Review | K-drama review: Juvenile Justice on Netflix – Kim Hye-soo proves an indomitable force amid series’ legal thrills and strong cast
- Kim plays Judge Sim Eun-seok, a resolute judicial force who will stop at nothing to get to the truth and serve out her own stern form of justice to all
- While prone to more melodrama than its cynical indie peers, the show offers realistic observations in its exploration of juvenile delinquency
3/5 stars
Kim Hye-soo, one of Korea’s most enduring screen icons, adds her star power to the 10-part legal drama Juvenile Justice, her first original series for Netflix.
Kim plays Judge Sim Eun-seok, an indomitable judicial force who will stop at nothing to get to the truth and serve out her own stern form of justice. She’s the kind of judge who spends most of her time out of judicial robes and on the streets where she interviews witnesses; the kind who will give chase to fleeing teenagers and get right back up again after being knocked over by a car.
She’s also a judge with a painful secret, a secret that drives her to volunteer to be a Juvenile Court judge, despite her sterling credentials and the post’s lack of advancement opportunities. More curious still, she evinces a lack of sympathy for the teens that cycle through her court. Her repeatedly stated mantra is: “I detest young offenders.”
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Eun-seok and Tae-ju also differ in their interactions with Chief Judge Kang Won-jung (Misaeng’s Lee Sung-min), who spends a lot of time worrying about his image as a TV commentator and is soon courted for a political appointment. Tae-ju has great respect for Judge Kang but Eun-seok quickly locks horns with him.
Beyond these three judges and their individual stories, Juvenile Justice proceeds in an episodic fashion. Major cases, many of them referencing headline-grabbing Korean crimes, are presented before the bench, with each running for an episode or two, while later episodes begin to encroach on the personal lives of the judges.
In a strong opening hour, the show dives into a particularly gruesome case after teenage boy Baek Seong-u walks up to a police precinct with a slick red hatchet and confesses to strangling and mutilating an eight-year-old boy living in his building.
The case, which becomes Eun-seok’s first in her new position, draws national attention for the barbarity of the crime, but also because according to Korean juvenile law, any child under the age of 14 convicted of a crime can only receive a maximum two-year sentence in juvenile detention.
While this opening crime is fairly violent for a K-drama (it’s actually the most violent of all the cases in this first season), Juvenile Justice arguably takes a bigger gamble with its casting, as 13-year-old boy Seong-u is played by the 27-year-old female Lee Yeon. Lee is commendable in the part but the obvious piece of stunt casting proves a little jarring.
Misguided youth are called that for a reason, and the show explores how violent and alcoholic parents and an apathetic society can lead to this sort of youth violence. Not everyone is so far gone that they can’t be rehabilitated, as Tae-ha so desperately tries to do with his charges, but Eun-seok (partly owing to some very pronounced personal biases that become clear later on) is more realistic – not everyone can be saved.
As a commercial offering, Juvenile Justice is prone to more maudlin introspection than its cynical indie peers, with wailing mothers in courthouse car parks and corridors being a prominent fixture throughout the series. While the show can’t really reconcile its melodramatic and social impulses, the legal thrills and strong cast make up for any shortfalls.
Juvenile Justice is streaming on Netflix.
