Dynamite Kiss review: Jang Ki-yong and Ahn Eun-jin's warm K-Drama ignites and then self-destructs

There’s a malady that’s been plaguing K-dramas post-2022. It was always there — lurking on the periphery, claiming the occasional fan favourite before vanishing quietly, only to return for its next victim.

However, after 2022, it became more lethal. Dramas, with grand casts would start off with aplomb. They had it all: The regular tropes of enemies-to-lovers, contract marriages, broken marriages, best friends to lovers…and then by episode three, sometimes five or six, there’s a sudden change in script.

It’s what happened with Queen of Tears, with stalwarts like Kim Soo-hyun and Kim Ji-won, trapped in a fractured marriage. It was glitchy at first, but still watchable, till it pulled out exhaustive tropes and evil people just turning so evil suddenly, with gunshots, snow and the entire three-course meal of drama you didn’t ask for.

Cue, disappointment. One after the other, from the whimsy of Love Next Door, to When The Phone Rings, that had a very gutsy psychological premise of a woman playing mind games with an abusive husband, but the show couldn’t carry it through and instead, we got the safest possible thriller where the man has loved her all along, but never wanted to say it. Abuse is okay, folks.

And now…Dynamite Kiss is the latest casualty.  The first two episodes lure viewers in with a genuinely fresh premise. Go Da-rim (a delightfully unhinged Ahn Eun-jin) is a woman in her 30s, chronically unemployed and quietly humiliating her image-conscious family. Exiled to a luxury island hotel to stay out of her sister’s wedding spotlight, she crosses paths with Jang Ki-yong’s smooth-talking Gong Ji-hyeok. A fake-boyfriend setup follows, sparks fly, and just as the chemistry settles in, Da-rim vanishes without explanation — because plot.

When she resurfaces, it’s at Ji-hyeok’s company, under one absurd condition: the role is reserved for mothers. He is appalled when he realises that the woman he fell for appears married, with a child in tow. He oscillates between cruelty and chivalry, rescuing her repeatedly — because what’s a K-drama without a man saving a woman from the mess the script wrote her into?

For lovers of K-drama clichés, Dynamite Kiss ticks every box — loan sharks, kidnappings, fires, and secrets erupting suddenly. But by Episode 7, the show collapses under the weight of its own excess. Endless misunderstandings and an unnecessary love triangle reduce Da-rim to a prize, as two men circle her in a tired display of one-upmanship, killing any chance of a compelling second-lead arc.

The finale only confirms the show’s identity crisis: a sudden corporate-spy subplot, casual physical violence played for shock, and — because of course — the amnesia trope as the final flourish. It’s not escalation; it’s desperation, and it undercuts everything the show initially promised.

Sigh, yes the casting was absolutely brilliant and our lead did the best that they could. But the story had so much potential; it isn’t enough to just pass on as ‘romcom material’. A fun, breezy romcom does need to check a few boxes too, not just the tropes that K-Drama fans usually love.

The final credits are a blast — making you wish you had skipped straight there after Episode 4.