Queen Mantis vs. Mantis: Is there any connection between the upcoming Netflix’s assassin movie and SBS’s new K-drama?

After all, are Queen Mantis and Mantis connected?

Two very different predators are entering the Netflix spotlight under the same name. Netflix is preparing to release Mantis, a high-octane assassin film that spins off from Kill Boksoon, while SBS has already launched Queen Mantis, a psychological crime thriller built from the French series La Mante, which is also streaming on Netflix.

At first glance, the shared title is enough to spark confusion. Are these two stories related, connected in any way, or even part of a grander design? The answer reveals more about how Korean entertainment uses symbols, rebrands genres, and markets intensity across different mediums.

The roots of Queen Mantis

Queen Mantis is a drama grounded in legacy and guilt. Ko Hyun-jung plays Jeong Yi-shin, a woman imprisoned decades earlier for murdering five men, earning her the nickname “The Mantis.” Her son, played by Jang Dong-yoon, grows up hating her, determined to erase the stain of her crimes by becoming a police officer.

When new murders appear, echoing his mother’s old methods, the police are forced to consult her expertise, plunging the family into a cycle of mistrust and reluctant cooperation.

Adapted from the French drama La Mante (2017), the series places its focus on family psychology, trauma, and the unsettling weight of imitation. This is not about stylized assassins in the underworld but about serial killing, inheritance, and the blurred line between nurture and nature.

The word “mantis” here refers to predation, but also to a maternal figure who devours her legacy as much as her victims. It's gothic, cerebral, and steeped in the tension of crime thrillers that thrive on ambiguity.

The arrival of Mantis

By contrast, Netflix’s Mantis is positioned as a visceral action spectacle rooted in the assassin-for-hire universe of Kill Boksoon. The story follows Han-ul, played by Im Si-wan, an elite killer returning from vacation to find his profession in chaos.

Old rivals, colleagues, and competitors circle around him as everyone fights to be crowned number one in the hierarchy of death. Here, “mantis” is the nickname for an elite assassin, as well as a good metaphor for the ruthless predatory instincts required to survive in a collapsing system of contract murder.

The movie emphasizes choreography, violence, and power struggles. Where Queen Mantis traps its characters in prisons of memory and family history, Mantis unleashes them into an arena of shifting alliances and betrayals.

The comparison is striking because both rely on the image of the mantis, yet they embody it in opposite directions—one as legacy and guilt, the other as competition and power.

The symbolism of the mantis

The mantis as a symbol carries cultural resonance far beyond Korea. In many traditions, the insect is associated with patience, ambush, and lethal precision. Its posture, prayer-like yet deadly, embodies paradox. It is stillness concealing attack. It is devotion masking devouring. Both Queen Mantis and Mantis draw from this imagery, but they shape it differently.

In Queen Mantis, the title ties directly to a woman branded by the public as monstrous. The mantis here is gendered and maternal, turning predation into commentary on femininity, motherhood, and societal fear of women who kill.

In Mantis, the symbolism is stripped of personal biography. It becomes an emblem of a system where everyone is hunting, waiting, and competing. The insect is not tied to one person’s crimes but to the ethos of an entire profession.

That dual usage explains why the same word can headline two very different projects without official overlap. The mantis is simply too potent an image not to be reused. For one story, it's the killer’s name; for the other, it's the profession’s metaphor.

No narrative connection

Despite the shared title, there is no evidence of narrative connection between Queen Mantis and Mantis. One is an SBS drama adapted from a European thriller, the other a Netflix film set firmly within the universe of Kill Boksoon. Their origins diverge, their tones diverge, and their intended audiences diverge.

Queen Mantis thrives on slow-burning psychological tension, while Mantis promises bursts of stylized violence and fluid combat. They occupy different ends of the thriller spectrum, and neither has been marketed as a crossover or shared property.

Even structurally, the two are incompatible. A weekly series that explores family guilt and serial crime cannot easily merge with a film designed to showcase assassins in high-stakes action. If Netflix had intended a connection, it would have been part of the promotional campaign. Instead, what we see is coincidence of naming, not a hidden or shared universe.

The shadow of branding

Yet even if no official connection exists, the coincidence is instructive. Both projects deploy “mantis” because the term carries a ready-made brand of menace. Viewers do not need to be told what the mantis represents. They know it signals predation, silence before the strike, and inevitable violence. Titles matter, and the insect offers an instantly evocative hook. It tells audiences this will be about killers, danger, and devouring instincts, even before they read the synopsis.

That choice also shows how Korean entertainment is globalizing its symbols. The mantis is not a uniquely Korean metaphor; it resonates across cultures. Netflix can market the film internationally with a single English word, while SBS can adapt a French concept into Korean reality and still rely on the mantis as shorthand. The shared naming creates accidental synergy, with audiences likely to stumble between the two and wonder if they are linked.

How viewers may respond

This overlap can work in unexpected ways. Viewers who discover Queen Mantis may tune into Mantis expecting similar themes, only to find themselves watching a hyper-violent assassin free-for-all. Others may enter Mantis and later find Queen Mantis, curious to see another story where the title carries weight. The titles feed each other, creating an echo chamber where the mantis becomes more than a symbol in one story—it becomes a trend across platforms.

For critics, the overlap may spark essays about the use of predators in Korean drama and cinema, the fascination with killers, and the different registers of violence. For marketers, it creates opportunities to ride on search algorithms, hashtags, and cross-interest, even if the productions never intended to share an audience.

Why the distinction matters

Still, clarity matters. Queen Mantis is about family, legacy, and the haunting repetition of crime. Mantis is about industry, competition, and the survival of the fittest. The difference reflects how broad the thriller genre has become in Korea.

One appeals to fans of dark mystery, adaptation, and psychological complexity. The other appeals to fans of high-energy action, assassin lore, and Netflix’s expanding brand of sleek and violent cinema. Both can thrive, but neither should be mistaken for the other.

By understanding the distinction, audiences can appreciate how the same metaphor can stretch across registers. The mantis is not owned by one narrative. It's a cultural shorthand, adaptable, portable, and ready to serve different tones.

The larger cultural picture

The simultaneous emergence of Queen Mantis and Mantis speaks to a larger cultural trend. Korean entertainment has become adept at appropriating universal symbols—flowers, animals, mythological creatures—and retooling them for different stories. These symbols travel well, making shows and films instantly legible to global audiences. The mantis, with its predatory stillness and unsettling femininity, is a perfect candidate for reinvention.

It also illustrates how international influences merge with local creativity. Queen Mantis adapts a French series but anchors it in Korean family drama. Mantis extends a Netflix property, embedding it within the assassin mythos that global audiences recognize from action cinema. Both projects are Korean in production but global in intention, designed to resonate beyond national borders.

Conclusion: same insect, different predators

So is there any connection between Netflix’s Mantis and SBS’s Queen Mantis? Beyond the shared name and the shared symbol, the answer is no. One story turns the mantis into a metaphor for maternal guilt and serial crime. The other turns it into a metaphor for ruthless killers competing for dominance. They are predators of different kinds, operating in different habitats, targeting different prey.

But the coincidence is revealing. It shows how powerful the mantis has become as shorthand for lethal energy, patience, and the collapse of order. By arriving almost simultaneously, the two projects amplify each other’s symbolism. Viewers may compare them, confuse them, or cross from one to the other. Either way, the mantis wins. It becomes more than a metaphor; it becomes a trend.