3
A genre mix that serves both genres well--supernatural chills and romantic thrills
Khemjira stands out in at least two notable ways. First, it is the rare Thai BL series that prioritizes storytelling over couple moments. In service to that mission, the series musters a large company to tell the tale of the main couple; yet, a wide swathe of this ensemble plays little to no role in encouraging the blooming romance. Instead, they supplement the otherworldly angles of the supernatural story that entwines the leading men. Second, and perhaps more impressive, Khemjira is also the rare supernatural series whose phantasms deliver a genuine sense of menace. Goofy comic relief ghosts, they are not. Victims of tragic endings to incite viewer empathy, they are not. These specters threaten doom; danger looms where they appear. Light romantic comedy, Khemjira is therefore not. If there is a third notable achievement it may be the panache with which the makers blend the expected sinister chills of one genre with the expected warm, fuzzy thrills of the other. That few such genre hybrids manage this feat attests to its difficulty.
The title character, college freshman Khemjira, fears a curse on his family will result in his own early death. Following some near-miss accidents on campus in ep 1, his best friend, Jet, redirects a volunteer student break trip toward his own hometown, small and rural. Will the local shaman be able to help avert Khem's doom and neutralize the curse? Surely it helps that the aforesaid Local Shaman, Peem, proves to be young and handsome. Viewers quickly ascertain that the winsome young shaman has a connection with Khem’s family. Indeed, adolescent Peem first met young Khem years prior. (Ever seen a K-drama? Any K-drama? Then, you know what it portends for the main characters' future when an episode establishes they first met as children.) In this case, the destiny implied in the trope "destined lovers" also combines with the sense of destiny implied in the reincarnation trope. Two reincarnation tropes, in fact, as a third student on the trip, Charn, turns out to have been connected in a past life to Jet. These two meet as strangers but feel an immediate spark. Over several episodes, Charn and Jet realize that spark emanates from an unfinished romance in their prior lives (as women). Those “older souls” also connected to prior incarnations of Khem's and Peem's souls. That earlier coupling, likewise star-crossed, supplied story fodder for one of the ghost-of-the-Week episodes. On a recurring basis these soul bonds explains why Jet and Charn feel compelled to take extraordinary efforts on behalf of Khem. All three same-sex relationships (main couple, side couple, and flashback GL side couple) have some chemistry. The romances in Khemjira manifest palpable spirit.
Chiefly, the romances work because they flow from events in the ghost story. Rather than developing romance between shaman and student as the engine to drive the story forward, momentum stems from the need to address the deadly curse hanging over the student's head. In the first few episodes, the series follows a format we could dub "supernatural threat of the week." Early episodes center around Peem’s attempts to exorcise spooks and demons via his shamanistic magic. The group of students is caught up in that effort. Thai BL is replete with examples of college students undertaking a service trip to rural areas during a school break. These boondoggles comprise a veritable genre staple. Such endeavors typically depict students in bucolic acts of mundane service. Perhaps they paint a school or plant some trees. Khemjira is the only series where the service entails eradicating poltergeists in and around the rural village. (The villagers seem quite blasé about the level of wraith activity in their immediate environment. Perhaps their ubiquity explains why a family of shamans chose that village to make a living.) Using a threat-of-the-week format also ensures tension and foreboding inflect the series’ tone rather than silliness (from ineffectual ghosts) or lightness (from treacly romance). By the time the series reveals its true villain, inevitably a vengeful spirit with a grudge against Khem’s family that spans generations, Khem, Jet, and Charn have determined a prudent respect for Khem's safety dictates they remain in the village with the shaman. Peem’s attempts to reverse the curse dominate the series' second half.
An array of secondary characters serve a clear purpose to the story. They pop in and out when necessary. Especially well-crafted figures were an old village woman and two very young ghosts. The old lady aids Peem-as-shaman by contributing her own considerable magic to supplement his combat with otherworldly forces, but she also plays a grandmotherly role to Peem-as-person. There the magic stems from sage advice, tender affection, and an occasional home-cooked meal, ministrations also extended to Jet (who grew up in the village) and Khem (the newcomer in danger). Meanwhile, the boy specters add an infectious childlike whimsy that leavens the series' darker moments. Peem-as-Shaman uses the duo as intermediaries betwixt the worldly and otherworldly realms. He also apparently had used them as babysitters for young Jet, who bonded with his childhood playmates despite the fact they were not, technically speaking, alive when he played with them. Their endearing manner of literally "popping in and out," as a physical POP, must be seen to be appreciated. For the most part, the rich panoply of side characters contribute to a perception that the writing staff had a clear command of their tale's convoluted permutations.
