Transforming Indigenous Performance in Contemporary South Korean Theatre

Home , Adultery Tree, Buk (drum), Eugene (actress), Gut (ritual), Idol Tour, Jindo (island)

Transforming Indigenous Performance in Contemporary South Korean Theatre:

The Case of Sohn JinCh’aek’s Madangnori

DISSERTATION

Presented in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree Doctor of Philosophy in the Graduate School of The Ohio State University

ChuYoung Chon, MA

Graduate Program in Theatre

The Ohio State University

2014

Dissertation Committee:

Lesley Ferris, Advisor

Chan E. Park-Miller

Joy Reilly

ChuYoung Chon

2014

Abstract

Contemporary South Korean theatre of the twenty-first century has actively embraced the reproduction of indigenous tradition. Productions marked with Korean cultural codes are now a format for success among domestic and non-domestic audiences.

Today, the revivalist movement of Korean indigenous arts is widely recognized as a pathway to the global market. The aim of this movement is to establish “Koreannesque theatre,” that accurately represents Korean culture, as a competitor among other national or ethnic theatres. Ultimately, this revitalization demonstrates an unceasing longing for

“national theatre,” or theatre that proudly represents Korean culture and sentiments to others. Here, the adjectives “Korean” and “Koreannesque” take on a nationalistic meaning that presupposes ethnically unique Korean features that broadly refer to the indigenous or traditional customs and culture prior to the influence of Japanese colonization and Western influence.

The objective of this study is to critically examine South Korean director Sohn

JinCh’aek’s creatively revived form of madangnori, an indigenous outdoor performance marked by theatrical story-telling and musical-like quality. The study investigates how

Sohn contradicted contemporary society and artistic direction, and how he sought to establish a new theatre genre unique and native to Korean ethnic identity. By examining madangnori’s social and artistic relations with the representative theatrical work at that time, I will locate its place within the domestic and international domains. At the same

ii time, I will explore the uniqueness of this uncommon and unrecognized theatrical form, which was ironically, made popular by a mainstream theatre director. This dissertation also indexes the rich matrix of events which led to the creation of madangnori and to its unusually long-term success; “Long-term” relative to other theatrical forms in South

Korean theatre. I will examine the somewhat unclear relationship between madangnori and two stylistically similar genres, ch’anggŭk and madanggŭk. Ch’anggŭk is a modernized adaptation of p’ansori which is performed as an opera. Madanggŭk is a modernized adaptation of mask dance drama which shared great stylistic similarities with

Sohn’s earlier productions before madangnori settled down as a specific performance genre after the 1990s. Ch’anggŭk and madanggŭk were created and promoted by different political groups, yet madangnori partly share the stylistic and ideological directions with them. I argue that Sohn’s work has more in common with these two theatre genres more than with the two contemporary directors, Oh T’aeSŏk and Lee

YunT’aek, whose work also have been discussed under the “modernization of tradition.”

To varying degrees, madangnori, ch’anggŭk, and madanggŭk aimed to formulate a

“national” theatre and a “folk” theatre, an objective shared by Oh and Lee. While their objectives and medium seem to overlap with Sohn, Oh and Lee chose vastly different means for executing their aims. This study is an attempt to call attention, in both Korean and international theatre scholarship, to the mapping of contemporary Korean theatre through the lens of Sohn’s work, the madangnori.

Keywords: Korean theatre, re-invention of indigenous tradition, contemporisation, modernization, nationalism

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Dedication

This document is dedicated to my parents, ChaeChung Chang and ChungKyu Chon, for

their patience and guidance. I thank my Heavenly Father for training me through the

“desert land (광야)” and allowing me to complete the project.

Acknowledgments

First and foremost I would like to express many thanks to my advisor, Dr. Lesley

Ferris for her patience and wonderful guidance on tackling scholarly issues. Her superb balance in both scholarly and practical involvement in theatre has always motivated me to see her as a role model. The insights I gathered from her seminars on post-colonialism in line with the transatlantic carnival, convinced me that the geographically and cultural distant phenomena in South Korea could connect with American scholars. Most importantly, without her continuous support and care, this study would not have been completed. I thank Dr. Chan E. Park for her direct and nurturing guidance. She taught me much more than only academic scholarship. Workshop performances presented through her efforts, on p’ansori, changgu, and sijo, to name a few, provided opportunities for me to continue the practical training I had received while I was at Michoo. To me, her classes were also an academic version of what Korean theatre practitioners were endeavoring— to introduce Korean arts and culture to a broader audience. I aspire to follow in those steps in the near future. I also want to express my appreciation to Dr. Joy Reilly, who always welcomed me into her office with a warm, fragrant cup of English tea. In addition to being the supervisor for the Theatre Appreciation class I worked as her teaching assistant, she encouraged me when I felt weak and down; her kind words of encouragement and her warm smile gave my poor soul a boost so that I could get back on my feet again. I thank Dr. Thomas Postlewait for his invigorating seminars on the eighteenth century dramatic literature and nineteenth century American popular v entertainment, areas of subjects less common in my home, South Korea. The navigation through the historiographical investigations on the nineteenth century popular entertainment not only taught me the tools of historiography, but also gave me insights for treating such neglected forms in the same period in Korea, also largely outside of the academic focus when I did my graduate studies. Also I thank Dr. Stratos Constantinidis for his rich and thought-provoking seminars on ancient Greek theatre and its place in contemporary society, which challenged me to take greater seriousness in contemplating on the contemporaneity of indigenous Korean theatre. In fact, although I had preliminary research done prior to coming to OSU, the ideas on and objective of this study began to take more concrete shape during the very first seminar I took in the first quarter at OSU by Dr. Allan Munro whose advisor was Constantinidis. There, I was introduced to

Temple Hauptfleisch along with several South African plays in their historical and political contexts, where I was astounded to see the parallels in the complexity among political, academic, and theatrical states of South Africa and South Korea. All things considered, I feel fortunate to have studied under all those prominent theatre scholars and to have had opportunities to tackle diverse subjects from ancient theatre to contemporary performance arts.

I also thank The Ohio State University for its various research assistance programs for graduate students. My initial trips to South Korea were partly supported by the research and travel grants from the Department of Theatre, the Council for Graduate

Students, and Arts and Humanities Research Grants. The Alumni Grants for Graduate

Research and Scholarship (2008) was very helpful to support necessary expenses. The

vi members of the 2008 Writing Group at the OSU also deserve many thanks for their interests in my research topic and insightful comments as general readers. The 2009

Dissertation Workshop by the IL/IN East Asia National Resource Center was of great help where I could get insightful comments from the prominent scholars of Korean

Studies in the U.S.

I want to thank my friends whose friendship and emotional support sustained me during this long journey. While at OSU, I thank my four friends I first met in Columbus,

OH, for their companionship, namely Zekyie Yahsi, Kendra Girardot, Namhee Kim, and

Minwoo Jang. To my Korean friends from my college years, Ahran Kim and Jijoon Song, who always welcomed me heartily and hosted me with endless love, I owe the deepest and the most sincere gratitude. Their houses in Long Island and later in Boston, MA, were my second home that helped me lessen homesick and get re-energized, where also their beautiful children, Yeonvee and Juho showered me with love and happiness.

My heartfelt gratitude also goes to several personnel in Korea, who influenced the earlier stages of my academic path: Dr. MiHee Kim, my former advisor in the School of

Drama at the Korean National University of Arts, who encouraged me to examine the productions of the Michoo Theatre Company; Dr. JunHo Choi, who referred me to the

Michoo Drama Institute at the Michoo Theatre Company by contacting its Public

Relations Manager, Ms. Park HyŏnSuk. Above all, I thank the director Sohn JinCh’aek and Professor Chŏng HoBung (the then acting teacher of the Michoo Drama Institute) who kindly suggested that I join the Drama Institute as a regular student instead of a mere observer and offered a scholarship for the entire year-long acting training program. While

vii being a student there, they also asked a newspaper reporter to include my interview to comment on the training program alongside the interview with a twenty year old female student, Kim ChinJu. Ms. Park, despite her unimaginably extremely busy schedule, was ready to help me in terms of providing the requested production materials that I had requested of the director Sohn. Also the Michoo actors, who are at the same time humble and proud about their madangnori performance, showed openness toward my observations and questions. Thanks to Director Sohn, I was allowed to sit in the middle of rehearsals and discussions, where the atmosphere was sometimes tense due to the reservedness of the experienced actors who rather want to avoid being seen by an outsider when their mistakes are being pointed out.

I thank my home church in Korea, Sarang Church and its New Harvest Ministry, where I have met precious colleagues and friends who have sustained me through difficult times. To be specific, I want to express my genuine thanks to “Sunny” Sunhee

Kim, whose prayers and encouragements as well as fellowship have helped me to regain passion and self-esteem. Also Bethany Banister, PhD, who gladly read some sections of my paper and made suggestions on the language and flow at the last minute, I owe great thanks. Last but not the least, I thank my parents who were initially against my studying outside of Korea but have patiently supported me through their prayers during the final stages of this study and my little brother who has shown his encouragement by occasionally treating me to nice meals. I sincerely thank all those who have held me in their prayers during the years between 2010 and 2013.

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Vita

Aug 1997 ...... B.A. English Language and Literature,

Yonsei University, Seoul, Korea

Dec 2001 ...... Completion of M.F.A. coursework, The

School of Drama, The Korean National

University of Arts, Seoul, Korea

2002, 2004...... Instructor (Interpreter), The School of

Drama, KNUA

Dec 2003 ...... M.A. Theatre, Miami University, OH

2004-2005 ...... Student/Observer, The Michoo Drama

Institute, The Michoo Theater Company

2006-2007 ...... Graduate Associate, Department of Theatre,

The Ohio State University

2007-2009 ...... Graduate Teaching Associate, Department

of Theatre, The Ohio State University

2011-2012 ...... Teacher, 9-13G, Christian Sprout

International School, Korea

2013-present ...... Lecturer, The School of Drama, KNUA

Fields of Study

Major Field: Theatre, South Korean Theatre ix

Table of Contents

Abstract ...... ii

Dedication ...... iv

Acknowledgments...... v

Vita ...... ix

Table of Contents ...... x

List of Figures ...... xiii

INTRODUCTION ...... 1

CHAPTER 1

A Pursuit of Koreanness through the “Modernization of Tradition” ...... 6

1. Introduction: Terms and Concepts ...... 6

2. Contemporary Korean Theatre and Issues of Cultural Colonization ...... 12

3. Scholarship Dilemma of Korean Theatre ...... 25

4. Addressing the Post-Colonial Imperative and Cultural Materialist Reading of

Theatre ...... 37

5. Notes on Language and Translations ...... 46

6. Chapter Overview ...... 47

CHAPTER 2

The Sociopolitical, Cultural, and Material Contexts

For the “Modernization of Tradition” Movements in South Korea ...... 49

1. Introduction: the Contexts of “Modernization of Tradition” ...... 49

2. Resources from Indigenous Korean Culture ...... 53

3. The Cultural Contexts in South Korea and Discourse on Tradition: 1900s-1980s ... 73

4. Representative Reactions and Practices of “Modernization of Tradition”: ...... 91

Avant-garde, Essentialist, Nationalist, Modernist Approaches in the 1970s-1980s ..... 91

5. Chapter Summary ...... 106

CHAPTER 3

Divergence of Directorial Visions: Three Directors in the 1960s-1990s ...... 107

1. Introduction: the Groundwork of Koreannesque Theatre by Oh, Sohn, and Lee ... 107

2. Oh T’aeSŏk (1940- ) and His Ingenuity ...... 111

3. Sohn JinCh’aek (1947- ) and His Inquiring Mind...... 130

4. Lee YunT’aek (1950- ) and His Visceral Wits ...... 139

5. Three Directors in Contexts ...... 145

6. Sohn JinCh’aek: MinYeh and His Collaborators (1973-1986) ...... 151

7. Chapter Summary ...... 166

CHAPTER 4

Sohn’s Pursuit of Koreanness through Madangnori: Modernizing Tradition ...... 173

1. Introduction: New Venues—Material Contexts of Sohn’s Madangnori ...... 173

2. Madangnori as Musical Theatre (ka-mu-gŭk) ...... 198

3. Madangnori and the Space of Performance ...... 213

4. Madangnori Aesthetics ...... 220

CHAPTER 5

Conclusion-Looking Forward ...... 252

Endnotes ...... 258

Bibliography…………………………………………………………………...……….292

Appendix A: Timeline for Sohn JinCh’aek’s Michoo Theatre Company..……..….….314

Appendix B: Production List of Kim SŏngNyŏ………………………….………..…...321

Appendix C: Production List of Pae SamShik……………………………………...….322

xii

List of Figures

Figure 1: The advertisement on ChangCh’ung Sports Gymnasium. ·························· 3

Figure 2: The instruments of Michoo Orchestra. ················································ 4

Figure 3: Actors about to sell Korean toffees yŏt. ··············································· 5

Figure 4: Diagram by Im HyŏngSu (2006) ······················································ 33

Figure 5: Ch’unP’ung’s Wife (1999) ·························································· 169

Figure 6: Ch’unP’ung’s Wife (1999) ·························································· 170

Figure 7: The Keeper (1987) ····································································· 171

Figure 8: The Keeper (1987) ····································································· 171

Figure 9: The Keeper (1987) ····································································· 172

Figure 10: The Entrance to Madang Theatre in Sang-am-dong. ··························· 234

Figure 11: Sohn watching the floor seats being prepared.··································· 235

Figure 12: Christmas tree at the lobby. ························································· 236

Figure 13: Hospital scene. Doctors are surprised to see Valiant Lady Pak. ·············· 237

Figure 14: Doctors are still in shock. They refuse to give Pak plastic surgery. ·········· 238

Figure 15: Play within the play. A feast scene in Lee Ch’unP’ung. ······················· 239

Figure 16: Shim Ch’ŏng praying to heaven before drowning herself into the sea. ······ 240

Figure 17: Yun talking to an audience member. ·············································· 241

Figure 18: Audience members bowing down for the riual kosa. ··························· 242

Figure 19: Audience member putting a ten dollar bill into pig’s mouth at kosa. ········ 243

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Figure 20: The larger group of the performers behind the kosa table. ····················· 244

Figure 21: The concluding scene of kosa. ····················································· 245

Figure 22: Shim Ch’ŏng ’s mother Kwakssi's funeral. ······································ 246

Figure 23: Props. Pink rubber gloves, cabbages and radishes at the center. ·············· 247

Figure 24: Props. Wedding table for Valiant Lady Pak’s wedding. ······················· 248

Figure 25: Props. Lady Pak makes her living by running a home shopping business. ·· 249

Figure 26: Props. Horse market scene in The Valiant Lady Pak. ·························· 250

Figure 27: Lady Pak watching the moon. It is written in Chinese character "Moon." ·· 251

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INTRODUCTION

An hour and a half prior to show time, the door opens and I step out of the Orange Line

Subway at the Dong’guk University Station. As I walk up the stairs to Exit Number 5, I pass groups of middle aged women, middle aged couples, college students, and a mother, and daughter.

A man suddenly addresses the passers-by, quietly asking “You have a ticket?” At first, he seems to be looking for an extra ticket. Several steps later, I come across another man bluntly asking if I want a ticket. Then, more people appear selling tickets for a discounted price. I continue walking up the stairs leading to the outside. Closer to the subway exit, I see the corner of the stadium. On top, an oversized advertisement exhibits the faces of three star performers. (Figure1.) The faces grow in size as I approach the last stairwell. Once outside of the subway, numerous street vendors are calling for customers for rice cakes, macaroons, dried squid grill, and fish ball soup–the most familiar food items of street vendors in winter in Korea. In downtown Seoul, where Western-style gourmet chains and restaurants are found almost everywhere, such scenery of traditional street food immediately creates an atmosphere of nostalgia. As a researcher, I enter the stadium before the house is open. I pass an indoor food stand selling hot drinks and snacks, the same kinds of food they sell at sporting events. The air in the asphalt stadium is chilling.

I am seated in the area for artistic staff, on what is normally the director’s seat, and watch the square shaped stage in the middle of the stadium. Actors and staffs appear and disappear. The

8000-or so raked plastic seats are red, blue, and green, all colorful, except the grey plastic movable chairs on the floor. These are higher priced seats which are closest to and surround the stage. The sound operator comes up to the sound booth next to where I am sitting. Then I hear

1 someone shouting “the audience is coming in!” In a few seconds, I spot two or three audience members coming through each gate. People are flooding in through the gates looking for their numbered seats or trying to find the best available seats. After a while, actors dressed in traditional costumes appear on stage. Women are in pastel pinks, men are in blue. The women walk toward the orchestra, pause for a while, and hit the gong. (Figure 2.) “Is this the start?”

Suddenly, the men shout, “Buy some Yŏt! (Korean traditional toffee)” and spread out in four different directions. (Figure 3.) Audience members are calling the actor-vendors waving a one thousand won ($1) bill in their hands. Soon the conductor and orchestra members enter the stadium and begin to play lively music. This description is a glimpse into the hustle and bustle of an average night at a madangnori, both inside and outside the sports stadium that serves as this theatre’s stage. Although this particular evening took place in December 2007, during my own journey to watch The Valiant Lady Pak, this scene has unfolded every year for the past seven years.1

Despite the public demand for the play and the initial interest on the form, the madangnori has been seldom talked about in theatre academia. In the following chapters, I will examine this long overlooked theatre form in South Korea.

Figure 1: The advertisement on ChangCh’ung Sports Gymnasium.

Seen from the subway exit (Photo by author. 2007.)

Figure 2: The instruments of Michoo Orchestra.

From the top left (A) kong, to down left (B) puk (drum), down right (C) moktak (Buddhist wooden percussion instrument) and middle right (D) two changgu are Korean indigenous instruments. Also Western instruments, such as cymbals and drums can be seen. (Photo by author. Jan. 2010.)

Figure 3: Actors about to sell Korean toffees yŏt.

They bow down first and spread to the auditorium. (Photo by author. 2007.)

CHAPTER 1

A Pursuit of Koreanness through the “Modernization of Tradition”

1. Introduction: Terms and Concepts

Despite the public demand for the play, and an initial interest in the form, the madangnori is seldom discussed in theatre academia. This study aims to investigate madangnori, a South Korean play form that has enjoyed popularity among general audiences for the past thirty years, though struggling for recognition as a respectable form of theatre as opposed to simply

“commercial entertainment.”1 I will examine the groundwork for the play form which had its birth in the 1970s. Through the investigation of the sociopolitical, cultural, and artistic contexts in which Sohn’s theatre form has evolved, I intend to examine what Sohn has been trying to achieve and how his efforts have taken shape on stage.

The study has multiple goals: by situating Sohn’s madangnori within a matrix of sociopolitical, cultural, and artistic contexts where various political and ideological as well as artistic stances intersected, I investigate its unique place in Korean society. I argue that it has been erroneously evaluated and judged by Western modernist measures, particularly, realist measures, literary based analysis, and elitist conventional theatre scholarship. I am not arguing that Korean theatre practice cannot or should not be measured by Western methodologies at all. In fact, scholarship on postmodernity and post-colonialism are helpful in that these two approaches of more recent theories offer insightful views on contemporary Korean theatre. At the same time, by taking into consideration its interconnectedness with neighboring genres or disciplines, an interdisciplinary approach is deemed necessary.

This dissertation includes an analysis and historical review of scholarship pertaining to

Sohn’s madangnori as well as an examination of Michoo archives, interviews of members of

Sohn’s theatre company, and personal observations on Sohn’s rehearsals and productions.

Production photos, video recordings, programs, play scripts, newspaper clippings, and reviews utilized for this study are located at Michoo Sanbang, Yangju, Gyeonggi-do Province. Several production photos and public relations materials are located in the Public Relation/Production

Manager’s office in DaeHakro, Seoul. In addition, a few production videos preserved at the Arko

Library at the Seoul Arts Center building and Seoul City University in Seoul were consulted.2 For the earliest productions (1981-1983), DVDs are available from the Munhwa Broadcasting

Company. I have made numerous trips to Seoul to see productions as well as interview a variety of artists in Sohn’s company. The research for this study also involved and refers to my participation in a twelve-month-long actors’ training course at the Michoo Drama Institute at the

Michoo Theatre Company from March 2004 to February 2005. The productions I saw include

Michoo’s madangnori of Summer 2005, 2007-2008, 2008-2009, and 2009-2010.

The theatre director, Sohn JinCh’aek, born in 1947,3 directed his madangnori for more than thirty years. This is a relatively long period in modern South Korean theatre and the form made great evolution over time. Ever since his partnership with South Korea’s major broadcasting company, Munhwa Broadcasting Company (MBC) in 1981,4 Sohn devoted himself to creating this specific form of theatre with the help of artistic colleagues. On the celebration of his theater’s thirtieth anniversary in December 2010, Sohn presented an omnibus version of his past madangnori repertoire. The omnibus was developed around the highlights of each production.5 It was during this celebration that the three senior performers who made his theater popular, officially stepped down from their leading roles in the performance. Such a generational shift had been discussed for several years, both formally and informally. In fact, Sohn and his

7 wife Kim SŏngNyŏ, the main actress of his madangnori, had been preparing for this shift by training younger actors to replace the original cast. Sohn completed the final year of his four- year-term as the Artistic Director at the National Theatre of Korea in November 2013. His wife and the lead actress in his play, Kim, is in her second year of her position as the Artistic Director at the National Ch’anggŭk Theatre Company. This significant change led to a three-year pause in the production of the annual madangnori. In the following section, I examine the evolution of

Sohn’s madangnori. Sohn’s mandangnori has enjoyed unusually long success for a form in the twentieth century Korean theatrical sector. Currently, this theatre form is in the process of once again evolving into a new and different phase.6

Although it has now become a term that is readily associated with specific stylistic forms of performance, madangnori did not originally have this specific style or clear definition. Before, or even during the 1980s, the term “madangnori (마당놀이)” referred to various and diverse outdoor indigenous performances. These performances were almost exclusively performed by and for lower class people in pre-modernized Korea, and were therefore not acknowledged by the late nineteenth to early twenty-first century elitist academicians in Korea. The direct literal translation of madangnori is “performance (‘nori’ 놀이) held in a yard (‘madang’ 마당).” The term is usually translated as “yard play” by Korean scholars. The term has been lumped together with a similar form madanggŭk,7 that has its origin in the t’alch’um (mask dance drama) revival movement from the 1960s. During that time, the movement was popular among college students in Seoul. Even during the early 1980s, when madanggŭk performances were popular both on mainstream and non-mainstream stages, terms like “madangnori,” “modŭmnori,” and

“madangkut” were being used interchangeably to refer to any kind of outdoor indigenous performance.8 As the discontinued use of “modŭmnori” shows, these terminologies did not have

8 specific correlations at that time. Rather, all these terms referred to a non-specific and broad range of performing arts that were and still are performed outdoors.

Over time, the new term madanggŭk became the most widely used in theatre and among and scholarly critics.9 As madanggŭk became more prolific, because the movement spread among various university circles and other organizations in Korea, the term became the most commonly used one to represent all such indigenous inspired performances.10 Likewise, models, earlier forms or prototypes of Sohn’s madangnori were also called madanggŭk or modŭmnori. However, when Sohn eventually partnered with a large conglomerate MBC, it resulted in the branding of his specific indigenous form as “madangnori.” Both madang and nori are indigenous Korean terms that did not originate from Chinese vocabulary. In the past, this signaled an association with commoners, i.e., non-royal, lower and middle class people.11 Madangnori is closely related to seasonal events like Korean Thanksgiving or the New Year’s celebration and it depicted life events common among lower class people, when those particular class distinctions still existed in

Korea. This form developed as something that represents those aspects of communal life that the people wanted to celebrate or commemorate.

According to the Minjung Essence Dictionary, in pre-modernized traditional housing of

Korea, “a madang” was “a flat land in front of or behind a house,” “a place where something is happening,” “certain situation,” or “the unit to count phrases in p’ansori or t’alch’um.”12 It was also a place where the life cord of a newborn was cut, people held shamanic rituals, and individuals gathered, ate, drank, and danced.13 In the absence of a modern assembly hall or theatre building, a madang functioned as a public meeting place well into the twentieth century.

In other words, the madang was a place where the issues and concerns of the day could be addressed in public. “Nori,” a broad term for all kinds of playful actions by children and adults, also referred to a variety of activities related to everyday life, such as labor (farming or fishing,

9 depending on the region), birth and burial. During a full moon, for instance, festive events were held in villages. These events served a variety of purposes for the villagers. Some rituals or activities were used to chase away evil spirits. These acts of protection could be enacted by consuming certain foods. To this date, Koreans eat “five grain rice” and diverse vegetables in hopes of a good harvest. It is believed that gnawing on nuts keeps evil spirits away and ensures good health. This is symbolic, similar to the belief that peach can chase away evil spirits, if peach twigs are hung inside a house. When combined, the words madang, which signifies both a space and a performance event, and nori, that signifies human instinct to play to tackle life issues (Hŏh,

National 133), takes on a larger meaning. Madangnori has come to represent something similar to that of the English term “play” or “performance.” In New Milleinum Dictionary of Korean

Language and Culture, madangnori is defined as “folk plays (nori) performed on madang” or

“various kinds of plays performed each season.”14 Sohn has repeatedly asserted that “nori” is the parallel term of the German “das Spiel” (a play) or “spielen” (to play), French “jeu,” and

Japanese “asobu” or “asobi” (“to play”).15 The brother form madanggŭk practitioners like Im

ChinT’aek (1950- ) also interprets “madang” to have a similar meaning. In their creation of madanggŭk performances, they stress that the term “nori” should be acknowledged and promoted because its foreign equivalents refer to theatrical forms as well.16 This demonstrates their awareness of the importance of reclaiming or acknowledging the indigeneity they seek to revive in contemporary society.

To Sohn and his mentor Hŏh Kyu (1934-2000), one of the most important aspects of the indigenous performing arts was the communal festivity. By reviving this feature, they believed they could revive what had been lost in modern, urbanized Korean society. At this time, theater performances were attended almost exclusive by urban intellectuals and the audience remained passively in their seats for the entire performance. The majority of madanggŭk audiences in the

1970s and 1980s were young urban intellectuals in their twenties. The restoration of these communal festivities, which required audience participation, fulfilled a social yearning at a time when such social interaction was limited by a highly industrialized Seoul’s rigid structures.

Traditionally, as Hŏh Kyu explains in his National Theatre and Traditional Arts, indigenous madangnori was staged in front of or behind a residence, market place, communal working space, etc. (79). In other words, any place that was relatively flat and easily accessible could serve as a performance space. Performances often took place on the madang of a wealthy family because of its sheer size. However, on the day of a performance, the space was recognized as a public place open to the entire community. Whenever madangnori was held, the majority of villagers gathered around the madang and enjoyed the performance. It was a festive event that provided the people with an opportunity to socialize, laugh, jest and join in a communal spirit. In short, Sohn sought to revive an essential element of Korean indigenous culture that had disappeared in modern

Korean society.

I approach Sohn’s theatre work as both a result of his artistic goal to achieve a

“Koreannesque theatre” and as a social product that reacted to and was shaped by the sociopolitical and cultural contexts of the time. The adjective “Korean” in “Koreannesque” allows the term to reflect a nationalistic meaning that presupposes ethnically unique Korean features that broadly refer to the indigenous or traditional customs and culture prior to the influence of Japanese colonization and Western influence. A theatre director’s artistic activity cannot be unaffected by the multiple conditions the director lives in. Thus, Sohn’s making of madangnori has been in a constant dialogue with the adjacent art fields, social restrictions, and audience expectations, besides his artistic goals and aims.

2. Contemporary Korean Theatre and Issues of Cultural Colonization

The impact of Western cultural colonization on South Korean theatre can be viewed through the analysis of three major factors: (1) the conventional orientation toward Western realist measures, (2) complex sociopolitical and historical conditions, and (3) the impetus toward

Koreannesque theatre. Following this chapter’s accounts on the first factor, Chapter 2 and 3 examine the remaining factors.

Indigenous South Korean cultural traditions are now readily accepted by South Korean artists and scholarly critics alike, who seem to take this for granted. The process that leads to

“modern/contemporary Koreannesque theatre” deserves scrutiny from multiple angles. This is especially important because the development of Koreannesque theatre is a process undertaken by different social sectors in Korea. Even within theatrical venues, different political and artistic stances are intermingled. Thus, extant reviews of mainstream scholarly critics, who may or may not have understood the cultural significance of the madangnori, need to be scrutinized. For instance, artists with different backgrounds and objectives had varied responses to the resurgence of indigenous culture. While artists like Kim ChŏngOk, Ahn MinSu (directors), and Yun

TaeSŏng (playwright), who have their roots in Western theatre, attempted to infuse Korean elements into an overall Western structure, artists such as Oh T’aeSŏk and Lee YunT’aek focused on creating a hybrid of theatre unique to Korea.

Although Koreannesque plays are actively produced in the West at the present time, this is not necessarily a new phenomenon. The incorporation of indigenous performance into mainstream theatre that characterized the 1970s and 1980s is termed “modernization of tradition” or “contemporisation of tradition” (“jŏn-tong ui hyŏndae-hwa” 전통의 현대화). This ground- breaking movement, by a relatively small number of theatre practitioners, stood in opposition to the heavy, colonialist attitude of their peers.

The significance of Hŏh and Sohn’s revival movement can be better understood in light of modern Korean history. Before briefly discussing modern Korean history to elucidate the discussion, I will concisely elaborate on the problematic terminology of the phrase “modernizing of tradition,” a concept that I utilize in other parts of this study. The term “modernization of tradition” seems like a contradiction. “Tradition” is a highly contested term that has evolved to gain new meanings during in its process of modernizing society. In his definition of “tradition,”

Henry Glassie emphasizes that “it is an artful assembly of materials from the past, designed for usefulness in the future” (395). This acknowledgment of both past and future elements, presupposes that the owners or the users of tradition interact with the forms of tradition: “If tradition is a people’s creation out of their own past, its character is not stasis but continuity; its opposite is not change but oppression, the intrusion of a power that thwarts the course of development. Oppressed people are made to do what others will them to do” (396). If there is an invasion by or intrusion of an outside force that hinders or obstructs the natives, locals, or indigenous people’s attempts to use, develop, and create tradition, that tradition is at risk of being shaped by outsiders or eradicated. Since “tradition, […], is to be understood as a process of cultural construction” (398), if the changes or construction takes place abruptly by an outsider, it creates a notion among the people whose tradition is affected, that the tradition is ruined or harmed. Glassie links the notion of tradition to “modernization,” by acknowledging the presence of continuity even when one attempts to change the present states of tradition:

Drifting through endless, numberless changes so subtle as to provide an illusion of stability, traditions stream into continuity […]. A progressive tradition, old but still alive in our days, is that called modernization. In modernization the individualistic, the material, and the international claim attention and drive the planner. But the dramatic changes of modernization depend upon the simultaneity of continuity, and they are countered by revival, by efforts to revitalize the perduring collective, spiritual, and local dimensions of human existence. (405) (emphasis added by author.)

Within Korean theatre scholarship, “modern” usually refers to the period that started after

1902 when the first indoor theatre building was built in Seoul, Korea and continues until the present time. In Korean, this periodical term is “gŭndae” (“near-period”) and “modern theatre” usually refers to “gŭndae-gŭk,” which starts from 1902 or 1908 depending on the scholars. As one can see from the fact that the erection of a theatre building is used as the starting point of

“modern,” Korean theatre historiography and scholarship resorts to Western scholarship and arguments. The other argument defines 1908 as the beginning of modern Korean theatre, since a

“modern drama” (play script) Silver World was written in this year. This means that in contrast to the traditional Korean performance forms that took place outdoor, this play was staged at an indoor theatre. The sole fact that it was an indoor performance was enough for Korean scholars to call it “modern.” The counter-argument that supports 1902 as the start of modern theatre in Korea is based on the fact that Silver World does not seem to be much different from the previous scripts, therefore not displaying “modern” quality. It could be called “improvement,” rather than a complete transformation from old forms into an entirely new genre (39-40).

For the purposes of this study, the term “modern,” refers to the temporal meaning of

“here and now” as opposed to the “ancient past,” as Bill Ashcroft et al. use it.17 In Korea, the

“hyŏndae” is a periodical term that refers to the “present,” coming between “gŭndae” and

“future” on a temporal line. Thus, I use “modern” to refer to “hyŏndae” or to its neutral sense of

“here and now” instead of “gŭndae” which is now already a millennium ago. When Korean scholars and practitioners use “modern” to refer to their efforts of “modernizing tradition,” they mostly mean “utilizing traditional or indigenous forms in the present time.” This also translates as

“to present the pre-modern indigenous forms on indoor stages.” Here, as mentioned earlier, the indoor theatre itself represented the modern aspect in contrast to the pre-modern outdoor performances of Korea. For Sohn’s work, I occasionally use “contemporisation,” i.e., to make it a

14 valid and living culture in the present time, because his primary concern lies there.18 Among the various approaches to “modernization of tradition,” the most prominent was the “incorporative” movement that utilized martial arts, mask dance drama (t’alch’um), epic singing (p’ansori), and puppetry (kkoktu gaksi). At the same time, when met with the government’s efforts to excavate and preserve the archetypes, efforts of “revival” or restoration were honored, while alteration of the existing forms was deemed to be impairing the culture. Thus, contradictory stances existed toward modernizing tradition with theatre practitioners like Oh, Lee and Sohn on one side and artists and scholars of Korean traditional music and dance on the other side. With the disappearance of the local Korean theatre tradition in the city of Seoul, new groups of Korean artists actively sought to acquaint themselves with indigenous traditions to create new theatre art forms. Such approaches received mixed reviews such as “ruining the authenticity” of the art forms or “new, invigorating attempt to bring old forms to life.”19 Examples of these contrasting positions will be discussed in Chapters 2 and 3 of this study.

In the 1920s, Korea saw an insurgence of Western realist drama. During the Japanese occupation from 1910 until 1945, Korean elites sought to enlighten their fellow citizens by emulating Western realist dramas, believing this would help the Korean people “to liberate itself from the oppression of the Japanese Colonial Government.”20 After Japanese occupation, the devastating Korean War that lasted from 1950 until armistice was declared in1953, and the modernization process of South Korea under the Park ChungHee regime, traditional art forms in all genres largely disappeared from the city of Seoul. This includes various forms of madangnori.21 By the 1960s, thoroughly disconnected from indigenous performance culture, the

Korean theatre stage was dominated by Western dramas and Korean plays written using Western dramaturgical models.22 In this chapter, when discussing a period prior to 2000, “Korean theatre stage” refers to “stages in Seoul” unless specified otherwise.

At this time, the modernization process was launched with the full fervor of the government that spanned across cultural and social sectors. Korean citizens were lead to believe that modernization would change the global image of South Korea as an undeveloped country.

Led by president Park ChungHee, the government’s top priority was to industrialize the previously agrarian Korean society. Park prioritized “nation” (“kukka”) and “national” (“minjok”) and “nationalism” (Kim YŏngJ. 95). Following in the footsteps of Japanese colonizers, the

Korean government began to dispose of traditional housing and pre-modern lifestyle elements such as shaman practices. In the 1960s, the South Korean government actively sought to eradicate traditional and cultural norms handed down from the Chosŏn Dynasty. Traditional family homes were demolished and replaced by tall apartment buildings and asphalt replaced traditional dirt roads. These strides toward modernization accelerated the disappearance of indigenous culture that, in the past, enjoyed an intimate relationship with the traditional—mostly agrarian landscape.

In the capital city, Seoul, virtually all traditional hay roofed housing were demolished and changed to Western style “yang-ok” (양옥) or apartment buildings. Guitars, jeans, and miniskirts became the popular fashion of college students, and these elements became symbolic of young adult culture.

The Park government also provided university scholarships and sent Korean elites to The

United States and Europe to study “advanced Euro-American civilization,” while domestic scholars sought to “catch up with” theories and practices abroad. In the theatre sector, artists and scholarly critics busied themselves with adopting Western theories and trends. It was in the midst of this push to mimic Western models that theatre director Hŏh Kyu (1934-2000) and young theatre artists like Sohn sought to devise ethnic Korean plays based on indigenous tradition.

These efforts were crystallized in 1973 with the foundation of a new theatre company, the

MinYeh Theatre Company. Shortly after its establishment, MinYeh became a frontrunner in

Korean theatre. Greatly inspired and encouraged by his mentor, Hŏh, Sohn enjoyed abundant opportunities to study various Korean indigenous performing arts and adapt them to indoor spaces. Hŏh and Sohn’s attempts to revive the performance context for madangnori were just one part of their goal to create a “national theatre” (“minjok-gŭk”) by excavating the “archetypes”

(wŏn-hyŏng) for Korean theatre. This aspect of the MinYeh Theatre Company shall be examined in Chapter 2 and 3 of this study. This focus on indigenous art forms would lead them on a counter-cultural march against the tides of their era. Hŏh is still, in contemporary Korean theatre, regarded as the most prolific artist that devotes himself to formulating an ethnic theatre that speaks to contemporary audiences.23 He innovated dramatized versions of p′ansori, referred to as ch’anggŭk, and acquainted the public with indigenous performing arts while he was the head administrator of the National Theatre of Korea (1981-1991). Like other pioneers of the movement,

Hŏh started directing western plays, but later turned to Koreannesque theatre.

Through his experimental work with Hŏh at MinYeh in the 1970s, Sohn laid the foundations for his musical theatre madangnori. In addition to the exuberant festivities, often associated with communal activities like madangnori, Sohn focused on the musicality of traditional Korean performances which he saw as an archetypal form of Korean theatre. In 1981, while directing at MinYeh, Sohn had the opportunity to direct Madangnori Tale of HŏhSeng as a feature performance for the commemoration of the Munwha Broadcasting Company. On 8

December 1981, after years of experimenting at MinYeh, madangnori was presented to the wider public.

By this time, Sohn also began simultaneously incorporating various indigenous art forms in one production. These forms include p′ansori, mask dance-drama, puppetry, and acrobatics, from which he drew dramatic characters, lines, plots, physical movements, spatial matrices, and musicality. In an attempt to restore the performance aesthetics and indigenous sentiments that are

17 uniquely Korean and that seemed to have no place in the Western-oriented dramatic theatre of the time, Sohn’s madangnori represented a transition from outdoor space to indoor space, a hybrid between indigenous performance styles and Western technology as well as a balance between didacticism and entertainment. Through Sohn’s madangnori, what was once a traditional outdoor performance gained a new identity as an indoor performance with specific stylistic attributes clearly linked to indigenous performance forms.

Although his madangnori has been continuously performed for over thirty years, the relatively loose connections between the scenes, obscene remarks, and humor geared towards laughter did not, according to the Western-oriented critics, meet the criteria required for Western

Realist drama. These critics argued that Sohn’s use of multiple visual devices, lively music, and rigorous dance characterized it as “popular entertainment,” not theatre.24 This reluctance on the part of critics to acknowledge and scholarly approach Sohn’s madangnori as a legitimate theatrical form hinders understanding of the condition of the Korean stage during this period. In order to fully understand the current and ongoing trend toward “Koreanness” (or “Koreannesque- ness”) as well as the historiography of Korean theatre, a scholarly inspection of Sohn’s madangnori is imperative. Further, a proper understanding of Sohn’s madangnori will provide a context for better understanding of his mainstream theatrical works. Sohn’s works have been highly acclaimed in South Korea, and his productions staged under the name of “national brand” at the National Theatre when he was in office there as Artistic Director, 2010-2013 also reveal the aesthetics he developed in his madangnori.

In the 1980s, incorporation of indigenous arts in theatre was still limited and largely non- influential in the mainstream theatre. However, South Korean mainstream theatre in the twenty- first century has actively embraced the reproduction of indigenous tradition. Throughout the twentieth century, mainstream productions were typically Western-oriented plays from both the

18 realist and non-realist genres. At the time when indigenous culture had long been regarded as inferior and dismissed as undeserving of the description “culture” (“munwha”) or “theatre”

(“yŏn‘gŭk”), artists in the early 1970s found it imperative to change the status quo. As one such artist from that period, Sohn sought to elevate indigenous culture by highlighting the uniqueness of traditional Korean art and narrative. Sohn’s life and work will be discussed in more detail in

Chapter 3 of this dissertation. On contemporary stages, however, plays that defy conventional categorization have taken center-stage in mainstream theater. Productions marked with Korean cultural codes are now destined for commercial, critical, and international success. In a sense, the revivalist movement of Korean indigenous arts is now widely recognized as a secured way to the global market. Therefore, the drive to establish “Koreannesque theatre” that is competitive to other theatres in the world and that adequately represents Korean culture, seems to be more widespread and favored among contemporary Korean theatre artists than in the past. This is especially true since many Korean theatre artists now find it imperative to devise a new, original

Korean theatre that reflects Korean history, customs, culture—although to differing degrees with regard to incorporating indigenous cultural forms. At the same time, these artists are inclined to refer to their work as “universal” (“po’p’yŏn’jŏk”),25 suggesting that their art is relatable to all audiences regardless of cultural or national affiliation.

Likewise, the pursuit of this nationalistic goal of some directors in Korean theatre is related to Korea’s historical past, as is discussed in Chapter 2 of this study. The now diverse forms of South Korean theatre emerged from its unique socio-political, cultural, and geographical conditions. Chapter 3 of this dissertation examines how frequent encounters with overseas productions and artists prompted certain artists, including Sohn, Lee and Oh, to find methods to establish an identity for Korean theatre that would be presentable to non-Korean audiences.

This attempt to make Korean theatre accessible to and enjoyable for foreign audiences can be said to have been successful to some extent. Several cases in Korean theatre history suggest that Koreannesque theatre has gained legitimacy and popularity with foreign audiences.

An ideal venue to encourage this kind of interaction is an international festival. The system of festivals supported by the International Theatre Festival (ITI) in South Korea helped to raise the status of the theatre genre in South Korea. With the success of the 5th Third World Theatre

Festival and Colloquy in Seoul (15-22 March 1981), South Korea became the ITI Organizing

Committee in 1981.26 The celebrations of the Asia Theatre Festival in 1986 and the International

Theatre Festival in 1988 in South Korea coincided with the 1986 Asian Games and the 1988

Olympics in Seoul. Even though South Korea in the 1980s was under a military regime with harsh censorship, these international sporting events are thought to have contributed to opening lines of communication for art-related discussion with foreign countries.27

As a consequence of opened lines of communication and cross-border discussions about art, contemporary South Korean theatre has experienced a rapid influx of various world theatre performance traditions through a number of international theatre festivals across the country. In

Seoul alone, the capital city of South Korea, opportunities to attend world-class productions are plentiful all year-round.28 The annual Seoul Theatre Festival inaugurated the festival system in

1977. It is now called the Seoul “International”29 Performing Arts Festival, a.k.a. “SPAF,” since its merger with the Seoul Dance Festival in 2001. In addition, numerous regional festivals have also been established, such as the Gwacheon Madanggŭk Festival (1997), the Chuncheon Mime

Theatre Festival (1989- ), the Geochang International Theatre Festival (1983- ), the Miryang

Summer Performing Arts Festival (2001- ), and the Yangju World Folk Theatre Festival (2009-

2012). Gwacheon, Chuncheon, Geochang, Miryang and Yangju are all toponyms of big cities outside of Seoul. This increase in theatre festivals is likely the result of a ruling by several local

20 governments that allowed for the launch of cultural infrastructure outside of Seoul. In a way, the existence of numerous international festivals demonstrates the yearning of Korean artists for international recognition. These increased opportunities to collaborate with overseas artists, world-famous directors, and internationally acclaimed theatre companies, have allowed the

Korean public to enjoy international/global theatre.30

Such festivals also helped Korean scholars to become familiar with Western theoretical trends. Although its use is now being contested, the term “interculturalism” was officially translated and first utilized among Korean theatre scholars and practitioners in 1997 at the Seoul

Congress and the International Theatre Festival (ITI).31 In her entry for Korea in The World of

Theatre 2000 Edition: an Account of the Theatre Seasons 1996-97, 1997-98, 1998-99, the regional coordinator of Korea, Shim ChŏngSun, stated that “interculturalism, rejuvenation and popularization are probably the three words that most informed Korean theatre during the 1997-

1999 period” (144). While Koreans were least familiar with “interculturalism,” a term that originated from the West, “rejuvenation and popularization” referred to national, if not local, trends of modernizing indigenous performance culture and expansion of popular, commercial theatre productions. Even before 1997, the theatre forums held in conjunction with the aforementioned Third World Theatre in 1981 and the International Theatre Festival in 1988 in

Seoul also provided crucial opportunities for Korean artists and scholars to encounter theatre from other countries and engage in conversation with international scholars.32

An important result of the international theatre festival system in South Korea is a growing recognition of diversity and cultural-interconnectivity within Korean theatre. As a result of this shift, Korean theatre, albeit comparatively late, has engaged in a relatively high level of international dialogue during the past decade. One such cultural dialogue pertains to the growing number of productions of Koreannesque theatre performed internationally. Within the movement

21 to incorporate indigenous Korean elements in contemporary theatre, several pioneering works are often recognized by scholarly critics or theatre historians. These works include Yu TŏkHyŏng’s

Ch’obun staged in 1973 at the Café La MaMa in New York City; Ahn MinSu’s Ha’myŏlT’aeja, an adaptation of Hamlet in October 1976 at the Drama Center in Seoul and in 1977 at the Café La

MaMa, and Oh T’aeSŏk’s Ch’unP’ung’s Wife in 1987 at the Toga Festival in Japan; as well as

Sohn JinCh’aek's The Toenails of General Oh in 1992 in Vladivostok, Russia.33 As of 2013, there are increasingly more opportunities for Koreans to tour Japan, China, the Americas, and Europe.34

The globalization of Koreannesque theatre can also be observed in the creation of Korean theatre studies programs outside of Korea. The influx of native Korean scholars educated in The United

States, combined with national awareness of the importance of translation, has also enabled the introduction of South Korean contemporary theatre to English-speaking audiences.35 The now

United States-based Korean scholar Kim AhJeong co-translated the playwright Oh T’aeSŏk’s plays with her advisor and mentor Robert B. Graves. This anthology is a complement to her dissertation on Oh, Hŏh and ShimWuSŏng in 1999, supported by a grant from the DaeSan

Foundation of South Korea.36 Kim TongWuk also co-translated several plays from the work of

Lee YunT’aek along with senior scholar, Richard Nichols, who spent several years in Korea as a

Fulbright researcher. As of August 2013, a forthcoming anthology of plays by Kim KwangLim,

Pai SamShik and others, translated by Alyssa Kim, is currently in press.37

On the Asian continent, the joint theatre festival Be-Se-To (Beijing-Seoul-Tokyo) has enabled collaboration between artists from China, Korea, and Japan. The festival was established in 1994 by playwright Kim UiGyŏng (Korea), director Suzuki Tadashi (Japan), and director Xu

XiaoZhong (China) with the objective “to reconcile the three countries through cultural exchanges” (Kim Y. Ch’., “First” 416). Senior directors like Sohn and Im YŏngWung have been actively participating in this program since its inception. Sohn’s aforementioned play, The

Toenails of General Oh, was staged during the first festival held in Seoul, South Korea. In 2005,

Sohn presented his Ch’anggŭk ShimCh’ŏng in a format he believed to be truest to his conceptualization of the original form of ch’anggŭk.38

In addition, an increasing number of directors in their thirties and forties are currently seeking to collaborate with overseas artists. Yang ChŏngWung (b. 1968) actively participates in overseas tours and continually collaborates with other Asian artists, a phenomenon uncommon among Korean theatre artists of his age. Director/playwright Sŏng KiWung (b.1974) is well acquainted with Japanese theatre and has directed and adapted/produced Korean translations of

Japanese plays, translated Japanese plays, and acted as assistant director to senior Japanese directors. His Korean translations of Hitawa Oriza’s plays were published in Korea in 2012.

Female director, Nam InWu (b. 1974), who debuted in her youth theatre with Gamoonjang Agi

(2005), has toured with this play Germany, Japan, Mexico City, Cameron, Croatia, Russia and other countries. These young directors’ frequent international tours or collaborations with artists from Asian countries have diversified Euro-American oriented staging in Korea.

Nonetheless, having started theatre decades earlier, Oh T’aeSŏk (b.1940) and Lee

YunT’aek (b.1952), are two of the South Korean directors most frequently invited to work abroad.

Oh and Lee aretwo of the most prolific South Korean playwrights and directors of the twenty-first century and have persistently sought to create ethnic Korean theatre that uses indigenous cultural forms as its foundation while remaining thematically relevant to contemporary society. Their participation in German and Japanese theatre festivals since the 1990s has elevated the canonical ranks of their plays. These two artists were semi-established playwrights before becoming successful directors who are now known to enjoy critical success with their written plays.39

Considering that Oh and Lee’s works have only recently been studied within Korean scholarly

23 circles, the publication of their plays in English translation is a step toward the enhancement of research focused on contemporary Korean theatre in English speaking countries.40

Among them, Richard Nichols’ Modern Korean Drama: an Anthology (2011), features seven contemporary South Korean plays by playwrights such as Ch’a BŏmSŏk, Park ChoYŏl, Oh

T’aeSŏk, and Pai SamShik. The photo on the book cover shows a scene from P’ark ChoYŏl’s O

Chang-gun’s Toenail [The Toenails of General Oh] (1989), directed by Sohn JinCh’aek. In addition to this play, Pai’s Ch’oi SŭngHee is included as the most up-to-date play in the anthology which Sohn directed in a musical format in 2003.41 In November 2011, the University of Washington hosted a conference with Korean artists and Koreanist scholars to discuss the state of Korean theatre and drama. Oh’s production of Romeo and Juliet and The Tempest were the highlights of the event for the English speaking audience (Assoc. for Asian Performance).

Sohn, at the present time, continues to direct original, Korean, indigenous-influenced plays and creative adaptations of diverse plays at his Michoo Theatre Company founded in

1987.42 His so-called “legitimate theatre,” as Korean scholars refer to it, has received much critical acclaim since the 1994 The Toenails of General Oh (Sŏh and Lee 298). Sohn is acknowledged as one of the leading directors of South Korea largely due to the fact his productions in the “legitimate” category have been highly acclaimed. Those productions reflect

Korean history and society, presented in a primarily narrative format that uses traditional cultural elements. Nonetheless, Sohn has not benefited in any way from any translation projects or literary studies.43 Sohn’s well-received productions are not widely introduced to overseas audiences or studied in Korea, a phenomenon that shall be explored in the following sections.44 If Oh and

Lee’s plays have enriched Korean stages with their avant-garde productions that focus on contemporary Korean society, Sohn’s plays have demonstrated how theatre as an art form can contain the soul, custom, and cultural identity of a nation (Hŏh. S. “JinCh’aek Sohn”). Sohn

24 produced a new theatre for the Korean people that contain rich cultural elements that the general public can relate to and transcended the restrictions of modern indoor theatre buildings that limit the performing arts to a Western model. In a way, Sohn redefined the culture of theatre-going in

South Korea through his “non-legitimate,” popular theatre form, madangnori. Through this unconventional play form, Sohn “reclaimed” the theatre for the general public at a time when elitist forms of theatre production dominated the mainstream stages. During this period, elitist intellectuals had Westernized education and life style that shaped their cultural life and scholarly directions. Simply speaking, they adhered to the binary dichotomy between West/East, tradition/modernity, Western-modern/indigenous, unrefined/cultured, etc.

The stylistic form of madangnori embodies Sohn’s idea that musical theatre (ga-mu-gŭk

歌舞劇) is the archetype of Korean theatre. Madangnori has also influenced his so-called

“legitimate theatre,” or conventional theatre, productions that fall into the category of “[dramatic] theatre.” This play form coincided with sociopolitical and historical conditions in Korea, and its popularity among audiences outweighed its negative critical reception by scholars. The long disdain scholars held towards madangnori is slowly making way for positive and even laudatory attitudes.

3. Scholarship Dilemma of Korean Theatre

Despite the rejuvenation of indigenous arts in Korean theatre, during the 1970s and

1980s, a long-rooted and wide-spread disdain for these art forms continued until the mid-2000s.

This bias is reflected in the reluctance of theatre academia to conduct research or produce articles on indigenous Korean theatre. With a few exceptions, creators and critics of South Korean theatre only intermittently consider applications of indigenous art forms. The conventional scholarship on Korean theatre carries a strong preference for Western Realism that places too strong an emphasis on the literary aspects of theatre. Scholarly attention to the place of tradition in non-

25 literary forms in Korean theatre has consistently increased over the past few years. Such scholarship is seen in new academic research on p’ansori, as it has been thoroughly and abundantly subjected to literary analysis after which studies specifically started focusing on its characteristics as a performing art. In fact, the use of indigenous performance elements in Korean theatre in the twenty-first century seems to have become a selling point. Any hint of indigenous tradition appears to make a production more marketable in the global theatrical economy. Korean theatre scholarship also praises Western theatre productions that include elements of traditional

Asian performing arts. In 2004, the French theatre troupe, Theatre du Soleil, incorporated Korean instruments, costumes, and adaptations of Japanese bunraku and kabuki in their play Tambours

Sur La Digue (2001). Korean critics applauded the efforts of these foreign performers in their use of Korean instruments but remained close-minded and critical of domestic efforts that attempted to do the same.

Contemporary Korean theatre scholars and artists grapple with two predominant issues:

(1) the perception of “inferiority” or “belatedness” of Korean realism compared to Western

Realism, and (2) a deeply rooted tradition of literary-based analysis. The Korean artists and critics who argued that Korea lacked masterful original plays claimed that Korean staging of Western plays were necessary to the establishment of a legitimate theatre in Korea.45 According to these artists and critics, Korean play texts do not meet the standards of the Realist dramas of the West.

By upholding a Western, foreign model as the ideal, criticism focused on the loose plot structure and lack of a logical flow in traditional Korean dramas. Thus, imported plays, i.e., translated plays, were given critical preference over non-realist Korean plays.46 During this period, characterized by a strongly Western-oriented attitude and the supposed dearth of quality original works, few playwrights and their original plays were considered as quintessentially “Korean.” For instance, during this time, director and playwright Yu Ch’iJin was favored by both academics and

26 practitioners.47 However, most of the scholarship of Yu’s work focused on the literary aspects of his plays, i.e., theme, character, dramatic structure, and symbolism.48 This was mainly due to the literary background of the scholars reviewing the plays rather than any experience they had in performing arts. In addition, as is common with most of theatre productions in Korea, there is a lack of recorded documentation regarding the staging of such productions (Kim W.O.

