I just finished watching Moving a few weeks ago, and I enjoyed this glimpse of the world of superheroes from a South Korean perspective. I wouldn’t call myself an expert in Korean TV shows, movies, and dramas, but this was my first time seeing something like this. Most supernatural dramas I see have mythical creatures—gumiho, for example—or zombies or monsters from failed science experiments. But superheroes battling other superheroes? This drama was a first for me.
And yet…Moving is not your usual superhero drama where strong characters swoop in to save the day. Moving presents the uglier side of having superpowers. It shows the prejudice, the “racism”, if you will. But in its more tender moments, it also shows the humanity of the people who could be powerful enough to kill, to rule the earth, yet choose instead to save others.
No One is More Monstrous Than Humans
It’s interesting to note that, regardless of the country, the way the governments hunt and handle the gifted ones has a very Hunger Games touch to it. While it isn’t explained how people have superpowers, it’s implied that a person must almost always face a life-and-death situation for their powers to “awaken”—perhaps to trigger their survival instinct and, simultaneously, their superpowers.
In the United States, children are shot at, and only those who survive will be accepted, trained, and become part of an elite group of soldiers. In North Korea, people are led to the edge of a cliff and commanded to jump off. If they refuse, it could mean death.
And before you think South Korea is any different, it isn’t. Jang Ju Won goes through one hell of a beating before the NIS decides that he’s fit enough to join them. “Turn him into a monster,” the NIS (National Intelligence Service) leader says. Even Jae Man, Gang Hoon’s father is hunted down and subjected to a similar “hazing”-like situation before they determine him to be “useless” because of his simple mind. There’s no seeing or treating them as humans, as equals. Because of their superpowers, they’re seen as different and labeled as monsters.
Whether it’s the NIS or the American or North Korean equivalent, the treatment is the same. The gifted ones are “monsters” or subhumans. They are treated as second-class citizens, as beings who can be manipulated and dictated.
Which is ironic, really. Because you have these gifted people who could be monsters. Who could rule the earth by forcing everyone under their will because they have the ability and strength to do. But they don’t.
And then you have ordinary human beings whose primary goals are to subdue and subject, to hold what power they can in their hands and wield it so no one can question them or be above them—even if it means killing those they cannot control or at least threatening their lives and the lives of the people they love.
And this, perhaps, is why some of them decide to leave.
Eventually, we see Doo Sik, Ju Won, and later, even Na Ju and Bong Pyeong, go into hiding. Parents will tell you that it’s their protective instinct. Perhaps, it was also because they eventually found something else to live for beyond the adrenaline rush and thrill of their missions.
And No One is More Humane Than Monsters
One of the major points of Moving is not to showcase the strength and glory of the gifted. Rather, it pinpoints and elevates the humanity of these superheroes.
You’ll see traces of it scattered throughout the drama, such as in the backstory of Lee Mi Hyun and Kim Doo Sik, when they were both assigned to a mission in China where they had to eliminate spies at an event for Korean families separated because of the North-South Korean conflict. The agent in charge starts killing everyone—whether they are spies or not—and orders his agents to do the same.
Mi Hyun decides to create a diversion so some of them can escape—something that eventually costs her her job. Later, we learn that Doo Sik was on standby as a backup sniper in that same mission, tasked to kill anyone who tries to escape. Like Mi Hyun, he displays empathy and a sense of mercy that you probably wouldn’t expect from people in the field they are in.
Doo Sik displays some of that humanity again when he is tasked to kill the leader of North Korea. After single-handedly and effortlessly taking down an entire battalion (he does it in a way that they don’t die but only suffer temporary injuries), he marches into the room of the leader…only to find him lying in bed, attached to a medical machine. Doo Sik realizes that the North Korean leader is dying. His job is easy. Raise the gun, pull the trigger. There won’t be any resistance.
Instead, he lowers his gun with a trembling hand and walks away.
I wasn’t expecting humanity on the side of North Korea either. Of the desperation in Kim Deok Yoon’s (the North Korean National Security Agency agent) eyes when he said that all he wanted to do was protect his men. Of Kwon Yong Deuk (the North Korean who could regenerate like Ju Won), who did what he could to make Lim Jae Seok (the North Korean with the shockwave powers) comfortable each time he had to leave his dark cave. Of Lim Jaeseok, even, and his last word to Yong Deuk—“Live.”
“You Mess with My Kid, You Mess with Me.”
Perhaps one of the greatest themes of Moving is that of family, where humanity also shines, especially in the tender moments between the parents and their children. We see this from the start of the series, as Ju Won and Mi Hyun do everything to shelter their children. We see this when Frank asks Na Ju and Ju Won if they have kids in Jeongwon High School. We see it with Gang Hoon’s father who becomes even more aggressive when Juwon, who is sent to get him, mentions Gang Hoon. Even Ji Hui sends Hui Su away so she won’t be anywhere near when flames engulf their crashed car.
