Trigger is a high-impact and eye-catching series, even if it may not fully meet every maximalist expectation. While it is categorized as an action-thriller, mystery, or crime film, I believe the label of "social disaster film" or simply "drama" would suit it much better—colored by the aforementioned genre elements and embedded in a moralizing and cruel drama that toys with a dystopian vision of the future.
(Author’s screenshot from Trigger.)
Kwon Oh-seung directed his own story, and he boldly poses questions that are difficult to answer. As a filmmaker, Kwon’s age of 39 is not considered old; at this stage, one fortunately still possesses the vigorous energy of youth and, in lucky cases, a pure—though perhaps slightly naive—faith. In the light of this faith, one believes the world can be saved and changed, even as the destructive power of the dark side is already visible. I feel this respectable perspective in the drama, and it should not be underestimated. Without it, the world would not move forward—or if it moves nowhere, this force is what halts the dominance of self-consuming tendencies, and as such, the key to our continuous survival lies within it. Looking at the drama’s conclusion through this lens, I cannot be dissatisfied with it. To produce a cynical smile, one would need to gather much more bitter life experience along with reaching a more advanced age. I wish for Kwon to never acquire such experiences, and that the common bitterness accompanying an "understanding" of how the world works—which may enable a nuanced portrayal of the irredeemable but at the cost of a sense of nihilism—never dawns upon him. How much better is the gentle "coming of wisdom" that emphasizes a love for life and aiding the forces of good! Perhaps this has nothing to do with Trigger, yet for some reason, it came to mind in connection with the drama.
(Author’s screenshot from Trigger.)
(Author’s screenshot from Trigger.)
(Author’s screenshot from Trigger.)
Kwon’s drama has a positive resonance, even though the road leading there is shrouded in dark shadows. The "road" creates a linear impression, and it appears that the standalone stories of the individual episodes form the elements of a garland. At times, they seem to repeat with minor modifications, which indeed reduces the drama’s tension by making the upcoming steps predictable. Yet, we can also view it as fitting pieces of a puzzle together—whichever element we touch, it will help outline the same whole, the same overall picture. Thus, the individual cases are not merely excerpts of a life-feeling permeating the entire society but serve as reinforcing elements of a compendium to support how many ways we can be tormented. The individual levels of this state show only personal variations, and those in more extreme situations merely possess a higher danger index than others (victims of both physical and mental abuse, the overworked, those subjected to neglect, unfair treatment, etc.).
There is a "trigger" in all of us, the drama suggests. We can perhaps make this image more universally understood through the other meaning of trigger: to cause or initiate—the kind of accumulation where "one’s thread snaps" at a certain point when the level of frustration reaches the threshold of the unbearable. The drama’s fundamental idea is that we have created a world where the tension index constantly hovers at this limit, which naturally varies from person to person; therefore, it is unpredictable where and how individual "snaps" will occur. Although this high-strung society is localized in South Korea within the drama, the story could be set in any similar, primarily liberal-capitalist country where the only indicator of worth is success, and those who do not perform well are deemed rejects. The theoretical question, then, is: what happens if we place an instant tension-reliever like a gun into people’s hands? Yet, for this very reason, and despite all appearances, Trigger is not about gun ownership; it provides a diagnostic report of a sick society.
This explosive society is granted two extraordinary protagonists in the drama, and as a result of their opposing worldviews, one seeks to destroy aggression while the other strives to unleash it. While the drama as a whole functions like a theoretical construct—including these two figures—both are written with remarkable lifelikeness, and brought to life even more so by the actors. Neither is strictly good or bad, nor more likable or detestable than the other; the difference lies in their respective responses to their circumstances—and one must not forget who was, or was not, there to help them in making those choices.
(Author’s screenshot from Trigger.)
(Author’s screenshot from Trigger.)
(Author’s screenshot from Trigger.)
(Author’s screenshot from Trigger.)
For a time, their life stories run almost parallel. As a child, the family of police officer Lee Do (Kim Nam-gil) was wiped out during a robbery. He was prevented from becoming a child killer by his current superior, who took the orphaned boy in and raised him, passing on a value system that favors legal justice over vigilantism. Lee Do’s story took a strange turn, and we can see he is not a policeman of average training. He previously fought criminals as a sniper for the special forces, and after no fewer than 99 casualties, he decided never to pick up a weapon again, struggling with PTSD as a result. One can infer, however, that he will be forced to reconsider this decision.
(Author’s screenshot from Trigger.)
(Author’s screenshot from Trigger.)
(Author’s screenshot from Trigger.)
