“Pachinko” has always asked a lot of its audience, but Season 2 asks even more. Right at the start, there’s a leap so big that many shows would never have thought to ask for it in the first place: I’m writing about the new opening credits, of course. In general, such a change is nothing unusual. “The Leftovers” did it — twice (more or less) — and it went down great. But Damon Lindelof decided to try a new opening credits because the first one was anything but adored (and its labored droning would have set the wrong tone for a playfully bizarre second season). The original “Pachinko” credits, meanwhile, are beloved! They’re great! They’re so damn delightful that they overcame the TV Academy’s inexcusable neglect in every other category and earned “Pachinko” its only Emmy nomination (for Original Main Title Design)!
The first season’s award-worthy end credits are more than just a jaunty adaptation of The Grass Roots’ “Let’s Live for Today.” They also drive home an important aspect of the narrative. The saloon setting invites characters separated by decades to dance together in a rollicking celebration. The song’s lyrics — “Don’t worry about tomorrow, live for today” — reflect that time-bending vision, allowing these often-burdened individuals to shake off their worries and find joy in the here and now. Overall, the opening titles underscore a thematic tenor that would otherwise have been lost amid plot points that play out like a series of unfortunate events. The song, the dance, the vision — they all reinforce the fleeting moments of bliss in everyday life, the happiness we can take for granted until it’s gone. They make “Pachinko” that much richer, more complete, and more valuable for viewers, and they remind us of that in every episode.
So to say goodbye to a spark that could rekindle all those good memories—that could excite a fanbase that has been waiting two and a half years for a second season—is simply a risk most shows wouldn’t take. Not these days. But like everything else in her immensely thoughtful and purposeful series, creator and showrunner Soo Hugh doesn’t just shake things up. The new opening credits become their own focal point. They’re just as meaningful as the previous iteration, and just as catchy. They will convince you. Maybe it will take half a season, maybe a little longer. For me it was a shockingly quick two episodes.
Perhaps that’s because the season two sequence retains many of the same core elements. The prelude, featuring historical footage in the desaturated colors of the past, gives way to the bright lights of an isolated present. The cast returns to the pachinko parlor to relax, be untethered, smile broadly and walk smoothly. The music is again by The Grass Roots… only this time it’s their 1969 hit, “I’d Wait a Million Years,” and the lyrics emphasize words like “lonely,” “desperate,” and “longing.” They paint a picture of hardship to emphasize the singer’s devotion to his loved ones. “I’d wait a million years / Walk a million miles / Cry a million tears (…) just to have you near me.” They tell us that what’s to come may feel less joyful, less romantic, less stirring in its limitless possibilities, but that’s just getting older. That’s sacrifice. And the consequences of the sacrifice are the heart of “Pachinko”.
At times in Season 2, it can feel like a million years, miles, and tears have passed since anyone in the Baek family has felt that cherished warmth. World War II is in full swing as the narrative picks up in 1945. Sunja (Minha Kim) still sells kimchi in the open markets of Osaka, but food is becoming scarcer by the day. Her brother-in-law Yoseb (Junwoo Han) works at a munitions factory in Nagasaki, away from his wife Kyunghee (Jung Eun-chae) and Sunja’s two sons, Noa (Kang Hoon Kim) and Mozasu (Eunseong Kwan), who are both in school. The characters still living together become even more isolated as each figure struggles with their own inner dilemmas and faces regular discrimination as Koreans in Japan (now Zainichi Koreans). Even Koh Hanso (Lee Minho), Noa’s estranged father who uses his ill-gotten wealth to manipulate the needy family to his liking, is lonely, yearning for the family his past choices denied him while struggling to convince himself that what he did was right.
Four decades later, Sunja is lonely once again. Noa, who we know from Season 1 has been out of her life for some time, remains an unspoken, mysterious absence. Mozasu (played as an adult by Soji Arai) and his pachinko parlors are fine, but his and Sunja’s happiness is marred by worries about his son Solomon (Jin Ha). The American-educated businessman is slipping beyond her comprehension into a realm of greed and malice that is more familiar to Koh (whose fate in the ’80s is also unknown). After spurning his real estate client last season to protect an innocent homeowner, Solomon is at odds with pretty much everyone in Tokyo. Abe (Yoshio Maki), his former client, has blacklisted him. Frustrated and desperate, Solomon hatches a plan to take revenge on his oppressor, but his actions are driven by cruel conviction and his life loses the generosity of spirit that has characterized the Baeks for so long.
Its plot is also the weakest in Season 2. While the storylines of Sunja, her sons, and her father unfold appropriately against the epic backdrop of war, Solomon’s plan (and a budding romance with his former colleague Naomi, played by Anna Sawai of “Shōgun”) just seems pathetic by comparison. That’s part of the problem—”Pachinko” can barely feign interest, let alone deeper meaning, in money matters—but any dryness can turn the show’s quiet, low-conflict sections into lazy redundancy.
Because “Pachinko” demands your attention rather than demands it, the dense, patient and understated adaptation of Min Jin Lee’s acclaimed novel doesn’t fit the modern entertainment landscape. It has no roots in intellectual property, or at least not the kind of blockbuster IP where sequels and prequels are planned before the original even airs. It’s not needy or plain. It doesn’t talk down to its viewers. Instead, it speaks in its own precise language: dialogue that mixes Japanese and Korean languages, conveyed via color-coded subtitles for English-speaking viewers. The visual language is equally sophisticated, like a shot in Season 2 where Noa comes to his mother with a plan to support her — by doing what she’s done for him so many times before — and his image is reflected in a windowpane behind her, allowing him to literally have her back while upholding her vision, even if they don’t see eye to eye in the end.
Beautiful and understated, these discreet but unmissable connections emerge between generations too, and the show’s intersecting timelines develop their own sense of compelling, united empathy. It shrinks the distance in lived and felt years between people whose love for each other is their driving force. It gradually connects Sunja’s life and family in the ’40s and ’50s with her life and family in the ’80s and beyond. What we’re seeing isn’t a puzzle coming together, though secrets are revealed and expanded in Season 2; what we’re seeing is a breakdown of the forces that divide us, a better appreciation of the bonds that hold us together across time and space, maintained through the tears and through the laughter.
Season 2 of Pachinko spends most of its time showing how lonely losing the people you care about can make you feel. But the show never forgets what it means to have them around. At the heart of Sunja’s story is sacrifice. Sometimes it brings her closer to her family, but it can also alienate her and cause others to alienate as well. Should she live for today or suffer for a better tomorrow? Finding an answer to that is no small hurdle, but Pachinko overcomes it by recognizing that what really matters is having the courage to ask the difficult, even unanswerable, questions.
Bring on season 3.
Grade: B+
“Pachinko” Season 2 premieres on Friday, August 23rd on Apple TV+. New episodes will be released weekly until the finale on October 11th.
