Do I really need to see Jing Boran change a light bulb? That’s just one of many niggly questions that comes to mind as I plod my way through Road Home with a gnawing itch to drop it. It’s a lovely angle of him to be sure (as any would be) and perhaps the audience has missed the point that Tan Songyun’s character Gui Xiao is absolutely enamoured with Lu Chen when she fixes her adoring eyes on his strapping figure as he does what most men worth their salt can do at the drop of a hat. When Li Xian changes light bulbs at the boarding house in Meet Yourself, there are multiple reasons for it. It tells us something about the ubiquity of his character. It shows that he’s a handy fellow. It was yet another bit of confirmation that he was the heart and soul of his village — a one man economic engine. But when Lu Chen is swapping out light fittings, it feels like the director and/or script writer don’t really have any idea of how to integrate all of the elements around the romance. Which is the general feeling I get as the “story” progresses. It’s like watching a reality travelogue that I didn’t sign up for. The thing is, the light bulb scene is meaningless here because it doesn’t tell us anything we don’t already know about Lu Chen. The guy is a bomb disposal expert. What’s a light bulb when there’s an explosive device with a complex web of wiring about to go kaboom? Road Home is a show that should be watched at 1.5 x or 2 x speed or not at all. Which leaves me with a conundrum: Jing Boran’s alluring sonorous vocals gets lost in translation.

On paper, Road Home should have the potential to be equally effective but the mistake is putting an obvious conflict-free romance at the centre of the story. Except for the godson, none of the other characters have interesting arcs of their own. Worse still they feel disconnected. Their sole purpose is to dance around the leads and support their journey as they inevitably pair up. I’m about 15 episodes in and I still don’t find Gui Xiao a compelling character in her own right. Lu Chen gets to do all the exciting cop stuff while she panics around in the dark wondering if he’s going to live to see another day. It’s by the numbers. There’s no curiosity about any of the characters and how they get to the point that they do. 30 episodes is just too long for a show where there’s so little build up or suspense. By the time the leads tell us that they’re tying the knot, most of the key reveals have come and gone.

It’s a mistake to think that slice-of-life dramas have no plots. (Or meander aimlessly without one) They do. And the really good ones do such a good job of juggling multiple threads that those who watch that the balancing act is actually easy. Part of the problem too with Road Home is that Lu Chen’s SWAT activities are far more interesting than anything else in the show. Consequently I inevitably come to this conclusion about these types of police procedurals — they are veiled recruitment propaganda. Ad campaigns for law enforcement because no one in the their right mind would sign up for SWAT and EOD without overt prodding and/or flag waving. It’s one thing to insert propaganda in a crime show, it’s another in a romance. It’s deadly.