“Reflection”).49

A complete understanding of twenty-first century South Korean theatre requires overcoming the dominance of the Western culture model popular with Korean scholars. It is necessary to discard realist standards to fully appreciate non-realist forms of theatre and to focus on theatrical elements of production rather than only inspecting literary aspects. Indigenous performance traditions in Korea have been orally passed down and are, to a great extent, improvisational in character. This presents difficulty in tracing the origins, forms, contents, and the manner in which these works were performed. Unlike performances held at royal venues, which followed strict codes and were recorded in detail, indigenous culture was ephemeral and performed outside of established institutions. In a way, it parallels the conditions of the former colonies in Europe:

Europe constructed itself as ‘modern’ and constructed the non-European as ‘traditional,’ ‘static,’ ‘prehistorical.’ The imposition of European models of historical change became the tool by which these societies were denied any internal dynamic or capacity for development. (131)

Negative attitudes toward Korean indigenous heritage have been readily adopted not only by

Japanese people but also Korean nationals. Instead of a direct rule by Europe, Japan forcefully applied an agenda of modernity to Korea. This was especially difficult for the Korean people because it was humiliating for Korea to be under Japanese rule. This negative attitude persists even today but is slowly beginning to dissipate. Although mainstream theatre scholarship has

27 excluded Sohn’s madangnori as an art form worthy of study, a few short theatre reviews by critics suggest an initial fascination with madangnori as a new local theatre form. In the newspaper, Daily Sports, Ku HeeSŏh lauded the rich communal enjoyment during the performance of the play.50 Ku is one of the pioneer theatre critics who regularly critiqued a wide range of genres from legitimate theatre to indoor indigenous performances at theatrical venues.

Her reviews were published in various newspapers from 1970 to 1994.51 That the play was reviewed more than once in a sports newspaper could be taken as an indication that the play form was viewed by the writer as popular entertainment, much like sports. However, in this particular newspaper, Ku also published reviews and previews on conventional and non-commercial theatre.

Consequently, the notion that madangnori was only viewed as popular entertainment can be contested. The playbill for Michoo’s landmark production of The Sky of Namsadang in 1996 also included notes by Ku that described Michoo’s strong point as “the ensemble of the members and their individual talents as result of training.” Critics Lee SangIl and Yu MinYŏng, both with backgrounds in Central European theatre, describe the spirit of Sohn’s madangnori as carnivalesque, and its servant character like the Trickster figure so often seen in Korean p’ansori novel.52

The term madanggŭk is an umbrella term for Korean people’s theatre and as such it includes a number of indigenous forms. The early critics of madanggŭk, such as the practitioner

Im ChinT’aek and Korean traditional dancer Chŏng PyŏngHo, also included Sohn’s madangnori in their reviews and studies.53 Both madanggŭk and Sohn’s madangnori were created from a shared sociopolitical, cultural, and historical agenda in the 1960s and 70s Korea. It was, therefore, encouraging to see the largely scoffed at madangnori introduced to the public in such a grandiose production. After madangnori became popular with audiences and started enjoying financial success, madanggŭk practitioners turned their backs on it. Their initial interest in Sohn’s

28 madangnori turned to disdain despite their support of MinYeh’s experimental efforts.

Madangnori no longer complied with their ideological foundation once it became a lucrative commercialized production model. Interestingly, madanggŭk practitioners later adopted similar techniques to Sohn’s play as these attempted to popularize themselves—and more importantly, their performance form— to the fast-changing and highly commercial Korean public in the 2000s.

On the other hand, The United States based theatre scholar Kim AhJeong analyzes the works of theatre directors, Hŏh Kyu, Oh T’aeSŏk, and Shim WuSŏng as “interculturalist.” Hŏh and Oh’s works are further divided into the categories of “intraculturalist” and “interculturalist” where the former sought to “preserve tradition” while the latter “deconstructed tradition.” In the case of

Shim, tradition was “in perpetual transition.” By naming all of them as “interculturalist,” Kim stated that “their intentions are neither to advocate antiquarianism nor to resist Western ideology, but to embrace both native and foreign elements, and ultimately create a new contemporary

Korean theatre” (14). The inclusion of Shim is unexpected because he is primarily known as a

“folklorist” among Korean academics.

Publications by Im ChinT’aek and Chŏng PyŏngHo only briefly describe the state of mainstream theatre in South Korea and how some theatre artists saw the indigenous performance arts as rich resources that provided much material for their work. The academic groups that discussed the social implications of theatre were affiliated with the political activists who devised madanggŭk during the late 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s. Scholars who have persistently dealt with madanggŭk are Im and Ch’ae. They were the pioneers of the mask dance revival movement around the Seoul National University campus. Im’s Creating Minjung Performance (1990), is a compilation of his writings from the 1980s on the origin, meaning, justification, objective and direction of madanggŭk. On identifying the performative principles of madanggŭk, Kim ChaeSŏk, states that madangnori fell short of the political stances taken by madanggŭk. When comparing

Korean mask dance-drama (“t’alch’um”) with Sohn’s madangnori (“TV madangnori”), Park

ChinT’ae asserts that the televised version of madangnori diluted the true spirit of madanggŭk because it lacked a serious political agenda. Park also argued that Sohn’s version started specifically in a television format of madanggŭk, thereby could not provide the crucial element of madanggŭk as a live, shared experience. However, it disregards the fact that it started as a one- time free event for Seoul citizens and that the decision to broadcast it was made entirely accidentally.54 While most publications on madanggŭk were written by its practitioners, attempting to validate and justify the art form, Lee YŏngMi’s analysis is based on her own observation of the form and insights gained through pioneering other theoretical approaches. In

2001 Lee published The Principles and Characteristics of Madanggŭk Style (2001), which is an updated version of her 1996 publication. This publication is the first, and so far the only, study that not only provides a thorough history of madanggŭk—including its venues and important literary reviews—but also an analysis of the content and style of madanggŭk performances.55 In her rigorous study, Lee marks Sohn’s madangnori as a type of “popular” madanggŭk, acknowledging its historical connection during the 1970s with other political madanggŭk (39, 59).

According to Lee, madanggŭk is a “very Korean” theatre that “approached the concrete life of contemporary Korean people,” “a theatre style that entirely and in depth carried on folk performances such as p′ansori or mask dance drama that were discontinued in Korean theatre,” and “a theatre style that [actively] adopted marginal aesthetics and tendencies and systemized them” rather than using canonical ones. Most importantly, Lee determines that madanggŭk has its

“meaning as a Third World theatre” that enables “a new recognition on theatre in general, and furthermore, on arts in general” (295-297). Lee’s study is significant because of its influence on later studies of madanggŭk. Although Lee only briefly mentions Sohn’s madangnori in her study, it is important because she categorizes Sohn’s art form as madanggŭk.56 This acknowledgment of

30 a stylistic link between and shared origin of the two forms helps to overcome a schism between them. Also, although it is still not regarded as a mainstream theatre genre, it is now being acknowledged as a powerful and influential social movement that has affected mainstream theatre practice during the 1980s. This is especially significant when taking into consideration the circumstances in the 1970s, as Lee SŭngHee in “Theatre” states how the form was not acknowledged at all during the 1970s (213). Kim MinJŏng’s thesis, published ten years after

Lee’s keen observations, A Comparison between Madang-gŭk and Madangnori (2006), compares

Madanggŭk U-gum-chi with MBC Madangnori. Both Lee and Kim have made valuable additions to Korean theatre scholarship on Sohn’s long neglected theatre work.

As far as contemporary academic research is concerned, some new scholarship has begun to consider Sohn JinCh’aek’s form. Considered as the first thesis on Sohn’s madangnori, Nam

EunJu’s A Study on the Modern Use of Tradition in MBC Madangnori – in the Case of

Madangnori Ch’unHyangJŏn (1994) was the only thesis-length study of the form for over a decade. Nam rightly treats MBC’s madangnori as a type of madanggŭk, which is another form of contemporary theatre based on indigenous performance. I elaborate on this form in Chapter 2 of this dissertation. Nam cites Sohn and Lee who stated that academic research on madangnori is almost non-existent because it is considered to be “a lowly mixture of everything, lacking artistic quality” and is “a government controlled culture that took side with low popular culture and that dilutes the resistance inherent in madanggŭk as a minjung theatre.”57 By using Raymond

William’s concept of cultural materialism, Nam examines the use of the term “tradition” in a capitalist society via the medium of television. Nam utilizes Williams proposal of emergent, emerging and residual cultural products to define Sohn’s madangnori as “a new emergent cultural product which inherited contemporarily the social, cultural function of the traditional T’alch’um

[masked dance-drama] when combined with Media system and also incorporate into the

31 mechanism of the popular culture.” She categorizes the play form as “a kind of Madang play, but

[one] combined with media” that takes a “sequence and narrative construction that is similar to

TV realism.”58

In analyzing the reasons for the commercial success of madangnori, Nam states that the play form utilizes a consumption-distribution structure that targets a wider audience spectrum. In addition to becoming a commodity, its utilization of television linked its performance madangnori with television’s function of creating and distributing the dominant culture of the mass media (5). According to Nam, madangnori has become “a product” that is broadcasted on television, and in this way, the form is distributing the dominant culture of the media to many

Korean people. Nam’s approach to madangnori as an emergent culture developing into a dominant culture seems to be close to the minjok-gŭk practitioners’ point of view. These practitioners denied that their play is very similar to MBC’s [Sohn’s] madangnori. Nam’s thesis utilizes the broadcasted version of madangnori for her discussion and focuses on its modes of adapting Korean classic literature. Since Nam was a telecommunication student rather than a theatre scholar, she does not examine the performance as a live theatre production. This has been the general tendency of madangnori scholarship in the 1990s; its performance is treated as an inappropriate “theatre form” while its play text is studied in literary studies at university. There is a disjunction between studies of “live” performance and its recorded forms, i.e., television and the printed text.

Following in the dominant literary-based tradition, Sohn’s madangnori has been studied, in depth, by Korean Language and Literature scholars.59 Kim SuWŏn (1992) analyzes the modes of adapting classic novels (古典小說) into the performing art form madangnori. Kim investigates

Madangnori KuWunMong (1989) and Madangnori Ch’unHyangJŏn (1990), where the former was directed by Kim SangRyŏl and the latter by Sohn. Kim neglects to record the names of the

32 script adapters and does not specify which director directed each play, ignoring distinction between the two directors. Despite the different adapters and directors involved in each production, Kim treats both forms as “madangnori.” The focus of the study is almost exclusively on the structure, characterization and theme of the source literature, leaving out the theatrical traits of the form.

The rewriting of Korean classical novels has been a popular topic of Korean literary study. As government efforts increased to make Korean products competitive in a global market,

Korean storytelling and classical novels have received a renewed interest in society.60 In comparison to the myths, folktales, and traditional fairytales of Korea, Korean classical novels, especially those adapted into the performance of p’ansori, are rich and complex dramatic resources. It is encouraging to see renewed interest in the variation and adaptation of Korean classical novels. As Im HyŏngSu points out, previous studies on the so-called “Ch’unHyang motif” dealt mainly with “tale, p’ansori, classic novel, modern poetry, and modern novel.”

(Figure 4.) According to him, this is “especially true with the structural analysis or the comparison of different versions.” It is only recently that the theatricalization of the Ch’unHyang motif in modern has been paid careful consideration by scholars (416). In his research, Im provides a visualization of the chronological transformation of the Ch’unHyang motif, which notably includes madangnori:

Ch’unHyang tale (prototype 原型) Classic novel

Modern novel  Modern poetry

Ch’unHyang Shaman Kutnori  P’ansori  Ch’anggŭk  Shin gŭk Opera Musical Madangnori

Film

Festival

Figure 4: Diagram by Im HyŏngSu (2006)

This model is significant because it charts six different performance forms that utilize the

Ch’unHyang tale and it is revealing that madangnori has a relationship to all six forms. Although

Im does not mention it, this model shows that madangnori was essentially created as an interdisciplinary art form.

Nonetheless, it is only recently that Sohn’s work has been mentioned in mainstream

South Korean theatre scholarship. Scholarly writings by Korean authors published in the 1990s and 2000s categorize group theatre artists involved in “modernizing” indigenous performance arts into three categories: 1) excavators of indigenous performance arts, 2) avant-gardists in the

Western sense, and 3) other artists who hybridize indigenous elements with Western theatrical styles. The three theatre companies that received most attention are TongRang Repertory Theatre

Company,61 Theatre Company ChaYu (Freedom Theatre Company), and Hŏh’s MinYeh Theatre

Company.62 Sohn directed several plays at MinYeh, but MinYeh is almost always associated with director Hŏh.

In 100 Years of Our Theatre (2000), the first theatre history book to include the contemporary Korean theatre of the late 1990s, Sohn’s madangnori is referred to as a “festive revival of traditional performance culture” (Sŏh and Lee 371). However, probably the most frequently consulted publication on madangnori, is published by MBC. 20 Years of MBC

Madangnori (2000) provides a comprehensive list of madangnori staff and performers from 1981 to 2000. It includes the director and playwright’s notes, as well as the CEO and MBC staff members’ comments on their involvement with and in madangnori productions. This is an important publication because it not only records the production aspects of madangnori, but the tensions that existed between the production team and administrators and producers from MBC with regard to artistic choices. The book includes accounts on the inaugural performances of the

MBC madangnori and selections from the playbill. The playbill provides director’s notes and reviews by South Korean theatre critics.63 It has served as a primary source for young scholars.64

None of the previously cited publications were written by members of the theatre academy. Despite such sporadic research on madangnori in comparison to the ideological and political performance genre, madanggŭk, a few recent studies on Sohn’s work offer some ideas on its status and critical reception in modern South Korean scholarly circles. Lee YuRa’s A Study on Michoo Madangnori by a Theatre Company Michoo (2006) and Sŏh ISuk’s The Study on the

Transition of the Traditional Theatre Madangnori (2008) examine Sohn’s madangnori from a theatre and performing arts perspective. Lee provides general background on the Michoo Theatre

Company and basic aspects of madangnori. It is the first thesis-length academic study to be published solely on MBC Madangnori within the theatre academy.65 Relying heavily on the

MBC’s publication 20 Years of MBC Madangnori (2000), Lee provides general information on

Sohn’s work. After analyzing the play as a kind of theatre, she concludes that Sohn’s madangnori displays characteristics of postmodernity. Two years later, Sŏh’s thesis provides a wider background to Sohn’s madangnori. Sŏh includes a number of production photos from the Michoo

Company to facilitate understanding of the original production staging. By focusing on the acting and directing of Sohn’s madangnori, Sŏh attempts to explain the structural characteristics of the production.66 Sŏh is a Michoo-trained actress who performed in madangnori for over 25 years.

She has access to production materials and possesses a unique perspective as an insider. Her thesis also incorporates a lot of her thesis advisor, Sah ChinShil’s, academic speculations.67

Ahn ChinSang’s “Historical Development of Madangnoli [sic] and Its Outcome as Part of the Cultural Industry: the case of Madangnoli [sic] by a Theatrical Company Michoo” (2012) attempts to compare madangnori with madanggŭk. Above all, Ahn describes madangnori as a

“possible culture industry.” His insertion of a section on “chapsaek” differentiates his study from

35 the previous ones that excluded this element from their discussions. Despite claiming, in the introduction to his thesis, to deviate from Lee and Sŏh, the content of his thesis is very much reliant on their work. His thesis relies heavily on earlier studies by Lee and Sŏh, or to be more precise, the content of the 20 Years.68

By 2010, when Sohn’s madangnori reached its thirtieth anniversary, the rationale for academic study of this art form seems to have become “not to leave out valuable cultural asset of our time.” Sohn has become the focus of recent scholarship, as Son HeeYŏng’s “Study on the

Traditional Outdoor Performance ‘Madangnori’ by Theatre Michoo” (2011) demonstrates. Son provides the subtitle “Concerning Their Nature of the Festival,” which can be better translated as

“focusing on its festive character,”69 and argues that Sohn’s madangnori reflects stylistic characteristics of mask dance drama, in contrast to the general belief that it does not. However,

Son does not specify whether such belief is held by scholars, performers, the public or by any other party. In other words, his argument that Sohn’s form is received as not based on mask dance drama is unsubstantiated. Hŏh SunJa, who has shown a continuous interest in Sohn’s work, has published article-length studies on Sohn and his work, including personal interviews. This study cites three of these interviews: Critical Stages, 10 Theatre People, and Korean Drama. Despite the fact that Sohn is a challenging persona to interview because of his reserved and quiet disposition, Hŏh had a favorable impression of Sohn.

While such an emergence of attention on madangnori is certainly welcome, research on

Sohn’s work that appreciates its complexity is still very limited. Aside from Sŏh’s accounts on performance analysis in relation to the utilization of indigenous culture, there is no other production analysis to determine how various aspects of indigenous performance arts are adapted into Sohn’s madangnori. In order to fully understand the sociocultural and artistic implications of

Sohn’s madangnori in Korean theatre, a more extensive examination of his play in relation to

36 other “Koreannesque” plays and Sohn’s own production history on the main stage is needed. It is the purpose of this dissertation to contribute to a deeper understanding of Sohn’s work by placing it in such historical contexts. A very recent article by Ch’oi YŏngJu is such attempt, where she compares Sohn’sYŏlHaIlGi Manbo and Madangnori The Prodigal Lee Ch’unP’ung in light of his definitions and declarations of “Madangnori Aesthetics” (2013). The view is taken in this study that a more in-depth and extended point of view is necessary to assess Sohn’s unique theatre that resists being categorized as conventional theatre. Kim SukGyŏng’s Modernization of Tradition and Five Directors (2012) is also a recent study that examines five contemporary stage directors who have involved in “modernizing tradition” process. Unlike the previous studies that compare up to three individuals in terms of the modernization process, Kim included the madanggŭk practitioner Kim MyŏngGon along with Kim ChŏngOk, Oh T’aeSŏk, Sohn JinCh’aek and Lee

YunT’aek.

4. Addressing the Post-Colonial Imperative and Cultural Materialist Reading of Theatre70

I argue that Sohn’s work needs to be viewed through the lens of post-colonial theory in order to fully understand its larger historical, social, and theatrical influences. Over the last forty years, much has been written about post-colonialism and performance. Although South Korea underwent a thirty-five-year-long colonial experience, most Korean literary scholarship focuses on European colonization while theatre scholarship focuses on play texts written during the

Japanese colonization. However, no attempt has been made to consider the postcolonial situation of South Korea after independence from Japan.71 As theatre scholar Mark Fortier states, post- colonialism refers to a current activity or process:

Post-colonialism is an attempt to describe our contemporary situation and its culture, […] by focusing on the effects of the western imperialism that has dominated the world since the sixteenth century and that has been unraveling since the end of the Second World War, as independence has come to most of the former colonies of Europe. (192) (emphasis added by author.)

Fortier continues to say that “the term post-colonialism implies both a situation coming after colonialism and a situation in the heritage of aftermath of colonialism: both an ongoing liberation and an ongoing oppression” (193). Bill Ashcroft et al. also comment that “decolonization, whatever it may be, is a complex and continuing process rather than something achieved automatically, at the moment of independence” (59).

In South Korea, the sense of inferiority stemming from the prevailing binary of West/East, advanced/developing, civilized and modern/pre-modern, refined/crude, and logical/illogical seems to continue to control Korean scholars’ mindset.72 Therefore, the co-existence of opposing values such as eum-yang (yin-yang) in the traditional performing arts of Korea, common in other

Asian cultures, has an uneasy reception history.73 Instead, historically viewed as irrelevant to

Korea’s modern system, postmodern theory is now seen as an effective framework for understanding Korea’s theatrical situation. To Korean nationals, postmodernist agendas value deconstructing the logocentricism that honors Western rationalism and abandon the binarism that immediately categorizes Korean indigenous and native culture as “primitive” and negative. In other words, instead of the unrivaled dominance of Western values and theoretical measures, postmodernism allows the Korean people to claim and recognize the values of an indigenous culture and thought system. This shift of focus from logic, rationality, reason, and coherence to illogic, irrationality, feeling, and disorder almost liberated Koreans from long-suffered feelings of inferiority and belatedness. The fact that postmodern or postcolonial theories are products from the West can invite further opposition, but one cannot deny the new possibilities that exist for examining the situations of South Korea and specifically Korean theatre.

As articulated by Ashcroft et al., “Decolonizing is the process of revealing and dismantling colonialist power in all its forms” (56). Korea was not “officially” colonized by the

West, but by Japanese colonizers. In an effort to resist Japan, a nation that Korea regarded as

38 inferior, Korean intellectuals decided to turn their focus toward the West and its modern environment. Historically, the Korean people have a deep psychological dependency on someone, or some country/civilization, perceived to be greater than itself. During and after the Japanese colonization, the Euro-American culture served as something Koreans could emulate in order to overcome its submission to Japan.74

The dilemma comes from the fact that after independence, Korea sought to overcome the influence of colonization by simply erasing everything reminiscent of the trauma of colonization, rather than examining its postcolonial conditions. Within Korean theatrical circles, the representative postcolonial theatre genre, shinp’a, a direct and indirect implementation by Japan, has been simply branded as worthless and harmful to Koreans and as something that needs to be discarded. In opposition to such downright refusal to acknowledge or contemplate the issue and attempts to erase any remnants of Japanese influence, some scholars argue that even colonial forms need to be considered as Korean culture since they have been changing in relation to the

Koreans’ tastes and preferences. South Korean theatre critic Lee SangIl, in his positive review on

Sohn’s madangnori New Tale of Lee Ch’unP’ung in 1992, asserted how such narrow-mindedness has discredited shinp’a and akgŭk, two popular genres from the time of Japanese colonization. He said, if this attitude continues, leading to a disdain of madangnori, Korean theatre historiography will repeat the same mistake (Issues 465). However, the Korean peoples’ loathing for Japan is deeper and more profound than these views acknowledge. This can be seen in social sectors with contemporary projects for the demolition of government buildings built by Japan during the colonial period, despite the fact the buildings are old. Even during the 1990s, before Korea opened its borders to Japanese cultural products, imports of Japanese magazine, animation, manga, and even opening Japanese classes at national universities were prohibited.

In opposition to this colonial cultural residue, Korean elites actively sought to emulate a

Euro-American legacy. The dominant power almost always equated to the elites who had access to the West. However, during the dictatorship of the 1970s, the agenda of “nation building” was sought both by the governmental hegemony and by the dissidents, called “minjung.” While the government attempted to construct “authenticity,” especially by designating Important Cultural

Assets, to construct a representable image toward outside of Korea, the dissidents, or grass-roots, stood on the side of the weak, underprivileged working class. In order to empower the public by reviving the resistant power of peasants during Chosŏn Dynasty, they busied themselves with t’alch’um, or mask dance drama of Korea. As their primary objective was to revive the spirit rather than the extant form, they felt free to alter the older forms, which often triggered hostility from those who knew the specific techniques of those performance arts. Ashcroft et al. described

“authenticity” as following:

The use of signifiers of authenticity may be a vital part of the attempt by many subordinated societies to argue for their continued and valid existence as they become inevitably hybridized and influenced by various social and cultural changes. But too rigid a definition can militate against such resistance if they are used to police and license the determining boundaries of the culture by the dominant group. (18)

While a claim of authenticity can serve to strengthen their identity, a too narrow boundary could cause harm. Ashcroft et al. also noted:

The problem with such claims to cultural authenticity is that they often become entangled in an essentialist cultural position in which fixed practices become iconized as culturally indigenous and others are excluded as hybridized or contaminated. (17)

For the term “hybrid,” instead of the much criticized notion, I use it in its more positive as formulated by Young.: “a double logic, which goes against the convention of rational either/or choices, but which is repeated in science in the split between the incompatible coexisting logics of classical and quantum physics” (qtd.in Ashcroft et al. 110-111). This definition shares similarity with the much talked about aesthetic principle of Eum-yang in Korea, a characteristic 40

mentioned in Chapter 2 of this study. Also, the theatrical approaches of three artists, Oh, Sohn,

Lee, all commonly follow after a coexistence of two “incompatible” elements. What distinguishes

them is the extent and manner in which they apply that principle. For instance, when compared to

Oh and Lee, Sohn’s approach is less of hybrid, but a modernist attempt to establish a new

tradition out of pre-modern, discontinued indigenous culture that represented the general public

of Korea.

Korean theatre scholarship has been almost exclusively written by the elitist, dominant

discourse that is West-driven and West-oriented. In the practical theatre sector of the 1970s, on

the other hand, both the pro-government mainstream practitioners and the anti-government

madanggŭk practitioners aimed at “universality” while looking other directions from each other.

The ideological paths and artistic goals they pursued after differ from each other’s. For instance,

while the former group would not primarily deal with politics in their art work, the latter group

determinedly said they would “not watch performances staged at indoor theatre” or “the

performance must take place with the common people” (Ch’ae 131).

Considering such situations for Korea, a different approach is needed toward tradition,

since it has been discontinued by imperial forces and was hindered to develop its own cultural

forms.

As the case of South Korea where the modernization process took place within great foreign power, the traditional culture in general, lost its continuity to the degree one needs to use the term severance. But the movement to regain [sic recover] that severed tradition in the present has continued with the slogan of ‘reinvention of tradition’ and the influence of such tradition unto the present has been re-illuminated, resulting into a tradition. That is, tradition is not only what has a current influence, but also one that has been re-illuminated under the intent of imbuing a current influence. (Paik H. 15) (emphasis added by author.)

Paik’s observation takes a resonance with the aforementioned definition by Glassier which suggests acontinuity. She also notes how Korean folk or indigenous art forms cannot be “tradition”

41 if one applies to the notion of “continuity” to them. For Korea, as a country having experienced a discontinuity, even “one that has been re-illuminated under the intent of imbuing a current influence” needs to be considered as tradition.

…during the late 1960s, folk arts like t’alch’um had already become a severed tradition through Japanese colonization policy and industrialization process. If one measures tradition by the [presence of] continuity, folk arts like t’alch’um could not have been tradition in the 1970s and 1980s. However, the madanggŭk practitioners [reclaimed] t’alch’um in the 1970s in order to criticize Park ChungHee’s Yushin regime … (Korean 39-40)

The revival movement of mask dance drama by the radical madanggŭk practitioners placed

themselves in opposition to both the pro-modernization Korean government and the conventional

theatre practice that was essentially Western-oriented:

One could say that the nationalistic aims initiated by the 19 April revolution in 1960, the military government’s cultural policy that tried to utilize such nationalistic aim in order to sustain its regime, the urgency by the folklorists and Korean studies scholars who felt the danger of traditional culture becoming extinct, and the passion by the theatre practitioners to create Koreannesque theatre styles after having felt the limit and doubts of the reception of Western theatre, the concern about the collapse of an agrarian society that has continued for over 5,000 years yet was being ruined by the modernization- industrialization-urbanization, the resistance spirit by the college students who stood against the military regime that relentlessly pursued its economic development and nationalism, etc. functioned together to turn their eyes to outdoor madang culture, especially t’alch’um. (Park JinT’ae 7)

With such a plethora of definitions of tradition, modernization, and (post)colonialism,

modern and contemporary Korean theatre finds itself in a complex web of power. In the field of

semiotics, signs are perceived to be neutral but in theatre nothing can profess itself as value-free.

This is demonstrated by the fact that the choice of actors, stage, props, and music all reflect one

or more individual’s decisions, of which the signs on stage are the elements. In the same light, the

selection of the signifiers and the intended signifieds cannot escape the choices of the artist who

produce a theatre piece on stage. In fact, the selection of the performance space, the nature or

characteristics of organization (i.e., theatre company), the kinds or methods of actors training, the 42 selection of play texts, the public relation, etc. all contain the director’s if not the playwright’s, deliberate intent.

Such systems profess neutrality and aspire to invisibility, but they silently carry considerable ideological weight that can work to reinforce, complicate, or undermine the conscious ‘thematic’ content of the work (and the stated intentions of its creators (20).

Therefore, in this study, I consider an art form not as a product or creation of an individual but as a product that is linked inevitably to the sociopolitical, cultural, and artistic contexts of the time.

It includes not merely the staged production, conventionally considered as the end product, as the object of study but also the contexts of staging. That is, how the performance is being prepared, moved to the performance space, and performed at the venue in front of an audience. Such an approach is proposed by Ric Knowles’ Reading the Material Theatre (2004). The view is taken in this study that this publication is helpful in examining what the conventional scholarship excludes when studying a theatre. Knowles argues that “cultural materialism does not pretend […] to political neutrality […] resisting interpretative discourses of the universality and individual” (13).

Instead, he shows a much greater interest in the historical and social areas where meaning is made.

According to him,

the critic is her- or himself explicitly located and implicated in history. The critic, that is, consciously brings something—an approach, a politics, a purposefulness, or a way of thinking other than supposed objectivity and neutrality—to the object of analysis. …. The critic, therefore, must necessarily locate him- or herself historically, and must acknowledge a lack of critical objectivity. (13-14)

Branningan notes that ultimately, the “cultural materialists work to expose ‘cracks and contradictions in the system to allow for some oppositional intervention’” (qtd. in Knowles 14).

In other words, the “reading formation” examines “Performance Text” (script, mise en scene, design, actors’ bodies, movement and gestures, etc.), “Conditions of Production” (actor, director, designer training and traditions, rehearsal process, working conditions, stage and backstage architecture and amenities, historical/cultural moment of production, etc.), and “Conditions of

43 reception” (publicity/review discourse, front-of-house, auditorium, and audience amenities, neighborhood, transportation, ticket prices, historical/cultural moment of reception, etc.) (19).

In contrast to the cultural materialists who usually only takes“historical contexts for the study of cultural productions of the past,” into consideration, Knowles argues, he focuses on

“historicizing the here and now, and on resisting historical teleologies, myths of progress that see the present as the natural state of things, the logical culmination of historical evolutionary development” (13). By focusing on “the here and now,” he also limits his arguments on the productions he actually attended himself, in order to be able to discuss the conditions and contexts of the performance space, the relationship between the stage and auditorium, amenities for the audiences, production reviews, etc. (21).

This approach offers a new and rich way of a reading of Sohn’s madangnori, whose venues or production contexts have not been considered in conventional studies. Radical madanggŭk was very outspoken politically and Sohn’s madangnori was political, to a lesser extent and with a different approach. However, in conventional theatre scholarship in Korea, where theatre practices, scholarship, and critiques based on Realist theories are the mainstream, the realist conditions are not considered essential for discussions about theatre. Therefore, with

Knowles’ approach that encourages “reading” everything—from the indoor proscenium stages that are used in the majority of theatres in Seoul, actors training, marketing, play reviews, and all the other production related processes as a reflection of ideology— aspects that have been taken for granted or have been neglected can be illuminated. This approach is taken in the first section in Chapter 4 of this study.

Madangnori is very new compared to global art forms and specifically forms in international theatre studies. However, in the context of modern Korean theatre, the fact that madangnori managed to survive and develop for a period of thirty years is a significant

44 achievement. It can be said to be a very short time, relative to other forms in theatre, but also a relatively long time in modern Korean theatre. (Son, “Abstract” 1) However, this relatively new form has not received much attention from theatre academia. This lack of attention subjected this study to several challenges. Access to production documentations such as director’s notes, cue sheets, and prompt books by the Michoo Theatre Company for madangnori is rather limited. The

“selective openness” of artists and artistic organizations (i.e., self-censorship) with the sharing of their records is common in Korea. It is very difficult to acquire material directly from Michoo

Theatre Company, especially fiscal information concerning the percentage of audience members with complementary tickets and the annual profits for the madangnori.75 This information could be useful to determine the success, popularity of madangnori and the extent to which madangnori was able to financially benefit the theatre, which was probably significantly, during a time when government funding was scarce. It is possible that the profitability of this art form sustained

Michoo and could be directly responsible for its financial success and current size and status as an employer of a very large cast.

While madanggŭk, a radically politicized theatre form, flourished in the 1980s in South

Korea and also adapted Korean indigenous performance arts for their artistic purposes, this study avoids a comparative approach. Madanggŭk was explicitly political and directly confronted the government regarding its socio-political policies, which included harsh economic circumstances and working environments within industries. When Korea at last embraced democracy and the military and authoritarian regime ended, however, madanggŭk suddenly lost its voice, energy, and impact on society (Kim P.). Regardless of its diminished status and popularity, there does exist a significant amount of research on the form. For these reasons, I only mention this theatrical form briefly in Chapter 2. The madanggŭk practitioners diligently sought to document their work. With the loss of the form’s resistant nature, there is an awareness among its supporters

45 that the form is in need of research and publications to validate their work. Scholars of younger generations are increasingly adding to the current scholarship.76

In this study, my goal is to demonstrate, discuss and elaborate on how Sohn aimed, worked and succeeded to produce “total theatre” with equal emphasis on music, dance and theatre.

His work resulted in the theatre form madangnori. This form has remained popular for thirty years, a relatively long period in modern Korean theatre, but has received relatively little scholarly attention compared to other, similar forms. This study aims to contribute scholarly discussion on madangnori and takes the view that it is a valuable contribution to Korean theatre sector, both scholarly and practical.

Because this study investigates a contemporary South Korean theatre form that has not received much attention compared to other forms, this study was subject to several challenges.

Access to production documentations such as director’s notes, cue sheets, and prompt books by the Michoo Theatre Company for madangnori is rather limited. The “selective openness” of artists and artistic organizations (i.e., self-censorship) with the sharing of their records is common in Korea. It is very difficult to acquire material directly from Michoo Theatre Company, especially fiscal information concerning the percentage of audience members with complementary tickets and the annual profits for the madangnori.77

5. Notes on Language and Translations

Currently, there are two representative ways of romanizing Korean language: the west- originated McCune-Reischauer system and the Revised Romanization of Korean devised by the

Ministry of Culture of the Korean government. This study adopts the more widely used (in international scholarship) McCune-Reischauer system, while using the revised system for famous regional names such as the capital city, Seoul (instead of Sŏul). For personal names, I took the liberty of modifying these names by capitalizing each word and leaving no space or hyphen in-

46 between as is consistent with the traditional McCune-Reischauer system. For example, in the case of Sohn JinCh’aek, instead of writing Jin-Ch’aek or Chin Ch’aek, I eliminated the space and hyphen in between “Jin” and “Ch’aek.” For Sohn, I adopted his official English name with “Jin”.

This modification includes those who are active abroad, such as AhJeong (AhJŏng) Kim, although the hyphen is taken out for coherence and the family name is placed last. For geographical terms, “Korea” refers to the Republic of Korea, i.e., South Korea, for the temporal period after 1945. For specific theatre companies like Michoo and Mokwha, official English names are used.

6. Chapter Overview

In the following Chapters, I investigate Sohn JinCh’aek’s newly devised performance form, madangnori, in more detail. In Chapter 2, “The Sociopolitical, Cultural, and Material

Contexts for the ‘Modernization of Tradition’ Movements in South Korea,” I examine those decisive contexts that both directly and indirectly affected the birth and evolution of the play form.

In Chapter 3, “Divergence of Directorial Vision: Three Directors in the 1960s-1990s,” I compare and contrast Sohn’s early career as a theatre graduate with the careers of Oh and Lee and discuss their current status as the leading directors of South Korean theater. Chapter 4, “Sohn’s Pursuit of

Koreanness through Madangnori: the Modernization of Tradition” is the main part of this study as it is a case study where I examine the play from diverse angles. The goal of this chapter was to identify specific characteristics of madangnori that contributed to the creation of his

Koreannesque theatre.

Chapter 1 and 2 place madangnori within the context of South Korea’s long fascination with Western realist drama, an aesthetic that promoted a singular approach to performance and regarded folk art as an unrefined style of entertainment for the general public. Madangnori is an example of postcolonial theatre based on popular performance that re-contextualizes indigenous

47 theatre as a means of contesting the predominant Western theatre traditions in Korea. In other words, this study closely examines Sohn’s madangnori as an artistic form that defies a Western- oriented cultural tradition. I consider Sohn’s work as a case study that illuminates the role of the so-called “popular theatre” by capturing the sentiments and spirit of the general public through the use of reclaimed, indigenous Korean cultural tradition.

In order to track such postcolonial efforts within the theatre sector, Chapter 2 examines the complex sociopolitical and historical conditions within which madangnori developed. This examination include not only the political climate of various eras in South Korean history, but also various representative cases of contemporary South Korean theatre that adapted or recreated the indigenous arts into a new form. The physical and mental states experienced by Sohn as he attempted to revive tradition and resist colonial thinking are also be examined. The purpose of this approach is to explore the direct and indirect forces that informed Sohn’s artistic motivations and the place of his theatrical work within South Korean society.

Chapter 3 illuminates the work of Sohn’s contemporaries in South Korea who are recognized as the leading theatre directors of Koreannesque theatre. In Chapter 3 I also compare and contrast Oh T’aeSŏk, Sohn JinCh’aek, and Lee YunT’aek’s initial orientation to theatre, their roles in developing Koreannesque theatre, and their individual theatrical production processes.

The purpose of this discussion in Chapter 3 is to demonstrate Sohn’s approach as distinct from each of these other popular directors who have been categorized together as “modernizers of tradition.”78 Lastly, but most importantly, Chapter 4 analyzes the performance genre of madangnori in detail. First, by examining the play in its new venue after Sohn’s separation with

MBC, Sohn’s ideal form of madangnori as different from MBC’s will be discerned. Then, its compelling aspects will be examined in terms of its performance space, its traits as a musical theatre, and finally, its aesthetical characteristics will be examined.

CHAPTER 2

The Sociopolitical, Cultural, and Material Contexts

For the “Modernization of Tradition” Movements in South Korea

1. Introduction: the Contexts of “Modernization of Tradition”

This chapter examines the general context of the “modernization of indigenous culture” movement from which Sohn’s new form arose. I first examine the sociopolitical and cultural contexts in which the sudden heightened interest in indigenous Korean arts occurred. This exploration shall include discussing conditions in Korea from the early 1900s through the 1970s, when an array of both external and internal incidents destabilized Korea. This chapter supports the hypothesis that it was this chaotic state and reactions on the chaos that strongly influenced the movement toward the modernization of Korean theatre (Lee S.H. 231). The short overview of the sociopolitical contexts of Korea is directly related to the discourses of “tradition.” While “the modernization of tradition (chŏnt’ong ui hyŏndae hwa)” dominated the field of Korean theatre during the 1970s, deep-level discussions on the issue of “tradition” ‘傳統’ only took place decades later. Different stances and understandings of “tradition” led to different actions. The secondary purpose of this chapter is to provide an overview of the various parties involved in the modernization movement. Each party’s reactions to and techniques for the incorporation of indigenous elements will be explored. For instance, the insights of Yu TŏkHyŏng and Ahn MinSu displayed at the Drama Center and those of Hŏh Kyu at the MinYeh Theatre Company will be discussed. Also, related to this, agendas behind such modern localized theatrical genres as ch’anggŭk and madanggŭk will be examined. Though the latter two genres originated centuries apart, they are two of the theatrical genres to which the establishment paid the greatest attention 49 in the discussion of “modernization of tradition.” In addition, I have noticed that Sohn’s madangnori shares certain similarities with ch’anggŭk and madanggŭk that relate to or distinguish his art form—now a genre—from other tradition-based theatres. Lastly, I will make an overall review of resources that Korean artists referenced. This includes shaman rituals, p′ansori, mask dance drama and puppetry. The discussion will be elucidated with examples of desired aesthetics inspired by both indigenous Korean arts and Western theatre practices. In order to make it easier to follow the complex contexts of Korea and its discourses on tradition, I will first introduce representative theatrical forms from indigenous Korea.

With a sense of “belatedness,” in other words, later than the rest of the world in terms of modernization, twentieth century South Korea saw “tradition” as something to be discarded, something that conflicted with its urgent desire to become a modern and developed nation. Soon, however, the “invention of tradition” became a pressing task for the South Korean government which sought to establish a respectable national image for the outside world. It went hand in hand with the movement of “modernizing tradition” carried out by artists that reached its peak in the

1970s-1980s along with a variety of other movements led by different individuals and groups.

The Korean government had contradictory stances toward its own pro-Westernization agendas and its promotion of indigenous Korean culture. Consequently, theatre makers were torn between their strong fascinations with Western realist agendas, that they believed were necessary for stabilizing Korean theatre, and their passion for anti-realist agendas that seemed to reflect the state-of-the-art theatre in the West. Especially in the politically turbulent Korean society of the

1970s and 1980s, one’s political stance inevitably affected one’s artistic activities while not being entirely free from governmental and institutional controls in the form of law enforcement. Thus,

“the modernization of tradition,” a phenomenon readily associated with the cultural activities of

50 the era, should be scrutinized by focusing upon the distinguishable differences among various attempts.

The 1970s was a time when two distinct stylistic groups of theatre practitioners appeared on mainstream Korean stages: one group focused on Western theatre and the other group dedicated itself to “Koreannesque theatre.” Over time, both groups came to regard Korean cultural traditions as rich resources for innovative theatre forms. The Drama Center was a leading institution of the former group, where plays by Yu TŭkHyŏng (1938- ), Ahn MinSu (1940- ) and

Oh TaeSŏk (1940- ) were received so positively it seemed sensational. Although their plays contained discourse on the “modernization of tradition,” their work took an avant-gardist and intercultural approach, as they were inspired by the West. The view is taken in this study that the mainstream scholarly critique of those ground-breaking productions, as a part of the modernization process, made it difficult for the Korean public and scholars to understand them.

The reason for this difficulty is that such labeling created a narrow lens for “tradition” instead of prioritizing its affinities with Western trends. MinYeh Theatre Company represented the other group, where Hŏh and Sohn experimented with a variety of indigenous traditions to create a

“minjok-gŭk” for contemporary Korean society. They aimed to revive or restore the characteristics of “the commoners” (“minjung”) through the kind of performance forms the lower classes, i.e., the majority of Korean patrons used to enjoy. Prior to the foundation of MinYeh, however, productions utilizing indigenous Korean culture were rare and the latter group was so much smaller that it was dubbed “the minor group” and described as “non-mainstream.” In fact, in the very beginning, those who sought to devise Koreannesque theatre in a style that would later be called “madanggŭk” seemed at first to share their directions with those who did it out of political zeal. This group of radical madanggŭk practitioners consisted of anti-modernization dissidents. Together with the pro-modernization Korean government, these dissidents had an

51 immense influence on the mainstream stage. These latter two groups presented unconventional theatrical styles which revived a “communal spirit” and the characteristics of ordinary Koreans.

During this period, various factions complicated matters in the sociopolitical context of

South Korea. The movement to modernize Korean traditions was complicated by the political situation and it revealed a sense of interconnectedness among these different parties who, each to a greater or lesser extent, appropriated traditions to achieve their goals. It is little wonder that proponents of these opposing parties, such as director Hŏh, Im ChinT’aek and the government approached indigenous performing arts with remarkably divergent agendas. Although it may have appeared to be a shared nationalist agenda that promoted indigenous legacy, the movement was highly heterogeneous: while the groups intersected in the beginning, they eventually clashed, if not directly opposed each other, as was the case with the government and the radical madanggŭk practitioners.

Although the directions and underlying motives of theatre makers differed from those of the government, governmental projects aimed at recognizing indigenous culture provided ample opportunities for the public to encounter a culture that had largely disappeared from cities. For instance, large-scale cultural events—such as the National Competition for P’ansori Singers and the National Folk Arts Competition (1958)—were centered in the capital, Seoul, but were broadcasted nationwide.79 For theatre practitioners based in the most urbanized city, Seoul, urban exposure to indigenous culture both directly and indirectly enhanced their theatrical experiences and helped them to obtain background information about indigenous materials used in theatre.

In a nutshell, during the decades of 1970 and 1980, the South Korean government, theatre scholars and practitioners as well as radical madanggŭk practitioners all participated in “inventing a tradition” as Eric Hobsbawm put it. Each party sought to restore, revive and develop Korea’s indigenous culture which had been discontinued for political reasons. In contrast to the earlier

52 ruling class members of the Chosŏn Dynasty—who argued that indigenous culture was harmful— and the leaders of the enlightenment movement in the nineteenth century—who argued that

Korea had no theatrical traditions—(Yu M., Status 20-2), the subjects of the 1970s asserted that

Korea had a rich cultural legacy that needed to be restored at national level.

The strongest appeal made to the king to ban theatres that can be found in existing documents was made by Lee P’ilHwa. This request led King Kojong to shut down HyŏpRyulsa, the country’s oldest theatre building built in 1902 (Yu M., New Theory 52-54). In his letter to

King Kojong in 1906, Lee P’ilHwa explained how theatre was harmful to the public. The very first indoor theatre building where p’ansori, movies, dances, etc. were hosted and staged,

HyŏpRyulsa, was closed after existing for only three and a half years. Although it reopened in

1908 under a new name, Wŏngaksa, it closed again soon afterwards.80

This negative perspective on theatre as an artistic genre only started changing when theatre became a tool of enlightenment for Korea through New Drama (shin’gŭk) movement in the 1920s. This chapter describes the contexts in which to place Sohn’s artistic approaches and how to distinguish him from his contemporaries. I discuss this in more detail in the next chapter,

Chapter 3.

2. Resources from Indigenous Korean Culture81

The traditional Korean equivalents of “theatre.” i.e., mask dance drama, puppetry, and p′ansori, fall into the broader category of “performance” as defined by Richard Schechner (28-

31). In this concept of “theatre,” traditional Korean performances, which had fallen outside the mainstream arts and were categorized as “yŏn’gŭk” ‘演戱,’ found a place within theatre academia.

Prior to that, a narrow categorization aligned with the vestiges of social division that has dominated Korean society for centuries, serving as a rationale for the absence of “theatre” in

Korea. In this study, I use “theatre” in this broad term together with “performance.”

The lack of official records about South Korea’s indigenous folk traditions resulted in extensive debates about the origins, authentic forms, themes and characterizations of each form of these traditions. Royal performances of the past strictly adhered to Confucian rules which were intended to develop desirable characteristics in people and were documented as part of royal events. In contrast, indigenous culture was deemed utterly base, vulgar, even unethical and thus unworthy of documentation. If any document existed about indigenous forms, as the letter by Lee

P’ilHwa demonstrates, it harshly criticized them and urged the rulers or Kings to eliminate the forms in order “to protect” the royal citizens from an evil culture (Shim W. 176).

Such historical accounts also attest to the fact that objections to performing certain art forms were based on the belief that these artistic genres contain irresistible power and could have an immense influence on the public. Later, while Syngman Rhee insisted on the abolition of theatre, his successor, President Park ChungHee (1917-1979), knew how to take advantage of ethnic culture to fortify and sustain his dictatorship. The 1970s were interesting because both the government and artists sought to revive Korean traditional culture.

In a ten-page long “Korea” section in his The Cambridge Guide to Asian Theatre (2004),

James R. Brandon explains that there are “two types of mask dance drama (purakje or village- festival plays) and various forms that originated in the court, collectively known as sandae-gŭk.”

Under “Genres,” he listed “Hahoe pyolsin-gut [kut], kkoktu gaksi, Ogwangdae (‘five performers’),

P′ansori, Pyolsandae (‘separate stage performance’), Sandae-gŭk (‘mountain or hillside ritual’) and Shingŭk, T’alch’um, Yaryu” (181). The tenth edition of Oscar Brockett’s History of World

Theatre (2008) also contains a section on Korean theatre, while the previous editions barely mentioned Korean theatre. This is a significant improvement from the 1980s, when there was only a six-line description stating “there are theatres like Tale of Ch’unHyang, Tale of

ShimChŏng, and Tale of ChangHwa HongNyŏn in South Korea.” (Hŏh K., “Understanding” 81).

Nonetheless, identifying the genres and categorizing various forms of Korean theatre are not as simple or clean-cut as these succinct entries would suggest. Lee TuHyŏn produced a pioneering publication on Korean theatre history which has been almost singularly adopted within

South Korean and International academia. This publication has been revised over time with regard to its categorization of Korean theatre genres. Also Sŏh YŏnHo, another recently retired but prolific researcher and writer on Korean theatre, has produced a proper theatre historiography that complements the previous and current scholarship.82 Micro-studies that focus on specific periods like the Chosŏn Dynasty era by Sah ChinShil also offer fresh viewpoints on the hardly studied pre-modern performing art forms of Korea.83 Thus, as the historiography on Korean theatre is in the process of being written and re-written, this study follows the generally accepted notions and knowledge on Korean theatre in a critical fashion. However, it should be noted that the history of modern Korean theatre is too convoluted to be approached with expectations of simplicity. Korean theatre suffered instability and suppression that impeded stable growth through its colonial experience followed by national war, partition, military regimes and rapid industrialization. In other words, “the continuity”—as Glassie argues to be the presupposition for a tradition —was marred in Korean society.

Despite the twentieth century’s belated interests in and efforts to investigate indigenous

Korean culture by Korean scholars, formulating Korean theatre history is a great challenge.84

Knowledge of the exact dates, place of origin and terms for surviving indigenous performances has been irretrievably lost, if any ever existed. While the royal palaces, until the late Chosŏn

Dynasty, enjoyed controlled forms of music and dance as documented by the court,85 the majority of other performing art forms were relished by the lower, predominantly peasant classes. The mask dance-drama, puppetry, shaman rituals, and songs and dances performed by and for the ordinary lower class people were passed on by individuals, often handed down by a father to his

55 children. The orality of the forms further complicates tracking their origins. Even the genre of p′ansori, which won audiences and sponsors among the middle class merchants, was strictly maintained through an apprentice system without a written textbook or a musical score. Many of the indigenous performance groups were itinerant, traveling around the country and adapting to different regional styles. This indicates the ever-changing quality of indigenous culture.

In this section, I introduce Sŏh YŏnHo’s categorization of the various forms that served as a component of the “modernization of tradition” movements in Korea in the 1970s and

1980s.86 Sŏh attempted to produce a chronological and at the same time stylistic account of

Korean theatre. This deviates from the conventional theatre historiography that only categorized

Korean theatre either by period or genres, leaving out several kinds of forms. Firstly, “Ancient

Theatre,” ranging from prehistory to the early tenth century, was comprised of ancient festivals,

Buddhist performances, ki-ak and mask plays. The festivals were held alongside national competitions. At national events—such as PuYŏh’s (200 B.C. – 494 A.D.) Yŏng-go, Koguryŏ’s

(37 B.C. – 668 A.D.) Tong-maeng, and Ye’s Much’ŏn—the entire nation would celebrate and participate in various kinds of interconnected events. These were primarily thanksgiving rituals to

Heaven, with influences from shamanism. During this time, ki-ak was formed and mask dance drama, also called “mask play” “tal-nori,” was performed. In the case of Buddhist performances, the Lotus Lantern Festival and P’alGwanHoe, which started in Unified Shilla, became the Koryŏ

Dynasty’s national festivals. These festivals were celebrated in GaeGyŏng (Seoul) every 15

October and in SŏGyŏng (PyŏngYang) every 15 November on the Lunar Calendar. During

P’alGwanHoe, a rite to an indigenous deity where participants would pray for the well-being of their country, the heads of villages across the country came to greet the king. The rite was accompanied by festivals with alcohol, food, and performances (“nori”). Foreign delegates or diplomats are known to have participated in those national festivals. The Lotus Lantern Festival

56 was a festival of light held every February on the Lunar Calendar to lighten up people’s hearts and thank Buddha for his guidance (Yun K. 158).

The next category, “Middle Age Theatre,” ranges from the Koryŏ Dynasty to the early

Chosŏn Dynasty and includes narye-hui, yŏndŭng-hui, puppetry (kkokktu gaksi), and sandae-hui.

The suffix “hui” (“희”) refers to play forms. It denotes performative events or forms close to performing arts that can’t exactly be categorized as “drama.” Narye refers to performances related to cleansing rituals, while sandae-hui refers to playful performances on a raised stage, “sandae.”

In contrast to the argument that sandae-hui is a mask dance drama, Cho TongIl argues that both refer to productions that include acrobatics, jest, dancing and singing (“Issues of Theatre History”

16). Sŏh similarly defined it as “an umbrella term for various performance forms presented on an elevated stage. […] it also contains a concept of playful forms” (146). The puppetry was performed by the itinerant troupe called Namsadang-p’ae, a group who terminated their nomadic activities unwillfully. However, their representative performances have been revived—by the government’s Important Cultural Asset system—preserved and are regularly being performed in

AnSeong, Gyeonggi-do Province.

Theatrical forms during the next era, “Close-to-Modern Theatre,” range from the mid- eighteenth century’s abolition of sandae-hui as a national performing art to the late nineteenth century. Mask dance drama (Pyŏlsandae-talnori) and puppetry continued from the previous period and p′ansori, kwangdae wuhui and itinerant kwangdae nori were prevalent. Interestingly, the performing arts sandae-hui and narye-huiwere abolished, and puppetry that survived from the

Middle Age period, received most attention from twenty-first century South Korean scholars and practitioners. Puppetry, or mask dance drama and p’ansori have been studied, preserved, and promoted as part of a treasured national cultural heritage, more than the oldest surviving forms of theatre in Korea.

The “Modern Theatre” was marked by the first national indoor theatre in 1902 until the outbreak of Korean War and during its aftermath in the 1950s. With the establishment of the theatres, HyŏpRyulsa and KwangMudae, in Seoul, there were many diverse performance forms.

These forms ranged from kiseng’s (female entertainers) music and dance performances to what is considered more theatrical plays, in the modern sense of the word. The transition from outdoor performing arts to western-influenced indoor theatre led to the creation of Korean opera, changgŭk. This was the very product of modernity related to p’ansori. In addition, probably the most ideologically and politically laden eras in Korean history the theatrical forms of this time also display strong political stances. The representative styles of this era were, shinp’a-jo-gŭk

(shinp’a style theatre), sashil-gŭk (realist drama), pro-gŭk (proletariat theatre), and taejung-gŭk

(popular theatre). Finally, under the heading of “Contemporary Theatre,” Sŏh included epic theatre, absurdist theatre, satire, ritualistic theatre, musical and madang-gŭk, which were frequently staged from the 1960s onward (Han’Guk 20).

