneath its atmosphere lies a more intimate question: what are we willing to overlook when being wanted feels more bearable than being alone? Loneliness is not merely a condition the characters endure. It becomes a force that shapes their decisions, influences their boundaries, and complicates their understanding of affection. The desire to be seen can be so powerful that even an uncertain connection may feel preferable to the emptiness of solitude. I found myself recognizing that feeling more than I expected. The series does not suggest that loneliness excuses harm, nor does it reduce human desire to weakness. It acknowledges the vulnerability of wanting to matter to someone, a need that can make us both courageous and susceptible to the wrong kind of attention.

The women in this narrative are not defined solely by the threats they face. Their struggles also raise questions about agency, vulnerability, and the difficult process of navigating relationships in which the boundaries between trust and danger are not always clear. There is a tension between the desire for connection and the need to protect ourselves, between allowing another person close and guarding the parts of ourselves that intimacy can expose. In this sense, Somebody is interested in more than the dangers of digital encounters. It considers the emotional conditions that make connection so necessary, while recognizing that the need to belong does not always lead us towards people who can offer us safety.

The series’ visual language deepens this tension. Its restrained approach allows images and gestures to carry emotional weight without constantly explaining what the audience should feel. Ordinary spaces can feel strange, and moments of apparent intimacy can leave us uncertain about what we have witnessed. Rather than directing our attention towards a single interpretation, the series leaves room for contradiction, inviting us to recognize how little we may truly know about another person, even when we feel close to them.

Sound plays an equally important role. The score, driven by horns and synths, is at once hypnotic and disquieting, while orchestral swells and seemingly cheerful piano notes can shift the emotional weight of a scene. Music becomes more than an accompaniment to the images. It unsettles the relationship between what we hear and what we feel, reminding us that comfort does not always mean safety.

What makes Somebody linger is not simply its exploration of crime, technology, or dangerous relationships. It is the recognition that the desire for connection can coexist with fear, uncertainty, and contradiction. We want to be understood, but being understood does not guarantee being loved. We want to be close to others, but closeness alone cannot promise trust. Sometimes, the longing to be seen can make us overlook what we might otherwise recognize.

Perhaps this is the series’ most unsettling reflection. Loneliness can make connection feel like a form of rescue, but not every hand extended towards us is reaching out with care. To acknowledge this is not to distrust intimacy itself, but to recognize how deeply our need for it can shape our choices. In a world that offers endless ways to find one another, Somebody asks us to consider not only how we connect, but what we are searching for when we do.

Image courtesy of Netflix