Like its lead characters, Kill Me, Heal Me is a splendid mess. If you’re looking for subtlety, good medical ethics, or a realistic exploration of mental illness, watch something else. However, if you’re willing to be swept up in the show’s campy, gonzo universe, it’s a hoot, and, towards the end, surprisingly moving as well. Ji Sung gives a fabulous performance (performances?), transitioning effortlessly from hilarity to pathos, guyliner to pink lip gloss, teen angst to adult longing. The tonal shifts are equally dramatic, and more effective than one might think, in part because the show never takes itself too seriously. It’s happy to acknowledge its inherent absurdities, winking at viewers while welcoming them, often quite literally, into its world. This is fundamentally a piece about performance, and its meta-theatricality is an apt medium for exploring the many roles people voluntarily and involuntarily play. Cha Do Hyun’s disorder is simply the most extreme version of the multiple sides all of the characters exhibit as they struggle with the challenges of life. The writing can be structurally erratic, but it’s always balanced and humane in its portrayal of both its heroes and its demons. This is a show driven by the “Heal Me” part of its title, emphasizing not vengeance for past wrongs, but reconciliation and re-integration for future happiness. Some plot threads are left hanging, but its exploration of how people are broken and put back together, medically implausible as it may be, is metaphorically lovely. It’s fiction, but it’s a show that knows that the stories we tell have the power to reshape our lives.