Between Deceptive Appearances and Narrative Entanglement
Reverse is a drama that lives up to its name. It is an adaptation of the audio movie (a format primarily intended for blind or visually impaired audiences) titled Reverse: Memory and Truth, created by Lim Gun-joong. Wavve therefore gave him free rein to adapt his own project for the screen. This psychological thriller also received support from the KOCCA (Korea Creative Content Agency) in 2024, marking the first time a production has transitioned from an audio format to a visual one. But can it deliver the same impact? That was the central challenge. Building on its original narrative foundation, Lim Gun-joong does not do too badly, even if episodes 4 and 5 are open to debate due to certain issues we will examine. A decoder might be required. I must admit that at times I had to rewatch scenes because they were too confusing or simply unreadable. The core idea of Reverse is original: past and future seem to influence each other in real time.Let’s lay out the story. After fleeing a villa that eventually explodes, Ham Myo-jin (Seo Ji-hye) loses control of her car and is violently hit by a truck, sending her to hospital. She survives miraculously but appears to suffer partial amnesia. She no longer remembers those around her, including her fiancé Ryu Jun-ho (Ko Soo), a brilliant internationally renowned architect. He takes care of her during her recovery. Meanwhile, the police investigate the villa explosion that killed two people, including Choi Hee-su (Kim Jae-kyung), a close friend of Myo-jin, and her father, a powerful businessman. Other figures soon emerge: a blackmailer linked to Jun-ho, a Chinese gang, and a mysterious individual named Ki-cheol (Yoon Je-moon). The case proves far more complex than it first appears, with one deception hiding another. It is truly Machiavellian.
Reverse demands a very specific cognitive effort from the viewer, requiring constant intellectual attention. Even though color grading is used to distinguish timelines, it would have been more effective at times to display on-screen timestamps (which is occasionally done). The intention is obvious: to disorient the viewer. The downside, in my view, is that this becomes counterproductive, particularly in episodes 4 and 5 where I found myself lost more than once. This is partly due to editing and direction that are not always up to the task. Moreover, the overload of contradictory information and lack of clear markers make it difficult to distinguish between memory, hallucination, and reality. It becomes frustrating to analyze the information rather than simply immerse oneself in the story. The pacing is solid, but interruptions in flow are felt due to a somewhat haphazard structure in the middle of the series. The addition of seemingly unnecessary characters—present only to confuse matters—also feels like a questionable choice. At times, there is a lack of grounding, especially around Ki-cheol, despite him being a key pivot in Myo-jin’s quest for truth and revenge.
If we set aside the confusing direction, Reverse remains a strong drama, held together by an excellent cast, refined visual direction, polished aesthetics, and a solid plot full of twists, culminating in an ending whose outcome is difficult to predict. The story constantly misleads the viewer by presenting seemingly good characters who turn out to be bad, and vice versa. It is difficult to know who is lying or telling the truth until the explanations begin to surface around episode 7. We understand that the central stake revolves around Myo-jin’s revenge, but without spoiling anything: is she herself truly innocent? Reverse is a cerebral work of deconstruction that may put off many viewers, which is understandable. In its attempt to create total mystery, it sometimes struggles to connect the dots between characters. The involvement of the Chinese gang, for instance, remains unclear and ultimately feels like a red herring (I even had to ask an AI, which says something). To make sense of it, one must never forget that the story revolves around a sordid and deeply disturbing family tragedy.
I started reconnecting with the drama around episode 6, and especially during the final two episodes, which truly deliver. Everything finally becomes fluid, gripping, and clear. The frustration of suppressed or misunderstood emotions finally dissipates. Why? Because the masks fall, and the true nature of the characters is revealed. Reverse is, above all, a story about manipulation: one must never take scenes or dialogue at face value. The title is no coincidence—total inversion is always at play. The psychological, dramatic, and tragic layers are the drama’s core strengths. Distinguishing heroes from villains becomes a real ordeal, as you quickly realize. The only truly “good” character is Lee Sang-ho (Lim Won-hee), who assists Myo-jin in her search for truth. Reverse aims to stimulate the viewer’s perception, but adapting a powerful audio narrative into a visual format is no easy feat. The result is unsettling.
The drama is a mental puzzle. It is a bold adaptation that constantly oscillates between confusion and brilliance. The viewer must show unwavering patience not to get lost. But the experience is ultimately rewarding, as it forces reflection. If complexity is not your thing, this is not the show for you. In terms of immersion, the sight of a Chinese gang speaking Korean is somewhat jarring, and one or two narrative points remain unresolved at the end. Nevertheless, Reverse is a gripping, dark thriller with disturbing truths that are difficult to accept. It ultimately reflects both the good and evil within us all. This is where the series finds its strength: it rejects manichaeism entirely, offering instead a twisted mental labyrinth. The performances by Seo Ji-hye and Ko Soo, who carry this fragile narrative structure with remarkable intensity, deserve special mention. And the finale is chilling and explosive, as one might (or might not) expect. This is therefore an imperfect but fascinating work on the malleability of memory and the darkness of the human soul.
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The Recipe for Happiness Under Military Regime
To begin, I’ll borrow inspiration from my old review of Mr. Queen. To create a truly tasty dish, here is the recipe:“Take a young, popular and likeable actor. Make him play a hero built around the universally comforting theme of cooking. Add an unexpectedly peaceful military setting, a generous dose of humor, passion, and human values. Sprinkle in absurd comedic situations and strong bromance. Finally, season it with RPG-like video game sequences where you gain EXP to level up, and a light touch of romance.” Based on the webcomic of the same name, kitchen utensils replace weapons, because the real danger is… on the plate. Here, there isn’t a trace of physical violence: no bullying, only a few squabbles, and above all challenges that are more digestible than dangerous. Why did this drama work so well in Korea? Probably because it brings together almost all the ingredients the local audience loves. But the real question is elsewhere: will this perfectly calibrated mix manage to appeal to our own taste as well?
