Kingdom (2019-20) Reflections

Beware. There be spoilers later.

The critique of elites has long been a staple of South Korean dramas for at least as long as I’ve been watching them. And it’s no wonder given the political landscape there and frankly, everywhere else in the world. It’s an impulse that certainly resonates globally. It’s become almost fashionable in the last decade to not only be suspicious of our wealthy overlords but also to perceive them as oh-too-easy targets of mockery. Much of it seems warranted. Moreover, social media hasn’t helped much to dispel doubts. The hypocrisy and virtue signalling can get cloying. No one likes being lectured to. Least of all by people who are far removed from the day to day grind of Average Joe eking out a living.

Despite all that, there’s a place for elites. They’re a necessary evil. Leadership is needed for a community to survive and for individuals to co-exist. Nonetheless hubris and corruption are always in danger of taking flight because of a fallen humanity. Undoubtedly there’s something wildly entertaining about watching elites on opposing sides battle it out in the marketplace of ideas. What does give us plenty to pause is when the world around them razes to ground while they embark on their Luciferian experiments.

There’s profound Luciferian skullduggery afoot in the 2019 series Kingdom indeed. The well-regarded period piece that comes packaged with layered themes throws up universal concerns about leadership and power.: Those who have it, those who crave it, those who shy away from it and those who abuse it. A passage from Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night springs to mind. “Some are born great. Some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them.” Power is a tool and weapon depending on who’s wielding it.

Ju Ji-hoon’s Lee Chang is the crown prince of Joseon. In his case it means very little as the Haewon Cho clan has a stranglehold on the kingdom while barely keeping his head above the water. He is the incumbent king’s only son so he’s is in line for the throne despite being the son of a lesser consort. The head of the clan is Cho Hak-jo (Ryu Seung-ryong) also state councillor, styles himself as a the king maker and is embroiled in a conspiracy involving his offspring to depose the crown prince and pave the way for a new ruler who will do their bidding. His equally ambitious daughter, the queen, is apparently with child and Cho Hak-jo is banking on the unborn baby being a boy. To make it all work they’re taking advantage of the fact that the king has supposedly been incapacitated by smallpox but no one has seen hide or hair of him bar a select few.

In that kind of Confucian society maintaining bloodline is more or less one’s sacred duty. No contamination can be tolerated. It’s all about legitimacy to inherit. Marriage is quite likely the only exception and the schemers can avoid being tagged traitors for trying to usurp power by manipulating the bloodline for their benefit.

In that backdrop, all Lee Chang wants to do is live… survive the political machinations of his opponents. He’s determined to see his bedridden father but no one except the queen and Cho Hak-jo can gain access. Immediately the crown prince is suspicious and soon discovers a horrifying secret that will rock the country at its foundations. Cho Hak-jo’s only son, head of the royal guard, openly despises Lee Chang. To his mind Lee Chang is only the heir to the throne by sheer luck of birth. He hasn’t earned it and doesn’t deserve to be a member of the royal family much less to be next in line to the throne.

Much of the series is about the powerless prince on his hero’s journey. What’s going on behind the closed doors doesn’t pass the sniff test. Soon he embarks on a transformative odyssey forced on him by circumstances to put to lie the palace gossip — to contradict the invectives levelled against him. As he says himself, he was “chosen” by his father. Unlike the Haewon Cho crowd he has legitimacy. More than that, Lee Chang is the man of the hour — chosen for such a tumultuous time as this. The implication too is that the burden of saving the country has been thrust on his reluctant shoulders by an authority higher than the king. Unlike his detractors his authority has weight from heaven and earth. His antagonists can only rely on deception and manipulation to maintain a facade of legitimacy. This is why they resort to repeated instances of overreach to maintain their legitimacy. The further they push forward with their agenda, the further the kingdom is plunged into a fractious frenzy.

(Spoilers ahead)

A common theme that is woven through the narrative is that of a natural order or natural law that governs the universes. Any attempts to disrupt that order only leads to the eruption of Evil’s handmaiden — chaos. An expression of this is the monsters, an aberration that emerges as a consequence. It is a sign of divine judgment for transgressing the natural law. Whether through scientific means — the offending “resurrection” plant — or the co-opting of occult practices to game the system, the pestilence that rains down on Joseon is the result of the misuse of power. The monsters represent the consequence of men meddling in the things of God like the determination of life and death. Moreover the unbridled spread of the monsters also have their origins in a terrible taboo — cannibalism.

There’s a debate between the physician (Bae Doo-na) and the hunter (Kim Sung-gyu) about the rights and wrongs of eating the flesh of those who have died in the face of abject poverty and starvation. So what’s wrong with it? The hunter asks. A question that goes to the heart of human rights and the value of human life regardless of their status in life. The physician by virtue of her vocation would argue that all life is of worth otherwise she’d be wasting her time trying to heal the sick. The hunter would be well-placed to make the case for making do with what’s around in order to survive. When you’re starving to death, your dead neighbour’s kneecaps might look surprisingly delectable unless you have a theological framework that keeps you from going down that road. If human beings are not distinct from animals in the natural world, then it might be that something as abhorrent as cannibalism would be fair game in a famine.

Lee Chang has been tasked to restore order and course correct. He can’t do it alone. Along the way he has help from sympathizers, supporters and his trusty bodyguard. So it’s a case of elites vs elites. Cho Hak-jo and his minions have been playing God so the people of Joseon reap the whirlwind (as they usually do). His (and the queen’s) attempts to delegitimize Lee Chang arouses the suspicions of those outside of his tribe that are justifiably concerned about the wide reach of the Haewon-Cho clan.

The quality of Kingdom can be seen in its tightly plotted script and confident direction. Kim Eun-hee who gained fame for penning Signal is at home with fantasy elements. She’s certainly consolidated her penchant for the paranormal subsequently with Jirisan and Revenant. The storytelling is of course excellent with discerning use of flashbacks and moving key character moments. Even the bumbling former magistrate and nephew ((Jun Suk-ho) of Cho Hak-jo comes into his own in spite of a less than promising start. Directors Kim Sung-hoon and Park In-je should also be commended for giving us a well-paced show with immersive action sequences and memorable character interactions that reinforces the concepts that are so well incorporated in a story about people and power.

It’s a series I’ve been meaning to get to since it first aired. The horror elements have held me back until now. But over the years I find myself much more amenable to monster shows although it should be stressed that Kingdom is not for the faint-hearted. The directors don’t hold back in the slightest with blood and gore. Taking all that into account it is still undoubtedly a tightly plotted historical drama and one of the best K dramas ever made.

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