It is noteworthy in the above categorization that prior to the “Modern Theatre” era (1902), except for the “Ancient Theatre,” theatrical performances were performed by, for, and among ordinary people. Before urbanization and westernization, South Korea was a clan society. In other words, each village was inhabited by families and descendants of a single clan. Within an extended family, matters such as births, marriages, funerals, and other occasions were prepared, celebrated, and managed by the entire household. Due to the relatively short life spans of the time, the first hundred days after birth and the first birthday were celebrated lavishly. For the same reason, the sixtieth, seventieth, eightieth, and ninetieth birthdays were celebrated extravagantly

(National Institute 152-154). In contemporary Korean society, these are still the greatest family events besides weddings, where even members of the extended family as well as friends are invited to celebrate. In the past and present, regardless of the household’s financial situation,

58 these birthday parties have always been celebrated with various events to bless the birthday person. Still, marriages and funerals are considered to be the main events in a person’s life and up to a thousand guests often attend. The traditional marriage, as a rite of passage, is comprised of six procedures where each stage of the wedding ceremony is known to follow certain philosophies. These are abnori madang (the opening scene), the candle lighting, the pre-rite, the main rite, washing hands, bowing, sharing water, reciting Ko’ch’ŏnmun, greeting the parents and guests and celebration madang and ending with the wedding procession of the newlyweds. For the abnori madang, it was a common occurrence to have a paid performance troupe who wore a large lion mask, which has now been substituted with the more common P’ungmul nori or indigenous instrumental performances. The fact that a wedding used the term “abnori madang” and “celebration madang” signals how the occasion was perceived as a celebratory event similar to a performance (Shim W.).

In the southern province of Jindo, people consider nori to be a crucial part of their funeral culture. Performed the night before the actual funeral ceremony, a short performance called Jindo

Tashiraegi87 is presented to ease sorrow. It is composed of group songs and a lively drama with a comic touch and is traditionally performed by two or three male adults, who are financially compensated by the family of the deceased. The story depicts an elderly married couple where the wife (“sadang”) briefly spends time with a monk. The husband becomes jealous and tries hard to separate them. The old wife eventually gives birth to a baby on the stage, signaling a life cycle where the old body returns to the earth and a new life is born (Cho T. Principle). The couple engages in rather bawdy conversations about somebody passing away, which is incongruent with the occasion. However, such a comic and sometimes bizarre story about loss or hardship is closely related to ordinary ethnic Korean’s traditional tendency to overcome their deep sorrow and grief through lively and comic performance.

Well into the late nineteenth century, Korea used to have a so-called “state religion” that followed dynastic change. The two most influential ones were Buddhism of the Koryŏ Dynasty

(918-1392) and Confucianism of the Chosŏn Dynasty. Different social strata adopted state religion to different degrees. While the royal families strictly adhered to the state religion, commoners and lower classes held folk beliefs closely related to shamanism. The shamanistic beliefs are known to have existed prior to the introduction of Buddhism and exercised their power even in royal spheres. Historical relics prove the existence of astrology and drawing lots and fortune telling that was associated with shamanic and animalistic beliefs (National Institute).

Even in the minds of present Korean nationals, a mixture of various religious beliefs probably exists. Even among today’s church-goers such culture seems to be exercising its power, despite church pastors’ occasional preaching against consulting shaman or tarot card readers.88

So far, the theatrical legacy from the “Ancient,” “Modern,” “Close-to-modern” eras have served as rich resources for the “modernization of tradition” trends by both the government and the theatrical sectors. The ancient tribal Lotus Lantern Festival has been revived by Buddhist associations and is celebrated annually in downtown Seoul. It features a huge procession of massive lanterns and monks that parade from Dong’guk University to ChoGye-sa Temple at

Chong’gak in Seoul. Instead of being celebrated in early February, as in the past, it is now celebrated close to Buddha’s birthday, 8 April, on the Lunar Calendar. Although Korea no longer has a state religion, the government acknowledges the traditional celebration of Buddha’s birthday and procession as a matter of cherishable national cultural heritage.

Despite the uneasiness of contemporary Korean people about its religious implications,

“kut” has—along with other indigenous forms i.e., mask dance drama, puppet theatre, and p’ansori—received fresh attention for its rich theatricality through research and the efforts of theatre and anthropological scholars. The term “kut” has transcended the commonly associated

60 meaning of “shaman ritual.” One of its multiple synonyms, “kutnori” (“shaman play”;

“communal play”), indicates the playfulness inherent in any indigenous performative event in

Korea. The presence of strong ritualistic power and playfulness in “kut” led to its frequent adaptations even in Western style theatre in Korea. Especially in the 1960s and 1970s when stages incorporated heavy use of allegory, metaphor and absurdism, “kut” and other indigenous forms were incorporated because of their non-realistic aspects.89

In a conscious reaction to the claim that shamanism is a vicious superstitious practice that should be terminated, scholars with affinities for anthropology and folklore studies like Shim

WuSŏng, argue that “tangkut (당굿)” is an indigenous folk ritual that differs from superstition.

“Tangkut” consists of “kut of welcoming gods” that opens the ritual by inviting specific gods appropriate to the venue, followed by “ponp’uri” “the main performance.” During this main performance, the shaman narrates how the Mr. Pugun-nim (husband) and the Mr. Mountain God used to be ordinary people just like the villagers, but gained supernatural powers after going through various kinds of hardships while fighting the enemy of the people. This is then followed by the next stage, “hajŏng kut” and finally by the last stage “wrap up kut” that marks the climax with song, dance and food (124). Such recognition of unspecified gods in the initiation of an event can be seen in various types of indigenous performances in Korea, be it music, dance, mask dance drama or kut. Deeply immersed among these artistic genres, such religious implications are being revived in national or international events as a reflection of Korean culture. During the opening ceremony of the 1988 Seoul Olympics, for instance, the Dragon Drum, after the pre- opening event on the Han River, was delivered to the main stadium in JamShil. Then it was explained that the performances at the main stadium were intended to cleanse the area of all evil spirits to prepare the venue for the important event.90 The performance titles reveal strong resonances from Korean indigenous performance such as kut, dance, and other kinds of rites.

In his efforts to rationalize the harmlessness of kut, Shim also notes how indigenous faith and “foreign religion (Buddhism, Taoism, Confucianism) were always dependent on each other”

(126). Korean folk beliefs are largely divided into two types, according to believers: communal village beliefs and private personal beliefs. The communal village beliefs includes “tangkut,”

“changsŭng kut,” and “sottae kut.” Personal beliefs include ceremonies of blessings or other matters for individuals or family members. The most frequently performed rituals are “chesu- kut,” “sŏngju-kut,” “ogu-kut,” “saja-kut,” and “mangja-kut” (125) that are performed for the deceased and have been widely adapted into contemporary Korean music and theatre.91 Tangkut was not merely a ritual but a religious passage that also served as a venue where people discussed about their present and their future (1).

The terms for “mask(ed) dance drama” vary according to different regions in Korea. The five representative mask dance dramas—i.e., PongSan T’alch’um, YangJu PyŏlSandae, KoSŏng

OkwangDae, SuYŏng YaRyu, KwanNo Kamyŏn’gŭk—are all named by combining the name of its region of origin and suffixes like “t’alch’um,” “pyŏlsandae” and “ga’myŏn-gŭk,” which all mean “mask dance drama.”92 The masks also vary in materials used (wood, paper, and gourd), character type and size. Despite the regional differences, their shared similarities depict the traits of Korean mask dance drama. Having great religious influences from both shamanic and

Buddhism, the preparation process and post-performance event reflect superstitious belief. For instance, the making of a mask was considered “sacred” according to the Hŏh To’ryŏng legend

(Hŏh K. Muldoridong). When the village HaHoe experienced disaster, one of the young men in the village, Hŏh To’ryŏng, prayed every night for relief from this crisis. A deity appeared to the man in a dream and ordered him to make twelve masks and perform a ritual while wearing the masks he made. To ensure success, the maker Hŏh had to cleanse himself with purified water and abstain from women, so he worked on the masks in a secluded place. When a woman secretly

62 caught a glimpse of him, he instantly died. As a communal event, the entire village had to take heed of the rules, perform without mistakes and take responsibility for the outcome.93

The origin of t’alch’um is subject to debate like other indigenous performance forms.

Different regions in Korea, i.e., both South and North Korea, hold their versions of dance-drama with distinctive styles. Because mask dance-drama was passed down orally and individually from person to person—like other forms of dance and song, where the expert performer or master alters lines or movement—following the original version is almost impossible. So, instead of attempting to locate the original, attempts have been made to trace and document different versions. This was accomplished by observing performances or masters of particular characters or dance movements. With the suffix “-bon” (본 “style”), as in the case of p’ansori, surviving versions devised by a maestro is referred to by his or her full name and “-bon.” The fact that the compilation of the narratives and lines of characters only started around the late nineteenth and the early twentieth century, adds difficulty to identifying the earlier forms.

Initial studies on t’alch’um also focused on the theme, structure, and characters according to the Cambridge School. The seasonal cycle, confrontations between opposites such as man- woman, old-young master-servant were linked to the depiction of dramatic characters and their relationships (Kim W.D. 44). T’alch’um has been continuously examined with theories such as carnivalesque, farce, epic theatre and commedia dell’arte that share the esprit of the people

(“minjung-sŏng”) (Im Ch.; Lee S.).

Meanwhile, artists paid attention to the theatricality and aesthetic traits that were in great contrast to the Aristotelian principles prevalent on the 1970s’ Korean stages. In other words—in contrast to the presence of serious, tense and logical elements in realist drama that promoted dramatic illusions—contemporary Korean theatre, based on indigenous performances, aimed to pay homage to fun and almost supernatural sentiments. This is accomplished by enhancing shared 63 psychological and emotional experiences among audiences. Also, compared to an Aristotelian climactic structure, Korean indigenous arts had episodic and loose structures. The popularity of t’alch’um—because of its clear presence of “conflict,” a major element in Aristotelian principle— soon made way for the epic singing drama, or p’ansori, as the main source for creating a contemporary theatre. The stereotypical flat characters with utterly episodic plot without refined logic caused frequent debates around the legitimacy of mask dance drama as a proper “theatre.” Also its scripts were not available until the 1960s when scholars directly transcribed the lines while observing performances. In contrast, p’ansori had rich classic novel repertoires handy from which the performances could directly draw.

P′ansori, a solo singer’s performance that has various English definitions, has its first surviving documentation in the poem The Song of Ch’unHyang (1754).94 The noun is a coinage between “p’an” and “sori,” where “pan” means place where several people are gathered and

“sori” meaning singing or song. Until about a decade ago, p′ansori was not regarded as a type of

“theatre.” Heated debates developed among the Korean literature scholars, Korean musicologists, and a few theatre scholars, each of whom argued that p′ansori was either a genre of literature, music originating from shaman songs, or a kind of theatre.95

Such debates, as Marshall R. Pihl describes, had to do with the lower status of p’ansori:

The earliest references to p’ansori as it is known today come from writings left by aristocrats, who, as the literate elite, were the only members of Chosŏn-period culture ith the means to make their observations part of the permanent record. (93)

The current understanding of p′ansori as a kind of theatre is due in part to the studies of its theatricality and the examination of Shin ChaeHyo’s “Song of Clown/Actor (Kwangdae-ka) (ca.

1875).” Shin ChaeHyo, born as “a petty bureaucrat with a literary background, his […] influence on the canonization of p’ansori was massive” (Park Ch’ 72). In addition to Shin’s account on the four elements of p′ansori, namely “character/appearance,” “sasŏl,” “dŭk ŭm,” and “nŏŭkm sae,”

64 the focus on “aniri” (spoken passage), “bal-lim” (gesture), and “ch’u-im-sae” (response) have contributed to p’ansori’s rich theatricality. The theatricality of p′ansori is perceived to be more similar to prophetic songs or wandering poet’s songs than to the conventional theatre, since it is a solo performance with heavy narrative (34-35).

Although p′ansori won scholarly and practical attention for its extended parodies on the ruling class, studies focused primarily on its literary elements and characteristics. While much of the existing literary studies on p′ansori refer to its shamanistic origins, some musicologists and artists like Paik TaeWung, a composer and scholar, decisively refute this point of view. Instead,

Paik claims, p′ansori is primarily music and song that cannot be understood by the lyrics alone

(58). These musicologists focus on the musical structure, beat, grace notes and “i’myŏn” that refers to something that actually means more than it appears on the surface.96 Such studies are helpful because they examine the musical forms to determine suppositions, whereas the literary scholars focus on documenting the p′ansori lyrics sung by only some individual artists and regard them as “fixed” texts. Even Shakespearean plays demonstrate that the documented speeches and songs are not only subject to error but are also prone to regular changes. Since p′ansori maestros took the liberty of altering small parts of the lyrics and inventing their own styles to sing certain dramatic parts, determining one finalized version of a text is unrealistic. Recently, such literary- based or text-oriented studies on Korean indigenous performance culture are being avoided as

Sŏh YŏnHo and his former students have started emphasizing that such performances with episodic structure should not be measured by Western plot structure anymore.

After the long, extensive, and even exhaustive debates among scholars of Korean literature and p′ansori practitioners, the focus has finally shifted to its performative elements. The implication was that it was slowly being acknowledged as a performance art.97 Reconsidering p′ansori as a type of performing art increased Korean confidence by refuting the former claim

65 that Korea had no theatre tradition prior to the import of Western dramas. The p′ansori performance consists of sasŏl and aniri, where the former refers to verse, and the latter prosaic expression. In an attempt to identify the relationship between ch’ang and aniri, various scholarly considerations have been made. Park IlYong notes that

The ch’ang (唱) and aniri contradict each other, as the former is in a psychological or confessional dialogue form, used to create tragic beauty (悲劇美), while the latter in presentational dialogue form, used to direct create satiric/humorous beauty (滑稽美). They appear inversed according to the content or dramatic characters. Also, the more frequent the narrative ch’ang (that helps the events progress) appears, the less presentational dialogue-like ch’ang or aniri appears (qtd. in World of P′ansori 17).

Instead of being mere song, the existence and function of ch’ang and aniri became the grounds for p’ansori’s dramatic quality. Recently, various attempts have been made to analyze non- literary aspects of p′ansori.98 For instance, in his article “What is P′ansori?” Kim TaeHaeng breaks it down into the form as “language culture,” “music culture,” “performing arts culture,” and “a folk (or people’s) culture” (13-32). Kim describes p′ansori as “a story sung as a song” that displays contrasting storytelling styles, both presentational (提示的) and representational

(表象的) (17-18). Such co-existence of two contradictory qualities is meant to reflect the

“doubleness” of human nature.99 Not only the musical components, ch’ang (창), but also the narrative parts, sasŏl (사설), undergo alterations as they are adapted over time. The drum beats also have variations on the seven basic beats, where the quality depends on the drummer’s skill.

While earlier scholars disregarded the drummer and perceived p’ansori to be a solo performance, later scholars called attention to the crucial function of the drummer, who is more than mere accompanist. To be specific, the success of drumming lies in the degree to which the drummer harmonizes with the singing style of the singer. In other words, the drum accompanist acts as a representative audience and links to the audience.100 The frequently used phrase “one, drummer; two, master singer” (i.e., most importantly, you need a skilled drummer, secondly, you need a 66 talented singer) states the importance of the drummer in a p′ansori performance. However, from the perspective of the audience, the singer is probably the most prominent party. The importance of the drummer is reflected in today’s practice by crediting the drummer and the singer in each p’ansori performance.

The function of aniri and ch’ang to suggest the theatricality of p′ansori are thoroughly explained by Pihl:

The spoken aniri passages are often loosely structured and serve as bridges between songs, scenes, and juxtaposed events. They are also a means of delivering dialogues in which the characters exchange numerous short lines. The sung chang passages are built around single themes involving little action or dialogue and stand out as well-formed structures with their own internal integrity. When used as the vehicle for a monologue, a chang is sung in the first person of the character involved. As a descriptive passage, it becomes an objective third-person account of people, actions, places, goods, and so forth. On the whole, a given aniri passage is more apt to be related to the following chang than to the one that comes before. That is, it sets the scene for a chang, rather than resulting from one. (Singer of Tales 86) (emphasis added by author.)

As Pihl notices, the performer alternates between a first- and third-person account. More precisely, he provides a relatively short third-person account, setting a scene for the following song (ch’ang). This narrative account prepares the song by setting up a context, enabling the audience to visualize the content. Whether the song depicts splendid scenery, a dialogue or action between two or more people, the alternation between the narrative and song enables a smooth presentation of dramatic action:101

As mentioned, dialogue appears in both aniri and chang [ch’ang] passages. While speeches in aniri passages come in comparatively short, give-and-take bursts, those in chang passages are more apt to be extended statements. Although the [86] chang is basically a vehicle for the lines of one character, two may sometimes (but not commonly) share the same chang. More typically, when two characters are exchanging long statements, each is given his own chang, sung in a rhythm appropriate to his temperament and the content of his speech. The two chang are linked by a bridging line, spoken in the persona of the narrator that marks the change of character. (86-87)

The theatricality of p′ansori is also displayed in the varying styles of enactment. As Pihl noticed, the p′ansori performer sings in “a rhythm appropriate to his [the character’s] temperament and the 67 content of his speech” (87). Whether the performer is a male or female, he or she utilizes the tone, timber, pitch of voice that characterizes a character, while accentuating the speed and manner of a specific song. Rich theatricality is achieved through the multiple changes in the speed and rhythm of song, referred to in Korean as “chinyangjo,” “chungmŏri,” “chung-jungmŏri” and

“chajinmŏri.” The seven primary drum beats are chinyangjo (24 pak), chungmori (12 pak), chungcjungmori (12 pak), chajinmori (4 pak), and whimori (4 pak) (Kim K.H. 31-69). The above mentioned four tempos are the basics in Korean traditional music and can be described as the foundation for any indigenous performance. Whether it is sung as in p′ansori or folk songs

(minyo), or played as accompaniment to mask dance-drama, puppetry or physical activities, it cannot be denied that the music itself contains a great theatricality. When combined with song, dance or drama, this theatricality is enhanced. In addition to the speed and the rhythm, the key of the (cho) p′ansori also affects the mood and sentiment of a particular scene or character. Similar to the western harmonic tone, kye’myŏn requires appropriate performance, whether it is sung, spoken, danced, or merely instrumental. In a sense, the speed and key of the music function as stage directions, fulfilling the role of a director when there was traditionally no separate personnel serving as a “director.”

Like Japanese Noh, which originated as an art form of commoners and “got refined through centuries of contact with aristocratic milieu” (Hŏh K., “Oriental Theatre” 182), Korean p′ansori, if not the mask dance drama as well, also eventually gained embellishments and were refined to cater to the sophisticated tastes of the yangban audiences. These performances became much more refined due to its contact with the yangban class. Still, p’ansori is a fundamentally folk-oriented performance in that its language, narrative style, characters, and actions thoroughly reflect the life of ordinary people. The content “seems to deal with people or events far from real life, yet it deals with realistic and ordinary people and events. The audiences butt in the

68 performance as if they are meeting acquaintances from their neighborhood” (Chŏng H.Y., “Song”

228-9).

Kkokktu-gaksi, the best known traditional puppetry in Korea, has survived as part of

Namsadang-nori performance sequences. The origin of the Namsadang Troupe is estimated to be around the beginning of the 1900s; a performance group spontaneously formed among the people.

This was prevalent until the 1990s or even through the mid-2000s. Korean studies centered on the origin of the form and meaning of the word “kkokktu” (“face”; “mask”; “puppet”). Still, like many other indigenous Korean arts, the origin of puppetry in Korea is unknown. The present term

“in-hyŏng-gŭk” (lit. “puppet drama/theatre”) is a general term for any performance performed with puppets including Western types of performances. As p′ansori had different names, puppetry was referred to as “goeroe” and “kwak-dok” in the distant past. The current name of “kkok-tu” as in “kkok-tu-gak-si norum” is regarded as having the same origin as the Chinese “kwak-dok” (Sŏh,

Han’Guk 91). Documentation exist on Korean puppetry in the form of poems by Sŏng Hyŏn from the fifteenth century, Park SŭngIm from the mid-sixteenth century and Kang ICh’ŏn from the late eighteenth century. These works offer glimpses of the content and shape of the performances of their times (95-97).

Japanese rulers prohibited the activity of Namsadang from 1927, so the group started to refer to itself after its leader Kkoktusoe, formed by adding “~p’ae” ‘troupe’ (99). Sohn

JinCh’aek’s use of “madangnori-pae” can be seen as an application of this tradition, retaining the idea of a professional performance troupe. In Sohn’s The Tale of HŏhSeng madangnori (1981), the narrator was named “kkoktusoe.” The director Lee YunT’aek, whose life and work will be examined in the next chapter, Chapter 3, referred to himself as “kkoktusoe” on the website of his theatre company. Current Korean puppetry is performed by the Namsadang troupe in AnSeong and by the Preservation Association of Park Ch’ŏmJi Nori (101). The original or earlier forms can

69 only be guessed at, based on a few documents. Efforts to reconstruct or conjecture the original form of a certain genre of scene is always challenging.

In contrast to the court performances, (i.e.,dances, orchestra, and mask dance drama that was invited to perform at palaces during the Chosŏn period), where the king and royal ruling class sat in their designated places at the palace or royal venues, the folk performances, collectively named “minsok nori,” were playful activities. All community members could participate in the lively performance. Unlike the former type that strictly adhered to rules, the latter performance type was freely enjoyed in a relaxing environment. The free and unrestrained frenzied quality of Korean indigenous performance also led to the word “nanjang” to describe a performance and “nanjang-p’an” which has become a definite noun for “chaotic state” and “a mess” in current society. This is a quality that Korean directors Oh T’aeSŏk and Lee Yun T’aek frequently adopt in their theatre.

While p′ansori and mask dance drama have been surrounded by heated debates, so were shaman kut, and other Korean indigenous performing arts. They usually follow the cycle of kilnori (procession)—kosa—mudŭng dance. There are also “seven scenes” that serves as the foundation of a shaman performance, and the commonly found structure is similar to p’ansori and certain types of mask dance drama. In addition to the elements and their various functions as possible sources for theatre, indigenous aesthetics have offered Korean artists and scholars room for validating uniquely Korean characteristics if not present in other Asian performing arts (Kim

K.H.).

“P’an” is a noun that is used both as a prefix and suffix, as seen in p’an-sori, p’an-nori, norum-p’an (gambling), and sal-p’an. The Korean dictionary defines the term “p’an” as follows:

1) a place, a ground/site; 2) the state of affairs, the situation, the circumstances; 3) the moment; the occasion, the case; 4) a match, a game, a contest, a round. The word can be used by itself or as

70 a prefix or a suffix, as in the cases of “p’an-sori” and “kut-p’an.” P′ansori is a compound of

“p’an” and “sori” where “p’an” means “a place, a ground/site” and “sori” means “sound, song.”

In this entry, “p’an” signals the physical place for a singer/performer to present his/her repertory, free of being bound to a specific locality. As Ch’an E. Park notes, p′ansori was performed wherever the singer/performer put his straw mat, on which he stood and an accompanist sat nearby with a drum. In this case, the simultaneously abstract and concrete location of “p’an” was created by the straw mat. “Kutp’an” also refers both to “a place/site kut is being or to be held” and “the performance or a phase of kut.” Similarly, sports like wrestling or video and card games are referred to as “a pan of wrestling/game.” Thus the word “p’an” is both concrete and abstract in the same manner as “madang.” As the word “p’an-nori” demonstrates, “p’an” is more than an abstract term for a place that is open to the public on various occasions (Voices 1).

“Nori,” along with the word “p’an,” and “han,” is a purely Korean word, or, at least not a word derived from Chinese vocabulary. In contrast to the Western etymological origin of

“theatre” ‘teatron,’ “a seeing place,” Korean indigenous performances, like many other Asian performances, emphasize the human instinct to play, as from homo ludens. While the form and meaning of “theatre” as a constructed place or building for live performance did not exist in pre- modern Korea, there were abundant plays in various forms of communal events. For instance, some types of the shaman ritual kut are seen as “kut-nori,” which has a strong entertainment function in addition to rituals or exorcisms. Commonly translated as “exhilaration,”

“enthusiasm,” or “cheerfulness” in English, “hŭng” (흥) has been associated with Korean temper, identified as a propelling characteristic of inborn nature. Heather Willoughby in her observation of p’ansori stated that “the concept of han underlies one core of Korean existence” (28), that is characterized as “an aesthetic” and as “a sentiment.” In p’ansori, the idea of han is performed

71 through a combination of “text, rhythmic patterns, melodic modes, and physical gestures” (18) of the performer/singer.

The intimate relationship between indigenous ritualistic performance and the notion of

“play” (nori) marks the characteristics of communal festivities. At the same time, this coexistence of contrasting elements is an important characteristic of Korean art. Just as the two contradictory natures “han” and “shinmyŏng,” identified as the most compelling characteristics of Korean ethnic groups, demonstrate, both Korean people and their culture are thought to consist of two contrasting elements. “Han (恨),” which can be translated as “sorrow,” points to varying levels of oppression within the country and from outside forces – the greatest incident being Japanese colonization –, that has permeated in dance, music, poetry, literature and paintings.102

“Shinmyŏng” literally meaning “god-spirit” that suggests becoming one with the heavenly god: god and human are not separated, they are one (Cho T., Principle 357). This is similar to a

Dionysian feast where individuals cast away all earthly concerns and dance in an almost trance- like way. Even in contemporary Korean culture, shinmyŏng is frequently associated with the inevitable and fundamental element of true Koreanness that translates into “playfulness.”

The eum-yang principle, localized from the Chinese yin-yang, explains that most Korean performance aesthetics contain two opposing characters that complement each other. In the case of music like p′ansori, it is structured as an alteration between the “sending/giving song” and the

“taking song” within one single repertory. In the case of folk songs (minyo), a lead singer sings a solo and the rest of the group echoes or sings together with the lead singer. Overall in music, the intricate alteration between two contrasting natures such as fast/slow, strong/soft, poly/mono, and lively/sluggish, demonstrate the harmony of eum-yang. In the case of a dance that is performed to music, the same pattern of changing tempos can be found. This is well utilized in Sohn’s madangnori.

In terms of stylistic characterization, all existent forms are known to have actively reflected the current society in which each form was or is taking place. For instance, mask dance drama contains the dramatic character of Monk that was devised during the Koryŏ Dynasty, while the royal Yangban character dates from the later Chosŏn Dynasty. Likewise, p’ansori, or p’ansori singers, to be more exact, were keenly aware of the social needs of their time and cleverly adapted to public demands. That it contains a lot of refined phrases and highly educated vocabulary and wording are known to date back to the late Chosŏn Dynasty when p’ansori was being invited into upper class houses and performed in front of highly educated people.103 In other words, indigenous popular arts were never distant from public tastes and demands. Constant change was natural and in fact, expected. In contrast, the government initiated promotion of tradition involved excavating and preserving indigenous forms across the country. The forms were meant to be preserved and passed on without any alteration, which was against the inherent nature of indigenous culture. More details will be provided and discussed in the following section.

3. The Cultural Contexts in South Korea and Discourse on Tradition: 1900s-1980s

Confucianism, as an ideological device, controlled every aspect of life in Korea well through the twentieth century, where remnants of this ideology are still seen and felt to this day.

Although there was a time when the royal palace invited a few performances involving elements of mask dance-drama, acrobatics, and puppetry to the national or royal festivities, they were eventually discontinued due to their alleged vulgarity. To the Confucian ruling class, the loud volume, overly dramatic physical movements, and bawdy dialogues violated the Confucian ethics of serenity and controlled demeanor. The long adherence to Confucius Chosŏn’s rules for society was deeply ingrained in the Korean mindset, exercising its power in every aspect of life and cultural activities.

As Illustrated Text on Traditional Music (1493) explains, rules demanded that upper class nobility follow the Confucian principle regarding the creation and enjoyment of music, dance, and other performing arts.104 The principle covered history, instruments, tuning methods, performance technique, the number of dancers, basic movements, accompanying movements, ways to manufacture props and more. The section on performance in The Book of Yegi

(禮記 LiChi) prescribes how music (or its performance) needs to be in accordance with decorum,

“ye” (Park Ch’. 189). In addition to the physical and mental segregation between the ruling class and the commoners that controlled their cultural mingling, such moral or ideological code of manners from the Chosŏn era caused an irrevocable gap between the two social sectors.

Throughout twentieth century Korea, the popularization of the cultural practices previously associated with the lower class remained regarded as harmful to society, despite the abolishment of the upper and lower social class system in 1895 due to the Kabo Reform.

Traditional Korean performances, or “yŏn-hee” ‘演戱’, were directly associated with members from the lowest class of society. This included those who made a living through physical labor, traditionally the least honorable professions. The contents of the work was also mostly aimed to entertain people with song, dance, gesture, and witty narratives, in forms and content reminiscent of the vaudeville and burlesque in the West. For the former upper class, the code of conduct to suppress rather than vent emotions still continued. To them, the free-spirited theatrical arts which invited laughter and loud reactions with vulgar language were completely unacceptable. Thus, the dichotomy of royal, dignified, upper class culture and common, vulgar, lower class culture conveniently turned to that of highbrow/lowbrow culture.

Similar to the Western highbrow/lowbrow division but exercising that power to a much more profound degree, Confucianism differentiated artistic activities according to the social status.

This was accompanied by strict codes of conduct. The two most influential social classes were

74 noblemen and commoners despite the fact that noblemen constituted a minute percentage of the

Korean demography of the time. Noblemen included kings’ relatives, and those from royal blood, while commoners included merchants, servants and slaves. Social status was passed down paternally, but the children of the other women or concubines did not earn full respect or recognition, even if the father were a nobleman. Adhering to the strict social codes of decorum and customs of the times, the noblemen had privileges that well surpassed that of the poorly treated lowest commoners of the time. It is important to acknowledge that the lowest social classes also included shamans and butchers. Their treatment was even worse than that of private servants and household laborers. The two groups were not permitted to share anything with one another, from eating and clothing to customs and culture. Naturally, the theatrical performances by the lowest social class existed within the boundaries of the low to middle classes, something which the noble classses avoided.

Richard Nichols succinctly summarizes the status of drama/performing arts during the

Chosŏn Dynasty:

A dominating, conservative noble class whose Neo-Confucian values related theatre and its performers to the lowest stratum of society; an agrarian economy and the absence of a sizable, financially secure merchant middle class; the absence of large urban populations; touring companies of farmer-performers that could not perform year-round; the popularity of traditional theatre forms among the lower classes; and the lack of buildings specifically designed for theatre performance. (Nichols “Introduction” 1)105 (English by Nichols)

In Korea, both the practice of artistic performance and its academic investigation have intimately developed with strict social class divisions. Well into the early twentieth century, interaction between the royal yangban (양반) and the low commoners (평민) was rare. Each social class had its own festivities and performances, although some national festivities were celebrated at the same time. The Royal families held court and inner circle performances at home. They hired professional performers to entertain them. Those who were lower than the royal families, but still 75 belonged to the upper class, also hired performers for music, dance, and jest. The relationship was strictly between performer and viewer, as the two sides did not mingle socially. Open or loud reactions were considered impertinent. Adhering to Confucius principles, the royal sector promoted music as a proper artistic genre while theatrical performances, devised by lower class performers, were regarded as vulgar. In contrast, the low commoners mingled in festivities, creating an intimate communal atmosphere and made performance part of their daily lives. For them, it was more than a mere pastime. These indigenous performances provided them with an outlet for the discriminatory treatment and physically straining labors they suffered in their daily lives. This joyous atmosphere encouraged villagers to bear hardships and stimulated positive thoughts and feelings.

This class division even existed outside the royal social strata. Commoners kept a distance from the lowest social group, shamans, who were in charge of holding shamanic rituals and performances.106 Additionally, the “kwangdae,” professional performers of p’ansori, mask dance drama, and other indigenous performances, were looked down upon and regarded as strictly separate from “ordinary” people (Park Ch’ 31). This separation of social classes and the strict etiquette that had to be adhered to in accordance with each class can be said to have continued well into the twentieth century. It affected public reception of theatre performed by members of the lowest classes. Throughout the twentieth century, Korean upper class intellectuals actively imported Western realist drama on the grounds that Korea was “lacking a tradition of drama.”107 Under the strict division of the highbrow/lowbrow system, traditional performances related to agriculture or seasonal events were entirely disregarded as “pre-modern” activities unworthy of serious consideration. Scholars, as the elite of Korean society, only acknowledged the aristocratic cultural legacy and showed contempt for the vernacular kinds. A similar theme could be observed in academia: different categorical terms delineated indigenous theatrical

76 performance and western-influenced ones. While the performances by the professionals who originally performed outdoors were categorized as either “performance” (“yŏnhee”) or “popular entertainment” (“taejung orak-mul”),108 the students and scholars of Western literature diligently studied and staged drama and theatre that received the title of “proper-” or “legitimate drama”

(“chŏng’gŭk” 정극).

Once the class system in the late Chosŏn Dynasty was abolished, Japanese colonization was at the forefront of destroying Korean indigenous performing arts on the grounds that it was primitive and obscene. The main accusation, against indigenous performing arts, was that anything against the modernizing process should be demolished.109 However, the actual reason behind “prohibiting any kinds of accompaniment festival (大同祭) and militant activities […] that accompany the accompaniment festival, was because [Japan] thought such folk performances would interfere with the occupation of this country” (Shim W. 127).

Modern drama between 1902 and 1959 was never free from political oppression, where the censorship by the Japanese rulers, the censorship during the American […], and the censorship during the ruling of [the Liberal Party] […]. (Sŏh Modern 44)

Both voluntarily and involuntarily, by both Koreans and by Japanese, Japanese shimp’a and shingeki were introduced to Korea mostly as local adaptations, with the setting and characters changed to those familiar to Koreans. Until then, ch’anggŭk was at its peak, but because of the

Japanese occupation, it made way for the very melodramatic shinp’a written after the form of the

Japanese novel. This was intended to almost force audiences to tears. Shinp’a was very influential, even after independence from Japan. Later, Korean theatre historians assessed that it was a necessary evil. It made room for oppressed Korean nationals to vent, through tears, a history interpreted differently according to one’s point of view. However, the shinp’a style was so strong,

77 even into the 1990s, that criticisms on shinp’a style acting were frequently heard or read in the theatre sector in Korea (Lee Y.T., “On Popular”).

Nichols explains further that, in Korea, there was no “drama” in the Western sense, leaving a void: Thus dramatic literature, the written text that inspires and shapes theatre performance, was, perforce, modern for Koreans at its inception around 1910 because it had no ‘classical’ forebears. (“Intro” 2)

The period under Japanese colonization shows contradictory stances toward Korean indigenous culture. While the Japanese government strictly controlled or suppressed gatherings and performances by force because they feared riots, they actively carried out studies of Korean culture and traditions (Paik H. 114). It was in line with the Japanese tendency to gain comprehensive knowledge of a colony: research on demography, geology, plants, and more was conducted to gather facts about Korea. At the same time, colonization led to a renewed adherence, among Korean nationals, to Confucian ideology.

During the latter half of the period of colonization, the Dramatic Art Circle (1931-1939) formed by Korean college students who studied in Tokyo took the lead in Korean theatre. Sŏh

YŏnHo formulated six “cultural foundations for the formation of modern drama”:

First, the direct influence of Japanese theatre after it arrived in Korea

Second, environmental conditions became favorable due to changes in cultural policies after the establishment of a Residency-General

Third, productions became more frequent with the establishment of new theatres by Korean people.

Fourth, the fact that nobility and student groups became new audience members

Fifth, the Enlightenment Thought transformed ideas about theatre

Lastly, the unity movement of speech and writing as well as the publication of novels sparked the theatre movement. (Modern 33)

The Korean War followed the physical and psychological dominance of Koreans by

Japanese colonizers and devastated the Korean peninsula. The founding of the first national theatre in Korea enabled “Korean early modern drama [to] at last proceed with a clear objective of establishing minjok-gŭk 民族劇” (Yu M., History of Korean Theatre Movements 351). The so- called “pro-writers” who chose communist North Korea over democratic South Korea has been the objective of these movements:

In the five years following World War II, theatre in South Korea was marked by two significant events: the founding of the Theatre Arts Association (Kuk-yesul Hyŏphoe) in 1947 and the establishment of the National Theatre in 1950. The former was organized by shingŭk artists under the leadership of Yu Ch’iJin to counter left-wing theatre. The National Theatre was created by the government to promote nationalistic theatre and to advance theatrical exchange with foreign nations. (Brandon 186) (English by Brandon.)

With the objective of restoring social stability and developing national power, the South Korean government under President Park ChungHee launched an array of promotional events. This included a kite-flying competition (1956), re-enactment of the Kwagŏ (the highest state exam during the Koryŏ and Chosŏn Dynasty) (1957), national archery competition (1958), wrestling competition, and Sijo (ancient style poetry), a composition competition.

As Korean writers and artists encountered the Western theatre form—mostly through the practices and studies conducted in Japan during the 1920s—two opposing viewpoints on theatre were formed. The first viewpoint was held by those in line with the shin-gŭk movement that showed reverence to Western realist drama and stated clearly that there was no theatre tradition in

Korea (Chang W., Irish 42).110 The second viewpoint was held by those who paid attention to

Korean folk and indigenous culture and argued that these cultural elements were valuable Korean cultural assets that should be cherished and developed. The chaotic national state of Korea added to the unfortunate situation of the South Korean cultural realm. Throughout the 1960s, numerous performers and performances were regularly being “discovered,” “found,” and “revived,” many of which were then given titles of “Intangible Cultural Assets” (“mu’hyŏng munhwa’jae”). 79

Scholars perceived the most important accomplishment in Korean theatre history of the 1950s to be the establishment of the first national theatre building in Myŏng-dong.

The 1960s-1970s’ government policies and cultural projects received conflicting assessments, due to its highly appropriate nature. Sŏh Y.H. commented that the constitution of the

Cultural Properties Protection Law (文化財保護法) in 1962 was “the very first administrative effort to protect cultural properties since the foundation of the [Korean] government,” marking

“an innovative meaning” together with the opening of the Office of Cultural Properties

(文化財管理局) in 1961 (Contemporary 57). On the contrary, Paik H. observes “it was a process to bring all tangible and intangible cultural assets under the powerful control of the government.

As a result, culture was assessed and appropriated by a political objective, causing the

“fossilization of traditional culture and arts” (“1950s-60s” 60). Most blame for this “cessation of cultural evolution” often falls on the Important Intangible Cultural Assets System implemented in

1962.

The Cultural Law, passed in 1961, paralyzed Korean theatre activities. The pre- censorship system and performance law directly attacked Korean theatre. Performances in places other than a licensed theatre building were strictly forbidden due to the government’s sensitivity over the increasing occurrence of anti-governmental demonstrations and performances. In order to control the contents of cultural events and productions, the government required every performance to take place in a venue officially registered as a theatre. Violation was subject to arrest. The most well-known and unfortunate case is that of The Café Theatre. A small café was founded in 1969 by the currently practicing costume designer Lee PyŏngBok (b.1927). The Café

Theatre sold beverages during the day and housed small-scale plays in the evenings. This marked a ground-breaking time in Korean theatre history which opened up an unconventional performance space and filled the needs of financially destitute theatre artists.111 From p’ansori

80 and samulnori to small-sized madanggŭk, performances that hardly had any financial sources, found life-saving venues to present themselves. Although none of the performances are known to have been political or anti-governmental, Lee was arrested for the violation of the Production

Law in 1960, signaling an end to the small theatre practice.

Similarly, the South Korean government of the time deemed madanggŭk performances to be unlawful since they hardly ever attempted to obtain permission to perform and often performed outdoors, in auditoriums, plazas, and churches, all of which were traditionally non- theatre locations. In his Modern Theatre, Yu M.Y. asserted how the controlling rules of the

Japanese Government General of Korea during the Japanese colonization lasted until 1982 under the name of “Revised Performance Law.” Yu attributed the closing of numerous small theatres to this performance law. However, the actual laws broken pertained to architecture, fire service acts, hygiene and administrative personnel (526).

The 1960’s were strenuous for theatre in Korea but by the 1970s, theatre in its Western sense became almost an exclusive culture of the middle and upper class in Seoul. In the capital city of South Korea, college students or graduates practiced theatre while most of the audience members of theatre were female college students. Both the performers and viewers were so-called highbrows, as only a small percentage of privileged Koreans were able to attend college at the time. The 1970s’ dominance of artistic practices by college students and professor parallels the

1920s’ dominance by elite Koreans, many of whom studied Western literature in Japan.

Inevitably, South Korean theatre was produced and critiqued by the intellectual elitist measures that excluded the performance culture of the former low social classes.

Such an exclusive association of theatre with the middle class intellectuals was directly related to how indigenous performance culture was viewed. In Korea, it was something “to be found and established” in order to be relevant in contemporary society. Unlike indigenous music,

81 dance, and religious performances, which received at best secondary attention compared to

Western kinds, indigenous theatre was even less recognized as a legitimate artistic genre. As mentioned earlier in this chapter, it was only reluctantly received as a “theatrical genre,” and, if anything, it was put into an overarching category of “performance.”112 Even in present times, this continues. In the fields of indigenous music and dance, a number of scholars, with previous professional artistic training in the field of indigenous music and dance, strive to lay scholarly foundations for each genre,113 while hardly any scholar of indigenous theatre have practical or professional background in the art form.114

As such, the status of indigenous theatre is far below that of indigenous music and dance.

While the practical tradition of the latter two genres has been solid throughout Korean history, in the case of theatre, it barely exists.115 More than this, unlike music and dance where groups or organizations were formed by the performers themselves to study indigenous forms, indigenous theatre was only occasionally studied by folklorists or anthropologists in the twentieth century.

The performers of dance or music became intellectual scholars and professors in their fields but in theatre there was a divide between the intellectuals and performers of Korean theatre.

Throughout the twentieth century, Korean scholars of theatre almost exclusively focused on

Western realist drama and paid very little attention to Korean indigenous culture.

Gradually, the formerly disregarded indigenous arts gained recognition. Many performers of indigenous music and dance became scholars or experts in their fields. They continuously strived to develop and enhance the quality and status of their artistic tradition. In theatre, however, the schism between the indigenous performers and the mainstream practitioners was too great.

The indigenous performers existed outside the urban and academic circles. Unlike the case of

Kuk-ak (lit. “Korean music,” “national music”; 國樂), which became a program at college and has Kuk-ak high schools to train students exclusively in Korean traditional music, theatre

82 academia has been exclusively a western-driven and western-oriented program, with scholars almost entirely focusing on Western approaches.116

Despite the reluctance of scholars to consider the value of indigenous theatrical forms, a new opportunity arose. When the 1970s Korean government promoted indigenous cultural forms, it funded indigenous arts for presentation overseas, enhancing the confidence and nationalism of the performers. Also, as encounters with foreign cultures and foreigners started to become more commonplace Korean artists enhanced their knowledge and experiences. Paik TaeWung and Yun

Ch’ungKang have actively written on Korean indigenous music, where the former diligently writes scholarly papers and books on the academic and historical aspects of Korean traditional music and the latter writes critiques on the changing aspects of traditional Korean music in contemporary society.117

Throughout the 1960-1970s, the government sponsored state-run public events and supported scholastic research projects and actively encouraged anthropologists, folklorists, and artists to enhance the national image. Such promotions of folk traditions and related research also helped artists in general, to acquaint themselves with various Korean cultural art forms. For instance, the first publication on Korean mask dance-drama, Korean Mask Drama (1969) by Lee

T.H., was based on extensive field trips across Korea. These trips were sponsored by the Office of

Cultural Properties under the Korean government. As was the case with groups of theatre artists, that is examined in more detail in Chapter 3 of this study, Lee, a pioneer of the field, was also inspired to look for surviving mask plays in Korea after witnessing the massive and fresh interest in Asian (or so-called “orientals”) and other ethnic forms. The publication of the book was made possible with the support of the Korea Mask Dance Drama Association founded in 1957.

As individual academic, organizational, and governmental interests and supports coincided, diversity became an inherent characteristic of the Korean artistic sector. Academic

83 publications worked to help young theatre artists, like Sohn, become acquainted with traditional performances; mostly unknown to the urbanized Korean citizens of that time. Thus, the combination of governmental projects and its support of scholarly activities conspicuously facilitated the study and development of Korean indigenous cultural traditions. Overall, the

1970s-1980s were an extremely dynamic period during which political, social, cultural, academic, and artistic activities intertwined in the South Korean context.

From a political point of view, the dual attitude toward “tradition” continued on from the

1960s into the next decades, while the institutional conditions aggravated theatre making.

Ironically, at the same time the performers of the indigenous arts were being designated as

Intangible Cultural Assets, the New Village Movement was attacking the “folk [beliefs] and traditional life and culture that are the foundations of folk culture.” This can be deduced from the fact that the New Village Movement labeled indigenous arts as “superstitions” (Paik H.168).

What is more, instruction in cultural knowledge became exceedingly mechanized by the highly controlled apprenticeship process. Only authorized trainees who had passed specific training by government-designated maestros and accepted by specific organizations were approved to teach their skills. As a result, the Intangible Cultural Assets system reiterated the codified forms, inevitably constraining the ever-changing indigenous traditions from further evolvement.

Similarly, the government selectively provided funding and support for “enhancement projects,” only offering aid to those programs it considered to be fostering nationalism. In other words, programs boosting pride in Korean cultural and historical heritage (100 Years).

In line with the New Village Movement and the modified school curriculums that complied with Confucian morals of honoring parents and rulers, the Park Regime’s cultural projects were very strongly based on the ideological foundation of celebrating the “nation”

(“kukga”; 國家). In other words, the restoration—or implementation—of a national identity,

84 helpful for building a nation that is easy to control, was the ideological background to the Park

Regime’s engagements in cultivating indigenous and folk culture (Kim M.D., “Modernization”

221). For instance, Park favored the famous General Lee SunShin (1545-1598) who defeated

Japanese fleets in 1592. To match Park’s interest, the director Hŏh, who served as the Head of the

National Theatre between 1981 and 1989, directed an original play by Lee ChaeHyŏn’s

Ch’anggŭk Lee SunShin in 1973.

In a sense, the creation of these government policies and projects served as a restraining force on the creative minds of the artists; yet, at the same time, the South Korean government can be credited for generating widespread public interest in traditional Korean culture. Eventually, through artists’ incessant efforts and despite the obstacles posed by the essentialists’ strong advocation for the preservation of the existing forms of dance, songs, and theatrical arts, the preservationists gave way to a creative revitalization movement. Nevertheless, the paradoxical status of tradition, or discourse on tradition, in late twentieth century South Korea, affected the overall South Korean attitude towards the indigenous cultural art forms. The United States based p’ansori performer and scholar Ch’an E. Park, observes the coexistence of such contradictory stances:

Performers considered outcasts since the dissemination of the Neo-Confucian sociointellectual tenets of the thirteenth century were unearthed on the modern stage and screen to represent the antiquated sentiments and mannerisms of their marginal existence, now valorized as “national culture.” There is a systematic paradox in the “archeological” preservation of minsok (folk) culture, between its social semantics and its relevance to practitioners. […]. The arts and the artists are categorized as the “lower” until they are researched and promoted by the “higher.” This arrangement has resulted in the coexistence of dual images of folklore: a rationalistic viewing of folklore as folly, superstition, and falsehood, anachronistic leftovers detected in modern civilization, and its romantic counter image as attractive, colorful, emotional, natural, and authentic. (Straw Mat 5) (emphasis added by author.)

This remark on society’s rather contradictory stances toward “national culture” or “tradition” comes from Richard Bauman’s examinations on folk culture (Verbal). Surprisingly, it is similarly

85 applied to Korean culture which used to be a mainly agricultural country. Peasants were the greatest constituent of the demography and rice paddies and fields were extremely common. In those times, folk tradition was alive, despite suffering criticism from the royal ruling class. Folk tradition could survive and flourish due to the predominantly rural landscape and living conditions. However, with urbanization and the decrease in rural landscapes, the frequency of folk culture was reduced significantly. Also because of the promotion of a refined, state-of-the-art, and trendy urban life, mostly from the West, folk culture gradually lost ground in urbanized regions.

Under the Park Regime (1961-1979), the cultural laws and organizations that controlled and screened cultural activities created even more aggravating conditions. Following the implementation of the Culture and Arts Enhancement Law (文化藝術振興法) in August 1972, the Korean Culture and Arts Institution (韓國文化藝術振興院) opened in April 1973.118 In

October 1973, the government announced the First Five-Year Plan for Culture and Art

Development (文化藝術中興 5 改年計劃). The Second Five-Year Plan for Culture and Art

Development followed quickly in 1978 and emphasized the establishment of a “proper” national view of history and the creation of “folk and national” (“minjok”; 民族) arts (Paik H. 163). 119

South Korea in the 1970s was marked by the initiation of Koreanized modernism, different from the 1960s’ ideology of “receiving and exploring culture from overseas” (Lee Y.M.,

Series 25). This was noticeable in the Korean productions presented overseas. These productions enjoyed the Korean government’s full support to represent Korean art:

While [until the 1960s,] the introduction of Korean work to overseas was confined to ‘new or modern dance’ (shin-muyong 新舞踊) or ‘national music’ (Kuk-ak 國樂) under the title of ‘folk art performance’ (minsok yesul gong’yŏn 民俗藝術公演), [the work] was changed to those following modernism with strong contemporaneity, such as theatre by Oh T’aeSŏk, Ahn MinSu, and Yu TŏkHyŏng, and dance by Yuk WanSun (25).

Oh, as well as Ahn, Yu, and Yuk received training in The United States before debuting in Korea.

While Ahn and Yu introduced avant-garde theatre to Korea, Yuk brought Martha Graham’s dance movements to Korea. Just as Yu’s Homecoming Recital in 1969 marked a sensational event,

Yuk’s first show case of contemporary dance at the National Theatre in Myŏng-dong in 1963, marked the start of contemporary dance in Korea.

While scholarly opinion differs as to when the first modern theatre appeared in Korea, the period most frequently placed under “modernization” is the 1910s.120 Traditional theatre historiography identifies the first theatrical adaptation of the new novel Silver World in a ch’anggŭk format in 1908 as the start of “shin-gŭk” (lit. “new drama”), i.e., “modern drama” Yu

M.Y. marks the shinpa gŭk PulHyoCh’ŏnBŏl by HyŏkSinDan in 1911 as the beginning, a theory in which he argued against Lee TuHyŏn’s statement with the opening of the first theatre building

Wŏn-gaksa in 1902.121

Discourse on “modernity” in Korean literary sectors usually centers on the Kabo Reform and Japanese colonization. As a comparatively new academic field, South Korean theatre has been approached in conjunction with the more dominant field of literature. Lee MeeWŏn, for instance, proposed to apply the location of modernity of Korean literature directly to Korean theatre. However, direct application of genres between adjacent but differing artistic fields, such as music and dancing, painting and architecture, or poetry and prose, lead to misconceptions.

In an effort to challenge the Western-dominated status quo, artists highlighted the schism resulting from the dichotomy of Western music and indigenous Korean music. In music and dance alike, the adjectival prefix of “Korean” (“han’guk”; 韓國) was seen as a derogatory term.

The term “Kuk-ak” (國樂’), the abbreviation of “han-guk ŭm-ak” (韓國音樂), immediately gave the traditional Korean music an inferior position to the Western and Western-influenced music designated by a more inclusive term “ŭm-ak,” the freestanding vocabulary of “music.”122 As for

87 dance, the term “dance” (“mu-yong”; 舞踊) automatically refers to Western classical or contemporary dance, whereas Korean traditional dance requires the adjectival “Korean” as a prefix: “han’guk mu-yong” (韓國舞踊).123

In dance, the association of “Korea(n)” with traditional history has been visually represented through the traditional attire “han-bok.” Although the colors, lines, and fabrics unique to han-bok were promoted as “national beauty,” influences or adaptations by the Western modern forms were highly lauded. While Ch’oi SŭngHee (1911-1967) went to Japan and established her unique dance style influenced by Western dance, Hong ShinJa (b.1940) went to New York City in The United States to study English Literature but ended up majoring in dance. If Hong’s approach is comparable to Yu and Ahn’s theatrical approach at the Drama Center, the activities of dancers like Lee AeJu were affiliated with the radical anti-governmental movement that spread among college students known through their performance of madanggŭk.

The fact that the notion of “theatre” was imported and the indigenous arts lacked an academic foundation and support in Korea, may have led to the westernization of theatre without much opposition from Korean indigenous artist compared to music and dance. In other words, there was an even greater gap between the Western-influenced theatre forms and the traditional forms of Korea. Even before the Japanese colonization of Korea, traditional musicians and dancers existed and traveled to Japan to perform and came into contact with modern art forms from the West. However, performers of indigenous culture, deemed low and vulgar, hardly ever found a way abroad. Those who came into contact with Western modern drama were almost exclusively people from different social backgrounds than the performers: theatre was a

“Western” product accessible solely to intellectuals, while indigenous Korean theatre was a realm for anthropologists or folklorists.124

In the 2000s, scholars at last began to challenge the previous Korean theatre historiography. In other words, historiography became more specific and refined. As we looked at the beginning of this section, Sŏh YŏnHo questioned Lee TuHyŏn’s periodization of Korean theatre. Lee structured the history into four categories and Sŏh and Lee SangWu criticized that near modern theatre and new drama cannot be part of “contemporary” theatre, since these terms are periodical terms rather than aesthetic terms (19).125 At the same time, he proposed a theatre historiography according to stylistic traits. The consideration of theatre styles allowed Sohn’s madangnori to be included in legitimate theatre history under the category of “madanggŭk,” when it was previously left out or sparingly mentioned in entries on the productions of the

MinYeh Theatre Company (Lee Y.M. 59).

While academia strove to fight condescending Western-centered attitudes toward

“Korean” pastimes, practitioners struggled with financial hardships. This created a hostile environment for their endeavors. Also, there was no producer system in South Korea. Audiences were largely comprised of female college students studying in Seoul. Suburban people were excluded from cultural realms, with the exception of indigenous everyday life pastimes or family occasions.