Two months after losing his father, a highly respected chef, young conscript Kang Seong-Jae (Park Ji-Hoon) is assigned to the Ganglim forward base, near the North Korean border. This small garrison of 29 men is commanded by Captain Hwang Seok-Ho (Lee Sang-Yi), assisted by Lieutenant Cho Ye-Rin (Han Dong-Hee) and Staff Sergeant Park Jae-Young (Yoon Kyung-Ho). They are all very humane officers. Because of his parents’ profession, Seong-Jae is assigned to the mess hall to assist Sergeant Yoon Dong-Hyun (Lee Hong-Nae) in the kitchen. Not only is he loud-mouthed, but he is also utterly useless at cooking. The verdict is clear: every meal is a disaster, and the entire base is at breaking point. That’s when Seong-Jae is suddenly presented with a hologram that, like in a video game, assigns him missions to earn EXP, level up his skills, and ultimately reach the final goal: becoming the “ultimate chef.” Thus begins the epic journey of the Kitchen Soldier, whose mission is to rebuild cohesion through good food.
What immediately stands out is how quickly the series pulls you in—even if you consider cooking an abstract art. Indeed, food culture is something that unites everyone, across all generations. The concept is also introduced very quickly: we are not simply following a soldier in a remote outpost, but a character evolving like in a video game. EXP, levels, skill unlocks, quests, “resets”… everything is there. This RPG system is treated as a mental reality experienced by the hero—a way for him to cope and reassure himself. The presence of his father figure is also essential in the evolution of his “character sheet.” The outpost is not really an army base; it feels more like a friendly village where everyone depends on one another. Cohesion comes first. The drama deliberately highlights the positive side of military conscription—we are not in D.P. here. The war is not on the battlefield; it takes place in the kitchen. Cohesion around food strengthens camaraderie, and the show fully delivers on its feel-good promise. And to reinforce this concept, food becomes the catalyst for absurd moments: once the palate sends taste information to the brain, an explosion of flavors triggers hallucinations. A rice ball, for example, can spark a full boyband fantasy sequence featuring the Migak Boys’ entire music video.
Why do all these ingredients work so well and feel so appetizing? It mainly comes down to perfect synergy. This is a simple but enjoyable story, with a strong cast, sharp dialogue, and immediately lovable characters you can relate to. Above all, it highlights universally appealing themes: teamwork, camaraderie, motivation, selflessness, naïve optimism, and over-the-top absurd humor. Of course, this is not realism—we are dealing with a live-action adaptation of a webtoon. But does enjoying tasty dishes and sincere characters make us fools? I sincerely hope not. Cooking is a universal language, just like laughter, and both are appreciated in their own way. To spice things up, a subplot involving corruption in the supply chain adds a slightly darker note, showing the zealous behavior of certain higher-ranking officers. But overall, everyone remains well-meaning, with a paternal figure watching over the younger soldiers. Seong-Jae even gets his own awkward romantic moment with Jung Min-A (Jeon So-Young), a girl who has been in love with him since high school—without any manual on how to handle teasing from his comrades.
Of course, everything isn’t perfect: there is a slight dip in energy in one or two episodes. Some moments may feel repetitive, but the spirit remains intact and the simple lifestyle is respected. The pacing is generally solid, even if it slows slightly before the culinary competition finale. Everything is fairly predictable, but that is intentional within this “feel-good utopia”: this is not a harsh world, but one where taste and skill resolve problems instead of fists. This drama is aimed at a family audience, but not only them—everyone can enjoy it, feel emotions, and recharge their dopamine levels. Director Jo Nam-Hyung also shows growth here, serving up a satisfying dish after the excellent The Tale of the Nine-Tailed 1938, which I also recommend. The adaptation of the webcomic—spanning nearly 200 chapters—is quite successful in tone and atmosphere. To be honest, without the “spicy” contributions of Yoon Kyung-Ho, Lee Sang-Yi, and Lee Hong-Nae (who is genuinely excellent), surrounding the very solid Park Ji-Hoon, the drama wouldn’t have had the same flavor. Without their punchlines, the recipe might have left a bitter aftertaste. Thanks to them, the emotional cooking ladle digs out the very best from the bottom of the pot.
Let’s move on to the bill—and rest assured, it won’t be too salty. If you accept the “set menu” formula and don’t try to over-analyze it, you’re in for a treat. Like a good ice cream, The Legend of Kitchen Soldier is a tasty, crunchy dessert—Cyril Lignac would approve. No need for Philippe Etchebest to restore order in the kitchen: Seong-Jae handles the mess hall like a true chef. The series whets your appetite from the very start, even throwing in a small twist in the penultimate episode to whip everything up right before the finale. It’s intense, joyful, and should be taken for what it is: excellent entertainment to enjoy with others. This accumulation of unlikely concepts works surprisingly well, mostly perfectly cooked with a touch of controlled madness. However, I did miss a bit more craziness, and the arc introduced around Captain Im Seung-Bin strangely fizzled out. But as someone not exactly skilled in cooking myself, I still enjoyed this gargantuan meal. (Private joke—this is for you Aude.)
The holographic interface still works, the ending is open… so, “Ready Player One”? And as they say: bon appétit, of course! (Joël Robuchon).
The references to the chefs are French of course :)
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