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This review may contain spoilers
A first class example of the BL genre within the Chinese history costume drama category.
The sad, fateful unhappy endings of so many early gay films or series, which once upon a time seemed almost to be a requirement, that gay people do not deserve long, happy lives, makes a grand re-appearance in “Kill To Love” but in a manner that works and makes sense for the characters and the historic times they lived.
This Singaporean effort at a sweeping Chinese costume drama of rival princes and hostile neighbouring kingdoms in medieval China, within its limited budget, does well despite lacking the forces of extras in palace scenes or battle enactments that Chinese productions gloriate in. The key to this compensation is the casting: all of the principal actors inhabit their characters with conviction, and the two main leads with especial impact.
The lack of information in the notoriously difficult production environment of Chinese language BLs, created by Chinese creatives, starkly contrasts with the abundance of intermingling story lines, character interactions, and plot developments. While the novel on which the series is based has been described as both a buxia (martial arts) and a danmei (bl), the resulting drama, while compelling in its unfolding, resides ultimately in its own category, unique to Chinese storytelling.
It is equally admirable and intimidating that Chinese storytelling should be able to envelop so many prominent themes into an individual story.
Familiar to each other as young boys, the two main characters, Shu He and Si Ang, meet again by chance at a critical juncture in the history of their kingdoms (Nan Hui Kingdom and Ji Bei Kingdom). Their attraction to each other has to play out against the political forces and characters of their time; in the end, this environment, beyond their control, shapes their destiny. This may give the appearance of lives determined by fate, but the fascination behind “Kill To Love” (an awful title compared to the novel’s “The Mountains and Rivers Are Forever Silent”) is that it is in the characters of Shu He and Si Ang where the core emotional conflict and passion emerge, combust and consume.
In the first episode, we meet all the main players, and, in addition, the director and writer cleverly combine two different scenes of injury. Si Ang, who has been surprised in his assassination attempt of the Crown Prince, receives an arrow wound to his shoulder as he flees; immediately following, the young Crimson Shadow Guardsman Huo Ying is seen visibly distressed and in pain.
One would’ve thought that the young aspirants for admission into the Crimson Shadow Guard would have noticed something amiss about a military guard in which the members experienced ten years of poisoning, from which their loyalty was secured by receiving, as part of their pay package, so to speak, regular antidotes. But that’s not really the point (even though it very much plays into the action). Just as it's speculated that the poison is administered internally to the Guard members in their diet, the defining force in this drama - the need to love and be loved - is inside of Shu He and Si Ang, and can not be extinguished.
At their first meeting in this series, standing in the dark one behind the other where they cannot see each other's faces, Si Ang runs his hand around Shu He’s waist. The camera lingers on this moment for a reason: they recognise something about each other in this moment - Shu He responds passively to the touch of another man, and Si Ang understands Shu He’s response because Si Ang’s touch is innately sensual on the other man’s body. Once unleashed, the forces that bind each of them to another also become painful wounds.
The drama and its ensuing tension are well sustained from beginning to end by the talents of 24-year-old Mi Jin as Shu He and 25-year-old Zhang Zhe Xu as Zi Ang. Production values are good, even if budget constraints limit the famed aerial flying of the martial arts Zi Ang and/or the appearance of large military forces to only two scenes. Costumes and production design are first class; the makeup, from time to time, strangely, is out of kilter with the lighting. I mention this only because the camera work (camera & lighting are hand-in-glove) is excellent. The two-camera setups on some of the more emotionally intense scenes between Shu He and Zi Ang are particularly notable.
This Singaporean effort at a sweeping Chinese costume drama of rival princes and hostile neighbouring kingdoms in medieval China, within its limited budget, does well despite lacking the forces of extras in palace scenes or battle enactments that Chinese productions gloriate in. The key to this compensation is the casting: all of the principal actors inhabit their characters with conviction, and the two main leads with especial impact.
The lack of information in the notoriously difficult production environment of Chinese language BLs, created by Chinese creatives, starkly contrasts with the abundance of intermingling story lines, character interactions, and plot developments. While the novel on which the series is based has been described as both a buxia (martial arts) and a danmei (bl), the resulting drama, while compelling in its unfolding, resides ultimately in its own category, unique to Chinese storytelling.
It is equally admirable and intimidating that Chinese storytelling should be able to envelop so many prominent themes into an individual story.
Familiar to each other as young boys, the two main characters, Shu He and Si Ang, meet again by chance at a critical juncture in the history of their kingdoms (Nan Hui Kingdom and Ji Bei Kingdom). Their attraction to each other has to play out against the political forces and characters of their time; in the end, this environment, beyond their control, shapes their destiny. This may give the appearance of lives determined by fate, but the fascination behind “Kill To Love” (an awful title compared to the novel’s “The Mountains and Rivers Are Forever Silent”) is that it is in the characters of Shu He and Si Ang where the core emotional conflict and passion emerge, combust and consume.
In the first episode, we meet all the main players, and, in addition, the director and writer cleverly combine two different scenes of injury. Si Ang, who has been surprised in his assassination attempt of the Crown Prince, receives an arrow wound to his shoulder as he flees; immediately following, the young Crimson Shadow Guardsman Huo Ying is seen visibly distressed and in pain.
One would’ve thought that the young aspirants for admission into the Crimson Shadow Guard would have noticed something amiss about a military guard in which the members experienced ten years of poisoning, from which their loyalty was secured by receiving, as part of their pay package, so to speak, regular antidotes. But that’s not really the point (even though it very much plays into the action). Just as it's speculated that the poison is administered internally to the Guard members in their diet, the defining force in this drama - the need to love and be loved - is inside of Shu He and Si Ang, and can not be extinguished.
At their first meeting in this series, standing in the dark one behind the other where they cannot see each other's faces, Si Ang runs his hand around Shu He’s waist. The camera lingers on this moment for a reason: they recognise something about each other in this moment - Shu He responds passively to the touch of another man, and Si Ang understands Shu He’s response because Si Ang’s touch is innately sensual on the other man’s body. Once unleashed, the forces that bind each of them to another also become painful wounds.
The drama and its ensuing tension are well sustained from beginning to end by the talents of 24-year-old Mi Jin as Shu He and 25-year-old Zhang Zhe Xu as Zi Ang. Production values are good, even if budget constraints limit the famed aerial flying of the martial arts Zi Ang and/or the appearance of large military forces to only two scenes. Costumes and production design are first class; the makeup, from time to time, strangely, is out of kilter with the lighting. I mention this only because the camera work (camera & lighting are hand-in-glove) is excellent. The two-camera setups on some of the more emotionally intense scenes between Shu He and Zi Ang are particularly notable.
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