Beyond the Green Tracksuit: The Insane Production of Korean Netflix

It probably started the way it did for most of us: a masked man, a green tracksuit, and a rather intense, blood-soaked game of "Red Light, Green Light." Squid Game was the door opener for the entire world, but let’s be honest—it took a while before I truly dared to explore the rest of the Korean catalog on Netflix. I wondered if it was just a flash in the pan or if there was real substance behind that slick editing and the Korean dialogue. By now, I have fallen deep into the rabbit hole, and there is no turning back. I watch everything in Korean with subtitles; it is the only way to capture the raw emotion, the guttural cries, and the subtle honorifics that make these productions so unique.

The Line-up: From Strategic Geniuses to Online Drama

My journey through Korean content truly gained momentum with shows that blur the lines between gaming, reality, and psychology. Take The Devil’s Plan, for instance. This isn't just a game show; it’s a psychological masterpiece where participants with extremely high IQs (and EQs) are locked in a room to play complex games. It’s not just about who can calculate the fastest; it’s about social manipulation, forging alliances, and maintaining composure under immense pressure.

Then there was Celebrity, a series that, while fictional, portrays the ruthless world of Seoul’s influencers so sharply that it feels almost like a documentary. It shows how obsessed Korean society is with status, but also how they are capable of bringing this theme to life with incredible pacing and visual flair. And we haven't even mentioned Culinary Class Wars. Forget the standard cooking programs we know here. In this show, the hierarchy between established star chefs and rising talent (the "black spoons") is played out in an almost military fashion. The passion for the craft and the discipline in that kitchen are truly unprecedented.

My Favorites: Physical 100 and Physical Asia

While the shows mentioned above are fantastic, my heart truly lies with the physical competitions: Physical: 100 and the recent masterpiece Physical Asia. If you ask me why I love watching these so much, it stems from my deep love for elite sports. I am someone who loves watching people fight until the absolute end of their tether. Nothing fascinates me more than the human body refusing to give up, even when the mind has long since shouted "stop."

I often draw comparisons to cycling or speed skating. There is little as heroic as a cyclist in the Tour de France who begins to crack on a steep climb. You see the legs grow heavy, the gaze blur, but he fights back, rejoins the group, only to crack mercilessly again a few moments later. Or the speed skater in a 10km race who starts much too fast, watches his lap times rise, and literally "dies" on the ice, yet still has to complete those last three hellish kilometers on pure character.

This is exactly the raw, almost masochistic struggle you see in Physical 100. What makes this show brilliant is the balance. It is not a test of brute strength where only the strongest wins. The challenges are designed so that a 130kg weightlifter might dominate one round, but be completely helpless in the next against an agile gymnast or a lean MMA fighter who has to hang from a rope. Athletes are tested on endurance, balance, speed, and mental resilience. In Physical Asia, this is taken even further with a country-based competition, where participants fight not just for themselves, but for their national honor. This raises the intensity to a level we rarely see in European television formats.

The Magic of the Budget and Set Design

What truly elevates these shows to another level, however, is the production quality. I sincerely wonder how massive the budget for those set designers must be; it seems almost bottomless. These sets aren’t just cardboard backdrops; they are immersive arenas that dictate the atmosphere. When participants have to haul heavy mine carts over rails, those rails, the walls, and the lighting are so convincing that both the participants and the viewers truly feel as though they are deep inside a suffocating mine.

This creates a "suspension of disbelief" that is often missing in Western reality TV. You don't see camera crews in the background or cheap plastic props. Everything is built to let the athlete fully immerse themselves in the task, which ensures they actually dare to push themselves to that ultimate limit.

The Big Question: Could This Work in Europe?

I’ve often thought about this: why don’t we have this? Would a format like Physical 100 work with European participants? I have serious doubts, and it has everything to do with culture and respect.

In Korean shows, you see a level of sportsmanship that feels almost otherworldly. Even after two participants have physically demolished each other in a mud pit, they stand up, give a deep bow, and show genuine admiration for the other's strength. There is a kind of collective discipline and humility baked into Korean culture.

In Europe, and certainly within the current influencer culture, I fear such a show would quickly devolve into ego-tripping. The focus would likely shift to who has the loudest mouth, belittling the opponent for the camera, and creating manufactured drama for ratings. In the Korean version, the struggle is the drama, not the arguments afterward. In our culture, sportsmanship would likely be sacrificed in favor of sensation. A cooking contest like Culinary Class Wars or a strategic game like The Devil’s Plan might still work here because the hierarchy and rules enforce behavior. But the physical arena where you have to "die" for the win? I suspect we have just a little too much ego and too little of that deep-rooted Korean respect for the opponent to make it work.

For now, I’ll stay right here on my couch, enjoying Korean athletes pushing themselves to the limit in sets that would make Hollywood jealous. The K-wave has caught me, and honestly, I don't want to get out.

If we were to organize a European or American version of Physical: 100, do you think we could maintain the same level of mutual respect and sportsmanship, or would the urge for individual 'main character' drama take over? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments!

Cheers,

Peter