Movies about grumpy neighbors are a dime a dozen. You know the trope. An elderly person, usually lonely and incredibly pedantic, spends their days filing complaints at the local district office until a plucky young protagonist melts their icy heart. When I Can Speak first hit theaters in 2017, it looked exactly like that. Marketing materials painted it as a lighthearted comedy. We saw the legendary Na Moon-hee as Ok-boon, a "civil servant's nightmare" who has filed thousands of petty complaints, and Lee Je-hoon as the straight-laced junior officer tasked with managing her.
But then the shift happens. It's jarring.
About halfway through, the film stops being a slapstick comedy about learning English and turns into a devastating, essential piece of historical reckoning. It tackles the "comfort women" tragedy—the systemic sexual enslavement of women by the Imperial Japanese Army during World War II. Honestly, if you went into this expecting Mrs. Doubtfire, you were likely left sobbing in your seat. It's a tonal bait-and-switch that actually works because it mirrors how survivors often hide their trauma behind a veneer of everyday normalcy.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Plot
People usually remember the English lessons. Ok-boon is desperate to learn the language, and she hounds the new recruit, Min-jae, to tutor her. On the surface, it seems like a quirky hobby or a way to connect with her brother in America. That’s the "hook."
But the "why" is everything.
Ok-boon isn't just trying to chat with relatives. She’s preparing to testify at a public hearing in Washington, D.C. This isn't some fictionalized plot point made up for Hollywood-style drama. The movie is actually loosely based on the real-life story of Lee Yong-soo and Kim Gun-ja, who stood before the U.S. House of Representatives in 2007. They were there to support House Resolution 121, which called on the Japanese government to formally acknowledge and apologize for the atrocities.
When you watch I Can Speak, you aren't just watching a drama; you're watching a dramatization of a pivotal moment in human rights history. The title itself is a double entendre. It refers to her ability to speak English, yes, but more importantly, it signifies her finally "speaking" her truth after decades of forced silence and societal shame.
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The Reality of the 2007 Washington Testimony
Director Kim Hyun-seok took a massive risk here. Balancing comedy with the weight of the "comfort women" issue is like walking a tightrope over a volcano. Yet, the realism of the testimony scene is what anchors the film.
In the real 2007 hearing, the survivors faced immense pressure. It wasn't just about showing up; it was about reliving the most horrific moments of their lives in front of a foreign government to prove they existed. The film captures the terrifying scale of that room. When Na Moon-hee stands up and reveals the scars on her body, it’s a moment of cinematic power that rivals any big-budget blockbuster.
It’s worth noting that the actual history is even more complex. While the movie ends on a somewhat triumphant note of recognition, the real-world diplomatic struggle continues. Even in 2026, the discourse surrounding the 2015 Japan-South Korea Comfort Women Agreement remains a point of intense friction. The film doesn't solve the geopolitical tension, but it humanizes the victims who are often treated as mere political pawns in high-level negotiations between Seoul and Tokyo.
Why the Tonal Shift is Actually Brilliant
A lot of critics at the time—and even some viewers today—argue that the movie is "bipolar." They say the first half belongs to a different movie than the second half.
I disagree.
Think about it. In real life, survivors of trauma don't walk around with "Victim" signs on their foreheads. They are the grandmothers who nag you about the trash. They are the shopkeepers who are obsessed with the neighborhood rules. By making us love Ok-boon as a comedic, annoying, and spirited human being first, the movie forces us to see the survivor as a person, not a statistic. When her secret comes out, the betrayal the audience feels (on her behalf) is much deeper because we've already bonded with her over jokes and tteokbokki.
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It’s a masterclass in empathy.
The Power of Na Moon-hee’s Performance
You can't talk about I Can Speak without talking about Na Moon-hee. She was nearly 80 when this film was being made. In South Korea, she's an institution, often playing the "mother" or "grandmother" role. Here, she delivers a performance that won her the "Grand Slam" of Korean acting awards (Blue Dragon, Baeksang, and Grand Bell).
She plays the "Goblin Granny" with such sharp wit that when she finally breaks down, it feels earned. There is a specific scene where she visits her mother's grave—I won't spoil the dialogue—but the way she delivers her lines about her "shame" and her mother’s reaction to her past is haunting. It highlights a dark truth: many survivors were rejected by their own families after the war. The "shame" was misplaced on the victims rather than the perpetrators.
The Cultural Impact and Legacy
The film did more than just sell tickets. It reignited a conversation in South Korea about how we treat the remaining survivors, often referred to as Halmoni (grandmothers).
- It popularized the historical context of the 2007 U.S. House Resolution 121.
- It shifted the "comfort women" narrative from one of pure victimhood to one of proactive activism.
- It challenged the younger generation (represented by Lee Je-hoon’s character) to move past apathy and actually listen.
Lee Je-hoon plays the "audience surrogate" perfectly. He starts off annoyed by her, moves to pity, and eventually lands at deep, profound respect. That is the journey the director wants the viewer to take.
A Quick Reality Check on Historical Accuracy
While the movie is powerful, it is still a commercial film. Some elements are polished. The relationship between the two main characters is largely fictionalized to provide a narrative arc. In reality, the push for the Washington testimony was the result of years of grueling work by NGOs and activists like the Korean Council for the Women Drafted for Military Sexual Slavery by Japan.
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Also, the film simplifies the legal hurdles of the testimony. In real life, the "comfort women" have faced decades of legal battles in Japanese, Korean, and international courts, many of which ended in frustration or dismissal on technical grounds like sovereign immunity.
What You Should Do After Watching
If I Can Speak moved you, don't just let the credits roll and move on to the next thing on Netflix. The movie is a gateway.
First, look up the real history of House Resolution 121. It’s a fascinating look at how grassroots activism can actually influence international policy. Second, check out other films that tackle this topic from different angles. The Spirits' Homecoming (2016) is a much more raw, harrowing look at the wartime experience itself, while the documentary The Apology (2016) follows three survivors in their daily lives.
Honestly, the most important thing you can do is acknowledge that these women aren't just characters in a "K-drama." They are real people whose window for justice is closing as they reach their 90s.
Actionable Steps for the Curious Viewer
- Research the "House of Sharing": This is a nursing home in South Korea specifically for survivors. They have a museum and often host educational programs.
- Watch the actual 2007 testimony: Clips are available online. Hearing the real voices of Lee Yong-soo and others adds a layer of weight that no movie can replicate.
- Understand the "Statue of Peace": You might have seen these bronze statues of a young girl sitting in a chair in various cities around the world. The film helps explain why those statues are so controversial—and so necessary.
- Support historical literacy: Read "The Comfort Women" by C. Sarah Soh for a more academic, nuanced look at the socio-political factors involved, which goes beyond the black-and-white portrayal often found in cinema.
The film I Can Speak is a rare beast. It’s a comedy that makes you think and a tragedy that makes you hope. It’s about the power of the human voice, the importance of learning a "foreign" language to make your local pain heard, and the fact that it is never, ever too late to demand the truth. If you haven't seen it, grab some tissues. You're going to need them.
Next Steps for Deepening Your Understanding:
Identify a local or international organization that supports historical justice and read their most recent report on the status of wartime reparations. This provides a contemporary context to the 1940s events depicted in the film. Check the Korean Council’s website for updated testimonies from the few remaining survivors to bridge the gap between cinematic storytelling and current reality.