Notwithstanding this praise, Khemjira (the series) has some mentionable flaws. One side character, introduced in the penultimate episode, felt truly out of place. That character felt so extra(neous), one speculates Domundi had contractual or publicity motivations to rope that actor into the show somehow. Despite maintaining a suspenseful atmosphere most of the time, the plot occasionally feels sluggish. A few episodes feature sequences whose exorcism from the storyboard might have reduced bloat. (For example, a love rival for Peem, smitten with Khem; a love rival for Khem, smitten with Peem; shenanigans at a rural country fair; arrogant bullies among the college students.) In addition, the writers might fairly be knocked for taking too long to explore the origins of Khem’s family curse; likewise, the romances progress along a similarly protracted timeline. But these are minor complaints. Considering the level of intricate plotting necessary to tie together the story’s disparate threads, the writers can be forgiven these minor pacing issues.
Khemjira will, in some respects, always be linked in memory with its contemporaries from 2025, The Next Prince and Revamp. The latter's association, coincidental, reflects both chronology and genre. For ten weeks Revamp and Khemjira overlapped broadcast runs, even sharing Saturday as their mutual broadcast day. Bigger coincidence, they aired finales on the exact same Saturday. Many viewers would have experienced the two series in lockstep. Yet, their more salient connection is genre. Each aspired to tell a compelling love story which simultaneously entangled mortals with supernatural beings. Khemjira got the tricky formula right; Revamp failed that test. By contrast, the link to the former required no coincidence at all. Both Kehmjira and The Next Prince sprang from the creative and production teams at Domundi. Indeed, they are production siblings: the two series gestated in pre-production simultaneously; filming blocs overlapped; they made it to air within months of each other. But The Next Prince always was the studio's Favored Child. Being second-fiddle may have saved Khemjira: perhaps executives who might have interfered with creative choices concentrated instead on The Next Prince and its high-profile cast. At the final analysis, both Revamp and The Next Prince disappointed, in part, because their plots too often catered to their popular leading men's shipped pair rather than the characters. That outcome reeks of executives interfering with creatives. That the business model for Thai BL relies on couple pairs for financial prosperity is no secret. The resulting tendency to write toward couple moments (as opposed to character moments) practically ensures that many series, even decent ones, will serve up an emaciated plot—if the story bothers with plot at all. Series like Perfect 10 Liners and We Are managed to subsist by stringing together a pastiche of warm, fuzzy moments. Viewers overlooked their anemic storyboards. Meanwhile, Revamp and The Next Prince received no such grace, and they have become instant lessons in the ignominy that faces series when they choose to stint on fidelity to worldbuilding and character development. Whatever the reason, the makers of Khemjira managed to create a series built around story and character rather than relying on sweet moments between a shipped couple. They got right the worldbuilding. That, more than any other factor, made Khemjira a fun watch.
Khemjira therefore overcame several obstacles on its way to success: the tendency of ghost stories to descend into comic hokeyness; the challenge to blend seamlessly two genres while doing justice to each; being an afterthought in its own company; the challenge to create, then sustain, a vibe that exuded baleful danger; and the tendency of the Thai BL industry to prioritize couple moments over story quality. The creative team and actors navigated these shoals to deliver a series that runs far more than it plods.
[Note: I dinged the rewatch value solely because I believe any suspense thriller works best the first time. On any rewatch, the viewer knows what is happening and why. That awareness leeches some of the atmosphere.]
The title character, college freshman Khemjira, fears a curse on his family will result in his own early death. Following some near-miss accidents on campus in ep 1, his best friend, Jet, redirects a volunteer student break trip toward his own hometown, small and rural. Will the local shaman be able to help avert Khem's doom and neutralize the curse? Surely it helps that the aforesaid Local Shaman, Peem, proves to be young and handsome. Viewers quickly ascertain that the winsome young shaman has a connection with Khem’s family. Indeed, adolescent Peem first met young Khem years prior. (Ever seen a K-drama? Any K-drama? Then, you know what it portends for the main characters' future when an episode establishes they first met as children.) In this case, the destiny implied in the trope "destined lovers" also combines with the sense of destiny implied in the reincarnation trope. Two reincarnation tropes, in fact, as a third student on the trip, Charn, turns out to have been connected in a past life to Jet. These two meet as strangers but feel an immediate spark. Over several episodes, Charn and Jet realize that spark emanates from an unfinished romance in their prior lives (as women). Those “older souls” also connected to prior incarnations of Khem's and Peem's souls. That earlier coupling, likewise star-crossed, supplied story fodder for one of the ghost-of-the-Week episodes. On a recurring basis these soul bonds explains why Jet and Charn feel compelled to take extraordinary efforts on behalf of Khem. All three same-sex relationships (main couple, side couple, and flashback GL side couple) have some chemistry. The romances in Khemjira manifest palpable spirit.