Ju Won, when finding out that kids may inherit their parents’ gifts, takes Hui Su and runs, hoping to hide her so she won’t be used by the NIS. It’s the same for Mi Hyun where Bong Seok is concerned. She carries him strapped to her back, even when he is old enough to walk. She pins down his comforter each night and packs his bags full of weights to keep him heavy so he won’t accidentally fly off. She is, perhaps, the most protective of them all—but for a good reason, too. It’s because of what happened to Doo Sik. In the end, even with her life on the line, she whispers to Bong Seok that he should listen to her and that he should run away.
Remove the politics and pretty awesome fighting scenes and you’ll realize that it’s all about the love they have for their kids, that protectiveness. It’s an invisible, defensive wall, so strong that not even the NIS can knock it down: You are my child. I will do anything to protect you—even if it costs me my life.
Anyone Can Be a Superhero
I was waiting for Kim Doo Sik to come swooping in at the final battle to save the day. The fact that he arrives in an almost non-discreet way may be anti-climactic for some, but perhaps it sends a different message.
Perhaps, the point is not to glorify the gifted or put the talented, the rich, and the influential on pedestals. Perhaps, it is to show that anyone can become a hero—even the unqualified.
While Mi Hyun and Ju Won are fighting the North Korean agents, they have no idea their children are in danger. Imagine Mi Hyun’s surprise when Bong Seok shows up flying. But because he is still testing out his new powers, unable to control them with the same finesse as his father could, Bong Seok is in more danger than he could imagine.
Enter Jeon Gye Do. We’re introduced to him during the first episode as the bus driver. But as they show parts of his story as the drama develops, we learn that he is the son of Jeon Yeong Seok, aka Bong Pyeong, whose gift is wielding electricity. Gye Do also attended Jeongwon High School, along with other presumably “gifted” kids. But he, like others, did not pass the giftedness test. The NIS did not take him in or offer him a job, so he had no choice but to work as a theater actor playing the role of Bungaeman (Lightning Man).
Gye Do cannot wield his powers properly either, nor is his strength like that of his father’s. A series of accidents in the theater lead to him getting booted and he eventually lands a job as a bus driver. Nevertheless, it is Gye Do who comes sweeping—or rather, driving—in to save the day. He zaps the North Korean agent enough to prevent Bong Seok from getting hurt.
Jeon Gye Do is not the only unimaginable superhero. In case you forget, there’s Choi Il Hwan, too. He’s 100% human, and he begged the NIS to give him a job where the gifted are concerned—inspired, as we learn, by Ju Won saving his life some time ago. He promises to go and prepare the next generation of superheroes.
Over time, though, he sees them as less than a bunch of individuals he has to sift through to pick the crème de la crème for the NIS, but more as humans, as high schoolers, as teenagers with all their struggles and challenges and insecurities. And so that night, when the North Korean agents barge into the school, he—with his human limits—does what he can to save the lives of the students, whether they are gifted or not.
In the End, Whose Fight is It Anyway?
There’s a quote that I read from an encyclopedia when I was younger. But it’s a quote I’ve never forgotten, and watching Moving brought it back to mind.
“I’m fed up to the ears with old men dreaming up wars for young men to die in.”
—George McGovern
George McGovern was an anti-war activist, known for his opposition to the Vietnam War. He was a decorated World War II bomber pilot, but the experience instilled in him a deep understanding of the horrors of the war, leading him to speak against wars.
The world often portrays North Korea as a power-hungry, war-freak state. Its closed borders and the fact that nobody knows much about it lends to the secrecy, the intrigue, and several speculations. You have several Western movies centered around North Korean terrorists.
But in this drama, even the North Korean side acknowledges the brutality and inhumanity of wiping out the next generations just to put a stop to the war—a war they didn’t even want. “Can we stop here?” Kim Deok Yeon pleads with the North Korean security department chief. “Do the children have to be involved? Do they have to be casualties? Can’t we end it with our generation?”
One of the gifted North Korean recruits, Jun Hwa, after his (rather rude) awakening, weeps, saying he doesn’t want to join the special forces. He just wanted to be able to provide for his wife and child. In the end, Deok Yeon makes him leave the battle at the school, urging him to think of his family because the government will not do anything for him.
Doo Sik realizes this early on when he returns from his mission in North Korea where he chooses not to shoot the North Korean leader. We learn that the leader ends up dying a natural death a few days later—but despite the outcome being how they wanted it to be, the NIS leader isn’t pleased. He wanted an assassination, a bold statement to show who was in charge. And when Doo Sik does not bend to their will, the NIS turns their back on him.
Perhaps the realization is the same for all of them: so long as they are seen as different—not human, but monsters—their lives, and the lives of their children, will always be in danger. They will be forced to fight the petty wars of politicians and state heads who have nothing better to do than engage in power trips with each other. They will forever be caught in crosshairs, seen as monsters, forced to bend to others’ control.
At the end of the day, in the quiet of an evening, after spending a good part of their lives fighting just because someone told them to, maybe a cold light begins to dawn in their minds. And with that, the question: what are we fighting for? And the realization—whose fight is it anyway?
I like to think that Ju Won and Hui Su, after being reunited in the school after the fight, go back outside to find Kwon Yong Deuk covered in snow and still weeping.
Maybe, just maybe, deciding to be on the same side is their way to fight back.