Having experienced the lack of [performance] stages for a long time, theatre artists acutely realized the need for small theatre. This led to the openings of Ezŏto Small Theatre, ShilHŏm (“Experiment”) Small Theatre, MinYeh Small Theatre, ChungAng (“Central”) Small Theatre, Theatre People Center, etc. By 1975, a greater number of small theatres opened. […]. The small theatres that were exclusively used for its own theatre company, such as ShilHŏm Theatre and MinYeh Theatre, became the venues for [unique] theatre making by realizing their individual artistic objectives. (Chŏng, H.S. 371)

On the positive side, however, infrastructure continued to improve gradually in the period following the Korean War. With the opening of the Drama Center in 1962, Seoul had two theatre buildings, including the National Theatre in Myŏng-dong. Before this time, the National Theatre

89 was the only structure built exclusively for theatrical staging. Moreover, the National Theatre’s openness towards small-scale productions encouraged the formation of so-called “coterie groups”

(“tong-in-je”), leading to a number of never before seen theatre productions. At a time when there was no governmental or organizational funding for theatre, besides Art and Literature promotional funds, coterie groups provided production staff or used personal funds for their theatrical productions.

Nonetheless, the lack of financial support for stage actors resulted in a severe decline in the number and quality of actors. On top of that, the recently founded television broadcasting companies in South Korea began to recruit experienced stage actors.126 Regardless of the venue or genre, actors from the conventional theatre stage, circus, traveling companies, and private institutions flocked to the newly founded broadcasting companies, further depleting the source of available theatre performers.127 Previously itinerant performances such as TongCh’un Circus, traveling companies, and gukgŭk were all depleted by the growth of television and cinema.

College students and graduates soon filled positions left by more seasoned professionals.

As mentioned before, alumni formed their own theatre organizations and managed to remain financially secure. Founded by the students and graduates from the Seoul National University,

YŏnWu Company [YeonWoo Moodae] (s.1977),128 one of the earliest theatre groups, remains active today. This company stages original plays at their YŏnWu Small Theatre that opened in

1987 in DaeHakro, Seoul.129 The playwright and director Oh T’aeSŏk joined the Dramtic Art

Circle at Yonsei University during this time period. Its early members have become professional directors and professors at colleges and other educational institutions in South Korea. Such a tradition of student theatre groups continued well into the 1990s, and the college-level drama circles dominated Korean mainstream stages for more than two decades.130

The growth of theatre through the establishment of small theatres was a conscious effort during the 1970s and 1980s (Yu M., “Theatre” 501). Sŏh Y. H. grouped the modern and contemporary realist drama (“hyŏn-dae-gŭk”) in South Korea into two strands, namely the followers of theatricalism (“gŭk-jang-jui”; 劇場主義) and those who escaped from it (“tal-gŭk- jang-jui”; 脫劇場主義) (Han’Guk 247).

During the decade of the 1970s, a return to Korean roots in playwriting and directing can be seen. Playwrights experimented with subject matter drawn, not [only] from daily life, but from ancient legends, shamanistic rites, and classical literature. Others included traditional folk songs in plays on modern subjects. (Brandon 132) (English by Brandon.)

Authors from this period include Yun TaeSŏng, O T’aeSŏk, Lee ChaeHyŏn and Ch’oi InHun.

Energetic directors, such as Kim ChŏngOk, Im YŏngWung and Yu TŏkHyŏng emerged. These directors attempted to apply the production techniques of total theatre. Influenced by the theatrical underpinnings by Richard Wagner and Peter Brook, Korean artists were encouraged by the similarities readily recognized between the influential Western theatre practice and Korean traditional performance forms. Under the name of the “total theatre” that was popular in the

1980s Korea, Korean theatre artists re-considered the previously disregarded indigenous cultural forms (Hŏh, National 105-107).

4. Representative Reactions and Practices of “Modernization of Tradition”:

Avant-garde, Essentialist, Nationalist, Modernist Approaches in the 1970s-1980s

Korean theatre through the 1970s to 1980s was marked by the talented directors who displayed mixed reactions to traditional culture (“chŏn-t’ong”; 傳統) based on their ideological grounds and their agendas differed from one another. The theatrical landscape during this period was diverse and complicated, primarily due to the aforementioned sociopolitical contexts.

Different groups simultaneously approached Korean traditional culture, each with different direction and agenda. In this sub-section, this complex landscape will be discussed. In this 91 landscape the majority of mainstream theatre practitioners in South Korea supported the Western avant-garde movement, and former mainstream practitioners came to defy Western-centered practice and support an essentialist approach to Korean tradition. In addition, a government-led nationalist approach and anti-government nationalist approach added variety and complexity to the theatre scenes of the 1970s.

These two theatre groups—the Drama Center and MinYeh—and two theatre genres— changgŭk, and madanggŭk—dominated Korean stages during the formative years of Sohn’s directing career. The first two groups are unanimously credited by theatre scholars such as Lee

M.W. and Kim M.D. as the pioneers and the most influential institutions in the field of

“modernization of tradition.” However, this is only true for specific periods under certain directors. These two theatre genres are characteristic of the 1970s and 1980s and drew much attention from critics. These positive acclaims are regarded as valuable and memorable accomplishments of those times in Korean theatre history. These four venues and art forms were re-visited during the “modernization of tradition” movement.

The Drama Center—both the theatre building and the theatre company that was founded years later—and its resident artists have been credited as the catalysts in the shift from a realist to non-realist approach in theatre within mainstream scholarly theatre circles. Yu Ch’iJin (1905-

1974), is known as “the father of realist drama in Korea” in the official Korean theatre history and the founder of both the Drama Center (1962) as well as its resident Theatre Company Drama

Center (1964). Yu and his company were at the forefront of establishing “modern theatre” in

Korea.131 Until he was later condemned for his pro-Japan sentiment during the colonial period,

Yu was the most revered playwright, director, administrator, and manager in South Korea. He also received credit for proliferating realist drama in Korea. As a colonial modernist, Yu was one of the few Koreans who witnessed the “advanced” theatre practices of Japan and The United

States, both during and after the colonial period.132 Based on this firsthand experience Yu sought to improve theatrical conditions in Korea.133 The epiphanies Yu had during his visits to Europe and the fabrication his pioneering blueprints and actions find resemblance in other Korean pioneers, specifically Oh, Sohn, and Lee, who will be covered in the next chapter of this study.

From its inception, the directions of the Drama Center were heavily influenced by

Western tradition.134 Yu, who was fascinated by Romain Rolland’s The People’s Theatre (1902) that inspired him to consider the “people” (“minjung”; 民衆) as the agents of cultural force, called attention to so-called “popular culture.” His support for the ordinary people’s culture as opposed to that of the aristocratic ruling class intensified after his visit to Europe and America in the 1950s.

After his world theatre tour, Yu Ch’iJin applied for and secured funding from The Rockefeller

Foundation in the amount of $100,000. These funds went to the construction of a playhouse in a post-war Korea that had little cultural infrastructure. Prior to the construction of this theatre, Yu had traveled to many Western countries to observe various theatre productions.135 He later utilized knowledge acquired during these trips as a frame of reference for the Drama Center:

[The theatre building] is equipped with five hundred seats on single floor, a main stage of 100 pyŏng, an arena stage of thirty pyŏng, and two side stages. Below the small theatre is designed for library, classrooms for Drama School, room for playwrights, costume shop, greenroom, and shower room. […]. At the Drama Center, the small theatre entirely serves as the stage. The stage completely surrounds the auditorium and the arena stage behind the auditorium is modeled after the stage during the Greek outdoor theatre era. They say they got hints from the choir stage at Catholic churches.

The 470-seat-theatre has side stages to the main stage. Connected by stairs to the back stage behind the auditorium, it will create an environment where the audiences at the center of the stage will communicate with the actors, feeling as if soaked into the play. (“Coming Soon.” qtd. in Yu M., History 428)

In addition to staging plays, Yu founded a theatre academy in October 1962 with thirteen students in research programs and forty students in acting programs.

However, within ten months of opening its doors for the first time, the Drama Center faced severe problems and had to close. The main factor that contributed to the Drama Center closing its doors was financial instability. In addition, their first year acting trainees were drawn away by the newly opened KBS television acting department in 1963 (435):

First the senior actors like Chang MinHo, Hwang ChŏngSun, or Kim TongWŏn, then the new actors previously associated with Silhum [Experiment] Theatre Company, such as Kim TongHun, Yu YongHwan, Kim SŏngOk, and Na YŏngSae, […]. On top of this, with the departure of Lee HaeRang who was the Head of the theatre and was in charge of administration, directing, and acting, the Drama Center came to a complete deadlock. (446)

After staging only six plays (Hamlet, Long Day’s Journey into Night, Porgy and Bess, Han River

Flows, Death of a Salesman, Romeo and Juliet), the Drama Center had to close down completely.

Its focus shifted to running its drama school and with its graduates founded the Theatre Company

Drama Center in 1964 (446-447).

Yu Ch’iJin’s unrealized dreams and objectives came to fruition a few years later with the aid of his son Yu T.H.’s sensational Directing Showcase at the Drama Center upon his return from The United States in June, 1969.136 During this landmark showcase, Yu presented three plays in a format of “self-criticism” (Kim S.H., Directors 51).

Yu TŏkHyŏng’s directing, consisted of ‘Self-criticism,’ one scene from Yu Ch’iJin’s I Will Also Become a Human Being, Strange Man by Brook, and Brown Hair by Kim ChongDal, drew attentions from theatrical sector, as he introduced movement-oriented directing that is linked to Grotowski after Artaud and Peter Brook. It was truly a shock to the theatrical sector who has believed in the Stanislavskian directing methods indirectly learned from Japan. (Yu M., Modern Theatre 451)

Yu’s affinity for Western avant-garde experimental theatre provided Korean local theatre practitioners with a rare opportunity to observe and participate in the trends of contemporary

Western theatre. Together with Ahn MinSu137’s work, Yu’s plays at the Drama Center functioned as a gateway to the “far away” and “hard to witness” Western stages that served as the emblem of

“modern theatre.” Again, it is necessary to point out that modernity, which had reached its apex 94 in nineteenth century Europe, was still something new and not yet obtained by Korean artists in the twentieth century.

[Yu TŏkHyŏng] made [actors] wear masks at his first Directing Showcase and maximized physical language, i.e., movement, sound, lighting, improvisational episodes, and additional gestures, in place of verbal language. The new movement-oriented anti- realist movement that was actively practiced by Artaud and Grotowski after Meyerhold was at last being introduced to this country in the late 1960s by Yu T.H. However, the movement he created was not T’alch’um, nor something to be specifically called ‘Koreannesque’—it was rather pan-Asian kind, something primary kind. (452)

From 1962, the plays staged at the Drama Center received much attention from theatre practitioners and scholars in South Korea. In this manner, the institution served as an important cultural hub. The resident artists at the Drama Center (the names of which also became that of its repertory theatre company) can also be said to have functioned as a direct bridge between East and West. Yu TŏkHyŏng and Ahn MinSu are two of the pioneers of the next phase of modern theatre in Korea through their direct observance of the state-of-the-art practices in the West. Yu studied directing under the supervision of Ahn, who was an actor in the Acting Program at the

Drama Center prior to going to The United States to study theatre. While majoring in the Lighting

Design at the University of Hawaii, Ahn had multiple opportunities to watch interculturalist productions between The United States and other countries (Kim S.H., Directors 98). Despite Yu and Ahn’s premature conclusion of their directorial activities after accepting academic positions at the theatre school annexed to the Drama Center, their landmark productions are never overlooked in Korean theatre history. Although their work has come to an end, their impact on

Korean theatre is alive and well to this date.138 Kim correctly points out that Ahn MinSu hardly intended to devise the so-called “modernized theatre from Korean indigenous tradition” (234-

235).

While the Western-educated directors at the Drama Center presented drastically non- realist productions to catch up with the state-of-the-art Euro-American artists, others tried to

95 create modern Korean plays based on the pre-modern indigenous traditions in Korea. As mentioned earlier in this section, the former group marked a historic moment that had a significant effect on the inspirations of Korean theatre artists who were obsessed with realism.

Instead of obtaining second-hand information and practice in Japan—or from Japanese artists in

Korea as the previous elites or theatre practitioners had done—Yu and Ahn offered almost “real- time” stage arts, directly reflecting contemporary Euro-American theatre. Specifically, Yu and

Ahn’s avant-garde experimental theatre departed from verbal or script-oriented realist drama and opened the eyes of Korean artists to the realm of physicality, in other words, the actor’s body.

This utilization of Korean indigenous performance in contemporary theatre fleetingly led to renewed interest in those forms within the mainstream arena.

In contrast, the so-called essentialist trend, represented by the MinYeh Theatre Company

(MinYeh) in the 1970s and 1980s, took profound interest in indigenous traditions as a prototype of “Koreannesque” theatre.139 The MinYeh group was committed to delving into and generating a new style while considering the aesthetic principles and the performance context of the indigenous traditions. This approach can be best understood in the social contexts of the 1960s-

70s Korea, when society underwent a rapid modernizing process that presupposed the extinction of the traditional life style. Most importantly, the modernization and industrialization of the country, mostly concentrated in Seoul, went hand in hand with the disappearance of the strong communal spirit inherent in communal activities in an agricultural society. This was also true for the field of performing arts. Surprisingly, MinYeh’s commitment to experimenting with indigenous forms mostly served to revive the indigenous performances of rural Korea in a new setting: the urbanized capital city, Seoul.

The founding of the MinYeh Theatre Company was an unforseen but natural consequence of Sohn JinCh’aek’s first encounter with Hŏh in 1971.140 Hŏh needed a mask dance

96 drama (i.e., movement) teacher for his adaptation of Ch’oi InHun’s novel NolbuDyŏn, as a directorial debut production for Hŏh’s junior Kim YŏngRyŏl.141 This particular play used half masks according to each character’s traits and treated core movements as the dance movements from KangRyŏng T’alch’um, SongP’a Sandaenori, and PukCh’ŏng Lion Dance. Kim HŭngGi, one of the founding members of MinYeh, refers to it as the “start of madangnori” (87-88). The leader of the institute, Lee GŭnSŏng, who was quite elderly, sent Sohn to Hŏh instead. At this time, apart from the young theatre directors at the Drama Center and the radical college students who actively worked with Korean tradition, attempts to bring Korean indigenous arts into indoor theatre were still uncommon. In 1972, a number of young actors who were the former members of the ShilHŏm [Experiment] Theatre Company and those who participated in Hŏh’s preparation of Tale of HŏhSeng (1970) came together to form a production group. Hŏh hired Sohn as the movement director to familiarize the actors and staff with the indigenous performance forms generally unknown to the younger generations in Korea.142 Sohn and other young practitioners were at once drawn to Hŏh’s pursuit of a new style of Korean theatre, being fascinated by Hŏh’s idea to utilize indigenous tradition. As someone who had been contemplating the possibilities of dramatizing through the use of indigenous forms, Sohn immediately considered Hŏh to be his mentor.143 Thus, the company was founded when a group of young practitioners, together with

Sohn, persuaded the senior director Hŏh to manage a new theatre company. Mostly coming from the ShilHŏm Theatre Company from which Hŏh had recently resigned, these young members were eager to get involved in modernizing Korean indigenous culture.144

Founded in 1973 under the motto “devising national theatre,” MinYeh Theatre Company

(民藝劇團) strove to reach out to as many people as possible. “MinYeh” is an abbreviation of

‘”Minjok Yehsul” (“folk arts,” “national arts,” 民族藝術) as the company presented its artistic aims in its founding manifesto: “We crave to explore the truth of human beings and to develop

97 ourselves together with our audience. We study and invent unique theatrical signs in order to create dramatic arts unique for our ethnic group.” They also placed their manifesto on the playbill for their first play, Korean Ttoeksoe by Kim HuiCh’ang (Hŏh K., National 277). Hŏh declared by numbering each clause as “1,” emphasizing the fact that they are equally important:

Upon establishing the theatrical group MinYeh, we solemnly declare that:

1. We aspire to inquire into the essence of humanity through dramatic arts and to develop ourselves and our audiences and, ultimately, to uplift all of us [in a spiritual sense].

1. We embrace all of theatrical history and receive its techniques that have been accomplished by mankind [regardless of time periods and of nationalities] as subject source for our creation.

1. We perform drama as a positive action to confirm eternal victory of free will of human kind by developing our ability through the three important components— idea, action, and technology united.

1. We will do our utmost to touch the audiences’ heart with genuine love.

1. We create performances on stage based on harmony and in order to do so, we respect and trust one another for each other’s individual creativity. (qtd. in Kim A.J. “Modern Uses” 164) (English by Kim)

As such, from the beginning, the MinYeh group aimed to update various indigenous performance forms that had almost ceased to develop autogenously. The theatrical experiments conducted by the MinYeh group, although rudimentary, nonetheless provided examples of wide-range adaptations of Korean myths, classic novels, shaman rituals, communal festivals, funeral performances, mask dance drama, puppetry, p′ansori, and verbal play.145 Also Sohn’s emphasis on the “humanity” as a purpose of theatre-making, which is shared by the actor Yun MunShik, could be traced to the founding motto of the MinYeh as stated in the first entry in its manifesto.146

Malttugi from Seoul (Seoul Malttugi) (1974), for instance, was a creative way of manipulating indigenous Pongsan Mask Dance Drama. This art form was one of the first indigenous traditions brought into a Western-style indoor theatre space.147 Seoul Malttugi was

Sohn’s debut production and was staged at the Comedy Festival ran by the Kong’Gan Sarang

Small Theatre. It was presented as one of few comedy plays that were invited to perform at the theatre. The festival continued for two months, at a time when it was uncommon to find a legitimate place for comedies in theatre. This encounter and his collaborative relationship with

Hŏh truly marked a turning point in Sohn’s artistic vision. To Sohn, the encounter with Hŏh was not just inspirational but fateful: “Hŏh opened my eyes as to how to actually link the extant forms of indigenous culture. I had been diligently visiting villages to observe and document, sometimes receiving hands-on lessons, but still had no clue as to how to bring them onto indoor stage” (“My

Mentor” 116).

The members of the MinYeh focused on the fact that the majority of the residents in the thoroughly urbanized Seoul were only faintly aware of the indigenous performing art traditions.

They reconsidered the predominantly Western theatres in Korea and sought to create new theatre forms that reflected Korean sentiments and ways of thinking. Hŏh’s experiences and contemplations in the previous years helped the MinYeh to find a direction and specific course of action. He first “had a vague expectation for the existence of our [Koreans’] remarkable indigenous traditional culture that would serve as a basis to achieve new history and tradition in the future” (Hŏh K., “Hyŏndae-gŭk” 68). However, he felt frustrated and unsatisfied, to some extent, as he watched the performance of mask dance drama and puppetry. He found the Yangju

PyŏlSandae-nori performed at the Ehwa Women’s University to be “dull” and viewing the puppetry made him to pose the question: “that [kkokktu gaksi norum] is our traditional art?” The turning point finally came when he listened to p′ansori. After this exposure, Hŏh paid attention to the overall indigenous performance and replaced his “doubtful, negative, and critical stance” with

“implicit affirmation” (68-69).

The director Hŏh continuously suggested including kutnori and rituals as part of theatrical legacy. While those forms may be disputed as to whether or not they are theatrical forms, he agreed with researchers of shamanism, who argued that the hereditary nori in Korea had in general great affinities with rituals and rites (“Creative Succession” 133). To name a few,

Muldoridong (1977) and Tashiraegi (1979) are dramatization of Hahoe Pyŏlshin-kut talnori of

Hahoe region and Tashiraegi performance in Jindo region respectively, two indigenous performances mentioned in previous sections in this Chapter. The latter one is a funeral performance in which the elements of comedy and fun are magnified as if to defeat sadness with laughter. Having drawn parts from the Death Angel scene and Mourner play scene from the indigenous version of Tashiraegi, this play is known to have influenced Lee YunT’aek’s Ogu that is examined in Chapter 3 (Sŏh and Lee 252). Muldoring also won the first Presidential Prize at the Theatre Festival of Korea for depicting the life and custom of Korean people.

Most importantly, Hŏh formed his name by using the contemporized musical theatre form of p’ansori. “ch’anggŭk,” a word coined between “ch’ang” (唱) and “-gŭk” (劇), was a modern product from its start. It was one of the many terms of p′ansori, along with taryŏng

(타령), kŭk-ga (劇歌), and kuk-gŭk (國劇). Despite the debates around the actual style of the performance, Korean scholars almost unanimously agreed to label the 1908’s Silver World , written by Lee InJik, staged at Wŏn-gaksa as “the first modern Korean theatre.” The term

“modern” undoubtedly refers to the influence of Western style on indigenous “Korean” performing art p′ansori. Ch’anggŭk’s foremost importance is its departure from the p′ansori’s solo performance where one singer performs with the accompaniment of a drummer. The performance style also changed into a kind of singing drama with multiple characters played by each performer. This opera-like quality has been a source of pride for Korean artists (p′ansori performers), signaling a “modern” quality that Korea as a nation was desperately seeking.

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As early as 1978, when Hŏh directed ch’anggŭk for a second time, he suggested expanding the repertory by adapting from the twelve p′ansori repertories and classic literature and creating new ch’anggŭk based on “folk tales, tales, myths, and historical records”

(“KangRŭng” 321). The play text was written by Lee ChaeHyŏn with the lyrics by p’ansori master Kim SoHee and with the advice of Professor Kim TongWuk.

In a century-long history of ch’anggŭk, I think Hŏh Kyu is the director who staged ch’anggŭk in the most textbook-like way. While his main concerns may have been about ‘modern (hyŏndae) theatre with traditionality’ or ‘Koreannesque modern national/folk theatre (minjok-gŭk),’ his works hinted that his objective lay in creating announcer in the middle of relay broadcasting of the full length ch’anggŭk The Rabbit and the Turtle (1983), Hŏh commented that ‘It is advised to discard what need to be discarded and retain what need to be retained from our tradition, but because too many things have been discarded so far, there is not much tradition left now. I have tried to utilize as many traditional culture as possible in order to make a more Koreannesque ch’anggŭk.’ (Ch’oi Ch. 126-127)

The future of ch’anggŭk looks bright when one takes into consideration the longtime generous government support, the pride and commitment of the p′ansori singers, the theatre world’s growing awareness and concrete, strategic plans by the executive members of The National

Ch’anggŭk Theatre.

In 17 October 1973, The South Korean government launched the Ch’anggŭk Lee SunShin as the opening production at the newly built National Theatre in Namsan, Seoul. At the time, it was the only national performing arts building in Korea. It was directed by Hŏh who later became the head of the National Theatre. The play depicts General Lee SunShin, a national heroic figure in Korea who fought foreign intruders. Incorporating such a historical and heroic figure was most likely a response to President Park’s agenda to promote national pride.

While changgŭk practitioners over time became open to Sohn who frequently directed the form, the other related form, madanggŭk has taken a different political direction than madangnori.

It appeared as a newly devised performance genre in South Korea during the 1970s-1980s during the same period as Sohn’s madangnori at the MinYeh. Because of the external similarities and 101 seemingly identical goals of the two forms, i.e., to promote “national” culture, hardly any distinction was made between madanggŭk and madangnori practitioners at this time. During this time, the two parties were not enemies and co-existed peacefully, each pursuing their own art form. Musicians, dancers, and other artists would participate in both venues. The general positive attitude toward Sohn’s MBC madangnori in 1981 attests that the two parties were not enemies but acknowledged each other’s practices.148

In other words, outside the general theatre stage of the 1970s, the MinYeh’s agenda to extract the foundational essence of the indigenous performing arts in order to create a contemporary Korean theatre was shared by groups of college students. Their efforts overlapped since their approaches to tradition were extensively based on directly engaging indigenous culture.

Until the so-called dissidents of the Park ChungHee and Chŏn TuWhan Regimes adopted madanggŭk as their major weapon to raise public awareness of deceitful governmental policies, madanggŭk was a new, generally stylistic term for a specific type of performance with a mild political agenda.

Discussing the concepts minjok-gŭk and madanggŭk is a challenging task due to the fact that the terms were used interchangeably. Sporadically, parties would change how they referred to their art form, for ideological reasons. As the leading madanggŭk scholar Lee YŏngMi succinctly states, madanggŭk was guarded against by the norm:

…madanggŭk is an artistic activity that is regarded as a heresy even by the possessor of indigenous art skills or the initiator or graduates of the trainings who work to preserve the original form with the governmental support. (Principle 72)

The term madanggŭk is a contentious term in general teaching courses at Korean universities.

Like “ch’anggŭk,” “madanggŭk” is a coined word between “madang” and “gŭk.” The difference is that the latter one came into existence during the early 1970s, about sixty years after ch’anggŭk.

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Also, whereas ch’anggŭk had an already established art form, p’ansori, madanggŭk was an entirely new form that went through numerous theoretical transformations.

The term ‘minjok-gŭk’ can be defined as an overarching term for works with liberal theatre movement, which transcends the style; madanggŭk, [on the other hand,] would mean works in madanggŭk style. […]. (35)

The less frequently used term “minjung-gŭk” is in principle unrelated to the stylistic term madanggŭk. The reason for this is that the term refers to “theatre for minjung” or theatre for the socially dominated or the underprivileged ones, the theatre for the people and by the people.

Their people-centered visions encouraged them to study Korean indigenous culture, and above all, mask dance drama. The so-called “mask dance drama circles” that can also be described as

“clubs” formed in rapid succession, after the formation of Seoul National University (SNU)’s

Minsok Kamyŏn’gŭk Yŏn’guhoe in 1971. As they were already conscious of grassroot movements prior to forming this circle, re-discovering the cultural assets of the farmers endowed them with significant meanings. T’alch’um circles spread fast among different colleges in Seoul and even reached outside of Seoul, where they focused on learning and “attaining skills” of various mask dance drama forms. During the 1970s, their activities focused on training in T’alch’um rather than creatively adapting and re-creating performances based on T’alch’um (Lee Y.M., “Modern

Succession” 276). In this section, however, when I use “madanggŭk, I will be referring to the radical madanggŭk which had clear and obvious sociopolitical agendas. Although I call Sohn’s play form “madangnori” instead of madanggŭk, when differentiating between types of theatre— such as Sohn’s madangnori—that share madanggŭk’s stylistic approach, the term madanggŭk will be used in this discussion.

The first known madanggŭk outside of the mainstream theatre stage was Chinogui-kut, written and directed by Kim ChiHa in 1973.149 However, the start of madanggŭk dates back to a1960s’ college campus, when the Land Development Circle at the Seoul National University 103

(SNU) staged Hyangto-uisik Ch’ohon-kut in November 1963. Presented at an auditorium on the campus, it was composed of two sections (“madang”): the first section was written by Cho TongIl

(b.1939), who later became a scholar of Korean mask dance drama.150 Adapted from the Hahoe

Pyŏlshin-kut (a special shaman ritual from the Hahoe region in Gyeongsang-do Province), performers wore masks made of gourd and paper, while offering a satirical sketch on the harsh realities of agricultural living. The second part was performed in front of the 4-19 Tower (a tower erected in commemoration of the April 19 incident) on the campus. The format also took that of shaman ritual, executing a funeral for the innocent lives (279-280).

This 1963 kut is said to have inspired a number of madanggŭk, leading to an incessant number of stagings in various regions. The significance of this particular performance was that university students, who were deemed to be from the social elite, looked to mask dance drama

(T’alch’um) that was associated with rural and pre-modernity. The very fact that college students showed interest in indigenous culture caught the attention of society (276). Lee further noticed that:

Instead, the influences of madanggŭk were great among the arts movement sector, not the theatre sector. The minjok-gŭk movement around the madanggŭk holds the longest tradition in South Korea’s radical arts movement next to the literary movement. In the performing arts sector, it is at the forefront, and in terms of active succession of traditional folk arts and popularization into the masses. The fruits of madanggŭk caused considerable influence on the 1980s’ arts movements in other genres. To the degree that the movements of percussion performance [p’ungmul], folk song [minyo], and dance [ch’um] can be said to have derived from the mask dance revival movement and madanggŭk movement, madanggŭk caused great influences on the formation and development of these movements (Principles 73-74).

As a combination between three individual performances, the performance “tried to modernize the special perform[ance] quality of Korean old drama and had the method of realism drama using the problems of agricultural community as dramatic materials.”151

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The content of minjok-gŭk strand madanggŭk has two compelling tendencies, namely to focus on dissecting specific social problems to “show how several people suffer from them” and to focus on “revealing how the collective struggles and resistances have run and how they were miscarried” (93). Either way would lead to demonstrations and calls for action. As the political situation of the South Korean government deteriorated, the movement intensified and a performance would almost always function as a rally for demonstrations and riots.

Several of the political madanggŭk, i.e., “madanggŭk affiliated with minjokgŭk,” are dramatizations of actual incidents that took place in the past or in their times, to portray society as

“full of social contradictions [where] powerless grassroots still manage to live on” (96-97). In order to draw the public’s attention, Lee stated the importance of content:

During this time it was the convention for madanggŭk affiliated with minjokgŭk to use contents that interested the public but theatre sectors neglected to address. This approach contributed to moving theatre into the center of intense discussion and social conflict. However, this custom also made it difficult to choose more encompassing and varied topics. This very characteristic is closely related to the exact nature of madanggŭk that was hard to achieve unless the audience groups collectively demonstrated strong interests in the issues that were depicted (98).

Consisting of numerous participants across the country, the madanggŭk movement is also discussed with other radical artistic movements of the time, such as dance, song, and theatre.

Such inflammatory speeches and performances in the form of narration, song, and skits reached its peak during the 1980s, when Korea’s political situation was at its worst (“Modern Succession”

277).

Although the Drama Center and the MinYeh Theatre Company still exist, they are hardly as influential to Korean theatre sectors as they used to be during the 1970s. However, their impacts during that time are being carried on by individual artists who started their theatre careers then and were either indirectly or directly influenced by the Drama Center and MinYeh’s landmark productions. The two theatre forms that now have become established as proper genres 105 over the last thirty years, ch’anggŭk and madanggŭk, showcase the successful creation of

“Koreannesque theatre” due to the longterm devoted actions of scholars and artists.

5. Chapter Summary

The evolving manners of semi-established theatrical genres namely ch’anggŭk, madanggŭk, and madangnori offer insight into the state of governmental funding and perceptions toward each genre. As of 2009, the production staff and audiences occasionally extend across the three genres. Yet they share an underlying agenda to create ethnic Korean theatre by actively incorporating indigenous culture while reflecting contemporary Korean society. Though the artistic foundations and stylistic goals may differ to various degrees, all three forms emphasize the communicative elements with the audiences. The manner of actor-audience interaction is usually based on the Korean esprit and ethos of “han” and “hŭng” (Cho T., Katharsis 11).Thus, while both ch’anggŭk and madanggŭk practitioners have intentionally overlooked madangnori during the 1980s, it cannot be denied that madangnori has been the most accessible version to the general public.152 This Chapter discussed various elements in South Korea, both historical and social that led to the development of madangnori as an entertainment form. The next chapter,

Chapter 3 elaborates on the three directors, Oh, Sohn and Lee whose work had a significant impact and even transformed the South Korean theatre world.

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CHAPTER 3

Divergence of Directorial Visions: Three Directors in the 1960s-1990s

1. Introduction: the Groundwork of Koreannesque Theatre by Oh, Sohn, and Lee1

In this chapter, I will examine three contemporary Korean directors’ initial engagements with theatre genre, namely Oh, Sohn, and Lee, their encounters with Korean indigenous culture and their early efforts at devising Koreannesque theatre. The purpose of this chapter is to examine the different starting points and ways of creating Koreannesque theatre before and after the 1980s when such trends, along with the political madanggŭk movement, had a significant impact on the theatre scene. By doing so, Sohn’s approach can be compared with that of his contemporaries. At the same time, it can provide a general context of devising “Koreannesque theatre,” helping readers to discern the diverse directions within the “discourse of Koreannesque theatre.” South

Korean theatre historiography often ignores the “non-Korean,” “foreign,” or what can be considered as originating from “outside,” as well as the internal influences on artists. This could lead to the misconception that “Korean artists created their art without inspiration.” The view is taken in this study that general Koreans’ obsession with originality and authenticity, combined with their failure to acknowledge “foreign” influences has caused deviation from an objective view of Korean history and art.

This information will be supported by a discussion of the direct and indirect influences on the artistic work and the linkage among social environments and the arts as well as biographical information on the three directors. This discussion shall also include their working environment and influential persons or events in their lives. The directors will be discussed in the following order: Oh, followed by Sohn and lastly Lee. It should be noted that the section on Lee in this

107 discussion is brief compared to the discussions on Oh and Sohn. The reason for this is the difference in career length, where Lee started pursuing professional theatre much later in life and on the timeline of contemporary Korean theatre than Oh and Sohn. In order to adequately demonstrate my argument, I will provide quotes from the texts produced by these artists. The texts and plays consulted are originally written in Korean and all English translations are by the author unless specified otherwise.

Between 1972 and the late 1980s, Sohn worked in a close partnership and mentor- supporter relationship with Hŏh. This experience formed Sohn’s artistic foundation, after which

Sohn cultivated his own, distinctive artistic approaches such as madangnori and conventional theatre after “madang esprit,” as discussed in Chapters 3 and 4 of this dissertation. These artistic forms contributed to establishing Koreannesque theatre. Because of Kyu’s influence on his work, specifically contemporary Korean theatre based on indigenous performing arts forms, Sohn has been referred to as “the successor of Hŏh Kyu” (Sŏh and Lee; Lee Y.M.). Sohn’s theatre evolved as he encountered diverse theatrical experiments through Western avant-garde experimental theatre by Yu and Ahn at The Drama Center—as mentioned in Chapter 2—revival movements of mask dance-drama, and the Korean opera Ch’anggŭk. In addition, attending the Royal

Shakespeare Company’s contemporized Shakespeare productions in 1982 further encouraged his practice of reconstructing traditional play forms to reflect contemporary social and artistic modes.

Although these three directors, Sohn, Oh T’aeSŏk (b.1940) and Lee YunT’aek (b.1952) are now being categorized together as leading playwright directors in creating Koreannesque theatre, their backgrounds, artistic visions, objectives, inclinations, and working processes all vary from each other.2 Despite the similarities in their work, specific differences include their stances or philosophies towards art, which diverge as much as their personalities, and their production styles.

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While Oh, Sohn, and Lee are three very different individuals and their directing styles and philosophical approaches differ accordingly, they share experiences and backgrounds as

Korean nationals living in a fast-evolving country. Most importantly, they all experienced art during turbulant political times. This includes the artistic suppression and surveillance during the military regimes of the 1970s and 1980s, when Korean artists were severely controlled with regard to their in creations and fascinated by Bertolt Brecht’s epic theatre. Brecht and his work were banned from Korea at the time, yet artists learned from secondary sources such as publications in Japanese translations.3 This period of suppression was followed by the sudden inflow of overseas culture and freedom of expression in South Korea during the late 1980s to

1990s, which paved South Korea’s path to democracy. The period during and after the transition, was marked by various wars around the world such as Iran-Iraq War. There was also unrest in

South Korea as struggles between the capitalist business and factory owners and the underprivileged laborers in South Korean factories and businesses filled the local newspapers.

During this time, public commentary and artistic expression about sociopolitical matters were harshly controlled and suppressed by the South Korean government under President Chŏn

TuHwan. Oh, Sohn, and Lee all utilized historical incidents and figures from pre-modern Korea to find correlations between Korea’s class differences between rich and poor and different political factions.4 Their initial encounters with theatre and the ways in which they adapted to the conditions of that period, display the issues and limitations that Korean artists faced. Their work provides evidence of how they overcame these obstacles this makes their work even more meaningful.

During their early theatre productions, these three directors largely emulated Western plays, because they lacked knowledge of Korean indigenous culture. Soon, however, after learning about the existence of Japan’s noh or kabuki and China’s Peking opera, they wondered

109 about Korea’s theatrical form. Also, after witnessing western art forms such as total theatre and intercultural theatre through Ahn and Yu’s productions at the Drama Center, they learned how a theatre with Korean elements would actually look like on an indoor stage. They also began to link issues seen in contemporary Korean society. These issues include the struggles of ordinary people with elements from indigenous culture such as resistance of the lower classes to the ruling class or contemplation on the place for a human being in capitalized and modernized society. In comparison to Ahn MinSu and Yu TŏkHyŏng whose primary objectives were to accomplish

“universality” or “contemporariness” by keeping abreast with the state-of-the-art theatre styles of

Artaud and Grotowski in The United Sates,5 Oh, Sohn, and Lee aimed at staging “universal” themes and sentiments applicable to people from different cultures, while at the same time reviving the theatricality of indigenous Korean culture.6 If the first two presupposed foundations in Western tradition, the latter three sought to lay “uniquely Korean” theatrical foundations without deserting a Western heritage entirely. For example, Lee, who repudiated “universality,” nonetheless frequently directed adaptations of Shakespearean drama and German classics such as

Hamlet, Goethe’s Faust and Schiller’s The Robbers.7

Sohn, Oh and Lee also differ in their attitudes toward art: if Sohn is “a priest” or a

“humanist” of art, as some critics such as Hŏh SunJa have called him in Critical Stages (after he compared his manner of working with a priest, guarding and preserving a barren temple),8 Oh and

Lee can be labeled as directors of “authorism” or “author-directors,”9 who broadly perceive theatre to be the medium that most effectively re-enacts their imagination and voice. This manifests in their work where Sohn strives to honor and extract the essence of the original written play, while Oh and Lee ceaselessly experiment on stage by altering the text incessantly. This section discussed some similarities and differences between the directors, Oh, Lee and Sohn. The following sections will provide more biographical detail on each director.

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2. Oh T’aeSŏk (1940- ) and His Ingenuity

Oh T’aeSŏk was born in 1940 in SeoCheon, in Southern ChungCheong-do Province. He lived in Seoul from when he was two years old, until the Korean War broke in 1950. From then on, Oh experienced a series of hardships including the traumatic aftermath of his experience in

The Korean War from 1950 to 1953 between the ages of ten and twelve. He was an eyewitness to his father’s abduction by the North Korean People’s Army. As the eldest son of an eldest son, he was sent to his hometown SeoCheon as a safety measure.10 His grandmother accompanied him and they survived the journey by receiving food and shelter from strangers. Oh witnessed many terrible things as the countryside was littered with corpses. One particular incident that occurred on the journey to his hometown forever remained fresh in Oh’s memory: a young mother covered in maggots was eating her dead baby while fending off people who attempted to take the corpse from her. Shortly after their arrival in SeoCheon, he heard how a hundred and twenty community leaders were locked inside the registry office and burnt alive by North Koreans soldiers. The smell of burning corpses, the sight of ruined bodies, and most heartbreakingly, his father’s sudden abduction, formed the traumatic basis of Oh’s dramatic world. However, his three-year- residence in the rural area of SeoCheon offered him a remarkable experience. He regularly attended performances rich in folk beliefs such as the “kut, p′ansori, mask dance drama, and sandae- nori.”11 His childhood served as Oh’s main resource for the dramatic world he would later create.

As he narrates in a series of newspaper interview, after his traumatic early childhood,

Oh’s adolescence was uneventful. However, failing a university entrance exam shocked Oh and led to a period of voracious reading of various genres and world classics. Post-war literature was very popular during this period, both domestically and internationally. Some of the literature depicted the Korean War and forced Oh to relive his painful childhood memories. When he gained entry to Yonsei University, Oh’s family was bankrupt and he struggled financially.

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Financial hardship forced Oh to leave his work as a “home tutor,” which meant living with the family of a student, which provided food and lodging. After he left, Oh slept in empty classrooms and at friends’ houses and this solution did not always provide him with food. Oh explains that his involvement in theatre grew form desperation and his will to survive. In his sophomore year, he joined the later renowned Dramatic Art Circle of Yonsei University in Seoul, which offered food to its members. During rehearsals, Oh could eat ramen noodles. He was a stage hand who was responsible for bringing the curtain up and down. He did not have an actual interest in theatre, it was only a means to an end—food.12

Although Oh T’aeSŏk’s initial participation in theatre was to survive dire poverty, he would soon become one of the most prolific and prize-winning playwrights in South Korea. After winning a prize for an entry in a playwrighting contest, Oh’s first play was performed at the

National Theatre in Seoul, South Korea. As he explains in his extensive interview with Sŏh

YŏnHo in Forty Years of Experimentation and Challenge: Theatre of Oh TaeSŏk, Oh continued writing plays that were critically acclaimed, and was awarded many prizes (33-35). As was often the case with many Korean theatre artists, Oh’s theatrical experiences occurred while he attended

Yonsei University. After graduating, Oh directed numerous plays at major universities in Seoul and were mostly well-received. The play Glory (榮光) (1962),13 which Oh wrote for the first

“Citizens’ Arts Festival” (市民藝術祭),14 was produced rather whimsically: Oh was inspired by

Eugene Ionesco and Eugene O’Neill15 to mix languages in a dexterous way. Oh’s dexterity with language was remarkable and quickly emulated the structures and language styles of Western modern drama (34).

The membership requirement for a theatre company to participate in the contest was to have several members and an official name. In order to meet these requirements, Oh and his friend Cho YŏngIl named their new organization “Stage HoeRo”16 and added the names of their

112 colleague Lee YŏngHu and a few other available names. Once they received notice that they were accepted to perform at The National Theatre, Oh and Cho searched the Central Library of Yonsei

University for a copy of Play Production for Amateurs. This was a simple, introductory level guidebook to theatre published in the 1920s. This book taught Oh much about theatre-making including the concept of “blocking” on stage.17 Stage HoeRo was the only university student group among the nine prize recipients which included the recently established ShilHŏm Theatre

Company.18

Even though Oh’s theatre productions were unplanned and unsystematic, they were also an instantaneous, bold, and creative initiation into the world of theatre. Oh was awarded second prize, and the Male Actors Award went to his colleague Lee YŏngHu. Oh was then presented with another opportunity to write a new play, Quartet, which was staged at the National Theatre of Korea and directed by his friend Cho. Although they obtained the venue at no cost, the participating theatre companies had to cover the production costs on their own. This was a significant challenge to Oh’s all-university student group. Regardless of financial challenges, the play was produced successfully. Shortly thereafter, Oh, who entered and won another contest for writing a new school anthem for Yonsei University, received a generous amount of prize money.

With this money, Oh wrote and staged the third year’s repertory Distress. He then distributed the rest of the money to the actors and staff members (Oh and Sŏh 35-37). Although his prime motivation for writing was monetary gain and his work was produced in haste, Oh’s unrivalled talents were observed from early on.19

After graduating from Yonsei University and before officially debuting as a playwright in

1967, Oh directed a number of plays in various university theatre circles such as the department of Fine Arts at Ewha Women’s University and Seoul Women’s University.20 Oh credits his directing skills to these honing experiences, which also promoted him from the status of a mere

113 stage hand to a charismatic director. During his senior year, he was approached by the Dramatic

Art Circle to direct plays.21 However, when he graduated, the threat of poverty loomed again.

Desperately battling his difficult financial position, he submitted plays to various newspapers’

New Literary Contests (新春文藝) but his entries were rejected for four consecutive years. In

1967, Oh submitted six different plays to six different representative newspaper companies, finally winning the first prize with Wedding Dress at the Chosŏn Daily News and an entry prize for Men with Makeup (40-41). In 1968, to improve his financial position, Oh entered a full-length play contest by The National Theatre and The KyŏngHyang Daily. This five-act play, Change of

Seasons (換節期) (1975), was written in five days and the title was selected at the very last minute before submission. The title was inspired by a flu advertisement on a bus that cautioned against catching the flu during a change of seasons (43-44).22 After these critical successes, Oh received numerous individual requests by theatre artists, scholars, and theatre companies for plays.

Examples of plays produced during this time are Hay Fever through the Theatre Company

ShinHyŏp,23 Travel to Suburb by the scholar Yŏh SŏkGi and Ch’unP’ung’s Wife by Lee

UhRyŏng (78-79). Oh was actively directing college productions and requests for plays were made directly to Oh or through his college students.

Oh’s staged plays were full of imagination and flashing ideas and known to be productions of “his playground,” or the theatre stage.24 Oh’s ingenuity was demonstrated by his debut as a self-taught playwright. He taught himself to write plays from what he observed around him. As mentioned earlier, Oh’s strategy for devising Korean plays resembled his first works when he emulated Western dramas. His first Korean adaptation of a Western classic Les

Fourberies de Scapin also relied heavily on the original text as he had no training in indigenous arts. Soettugi Nori (1972) was written for the 3rd Centennial Anniversary Moliere Festival at the

Drama Center upon a request, or more precisely, an order, by Yu Ch’iJin, the Director of the

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Drama Center.25 Yu asked Oh to contribute to the festival a Moliere play infused with Korean indigenous performance elements, hinting at the Yangju PyŏlSandae, the mask dance drama from

YangJu, Gyeonggi-do Province in South Korea. The dramatic structure of Korean indigenous theatre was widely unknown to the urban theatre artists at the time. This led Oh to literally rework

Moliere’s play by translating the text line-by-line into stylized Korean language, as it is used in indigenous performance texts (Oh and Sŏh 35). Oh mixed the characters and lines from the Sixth

Cycle of Pongsan mask dance drama with those from the Seventh Cycle of Yangju PyŏlSandae

(Kim Y.J. “Main” 299). From the start of his career as a playwright, Oh’s work received contrasting reviews by theatre critics. Soettugi Nori was not an exception. Some reviews had much praise for the rich Koreanness previously rare in Korean theatre. However, some scholars like Yŏh SŏkGi were uncomfortable with such a direct infusion of local elements into a Western frame.26

Prior to the production of Soettugi Nori, Oh had written Transplant Operation (1972) which premiered at the Café Theatre.27 The strong, witty lines delivered by the character

“Assistant” in his comical conversation with his boss “Niece,” mirrored that of HongDongJi, a character in the Korean traditional puppetry, kkoktu gaksi norŭm. In this puppetry, HongDongJi, a fully naked red male, exposes his genitalia to the audience. This is a direct insertion of a character from an existing indigenous performance form. Compared with Transplant Operation, Soettugi

Nori looked like a new, unprecedented play comparable to Western plays.28

During the 1970s, Oh wrote several plays replicating the structures, characters, and languages of indigenous performances. In 1973, theatre anthropologist Shim WuSŏng (b.1934), who hired Sohn as the teaching assistant in early 1970s and was conducting field research on

Korean indigenous performance culture, provided Oh with resources for a unique funeral custom in southern Korea called “ch’o-bun” (草墳).29 It became the title of his new play, Grass Tomb,

115 and its 1973 premiere by Yu TŏkHyŏng caused a sensation in South Korean theatre society.

Taking the funeral rite unique to coastal regions, Oh depicted a dark force that stained the lives of coastal residents. The dramatic reality in the play takes place on a secluded island which is so far away from the mainland that it has developed its own laws and customs. One of the customs is the funeral rite called “ch’obun,” where the corpse is wrapped with weeds and left outdoors temporarily until the flesh decays.Written in a time when ordinary Korean citizens had no means to travel abroad, which Oh found extremely suffocating, the play depicts an outside force entering the isolated island, where even incest is being practiced (Oh and Sŏk 60). Although Oh did not think Yu’s staging effectively visualized the opposition between two forces, Yu’s revolutionary use of lighting, props, and actors surprised many Korean artists (61-63). It was almost the first non-realistic theatre produced in Korea at that time and it caused a great shock in the theatre sector (Yu M. Traditional). The production was invited to LaMaMa, the Experimental Theater

Club in New York City in 1974, as “the first Korean play to be introduced to the professional

English-speaking theatre.” As mentioned in the previous chapter, Yu put on more “Korean clothing” through a three-month movement workshop, and he taught the Western actors Korean traditional martial arts, emphasizing the physicality of actors (Kim A. “Intro”2). The play was performed under the title of Jilsa [The Order],30 and received positive comments from Peter

Brook (3). Although Oh did not physically accompany the production team, he would have been informed of this success upon the production team’s return to South Korea.

Oh was further pushed into the spotlight with his play, Grass Tomb [Ch’obun] directed by Yu T. in Korea and abroad. Prior to this, Oh already had connections with the Drama Center from his work during his time at Yonsei University. Circumstances conspired to let Oh debut as a director with Luve at the Drama Center. Oh’s childhood experiences with the most devastating aspects of life, such as war and death, provided rich sources for his plays, to the extent that his

116 childhood memories almost became a public narrative. Oh turned the horrors from his childhood into landmark contemporary Korean plays. His work introduced a new chapter in Korean theatre history. Following his rather whimsical debut, Oh’s intuition and quick grasp of the mechanisms of theatre and the general trend combined with his keen sociopolitical awareness is demonstrated in his plays. Although regarding Oh’s later plays, his so-called “History Plays,” as “great,” Kim

NamSŏk commented in writing that Oh should cease resorting so much to events from his traumatic childhood (Legacy).

Whether the success of a Koreanized version of his play in The United States directly inspired him or not is unclear, but the next few plays Oh wrote and stage directed displayed his efforts to incorporate Korean indigenous elements into his work. Kim P. observed how Oh’s plays from the mid and late 1970s reveal borrowed elements from Korean indigenous culture and a superb fusion with Oh’s imaginative ideas:

Oh T’aeSŏk’s mid-phase works that were greatly influenced by traditional theatre take place in such empty imaginary space, as seen in The Medicine Seller, Ch’unP’ung’s Wife, Lifecord, Intimacy between Father and Son, and The Dream of P’ilbu, etc. Oh T’aeSŏk imbues Korean[nesque] rhythm and tremendous amount of liveliness on an almost empty space, through his dazzling loquacity, his imagination that lets the time and space do a handstand, and a dexterous compositional power. He also leaves some space untaken and space to breathe. The audience can indulge in diverse experience, only led by Oh’s theatrical imagination. (Medicine Seller 230)

His subsequent plays, Medicine Seller (1974, premiered in 1973 at the Café Theatre), Lifecord

(1974, written in 1973),31 Change of Seasons (1975), Ch’unP’ung’s Wife (1976), and Spray of

Water (1978), were all deeply ingrained in Korean history from near and far. Ch’unP’ung’s Wife, for instance, was changed numerous times as it was re-staged in 1986 and 1999. This performance incorporated Korean mask dance drama and puppetry (kkokktu gaksi norŭm) for dramatic structure and characterization. By designating the empty space as “madang,” Oh displayed a mixture of language, movement, charcters, and music that strongly resonated with a

Korean indigenous life style. Loosely adapted from the classic novel Tale of Ch’unP’ung, 117 however, the story is unrealistic, irrational, and illogical. In the final scene, for instance,

Ch’unP’ung’s Wife gives birth to her husband, Ch’unP’ung. This is entirely illogical but parallels the birth scene in Pongsan mask dance drama:

WIFE: (In the pain of childbirth.) Aigoo! It hurts! Help!

YI CHI: Here I am.

WIFE: Please hold my hand. I think I’m gonna pass out.

TŏK-JUNG: (Holding her hands.) What’s wrong with you? You just had your very last baby and gave it away. If you can’t bear any more babies, why are you being so indecent on the street? I’m ashamed of you.

WIFE: Look, at age seventy I’ve just had sex with a man. That’s something to celebrate. Why do you say you’re ashamed? (Looking back at Ch’unP’ung, who is squirming on the ground.) My god! How big he is! (Passes out.)

YI CHI: Sister!

TŏK-JUNG: You know, I thought she was rushing things a bit. Maybe indigestion.

WIFE: (Painfully.) I’m glad that I bore a son. (Dies.)

YI CHI: Oh, no! Sister!

TŏK-JUNG: She gave birth to her own husband—like he was her son. Golly, now that’s being greedy. No wonder she passed away. (2.99)

The above ending scene takes place after Wife went to Ch’uWol, a kiseng, with whom her husband Ch’unP’ung would not come home. After the fight with Ch’uWol, Wife falls on the ground and faints, whom Ch’unP’ung mistakes as Ch’uWol. (Figure 5.) He wails over her death.

On that very instance, a shaman performs an exorcision on the street, and when Wife comes to her mind, Ch’unP’ung perceives it as Ch’uWol’s spirit “coming back from the dead” (2. 91-98).

He keeps praying to the King of the Underworld. After a moment of hesitation, Wife decides to pretend like Ch’uWol and “while clapping and singing, she dances,” which is joined by her husband. “They dance so wildly and energetically that the stage soon looks like a dance floor” 118

(98). They also have intercourse, and immediately, she gives a birth while the above dialogue takes place. While Ch’unP’ung’s wife is about to pass away, Tŏk-Jung does not seem to pay attention to her condition. Instead, he chastises her for being “indecent.” He seems to take things jokingly. Soon afterwards, Ch’uWol “enters, bringing small bells and a fan, and performs a ritual” (99). Then, “everyone joins her dance and exits while dancing” (100). (Figure 6.) This leaves the two male characters, Yi Chi and Tŏk-Jung, who are brothers who came all the way to

PyŏngYang to find bellflower roots which will save their old mother. The scene ends when Tŏk-

Jung “hits his forehead against the ground and falls backwards,” upon which Yi Chi desperately calls for a doctor (100). As many of Oh’s other plays, it is perceived as “being full of playfulness.” It is “not simple or vulgar,” but “aims at simplicity and heaviness that flows from a complicated and agonizing process” which leads to its “tragic ending.”32 The critic Han

SangCh’ŏl evaluated this play as one that depicts “the instinctual human life where life and death, play and ritual, and sex and morals are pooled into one…through the combination of dance, song and narration, this play [nori] offers abundant fun and joyfulness not found in any other theatre so far” (“On Oh (I)” 219).

Since the play is not only about the ritual itself, Oh also makes use of a “dream” structure.

While the shaman ritual is, generally speaking, a more public event; intended to be observed by numerous people, a dream is rather a personal experience that takes place for an individual only.

A dream is associated with the illogical, unsuppressed, and instinctive side of a person’s nature.

Dream scenes are usually dramatized in a disorderly and chaotic manner, usually referred to as

“nanjang.” Such chaotic and playful scenery also meets with the inherent playfulness of Korean indigenous events, producing a seemingly illogical and free-floating play. Colored by the alternations between the present, past, and future, unfixed time and space is intimately woven into the overall atmosphere and mood of Oh’s plays.

