When Humans and Parasites Collide: A Story of Fear, Emotion, and the Fragile Border of Being Human.
ID Section
Title: Parasyte: The Grey
Year: 2024
Director: Yeon Sang-ho
Writer: Ryu Yong-jae
Main Cast: Jeon So-nee, Koo Kyo-hwan, Lee Jung-hyun
Country: South Korea
Genre: Sci-Fi, Horror, Drama
Episodes: 6 (Netflix)
Parasyte: The Grey is one of those shows that seems simple on the surface but turns out to be layered and emotionally complex underneath. At first glance, it’s a science-fiction story about alien parasites that invade human hosts and quietly take over society. But beneath its body-horror premise lies a deeply human question: what truly makes us human?
The story follows Su-in, a young woman living an ordinary life until one of the parasites attacks her. Unlike most victims, though, the parasite fails to fully control her body, leaving the two entities—human and alien—locked in an uneasy coexistence. Su-in becomes something between the two, both victim and host, both human and something else. This hybrid existence becomes the core of the show’s emotional and philosophical power.
In my view, the idea itself is simple, but the storytelling is compelling. There’s a sincerity in the way the series explores the emotional consequences of transformation and identity. It doesn’t rely solely on shock or violence. Instead, it shows how fear, empathy, and loneliness can all emerge from the same body. What kept me engaged was not the horror itself, but how the show uses that horror as a mirror for emotion.
Director Yeon Sang-ho, who also made Train to Busan, brings his usual touch of intensity and moral tension. His direction creates an atmosphere of quiet dread and existential uncertainty. However, the visual effects are noticeably weak, especially compared to global standards. The parasite transformations, which should have been a highlight, sometimes feel unfinished or poorly rendered. The CGI lacks the sharpness and fluidity that the genre demands. For a show based so heavily on body mutation and symbiosis, that’s a real drawback.
That said, Yeon seems aware of these technical limitations, and he compensates by focusing on the human side of the story. The conversations between Su-in and the parasite inside her are among the most interesting moments in the show; intimate, unsettling, almost poetic. Their relationship becomes a metaphor for the dual nature of humanity itself: our instinct to destroy and our capacity to protect.
Emotionally, the series finds its strength in ambiguity. The parasite isn’t entirely evil; in some ways, it’s even more compassionate than the humans around it. This inversion gives the story a strange emotional depth. You start questioning who the real monsters are; the parasites who feed on human flesh or the humans who’ve lost their empathy long before the invasion began. That’s what makes Parasyte: The Grey thought-provoking despite its flaws.
Still, the weaknesses are hard to ignore. The pacing wobbles midway through, with certain episodes feeling repetitive or stretched thin. The editing doesn’t always flow naturally, and some secondary characters seem underdeveloped; existing more as tools to move the plot forward than as fully realized people. The score, while serviceable, rarely enhances the tension. It’s as if the show sometimes forgets how powerful silence can be.
Even with all this, Parasyte: The Grey succeeds where many sci-fi dramas fail: it makes you feel. It takes a monstrous premise and turns it into something emotional. There are moments where you flinch in fear, but also moments where you feel an odd empathy toward the creatures on screen. Su-in’s struggle is not just physical but deeply existential; a battle for control, identity, and meaning.
One of the most striking aspects is how the series uses horror to explore compassion. When the parasite heals Su-in’s wounds or protects her against other parasites, it’s not doing so out of love, but out of survival. Yet, in that survival, something resembling care emerges. This fragile relationship — neither friendship nor domination — becomes a metaphor for our own relationships with pain and trauma. We coexist with what hurts us, and sometimes, we even learn from it.
By the final episode, the tension shifts from survival to self-awareness. Su-in must decide whether to destroy the parasites or accept her own duality. The show’s climax isn’t about who wins the fight, but about whether coexistence is even possible. The question it leaves hanging is simple yet haunting: if humanity can’t coexist with itself, how can it coexist with anything else?
In conclusion, Parasyte: The Grey is far from perfect. Its visual effects underperform, its rhythm falters, and its subplots don’t always land. But it remains an engaging and intelligent piece of genre storytelling. The idea is simple, the execution uneven, yet the emotional resonance is undeniable. It’s a story that uses science fiction not to escape reality, but to reflect it; to show us our contradictions, our fears, and the blurry line between human and monster.
It may not redefine the genre, but it redefines how quietly a sci-fi show can make you feel something real. And sometimes, that’s the most human thing a story can do.
