For much of Hollywood history, Asian American characters existed on the margins. They were sidekicks, supporting players, or symbols of someone else's story. That is why Jin Ha and Raymond Lee believe their roles in the second season of Apple TV's Sugar represent something larger than another television credit.
The actors, who play brothers Danny and Ji Moon in the Colin Farrell-led drama, see their characters as part of a growing movement that finally places Korean Americans at the center of the narrative rather than the sidelines.
"We have every right to be the center of the story," Lee told this reporter. "Our stories matter. We're very much a part of the patchwork of American history."
The sentiment carries particular weight coming from two actors whose careers have helped define a new era of Asian American visibility on television.
Ha is best known internationally for his acclaimed role as Solomon Baek in Apple TV+'s Pachinko, the award-winning adaptation of Min Jin Lee's bestselling novel. The series became a global phenomenon by telling a multigenerational Korean story on an epic scale, earning praise for bringing Korean history and identity to mainstream audiences.
Lee, meanwhile, spent three seasons leading NBC's Quantum Leap, becoming one of the few Asian American actors to headline a major broadcast network drama. Before that, he built a loyal following through roles in Kevin Can F** Himself*, Here and Now, and numerous stage productions.
Now, the two actors have joined forces in Sugar, Apple's stylish neo-noir thriller starring Academy Award nominee Colin Farrell as private investigator John Sugar. The first episodes are already available in Apple TV.
The second season introduces Danny and Ji Moon, brothers shaped by loss, immigration and years of emotional baggage. Their complicated relationship quickly becomes one of the show's most compelling storylines.
To make the bond believable, Ha and Lee spent significant time creating a history that extends beyond what appears on screen.
"We spent a lot of time talking about our backstory and filling in the details of our shared history," Ha said. The actors built an emotional framework rooted in the death of the brothers' mother, an absent father who remained in Korea and a childhood connected to boxing.
That shared history helped the actors portray a relationship built on equal parts loyalty, resentment and love.
The authenticity of the characters was strengthened by Lee's personal connection to the world they inhabit.
Unlike Ha, who grew up in New York, Lee was raised in Los Angeles' Koreatown, one of the largest Korean communities outside South Korea.
"The largest Korean population outside of Korea exists in Koreatown, Los Angeles," Lee explained. "Korean pride was always a part of growing up there."
In preparation for filming, Ha asked Lee to become his unofficial tour guide.
"One of the first times we hung out, I said, 'Please take me around Koreatown,'" Ha recalled. "Show me your favorite places growing up. That was information for me because those would have been places our characters knew too."
The conversations between the actors eventually expanded beyond the show and into a broader discussion about identity and belonging.
Lee revealed that despite growing up immersed in Korean culture, he did not fully understand what it meant to be perceived as different until he entered the entertainment industry. "I didn't realize that I was the other until I started acting," he said. "I grew up around a lot of Koreans. I thought the world revolved around us."
The realization is one that resonates far beyond the Korean American experience. For many children of immigrants, whether Latino, Asian, or otherwise, identity often feels invisible until they step outside the communities that shaped them.
That is partly why both actors believe audiences connect so strongly with stories centered on immigrant families.
While global audiences may know Korea today through K-pop, Oscar-winning films and hit dramas such as Squid Game, Ha and Lee argue that representation is about more than visibility but is about understanding complexity.
In Sugar, the Moon brothers are not stereotypes or symbols. They are flawed men carrying grief, family expectations and the burden of trying to define themselves in America while remaining connected to their roots.
Their struggles may be uniquely Korean American, but the emotions are universal. In a television landscape increasingly shaped by immigrant voices, Danny and Ji Moon represent something many viewers have been waiting to see: characters whose cultural identity informs their story without limiting it.