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For a time, Oh made an effort in acquainting himself with the dramaturgy of Korean indigenous performances and acquiring a firm intellectual conceptualisation of it. For other theatrical elements, such as physical movements and music, Oh had to rely on experts in that particular field, i.e., indigenous performers. The performer and dancer Yang ToIl (1907-1979), indignantly chastised Oh for the short-term choreography or dance training. He criticized that Oh was unaware of the need for investing much time and effort into this element of a production.

Yang was a Cultural Asset invited by Oh to help with dance movements for a play. Yang explained to Oh that dance is “an extension of one’s inner self (heart) and his/her life” that cannot be taught in a short time (Oh and Sŏh 57-58). Yang disinterestedly told Oh that even though he started dancing at the age of eight and was over sixty years old then, he “still could not dance the

‘Dance of Old Monk’ (‘Nojang Ch’um’)” of mask dance drama (56).33 Although it has not drawn very much attention thus far, the Lighting Designer was a Japanese artist, a rare occurrence in

Korean theatre. At a time when specialized lighting designers were scarce in Korea and anti-

Japanese sentiment was still high, Oh’s collaboration with a Japanese artist was born from a need for visual crispness. Oh, who worked for the Drama Center, attended Ahn MinSu’s productions.

MinSu’s productions were famous for brilliant lighting designs. In addition to the issue of lighting, the costumes in Oh’s plays also revealed exquisite beauty that is distinctly Asian but differs slightly from what is considered to be conventionally Korean.

Although his plays won more than merely the spotlight in Korea, Oh, in his late thirties, started doubting his own artistic ability. As he had never been abroad, he seemed to have fallen behind other artists who had traveled abroad. These artists include Yu TŏkHyŏng and Ahn MinSu who were resident directors at the Drama Center. With the sensational landmark directions by Yu and Kim ChŏngOk, who only recently returned from studying in The United States and France respectively, the Korean theatre sector was enchanted with Euro-American styles. Oh felt very

120 inadequate, since he lacked concrete ideas about directorial concepts and had not received systematic training in theatre, unlike other directors who experienced “the home of theatre”

(Forty Years 97). When Oh was awarded the Directorial Prize at the Korea Theatre Festival for his Water Spray [Mulbora] in 1978, Oh received a grant from what is now called The Korea Arts and Culture Education Service. The grant was to be used for observing The United States’ theatre industry early in the year 1979. During his seven month stay, Oh’s doubt and feelings of inferiority dissipated. Oh confessed, in a talk with the theatre scholar Sŏh YŏnHo, that his thirty- eight year-old self had serious inner conflicts and agonized about the artistic merit and originality of his work. Oh wondered whether or not his artistic world was “a mere copy of others” (97-98).

These doubts disappeared after attending two East European plays in NYC, namely Tadeus

Kantor’s Dead Class and The Last Love of Andy Warhol. He was thrilled to watch a play “without a proscenium arch where thirteen old men jumped around as if playing basketball, reminiscent of

Korean mask dance drama.” The overall layout, form, and dramatic principles also struck Oh as similar to Korean indigenous plays. Upon watching plays from or staged by the immigrants or political refugees from Hungary, Czechoslovakia or Poland, Oh saw aspects of Korean indigenous theatre there and regained faith in his cultural legacy (96-98).

Another invigorating incident occurred when he met the female director Ch’oi Hyŏng’In, who was a senior in the Theatre (Directing) Program at New York University. She invited Oh to direct his play without pre-arrangement. Upon hearing the positive and rather surprised remarks by the Academic Dean of the department, who surprisingly commented “how contemporary” indigenous culture could be, and “how it very uniquely differed” from those from China and

Japan, Oh felt proud to be a part of Korean traditional culture (84-85). In this sense, the visit to the New York City’s Broadway benefitted him in two ways: firstly, Oh at last visited the mecca of contemporary theatre, and secondly, Oh gain trust in his own directing style. A style that was

121 different from the mainstream Korean stages that emulated Euro-American theatre. Upon returning to Korea, Oh sought ways to realize his ideas and the lessons he had learned while he was in New York City.

Since Oh discovered characteristics of Korean theatre during a performance of an East

European play in New York City, his Koreannesque theatre was largely based on the structure of

“sandae-nori” and on the regionality and sentimentality of Korean language. Sandae provides Oh with a multifaceted theatrical framework that includes spatiotemporal relationships, interaction with the audience, witty remarks and acting style. First, sandae’s unrestricted use of imaginary space, altering from one location to another, enables unconfined time travel from the present to the past and the future. Not only is the fourth wall broken, but going back and forth in time and the co-existence of individuals or events from different temporal backgrounds allows maximum use of imagination. This greatly contrasts to the then prevalent climactic structure with intricate causality, which aimed to adhere to the three unities of character, time, and space. Secondly, the presentational nature of sandae-nori allows or necessitates a more active interaction between the performers and the spectators, often involving loud and playful kinds of performances to entertain the spectators. Although they do not engage in direct physical activities with the actors, the spectators can laugh out loud, sigh, or clap hands at exciting moments. Thirdly, following the frequent use of plays on words such as jests, wits, puns, satires, and incorrect idioms in sandae,

Oh writes his conversations in the everyday language spoken by ordinary people from mostly rural areas. This adoption of regional dialects is in distinct contrast to the conventions of former mainstream Korean theatre. Until this time, the only accepted form of language on stage was the standard use of the Korean language (p’yojunmal spoken in Seoul) usually delivered in an awkward stage fashion.

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After having written multiple award-winning plays, Oh founded his own theatre company after an incident upset him. After the success of Bicycle, Oh submitted his new play Africa under the name of TongRang Repertory Theatre but his play was not accepted. Oh was enraged that his new play was rejected, especially since his Bicycle won the Director’s Prize and was so successful. Consequently, Oh decided to establish his own theatre company so that he could direct his own plays. Staging his own plays was a way for Oh to gain full ownership and control of his written works.

Although Oh has not published an actor’s handbook like Lee, Oh has described on several occasions, what he believes to be natural to the Korean people. Oh explained that he tries to find more natural and comfortable ways of acting and fervently explained to the audience how

“death” has been a perpetuating theme in his plays. Oh used over half an hour of an 88-minute- talk “Literature on Friday” held in 2000, Seoul, to describe his eyewitness account of the Korean

War as an eleven-year-old child. Oh specifically mentioned how this experiences always has and continues to haunt him. Through using the metaphor of Korean funeral traditions, Oh described himself as “not having overcome that death,” which means, he is still mourning that specific death. Only after this explanation could Oh proceed to discuss his unique acting methods.

Over the years, Oh has developed specific acting styles that have become the trademark of Mokwha Repertory Company productions. Firstly, there is the style that is referred to as “rice paddy dialogue” ‘non-tu-rŏng taehwa,’ which refers to the way farmers talk to each other while working on narrow rice paddies. Oh trains actors to face the auditorium rather than the sides.

Instead of looking at the character she or he is talking to, the actor heads towards the audience. In

Oh’s opinion, due to his cultural upbringing, ethnic Koreans tend to avoid eye contact, even between family members such as a father and his daughter.34 In Western culture, making eye contact is almost a gauge to the speaker’s honesty; therefore, looking into a person’s eyes when

123 addressing them is important in Western culture. It is the opposite in Korean culture. The demonstrations Oh gave in his 2000 public talk illustrate this well. Below is an excerpt from examples that Oh provided during this talk that is now available on video tape. During his discussion, Oh used these examples to demonstrate how Korean people inadvertently avoid eye contact when discussing deeply meaningful matters. In the first example Oh provided, a daughter and her mother are talking in a room. The daughter wants to study abroad, although the family is not wealthy. This is an example where a mother and daughter are having a very serious conversation but not looking at each other while they converse:

DAUGHTER: I want to study abroad.

MOTHER: How can you afford it?

DAUGHTER (scratching the floor): Give me my dowry.

MOTHER (looking out the window): Do you have to go?

In the second example, a son and his father are sitting sideways on the ridge of a rice paddy. The play is set during a time when Korea experienced a severe economic crisis. The son wants to sell the mountain the family has owned for years and the father has strong feelings about this. In this example, provided by Oh, both Father and Son keep busy with their work and don’t look at each other, despite the solemnity of the subject under discussion:

SON: Let’s sell the mountain.

FATHER: Do we really have to?

SON: It is just a bit of land. I need money for tuition.

FATHER: I have never heard of anything good happening to those who sold their land.

In Oh’s opinion, Korean people look at each other when saying trivial things like “Will you please clean the room?” or “Can’t you even discern fresh bean sprouts? How will you ever get married when you cannot even buy bean sprouts?” In contrast, when making serious statements

124 such as “I love you,” Korean people avoid eye contact. Instead, while looking away, they mumble almost inaudibly. Western culture stresses the importance of expressing ones opinions clearly and directly. In contrast, a person with a Korean cultural background will most likely be too nervous to express themselves so strongly. This is especially true in the case of saying or hearing a loaded comment such as “I love you.” Therefore, this cultural reluctance to directly state one’s opinion, naturally leads to a concise dialogue with only few spoken words in a Korean play (Oh “Friday”).

The second method is the specific characteristics of language for the theatre. Oh’s point of view is that speech on stage should not be the same as speech in the streets of the real world.

Instead, Oh proposes utilizing the metric rhythms of old Korean poetry and songs such as folk songs and p’ansori. The 3/4 and 4/4 rhythms are considered to be the most “Korean” rhythms.”

These rhythms are even used in Korean translations of Shakespearean dramas.35 Oh, therefore, suggests that future playwrights transcribe p’ansori lyrics—both the melodic and narrated parts—

“to internalize” the rhythms. Just as Oh started by mimicking and emulating Korean mask dance drama scripts and Moliere’s play, he recommends that future playwrights should become acquainted with the classics of England and Korea.

Thirdly, Oh tries to avoid the so-called “medium heights” which he identifies as originating from Western “chair culture.” Korean homes have a traditional floor utility named the

“ondol” that can be compared to the Japanese tatami. Korean people would sit on a sitting mat, lie down, or stand up, whether it is a bedroom, a living room, or other residential spaces and so be in contact with the heated floor. Although contemporary Korean homes have chairs, it has been a mere hundred years since the introduction of chairs into Korean homes. Oh associates chairs with

“tension,” linked to nervous occasions such as “army, job interviews, and match making.” Oh wants his audiences to relax, feel comfortable, and enjoy the play. For this reason, he avoids the use of chairs altogether.

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In the above mentioned talk, Oh explained the first principle extensively and added that the actors’ looking toward the audience allows the audience to “meddle in” or participate, rather than merely passively observing the play. Traditional Korean performance used to have rooms for audiences to “butt in and fill in,” which was lost during the era when Korean directors and producers emulated Western styles. Oh wanted to return opportunities for active participation to the audiences of plays.36

By the year 2009 it became a common occurrence to see former Mokwha actors on television and in cinemas.37 As in the 1990s, titles of “Mokwha actors” almost always follow them, signifying the intense training they receive at Mokwha. Also, “Mokwha actors” became synonymous with “unique individuality” as actors. Their homeliness and even unattractive physical appearances contrasted sharply with often surgically “beautified” screen actors.

Combined with their unique appearance, their balanced acting styles were praise by critics and audiences alike. While it was a great loss for Oh and his theatre company when the core members left Mokwha; Oh consistently worked with new actors.

In his capacity as playwright, Oh touched upon various elements and themes from

Korean history. As Oh himself attested, “war” is a subject he frequently contemplates. In fact,

Lifecord, Intimacy between Father and Son was created with the deliberate objective of dramatizing Koreanness:

Oh incorporated extensive visual and musical additions to the text, ranging from classical dance to contemporary popular songs. And in attempting to define Koreanness, he insisted that his actors adopt peculiarly Korean modes of behavior and expression. (Kim A. “Intro”11)38 (English by Kim)

Kim’s further description of The Intimacy between Father and Son can serve as a critique of Oh’s theatre in general, as commonly described by other Korean critics as well: “that [his plays] draw materials from Korean traditional customs, ethics, and history, can also be looked as ‘plays about heightened sentiments toward other individual’” (11). There are plays written entirely in regional 126 dialects that set scenes in specific regions. The two plays examined here also demonstrate this approach.

As playwright and theatre director, Oh T’aeSŏk has taken maximum advantage of dramatizing and staging his ideas. For a long time, Oh has been credited for his genial creativity while at the same time receiving critique that his plays are not fully comprehensive.39 The recent abundance in scholarships is partly due to the more than forty years’ compilation of Oh’s drama and the maturity of his work.40 Oh’s plays gained richness through his creative adoptions of

Korean indigenous performance forms to present diverse local issues. Oh has an artistic advantage over other theatre artists when he presents his creative ideals and themes in rich vocabulary excavated from regional dialects, in multiple space-temporal structures, enacted by actors trained in his stylistic principles. In the 1990s South Korean theatre, Oh, Sohn, and Lee were the leading directors who directed plays colored with rich Koreanness. As a director who started his theatre career as a playwright, Oh is recognized for his unique artistic dexterity that is remarkably rich in Koreannesque flavors.

As prolific and unique as they are, Oh’s plays that utilize Korean indigenous forms have received mixed reviews:

Oh views Korean history as both the result and the cause of the collective memory and spirit of the Korean people, and if it is true that they are in danger of losing a native spirituality as a result of Western cultural influences, Oh believes that such spirituality can be revived not simply by cherishing tradition but by confronting its relationship to the present and to Western culture. (Kim A. “Intro” 3) (English by Kim) (emphasis added by author.)

The previously mentioned Kim PangOk’s comments on Oh’s plays effectively summarize the general characteristics of Oh’s Koreannesque work.41 Kim’s critique is a positive version of unpublished remarks by Korean theatre scholars. They regarded Oh’s staged plays as

“unique and full of visual materials yet lacking artistry” or “full of theatrical mediums such as

127 sound, color, movement, props that Oh pulled out on the stage just like a child playing with various toys on the playground.”42 Such remarks are not exaggerations when considering the continuously changing–even to the degree one can say it “metamorphosed”–productions, staged over the years.43 Oh’s artistic process generally starts with re-writing a classic by combining the shaman kut, myths and his imagination. He uses his actors to maximum effect. After a time, Oh revises and rewrites his own plays, re-directs them and re-stages them with the same or different actors.

In 1999, the second “Oh TaeSŏk Theatre Festival” took place at The Seoul Arts Center.

As part of the commemorations for the festival, numerous reviews by a number of theatre critics were published in the playbill. Among other numerous critiques, adding diversity to the multiple viewpoints, the critic Kim YunCh’ŏl summarized Oh’s theatrical aesthetic as “beauty of space”:

In his theatre, the conflict and clash between characters is not as oppositional and straightforward, but it would crisscross and would get delayed. The dialogue is close to metaphors, almost like speaking Greek [i.e., incomprehensible]. It is here where space emerges in emotional tensions between characters and where aesthetics of reception-like space emerges between the stage and the auditorium. The schism created like this, is the most representative of ‘Koreanness’ in Oh’s theatre. (“Oh TaeSŏk” 14)

The delays in the progress of the plot and the vagueness of language slow down the logical flow of rhythm, causing it to be difficult to decipher. However, one should be cautious not to understand this “space” in its original sense, i.e., spatial relations. Though Oh’s earlier productions seem to use large amounts of space, it could have been because of mundane reasons, such as lack of funding, instead of deliberate artistic choice. In her article in a special playbill for the second Oh TaeSŏk Playwright Festival, Song HyeSuk commented on Ch’unP’ung’s Wife, how “it never has been the same since its premiere in 1976. To such a degree, I consider it a piece that has been the most experimented with the possibilities of expression; the play contains the most possibilities of expressing Korean sentiments, recognition of life, from diverse angles.”44

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Oh remarked that his ceaselessly modified stagings of a play text can be attributed to voracious reading or an insatiable thirst for experimenting with various theatrical possibilities. He wants to explore and extend boundaries to determine what is possible and what not and what is the best way to present a play to his audience.

Regardless of Oh’s own reasons and explanations for his motives behind the endless changes to his plays, one can sense Oh’s awareness of audience reception. As displayed in

Ch’unP’ung’s Wife and PaekMa River, Oh’s active incorporation of contemporary entertainment culture into his Koreannesque provides his audiences with room to participate. This is especially effective since his audiences consist mostly of college students. Such a choice helps to connect the past historical scenery in his plays with the present time when audiences observe performances. The Romeo and Juliet performance at The KB Adolescent Theatre at The National

Theatre used much brighter lighting, colorful costumes and lively choreography than the 1999

Aroonguji Small Theatre production. While the 1999 production mainly featured the two protagonists Romeo and Juliet, either together or individually, the later version was expanded with a large chorus cast of young performers in their twenties. It seemed as if this was an attempt to draw attention away from less skilled performers with powerful colors, costumes and ensemble work. Kim PangOk commented that the 2001 production was closer to the later version than to the ’99 version. This production appeared to cater to foreign audiences in Bremen, Germany as it attempted to meet their expectations of Asian productions. 45 While the 1995 premiere version contained the “Western feeling” of the original script, the 2001 production changed to a completely Korean setting. “Aside from the plot the contexts, language, costume, staging are all from Korean indigenous culture” (427). This tendency to display Western styles for domestic audiences and then transform the production into an Asian-looking one is found in Sohn’s The

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General Oh’s Toenails as well as in Ahn MinSu’s Ch’obin. These plays were performed in

Vladivostok and New York respectively.

In short, Oh has been at the forefront of Korean avant-garde theatre that continues the social protest and accusations against European avant-gardist and the stylistically experimental hybridism of Yu TŏkHyŏng and Ahn MinSu at the Drama Center in the 1960s and the 1970s.

Oh’s work is characterized by active use of actors’ physicalities, incorporation of folk traditions and rituals such as yŏm (염) and kut, effectively enhanced by vastly delightful regional vocabularies and expressions of Korean language. Oh’s acute sense of social vices has deeply permeated into the minds of the average people in the capitalized, modernized contemporary

Korean society and effectively combined with cultural forms on stage. The new generation director Yang ChŏngWung’s work is more like Oh’s work than his teacher Lee YunT’aek in terms of approach. To be more specific, their work hybridizes Korean indigenous and folk theatre traditions with other Asian cultures and contemporary Western culture and takes the form of a transnational work. And yet, like the critics from this period of Oh’s work, contemporary critics are still in the process of accepting and comprehending Oh’s work.

3. Sohn JinCh’aek (1947- ) and His Inquiring Mind

Oh’s first encounter with theatre appeared to have happened accidentally as his is profession was forced upon him by circumstances, specifically his financial problems. However, his spontaneity, wit, skill, and command of the Korean language seemed to have played a significant role in establishing him as a playwright and student director. In contrast to Oh, Sohn

JinCh’aek decided upon his future profession during childhood. Born in 1947 in YeongJu,

Northern GyeongSang-do Province, Sohn grew up as an artistically sensitive child who cherished literature, music, and fine arts. As an elementary student, he would perform plays from cartoon stories and regularly attended amateur plays [ch’on’gŭk] staged as part of the circus performances

130 travelling through his village.46 He was also exposed to Western literature, and his friends referred to him as a “literature scholar.”47 After a serious illness in seventh grade interrupted his studies,48 he lost interest in school life and involved himself more with music and arts. As the eldest son in his family, with three older sisters and younger siblings academically excelling, his immersion in music led to his father disowning him. Regardless of this setback, Sohn’s had made up his mind.

Sohn graduated from high school in February 1967.49 During high school, his older sister, who was attending college in Seoul, took Sohn to art galleries, museums, and the so-called

“music galleries” in Myŏng-dong. This exposure developed his artistic tastes.50 When he failed the entrance exam to University, instead of re-applying, Sohn explored the world of art, enjoying meetings with artistic figures such as poets, novelists, and stage and television directors. This continued until he started his practical training in directing in the professional theatre world.

Taking advantage of the so-called referral system through his older sister, Sohn was introduced to the playwright Ch’a BŏmSŏk who was running the theatre company Sanha.51 Working as a junior member of the Directing Department, Sohn acquired directing skills in mainstream theatre. Then, he decided to receive a systematic theatre education and applied to Sŏrabŏl Arts College. When he scored the highest in the entrance exam and his father heard that he received a full scholarship, his father finally acknowledged his talents and supported his decision to pursue art as a career.52

During the winter right before starting college,53 Sohn and a few friends who were attending the Drama Center’s theatre program bought a piece of land on the Pandal Island in

Dongjak-gu, Seoul. They had a building constructed, intending to use this place for rehearsals.54

At this place, Lee WŏnKyŏng—who was a lecturer at the Drama Center at that time and is now a senior theatre artist—would visit and advise them. Sohn, who had much knowledge of classical music and literature, was asked to direct the plays. Starting with John Synge’s The Shadow of

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Valley, he directed Langston Hughes’ Red Carnation and other plays on that island. As in the case of Oh, who had affinities with colleagues involved in theatre, Sohn befriended students who were involved in the world of theatre. The difference between Oh and Sohn in this regard is that

Sohn enthusiastically pursued theatre since his adolescence and debuted earlier in professional theatre.55 Since Sohn’s practical training took place as a high school graduate in professional arenas, he found college life to be intellectually unchallenging. Sohn was already acquainted with established artists such as television directors, play directors, and playwrights. During this time,

Sohn’s confidence was shaken when he fell from first place in his class because of poor grades in physical education and ballet.56 Also, Sohn was repulsed by the certain mainstream conventions of the time, such as using silver and gold powder on hair and exaggerated make-up around the eyes and on the nose in order to “look Western” to supposedly achieve “realism.”57 Sohn then decided to conduct his own fieldwork after an accidental but fateful discovery of Korean beauty.

Besides the fateful encounter with Hŏh Kyu, Sohn’s so experience co-called artistic epiphanies twice. The first epiphany was that it surprised him to learn that Korean traditional music had a splendid and artistic quality. The second epiphany was similar to an eureka moment that occurred when he saw Shakespearean plays by the Royal Shakespeare Company in The

United Kingdom. Sohn’s first epiphany took place accidentally at the Classical Music Gallery where he frequently enjoyed listening to Western classics such as Beethoven and Mozart. As he often mentions in public, listening to Western classical music was a hobby he cherished since his high school years. Whenever Korean traditional music (Kuk-ak) played at music gallery, Sohn would leave the Listening Room and smoke cigarettes because he thought of Korean traditional music as old-fashioned and trite. However, when Sohn decided to open himself to the experience of traditional Korean music and in that moment, he encountered Korean traditional music, he encountered SuJeCh’ŏn (壽齊天). This refers to royal court music that adheres to Confucian

132 ideals and the style was grandiose in its rich harmony. Fascinated by its splendor and artistic excellence, Sohn became curious about the kinds of indigenous theatre Korea had in the past. It was serendipitous that the anthropologist and theatre scholar Lee TuHyŏn’s Korean Folk Theatre

[Han’Guk MinSokGŭk] (1969) had just been published. It was the first Korean publication about

Korean indigenous performance culture. Through this book, which contained extended field work, interviews, and documentations, Sohn learned about the Korean puppetry (kkokttu gaksi) and mask dance-drama (t’alch’um, although it was called gamyŏn-gŭk in the book). Upon learning they were still practiced along with other forms of performances in the suburban regions of South

Korea, he embarked on his own field work with a cassette recorder and a camera.58 During the same period, he became involved with the iterant performers’ group Namsadang who were performing in suburban areas.59

During this time, when the dichotomy of urban and suburban, or Seoul and other places, traditional and modernized, had created an acute schism between the two poles, the mere presence of a city boy and his interests in indigenous cultures were highly appreciated by the suburban dwellers. As mentioned in the previous chapter, Chapter 2, during the late 1960s,

President Park ChungHee’s government was busy tracing and designating (In)tangible Cultural

Treasures including the indigenous performing arts, folk customs, rituals, and the living performers of those forms. Sohn was fortunate to learn mask dance-drama, p′ansori, and dance directly from the soon Treasure-to-be “meisters/maestros” (“myŏng’in” 名人). As a twenty year- old college student from Seoul, he was welcomed by the indigenous professional performers who were otherwise treated with social bias. In a time when, despite the newly adopted cultural treasure system, indigenous art, culture, and performing arts were simply looked down upon as

“pre-modern and degrading,” a young city intellectual, i.e., a college student, willing to learn their everyday life traditions was more than welcome. They provided lessons for free and Sohn was

133 offered meals and drinks as well as pocket money for transportation from the professional future meisters who appreciated Sohn’s interest in their mostly ignored culture.60

Upon returning to Seoul, Sohn was lucky to return to school where Shim WuSŏng

(b.1934)’s requisted Sohn to teach the movements of the PongSan Mask Dance Drama at the

Korea Folk Theatre Institute [Han’guk Minsok’gŭk Yŏn’guso]. This institute was affiliated with

The Sŏrabŏl Arts College, that Sohn had attended and was founded and led by the theatre anthropologist and artist Shim WuSŏng in 1966.61 In addition to learning directly from the indigenous professionals, Sohn had the opportunity to learn other types of mask dance drama and

Namsadang acrobatics at the Korea Folk Arts Institute managed by Lee KŭnSŏng (1895-1978).62

Sohn also worked as a teaching assistant at the Dong-a Folk Arts Institute managed by Kim

SaeJung, (a.k.a. Moo SeJoong), learning more rhythms of Korean indigenous music and dance.63

Specially trained by the Lee K.S., Sohn was one of the only two exceptions to teach Pongsan mask dance drama to public as a non-member of the KaMyŏn’gŭk Yŏn’guhoe.64 As a member of this institute, Sohn had opportunities to teach mask dance-drama in college circles [t’alban], many of whom later got involved in the politicized madanggŭk. In other words, the years Sohn taught mask dance drama at colleges as an instructor from the theatre institute, overlap with the years the future madanggŭk practitioners busied themselves with learning mask dance drama.

Sohn, in a way, acted as a bridge between the indigenous professionals and the people both inside and outside the world of professional theatre.

The few years of field work in the Korean suburbs provided Sohn with invaluable experience and education in Korean indigenous culture that almost disappeared in Seoul. He was unaware that these forms still existed. After reading the book he learned of their existence and undertook a field trip to learn about them. A much more profound and long-lasting event for Sohn was an encounter with the senior director Huh and the founding of the MinYeh Theatre Company

134 in 1973. During the MinYeh years, playwright Chang SoHyŏn’s Seoul Malttugi (1974) became a hit repertory well into the 1980s staged in and outside of MinYeh.65 Plays by Lee ChaeHyŏn

(b.1940)66 who had written Ch’anggŭk Lee SunShin (1973) directed by Hŏh Kyu were performed.

For madangnori, prior to his partnership with the current playwright Pae SamShik,67Sohn worked closely with Kim ChiIl who also wrote large scale musical dramas including contemporary ch’anggŭk.68 As mentioned in a previous chapter, in his debut production, Seoul Malttugi, Sohn dressed a pre-modern character in contemporary clothing by updating attire in the play to the most fashionable clothing of the time.

In addition to the decades-long experimentations with Korean mask dance drama from the 1970s, with a focus of adapting and transforming it into a modern indoor theatre, the MinYeh launched several productions in musical format. Several plays at MinYeh Theatre Company can be categorized as ga-mu-gŭk (歌舞劇) and ŭm-ak-gŭk (音樂劇). Its president, Hŏh Kyu, remarked that ga-mu-gŭk is a continuation of ancient Korean performances such as rites, nori, and kut that existed as a combination of music, dance, and theatre. Hŏh saw Korean “folk

(minsok), shaman (musok), and court music” as kinds of originally Korean ga-mu-gŭk that can be developed into an ethnic yet global performance art (National Theatre 107). In his director’s note,

Hŏh considered his musical This Kind of Fellow by Lee KŭnSam, performed by the National

YeGreen YeSulDan in 1977 as a ga-mu-gŭk (311). Yu InGyŏng categorized This Kind of Fellow under “Korean musical,” as a work that merged Western and Koreannesque format and sentiments.69 By taking these facts into consideration, it is natural to expect Western influence in madangnori in the sense that rather raw indigenous elements are present in a more structured format. Thus, the significance of examining Sohn’s madangnori is to note the ways inwhich indigenous forms are adapted to recreate a Koreannesque theatre with many characteristics of musical theatre.

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Similar to Oh T’aeSŏk’s residency in Broadway in New York City, where he first encountered Tadeus Kantor’s and other East European plays, Sohn’s ten month-long residency in

Stradford-on-Avon in The United Kingdom (1982) opened his eyes.70 This was also his second epiphany. This time, instead of pursuing new ideas, his existing ideas became clearer. Unlike other Korean artists who yearned to go to New York City to experience the state-of-the-art arts,

Sohn chose to visit the home of Shakespeare to experience hundreds of years of classic theatre. In other words, he thought highly of “tradition.” With Yun HoJin, another recipient of the grant, who had a residency at the ITI National Theatre in the United Kingdom during the same period as

Sohn, they exchanged ideas and regularly conversed about their findings and its applicability to the Korean situation.71 His residency at the Royal Shakespeare Company (RSC) offered him a fresh perspective from the “Western” forms that had been introduced to Korea such as

Structuralism, Experimental Theatre, and Avant-garde Theatre. The next surprise was the artistic quality he observed—its preparedness of production which offered a fresh appreciation of the saying “theatre is an actor’s arts,” a concept which Sohn did not fully understand before. Lastly and most importantly to Sohn, seeing the Shakespearean plays reborn in a contemporary setting truly impressed Sohn and reassured him of his artistic agenda of modernizing classics. Seeing

RSC establishing and upgrading Shakespearean repertories with contemporary clothing, Sohn became confident and proud of his work at the MinYeh Theatre Company. Fully discarding his uncertainty and doubts about his approach, his focus shifted to making indigenous forms

“contemporary” to the Korean audiences and determining the extent to which this was possible.

Another important recognition was that any kind of experimental theatre had to be based on

“chŏng-tong-gŭk,” i.e., established drama.72 During this year, Sohn reviewed his work from the past years and contemplated his future direction.73 This was based on recognition, similar to Oh’s restored confidence, while watching Eastern European plays in New York City.

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Upon returning from England, Sohn sought to cease borrowing elements directly from

Korean indigenous culture. These elements include traditional Korean attire from the Chosŏn

Dynasty, hanbok, and a Korean hat for the yangban class, kat. He wanted to abstain from merely borrowing for the sake of borrowing, and sought to actively “contemporize” tradition. This turn away from MinYeh’s previous customs caused disagreements with other members of MinYeh.

The gap and differences in the modes of contemporisation among the theatre group members resulted in Sohn’s departure.74

Like many other major theatre companies in South Korea, Michoo Theatre Company started in the capital city, Seoul. However, the need for a spacious space for the large cast and their physical training as well as the high rental fees in Seoul forced Sohn to move outside the city. In 1993, after the completion of the construction of Michoo Sanbang, the office in Seoul was solely used as Michoo’s public relations office.75 The new venue is located in Yangju, Gyeonggi- do Province, the ground floor of the building is for the theatre called White Stone Theatre (Hindol

GŭkJang). The second floor has a meeting space, kitchen, office, small archive, and bedrooms.

The Hindol theatre is for auditions of Michoo Drama Institute students and their presentations, madangnori and other theatre rehearsals, and Michoo performances for the regional community.

Two or three resident actors living in the building take care of the living areas and cook for the other actors.

The building serves as both a multiplex office and living area. The third floor is Sohn’s office, and the top floor is the residence area for Sohn and his wife Kim SŏngNyŏ.76 The construction and storing of props and costumes are in the lower parts of the building. A small annexed container building equipped with a piano, mirrored wall, and storage rooms is solely for the purpose of Michoo Drama Institute classes. Next to this container building and main building is a small garden where the members cultivate vegetables. This is the realization of Sohn’s dream,

137 who in the 1980s expressed his admiration for the communal aspects of the Bread and Puppet

Theatre who tour and live together and make their living by baking bread.77 Especially after the construction of Michoo Sanbang, Sohn wanted his actors to learn about the communal lifestyle by staying together for several weeks’ long rehearsal period. People eat, clean the building and surrounding areas, build the sets, and also cultivate vegetables together. Where more and more

Koreans become highly individualized and live without close interaction with others, this communal life, though not all year around, offers a necessary closeness conducive to the spirit of team work.

The two most important seasonal events held by Sohn’s theatre company are sanje (a mountain ritual) and kimjang (making pickled cabbages for the whole year). The former one is a ritual on a mountain in the vicinity of Michoo Sanbang, where all the Michoo “family” members walk together and hike to the mountain top for a few hours. Whereas the rite targets mountain spirits or spirits in general, the second event is for the group’s diet. Kimch’i, an indispensable food for Koreans, has to be prepared by every single Michoo member. Here, food is a way to companionship when they eat kimch’i together with their future meals. Koreans often call this

“sharing love via food.”

Since Sohn sought to creatively revive indigenous performance arts in a hybridized manner, he needed actors who understand his artistic directions and who have the ability to physically execute them. Just as the performances at the MinYeh Theatre required continuous training and workshops for the actors in the areas of Korean traditional dance, mask dance-drama, and martial arts, Sohn’s theatre requires a mastery of basic acting methods derived from indigenous performing arts. Until 1997, actors received three months of training after they became new members of Michoo Theatre Company. The Michoo Drama Institute founded in

1998 required any future members to complete its one-year training program. Students take two

138 semesters of actors’ training in theory and practice, i.e., Stanislavsky, Western musical singing, p′ansori singing, speech, acrobatic, modern dance, ballet, Korean traditional dance, Pongsan mask dance-drama, voice, speech, Korean drama and theatre history and Western drama and theatre history. Throughout the semester, students perform short scenes from plays in front of the acting teachers. At the end of each semester, students give presentations on the subjects they studied. The presentations are attended by the directors, Sohn, Chŏng, and Ch’oi, the lecturers, and other Michoo Theatre Company members. The most crucial requirement for graduation is the graduation project, a full-length play in which students are expected to apply all the knowledge and skills acquired during their year of study.

From 1998, the lecturers of acting classes have been three Michoo actors, two of whom studied theatre in Russia.78 Chŏng HoBung, now a faculty member in the Korean Musical Drama

Program at ChungAng University, was the head of the Acting Program at the Michoo Drama

School. This year-long training is meant to lay the foundation for smooth communication between the director and the actors and among the actors themselves. By having future members take classes based on Stanislavsky and Korean indigenous performance arts, Sohn familiarizes them with Michoo’s artistic and stylistic fundamentals and prepares them for participation in

Michoo’s performances. Since 2006, because of budget cuts, the school temporarily reduced training to three months. Chapter 4 elaborates on the specifics of his training program.

4. Lee YunT’aek (1950- ) and His Visceral Wits

Lee YunT’aek resembles Oh more than Sohn, in character but Lee is very active and outspoken in public. In addition to writing and staging his plays, he has written much to draw attention to debatable artistic and social issues. He does not acknowledge taboos, which may be related to his previous career paths. Lee made his official debut as a poet and he eventually widened his creative scope to television and radio writing, film scenario, criticism, and play

139 scripts. Born in 1952 in Pusan, Southern GyeongSang-do Province, Lee was “a free-spirited student who did not care about school exams.” This attitude made him fail his university entrance exams. In 1972, Lee applied to the Seoul Theatre School79 because it was a cheap two-year- program.80 There were four classes,81 he was in Class A, taught by the playwright Oh.82 Since Oh was often busy with his own productions, he did not show up for classes and Class A spent many days waiting for Oh. Consequently, Lee chose two plays and organized two groups to work on the two plays (Kim N., Conversations 46-47). Until Lee had to enter the army in late 1973, he produced small-scale plays with his close friends in his hometown Pusan. Due to health issues,

Lee left the army prematurely in 1975. Lee started working at a post office in Pusan and wrote poems.

Lee’s work in theatre was interrupted many times, yet his skill and passion for writing eventually led him to theatre. In December 1973, while still at school and just before entering the army, Lee experienced a humiliating incident in play in which he was an actor. He was ashamed and “ran away through the rear door of the Pusan Citizen Center, declaring that he will return to theatre in ten years” (69).83 After his failed attempt at committing suicide in 1975 because he considered himself to be a “social misfit,” (when he took twenty four sleeping pills while listening to Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring at the classical music café Oasis that he often visited), Lee changed his lifestyle. In 1977, Lee entered the Open University in Korea in order to become an elementary school teacher. In the same year, the first “Open University Literature Prize” was instated, and his poems won first prize. In 1978, he made his official debut as a poet. In 1979 he started to work as a reporter at the Pusan Daily newspaper.

After six and half years, finding the life of a reporter lonesome and boring, Lee decided to get involved in theatre in order to “mingle with people.”84 Upon the foundation of his theatre troupe Street Theatre Troupe (STT, YŏnHeeDan KŏriP’ae, changed its English name to “Theatre

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Troupe KŏriP’ae” in 2011) in July 1986 in Pusan, Lee began his new career as a playwright, director, and acting coach. He founded his theatre with an objective to perform “street theatre,” although his critically or commercially succeeded plays are not street theatre. Plays such as

SanSsitGim (1988) and O-gu: a Ceremony of Death (1990) staged at the Kamatgol Small Theatre in Pusan drew a great number of the local audiences as well as theatre artists and scholars from

Seoul.85 Encouraged by theatre artists such as the director Ch’ae YunIl, Lee staged SanSsitGim and other plays in Seoul, receiving great acclaim from mainstream critics. This was great success for a regional theatre artist when centralized Korea sponsored its capital city, Seoul, exclusively, to host theatrical arts, in what was, in essence, a highbrow culture. The gap between the cultural infrastructure in Seoul and even other urban cities was as great as the dichotomy of West and East.

Even to this date, regional theatre artists aspire to present their works in Seoul. Lee’s paving the way to Seoul for regional artists was much appreciated.

Upon his successes on stages both in Pusan and Seoul, Lee started going back and forth between the two cities and presented his theatre work in both cities. In 1992, Lee moved the

Kamatkol Small Theatre to Seoul and later moved it back to Pusan. Under Lee, Kamatkol Small

Theatre flourished from its return to Pusan in 2001 until its closing in 2013.86 Lee can also be said to resemble Oh more than Sohn in his tendency for overflowing ideas and his acute sense of social issues and emphasis on visceral experiences. He refers to himself as “a guerilla,” because from the beginning, his goal was to resist the mainstream and draw the public’s attention. Even though Lee was born a decade after Oh and began his professional theatre career only in the mid-

1980s, the view taken in this study is that he has been as prolific as Oh and Sohn as of 2010.

Having started theatre more than a decade after Oh and Sohn, the degree of risk in the sociopolitical context was much lower for Lee. From the start, Lee created bold accounts from the dark side of Korean society. While Oh has frequently referred to his nightmarish experiences

141 during the Korean War, Lee YunT’aek insists that the absence of his father, which can be seen in his plays, is based on strong masculinity. Lee regards this as an alternative to the void (Kim N.,

Aesthetics 135).

Lee’s Ogu caused an interesting debate between him and two critics, who argued back and forth around around the issue of whether or not shamanistic ritual could be “theatre.” In his review “Shaman ritual is shaman ritual, and theatre is theatre,” the critic Lee SangIl, stated that shaman ritual cannot be a theatre:

‘Theatre’ and ‘theatrical thing’ are clearly different from each other and therefore, one cannot argue that some theatrical elements found in shaman ritual make it theatre . […]. When the faith is lost, a ritualistic imitation does not have a ground to learn theatrical mime, i.e., mimickry, and what is left is only the festive playfulness [nori]. As the shamanic faith disappears, the nanjang-p’an and performance-quality of shaman ritual [kut] and festive style become more inevitable. (51-52)

Even though he does not elaborate on what he believes to be “theatre,” one can easily speculate that Lee’s definition of “theatre” seems to be more of the conventional Aristotelian kind, with a climactic structure with a clear lineal plot. On the contrary, Lee Y.T. argued that rituals die as time passes and therefore they need to be “born again” in our time to carry on their ritual functions (Korean Theatre Review).

Such prescriptive and conventional theatre scholarship and practice have motivated Lee to diligently publicate his beliefs and thoughts on art, Korean society, and his production process in addition to his play scripts. The main idea behind him is “de-construction,” where he pursues to deviate from conventional, authoritative, and all oppressive kind of scholarly and theatrical practices. In a talk given at the international symposium hosted by the Korean National

University of Arts in 2012, “Here and Now, is Resistance through Theatre Possible?” Lee described “de-construction” as “the new trend in Korean theatre in the 1990s [that] was the advent of new forms as a consequence of the deconstruction of the linear story telling structure”

(349). The start of such practice was his Ogu, which “consists of eight scenes which are 142 independent from each other,” as the play as a whole was “a fragmentary gathering of Korean traditional funeral rites” (350). This tells that from the inception, Lee purposefully avoided

Aristotelian dramatic principles that Korean theatre long has adhered to.

Regardless of mixed reviews received in Korea, Lee actively launched foreign tours with

SanSsitKim and Ogu in Tokyo in 1990. Ogu was staged in Essen and Berlin, Germany in 1991 and 1998 respectively. His Hamlet was performed in Russia (1996), Berlin (1998), and five cities in Japan (1999). His play The Problematic Human Being—YŏnSan was published in France followed by a staged reading at the Theatre St. Denis by French actors. Nichols said, “O-Gu is the most humane and human of the plays in this anthology, perhaps because it is a play about people, not about ideas. […], the play has great heart, great warmth. Characters never preach in the play and Lee lets the readers (audience members) take from the play what they will” (Four

Contemporary 52).

With goals to “embracing foreign plays in Korean way” and “modernizing tradition,” Lee founded Wurigŭk Institute in 1994 together with other directors in their forties. The word “wuri” is the Korean adjective of “our,” which signals the properties “Korean,” or “of Korea.” The members exert to contemporarize Western classics, launch premier productions of high quality foreign plays, and search new playwrights and directors in order to create original plays (STT). In addition to the annual Actor’s Training Program that opens for around seventy days, this institute has actively published various publications on theatre. Through this institute, Lee has worked actively with young actors, artists, and scholars, and consequently his plays have been critiqued through new theoretical lenses. For instance, Kim TongWuk, who studied theatre in The United

States in the 2000s and worked with Lee on staging Shakespearean dramas in a Korean setting, linked Lee’s productions with globality and interculturalism:

Lee’s re-forming works of Hamlet productions from 1996 to 2005 is a sort of process completing a trans-national ‘cultural product’ which appreciated well both by global and 143

by local audiences. Lee succeeded in localizing Shakespeare as the best cultural icon in this global age, through exploiting it with inter-cultural methodology. It took 10 years for Lee to understand that, as Tam pointed out, ‘Shakespeare are only two processes of the same phenomenon—the localization of the global and the globalization of the local— both are inseparable from each other and take place at the same time.’ Viewed in this light, the globalizability of Shakespeare lies exactly in its localizability. (8)

The last sentence in Kim’s critique greatly resembles the statement of “what is the most Korean

[local] is the most global,” as frequently stated by Oh, Sohn, and Lee alike. However, in contrast to Sohn, whose underlying principle is “to fully acknowledge and revive the archetype,” Lee is after de-construction in his aim towards a thoroughly new world.87 In relation to “modernization of tradition,” Lee is determined to make “popular theatre” that is looked down in Korean theatre sector. He relates such aim to the identity of his theatre company. In “On Popular Theatre,” he asserts that as the name signifies, it is “YŏnHeeDan” (“performance troupe”) and “KŏriP’ae”

(“street troupe”) that “has its base in Pusan and tours all around Korea—instead of creating theatre with intelligence and cultivated, it aims at meeting with broad public” (24-25). Through numerous workshop productions at Wurigŭk, Lee has experimented with creating commercial popular theatre such as ak-gŭk (commercial musical theatre). He criticizes those who would not even bother to take time to review the genre for being “light” and “vulgar” (27).

Lee believes that a uniquely Korean style of acting should be developed in order to win theh interests of the public (25). From early on, during the 1990s, Lee actively formulated what he thought to be “Korean ways of acting.”

In the case of traditional singing, one should ‘let the breath loose’ to get the taste—using the exhaling. It is similar to the breath you take on a horseback riding. This is the breathing of horse-riding people. Such breathing is important because it is where the “shinmyŏng” is created. The beauty emerges and the exhilarating moment during an unfolding movement, not during a standstill moment (‘shin baram’) comes …the strength of Western dance is precise articulation. And such dance loses energy as time passes. Because of the energy spent. Eastern dance is dance of fluid continuation. If circumstance allows, one can dance overnight. That is shinmyŏng. (92)

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In similar ways to Oh T’aeSŏk, Lee prioritizes the physicality of actors over verbal language. In contrast to the logical, calculate, and clean-cut Western theatre, Lee argues Eastern theatre “relied on mythical and poetic imagination and as a non-verbal theatre, it combined gesture and sound with language, resulting in a poetic acting style constructed as a combination among gesture, sound, and language. This leads to the spectacle and behaviors, which are characteristics of

Eastern theatre” (Spirit 316).

In sum, although Lee’s theatre is attributed to the title of “popular theatre” that most of

Korean theatre artists abhor, he does it on purpose with definite goal of creating theatre that can talk to the general public. To him, the longetivity of his Ogu which has been staged over fourteen years [now twenty four years] is a clear proof for such belief (Understanding 25).

5. Three Directors in Contexts

Unsurprisingly, Oh, Sohn, and Lee’s early plays were mostly modern and contemporary plays without direct incorporation of Korean indigenous performance elements. Oh, whose first works were created very quickly and managed to submit six plays at the same time, soon became a prolific playwright. To summarize, Oh, Sohn, Lee shared similar obstacles and challenges in their adolescence and all three directors had a free year before entering university. At the time,

“failing the entrance exam” was looked upon as disastrous, but the experience seemed to have provided them with opportunities for beginning. Their shared experiences of “being outsiders” to varying degrees, may well have led to their immersion into the world of theatre and their interests in other people.

Oh and Lee struggled with poverty and yet they found consolation by engaging with people. Oh, in extreme poverty, had to move around his friends’ places, sleep at school and stay at his aunt’s house. It was a difficult experience for him, but his poverty led him to theatre. Sohn, who loved literature, music, dance and art, learned that theatre provided him with all these

145 elements. During his adolescence, he experienced his father’s scorn for pursuing “theatre.” This was considered to be indecent and shameful for a son in the yangban (traditional aristocratic class) region. Even so, Sohn eventually gained his father’s respect by entering an arts college with a scholarship.

Koreans’ inclination to claim the “original” or “authentic” is rather problematic. To be

“authentic” needs to be differentiated from being “a pioneer.” It is a fact that “nothing is new under the sun,” but Koreans tend to overlook the need to find or acknowledge the actual origin of something, or test the validity of its origin before calling something “original” or the “first one”

(“wŏn-jo”).88 Historically, South Korea’s borders have been shut to the outside world or only opened to a select few. This was even true in the 1980s, when the sociopolitical circumstances were intense and confusing as was explained in Chapter 2 of this dissertation. As a consequence of the lack of diversity in Korean society, claims of originality have not been challenged much.

This is in contrast to America or Europe, where diverse ethnicities have migrated and intermingled, thus creating transnational states. South Korea has been a very homogeneous country, with only few ethnically mixed families.89 Instead of acknowledging the origin or source of influence for some things, Korean people seemed to have paid more attention to whether they choose to accept it or not. The arts sector of the 1980s was largely unaware of outside practices and the international stage was largely unknown to the majority of South Korean people. The general public and even artists innocently marveled at innovative staging by artists who studied abroad. They were not readily able to draw the link or parallel between these “innovations” and outside practices.

Nonetheless, but intermittently, local Korean artists and Seoul citizens had opportunities to observe remarkable international theatre through the nation’s sports events. As mentioned in the previous chapter, Chapter 2, the 1988 Seoul Olympics and its cultural events that were

146 delivered by international participants was an awakening for the Korean public and artists. In addition to the international sports games, the cultural events from all over the world opened the eyes and minds of Koreans. It can be said that Oh and Sohn, who had opportunities to observe

Western theatre prior to the 1988 Seoul Olympics, were among the pioneers who learned to develop an objective view toward Korean theatre. Such a view enhanced, if not created, the need and value for uniquely Korean theatre. Sohn realized this in the early 1980s, solidified after his visit to The United Kingdom in 1982. Oh already sensed it when his Ch’obun, directed by Yu

TŏkHyŏng in New York City, received warm applause after the addition of elements that are ethnically Korean before its premiere in Korea in the 1970s. From the beginning of his professional career in theatre, Lee supported the notion that “the most Korean is the most universal or global.” Despite the acute military regime under Chŏn TuHwan, the government sought to promote various cultural events, including theatre. It was becoming harder for South

Korea, as a country, to isolate itself from international dialogue.

As seen in Chapter 2, works by Yu and Ahn at the Drama Center were landmark Korean theatre pieces invited by the Café LaMaMa Theatre in New York City and Asian countries such as Japan and South Eastern Asian. Korean scholars and artists appreciated their overseas performances because it was a time when traveling overseas required the government’s permission. English communication was a great barrier for average Koreans as Lee YunT’aek also noted in an interview. However, Yu and Ahn both stopped directing or making theatre rather early. This was probably due to theit teaching at colleges. They had rare opportunities to witness the vanguard trends of the Euro-American avant-garde and experimental theatre in The United

States, but seem to have lost their foundation after only a few years of sensational practice in

Korea.90 Such short-lived popularity raises questions, considering the fact they continued their involvement with theatre by teaching directing in college without continuing directorial work on

147 professional stages.91 Regardless of this peculiarity, there can be no doubt that Yu and Ahn’s productions have become historical references in modern Korean theatre history.

This is what differentiates Yu and Ahn from Oh, Sohn, and Lee. In the case of the former two, Korean indigenous tradition primarily served as “handy and rich resources” for their

Western avant-garde theatre. Ahn’ choice of Japanese noh and other conventions for his adaptation of Hamlet (1976) also stemmed from this attitude. Ahn concluded that Korean mask dance drama did not suit a story about a royal house (Kim SukH., Ahn 58). The goal for Oh, Sohn, and Lee was to devise a uniquely “Korean” theatre. Interestingly, even though they strongly disseminate their most important objectives and duties to be the creation of “Koreannesque” theatre, they have demonstrated a keen awareness of outside reception. They have all three asserted that “the most Koreannesque play is the most global,” signaling their recognition of what other countries expect from their country. This claim can be said to originate from the sum of their direct exposures to Western theatre and conversations with Western theatre practitioners and scholars.92 While the statement can invite misunderstanding, as some scholars regard it as blind nationalistic support of “pure Korean” spirit and culture, the nationalists or fundamentalists in certain fields such as theatre, traditional music (Kuk-ak), and arts in general, perceive the three directors as vanguards. Sohn asserts that the motivation behind his active participation outside

Korea is his full commitment to creating “Koreannesque theatre.” By exposing himself to different cultures, he would not “become stagnant or chauvinistic” (“Lifetime” 204).

Behind Oh, Lee, and Sohn’s successful modern adaptations were serendipitous exposures to indigenous performances and decisive encounters and partnerships with personnel that helped them to make their ideas concrete. By the end of the 1960s, mask dance drama was widely introduced in university circles. This fact would not have escaped Oh’s, who frequented universities to direct plays. Though he was not directly involved in the mask dance drama

148 movement, he would have been aware of it. Sohn, who had acquired Pongsan Mask Dance Drama movements through his field work during the early 1960s, taught the form in college circles and private institutions. To Lee, living in Pusan where indigenous practices and beliefs were still actively practiced in everyday life, shaman kut had been more pertinent to his art work and sentiment than Western high culture.

Without an opportunity to have encountered Euro-American theatre practice before their careers in theatre commenced, they absorbed theoretical and practical trends introduced in Korea.

For instance, in addition to the term “total art” and “total theatre,” a few non-realist theatres had a significant influence on Korean theatre during the 1960s-1980s. After absurdist theatre, Brecht’s epic theatre was a prominent issue in Korean society. Inserting Brechtian social effect into the play was very important to especially Sohn and Lee. Brecht’s alienation effect

(Verfremdungseffekt) was cautiously adopted through the use of song, visual material, and a narrator. Lee also attended various theatre festivals such as the Fifth Asian Theatre Festival under the title of “Encounter of East and West Theatre” in 1981 (158).93

The 1970s are characterized by the production of many original plays with elements from

Korean indigenous culture as well as a quick increase in small theatres. This phenomenon continued into the 1980s. As is the case with other arts and cultural events in South Korea, theatre was created and staged primarily in Seoul. Consequently, many theatres opened in various areas in Seoul. In his article, “Invigorating Original Plays through Small Theatre Movement,” Hŏh Kyu noted the district ShinCh’on, a so-called university district near Yonsei, Sŏgang, and Ewha

Women’s University. This district had very many small theatres, comparable to the Off-off-

Broadway area in New York City (National Theatre 193). The fact the MinYeh had its theatre space in ShinCh’on for few years, to attract the main theatre-goers, i.e., college students, signals the popularity of that district. However, with the opening of the Cultural Art Center (MunYeh

149

HoeGwan) in DongSung-dong in April 1981, those theatres gradually moved to this district, forming a new theatre district. Soon the presence of numerous theatres and other cultural venues made the district crowded with college students throughout the year. Eventually, the district earned its current official name in 1985 as “University Road” (Daehakro). It was not a coincidence that both Oh T’aeSŏk and Sohn JinCh’aek opened their theatre offices in 1984 and in

1986 on the University Road, the then “mecca of theatre and other arts” in South Korea.

The creation of theatre companies is evaluated as one of the major events that contributed immensely to the development of modern Korean theatre (Yu M.). The immediately preceding generations were almost all involved in “coterie theatre companies (同人制劇團)”94 formed by college alumni or people with shared interests and goals. In contrast, Oh, Sohn, and Lee founded their own theatre companies in October 1984, August 1986 and in 1986 respectively.95 This coincidence may be surprising and interesting, but founding their theatre companies surely happened out of necessity for both directors. Oh and Sohn stated that the law required a registered group or organization to involve a specific number of members.96 Also, the political situation in

Korea demanded strict screenings of public gatherings and performances.

Oh, Sohn, and Lee sought acting styles best suited to the theatre styles they pursued. With the absence of an acting training system, artists were mostly self-taught in Western acting methods or experienced in shin-gŭk style, i.e., melodramatic style from the twentieth century.