(Author’s screenshot from Trigger.)
(Author’s screenshot from Trigger.)
The background of Moon Baek (Kim Young-kwang) is no less burdened. After being abandoned by his parents, he ended up in the United States in the hands of organ traffickers. There, he was noticed by the head of a company engaged in illegal arms trade, who took the child in. Moon has matured into a handsome, daring young man who is in no way inferior to our reckless policeman in terms of audacity. But life does not spare him now either; a cancerous illness allows him only a limited amount of time, which only further fuels his unflagging thirst for revenge—or, from his perspective, his drive for justice. He disguises his diabolical plan as business activity: he intends to turn the country that made his life hell into a hell itself by placing weapons into the hands of marginalized, utterly desperate people, even manipulating them into using them. At first, only to a few, then indiscriminately to anyone. He deflects responsibility with the self-justification that it is an individual decision whether one actually pulls the trigger.
A country that strictly restricts gun ownership is stunned to face the proliferating, bloody individual and mass retaliations. Lee and Moon, seemingly tossed together by chance, could even make an excellent duo, but at first, they play a cat-and-mouse game until their cards are laid bare. Lee constantly thwarts Moon’s plans, which is precisely why Moon pulls that certain trigger at one point. At this stage, the focus shifts from a police case to a broader horizon: gun ownership suddenly becomes a matter of social debate and political inquiry. Moon Baek and his underworld associates ramp up the events, leading to clashes between pro-gun and anti-gun groups, and the country is swept to the brink of a state of emergency.
(Author’s screenshot from Trigger.)
(Author’s screenshot from Trigger.)
(Author’s screenshot from Trigger.)
In the meantime, we witness a parallel story that illuminates the inner workings of the country’s underworld. The frustrations permeating the visible surface of society are equally present here; the low-level gangsters of the hierarchy harbor just as much desperate rage as their law-abiding fellow citizens. Yet, there is a grotesque sobriety to them that seems to be vanishing from "normal society." It is from the mouth of a mobster that we must hear that they do not want to use guns, for two reasons: primarily because it would authorize the authorities to gun them down without a second thought, and secondly because where there are many weapons, the military might have cause to intervene—and as South Korean history specifically shows, little good ever comes of that. Therefore, they would rather hand over the weapons docked with them, which only bring them trouble, to the authorities.
(Author’s screenshot from Trigger.)
(Author’s screenshot from Trigger.)
For "normal" people to reach the same conclusion, a chaotic bloodshed is required. This is also the final showdown between Lee and Moon, which, despite its concreteness, is rather symbolic. The question running through the drama is not a new one: does the person who takes up a weapon not, in fact, destroy themselves with it? Moon’s fate seems to fulfill this, while Lee becomes the embodiment of the path leading out of the cataclysm. He saves a little boy who seems to be his childhood self—and the photograph in which he protects the child with his own body becomes a symbol of a better world. It is equally symbolic that he is the one to raise the next generation. Can we do anything other than root for him?
Perhaps it is evident from my description that the drama has a certain didactic intent, a desire to "enlighten" minds, which does not necessarily work in its favor. At the same time, it carries an important message for South Korea, positioned at one extreme of the attitude toward gun ownership, as well as for the United States at the other. An equal sign is almost placed between the two, as they are distinguished only by the difference in access to firearms. The "thread" is stretched to the breaking point in both societies; however, the trigger is only one tool for releasing that tension, so I leave it to everyone’s imagination what else it might be replaced with.
It is not difficult to deduce our real task: to replace our current world, which causes discomfort for everyone, with something in which we can feel more at home. And while Trigger may not be a flawless drama, its message is perfect.
The first four episodes of Kwon Oh-seung’s series possess a sweeping momentum, and despite its very uncomfortable atmosphere, it nonetheless sucks the viewers in. Toward the middle, it loses some of its drive, but the visuals remain impactful throughout, and the action sequences are excellently executed and filmed. The individual work of the two actors and their complementary interplay in the two characters cannot be praised enough. Every actor infuses the various characters appearing in individual cases with unique flavors, while they all share one common trait: the vivid portrayal of a nervous system stretched to the limit.
Trigger is a bold undertaking, and I wish us many more like it.
Disclaimer: All images used in this article from Trigger are owned by Netflix and are used here under Fair Use for the purpose of criticism and scholarly review.
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This article was originally written in Hungarian for Ricemegatron Expert Film Blog and subsequently translated into English for Ricemegatron Expert: Korean Screen Insights. The English version was created with the assistance of Gemini AI, focusing on preserving the original tone, structure, and critical style of the author.
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