Chiefly, the romances work because they flow from events in the ghost story. Rather than developing romance between shaman and student as the engine to drive the story forward, momentum stems from the need to address the deadly curse hanging over the student's head. In the first few episodes, the series follows a format we could dub "supernatural threat of the week." Early episodes center around Peem’s attempts to exorcise spooks and demons via his shamanistic magic. The group of students is caught up in that effort. Thai BL is replete with examples of college students undertaking a service trip to rural areas during a school break. These boondoggles comprise a veritable genre staple. Such endeavors typically depict students in bucolic acts of mundane service. Perhaps they paint a school or plant some trees. Khemjira is the only series where the service entails eradicating poltergeists in and around the rural village. (The villagers seem quite blasé about the level of wraith activity in their immediate environment. Perhaps their ubiquity explains why a family of shamans chose that village to make a living.) Using a threat-of-the-week format also ensures tension and foreboding inflect the series’ tone rather than silliness (from ineffectual ghosts) or lightness (from treacly romance). By the time the series reveals its true villain, inevitably a vengeful spirit with a grudge against Khem’s family that spans generations, Khem, Jet, and Charn have determined a prudent respect for Khem's safety dictates they remain in the village with the shaman. Peem’s attempts to reverse the curse dominate the series' second half.
An array of secondary characters serve a clear purpose to the story. They pop in and out when necessary. Especially well-crafted figures were an old village woman and two very young ghosts. The old lady aids Peem-as-shaman by contributing her own considerable magic to supplement his combat with otherworldly forces, but she also plays a grandmotherly role to Peem-as-person. There the magic stems from sage advice, tender affection, and an occasional home-cooked meal, ministrations also extended to Jet (who grew up in the village) and Khem (the newcomer in danger). Meanwhile, the boy specters add an infectious childlike whimsy that leavens the series' darker moments. Peem-as-Shaman uses the duo as intermediaries betwixt the worldly and otherworldly realms. He also apparently had used them as babysitters for young Jet, who bonded with his childhood playmates despite the fact they were not, technically speaking, alive when he played with them. Their endearing manner of literally "popping in and out," as a physical POP, must be seen to be appreciated. For the most part, the rich panoply of side characters contribute to a perception that the writing staff had a clear command of their tale's convoluted permutations.
Notwithstanding this praise, Khemjira (the series) has some mentionable flaws. One side character, introduced in the penultimate episode, felt truly out of place. That character felt so extra(neous), one speculates Domundi had contractual or publicity motivations to rope that actor into the show somehow. Despite maintaining a suspenseful atmosphere most of the time, the plot occasionally feels sluggish. A few episodes feature sequences whose exorcism from the storyboard might have reduced bloat. (For example, a love rival for Peem, smitten with Khem; a love rival for Khem, smitten with Peem; shenanigans at a rural country fair; arrogant bullies among the college students.) In addition, the writers might fairly be knocked for taking too long to explore the origins of Khem’s family curse; likewise, the romances progress along a similarly protracted timeline. But these are minor complaints. Considering the level of intricate plotting necessary to tie together the story’s disparate threads, the writers can be forgiven these minor pacing issues.
Khemjira will, in some respects, always be linked in memory with its contemporaries from 2025, The Next Prince and Revamp. The latter's association, coincidental, reflects both chronology and genre. For ten weeks Revamp and Khemjira overlapped broadcast runs, even sharing Saturday as their mutual broadcast day. Bigger coincidence, they aired finales on the exact same Saturday. Many viewers would have experienced the two series in lockstep. Yet, their more salient connection is genre. Each aspired to tell a compelling love story which simultaneously entangled mortals with supernatural beings. Khemjira got the tricky formula right; Revamp failed that test. By contrast, the link to the former required no coincidence at all. Both Kehmjira and The Next Prince sprang from the creative and production teams at Domundi. Indeed, they are production siblings: the two series gestated in pre-production simultaneously; filming blocs overlapped; they made it to air within months of each other. But The Next Prince always was the studio's Favored Child. Being second-fiddle may have saved Khemjira: perhaps executives who might have interfered with creative choices concentrated instead on The Next Prince and its high-profile cast. At the final analysis, both Revamp and The Next Prince disappointed, in part, because their plots too often catered to their popular leading men's shipped pair rather than the characters. That outcome reeks of executives interfering with creatives. That the business model for Thai BL relies on couple pairs for financial prosperity is no secret. The resulting tendency to write toward couple moments (as opposed to character moments) practically ensures that many series, even decent ones, will serve up an emaciated plot—if the story bothers with plot at all. Series like Perfect 10 Liners and We Are managed to subsist by stringing together a pastiche of warm, fuzzy moments. Viewers overlooked their anemic storyboards. Meanwhile, Revamp and The Next Prince received no such grace, and they have become instant lessons in the ignominy that faces series when they choose to stint on fidelity to worldbuilding and character development. Whatever the reason, the makers of Khemjira managed to create a series built around story and character rather than relying on sweet moments between a shipped couple. They got right the worldbuilding. That, more than any other factor, made Khemjira a fun watch.
Khemjira therefore overcame several obstacles on its way to success: the tendency of ghost stories to descend into comic hokeyness; the challenge to blend seamlessly two genres while doing justice to each; being an afterthought in its own company; the challenge to create, then sustain, a vibe that exuded baleful danger; and the tendency of the Thai BL industry to prioritize couple moments over story quality. The creative team and actors navigated these shoals to deliver a series that runs far more than it plods.
[Note: I dinged the rewatch value solely because I believe any suspense thriller works best the first time. On any rewatch, the viewer knows what is happening and why. That awareness leeches some of the atmosphere.]
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