New acting styles and methods, different from the pseudo-Western and melodramatic styles were imperative to produce Koreannesque theatre. Naturally, Oh, Sohn, and Lee, all busied themselves with opening acting workshop that would familiarize actors with Korean indigenous forms. Of the three directors, Lee has been most prolific in formulating his views through directorial concepts, artistic critiques, and social commentaries. He applied any forms that were useful in expressing specific issues. In 2005, Lee debuted as a film director when he made a screen version

150 of his bestselling production Ogu. While Lee regards it as his most important task to produce

“Koreannesque” theatre, he does not confine himself to creating theatre with indigenous elements.

In addition to widening his scope of practice to film, Lee seeks to communicate with the rest of the world via publication and theatre festival. As of November 2013, Lee is active as the publisher of Doyo Publication, the representative of the webzine Doyo, the Artistic Director of

STT, and the Artistic Director of the Miryang Summer Theatre Festival, to name a few.97

These directors have become the representative theatre artists of Korea. They persistently address Koreanness, Korean sentiment, and Koreannesque theatre. This includes not only the playwright-directors Oh and Lee, but also the Korean scholarly critics. These parties have consequently sought validation of their work within the international conversation.98 Their works have been labelled with “universality,” postmodernism, interculturalism, and globality. The view is taken in this study that all three directors have displayed strong characteristics of modernism with regard to their artistic goals, their working relationships with their actors and staff, and their work itself.99 Eventually, Oh can be best described as an avant-gardist because he displays anger, resistance, and death on stage. Lee, on the other hand, who is no less avant-garde with his politically laden attacks on society, has maximized the elements of laughter and entertainment, focusing on creating “popular theatre” relevant to the general public. In comparison to these two,

Sohn can be seen as an essentialist since he prioritizes mastering or becoming adequately trained in indigenous forms rather than simply borrowing or quickly adaptating them. Yet, for Sohn, mastering is a preliminary step toward a new creation rather than a standstill.

6. Sohn JinCh’aek: MinYeh and His Collaborators (1973-1986)

Whereas Oh and Lee started their career as writers—playwright, journalist—before they directed plays, Sohn studied theatre at college and explored directing earlier. He travelled to suburban areas where the performers of indigenous tradition heartily welcomed him. This was an

151 unusual approach at the time. Sohn worked as a teaching assistant after obtaining firsthand experience and training directly from the indigenous practitioners. He taught at the Mask Dance-

Drama Institute and taught under the guidance of Shim WuSŏng. He also taught a mask dance- drama workshop for college students, among whom were the later madanggŭk practitioners.

It would be a mistake to consider Sohn’s madangnori to have started in 1981 without any context or history. Between 1973 and 1980, Sohn participated in numerous productions and workshops that sought to find the archetypes of Koreannesque performing arts. The MinYeh

Mask Dance-Drama Workshop, in particular, consisted of a series of presentations. It was held during the off-season in summer and winter for a month, where not only actors but college students, office workers and business men also registered for the workshop (Hŏh K. National).

Sohn’s fateful and fortunate encounter with the actress Kim SŏngNyŏ is comparable to that of the famous couple in the contemporary theatre world, Japanese director Ninagawa and the actress who plays the title role in his pieces. Since her successful debut on the theatre stage in 1976 as the character Hanne in Ascension of Hanne at the MinYeh Theatre Company, Kim has been a critical influence in Sohn’s artistic career.100 Born into an artistic family, that is, a film director and scenario writer father Kim Hyang (1921-1999) and a kuk-gŭk star actress mother Park OkJin

(1934-2004), Kim grew up in the Green Room while her mother acted on stage. Born to an indigenous music family in Jindo, Southern Jeolla-do Province, Park started her professional career at the age of thirteen and later created Samsung Kuk-gŭk Company in 1956 with her older sister and younger brother and was at the peak of the popularity during the 1950s and the 1960s.

Kim was naturally exposed to the master indigenous singers and received voice trainings by the later to become Intangible Cultural Assets. Kuk-gŭk is a theatre genre performed by an all-female cast, initiated by female p’ansori singers. There were no male singers to play the main roles. Its popularity led to a sudden emergence of numerous groups of kuk-gŭk to such an extent that it led

152 to poor quality productions. It discontinued with the introduction of film and television, but its popularity with the public suggests a general tendency of stardom. The star performers, usually those who played the role of the male characters, lived in the spotlight, comparable to that of the today’s idol stars.

It can be said that behind the success of madangnori lies the professional competence of the main stars. The swift and numerous scene changes, culminating in a large-scale production, are possible because of the full commitment of the senior characters. All three performers are versatile and “skilled actors” in the truest sense: each performer has much experience and training in a wide range of performing arts genres. Each has overcome physical restraints or personal limitations to acquire the necessary skills and widen their domains as performers. Also, from the popularity seen with kuk-gŭk performers and another popular musical genre, ak-gŭk, also brandished as a commercial and tear-jerking melodrama, the long-term popularity of the madangnori could be diagnosed as partly related to those popular theatre genres. In fact, Kim and

Yun MunShik were temporarily members of the Theatre Company Kagyo in the 1960s, where

Yun debuted as a quack doctor in His Excellency, the Fool [Miryŏnhan P’aljadaegam].101

The oldest of the three, Yun MunSik (b.1943), graduated from the Theatre Program at

ChungAng University in 1973 and started to work in theatre and television. However, his high- pitched and husky voice emphasized his accent – a trait which, at the time, was unacceptable in both television and theatre.102 As in other forms of media, it was mandatory to use the Korean dialect spoken in Seoul. All regional accents were acceptable in comedy only, never in legitimate dramatic works. In general, Yun’s personal attributes were unappreciated in the elitist, mainstream, and normative cultural and artistic sectors that aimed at de-regionalizing and de- accentuating individuals. In madangnori, those characteristics contributed to presenting “an

153 ordinary person” live on the stage who communicates with the audiences without pretentiousness

– like a comfortable hat.103

Yun caused sensational audience reactions by playing the role of Rabbit in The Story of

Byŏljubu [The Tale of Turtle] (1982). This is not a main character and appears only at a much later point in the play. Even though he was musically untalented, he nonetheless received noteworthy reaction. Functioning like a bridge between Yun and Kim, Kim ChongYŏp (b.1947) mastered Pongsan Mask Dance Drama and is a certified Teaching Associate. He joined the

National Ch’anggŭk Theatre Company as the only non-major actor (singer) at that time. As seen in earlier chapter(s), ch’anggŭk is taken further from professional p′ansori, so performing ch’anggŭk presupposed expertise in p′ansori. Because Kim had no such training, he practiced p′ansori tirelessly for several months.104 He also travelled throughout Korea, to observe various regional performances including different kinds of shaman rituals, funeral rites, folk songs, folk dances, and mask dances.105 Kim’s talent and vigorous training in the Korean indigenous arts naturally led to a gradual decrease in his involvement in Western theatre. Instead, his focus shifted to the proliferation and dispersal of Korean music (Kuk-ak).106 Although he had to stick to the role of Kkoktusoe rather than other dramatic roles that take part in the storyline, he faithfully appeared annually in madangnori.107

The youngest of the three is Kim SŏngNyŏ, whose involvement has been more than crucial to the development and establishment of madangnori. She was someone even closer to

Sohn than the other two founding members of the Michoo, Yun and Kim Ch. Kim is a natural born actress, whose talents are multiplied by her dedication. As her unique personal backgrounds and artistic career demonstrates, Kim is versatile enough to act in various boundary-crossing genres while consistently perfecting her trade. She first learned Korean traditional music and later joined the theatre, which was uncommon in the 1980s for young theatre actors. During the

154 following years, she brought a significant level of training and talent into Sohn’s theatre, enhancing the professionalism of the production and setting an example for other performers.108

It would not be an exaggeration to say Kim SŏngNyŏ’s entire life has been spent at the theatre. Born in 1957 to a professional kuk-gŭk actress mother and a film director father, Kim was exposed to Korean performing arts as a baby. A makeup basket served as her cradle. After graduating from high school, she did not have the financial means to attend university. To make a living, she sang with her younger sister. However, after experiences of condescending treatment for popular music, she decided to learn traditional music that had traditional roots. Kim received private training in Kayagŭm Pyŏngch’ang from the p′ansori maestro, Important Human Cultural

Assets Park KuiHee (1921-1993) and others. Kayagŭm Pyŏngch’ang sings p’ansori or an excerpt of p’ansori while playing the kayagŭm. Upon recommendation by the master, Park, Kim made her theatrical debut in Ascension of Hanne (1976), an adaption of Georg Hauptmann’s play, directed by Sohn. Although she was inexperienced, she was the lead actress in the production and married Sohn the following year. Kim’s other four siblings are all professionally trained in traditional Korean music or dance, although none of them became as successful as her.109 Kim recorded songs in the early 1970s with her younger sister Kim SŏngAe, under the name of “Dove

Sisters.”110 After training in p′ansori, SŏngAe started performing in repertoires of Sohn’s madangnori that were in need of a strong supporting character.

Kim SŏngNyŏ’s active participation in various theatrical genres also demonstrates an interesting career path for a female actress in South Korea. In contemporary South Korea, those performing art forms that originated in, or are influenced by the West and forms that originated in

Korea are largely kept separate. Artists, scholars, critics and audiences who invest in these two genres commit to only one, their art form of interest. It is rare to find someone so highly credited for work in both spheres. From early on in her career, Kim explored a wide range of genres from

155 traditional Korean musicals (ch’anggŭk, ŭm-ak-gŭk, and ak-gŭk) to television dramas and film, to

Western style musicals.111 Upon Sohn’s insistence, Kim entered college in 1990 and eventually received a master’s degree in Korean music.

While both Sohn and Kim SŏngNyŏ devoted themselves to the development of “the national [folk] theatre that is [uniquely] Korean yet relatively universal [segye-sŏng],”112 their roles as director and actress fundamentally differed, creating two unique spheres of influence.

Whereas Sohn focused on production research, set the rationale, and devised the directorial concepts for his plays for many years, his wife Kim just concentrated on acting and singing. She only grasped the underlying rationale of Sohn’s work at a much later stage. Kim confessed that she did not fully understand the value and meaning of Sohn’s madangnori until she became a professor of the Korean Musical Theatre program (“Han’guk ŭmak’kwa”) at the ChungAng

University, Anseong, Korea, in 2005. When she taught courses on the history and formal analysis of Korean indigenous performance culture, she came to appreciate Sohn’s decades of theatrical production experience and gained a new admiration for Sohn’s work. Prior to that, although she had been professionally and officially trained in p′ansori, an indigenous genre was not common or readily received, so she was rather reluctant to perform madangnori. The madangnori was often viewed to be of of low artistic quality and it would have been embarrassing to her to be recognized as a “madangnori actress.” She even quit Sohn’s very first MBC production in the middle of the rehearsal process when she was offered the main role in the Western style musical

Evita.113 Having been an artist trained in indigenous Korean arts, but under-appreciated and only half-heartedly supported indigenous culture, Kim is now contributing to the development and enhancement of traditional Korean theatre, most notably through the genre of musical theatre to which madangnori also belongs. Kim’s belated recognition of the fundamental systematic designs and aesthetics of Korean tradition presents a common undervaluing and a lack of understanding

156 of Korean indigenous culture. This is true even in the cases of performers or students of traditional culture.114 Now that Sohn’s madangnori is in its thirtieth year since its inception through MBC, the three representative performers are more active than before in publicly advocating the form.115

It has been established that the actors were the visible agents of Sohn’s artistic design but his colleagues in adjacent artistic fields also played essential roles in developing his madangnori. The two crucial artists are Park BŏmHun (b.1947) and Kook SuHo (b.1948),116 whose professionalism contributed immensely to Sohn’s artistic development of madangnori.

Park and Kook can be called Sohn’s artistic family because they worked together closely in staging theatrical performances with the unified goal of the “‘modernization of tradition.” Park is an active composer who pioneered a composition of the masterpieces of contemporary Korean music, creatively reviving traditional music in Korea such as Confucius, Buddhist, and shaman ritual music.117 Kook started as a trainee in traditional Korean dance, but took the lead in contemporizing indigenous dance.118 Thus the initial success of madangnori can be largely credited to the intimate collaboration among Sohn, Park, and Kook, who have actively supported one another’s work. In other words, the professionalism of the core artistic staff enabled the quality production by imbuing freshness that took into consideration the evolving tastes of the modern audience.

The composer Park BŏmHun and the choreographer Kook SuHo, who were also members of the “AkSŏGoHoe (악서고회),” are two maestros in Korean traditional music and dance, whose work was so innovative that it could be considered new in the Korean context. Park started majoring in the indigenous instrument, piri (pipe), at the Seoul Kuk’ak Arts School. The school was specially founded by Park, to promote minsok-ak (민속악) as opposed to Chŏng-ak

(정악). Upon graduating from high school in 1969, Park, along with other graduates a chamber

157 orchestra called Minsok-ak-hoe Sinawui, founded the school. Park actively performed with the group in Myŏng-dong, the then center of the young generation in Western culture where Sohn frequently went to listen to music and interact with other artists. It was considered bold to perform indigenous music in utterly westernized Seoul. The artists even risked mockery and the possibility of disinterest by the crowds. Park actively performed at Minsok-ak-hoe Sinawui until he went to Japan to further pursue his studies.119 Later, when Park returned to Korea, the organization participated in Sohn’s madangnori.

That the success of madangnori was thoroughly unexpected for Park BŏmHun can be seen in his recollection of the events: “Sohn delivered the news that it was a huge success and that he wanted me to work on the following year’s production” (SoriYŏn 1). After the warm reception by the first and very large audience, Sohn asked Park to compose the second madangnori production at MBC, The Story of Pyŏljubu (1982). Park, who was studying in Japan at the time, readily accepted. What both initially thought would be a singular production brought such success that it created a partnership that would last for almost a decade. The fact that Park accepted the offer without hesitation proves Park’s awareness of the meaning and value of such a production and his dedication to devising Korean music theatre.

Sohn, Park, and Kook saw it as imperative to imbue freshness to existing traditional forms in an era when Western influx demonstrated the cultural realm and indigenous Korean tradition was deemed outdated. Park and Kook shared with Sohn the pursuit of “Koreanness” while creatively taking on the existing forms of dance, music, and performance traditions to make it relevant to the contemporary audiences. Their underlying motivations emerged specifically from an urgency to promote the status of kuk-ak. Music had been at the center of traditional

Korean arts, but in the 1970s-1980s, the general public and academia treated it with contempt due to the domination of Western music and dance. Through their collaborations, Sohn, Park, Kook

158 restored the essential role of music in a dramatic play that goes hand in hand with acting, dancing, and creation of a dramatic mood. It is therefore undeniable that the existence of Park and Kook and their committed participations in Sohn’s musical theatre was of immense help to Sohn in developing his artistic style and accomplishing artistic refinement.120

Their personal accounts attest the meaningful collaborative process of Sohn, Park, and

Kook through madangnori:

There was no question as to whether or not accept the offer to choreograph madangnori. As Sohn, Park, and I were close friends, we immediately agreed to make a good production. We did not reserve giving advices and conceding to each other, working for the best of madnagnori: when the choreography did not work, I listened to the director’s ideas, and when music seemed too slow or long, I suggested cutting it. If any of us insisted his own field, the play would not have been smooth, not to mention the emergence of a trio among Sohn, Park, and Kook. […] also our ideas on what is the ideal form of nori culture—rather than a high culture limited to certain [social] strata— appropriate for our society in our time and our efforts and will to realize that idea met with MBC’s intent to protect our culture […]. (20 Years 69) (emphasis added by author.)

Their harmonious and peaceful collaboration was possible because they had been long-time friends, shared the same agenda of creating contemporary Koreannesque arts. Producing madangnori was a pleasant challenge in their artistic work:

Personally, my choreography skills have tremendously improved since I have participated in madangnori, helping my dance world. True that I had difficult times because of the all-around looking madangnori, but through such work, my dance could become amplified. Not anyone can manage madangnori choreography. Foremost, one should know drama, and the folk [tradition], history, and fundamental sentiments of Koreans. Sufficient knowledge in music is also required. Fortunately, I could read scores because I did music since junior high school, and because I was completely open with Park, the harmony between the music and dance was possible. […]. I could even catch [the meaning] by the director’s one single word and his look. (69-70) (emphasis added by author.)

From the late 1970s to the present, the three artists have collaborated on musical theatre such as Heaven’s Order (1994) [Ch’ŏnMyŏng],121 Sky of Namsadang (1993), and Song of Spring

(2005) [SangCh’unGok]. While The Sky of Namsadang (1993) was received well, it was the play

Ch’ŏnMyŏng that was credited as “the first contemporary Korean musical theatre ch’anggŭk”

159 with entirely new lyrics, narrative, and plot (Yu I. 11). With The Sky of Namsadang (1993) the two plays won prominent theatre prizes. The Sky of Namsadang was revived for the opening program at the Centennial event for the Korean Theatre in 2008. All three plays demonstrate the interrelatedness of music, drama, and dance where the music and dance organically support each other as part of theatre, beyond functioning as mere additional effects or mood enhancer. The heavy incorporation of music and dance in theatre naturally resulted in a theatre that takes a form of musical theatre with varying degrees of focus on dance. Thus, Sohn’s theatre often finds itself on the borderline of conventional theatre and large scale musical theatre, challenging theatre critics who are unacquainted with traditional Korean music or dance.

As mentioned earlier, Sohn, Park, and Kook shared a passion to popularize Korean traditional music, as demonstrated by their involvement in a study group on Korean music Kuk-ak led by the philosopher Kim YongOak in 1984. By the summer of 1986, Sohn had a group of actors rehearsing The Keeper (Figure 7-9) as a workshop production which eventually became the founding production of his Michoo Theatre Company in 1987. For this play, actors received martial arts and Korean traditional dance like salp’uri and wore masks when they portrayed “the people.” The story centers around a character named Kim Chong, an eighty-year-old man who had stopped the ancestral rite which used to be a family tradition. An ominous incident takes place where someone opens the graves of his ancestors and takes away the corpses. Alarmed, the family starts to find out the culprit. The play enfolds like a form of a mystery novel and the audiences follow each scene as the story travels to the distant past up to three thousand years.

Sudden flash of lights come in and out onto the stage, signaling the scene change. In addition to the employment of mask dance drama and martial arts movements, Sohn designed the music played by both Western instrument (synthesizer) and Korean traditional drum and other instruments (Sohn “Michoo”).

160

Although the actual foundation of the Michoo Theatre Company was built upon the administrative requirement of registering all theatre organizations in order to stage a production, it may not be coincidental that Sohn, Park, and Kook all founded their own organizations in the same year. For instance, Park formed his ChungAng Kuk-ak Orchestra in 1987,122 the first private orchestra fully consisted of traditional Korean instruments. Kook formed his Didimdol Dance

Group in 1987. The acquaintance and collaboration between Sohn, Park, and Kook, however, dates back to the 1970s when they met as alumni of ChungAng University. Also, their teachers and senior mentors, the director Hŏh Kyu and the choreographer Song Bŏm, worked for large- scale Korean ethnic productions. The three share a motto of “modernization of traditional music.”

This generated a friendship and artistic companionship that lasted over three decades, laying foundations of new Koreannesque arts.123

After years of establishing his artistic and staff foundations, Sohn was presented with an opportunity to show his work to a wider audience with secured capital. The madanggŭk critic Lee

YŏngMi states that MBC’s madangnori started as a reaction to the government-run KBS’s

“KukP’ung” held between 28 May and 1 June 1981, a nationwide festival supported by the military government. Seeing a tremendous turnout of Seoul citizens in Yoido Square, Seoul, during this festival, MBC wanted to present an event incorporating Korean indigenous culture for the commemoration of its twentieth birthday. Wui HoIn, the employer of MBC happened to watch Silence of Lover (Nim ui Ch’imMuk) at Cecil Theatre, who then had conversed with Kim

SangRyŏl, the director of the play, and Kim ChiIl and Lee YŏngYun, who had just taken over the

Cecil Theatre. Wui was very impressed by the play and insisted that it deserved to be produced.

Wui also mentioned that MBC was in search of suitable productions (Wui 136).

At that time, Kim and Lee were running the Madang Agency124 together and had just staged ToSŏnsengJŏn (1980).125 They submitted a proposal of a madanggŭk play to MBC two

161 days later. When MBC accepted the proposal, they asked Sohn to direct the play, who then asked his friend Park BŏmHun to compose the music. To Park, who, after writing the first madangnori music, quickly returned to Japan to continue his graduate studies, the great success of the first year’s madangnori was hard to believe. Having composed numerous numbers of dance music, chorus, and lyric songs, composing madangnori music was easy, and he enjoyed writing songs for Yun and the two Kims (SoriYŏn).

In 1981, the terms “madangnori,” “madanggŭk,” “madangkut,” and “nori madang” were interchangeable. The words already existed, but the forms were not commonly used in cities.

These terms referred to any outdoor entertainment comprising dance, drama, instrumental music, song, and ritual that were practiced in rural areas. Madangnori was chosen for Sohn’s piece at the

Munwha Broadcasting Company (MBC) in order to avoid the possible association with canonical western drama as implied in the suffix “-gŭk” or with shamanistic ritual “kut.”126

While the Residency program in The United Kingdom helped Sohn re-confirm his artistic direction to devise “Koreannesque” theatre, a small study group of scholars and artists helped him to formulate and realize the concrete agenda and underlying philosophies of his practice. The scholar and philosopher Kim YongOak (1948- ) formed and led the group. He was a junior professor at Korea Univeristy in Seoul. Kim organized the group “AkSŏGoHoe” in 1984 to read

Tasan Chŏng YakYong’s book AkSŏGoJon (樂書孤存) along with other old writings on “Kuk- ak,” literally translated as “national music.”127 Tasan is the pen name of Chŏng. The main members of this group included Park BŏmHun, Song PangSong, Paik TaeWung, and Kim

HaeSuk.128 The majority of the members were scholars and people who majored in Korean traditional music. Their main agenda was finding a way to contemporize “Kuk-ak,” which was widely regarded as outmoded and old-fashioned.129 Through this reading circle, scholars and artists sought ways to imbue life to the then “dead” old music of Korea.

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Such keen awareness and inquiry into contemporisation of traditional music was formulated as dissemination of traditional arts in Korean society. That is, instead of keeping Kuk- ak as a museum piece, occasionally performed for national ceremony or at similar events, the artists sought to re-create them to make it palatable to the contemporary citizens and also to create new formats to help make it accessible to the general public. Scholars like Song P.S. and Kim

HaeSuk committed themselves to the study of Korean traditional music history and Park B.H. worked to bring the music closer to the everyday life of the people. Park KuiHee was a p′ansori singer who was also interested in popularizing p’ansori with the public. In an absence of an organization that supported activities of traditional Korean music at that time, Park B.H. created the first Kuk-ak Orchestra. This orchestra consisted of Korean traditional instruments. This was followed by the founding of Kuk-ak departments in college, kindergarten and junior high school.

The spread of the music “Sanjo” (散調) can be credited to this awareness that led to the foundation of the Sanjo Academic Circle.130

Though it has been only passingly and occasionally mentioned by Sohn in his interview, his meeting with Kim YongOak and involvement in the study circle needs attention when investigating the history of his theatre company. Encouraged by the presence of indigenous music performers and practitioners who exerted in establishing theoretical and scholarly basis for the indigenous Korean music, Sohn’s aim for ethnic Korean theatre based on the indigenous theatricality (i.e., musicality) had philosophical, if not theoretical, backgrounds. Its culmination was the foundation of the Michoo Theatre Company in August 1986. Kim Y.O. named it, upon

Sohn’s request, with a combination of “Beauty” (Mi 美) and “Ugliness” (Choo 醜). What started as a congratulatory message to be published for Michoo’s first production, The Keeper (1987), ended up as a book, Beauty and Ugliness (1987).131 Kim started by saying how Sohn is “the son of Hŏh Kyu and the son of Bertolt Brecht.” Sohn received “traditionality” from Hŏh and “social

163 consciousness” from Brecht. Sohn combines these qualities into what he presents in his newly found theatre company (23-24). The declaration of “Spirit of Madang,” as composed by Kim and

Sohn, governs Sohn’s theatre world:

We seek madang. What is madang? It is today. It is an everlasting presence. It is a presence that fuses future and past, thus a living one. We do not know madang that ignores today’s madang, whether it is from tomorrow or from yesterday. What is madang? It is here. It is the content and form of a new art that is created from the living space of our life. It is our unique life style that presupposes the universality (pop’yŏn- sŏng) of human being. It is a process of our independent life that cannot succumb to any kind of power. What is madang? It is not catharsis that is offered as a consolation to the fate, but it is an everlasting reformation of fated life. For us, only today which reforms today exists. What is madang? It is an everlasting dynamics where host and guest become one. It is a continuously new tradition that overthrows old customs. What is madang? It is the senses in our body that expresses beauty and ugliness at the same time. It is a struggle that simultaneously illuminates the dark and the light in our life. For us, there is no beauty without ugliness, no ugliness without beauty. Beauty and Ugliness! Beauty and Ugliness (Mi Choo) is our everlasting madang. (Kim Y.O. 104)

When Sohn founded his Michoo Theatre Company after departing MinYeh in 1985, he was still fascinated with Brecht’s epic theatre. He believed that if he watched the original productions in

East Germany, he would find an answer for his work. However, he realized that what made

Brecht look different was the fact that he had a “different perception of the work or view of history, not necessarily different methodology” (“Lifetime” 211).

With the foundation of the Michoo Theatre Company, the cast was changed from the

MinYeh to Michoo. The three main madangnori performers did not change because they all followed Sohn to Michoo. Park’s ChungAng Kuk-ak Symphony Orchestra participated in a national tour, performing street music on demand. Park stopped composing new songs when the

ChungAng Orchestra was discharged because of conflict between MBC and the actors over wages. Sohn then founded his own Michoo Kuk-ak Symphony Orchestra, but Park refused to be involved in madangnori while “his family,” i.e., the orchestra, was fired.132

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Despite the initial friendly terms between mask dance-drama circles and Sohn JinCh’aek, who gave lessons to college students while directing new plays reflecting on Korean history, sentiment, and folk theatre, their ideological gap kept growing. Criticism during the military regime in the 1980s centered on the fact that Sohn’s madangnori depended on the established institutions instead of resisting it. Also, receiving significant financial support from the MBC was unacceptable to the madanggŭk practitioners who were risking their lives. Their discontent continued until the end of the 1990s. At the Symposium on Madanggŭk that was part of the

GwaCheon Madanggŭk Festival during the 1997 Seoul International Theatre Festival, the critics and practitioners criticized Sohn’s madangnori with MBC as “pseudo-” madanggŭk that is “a parasite” of the regime.133 Such act was a deviation from the primary feature of madanggŭk, namely that it is part of street demonstrations or one-time events, intended to instigate the public.

Sohn and his staff were aware of these accusations and publically contradicted the rumors that the military regime of President Chŏn TuHwan programmed madangnori.134

Sohn’s madangnori, which seemed to have emerged out of nowhere and appeared on television, in fact had its origins a decade earlier. These origins are the mainstream theatre company, Sanha, where Sohn felt uncomfortable with Western Realism, as well as the areas where he encountered and experienced the indigenous performing art forms by the Intangible

Assets professionals. The germination of Sohn’s work of “contemporarizing tradition” dates back either to the late 1960s when he did fieldwork on mask dance drama, puppetry, and p’ansori, or to 1971, when he encountered director Hŏh Kyu who staged indigenous forms on an indoor stage.

Critics point to his Seoul Malttugi (1974) at the MinYeh as the start of the modernization of tradition movement in the mainstream theatre sector; however, his madangnori resembles his previous musical theatre such as Ascension of Hanne or ChangP’o Bride in that it incorporates

Korean subject, narratives and characters in a format of song, dance and drama. In addition,

165 madangnori is characterized by and differentiates from those musical theatres in that it contains clever verbal witticisms, satire, and comic enactment that is reminiscent of mask dance drama, puppetry, and p’ansori. In other words, Sohn’s madangnori has a musical aspect, with its contents from Korean classic novels, scripts of mask dance drama and p’ansori literature, as well as aspects from world classics such as can be seen in Shakespearean and ancient Greek plays.

It is possible to suggest a reason for the relative longetivity of Sohn’s madangnori in a time when other similar styles or genres seem to struggle. Yu I. analyzed the reasons for the failure of Koreannesque musicals despite the early efforts of Koreans to create Korean musicals and despite its success during the 1960s and the 1970s. The main reasons she proposes are, firstly, the absence of exclusive theatre space for musicals which can also utilize devoted members such as actors and staff, and secondly, the scarcity of multitalented actors and specialized staff for script writing, composition, choreography, and directing in the genre of musicals. Other reasons could be a shortage of funds, since musicals necessarily depend on capital and the general atmosphere of Korean theatre in the 1970s and early 1980s that considered the form of musical an illegitimate alteration of theatre, inappropriate to be publically recognized.135

7. Chapter Summary

To summarize, for the three directors who began their professional careers during the

1960s and 1980s, Korean indigenous culture was as foreign as western culture. In order to come up with “Koreannesque” theatre, each of them studied indigenous performance and tried to identify its theatrical foundations. After the initial learning process, they founded their own theatre company, emphasized actors’ physical training, and sought ways to gauge the Koreanness in their theatre. In the cases of Oh and Sohn, their first introduction to theatre was the Western theatre tradition. They had to teach themselves about Korean traditions. The process of creating

“Koreannesque” theatre was a continuous struggle of trial and error. In the case of Lee, his

166 directorial debut was almost two decades after Oh and Sohn and Lee had an easier access to indigenous culture than it was for Oh and Sohn. Lee started theatre to create something opposite to the Western tradition. Having debuted as a poet and working as a newspaper reporter, Lee cultivated his sharp objective and critical perspective, a quality that is a powerful combination with his command of language.

While all three—Oh, Sohn, and Lee—focus on extracting the essential sentiments and play mechanism from the indigenous tradition, Oh and Lee particularly made their theatre stages

“playgrounds” for their artistic ideas. Nonetheless, their differences are apparent in their end- products, i.e., theatre on stage in front of the audience: Oh’s theatre reveals a rather private web blog-like feeling, while Lee’s theatre seeks a visitor-friendly environment with easy layouts. If

Oh’s theatre “lets” his rough, personal art world “be seen by” the public, Lee’s theatre aims to

“present” fun moments and entertain the audience. Sohn, on the other hand, “invites” audience participation by maximizing the fun and entertaining elements drawn from the indigenous tradition. The three directors’ approaches to Korean indigenous tradition can be differentiated as follows: Oh as an avant-gardist de-constructs indigenous tradition and turns it into a useful and powerful tool to imbue Koreanness and connect it to the academia and the outer world, Sohn re- constructs the artistic and social functions and seeks to revive “uniquely Korean” theatre form and Lee constructs a new, or well-made “popular theatre” that was interrupted in the early twentieth century by gleaning insights from the indigenous form. In this aspect, Sohn and Lee may be in the same category where Sohn has sought and succeeded in re-constructing such form through his madangnori. Lee, who started directing over a decade later, can be said to be on the way to realizing his dream, as well.

The fact that the presentable new Koreannesque play was a direct copy or adaptation of the similarly structured French play implies a similar mechanism as Edward Shils’ idea of

167 invented tradition.136 The view is taken in this study that Korean theatre scholars should respect outside influences instead of only praising innovative theatre pieces by Korean artists: that is, solely crediting them without a reference to the original source of an idea.137 Also, assessing specific productions without consideration of the artist’s background or training, as in the cases of

Ahn and Yu, will lead to erroroneous conclusions. As Kim SukHyŏn demonstrates in her studies on these two artists, they were keeping abreast of the intercultural or avant-garde trends current in

The United States, rather than acknowledging domestic (Korean) imperatives of modernizing

Korean indigenous cultural forms.138

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Figure 5: Ch’unP’ung’s Wife (1999) (Photo courtesy of Mokwha Repertory Company.)

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Figure 6: Ch’unP’ung’s Wife (1999) (Photo courtesy of Mokwha Repertory Company.)

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Figure 7: The Keeper (1987) (Photo courtesy by the Michoo Theatre Company.)

Figure 8: The Keeper (1987) (Photo courtesy by the Michoo Theatre Company.)

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Figure 9: The Keeper (1987) Notice the mixture of traditional clothing and Western style clothing. (Photo courtesy by the Michoo Theatre Company.)

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CHAPTER 4

Sohn’s Pursuit of Koreanness through Madangnori: Modernizing Tradition

1. Introduction: New Venues—Material Contexts of Sohn’s Madangnori

In this Chapter, I discuss Sohn’s madangnori in detail. Following an historical overview and contextualization of madangnori in Chapters 2 and 3, this chapter focuses on the material contexts and production analysis of madangnori. This first section of Chapter 4 is titled “New

Venues—Material Contexts of Sohn’s Madangnori,” as inspired by Ric Knowles’ Reading the

Material Theatre. Here I analyze the variable material contexts of performance, such as performance venues, collaborations, sponsors, and core performers, which have not traditionally been included in conventional theatre analysis. Inclusion of these “non-artistic” elements enables a better understanding of the overall messaging and reception of the madangnori, since those environmental aspects of a performance imbue as much meaning on the production as the director himself. Drawing from “materialist semiotics which combines a cultural materialist approach […] with theatre semiotics,” Knowles aims to “apply a method for achieving a more precise and more fully contextualized and politicized understanding of how meaning is produced in the theatre” (9).

Elite Korean students in the early twentieth century first encountered realist dramatic art and theatre while studying at colleges in Japan, and have subsequently implemented the current practice and study of theatre within Korea that focuses on the literary aspects of production.1 This practice reflects the literary background of Korean theatre scholars rather than an education or training in theatre and dramatic arts. Another challenge to the development of performance oriented theatre departments was theatre’s low social status in Korean culture. Theatre was regarded as vulgar, low class, and detrimental to the moral character of the Korean people.

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Western-oriented curriculum, and the scholarly critics’ elitist approaches to theatre, led to an imbalance between studies of the literary text and performative nature of theatre studies in general. From the 1970s onward, few theatre practitioners, playwrights (Lee KangBaik), directors

(Oh TaeSŏk, Lee YunT’aek), and costume designers (Lee PyŏngBok) have attempted to retain a

Koreanness in their art work; few scholars like Shim WuSŏng, Cho TongIl, and Lee SangIl sought to highlight uniquely Korean traits in performing arts. Still, the deference given to

Western staging and theoretical practices has blocked an encompassing approach to the multi- aspects of the modernized adaptations of indigenous performances.

Director Sohn JinCh’aek has insisted his work is not political nor was his mentor’s, Hŏh

Kyu’s.2 Although they were not directly involved in the outspokenly political movement of madanggŭk in the 1980s, their stances reflected the vision to prioritize art over politics. Sohn and

Hŏh’s stances appeared problematic to the anti-government dissidents of madanggŭk practitioners, as evident in Lee YŏngMi’s description of Hŏh’s administrative and theatrical practice during

1981-1989. When he served as the head of the National Theatre of Korea, which was a government-patronized accomplishment.3 Although I do not fully support Lee’s point of view, I also do not endorse Sohn’s statement of “not being political” either. Instead, by following

Knowles’ application of cultural materialism in theatre production, where he tries “to determine precisely what cultural work specific theatre productions do” and approaches theatrical events as

“performance text” rather than as “event” (14-16), I consider the following factors: “the larger social and theatrical contexts within which performances occur, the semiology of audience response and the iconic (in Peirce’s terms) relationship between theatre and the life (or material world) it represents” (16-17). Through investigating such material conditions that are largely ignored in the conventional theatre scholarship, I want to attest Knowles’s following statement:

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For the discussions on the material contexts of madangnori, I focus specifically on productions that I attended in person: Summer 2005, Fall/Winter 2007, 2008 and 2009. For the production analysis that immediately follows, I examine the literary aspects such as content, i.e., source material, character, language, theme, and the theatrical aspects such as the performance space, acting, dancing, music, scenery, and props. For the earlier productions during the 1980s, and those productions that I have not personally attended, I have consulted play scripts and video recordings of these productions. Then, I discuss the characteristics of madangnori as a musical theatre, because I argue this is the first trait madangnori genre needs to be associated with. Then,

I discuss the characteristics of “Performance Space,” after which I examine the aesthetic traits of the madangnori performance. In a way, these strong musicality and unconventional production venue and stage are what distinguish madangnori from other genres in South Korean theatre and confirms its unique status.

Prior to November 2008, the long-simmering conflicts between the director Sohn

JinCh’aek and the Munhwa Broadcasting Company (MBC) finally led to an irrevocable separation between the two parties. From Sohn and his staff’s point of view, this split was the result of MBC’s manipulation of the planning for the year’s repertory. This was not a sudden change in MBC’s approach to the production. For certain performances, MBC hired Kim

SangRyŏl (1941-1998) to direct the performance. This occurred in 1989, 1995, and 1996.

However, after not being entirely satisfied with Kim, MBC would again use Sohn as director.

Still, in 2001, after reaching its twentieth anniversary, MBC decided to part with Sohn permanently. When Sohn staged The Tale of PyŏnKangSoe with his Michoo Theatre Company after parting with MBC, MBC filed a claim to stop Sohn from using the word “madangnori.” 175

MBC filed the claim on the grounds that MBC had registered madangnori as a brand name in

1994 and therefore owned sole rights to the name. Sohn reacted by filing an annulment of the claim and won the case in 2002. Since then, MBC has hired a different playwright, director, and cast each year, fully utilizing its human resources in television, film, musical, and other genres.

The fact that MBC again contacted Sohn and his Michoo in 2005 and 2007 demonstrates that despite their disagreements, MBC respected Sohn’s artistic ability. This could indicate that MBC acknowledges Sohn’s superior mastery of the form and may even perceive him to be the “father of madangnori.” However, in the fall of 2008, MBC entered conversations with Sohn while it was secretly preparing its own production. Though Sohn was not prepared for a new production of his own, after learning of MBC’s plans, he decided to stage his favorite and also one of the most popular repertories, ShimCh’ŏng. In an interview the author, Sohn resolutely remarked that he would never again trust MBC.4

Since MBC controlled aspects of marketing, public relations and location, Sohn and his

Michoo were forced to find an alternative venue to host their performance. Thus, from the year

2008, Sohn’s madangnori has been performed in the northern part of Seoul, near the upper rim, next to the Seoul World Cup Stadium in the Sang-am-dong district. Although no official academic research has explored the impact of this geographical change on ticket sales, the difference in atmosphere is very apparent to those who have attended the performance at both locations). The former venue of Sohn’s madangnori, ChangCh’ung Gymnasium (ChangCh’ung),5 can be accessed via subway line Number Three (the “Orange Line”) that runs from the southern part of Seoul. The new stadium can be accessed via the newer Line Number Six (the “Amber

Line”) that runs between the eastern and western parts of Seoul in the northern region. The Sang- am district serves young movie-goers, diners at family-style and fast food restaurants, shoppers at discount outlet stores, and patrons of theatre who are attending the madangnori. In comparison to

176 the former ChangCh’ung, which offers scant parking and encourages the use of public transportation, the Sang-am district provides the additional option to commute via private automobile.6 Furthermore, behind the new madangnori theatre, there is the SŏngMi Mountain range which provides a lovely footpath for walks during the daytime.7 Although the area itself is further away from central Seoul, the huge landmark stadium complex has various entertaining facilities that provide several options for madangnori audiences both before and after the show.

Although no official data is available to prove that audiences find the new venue more accessible, or how madangnori audiences take advantage of the surrounding facilities, the district was ideally suited to the performances attended by the author.

Moving to a new district, previously unassociated with performing arts, may have generated apprehension from Sohn’s Michoo Theatre. Michoo’s efforts in advertising its theatre productions was very conspicuous, especially since it had to compete with the public’s preconceived notion of madangnori as they knew it under MBC. The general public knew about the “MBC” Madangnori, but not necessarily its director or playwright, let alone the choreographer, composer or the theatre company from which most of the madangnori performers came. Consequently, the exit at the Seoul World Cup Stadium required a well-marked poster visible to potential spectators, as well as ticket holders immediately upon exiting the stadium. At the subway ticket barrier, theatre-goers were offered visual aids to locate the correct exit. A small poster located near the subway exit directed patrons to avoid potential confusion. Otherwise, there was the risk that patrons might be perplexed by the two exits, to the East Gate and the West

Gate that lead to the two opposite ends of the stadium.

In November 2009, larger posters were put up on the platform wall, providing very visible information for audiences to locate the appropriate gate. Also, once out of the subway, the long, steep escalator leading to the ground level of the stadium might provide a sense of

177 adventure and anticipation for audience members. These feelings could be enhanced by the slowly revealed view of the stadium and mountain. To the right, an all-white pointed tent appears which hosts Sohn’s madangnori. A horizontal banner, similar to the one that once hung at the

ChangCh’ung venue, draws much attention. The entrance to the building is marked with a conspicuous wooden panel laid. (Figure 10.) Above this panel is a rectangular poster welcoming patrons to the show, visible from the subway exit. Before entering the tent where the performance will take place, theatre-goers may approach a small stand just outside the gates. Here, they can find a two-sided, color-printed playbill available for free.

The continued use of the usual visual designs for production posters, banners, and playbills, even after separating from MBC, demonstrates efforts to reinforce Sohn’s ownership and the legitimacy of his Michoo as the original production team of madangnori. The complimentary little brochure available outside the theatre and the poster outside near the entrance to the theatre both feature the three “star” performers in Sohn’s art form. They are Yun

MunShik, Kim SŏngNyŏ, and Kim ChongYŏp. These performers have been associated with madangnori, since the form’s inception. Consequently, audiences associate these three performers with a “genuine” madangnori, Sohn made no attempt to differentiate his madangnori concept from that of MBC, notably with regard to advertising. This demonstrates his confidence in his artistic work.8

With regard to the playbill cover, the new designs instituted in 1998 are reminiscent of playful comics and have consumer-friendly, cartoon-like features. This contrasts with pervious designs of the 1980s, characterized by a folk-painting-style. In Figure 9, the cast note can be translated as: “Cast: the Human Cultural Assets Yun MunShik, Kim SŏngNyŏ, Kim ChongYŏp, and other members of the Michoo Theatre Company.” This is a clever and convivial application of the existing Intangible Cultural Assets system mentioned in Chapter 2 of this study. The phrase

178 emphasizes the three actors as “the Important Assets” of the performance genre. This phrase was also used in The Tale of Madangnori (2010) as a self-acknowledgment and an appreciative gesture to the audience. Additionally, the playbills and posters offer an exuberant sense of genuine pride for the three actors, who have become trademarks of Sohn’s madangnori, adding tradition and stability to the theatre form.9

The visual materials such as playbills and posters for madangnori add to the lively atmosphere of the performance. The playbills for the 2008 and 2009 productions have almost identical design concepts. The play titles are bright red in a cartoon-like font which is similar to the red color used for fast food restaurants and casual diners. It is a popular formatting style in

Korea because it makes titles appear lively and amusing. The monotone olive-green background color, evenly spread across the cover, stands in stark contrast to the colorful brochure filled with catchy phrases and information on various discounts and package options when purchasing tickets. The abundant information contained within is rendered reader-friendly by the addition of several photos of the three main actors in comical poses. The poster utilizes identical photos of the three actors and a caricature of Shim Ch’ŏng as depicted on the playbill. The background colors are yellow and light blue with shading and subtle design patterns. While these newer playbill covers were almost pleasantly cartoonish, more recent playbill covers feature designs that are different from the kaleidoscopic and colorful brochure of the early 2000s. It is possible that these artistic changes may have been caused by financial strain. However, it nonetheless exudes a clean and sophisticated aesthetic.

However, there exists evidence that contests the view that artistic decisions were made based on budget constraints. This evidence includes the full shots of the five main cast members and the layout of the headshots of the entire cast and main staff, as well as those of the orchestra members. Still, the effort of making the three-dollar playbill as as a souvenir— in comparison to

179 the convention of charging approximately 10 dollars for a playbill at Western commercial musicals in Seoul—paralleled the active selling of playbills at small theatres. In the new theatre, however, madangnori exuded a theatre-going mood similar to conventional theatre or musical productions. These attempts at creating an audience-friendly environment illustrate Michoo’s extensive efforts to gain independence as a theatre company, no longer relying on MBC’s marketing and sales strategy.

The last few pages of the 2008 and 2009 madangnori playbills contain full-page color advertisements for the production’s sponsors. These sponsors, mostly corporations, offer everything from car rentals, casual wear, beverages, and Korean classical literature, to education programs at a prominent research institutes. Such advertisements are rarely seen in the Michoo

Theatre Company’s non-madangnori theatre productions, i.e., those on the mainstream stages, as these performances are generally funded by theatre- or cultural-related organizations such as the

Arts Council of Korea, The Korean Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism and The Seoul

Foundation of Arts and Culture. Subsequently, the new task of securing their own funding highlights the increased work and financial burden acquired by departing from MBC. This at the same time tells how many benefits there had been for Sohn and the Michoo staff during their partnership. The older benefits such as financial security as well as the convenience of being able to reach wider audiences across the country were unavaible anymore, but having a large audience secured already, the parting did not incur much damage Michoo. Also, Michoo continued touring with the help of other broadcasting companies like SBS or KBS. The venue got much smaller and

Michoo has to pay a great sum of money to rent the custom-made tent theatre, and still it is believed the ticket sales bring a large profit. In fact, ever since MBC’s decision to make madangnori its representative culture product, with specific aim to make profits out of it, MBC

180 and Sohn’s conflict was inevitable: MBC had its own blueprints to make it a “product” to sell, yet

Sohn with large cast from his Michoo did not budge.

Though it is merely speculation, many believe that the older generations of Korea–those who witnessed the MBC madangnori over a decade ago–attend this particular performance primarily to see Yun MunShik and Kim SŏngNyŏ. Director Sohn’s awareness of Yun and Kim’s central roles in achieving the present popularity of madangnori is well reflected in their public relations. For instance, while it is not unusual to see a fourth figure on the poster, brochure, or pamphlet cover, it should be noted that such an addition is rather uncommon. In the 2009-2010

Season, Kim SŏngAe became one of the few exceptions. SŏngAe is not just a singer, but also skilled in p’ansori, like the main actress Kim SŏngNyŏ, who is her older sister.10 The inclusion of her photo affirmed her importance as an actress, rather than the significance of her character role.

In South Korean society, where seniority is highly respected, this can be read as a gesture to give due respect to a senior professional singer. On the front covers of the 1981 to 2000 playbills, actual photographs are inserted, first appearing in 1998’s Pong’i Kim SŏnDal. Here, while two large photographs of the three main actors filled the frames, the rest of the cast was either drawn or painted as dramatic characters.

Featuring the three main performers on the playbills does not necessarily confirm the actual importance of the characters they are playing. The playbill for the 1999, The Tale of

PyŏnHakdo,11 which is the second revival of The Tale of Pangja (1985), after the 1990’s The Tale of Ch’unHyang, shows headshots of five people. The photos of the three main actors are placed at the center of the page, those who play the roles of PyŏnHakdo (Kim ChongYŏp), Lee

MongRyong (Kim SŏngNyŏ), and Lee’s servant (Yun MunShik) respectively. Then, the half- sized photo of the actress (Sŏh ISuk) playing the role of Ch’unHyang and a smaller-sized photo of the actress playing the role of her maid, HyangDan, are placed to the left. Such emphasis on

181 the supporting characters differs from the usual focus on the two central characters of

Ch’unHyang and Lee MongRyong as depicted in classic literature.12 The overall dominance of the three performers in various publicity materials, from the playbill and posters, to the television advertisement and interviews, clearly demonstrates the central and powerful role these senior performers play in the popularity of madangnori.

In another example, the main dramatic character of the source material, i.e., p’ansori, is given much less attention on the playbill for the 2008 Shim Ch’ŏng. Here, Ch’ŏng is merely drawn as a young child on the back of her father (played by Yun) with no central focus or size distinctions. The young actress Min EunKyŏng (b.1982), who played the role of Ch’ŏng, was a former student of Kim S.N. at the department of Korean Musical Theatre at the Chung-Ang

University, AnSeong, Korea. Min, who won the role in a closed audition,13 has been recognized in several distinctive competitions for traditional Korean singers and actively performs in ch’anggŭk. Her central role in the 2008 production is alluded to with a full page headshot listed after the four senior members inside the playbill, but she is still not given space in the production posters. A reason for such an omission might be that Min, who was still in her twenties, was not yet recognized as a fundamental “asset” to the madangnori genre. This demonstrates the high standards and emphasis of seniority common in Michoo’s tacit rules. The senior members, like

Yun or Kim ChongYŏp, testify to “the survival of the fittest,” where the talented and the sincere actors win roles. In other words, performance precedes the seniority.14

Being an over two hour long play with numerous casts, the actors have to quickly change into different costume, wear matching accessories and carry stage props in addition to dancing and singing as an ensemble. Every participants including two Kims and Yun say that madangnori is fun, but one of the most challenging production they can think of.15 In addition to the trainings they get from the Michoo Drama Institute, almost all the actors receive private or group lessons in

182 indigenous Korean performing arts. Such emphasis on the qualifications and skills of madangnori actors is manifested in Michoo’s actors program that contradicts the outside critique on the exaggerated and rough performance.16 Although it varies for each production, Sohn initiates pre- production meetings to decide on the overall content of the script about a year prior to the first day of the production. When the script is complete, the music is arranged, followed by choreography. This leaves about one or two months of rehearsal time to master the lyrics, lines, and choreography (Sohn, EBS). From what the author observed in person between the years 2004 and 2005, the novice actors, aware of the intensity of madangnori performances, attended certain

Michoo Drama Institute training programs. Korean traditional dance not only requires certain skills and techniques that are fundamentally different from Western style dances, but also continuous practice to acquire the proper posture and rhythm. This can be challenging to urban

Koreans. When newer Michoo performers could not attend a class, they would stand outside of the entrance to the class and follow the teacher’s movements through an open door or through windows. In addition to Korean traditional dance, p’ansori and mask dance drama were popular genres. All three are the basic performance arts Sohn’s madangnori is based upon, so actors feel the need for partial re-training, if not rigorous training.17

Additionally, performers are strongly encouraged to further their education. For instance, the actor Kim HakSu, who joined Michoo in 1991, continued to receive professional training in samulnori when Michoo offered a samulnori workshop for what later became its landmark production, The Sky of Namsadang (1994). Two years after the production, Kim acquired the status of Trainee that certified him to teach samulnori.18 While performing in Michoo and other theatre companies’ productions as an actor, he has been leading his own organization, “Sound of

Willow (pŏdŭl-sori)” since 2002.19 Another actor, Kim ChŏngHwan, who joined Michoo in 1999, pursued training in Korean traditional dance by entering the dance program at KyungHee

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Univeristy in 2003. In his forties, he started a new career as a dance lecturer in a performing arts high school. According to other Michoo performers, Sohn is very supportive of them furthering their education and training even though it means temporary absences from productions.20 The actress Sŏh ISuk, as mentioned in Chapter 1 of this dissertation, finished both the undergraduate and graduate program in Korean Musical Theatre at ChungAng University. Her MA thesis is on

Sohn’s madangnori. Sohn’s own zeal for researching and studying means that he encourages others to pursue these goals as well. He was known to be holding the greatest number of production scripts in Korea. He had collected these scripts since the 1960s. He even presented his wife, Kim SŏngNyŏ, with a full set encyclopedia as a gift for being offered a professorship at

ChungAng University.21 Sohn’s encouragement of his performers to educate themselves shows a consistency in his emphasis on learning. Chŏng HoBung, an early member of Michoo, can be said to have initiated and provided a model that started a trend of further education for later members.

Having joined Michoo in 1989 as an actor, Chŏng completed the MA program in acting/directing at Moscow Shukin Theatre School in Russia. The return of Chŏng and two other Michoo actors from Russia in 1996 motivated Sohn to open his life time dream of a year-long actors’ training program, the Michoo Drama Institute, where Chŏng was appointed as headmaster also in 1996.22

Sohn founded the Drama Institute as “an alternative educational institution to the acting programs at Korean colleges” because none of the existing conventional educational institutions offered training programs in Korean traditional arts. The acting program at the Drama Institute consists of two semesters with different teachers for theory and practice. It was designed to be a two year program, but due to financial difficulties, it started as a one year program. For that reason, it required students to attend school from 9am to 6pm, five days a week (Sohn, “Lifetime”

209). When the author was a trainee at the Michoo Drama Institute (Mar 2004-Feb 2005), about half of the students rented accomodation within walking distance of Michoo Sanbang. The

184 reasons for this were not only the school’s secluded location and lack of public transportation, but also a very demanding schedule.

To become a trainee, an applicant must pass an audition. Michoo places an advertisement for new students around November for the following year’s program. For the 2004-2005 training program, a written application form needed to be submitted. The applicant had to write a narrative account on the motivation for applying to the actors training program, together with a brief description of former theatrical experience. For the audition, students had to follow after an actor’s physical movements and sing. I was exempted of the rest of the audition. The idea of the program was to see how one would interact with other members during the intensive twelve month period. A total of thirteen students were selected after the auditions, with ages ranging from eighteen to thirty-one.

Although the author contacted the director to ask only permission to observe the programs, Sohn and Chŏng encouraged participating as a “student-observer.” They waived tuition, and recommended that “being a trainee” would be a more valuable experience than merely observing.23 In addition to classes on Korean theatre history and Western theatre history, voice, musical singing, Korean pronunciation (wha-sul), Korean mask drama dance (Pongsan t’alch’um),

Korean traditional dance, p’ansori, samulnori, contemporary dance, and acrobatics were taught either on a one or two semester basis. These classes are well structured and immensely beneficial to students. The program allows for extensive development, physically and vocally, through the three different dance classes and two voice training classes. Classes on indigenous performance forms like t’alch’um, p’ansori and traditional dance offer unique opportunities to master specific skills to students living in contemporary South Korean society. These training programs support the main element of the Michoo training program, namely acting technique taught by two different teachers for two semesters. Chŏng and Ch’oi YongJin, who also graduated from the

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Shukin Theatre School, taught acting classes based on the Stanislavsky system. Termed as

“Etude,” the instructor provides “a given situation” in a scene, where the students need to provoke “an objective,” or “goal,” and an interfering situation, i.e., “an obstacle,” that blocks the students from realizing that goal. In “Observation” session, students were instructed to visit traditional market place and busy streets to observe the behaviors and gestures of vendors and customers. For each class, students had to present a scene based on their observation. Towards the end of the first semester, students were asked to observe one of the classmates and act it out without saying a word. The next step in observation practice was mime, where you act out certain tasks such as washing dishes as if you are really using soap, sponge, and water.

A more probable purpose of this institute is to lay the foundation of askills required for

Michoo productions. In other words, it allows the future member an opportunity to get to know the Michoo style and system. It prepares future members to communicate with the director.24

Sohn expects mastering the basics instead of mimicking certain skills. Especially for madangnori, a demanding performance even for the experienced actors, the play is not complete without a group ensemble. Michoo Theatre Company is best known for its ensemble acting, which comes from the annual performance of madangnori and the communal living environment it provides or requires on certain occasions. In other words, each class at the Drama Institute builds the basic skills needed to shape an actor into “a Korean” actor. In Kim SŏngNyŏ’s word, the process is called a “de-Westernization” as in “de-tox,” because Koreans in contemporary society are utterly westernized in terms of life style, eating, walking, and even talking.25 “Westernization” means anything that caused Koreans become unfamiliar with and distant from their traditional way of living, including code of conduct and mannerisms. Without a “de-Westernization process,” Kim and Sohn believe, the actors’ Koreannesuqe acting would be superficial. Throughout the semester, students perform short scenes from plays in front of the acting teachers. At the end of each

186 semester, students give presentations on the subjects they studied. For the first semester acting presentation, a third actor Kim ChongMan (a.k.a. Kim YuSŏk) prepared the students with Six

Characters in Search of an Author by Pirandello. Kim is a former Michoo actor who is currently active on television and film. The presentations are attended by the directors, Sohn, Chŏng, and

Ch’oi, the lecturers, and other Michoo Theatre Company members. The most crucial requirement for graduation is the graduation project, a full-length play in which students are expected to apply all the knowledge and skills acquired during their year of study. Upon graduation, each member is asked by Sohn and Chŏng for their intention to join Michoo. From my batch, three people have remained: Ahn YŏngHun is an actor, Kim GŭnYŏng is a make-up artist staff, and Sŏh MiHyŏn worked as a member of the Public Relation department.

When questioned about his reasons for continuing to work with MBC despite criticism from the theatre practitioners and scholars for collaborating with a major broadcasting company,

Sohn replied that he thought it was an ideal environment for a theatre director to concentrate on the artistic quality of the work without needing to be concerned about financial matters.26 Right before initiating his madangnori with MBC, Sohn directed Bride Ch’angp’o (1980) [Ch’angp'o

Gaksi], a Korean musical with an original script and original music. This production resulted in immense financial difficulties for Sohn and MinYeh.27 It was a time when the government just started paying attention to performing arts on domestic stages. At the same time, the government exercised extreme censorship on a variety of media, including performing arts. However, although many argued that this attention was merely a tool for advertising and stabilizing the governmental ideology of making “decent citizens,” one could not deny such programs immensely helped promote Korean indigenous culture.28 Similarly, Sohn felt the enormous budget of MBC to be a crucial element for staging a big scale musical theatre as Bride Ch’angP’o and welcomed the opportunity to present his madangnori to a large public.29

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From the perspective of an audience member, the Michoo madangnori’s separation from

MBC impacted the ticket sales system. As of 2009, Michoo, under Sohn’s direction, offered a greater variety of tickets and discount opportunities. The Michoo Theatre Company’s call center, two major bookstores, and three central ticket offices which included the government funded

“Sarang Ticket Link,” sold Sohn’s madangnori tickets. Through Michoo’s call center, special discounts were offered in order to draw families, couples, and large groups such as corporate or private circles. To welcome large groups of twenty or more, tickets were discounted by ten percent. Some tickets were sold as a package which included playbills, vouchers for drinks, and souvenirs. For the 2009 Lee Ch’unP’ung, there was a Ch’unP’ung Seat package (one center seat, a souvenir, playbill, 1 soft drink) for any consumer; a Magpie Seat package (three reserved seats, a souvenir, 1 playbill, 3 drinks for parent(s) and child(ren); the Mandarin Duck Seat package (two reserved seats, 1 playbill, 2 drinks, a lottery entry for a gift card to an Italian restaurant) for couples, and the Dove Seat package (four tickets, 1 playbill, 4 drinks) for a family. Insertable

“thank you notes” and gift ticket were also available.30 This was a greater variety than the package programs offered for the 2004 Lee Ch’unP’ung. There were three different packages, mostly targeting the reunions and other meetings. The campaign advertised the production as

“ideal for corporate groups,” “reunions,” and “New Year family gatherings” (Brochure).

The recent emphasis on diversifying ticket sales indicates an active effort by Sohn’s theatre company to attract both previous madangnori patrons and new audiences. The targeted new audiences included young adults. Currently, the majority of patrons are in their 50s to 60s. In his interview with the author, Sohn would often mention that the initial madangnori targeted young college students and graduates who were interested in “modern” stagings of the indigenous

Korean arts. As mentioned in Chapter 2 of this dissertation, the 1970s’ revival trend of Korean indigenous arts won great support from college students, which continued into the 1980s. Over

188 the years, as the majority of these very same audiences continued to watch madangnori, the average audience age increased, especially on regional tours where the play drew vast numbers of middle-aged and senior citizens who craved cultural entertainment. Nonetheless, in a 2008 poll, the number of patrons in the 20s age range reached as high as 28% of the total audience. Michoo also continuously advertises its play as “not exclusively for seniors but also for young audiences.”31

Another important change for the audience was the creation of an indoor public space where patrons could socialize before, during, and after watching the performance. In the previous

ChangCh’ung Gymnasium, theatre-goers had to wait outside the building before performances.

Theatre season is between late November and early January or February, which includes the coldest days in the calendar year. Waiting outside in the cold was unpleasant for patrons. It was extremely cold inside the older venue, ChangCh’ung, a huge stone building. It was especially uncomfortable to sit on ice cold plastic mounted chairs for the duration of the two hour show.

Having long been aware of these inconveniences, the new Madangnori Theatre in Sang-am-dong provides a much more pleasant environment for patrons. It is heated and small cushions are placed on the seats. An hour and a half prior to the show, the ticket booth inside the tent opens and the lobby area fills with people. It is brightly lit and the ivory-colored tent ceiling adds to the pleasant and lively mood. The left side of the tent is dominated by benches and the ticket booth.

The right side holds a cafeteria and several round wooden tables with chairs. In the middle, behind the ushers there is a smaller, second entrance which leads to the actual performance space.

A seating chart helps the audience members to locate their seats. All these changes, which were not possible in the huge, asphalt, all-purpose sports gym built in 1963 that was the old building.

The new venue contributes to creating a contemporary or “regular” theatre-going atmosphere rather than a temporary event at a sports gymnasium.

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Usually, on a performance night in the outer vestibule, long lines of people wait to pick up or purchase their tickets or playbills, while others wait for their companions or patronize the cafeteria before entering the performance area. The interior walls, excluding the cafeteria area, are covered with large pictures and synopses of past madangnori productions. While waiting, a patron can view the production history in a glance. As Sohn and the Michoo occasionally re-stage past repertory, such a display encourages and serves as a guide for the purchase of future tickets.

In the left corner of the lobby, there is a decorated Christmas tree, next to which is a raffle booth.

As a marketing strategy, group tickets of more than thirty people receive a twenty percent discount and a chance to participate in a prize drawing.32 (Figure 12.) These opportunities add to the celebratory and festive mood prevalent at the end of the year. All things considered, the material conditions in Sang-am-dong seem to create a much more positive atmosphere than the previous venue, promoting the appeal of madangnori as a legitimate theatre rather than a mere commercial event. Before the start of the event, the orchest performed a series of lively music and

Christmas carols with Korean traditional instruments. At the actual performance, a guest actress

Ch’oi SŏngJin sang several traditional seasonal songs, creating a mood of contemporary feeling and nostalgia at the same time.

Now that there is officially a “commercial” madangnori by MBC, Sohn paid much greater attention to reducing strong entertainment elements. As the scholarly critic Kim

MunHwan noted before, based on the previous productions, one could expect “numerous verbal jests and vulgar slang that were overtly entertaining.” Internally, the Michoo actors interviewed by the author specifically mentioned it as one of the most noticeable changes they have noticed in recent madangnori productions.33 When questioned about his motivation for accepting MBC’s offers to direct madangnori after separating from the company, Sohn firmly remarked that he wanted “to eradicate the wrong mutant kind of madangnori by not letting yet another wrong kind

190 be conceived.”34 Fighting against the efforts of MBC to turn the madangnori into a sellout variety show, Sohn continues to work diligently to avoid any use of exaggerated humor. These efforts have been obliquely noted by the audiences of the MBC version.35

Considering Sohn’s love and commitment to establishing a new contemporary theatre form, acquired through a decade of trial and error, MBC’s tendency to move toward pure entertainment—and thus away from the art form of madangnori—may well have been the main problem that caused Sohn to separate from MBC. Sohn’s recent re-staging of his past repertories reflects “purification of vulgarity or pure comedy” that had been previously reluctantly inserted at the insistence of MBC.36 In fact, Sohn’s productions appear benign in contrast to the increasing tendency of mainstream theatre to incorporate comic elements coupled with the prevalence of crass comedy shows on television.

Sohn’s militant attitude regarding the establishment and stabilization of madangnori as a legitimate art form and his renunciation of alternative performance approaches has been saluted by critics: promoting a legitimate artform and rejecting alternatives. Sohn makes a strong statement about his feelings on the subject when referring to the “right” and the “wrong” kinds of madangnori. Regardless, it is important to note that he succeeded to annul MBC’s claim over the ownership of “madangnori” as a brand name. The court sided with Sohn, stating that

“madangnori” is a general term for indigenous performance culture that can be performed by any party.37 Initially, MBC asked Sohn not to use “madangnori,” and following the trial, it had been agreed that Sohn could use the term but MBC owns the trademark to the logo of “madangnori” with its specific stamp design.38 In fact, when interviewed in 2005, Sohn confided to the author that his personal opinion is that “MBC Madangnori” was legitimately registered as a proper noun.

However, having directed this play as early as 1973, Sohn believed he was entitled to the ownership and equal rights to the genre. As the the performance was free of charge and was

191 planned as a cultural program for citizens, Sohn was free to shape the play according to his ideas.

The conflict began after MBC moved madangnori from Cultural Department to Business

Department, with a specific aim to make it commercial program (20 Years 143).

His motivation for accepting the reunion was to stop the existence and proliferation of a low quality madangnori that is distinct from its initial direction based on Sohn’s philosophy.39

Another point of view, regarding the verdict of the dispute over the name madangnori, is that anyone has the freedom and the right to create a madangnori according ato their own preferences.

Thus, one could argue that Sohn has no right to monitor or object to the commercial version generated by the MBC madangnori. Also from MBC’s point of view, who had provided full financial support, performance space and a marketing strategy to Sohn during his early productions of the MBC madangnori, it was logical to claim full ownership of the performance form. Thus, MBC felt more than entitled to ask Sohn to follow its directions for promoting commercialism and populism. However, Sohn insisted on adhering to his own artistic philosophy and continued to disagree with what he perceived to be improper direction. In contrast to MBC,

Sohn has treated his madangnori as a “high-class theatre,” different from mere entertainment.

This is a pride shared by his actors, regardless of whether they have participated since the

MinYeh years or more recently at Michoo.40

In the theatre sector, the unyielding and steadfast nature of Sohn as a theatre director finally started to gain accolades, with Sohn being awarded the first Lee HaeRang Theater Prize in

2003 for the demonstration of a commitment to “modernization of tradition.” It was in honor of his efforts that began in the 1970s through MinYeh and credited him as the main contributor to the establishment of the genre of madangnori. Lee’s representation of realist drama and madangnori has been criticized for “not being realist drama. This was suprising to Sohn and

Kim.”41 When his wife, the actress Kim SŏngNyŏ, also received The 20th Lee HaeRang Theatre

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Prize in 2010, she expressed her delight at receiving the award and remarked that she had waited for a long time for her work in madangnori to be acknowledged. She has received many awards for conventional or musical acting, but has never been praised specifically for her longterm involvement in madangnori.42 Yet, she received this honorable prize for being “an actress who started from legitimate theatre [and yet] performed in various genres like madangnori, ch’anggŭk, musical, etc. and showed the wide spectrum of acting” (Womennews).

General audiences, unaware of Sohn’s departure from MBC, continued to patronize the

MBC Madangnori, oblivious to Sohn and the Michoo Company’s stagings. This lack of awareness meant that marketing was essential to the continuation and success of the Michoo

Theatre Company. Fortunately for Michoo, audiences soon learned that there were in fact two different productions, and to the devoted fans, the presence of the actors Yun MunShik and Kim

SŏngNyŏ symbolized the “real” madangnori or “original” madangnori.43

The difference in staging and stage design choices between MBC and Michoo reveal the inherent distinction or focus in their production values. First and foremost, the orchestra was situated in a very different fashion. To Sohn, the orchestra is an essential element of the show. He considers the musicians and even the conductor as “performers.” In Western musicals and opera, the orchestra is usually hidden from the audience. The orchestra pit in a proscenium stage presents a convenient way to hide a large orchestra. Sohn, on the contrary, respecting the indigenous custom, adopted ideas from indigenous performances where musicians are openly visible to the audience and are a crucial performance element. In indigenous performances, whether performed outdoors or semi-indoors at a residence, musicians used to sit between the performance area and the spectators who sat or stood around the performance space.44

In the 1981 premier and the 1982 MBC production, Sohn placed the orchestra at the opposite end of the stage, placing the orchestra members on a raised platform above the ground

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(DVD). Thus, the orchestra and the performers shared the stage and were both surrounded by the spectators. In the later madangnori, Sohn sought to encourage orchestra to consider themselves as active participants and members of the cast. In order to realize this goal, he compiled Michoo

Orchestra through auditions in acting as well as musical skill. Sohn’s ideal orchestra can be seen in the 1999 The Tale of PyŏnHakdo. During this performance, approximately ten female orchestra members not only joined in the opening dance with the actors, but also performed as “village girls” as part of the dramatic action. Due to financial difficulties, however, this practice is no longer possible, but Sohn’s ideas about orchestra have not changed. In Sohn’s 2007 production with MBC at the ChangCh’ung Gymnasium, he placed the orchestra immediately adjacent to the stage. Even when it meant that the orchestra would obstruct the view of some audience members, he insisted that the orchestra should be placed in that precise location.45

At the newer Madangnori Theatre, the orchestra has one permanent location. This location doesn not block the stage and provides the audience with a clear view of the musicians.

The orchestra is on the same level as the performance stage and the audience seats start above the orchestra and the sound technicians. At this new location, not only is the directorial function of the conductor more easily accommodated, but the actors on stage are also given easier access to the orchestra. For instance, on occasion, the conductor becomes a participant in the play. When the actor Yun MunShik mocks the conductor during the play, it is visible to the audience. This was not so when the orchestra was placed below the stage level at the ChangCh’ung Gymnasium

Stadium.46 In addition, by providing the sound technician and other technical staff a position directly behind and above the orchestra, communication between the orchestra, actors, the sound technician and operators can be smooth and efficient.

In great contrast, after separating with Sohn, MBC almost completely removed the orchestra from the stage by placing them out of the audiences’ view. MBC not only positioned

194 them at a much higher level from the stage above the audience, but installed temporary dividers on the three sides around the orchestra in order to “hide” their presence. The size of the orchestra usually is less than half the size of that in the Michoo production. In the 2008 MBC madangnori, directed by film director Park Ch’ŏlSu,47 only the conductor’s upper back as he stood up to conduct was visible from the floor seating.

The next remarkable difference between Sohn’s 2008 madangnori and MBC’s 2008 madangnori was the overall production format. Sohn’s primary emphasis has been, from the

1970s on, to revive indigenous performing arts traditions in modern, contemporary South Korea.

For MBC, it was an avenue for revenue and an opportunity to demonstrate its power as a major broadcasting company in South Korea. More than the artistic quality, MBC seemed only interested in using popular performers in the media. These performers include K-Pop singers, comedians, and television show hosts. MBC focused on the “showing and entertaining” aspects of madangnori without showing much regard for the long history of the “unity or togetherness” of traditional performances which harmoniously incorporated the audience and orchestra into the show. The “unity” moments were represented by single male actor as he distributed expensive gift certificates to the audiences who came up to the stage and sang with him. This appeared to be a variation on Michoo’s Yŏt (traditional toffee-like sesame candy stick) sales pre-performance and went on for longer than ten minutes.48 However, the gift certificate strategy rebounded, creating an atmosphere of commercialism more than the traditional festival-like strategy of selling traditional candy.

As a whole, MBC selectively retained formality without considering the rationale or function behind it. Although a direct comparison may not be entirely possible since MBC’s production team changes frequently, these seemingly minor changes have created drastically different productions. In this author’s opinion, MBC’s invitation of a limited number of audience

195 members on the stage in a giveaway format or as an almost heated competition among participants prior to the performance provided too great a contrast with the atmosphere of the production—the slow rhythm, serious content, and long show time.49 Also, the traditional ritual kosa (a prayer to the gods with an offering of food)50 was only partially retained by MBC, greatly reducing the audience participation time. Probably aware of the demanding nature of the play, which dramatized a family feud who gathered on the occasion of Mr. Park’s funeral, MBC divided the play into two acts with an added intermission. This type of division of acts with intermission is commonly seen in conventional plays, musicals, or ch’anggŭk, yet the two and a half hours long running time with a heavy and dark storyline and staging may become tedious to the audience. In contrast, Sohn’s production runs for two hours without an intermission. Sohn’s production is carefully designed for the audience’s enjoyment and laughter although some performances, such as the story of Shim Ch’ŏng, for example, is very melancholic.

One of the key elements attracting patrons to see madangnori numerous times is the communal atmosphere of the experience. As in open theatre, “open” in terms of spatial, audience participatory, and interpretational aspect, the madangnori stage is comparable to the Western arena stage that exposes itself fully to the audience. Starting from the 1990s, a great majority of spectators were part of corporations and families. In other words, patrons who wanted to utilize the occasion for reunions or holidays. The celebratory and jovial setting, where food can be shared, similar to that of a sports event, offers a rare opportunity that few other conventional theatrical or cultural events share. MBC failed to emulate this key to success, missing the opportunity to capture the essence of this performance genre.

While at the ChangCh’ung, the Michoo’s madangnori staff and actors reportedly preferred the previous performance space for its ideal size and format.51 The ChangCh’ung may have provided easier access for patrons, but the actors had to contend with poor acoustics,

196 resulting in the necessity for increased voice projection in order to reach the upper tiers of the audience.52 With a capacity of up to 8,000 people, it was rare that even half the space in

ChangCh’ung Gymnasium auditorium was filled, except immediately preceeding and following the New Year. Because there were no assigned seats, audiences spread out in the huge stadium, making adequate projection even more challenging for the actors.

With the new theatre exclusively built for Sohn’s madangnori, such negative conditions have been eliminated. The seats are arranged in closer proximity to one another, reducing the distance between audience and actor. Seats in Sohn’s new theatre are no longer offered on a first come, first served basis as they were in the past at the old venue. At the new venue, all seats are numbered with the exception of “seats” at the front, by the rim of the performance stage, which allow patrons to sit on the floor. (Figure 11.) These unnumbered floor seats are rather popular, because in addition to being approximately $10 less expensive than other seats, it provides the closest proximity to the actors. In fact, the madangnori actors have been known to frequently talk with these patrons, sit next to them, or ask them to assist with the dramatic action, i.e., taking off a jacket. In contrast, MBC placed multiple rows of hard plasic chairs around the stage and these seats are more expensive than the mounted chairs further away from the stage. The current popularity of these seats and the audiences’ willingness to interact with the cast, reflects the change in theatre-going culture as well as the public’s increased awareness of how to enjoy a live performance—not merely by watching but also interaction with performers. While audiences who shy away from active participation still attend, the audience members seated on the floor near the stage expect to become part of the theatrical actions. The popularity of the floor seats highlights another important aspect of Sohn’s madangnori: the presence of two veteran performers, Kim

SŏngNyŏ and Yun MunShik. They are Sohn’s two main performers and have publicly remarked on several occasions that this theatre genre is sustained by its popularity, i.e., “the love from the

197 audience.”53 As much as these actors acknowledge and appreciate the constant interest and support of the audiences, patrons have cheered Kim and Yun for three decades, disproving

MBC’s claims that new lead performers would revive audience interests.54

2. Madangnori as Musical Theatre (ka-mu-gŭk)

Each time I choreographed with new ideas. But when I now look back at the work fifteen years ago, they look rough and lacking in many ways. Still, I do not get blushed, since I have persistently supported a radical point of view that clashed with the reality. [During the past twenty years,] I liked the sense of duty to present the traditional dances and music of Korea with the contemporary life style, in a period when Western culture was overwhelming and there was an informal enjoyment to be shared with the audiences. What’s more, however, I feel great about being able to consistently work with three friends. (Kook “Recollection”)

During the 1980s-1990s, Sohn aimed to create a unique Korean musical theatre with relevance to the Korean public both in form and content. Consequently, he resorted to the extant indigenous literary and artistic traditions as reliable sources. Creating fictive characters was of less concern for Sohn than directing madangnori performance. Therefore, the characters in earlier madangnori were as well-known to Korean public as the protagonists in ancient Greek theatre were to the Greek citizens. Whether fictional or based on historical figures, these characters were familiar protagonists in Korean classic literature read by and familiar to elementary school students and adults alike. In this light, Sohn endeavored to utilize existing p’ansori scripts in order to secure the artistic quality while at the same achieving a unique feature for this musical theatre. The existence of both the performance version of p’ansori that has been preserved through song via singers, and the written version p’ansori novels, has also provided abundant source material. Utilizing his close relationship with the playwrights, as with the composer and the choreographer, Sohn had freedom to tailor the script to his own artistic concept. In the following section, I examine Sohn’s madangnori as a musical theatre (ka-mu-ak). Starting from the literary aspect such as the source, characters, language, theme, and structure, I examine how 198

Sohn recreated the existing indigenous performance forms into contemporary theatre. For madangnori as a musical theatre, the music, dance, and script are all equally important.

For nearly two decades, the playwright Kim and the director Sohn have focused on classic Korean novels, literature, history and anecdotes, as the source materials for madangnori.

The first MBC Madangnori, The Tale of Hŏh Seng (1981), was an adaptation of an original musical script that itself was an adaptation of a classic novel based on the fictional figure Hŏh

Seng. Hŏh was the protagonist in the novel The Tale of Hŏh Seng written in the Chosŏn Dynasty era, who stood on the side of the economically oppressed class by monopolizing the market.55

Through monopolization of basic necessities, Hŏh essentially protected the common people from the exploitation and control of the ruling class. After another adaption in 1982, this time of a madanggŭk script by Ahn ChongGwan, Kim wrote six madangnori scripts based on existing p’ansori literature. From these scripts, he employed the protagonist, antagonist, and supporting characters. This led to the unofficial definition of “madangnori” as a performance genre that is based on Korean classic novels (Lee Y.M. 59).

Two decades later, there has been increased pressure to diversify the cast and script sources. After Kim ChiIl and the director Sohn had established a template for madangnori, the junior playwright, Pai SamShik, “simply filled in” new words and new content.56 With a rich legacy to build upon, Pai could concentrate on developing new stories from the Western and

Eastern classics and diversifying the madangnori repertory. Pai not only took over the position of senior playwright Kim, but also became the main playwright for Michoo’s seasonal productions from 2003.57 With Pai’s addition to the company, there has been a drastic expansion of source material.58 For example, The Chronicles of Three Kingdoms (2004) is a stage adaptation of a

Chinese classic that is widely known both in Korea and in China.59 The play The Rich Hwang of

Mapo (2006) is a liberal adaptation of Shakespeare’s The Merchant of the Venice in a Korean

199 setting. Likewise, The Valiant Lady Pak (2007) is a combination of Korean and Western classics, creatively based on the Greek comedy Lysistrata and the Korean classic novel, The Tale of Lady

Pak. This incorporation of Western classics into madangnori is a new characteristic pioneered by

Pai, who was in the unique position as the most recent playwright for madangnori.

Pai’s work with Michoo has been mutually beneficial, enhancing their artistic relationship. Although Pai called the process of writing “a simple replacement of language based on the skeleton” rather than his own personal creation,60 madangnori scripts require a sound knowledge of Korean indigenous performing arts including a dexterity in shaping Korean language. Pai studied anthropology at the Seoul National University (SNU) and holds a B.F.A. and M.F.A. in playwriting from The Korean National University of Arts (KNUA). KNUA is the only national university of arts in Korea and therefore the only university to publically emphasize nationalism and Korean culture (“Koreanness”) in arts. From his education at this institution, Pai acquired a strong sense of indigenous performances in addition to the Western theatrical tradition.

Pai’s qualifications are rare among Korean theatre artists of the present generation. While Michoo benefits immensely from his presence, the relationship is reciprocal as Pai would not have been able to house full-scale productions without a major theatre company such as the Michoo. Pai was given various opportunities to write large-scale theatrical productions which standard theatre companies in Korea would not be able to produce, and Sohn found an ideal playwright to realize

Michoo’s objective of staging ethnic Korean theatre.61 The expansion of madangnori repertory has long been Sohn’s wish. However, as Pai’s predecessor, Kim was “a genius who wrote remarkable plays overnight, but was too laid back and did not care much about playwriting more than as a source of income for daily living.” Sohn, as a junior and a friend to Kim, had no power to push Kim further.62 Sohn was fortunate to have Pai, a young playwright, who hasnoteworthy dexterity with the Korean language and who is philosophically maturity for his age.63

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If the pioneering playwright Kim concentrated on establishing the genre, Pai had both the artistic freedom and the responsibility to produce new madangnori scripts. Kim mainly adapted p’ansori scripts to madangnori scripts while at the same time experimenting with the overall structure of the play. Pai, the newer generation playwright, has greater freedom of choice and an added expectation to produce scripts in new formats.

As of 2010, the narrative and characters in Pai SamShik’s scripts were under development and it would be too premature to evaluate his work. Nonetheless, with the 2004 production of The Three Kingdom and the 2007 The Valiant Lady Pak, Pai successfully demonstrated his ability to write new madangnori scripts.64 Adapted from the p’ansori script, the protagonists in Kim’s madangnori tend to be stock characters that include people in both higher and lower social classes. Kim’s scripts include positive and negative stereotypes, such as the hero

(who the average people may esteem) and the corrupt, high ranking officers whom the audience may scoff at and criticize. For instance, HŏhSeng and Hong KilDong are male heroic figures who help the common people by taking advantage of the ruling class. HŏhSeng, a character known to have been based on a real person from the seventeentch century, represents the Realist School of

Confucianism. He is a nobleman, living in poverty and since he can’t deal with his destitute household, all he does is read. However, on his wife’s insistence, he borrows a large sum of money from a rich neighbor, sets off into the world and succeeds in making profits by manipulating the market. With the money he earne from this endeavour, he purchases a deserted island, recruits bandits to live on it and work as farmers, and helps poor people in general. In contrast, Hong KilDong is the son of a concubine and for this reason his family discriminates against him. Due to his low social status in the cast system, Hong cannot attend school and as a man born out of wedlock, is not allowed to take the state exam. Yet, often compared to Robin

Hood, Hong is a folk hero who becomes a bandit leader for the sake of the people. Ch’unHyang

201 and Shim Ch’ŏng, the two national female figures who stand for fidelity and filial love, respectively, often elicit tears from Korean natives. They are often minorities or figures who sugger oppression from dominant groups. Ch’unHyang is the daughter of a low-caste mother, who was an entertainer (kiseng) and sold liquor. Ch’ŏng is the only daughter of Blind Shim whose wife passed away right after giving birth to Ch’ŏng. Their poverty and Shim’s erroneous vow to offer three hundred sacks of rice to Buddha in exchange for regaining his eye sight causes

Ch’ŏng to sell herself as a pacifier to the angry Sea King. Based on such stock characters, Pai successfully expanded Michoo’s repertory, which also caused fresh interests by the mainstream theatre critics.65

Traditionally, the non-royal class protagonists in classic literature are revered as friends and saviors of the common people. This format is apparent in new madangnori plays by Pai

SamShik that are based on stories other than the existing p’ansori literature. The character Lady

Pak, an innovation in the 2007 madangnori, is the female equivalent of the two male heroic characters mentioned above. Lady Pak is a direct adaptation from the heroic figure Lady Pak in

The Tale of Lady Pak written during the Chosŏn Dynasty. Originally set in a war with China

(Qing), the story is combined with wifes’ withholding of sexual privileges as portrayed in the ancient Greek play, Lysistrata. Despite her husband’s cold treatment caused by her ugly face,

Lady Pak travels a long distance from the Korea to China in order to rescue him when he is captured by Chinese. The play depicts her sorrowful life, her transformation into a heroic figure, and her adventures on the way to save her husband. It ends with a happy reunion where she reveals her beautiful face upon his true repentance of his mistreatment of her. Thus, the melodramatic conclusion where the “good” characters are abundantly rewarded and the “bad” characters are punished and forgiven is not unfamiliar to the madangnori script. Usually, the

202 protagonist who solves the problem are non-authoritative figures, whose ultimate objective is not

“the punishment” itself but the restoration of broken relationship(s) or reputation(s).

Such reconciliatory relationship of an oppositional pairing is a common trope. As in the case of mask dance drama and p’ansori, there is no absolute separation between the two. For instance, in madangnori, characters such as Lee Ch’unP’ung, Pyŏn Hakdo, and Nolbu often function as both protagonists and antagonists. Lee is a rich man who squanders money on women and entertainment, causing great distress to his wife. Pyŏn is a high ranking officer who wants to claim Ch’unHyang as his own, and Nolbu is a cold-hearted rich man who refuses to help his poor younger brother Hŭngbu. All three characters make life more difficult for the lower social classes, where the good nature and kind hearts of the protagonistic characters are juxtaposed with the three villains. The portrayal of admirable, ordinary citizens and the corrupt ruling classes, who oppose each other, is also a major theme in Korean mask dance dramas that are played by and for the populace. In today’s madangnori, the play aims to comment on prevalent social issues by pointing out human errors, yet never fails to accommodate potential for change. Although the satire and mockery aim at the “haves,” the play eventually invites laughter and enjoyment rather than punishing the oppressive corrupt ruling class or the wrong-doers. While this inherent nature of Korean classics is utilized by the political madanggŭk practitioners to intensely reproach the

“haves,” Sohn as a “humanist” focuses on reconciliation and harmony.66

Whereas the protagonist and antagonist lead the main plot, the greatest contributor to the enjoyment of madangnori is the supporting character Pangja. Serving a similar function as the jester in Shakespearean tragedy and Harlequin in commedia dell’arte, this Korean archetype of the servant provides room for levity by engaging in comic schemes or actions.67 The critic Lee

S.’s identification of Pangja with the Trickster figure is repeatedly found in recent studies, which attribute the characteristics of madangnori to the presence of a trickster. Pangja adds a fun

203 subplot with enjoyable events and a storyline of the lower classes. The presence of Pangja was characteristic in modern Korean popular traditions and has been often included in Koreannesque theatre and film. Just as the Harlequin or the Jester figure, which rely on the performers’ acting techniques and skills, the Pangja character relies on the actor’s spontaneity. In Sohn’s madangnori, Yun began playing the Pangja character in earlier madangnori. He became popular with audiences because he is witty, clever and pleasantly mean though not repugnant. Yun is an actor who is versatile enough to play and communicate with audiences both in directly and indirectly. Yun believes a madangnori actor has to be extremely sensitive to the audience’s needs and be able to quickly catch on to it and play to it. Even when he delivers improvised lines, it is calculated after studying the characteristics of the audience.68 In every repertory, he would suddenly yell at an audience member, sit very close next to a woman and call her “honey,” or ask sensitive or embarrassing questions. Kim S. also remarked that during the very first appearance on stage, she rapidly scans the auditorium to find candidates for direct interactions such as asking for solutions in dealing with the antagonists (EBS).69

In the case that no servant character, or Pangja, is present in the source material, an alternative supporting character serves a similar function. In Lee Ch’unP’ung (2009), Lee’s son takes over the function of mediator between his parents. He is the youngest servant in Ch’uWŏl’s household and engages in comic gestures while interacting with Lee.70 Even Mrs. Lee’s maid, who attacks Mr. Lee and enters a wrestling match to guard her mistress’s household, is similar to the Trickster. Likewise, the maid to Valiant Lady Pak performs attractive and comical body gestures, mimics her mistress, runs on errands for her, etc. In ShimCh’ŏng, where there is no servant figure, Mother PpaingDŏk fills the role. She is a wicked woman who lures Blind Shim and squanders away his fortune. Despite her hostile motives and behaviors, she is not a despicable character. In fact, she provides several comical moments through her singing and bald-

204 faced lies to Blind Shim. Such character depiction and extremely comical lines are almost directly borrowed from the p’ansori narrative, although PpaingDŏk in madangnori makes a much more frequent appearance on stage, played by Kim S. Generally referred to as “the indispensable one,” the supporting character adds color to the performance and provides comic relief and empathetic moments.

As such, even when the characters of madangnori are directly borrowed from the existing literature, they are further expanded, altered, or combined with other traits. In addition to the

Pangja character, other supporting characters help the flow of madangnori but can be overlooked if one merely follows the conventional dramatic characters. Kkokktusoe assists with the flow of the madangnori performance and is a creative adaptation of an amalgamation of various characters from the indigenous performing arts, such as mask dance drama, p’ansori, and puppetry. Initially, this character was modeled after various characters: “To-ch’ang” (the lead singer and narrator in ch’anggŭk), “Kkokktusoe,” (the leader of indigenous music band),

“madangsoe,” or more recently, “Chinhaengja” (“the Emcee” or “the Presider”). These titles represent the multiplicity of his tasks in that he not only opens the actual drama by greeting the audience, but also starts the action on the stage by providing a brief synopsis and introduction to the character(s).

As the unique artistic background of Pai SamShik may suggest, the most distinctive feature of Sohn’s madangnori is its use of Korean vernacular and classic language and its superior ways of merging various musical, dance, and dramatic elements. It adequately utilizes both the highly academic tone of the educated and the colloquial language of the lower classes.

The language is a mixture of expressions, idioms, and vocabulary from the past and the present, just like events that shift between times and places. These shifts in time and the mixture of refined and comedic or vulgar expressions provide dramatic pleasure unique to the genre. It is rhymed

205 after Korean classic poetry and fiction, a style of language not used in modern day writing, nor spoken on a modern theatre stage. In this sense, Sohn’s madangnori can be read as remarkably nostalgic, even though it pursues the “modernization of tradition” by dressing the older indigenous forms in new clothes. Central to this nostalgic quality is the coexistence of fables, classical idioms, everyday life phrases, and comic expressions that enhance amusement.

Another central feature of the genre is the strong reflection of current social affairs.

While live theatre mirrors the culture within which it is set, Sohn’s madangnori has lost credibility as a social commentary with the opening of a true democratic society in South Korea in 1993.71 During the 1980s, however, the play’s satire and pun provided the audience with an opportunity for an indirect objection to the military government. The verbal wit, puns, and satires are spoken in a playful tone, which is characteristic of traditional rural culture such as mask dance drama, p’ansori, or ritual plays. In a democratic South Korea that is now full of social movements, the madangnori’s impact as a social commentary is not as powerful as before. Yet, the clever remarks on the misconducts of Korean rulers usually marked by the three main characters continue to point out the failures of the rulers to adequately fulfill their social responsibilities.

The content of the madangnori has always been culturally relevant and sensitive to the popular topics of the time. During the politically oppressed 1980s, social commentaries in madangnori took on a greater resonance for the public. As explored in Chapter 2 of this dissertation, the 1980s were colored with student demonstrations, labor strikes, and street demonstrations that led to the unfortunate deaths of many young citizens. A passage in the 1988 script of The Tale of Shim Ch’ŏng highlights the deceased Park ChongCh’ŏl and Lee HanYŏl.

Park was a Seoul National University student who died while being subjected to water torture by the police in January 1987. Lee was a Yonsei University student who died after being hit by tear gas launched by combat police during a street demonstration. The reiteration of the character

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Ch’ŏng, a national symbol of the filial daughter, juxtaposed with the pitiful young man of promise, won great sympathy among the people in the 1988 productions. Despite the hedged reference in the playbill to the heroic figure of Joan of Arc in France, the audience could relate the material to the sacrifice of the young Korean students. Sohn’s madangnori was more than just entertainment or a pastime for the general public—it was a rare opportunity for them to vent their suppressed feelings in a time public speech against the government was not allowed.

After the 1990s, which is associated with democracy in Korea, the satire lost its power.

The change in political environment, however, leads to a different manner of satire that still functions as social commentary. The subtle twist on the celebrities, political events, and national events are enjoyed by the general public in Korea. In a politically unoppressed society, the overall direction of the play leads to a greater emphasis on eliciting audiences’ reactions. In Lady Pak, the character Lee ShiPaik (Yun MunShik) makes statements to his wife that are irrelevant to the dramatic narrative or plot, “Why don’t we have some fried chicken?” or “Let’s watch the Talk

Show.” For the productions of Lady Pak observed by the author for five consecutive days in

December 2008, almost a month after its opening, the lines were changed from one day to another.

The original line was taken from the scandalous affair between a young female curator, Shin, and a high ranking official in the Blue House (Korean White House), Pyŏn, that caused scandal in

Korean society in the fall of 2007. The line “why don’t we have some fried chicken,” was found in one of the numerous email correspondences between the curator and the officer that revealed their intimate relationship. This line was later replaced by “Let’s watch the Talk Show,” referring to a popular television talk show which covers current affairs in Korea. Borrowing such short and resonant phrases functions mostly as humor, while it occasionally serves as an outlet for discontent. Shin, who was a working curator with a degree from Yale University, was exposed as a fraud with a forged degree. Such discrepancies are criticized with a twist on the disparity

207 between “the outer self” and “the inner or the real self,” delivered through the lines of the Emcee at the very start of the play (1.1).

Other examples of current social commentary are found in references to the world outside of Korea. Towards the end of The Valiant Lady Pak, the plain-faced character Lady Pak appeals to the audience not to judge other people by their physical appearance. It was not a coincidence that this coincided with Brack Obama’s election as the first African American President of the

USA. Lady Pak’s reference to Obama serves both as boasting of her knowledge oncurrent affairs and as an amusing way to mention world affairs.

In the abovementioned production, the female protagonist, who is referred to as the ugliest woman in the world, is in fact a beautiful woman under a curse. Until it is revealed, however, there are satirical references regarding the perception of physical appearance. The large scene of depicting plastic surgery is a culmination of brief remarks on Lady Pak’s homely appearance that are scattered throughout the play. The huge chorus runs onto the stage, carrying large objects used for plastic surgery such as syringes, scissors, bandages, etc. (Figure 13.) The inclusion of this scene is relevant to highlighting the character Lady Pak’s ugly appearance. Her outer ugliness leads to her loneliness which is dramatized through her songs. When Pak sings that she is alone and feels left out, the lights fade and a female chorus, clad as swans, appears on stage.

The chorus dances as a group of swans with fluttering wings and moving hips. Lady Pak, with messy hair, a freckled face, and poorly sewn clothes, stands out amongst them, enhancing the melancholy. By using a direct reference to The Ugly Duckling by Hans Christian Andersen, a story many Korean children are very familiar with, Pai added a well-known metaphor for Lady

Pak’s inner and outer realities. Again, this resonantes with the earlier lines of the Emcee, who lamentingly remarked that “the outer and the inner realities differ so much.” (1.1 )

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The remarks on the appearance are visualized through Sohn’s trademark of magnified and exaggerated stage props. Lee, shocked by his wife’s ugly face, tries to persuade her to undergo“a transformation” by having doctors estimate the amount of plastic surgery she requires.

The scene with doctors is dramatized with chorus who rush onto the stage with enourmous props such as scissors, a syringe, a knife, a magnifying glass, etc. the doctors are shocked by Lady

Pak’s physical appearance as well. They say they “cannot make an estimate” and the chorus begins to dance by singing “Change! Change!” while waving the large props above their heads.

(Figure 14.) Together with these props, that are sometimes bigger than the actors themselves,

Sohn’s props contribute to inviting laughters especially by the children.

In the feast scene in Lee Ch’unP’ung (2009), the play-within-a-play scene offers a multiple layer of watching and being watched. (Figure 15.) Lee Ch’unP’ung, a playboy, throws numerous parties upon his arrival to HanYang (Seoul of Chosŏn Dynasty). At this feast, other yangbans sit around a dinner table together with kiseng (entertainment girls), watching one of their members sing. Here, Lee stands aside, but following this scene, when four girls in colorful clown-like costumes come to the stage to perform a song and dance, Lee mingles with them.

From the audience’s perspective, they are watching Lee watching an entertainment show within the dramatic plot. Such layers of dramatic events add amusement to Sohn’s madangnori.

The quality of ka-mu-ak is achieved through the dance and songs interplayed by the solo performers (two Kims and Yun) and the chorus. Having based its stories in medieval or other pre- modern times, madangnori contains numerous portrayals of landscapes, journeys, and indoor events. Characters often travel by horse or by ship, and those scenes are visualized by the dynamic movements of the chorus. Sohn employs large sized fabrics to denote the sea as in the case of Shim Ch’ŏng standing on a ship to jump into the water to return her father’s eyesight.

Stage hands, i.e., chorus members, hold the blue fabric at each end and generate wave-like

209 movements. (Figure 16.) The moment she hits the water is the climax of the scene, where her small body gets tossed around by the angry sea. This is also portrayed with large fabrics under which chorus members are hidden to hold her from below and move around while she is waving her body and arms until she drowns.

Numerous scenes employ dances of chorus, either women only, men only, or mixed. In scenes depicting pleasant journeys, such as when the Prodigal Lee Ch’unP’ung arrives in Seoul, colorfully dressed female entertainers fill the stage to perform. When Shim Ch’ŏng is saved and is about to get married after being brought to the Sea King in a huge lotus, a celebratory performance takes place in the palace. More often than such party scenes, the chorus portrays the public. Women represent the villagers, men represent the friends to the male protagonist (such as

Lee’s yangban friends or blind men across from the country), and they collectively portray water vendors in Pong’I KimSŏnDal.

While the chorus contributes to the visual dynamics of the play, the role of music is one of the main elements that have established Sohn’s madangnori. As mentioned in Chapter 3 of this dissertation, the composer Park BŏmHun started from his twenties to compose music for Korean dance. His talents and devotion to creating contemporary Koreannesque music led to his commitment to Sohn’s madangnori. Park’s music is indispensable in that it takes care of multiple challenges caused by the entirely round and bare performance space of madangnori. Music acts like bridges for numerous scene transitions, as a mood enhancer, and as the overall conductor of the play. With the help of music, various emotional and sentimental qualities such as characters beingcomical, sad, surprised, angry, treacherous, dangerous, heroic, etc. are effectively generated.

Park’s creative utilization of various instruments contributes to successfully generating those qualities, and although general public may be the least aware of the role of madangnori music because it is not visually present, music powerfully invites audiences to be immersed in the drama.

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Kook SuHo’s choreography also has developed over the years; he has unreservedly poured in his talents onto madangnori, while respecting Sohn’s directorial concepts. Over time,

Sohn came to insist that “no Park” (music) or “no Kook” (dance) should exist but only

“madangnori music and choreography.” Instead of getting annoyed or showing dissatisfaction with such demands, both Park and Kook agreed with Sohn’s objective. In this sense, Park and

Kook’s involvements need to be honored as some ofthe greatest contributions to the establishment of madangnori in its current form and status.

As of the year 2009, the music and dance staff of madangnori has diversified. Park and

Kook, became national authorities on Korean music and dance, are prolific artists too busy to focus on madangnori for a lengthy period. Also as their choreography has stabilized and Michoo after the year 1991 has re-staged one of the previously staged productions, other choreographers and composers could repeat the former choreography by Kook and music by Park. As such, their students often work in the madangnori productions. Since several repertories have been revived with the same score and choreography, younger conductors and choreographers taught by Park and Kook have participated in Sohn’s madangnori with Park’s music and Kook’s choreography.

New compositions are also occasionally included in productions. The composer and conductor for the 2007-2008, 2008-2009, 2009-2010 Season, Lee KyŏngSŏp (1970- ), who has composed a body of Korean fusion music that is popular among young generations, presented his pieces

“Wandering” (2001) and “The Play of Wind” (2001) before and after the play. Prior to the main performance, Lee’s music adds vitality and holiday feeling.72

Unlike the rather complicated musical theatre composition, the choreography has attracted a younger generation of artists. A contemporary modern dancer in her late forties at the time, Ahn EunMi,73 volunteered to choreograph Madangnori The Valiant Lady Pak (2007) with

“more modern” choreography.74 Trained in Korean traditional dance as a child and later pursuing

211 her career in a Western-dancing, i.e., modern and postmodern dancing, Ahn challenged herself with this contemporary theatre genre and its heavy choreographic elements.75 Although the issue was not publicized, dissatisfactory remarks by the main performer, Kim S., suggests the difficulty of madangnori as a performing art genre. Kim said that despite taking into consideration the fact that she and other madangnori performers may be accustomed to Kook’s choreographical styles, the actors were not convinced or impressed by Ahn’s work and would not deem it

“revolutionary” or being “innovative.”76 While it would be unjust to Ahn to assess her ability by solely from her one opportunity to choreograph a madangnori performance, it is self-explanatory that Kook’s choreography was refined and practiced. Also the partnership between Kook and

Sohn was so successful, that over time, Sohn himself would modify the choreography without causing disputes or compromising that partnership.77

More important to note is that such openness to a younger generation of artists derived from the willingness to bring a change to madangnori. As early as the year 2000, both internally and outside Michoo Theatre Company, there were demands that Sohn’s madangnori should be revolutionized in order to regain the innovative societal impact it had during its earlier years (20

Years 145-149). As madangnori reached its thirtieth anniversary in December 2010, what started as ‘modernization and contemporization of tradition’ in the 1980s had lost this quality and had become standardized and static, despite the constant updates and refinements from previous versions. In terms of the staging, all the props for the recent revivals have been already updated from the premier versions, leaving no room for further improvement.78 It now required a breakthrough to sustain its initial innovativeness.79

In fact, publicly, Sohn and Kim S. have acknowledged as early as 1990s the need for a new generation to take over the main roles in madangnori. In the past, replacing popular performers has led criticism from audiences. In one case, several patrons demanded a refund for

212 an MBC production which lack both Kim and Yun. MBC presented its famous television and movie stars of all ages, yet not only the faithful fans of the three stars of Michoo, but general audiences also rejected MBC’s choices. For Sohn, finding new faces has been a challenge.

Madangnori performers require versatility in acting, singing, dancing, and audience interaction, skills that take time and effort to acquire. Due to the rarity of such performers, once the performers become versatile in all genres, they are being scouted by other productions. Since Kim

S.’s appointment as the academic dean at the Korean Music in 2000, she has been actively promoting these future performers, but none has made impacts that were powerful enough to replace Kim and Yun.80

3. Madangnori and the Space of Performance

The usage of space in madangnori may be the least noticeable to the general public when compared to the actors’ acting, singing, and dancing performances. Yet, it is the crucial element that distinguishes the play from other theatres, and that credits the director for the overall quality of the show. What started as a quest for a unique Korean native theatre utilizing rich musical and literary tradition inevitably led Sohn to engage in devising spatial layouts for new musical theatre.

In a sense, the space prescribes the styles of acting just as the proscenium stage required appropriate styles of acting that include body angle, posture, direction of the eyes, voice projection, etc. In this section, I examine representative cases of space use in Sohn’s work that are diversified with the actors, audience, music, stage props, and lighting.

Above all, Sohn’s artistic aesthetics starts from his declaration publicized at the founding of his Michoo Theatre Company in 1987. Since then, Sohn has sustained his manifesto of

“madang jŏngshin” (“esprit of madang”) for his overall artistic work. It applies regardless of whether it is conventional production, musical theatre, or madangnori. In his manifesto he said,

What is madang? It is the here and now, where we are standing on our feet. […] “Madang” is the time that focuses on “today,” the space that focuses on “here.” In other 213

words, it is “the content and form of the newly created art” from the life of people of “now, here.”

It deals with the universality of human beings, it is an independent life that does not follow the authority, a reformation that stands against the destiny.

Also, it is a space where the actors and audiences become one in continuous dynamics, and a new tradition is created. Or it is such an act. Also, it is the feeling and spirit that simultaneously express “beauty and ugliness” and “darkness and serenity of life.” (Michoo)

By regarding the World Cup Stadium as a large version of “madang,” Sohn designed the encounter between East and West, or tradition and modern as a live contemporary communicative interaction taking place at this very moment. Along the same line, Sohn has asserted his aesthetic principle for representing Korea is “to empty” it rather than “fill it up,” even when he directed the

Opening Ceremony for the 2002 World Cup in Seoul:

The two pillars of Western thought systems, rationalism and scientism, are showing their limits. So there is a trend in the West now, a search for a breakthrough from the East that takessentimentality seriously. Also, the West fills up but the East empties. […]. It is more important to splendidly empty a space than to fill up a venue [the World Cup Main Stadium in Sang-am district in Seoul, Korea]. That is the beauty of space. (Culture City 6)

Sohn does not exclude Western influence, especially advanced technology, as he actively incorporates stage lighting, special effects, or props in his theatre. For the Opening Ceremony, he also infused state-of-the art IT technology into Korean traditional culture (7).

The sparse and empty stage of madangnori performance is effectively and creatively used by the actors. The procession of the entire cast with tall banners and instruments metaphorically transforms the empty space as a site for a festival or a playground. As traditional indigenous

Korean outdoor performances took place in flat, open spaces, with the primary emphasis on generating “nanjang,” the procession creates energy, performs familiar ritual(s), and sets the mood for the play. Although the closest translation of “nanjang” is “chaos,” the variation of

214 procession is intricately and artistically choreographed. Sohn utilizes various formations of performers, such as arranging female and male performers in ranks, grouping the performers according to their instruments, and simultaneous marching of performers in two or more groups.

While this procession is primarily choreographed by the dancer and choreographer, Kook SuHo, the opening of the play by the three main actors, following the ritual and after the procession, demonstrates Sohn’s directorial ability.

In Chapter 2 of this dissertation, it was mentioned that p′ansori, mask dance drama, shaman kut, and other Korean indigenous performing arts usually follow the cycle of kilnori

(procession)—kosa—the main program—when wrapping up scenes. On the surburb, procession takes over an hour long, where the entire cast marches through a village over the mountain while singing and playing the instruments. It was a pre-show and advertisement at the same time (Cho

T., Korean 33-35). In Sohn’s madangnori, the lively procession ends after about four minutes with the ritual (kosa) involving the participation of the audience. (Figure 19.) This insertion of ritual has a dual function for the play in that it is, first, a prayer for a successful performance for that day, and second, spectators can pray for their own private lives, whether business, health, or studies for the next year. The ritual expands the space both symbolically and mentally, creating a convivial bond among the audience members and the performers. It transcends the actor/audience division and brings everyone in the space close together.81 This sense of unity is more tangible during the play when special guests are introduced at this particular time, such as special donors for the production and, in one performance, the former president Kim TaeChung and his wife Lee

HwiHo who attended Lady Pak. Thus, the primary spatial dynamics concern the inclusion of the audience into the play, breaking the traditional stage-auditorium division.

Once the performance space is set through kosa and the performance of song and dance presented by the entire case, the expansion of space is taken over by the power dynamics among

215 the three actors, Kim ChongYŏp, Kim SŏngNyŏ, and Yun MunShik. Their stage movements are

“choreographed” on the stage in that they move around or turn their bodies in relation to each other. When Kim Ch. opens the play immediately following the kosa by greeting the audience and delivering his introductory statements, he stands alone right at the center of the stage. Female actors sit in a circle at the rim of the stage, all looking towards him.

In order to engage the audience in four directions – sitting in East, West, South, North sections – Kim turns around after a short while. When either Kim S. or Yun enters and engages in conversation with Kim Ch., Kim Ch. is no longer at the center. He steps back, sharing equal or a lesser amount of the center space when compared to Kim S. or Yun. This deftly performed two- person dynamic opens up the space, particularly when Yun or Kim S. approaches the auditorium and either of them asks questions to the audience or comments to the audience members.

The next unique characteristic of the use of space in Sohn’s madangnori is palpable in the direct and indirect inclusion of the audience in the play. As an “open” arena theatre, the madangnori theatre has no physical barriers such as a proscenium arch, orchestra pit, or railing/division between the actual stage and the auditorium. The audience members sit at the rim of the floor that is an extension of the actual stage; this arrangement enhances the feeling that the performers and the audience share the same space. Examples of the direct inclusion of the audience include addressing specific audience member(s) regardless of the physical distance or proximity (e.g. “Where are you from? Where in Seoul?”); asking them to help with simple costume change (e.g. actor Yun asking a female member to take off his outer garment and hold it so that he can engage in a physical fight on stage); and addressing them as if they are dramatic characters (e.g. Blind Shim asking them to give breast milk to his infant Ch’ŏng). (Figure 17.)

The act of asking questions to the audience resonates with traditional Korean mask dance drama where a performer A is clueless as to what the performer B is doing even when both occupying

216 the stage. Performer A asks the audience a question or talks to himself, to which the audience replies to A. In addition to the enjoyment of such playful verbal exchanges, acknowledging the audience’s presence throughout the play generates a friendly environment essential to the interactive nature of the genre.

Despite the absence of physical division in a proscenium theatre, an environment reminiscent of “dramatic illusion” essential to realist theatre is created in madangnori. Primarily with the support of the lighting, but also with the rich and mellow music that invite the audience to be immersed in dramatic scenes. In other words, the combination of the “openness” adapted from the outdoor mask dance drama with the indoor setting illustrates an unspoken rule: to participate in a psychologically unrestrained manner while at the same time abstaining from hindering the play with too many interruptions. Compared to the outdoor performances (as in the case of the restored Pongsan Mask Dance Drama or Yangju PyŏlSandae, where the spectators chat to each other relatively unrestrained throughout the performance), Sohn’s madangnori audience seem much more disciplined in terms of focusing on and participating in the actual play.

Although late seating or early departure is not forbidden, it is expected that audiences should adhere to basic code of conducts. Examples of unacceptable behavior include standing up from ones seat and remaining so during the show, or constantly talking back to the actors when they address unspecific audience groups as if asking for audience suggestions.82 Nevertheless, the free- flowing interaction and communication between the performers and the audience as well as the sense of a collective presence among the audience – allows the madangnori to operate as a participatory performance rather than a strictly visual and auditory performance.

Figure 18 and 19 capture several details with regard to the opening of madangnori: to the right, there is a small table with two candles, a rice cake made with red beans, rice liquor makgŏlli, and a pig’s head (hidden by the actor in white costume). The second actor in white

217 clothing is pouring the rice liquor, known as “pokju,” (the fortune drink), for the male audience member in the black jumper. Upon receiving the drink, the male audience member will kneel down on the straw mat, and bow down toward the table. This is a prayer to the gods. Other audience members appear ready to remove their shoes and follow him, while two female monks join the group from the right corner in the photo. The people sitting in a row in front of the table are audience members who purchased general seating tickets and voluntarily chose these particular seats.

The four actors with black garments with red, yellow, and blue patches and hats are playing instruments that are collectively called samul (lit. “four objects”). These four instruments, kkŏnggwari, changgu, puk, ching, represent cloud, rain, wind, and thunder respectively. Puk and ching have been the core instruments used in Korean indigenous performance related events such as shaman kut and village festivities. The leader of this musical group is always the one who holds the small gong kkŏnggwari (hidden by the audience in this picture because he has stepped back to open up the space). The female performers in the larger group, who are outside of the picture frame to the left, also chant and occasionally play their tabor. (Figure 20.) The ritual ends with the entire cast bowing down to gods. (Figure 21.) The audience members do not physically bow down, but by this time, they are already “together” with the actors on stage.

Such enactment of procession and ritual, with its boisterous and convivial music and physical performances not only lighten up the mood in chilly winter day or night: but also, over the years, the procession changed from an insertion of outdoor performance elements to a more dance-like and well-choreographed performance. Instead of a single line of samul band members followed by japsaeg, actors who enact certain characters, interact with audiences, or show little dance movements while walking in the line. Contemporary processions are much more festive performances with double the amount of members. The greatest difference from the 1980s is that

218 whereas the earlier members all showed individual styles of walking, moving arms as dance movement, turning around while walking, etc., contemporary versions have less individual moments. Instead, the harmony with other performers and the visual shapes they create as a chorus has become a primary goal.

The degree to which a chorus is employed on stage distinguishes Sohn’s madangnori from MBC’s where MBC primarily presents popular stars, be it from television, movie, dance, or comedy programs. As pointed out earlier in this chapter, Sohn argues that despite the fact his madangnori has three star performers, the chorus is extremely important and he emphasizes ensemble acting (“Lifetime” 19). In fact, the stage is not dominated by the stars but is alternatively shared by the chorus. Also the protagonist and antagonist stand out as a result of dynamic presence of the chorus. As the space gets filled and emptied by the chorus, the star performers who either stands alone or stands together with its counterpart, is given powerful presence. This leads to the aesthetics of madangnori, where this type of filling in and emptying the performance space creates dynamism, collective festivity, and in the end, the quality of

“shinmyŏng” as described as “pleasure” in Chapter 2. What the radical madanggŭk practitioner

Im ChinT’aek had formulated in the 1980s is also applicable here:

Shinmyŏng is the driving force of nori that brings together all the opposing elements into one place, untie the han and pains, and solve them all. Only when you discharge shinmyŏng, something that is present in everybody, ‘situational authenticit’ is generated, and when you share such shinmyŏng with group, it gathers immense explosive power. Here, the ‘situational authenticity’ from a recognition of reality gets expanded to ‘collective shinmyŏng’ that can overcome the reality. (86)

Although their coinage of words may sound too abstract or rigid, what Im emphasizes is the fact when an individual’s shinmyŏng is discharged and shared with a community it gets magnified as a powerful force that can change the society. Sohn’s madangnori, while it does not promote a direct opposition to the society, it presupposes similar mechanism in terms of emotional, psychological and intellectual changes. 219

4. Madangnori Aesthetics

Aesthetically, Sohn’s madangnori achieves a balance between two oppositional traits generally considered to be mutually exclusive. This very phenomenon is a Korean and generally philosophically Eastern characteristic that acknowledges the presence and necessity of two opposing natures, as in the case of Eum-Yang (陰陽). Such acknowledgement of opposition that eventually results in a balance or harmony between the two through their coexistence profoundly differs from Western oppositional binaries and underscores the philosophical underpinning of madangnori. As a whole, the three main characters and the rest (chorus) can be said to represent such opposing powers. After “kil nori” (“procession”), when the empty space is declared as

“performance space,” one actor walks to the center stage. He holds up his arms in the air and makes a hand gesture as a conductor. By holding a feast, he signals an end to the boisterous opening scene. He greets the audiences, and gives a brief remark on the current social affairs or introduces Michoo’s repertory. Almost always, it is the Emcee who opens the play and sets up the scene.

In the below section, I introduce the three most frequently found lines by the Emcee in madangnori that reveal the functions of this dramatic character. These are the general format of lines in all of the recent productions, not necessarily from specific play scripts, but the author used examples from the scripts whenever possible. Most frequently used now days,

“ChinHaengJa,” ‘the Emcee,’ is an expansion of the Emcee in television shows or other live events. Madangnori’s Emcee is multifunctional, but in general, the Emcee serves three purposes: to help the development of the plot, to add to or enhance the dramatic effects, and to provide an outsider’s point of view. The example below demonstrates this. In this example from Madangnori

Tale of Lee Ch’unP’ung (2009), the Emcee helps to narrate events by introducing particular scenes and commenting on the immediately following scene:

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EMCEE: So far, you’ve seen how this brat Lee Ch’unP’ung has been fooling around in HanYang. By the way, the situation in the South and the North is getting rather cold…and I hear that paying a vist to PyŏngYang has become even harder? Let’s take a tour of PyŏngYang! […]. They were enjoying their time like this... [the lavishly clad female chorus immediately enters and the rich playboys socialize with them] (2.1.) (stage direction and emphasis added by author.)

This is identical to the role of to-ch’ang (도창) in contemporary ch’anggŭk where a maestro solo singer opens the performance with a brief narration of the background story.83 Here, the Emcee’s line “like this” cues the initiation of the scene, where the female chorus swiftly enters the stage to socialize with the rich upper-class playboys. With scant scenery, the play as a whole depends upon the audiences’ imagination. Also, as the first part of the line shows, the Emcee talks to the audience and helps them follow the storyline. However, when the Emcee in ShimCh’ŏng narrates,

“The Shim couple would pray day and night, wholeheartedly,” the characters present visual references where they enter the stage in various styles of clothing representing different religions.

The simultaneous portrayals of the scene indirectly mock Koreans’ redeeming a mixture of

Christianity, Buddhism, shamanism, and Thai, while it invites laughter.

In the second example Emcee presents a solo song that verbally dramatizes the scene.

When the singer sings, the content describes Blind Shim’s attitude, behavior, action, or feelings in dramatic way. The following is an excerpt from The Song of Shim Chong translated by Pihl:

SINGER (EMCEE): […]. He finds and grabs his cane, Then goes out the brushwood gate; But, at a drainage ditch crossed by the road, He falls as if he has been pushed. His face is covered with mud And his clothing is icy. Though he leaps up, he only sinks further; When he tries to get out, he only slips back. There is no hope—he is done for. (151)

The above format is presented either via song or narrative. It is also found both in ch’anggŭk and madangnori, although the overall percentage of such songs is much smaller than in the latter 221 genre. Unlike the maestro solo singer in ch’anggŭk, who is usually in charge of the role of lead to-ch’ang, the madangnori performer who plays the role of the Emcee or other character is usually an actor trained in traditional p’ansori singing. In terms of the seriousness, legitimacy and authority of the genre, ch’anggŭk is comparable to classic Western opera, while madangnori is similar to a musical or revue.

Third, the Emcee provides an outsider’s point of view by presenting himself as an intervener. For example, Emcee says, “As you all have witnessed just now, [such and such thing happened…].” Instead of merely narrating the incident, he adds his reactions and even comments on the scene if possible. By adding a short remark like “[Gee,] it worries me already” before leaving the stage, he signals certain attitude the patrons or the Korean society in general, should take. The Emcee displays the characteristic of an epic narrator who maintains a distance from the plot, but he also cuts, cues, and directs a scene. Still, the character’s purpose primarily exists to further the development of the plot. The Emcee’s short comments and remarks function as a bridge to subsequent scenes. In the end, his guidance provides smooth development and transitions. Instead of mainly creating tension or aloofness in order to promote a rational or critical stance in the audiences, the madangnori Emcee’s narratives in general serve as a device to promote audience understanding of the dramatic structure.

EMCEE: Would a narration of how Ch’unP’ung had fun suffice? Let’s rewind the video tape and take a look at the scene again. [the group of playboys exit and the scene focuses on Ch’unP’ung and the female chorus] (2.1.) (emphasis added by author, which is soon visually displayed on stage by the performers)

The more active use of the Emcee as a multifunctional dramaturgical device allows Sohn to enrich the performance. In the examples above, the Emcee is located onstage, highly visible to the audience. He liberally walks on and off the stage regardless of his actual line delivery. He stands on the brink of the fictional world traveling back and forth between the dramatic reality and the world of the audience watching the play. Upon his utterance of the word “the scene,” a female 222 chorus enters the stage to re-enact what was supposed to have already happened in the scene.

Instead of presenting the scene in chronological order, and then commenting afterwards on the particular events, Sohn purposefully made to “fast forward” and then re-visit the scene “rewind” after literally calling the audiences’ attention to the scene.

Also the boundary of the Emcee contrasts him with the to-ch’ang in ch’anggŭk, a genre of theatre commonly performed on a proscenium stage. He usually stands in front of the proscenium curtain, close to the orchestra pit. In general, he is physically separated from the main performance area and the plot, taking an almost superior stance to the other performers.Yet, other than narrating and boasting his excellent vocal techniques, the to-ch’ang in ch’anggŭk rarely engages with the dramatic actions. While such differentiation is related with the customary casting of a senior maestro as the role of the to-ch’ang, it inevitably sets limitations on the role. In contrast, utilizing the Emcee in madangnori to intervene with the plot, Sohn liberally varies the speed and rhythm of the overall play.

During the Emcee’s general preliminary talk at the center stage, one of the two star performers in Sohn’s madangnori enters the stage. For instance, in The Valiant Lady Pak (2007), the Emcee greets the audience and tells a story which transitions to the main actions of the show.84 In addition to this greeting, which has become a set format of the openings of madangnori, his subsequent lines function as a prologue to the main plot, which also conforms to the format. But more importantly, usually a character interrupts the Emcee by stopping his speech or by being noticed by the Emcee as she or he enters. In Valiant Pak, as the Emcee (Kim Ch.) narrates, Lee ShiPaik (Yun) walks onto the stage, unaware of the Emcee. The Emcee sees Lee, stops him verbally – verbally instructs him to stop, and then asks him a question. In The Story of

ShimCh’ŏng, however, Mrs. Ppaingdŏk (Kim SŏngNyŏ) enters and interrupts the Emcee by mildly reproaching him for “talking about such unpleasant matters to the audience” (1. 1.). In a

223 way, Mrs. Ppaingdŏk provokes the Emcee so that the attention naturally shifts to her without having to formally introduce her to the audience. The second character that enters the stage after the Emcee can be played either by Kim S. or by Yun.

Such interruption of the Emcee by a new character is a creative interpretation on the

Pongsan Mask Dance Drama. In the second part of Pongsan Mask Dance Drama, a total of eight performers representing monks present their specialties both individually and in a group. Each character enters the stage running in a wide circle, swinging his arms, with two long pieces of white fabric tucked around his wrists. He then presents a specific solo dance form. One performer after another presents his individual skills, and when one is finishing, the next performer enters in the same manner. This new performer stops behind the previous performer, and strikes him on the back with his two long white fabric sleeves. When the previous actor turns around to look, the new one makes a threatening motion, causing the previous one to run away and exit the stage.

Although the physical confrontation is eliminated, the idea of interruption, confrontation, and chase is directly applied to the imitation of drama in Sohn’s madangnori.

For instance, the Emcee’s line “Shhhhh. So, ladies and gentlemen, today’s guests…,” upon his entrance to the stage immediately following the ritual, is a creative expansion on the

Pongsan Mask Drama, where the monk delivers his initiating lines of “Shhhhhh. Ah~, ah~, shhhhhh. Ah~, ah~, shhhhhh. Shhhhhh” with big footsteps while waving white fabric (hansam).

While one monk is about to complete his routine, the next monk runs onto the stage, swinging his arms in a swooping circular motion. As this new actor enters the stage, fast drum beats coincide with his footsteps. The accompanying music clearly draws the audience’s attention to him.

Though the madangnori actors present a varied performance, the similarities to the Pongsan Mask

Dance Drama are apparent. These interruptions in action are followed by tense moments, a characteristic identified as one of the essential elements in Korean indigenous performances,

224 specifically most prevalent as the most conspicuous in the mask dance dramas. As Cho TongIl has identified, Korean mask dance dramas display a rivalry between the young and old, the haves and the have-nots, and the ruling class and the ruled class (Principle). Ch’ae HeeWan, who led the revival movement of mask dance drama at colleges in the 1970s and 1980s, also identified those opposites as the fundamental themes of mask dance drama (Lee Y.M., Madanggŭk 272-

273).

In The Tale of Pyŏljubu (1981), Kim Ch. makes his initial entrance to the stage as the character Malttugi, a direct borrowing from Pongsan Mask Dance Drama. After providing a short explanation about the performance commemorating the foundation of the MBC Munwha

Broadcasting Company, he delivers lines resonating with those from Pongsan Mask Dance

Drama.85 While he is on the stage, a stagehand delivers Malttugi’s costume which is reminiscent of traditional attire similar to mask dance drama costume. Upon receiving the costume, Kim goes behind the big screen installed on stage. This screen functioned as the tiring house and skene from the ancient Greek time, the wall of which served as a backdrop. When Malttugi re-enters in the traditional costume, he demonstrates a powerful dance routine from the mask dance drama. At the same time, the playful interaction between audience and performer has developed into a format that is now applied throughout Sohn’s madangnori, becoming a standard dramatic device for unfolding the plot. The basic format is the Emcee greeting the audience as he initiates the play by introducing current sociopolitical issues or through a direct reference to a character or notorious events in the plot.

The presence of the Emcee is also a practical element of a non-linear, multiple plot play like madangnori, which is characterized by the existence of a main plot, subplots, and numerous vignettes. Madangnori is often constructed as a series of scenes and spectacles which travel back and forth through time and space. Therefore, having a single character with whom the audience

225 can constantly identify with helps maintain focus. While the two actors, Kim and Yun, lead the main plot by playing the roles of protagonists, Kim Ch. plays multiple roles in addition to that of the Emcee. Although the role is not necessarily given to a senior maestro singer as in the case of ch’anggŭk, the Emcee definitely requires a serious training in various arts. Hence, the dexterity of the Emcee can be paralleled to the complexity of the plot. The degree of his involvement or the frequency of interrupting the dramatic action or flow depends on each production. In addition to dramatic performance, the Emcee also occasionally functions as a stagehand. As he often enters the stage during a transitional moment or right before a scene change, he brings necessary props or costume for the main character when in need of an immediate transformation or makeover.

Such delivery of commentary and aiding the dramatic action is a creative adaptation and extension of the epic singing, p’ansori. Although the connection between madangnori and p’ansori may not be immediately apparent to see madangnori’s relationship with p’ansori, various elements of p’ansori are adapted into Sohn’s madangnori. In fact, in his earlier madangnori, the cast had a number of actual professional singers of p’ansori, and if not employed with p’ansori, at least those who were professionally trained in p’ansori or minyo. Kim

S. and Kim Ch. are examples of the latter case who have become main performers in madangnori.

Also a professionally trained p’ansori singer, Kim S.’s younger sister, Kim SŏngAe, has occasionally performed as Blind Shim’s wife, Kwakssi in Shim Chŏng and the kiseng Ch’uWŏl in

Lee Ch’unP’ung, although she has not won any attention as her older sister.

As a performance form, earlier madangnori has certain similarities with libretto where professional singers present their numbers throughout the play, regardless of their importance in the play. In Tale of Hŏh Seng (1981), the protagonist kept singing a solo, while the rest of the cast would sing in unison or in chorus. In the later repertoires, Kim S. and Yun, the two main performers, sing solos, but not as predominantly as the earlier performer. Interestingly, whereas

226

Kim is a professionally trained p’ansori singer, Yun naturally has an out of tune voice. Still, the audiences accepted it as his character and even regards him as one of the “Kuk-ak-in” (“a person of traditional music”) rather than laugh at his off-tuned voice. One could suspect the unfamiliarity of Korean tunes or its rhythmic qualities would act in Yun’s favor. In a poll, Yun was voted as the best known “Kuk-ak-in” (20 Years).

The role of the Narrator (to-ch’ang) is greatly expanded compared to how it appears in p’ansori, where it has become a dramatic character, narrator, commentator, and representative of the audiences. In contrast to the artificial incorporation of the Narrator as in ch’anggŭk, who stays outside of the main stage and just sings on selective parts, the Emcee in madangnori can be said to be given full dramatical and theatrical dimensions. The following is how a Narrator works in p’ansori, the original source for both in ch’anggŭk and madangnori:

(Semachi) NARRATOR: Pyolchubu’s wife the she-turtle, look at her! Through the blowhole-like nostrils she hyperventilates, Eyes like mung beans, kkamcchak! She blins, She reprimands. [As soon as this line is finished,] (added by author)

PYOLCHUBU’S WIFE: […] Like a worthless playboy, Will you keep on so?

NARRATOR: Pyolchubu laughs profusely,

PYOLCHUBU: […] Wife, I will be back.

NARRATOR: Pyolchubu’s wife comes all the way outside the gate and bids him adieu.

WIFE: To the world far and wide, Pray, have a safe trip.

PYOLCHUBU: Be wary of hat tortoise guy next door. (Chan E. Park 75)

When Narrator starts narrating to the music (“Semachi” rhythm), he is actually describing the appearance of Wife. At first, he draws the attention of the audience to the character by saying 227

“look at her!” Then he gives a verbal description of her facial expression and gestures. As he finishes his line by saying “she reprimands,” Wife delivers her line, actually reprimanding her husband Pyolchubu. The Narrator then goes with “Pyolchubu laughs profusely,” to which

Pyolchubu acts laughing profusely. The above excerpt from p’ansori The Tale of Turtle can be compared with the Madangnori version of the same repertoire. In Sohn’s earlier madangnori with

MBC, the same source was used for The Story of Pyŏljubu. In addition to being exposed to the public, the musicians also interacted with the performers by exchanging verbal dialogues in the middle of the show:

RABBIT: […] Who is that woman, then?

MUSICIAN: [akgong] [instrumental player sitting on the floor]: You are not being serious? She is the Wife of Pyŏljubu who came to prevent her husband from becoming a turtle soup.

RABBIT: What? The Wife of Pyŏljubu? I made a pledge to turn him into a turtle soup and wash away my anger tonight, yet I made a big mistake, not being in control of myself being away from home.

MUSICIAN: Why don’t you just let Pyŏljubu go? […]

WIFE: [sings] […]

MUSICIAN: That is a tune of a popular song~

RABBIT [character on the stage]: Don’t be too sad, it will ruin your pretty face. Stay well and let’s happily reunite on the day I return with my liver.

WIFE: [talks] […]

MUSICIAN: Why don’t you sing the Farewell Song. (3)

In the above line in The Story of Pyŏljubu [The Tale of Turtle] (1982), Rabbit is drunk and sleeps with the wife of Pyŏljubu, called Wife, sent by Pyŏljubu. In his attempt to avoid the Sea King’s decision to cook Pyŏljubu (a turtle) into a soup, Pyŏljubu tries to bribe Rabbit to petition to 228 change the Sea King’s mind. When Rabbit sobers up and spots Wife, he does not recognize her.

Being heavily drunk, he mistook her for a prostitute when he saw her the previous night. Yet, she turns out to be an ordinary woman. Surprised to hear she is an ordinary woman, Rabbit asks “who is that woman, then?” The musician replies that she is the Wife of Pyŏljubu. Then, the musician continues addressing Rabbit each time by saying “why don’t you~” until he invites Rabbit to sing the Farewell Song. Their conversation is unheard or unseen by Wife; she does not interrupt the dialogue between the two characters. This kind of intervention by the musician in the middle of the play, who converses with the dramatic character on stage, comments on the character’s action or lines, and asks or invites the character to sing, is an adaptation from such interactions found in mask dance drama or other indigenous performing arts. The musician functions as an outsider yet an insider in the dramatic scene who not only bridges the actors and the audience, but also helps with the dramatic structure or the flow of play.86

Sohn’s inclusion of musicians into the main play is also found in the indigenous puppetry, Kkoktu gaksi norum’s musicians called SanBaJi. Sitting outside of the puppet house, i.e., in between the audience and the puppeteers, SanBaJi shares dialogues with puppets while playing the accompaniment music. This, in a way, connects the audience to the story line and at the same time disrupts the dramatic illusion. In madangnori, if one can argue that asking personal questions to the audience generates “togetherness” and playfulness, certain interactions constantly reminds one that they are “watching” a play. This differs from Brechtian alienation effect, because madangnori’s breaking of dramatic illusion adds enjoyment and interests in the play rather than emotional or psychological detachment from it. It causes curiosity, expectation, or light embarrassment that nonetheless draws the audience to the dramatic action or story. For instance, where Ch’unP’ung’s Wife accidentally pulls down Ch’unP’ung (Yun)’s pants, revealing bright red underwear, upon which everybody bursts out in laughter, Yun would walk toward

229 female audience members and remark to them, “You just love this scene too much,” “How can you laugh over someone else’s misfortune?” etc.87

As seen in Chapter 2 of this study, the mixtures and alterations between presentational and representation singing and acting is characteristic of pansori, mask dance drama and other indigenous performing arts of Korea. In other words, the play is realist and non-realist at the same time. The manner in which indigenous cultural forms are adopted into Sohn’s madangnori exists as realist and non-realist as well. Figure 22 shows the Funeral Scene of ShimCh’ŏng’s mother,

Kwakssi, where groups of female and male performers enact a funeral procession. In front, the women hold up long banners with Chinese characters, the lead singer (Sŏnsori-kkun) with a bell follows next, and the men carry a decorated bier on their shoulders. Blind Shim, the family of the deceased, follows the last with bent back. Even though Kwakssi makes a short appearance on stage and dies while giving birth, the funeral is a major element of indigenous culture that follows complicated formalities and sequences. Although the death can be narrated or signaled by music, song, or other simpler ways, Sohn represents the bier even in its simplest form.

Sohn believes that his theatre should contain “social effectiveness” as inspired by Bertolt

Brecht, whether it is a message, pleasure, promotion of collectivity.88 Still, he faced a dilemma in the direction of madangnori. In an interview in 2003, Sohn confessed that he was torn between the thought of “not abandoning this kind [based on well-known stories] of play which the general public voluntarily come to watch” and the need for a breakthrough or transformation. Yet he

“strongly felt the duty and responsibility to sustain the current form in honor of those who hardly watch any theatre other than his madangnori” (Hŏh S. 200). With the adaptation of The Three

Kingdoms in 2004, all the basic p’ansori repertoires have been made into madangnori and the concerns over “new madangnori” increased. Kim SŏngNyŏh remarked that it was like they had reached a deadlock, where the brilliant stage props devised by the director Sohn that have invited

230 lots of audience laughter have been used over and over again, which is, from the perspective of the regular madangnori-goers, perceived to be “stagnation.”89 (Figure 23, 24, 25, 26.)

In Figure 27, Lady Pak is pointing at the moon in the sky, where the Emcee is holding a yellow, moon-shaped sign with the word “moon” written in a Chinese character (月). This is an example of where the Emcee helps with stage props, everything from costume to fan, a golf bag, and luggage for the main character. It is almost always delivered to the protagonist and antagonist who are on the stage for a very long time. In some cases, staff brings a prop to the rim of the stage while the character is standing at the rim, close to the entrance and exit. A similar case to the photo above is seen in traveling scenes where a character walks or rides a horse to a distant region.

To signal how far the character has come, the Emcee holds up pickets alternatively, on shich the numbers of kilometers passed are written. The origin of utilizing pickets is Brecht’s epic theatre, yet Sohn uses it not necessarily to “alienate” the audiences but as a dramatic device that can even add delight to it. Still, the mixing of presentational and representational acting exists as the fundamental aesthetic device, not only in Sohn’s madangnori, but in his conventional productions as well.

Sohn’s madangnori usually presents interesting storylines with a range of dynamic characters, who are often figures from Korean classical novels. They seem to be lower than the public yet display human natures in a playful way. In the story, those who sustain sanity and lead the dramatic reality are often servant or femal characters who are beaten, neglected, or looked down upon for their inferiority. Especially in p’ansori novels, where rich examples of oppostions between the weak and strong, the haves and the havenots, the privileged and unprivileged are presented, madangnori has found various characters to revive in our contemporary society.

Through the dramatization, the audience laugh together with certain character(s), laugh at someone, get angry, feel sad, where the characters seem as if they are our neighbors, uncles, aunts,

231 parents, or children. With the panoramic features of human natures at its core, madangnori presents the audience various emotional journeys: with various minor characters and chorus combined, elements of humor, liveliness, and fun are magnified through jokes, dance numbers, or narratives. While the Emcee proceeds the story by guiding the audience,

As mentioned in Chapter 2 of this dissertation, the radical madanggŭk practitioners or followers harshly criticized Sohn’s madangnori on the ground for not being serious in problematizing and accusing the social vices, and instead being entertainment-like. The satire, farce, or jest in Korean mask dance drama and pansori, a sharp and cutting remark as it may be, does not lead to actual riots or street processions, which the radical madanggŭk practitioners regarded as the crucial element of the performances. However, madangnori’s subversion serves a purpose different from an uprising or direct confrontation.90 After laughing loudly over the foolish behavior, mocking them and openly talking about various kinds of misdeeds, madangnori eventually invites forgiving hearts. By always giving the dramatic villain another chance to redeem himself, the play calls for attention to the fragility and the common human characteristic of being prone to err. As you walk down the stairs and cross the stage covered with white paper flowers, you leave all the worries and discontentment you had before the performance started.

Instead, you take with you a hopeful future that will unfold in a harmonious society.

In sum, Sohn’s madangnori represents a transition from outdoor space to indoor space, a hybrid between indigenous performance styles and Western technology as well as a balance between didacticism and entertainment. Through Sohn’s madangnori, what was once a traditional outdoor performance gained a new identity as an indoor performance with specific stylistic attributes clearly linked to indigenous performance forms. His “madang” principle defines the performance space, i.e., the stage as a “madang,” which is the “here and now” of our time. This means that the stage is a reflection of our current society and the stories are relevant and relatable

232 to contemporary audience. Usually, the Emcee guides the audience through the play where he occasionally presents solo song, remarks on the dramatic characters and offers social criticism.

Mediated by him, the audience travels through a distant place, both in time and spaces, and encounters various vignettes in human life as stories are enfolded on this “madang.” Through a mixture of themes, characters, songs, and stories of the classical novels or plays with utterly harmonized and rehearsed chorus acting, the audiences spatio-temporally travel back and forth; they laugh and cry; they get entertained, called for attention or invited for a decision about the ending of the main character(s). Elements of the indigenous performances what had been lost from Koreans’ everyday life and entirely cut off from regular theatre-going experience are cleverly and cheerfully revived. Born again as “madangnori,” an amalgamation of Korean traditional performances in the past, has been recreated as a living, contemporary musical theatre in Korea.

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Figure 10: The Entrance to Madang Theatre in Sang-am-dong.

The image in this poster is also replicated on the playbill.

(Photo by author. 2009.) 234

Figure 1110:: Sohn watching the floor seats being prepared.

Notice the orchestra is comfortably placed on the borderline between the stage and the auditorium. (Photo by author. 2007.)

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Figure 12: Christmas tree at the lobby.

The wall display is a production history of highlights. (Photo by author, 2007.)

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Figure 13: Hospital scene. Doctors are surprised to see Valiant Lady Pak.

She is too ugly. (Photo by author. 2007.)

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Figure 14: Doctors are still in shock. They refuse to give Pak plastic surgery.

(Photo by author, 2007.)

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Figure 15: Play within the play. A feast scene in Lee Ch’unP’ung.

(Photo by author. 2009.) In this scene, a male singer is performing at a party while Lee and other guests are watching him. At the same time, the orchestra behind the actors is accompanying the singer while the audience watches the singer.

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Figure 16: Shim Ch’ŏng praying to heaven before drowning herself into the sea. (Photo by author. 2008.)

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Figure 17: Yun talking to an audience member.

Female chorus members sitting in a circle. Notice the proximity of the stage to the audience. (Photo by author. 2007.)

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Figure 18: Audience members bowing down for the riual kosa.

(Photo by author. 2009.)

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Figure 19: Audience member putting a ten dollar bill into pig’s mouth at kosa.

(Photo by author. 2009.)

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Figure 20: The larger group of the performers behind the kosa table.

They have been sitting during the kosa and here they have just stood up to prepare for the next scene. (Photo by author. 2009.)

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Figure 21: The concluding scene of kosa. Collective bowing down to pray for a successful performance. (Photo by author. 2009.)

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Figure 22: Shim Ch’ŏng’s mother Kwakssi's funeral.

(Photo by author. 2008.)

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Figure 23: Props. Pink rubber gloves, cabbages and radishes at the center.

Paper fans to the left. Notice the reality of the props. (Photo by author, 2009.)

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Figure 24: Props. Wedding table for Valiant Lady Pak’s wedding.

(Photo by author, 2007.)

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Figure 25: Props. Lady Pak makes her living by running a home shopping business.

Notice the mixture of Chosŏn Dynasty garments with modern technology equipments such as video camera and microphone. (Photo by author. 2007.)

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Figure 26: Props. Horse market scene in The Valiant Lady Pak.

The horse dealer tries to validate the quality horse with a so-called genealogy paper. (Photo by the author, 2007.)

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Figure 27: Lady Pak watching the moon. It is written in Chinese character "Moon." (Photo by the author. 2007.)

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CHAPTER 5

Conclusion-Looking Forward

As of the present year, 2013, the future of South Korean theatre stages appears hopeful.

No canonical theatre seems to dominate anymore and younger generations of directors, playwrights, and performers—who seem versatile enough and have the ability to bridge different genres and styles—have come to the fore. Due to an increasing awareness of the need for basic knowledge and skills in Korean indigenous performing art culture at theatre institutions, actors seem to have received a much more balanced training in Western and Korean theatre. While the older (beyond the age of sixty) generation are busy tackling fast-changing aspects in Korean society, younger generations are being offered better opportunities and support to create and develop their artistic world. Various supporting programs such as a new playwright prize, stage readings, and incubating programs, are usually supplemented with monetary prizes or administrative support. These new additional benefits are immensely helpful to aspiring young artists. At the same time, a crucial change has been observed and felt in Korean theatre in terms of the size, characteristics, and ideas of a theatre company. As could be seen in Oh TaeSuk’s

Mokwha from a few years ago, actors no longer confine themselves to conventional theatre and devotedly work for a single director and his theatre company. In contemporary South Korea, an increasing number of actors are working on a freelance basis, searching for suitable productions and staff. For a relatively large theatre company like Sohn’s Michoo, it is no longer realistic to pursue a family-like, communal theatre company atmosphere and expect the actors show devotion and focus.

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Outside of Michoo, things appear to be much more positive than they have been in the past. This is true, not only for theatre but also for Korean performing arts in general. The pioneers of various genres such as Korean music, dance, and theatre, as exemplified by samulnori, a large- scaled contemporized traditional dance and theatre left behind a rich legacy. This legacy provides young p’ansori performers with opportunities to participate in genres other than solo performances. With the lead of the “Young Ch’anggŭk” program organized by the National

Ch’anggŭk Company at the National Theatre, cross over performance opportunities with B-boys, radio drama, and traditional dance performance are regularly offered to these performers. In other words, the p’ansori singers who were regarded with disdain well into the twenty-first century and even branded as kiseng, now enjoy busy performance schedules and a lucrative income.

Indigeneity no longer seems to mean “uneducated, vulgar, coarse, or primitive” but instead refers to a proud national legacy that supports Korean nationals’ self-esteem. The nationwide, national- level promotion of Korean traditional culture has led to a change in the conception of its performers as well as more and more traditionally trained performers appear on television and in live performances.

The long-term financial support, infrastructure and resources such as skilled performers and the performing space, critics, and audiences all worked together to create the current state of the form. The mere existence of the National Ch’anggŭk Company supported by the government shows how singular the play form has been in terms of getting governmental support.1 The challenges of making Koreannesque theatre is apparent from ongoing debates over the true character and form of ch’anggŭk and the fact that it has been fully sponsored and cherished by the practitioners and scholars of ethnomusicology, Korean language and literature, and theatre alike.

Although a direct comparison should not be made, the vastly different treatments the two forms ch’anggŭk and madangnori received by the government, artistic sector, and academia is a

253 possible indication of how challenging it would have been for Sohn without his long-term partnership with MBC. It is likely that Sohn, at that time, would have been enticed by a proposal from MBC regardless of his artistic concerns. This claim is based on several factors, including the scarcity of funding (government or private), suitable venues and artistic cooperation or encouragement for the form of madangnori during the 1980s-1990s. Consequently, collaboration with MBC meant that Sohn had access to a major source of capital, venues in various cities and a powerful advertising campaign. Even though the partnership led to the unfortunate labeling of madangnori with “commercial,” a label with a negative connotation, Sohn’s Michoo was able to thrive, allowing him the opportunity to develop his work.2

The relationship between Sohn and MBC can be described as a love-hate relationship.

Right after the termination of his collaboration with MBC, Sohn longed for the partnership. From his point of view, he was the creator of the art form with his own concrete ideas, ability, performers and staff, including the composer, choreographer and musicians. MBC was his

“financial sponsor” who also had power and resources in several regions through local broadcast stations across the country. As a leading broadcasting company, it took care of advertising, and even broadcasted the performance annually over New Year. From MBC’s point of view, however, even though it started as a one-time event, once it made the decision to turn the performance into an annual program, it became a lucrative source of income. Seeing the enthusiastic audience reactions, MBC embraced the form’s money-making potential by seeking opportunities to cast its own television actors instead of Sohn’s Michoo actors. These fundamental differences between the devoted theatre artist and the profit-seeking private cooperation inevitably resulted in arguments and the eventual breakup of the relationship.

With all the cold attitudes and criticisms toward the play form in the past, Sohn and his

Michoo actors, including the three celebrity performers, are content to have survived for three

254 decades with the love from audiences intact. With the 2009 performance of The Prodigal Lee

Ch’unP’ung, Michoo madangnori performances hit the three thousandth performance. The three main performers of Sohn’s madangnori, Yun MunSik, Kim ChongYŏp, and Kim SŏngNyŏ reached the ages of sixty-seven, sixty-three, and sixty years old respectively. When they became involved in Sohn’s projects, none of them imagined they would be part of his team for such a long time. The year 2010 marked the thirtieth anniversary of Sohn’s company and at the same time he bade a temporary farewell to the audience with The Tale of Madangnori. It coincided with Sohn JinCh’aek’s appointment as the Artistic Director at the National Theatre of Korea, which he finally accepted after a number of polite refusals. With Sohn’s temporary leave from the

Michoo, the actress Kim SŏngNyŏ took over at the Michoo and intermittently presented excerpts or abbreviated versions of madangnori to communities. However, with her recent appointment as the Artistic Director at the National Ch’anggŭk Theatre Company, an annexed building to the

National Theatre Company where Sohn has been working as the Artistic Director, there is currently uncertainty with regard to the future of madangnori.3

Sohn had to cope with multiple limitations and biases stemmed from the colonial beliefs, especially since his work is situated in a postcolonial era, complicated with its sociopolitical situations even after the independence from Japan. As a director concerned with “the modernization of tradition” movement, Sohn necessarily displays a modernist stance toward theatre-making. Although he is not a dictator style director compared to Oh TaeSŏk or Lee

YunT’aek, the two leading playwright/directors of Korea with overflowing energy, wit, and artistic ideas, Sohn prefers to work mainly alone to create directorial concepts. He does collaborate with his intimate colleagues and friends, Park BŏmHun and Kook SuHo, but their friendship and collaboration are exceptional and differs from that of younger contemporary directors. In a way, the rather authoritarian or director-centered theatre-making process is a

255 generational trait that is characteristic of South Korean theatre, or characteristic of Sohn’s generation.

In January 2011, with its 2010-2011 Season, the first chapter of Sohn’s madangnori closed. While madangnori had new, young faces—consisting mostly of recent graduates from the

Korean Musical Theatre Department at ChungAng University, directly taught by the star madangnori actress Kim SŏngNyŏ—it seemed they could not compete with the popularity of the three main actors. However, by officially bidding goodbye to the first generation madangnori stars, they made a public announcement about a new madangnori with a younger generation.4

This new generation, more equipped with various resources and systematic training than any generational artists before them, have new tasks. Sohn and his actors’ long-term commitment to the madangnori have led to the creation and establishment of a new “tradition” that not only meets his nationalistic conviction but also enriches the South Korean theatre world. In addition to the faithful audiences from across the country, an increasing number of younger audiences are attending madangnori and are becoming acquainted with the play form. Considering the unrivaled popularity of Western musicals—Broadway, German, French, and also very recently

Off-Broadway—among audiences in their twenties and thirties, who are potential madangnori audiences, we can hope for a bright future for the Koreannesque musical. That the MBC

Madangori itself transformed into a “musical madangnori” in a more Western-style musical format with Korean content readily reflects such awareness of what is popular in contemporary

South Korea. At the same time Sohn and his generation are crucial to provide a model and mentorship for the next generations who have not, and hopefully will not, experienced war, oppression, calamity, poverty and the discrimination Sohn and the directors discussed in Chapter

2 had to endure. With his scheduled return to the Michoo in 2014, a mind-blowing and enchanting version of Korean musical theatre, madangnori is expected. Whether or not audiences

256 will welcome and cherish the new madangnori without the three celebrity performers who made the form popular is uncertain, but their departure at during a time that is ideal for a breakthrough.5

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Endnotes

Introduction

1 From the year 1981 to 1999, MBC Madangnori took place at the Munhwa Sports Stadium in Seoul, which was later called the ChŏngTong Event Hall. Also, the 1994’s madangnori was performed at the KBS ‘88 Sports Stadium. See 20 Years 58. After the separation of MBC in 2001, with the exception of temporary reunions, Sohn’s madangnori has been staged at a tent theatre. More specifics will be examined in Chapter 4 of this study.

Chapter 1

1 Lee Y.M., Principle 59.

2 The archival researches were completed before 2010, when the holdings of theatrical materials were still at the Seoul Arts Center (SAC) in SeoCho-dong, Seoul. In 2010, the Arko Library was turned into the Korea National Archives of the Arts. Now the library at the SAC holds materials on dance and fine arts and the branch library in Daehakro, Seoul, holds all theatre-related materials.

3 From the official website of Michoo Theatre Company. http://www.michoo.co.kr.

4 The only South Korean broadcast companies that were allowed to provide television broadcasting were the government run Korea Broadcasting System (1961) and four privately managed commercial broadcasting companies, Christian Broadcasting Company (1962), DongA broadcasting company (1963), TBC (1964-1980), and MBC (1969). MBC was founded in 1961 and in commemoration of its twentieth anniversary it planned an event for 1981.

5 The playwright Pai prepared the script, which contained selections from the well-received repertoires of the past, such as Shim Chŏng, Ch’unHyang, etc.

6 According to the latest interview with Sohn, who had even stepped down as CEO of his Michoo Theatre Company upon his appointment as the Artistic Director at the National Theatre of Korea. He had no time to think about madangnori during the past three years. He was hoping that a newer generation of performers and staff will successfully launch the second generation of madangnori, but he simply does not have time to consider its status at the moment. (Interview with author, September 2013.) Although a period of thirty years in history may look rather short, in terms of Korean theatre, continuation of a single art form by the same director or theatre organization up to thirty years is rare. The authors of the very recent studies on Sohn’s madangnori mention that was their motivation for investigation of the form. See Ahn; Lee Y.R.; Son.

7 Studies by Kim Ch.S., Ch’ae, and Lee Y.M. all use “yard play” as the English translation for “madangnori’ or madanggŭk.

8 Lee S.I. “Parody.” 20 Years 113. Depending on the authors, English version of “madangkut (마당굿)” is alternatively used as “madanggut.” As I mention in Section 2, college students and graduates during the 1970s were fascinated by the communal emphasis and grassroot power portrayed in indigenous culture 258

such as kut (shaman rite), and sought to use “-kut” as a suffix instead of the Chinese-driven, therefore associated with higher class, “-gŭk.”

9 This term is now found as an entry word in commonly used Korean dictionaries. For example, on page 797 of Minjung Essence Dictionary it is defined as “an outdoor theatre creatively developed after the 1907s from t’alch’um, p’ansori, p’ungmul and other forms of traditional folk performances [nori], which mostly contains social criticism and reports on the social realities.”

10 However, it is important to note that the term possessed multiple meanings; for example, a stylistically very similar play form could be labeled with a different term, or two forms different from each other could be labeled with the same term. For instance, while one critic would call it madangkut, others would call it madanggŭk or madangnori. Because of its powerful presence during the 1980s, the radical madanggŭk came to serve as the definition of “madanggŭk.” However, as Lee Y.M. has argued, the term is a broader term of genre that refers to performances with specific stylistic characteristics. Being aware of such argument, Im proposed to use “minjung-gŭk” that regards the ideological agendas behind performances rather than the stylistic traits. See Im Ch.T’. Nonetheless, the stylistic consideration as seen in Sŏh Y.’s new approaches has broadened the theatre historiography in that it includes madanggŭk, ak-gŭk, and madangnori that have distinct styles yet have been excluded in conventional historiographies. See section 2 of Chapter 2.

11 Different vocabularies were used by the aristocratic and lower peasant classes. When referring to an object or event, the ruling class or “yangban” used names derived from Chinese characters, unlike the ordinary people who used vernacular Korean vocabularies, being excluded from education entirely. At present, the Chinese-driven term “yŏn’hee” (연희 演戱) is used to refer to the vernacular forms of performing arts such as mask dance drama or percussion instrumental music, while terms like “gŭk” (극 劇) and “yŏn’gŭk” (연극演劇) almost exclusively refer to the Western style or Western-driven theatre. A broader term equivalent to “performance” would be “kong’yŏn” (공연公演), where “performing arts” is translated into “kong’yŏn yesul” (공연예술公演藝術).

12 Minjung Sŏrim, 797. The 6th edition that came out in 2006 is printed the seventh time in 2013. The same definitions are found in an online dictionary by the National Institute of Korean Language. Kuprip Kukŏwŏn-P’yojun Kukŏ TaeSaJŏn. http://stdweb2.korean.go.kr/main.jsp.

13 Yun MunShik. “Good audiences make good theatre.” 20 Years 73. Theatre critic Lee SangIl, playwright Kim ChiIl, and the madanggŭk practitioner Im ChinT’aek made such remarks.

14 New Milleinum Dictionary of Korean Language and Culture. Ed. Suh Chŏng Soo. Hansebon, Seoul, Korea. 2003. Center for Globalization of Korean Language and Culture (CGKLC).

15 Interview with author, July 2004.

16 See Im Ch.T’. Creation.

17 Ashcroft, et.al. 130.

18 Sohn, Interview with author, 2005.

19 One needs to be careful when mentioning “an absence” in modern theatrical tradition in Korea. Also, the two different stances to this phenomenon were “so we should emulate the Western realist drama” versus “therefore we should make our own.”

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20 Chang W., Irish Influences 43.

21 The period of modernization in Korea slightly differs among scholars of history, social studies, and humanities, i.e., literature. To this date, there is no consensus on the exact date of modernization of theatre. Also, at this time, every infrastructures were built in Seoul, especially the cultural kinds.

22 Here, the term “dramaturgy” is being used as a literary sense, i.e., the ways the play script is written. As Pronko noted in his often cited publication, Theater East and West: Perspectives toward a Total Theater, Western dramaturgy is differentiated from Eastern dramaturgy whereas the former one traditionally sought after the Aristotelian plot that lasted well into the periods of realism. The anti-realist trend started in the early twentieth century West, what Korea immediately adopted while it was still stabilizing realist theatre.

23 For theses on Hŏh K., see Yun H.S. and Yun Y.S.

24 Their names are not mentioned, but indirectly referred to by the critics who wrote positive reviews. See Han.

25 In contrast to the challenges in Western scholarship to the idea of “universal values” because of its political implication, South Korean artists are inclined to refer their work as “universal,” with an implication of regarding their work to be relatable to the audiences from a non-Korean culture. In South Korean context, where indigenous culture has been long regarded as inferior and disqualified to be called “culture” or “theatre” (“yŏn’gŭk”), the artists found it imperative to change the status quo. The director Sohn is one of those who sought to elevate the indigenous culture by presenting appreciative qualities of Korean culture and narratives for Westerners. In other words, highlighting the fact that Korean indigenous material—what used to be considered as inferior—can speak to Westerners, was a survival strategy where the “universality” (po’p’yŏnsŏng 普遍性) always mattered.

26 “The 5th Third World Theatre Festival in Seoul.”

27 In general, there are such opinions that say that art programs that accompanied such international sports games helped Korean artists and scholars get acquainted with those forms. Sŏh and Lee, 294-295. It was a politically oppressed time when the public and the artists were then blocked from the cultural events outside of Korea. Lee S.H., 198-200.

28 The commercial performing arts center, LG Arts Center, and the public performance center, the Seoul Arts Center, are two leading Korean theatre houses in Seoul, Korea, that house artistically highly credited productions mostly from Euro-American countries all year-round.

29 The Korean title of this festival, “Seoul Kukje Kong’Yŏn Yesulje” claims its “international” status by the “kukje” (國際, “international”), while the official English title is just “Seoul Performing Arts Festival.” Officially, the festival as an international theatre event has ended. The previously used term “segye” (世界, world) seems to be replaced by “kukje.”

30 The ITI center in Korea launched a volunteer system in 1997 for the Seoul International Theatre Festival, which allowed the public to engage in interaction with artists and technicians from overseas. I volunteered as a guide and translator for English and German languages, which allowed me to see the technical rehearsal and a number of actual productions for free. I also overheard a comment made by a French committee member on Lee YunT’aek’s Ogu, calling it “vaudeville.” Korea proudly presented Lee’s production as successful and noteworthy contemporary Korean theatre, but it was not ready to take such reception. However, Lee, as an iconoclastic artist, is after breaking such canons anyway.

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31 When I attended the seminar titled as “Theatre and Interculturalism,” the seminar room was full and the beige colored proceeding of the panel papers was also titled as “Theatre and Interculturalism.”

32 Organizing Committee. Final Report.

33 Sohn’s direction of this play written by Park ChoYŏl and The Heaven of Namsadang by Yun TaeSŏng have received scholarly and critical attention much more than madangnori or The Keeper (1987) that he directed as the opening production for his newly founded Michoo theatre Company in August 1986.

34 Seoul Arts Foundation, for instance, offers various funding programs both in domestic and international settings.

35 Various dissertations are being written in English by Korean theatre scholars and artists, including the pioneering studies by Chŏng HoSun and Kim WuOk, who wrote on Korean theatre buildings and on p’ansori respectively.

36 It is published as Metacultural Theater of Oh T’ae-Sok.

37 Kim, Alyssa. Communication with author, Aug. 2013.

38 Interview with author, Oct. 2009.

39 To this date, a select few contemporary Korean plays are translated into English. Lee KangPaik, Ch’ae ManShik (1902-1950), Oh YŏngJin (1916-1974), Yu Ch’iJin (1905-1974), Park ChoYŏl (b.1930) and Ch’a BŏmSŏk (1924-2006).

40 Nichols, in his preface to the aforementioned anthology explained, “the dramas in this collection take many forms, suggesting a variety of theatrical performances. Whatever the dramas’ literary value, collectively they signal a tendency in the Korean theater away from the early Western-influenced, word- based realistic form toward complex and genre-blurring dramaturgy and theater performance, communicating universal human behaviors as much through images, music, dance, and ritual as through the printed word” (ii).

41 I saw the 2004 production and I was told it was partly funded by a governmental fund offered to the specific genre of musical. (Sohn JinCh’aek, Communication with author, 2004.)

42 In November 2010, Sohn was appointed as the first Artistic Director at the Korean National Theatre after it was turned into a corporate system the same year.

43 When asked, Sohn said he was not interested in translating madangnori scripts into English or other language. (Interview with author, 2008.) However, being appointed as the Artistic Director at the National Theatre in 2010, it is said that one of his goals is to translate representative productions into English. (Alyssa Kim, Communication with author, Sept. 2013.)

44 Some of the exceptions are in the cases of Lee MeeWŏn and Shim ChŏngSun, who published or presented papers to the English speaking communities on Sohn’s direction of The Toenails of General Oh in the 1990s.

45 Such scholars or playwrights include Kim WuJin and Yu Ch’iJin. They are the leaders of the so-called New Drama movement. Chang W. calls them “intelligentsia”

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46 The general critique was that there was no Korean play worthy to stage, and Korean translation of quality Western plays was more important. Richard Nichols noted in his introduction to his play anthology, “the ratio one quarter or more are translations from the Western plays” (11).

47 Korean affinity with the Japanese ruling class around the colonial era is considered as one of the heavy crimes for Koreans. Similar to the Korean Truth Commission, the Committee on exposing the anti-national pro-Japan actions established under the former Roh MuHyŏn administration compiled and published in 2009 twenty-five books containing the names of the Korean celebrities of social prominence who held governmental positions or worked in various social sectors including arts. Yu is one of the ten theatre personnel according to this publication, but even after his affinity with Japanese colonizers was exposed, his position as “the father of realism drama in Korea” has been firm.

48 Studies on Yu Ch’iJin include A Study on Yu Chi’Jin (1997) and A Study on Yu Ch’iJin’s Plays (2004).

49 In his 1994 writing, Kim WuOk pointed out that the problems in Korean theatre scholarship lie in these facts. It was still true for over a decade and still partly true after two decades.

50 Theatre criticism as a profession was not an established area in that time. Especially for newspaper reporters, the culture section was in charge of newcomers. Koo’s reviews are valued because she showcased the role of the theatre critic in a time when the critic was not common and his/her function was unspecified.

51 Ku HeeSŏh’s Reading Theatre. 2 vols.

52 See Lee S. and Yu M. While Lee and Yu are theatre scholars, an English literature major with deep knowledge in Korean indigenous culture, Kim WukDong analyzes mask dance drama with carnivalism in his Aesthetics of T’alch’um. In fact, Ch’oi Ch.M. called for attention in her account on the radical madanggŭk that it contains Mikhail “Bakhtin’s idea of carnivalesque inversion and the subversive notion embodied by the characters of mask dance drama” (110).

53 See Im; Chŏng.

54 Lee ChinSun, the President of MBC at the time, happened to see madangnori and ordered to broadcast at 10am on the first day of January when the entire family gather together.

55 In the preface to this book, Lee explained that the publication was rushed to meet the 1997 World Madanggŭk Festival in line with the 1997 International Theatre Festival. Lee’s other book, Madanggŭk, Realism, Minjok-gŭk (1997), attempts to organize numerous madanggŭk performances across the country together with a historical overview.

56 In Lee’s newest publication on madanggŭk, Madanggŭk through Oral Statements (2011), Ch’ae HeeWan shared how the Mask Dance-drama Study Circle members at the Seoul National University agreed upon each other that the mask dance-drama should be staged outdoors among the public. That is, they agreed not to watch performances that did not meet the specific criteria.

57 Sohn and Lee Y.M. as qtd. in Nam.

58 English Abstract, English translation by Nam.

59 Kim, S.W.

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60 Prior to entering the graduate program at The Ohio State University, I passed the initial document screening process, i.e., half-elected, for one of the newly founded “Contents Scholarships” offered by the Ministry of Culture and Tourism in 2004. The Korean government launched a long-term project to invest and promote the so-called “contents industry” to develop globally competitive cultural products including film, animation, computer games, literature, and performing arts.

61 To avoid the confusion between the theatre building (the Drama Center) and its theatre company (Drama Center), the latter would alternatively be called as TongRang Repertory Theatre Company. TonRang is the pen name for its founder, Yu Ch’iJin.

62 When this study was first conceived in 2002, these were the main available literatures I could work with.

63 As I examine in Chapter 4 in this study, MBC and Sohn officially separated in 2001 and sued each other for the copyright of the title and logo stamp of “madangnori.” The reasons for the reunion and the 2007 separation are also explained.

64 In fall 2010, as madangnori hit its thirtieth anniversary, the Michoo Theatre Company was launching a special publication that was to include reviews by Yu MinYŏng, Kim PangOk, and Kim YunChŏl. According to Park, due to the unreceived article, the publication was not out on time. (Park HyŏnSuk, Communication with author 2010.) However, the publication could not come out after all due to lack of funds. (Sohn JinCh’aek, Communication with author, Sept 2013.)

65 My unpublished thesis draft on Sohn’s madangnori contained similar introductory sections in it. It was written prior to Lee’s, as Lee told me in person at the 2007 madangnori that she tried to contact me before she started her thesis upon hearing I was already working on the theatre form. To my question why or what made her to write a thesis on Sohn’s madangnori, Lee said that her thesis advisor, Dr. Kim P. had already planned out the topic and suggested Lee, an acting major, to write on the acting style of madangnori, saying, “the time is ripe.” However, since there was no thesis on the form then, they decided to write an introductory thesis first. (Communication with author, Nov. 2007.) Kim is one of the few Korean scholars and critics who paid attention to madanggŭk and other works that sought to utilize indigenous Korean elements in theatre from the 1970s. Kim also published an article on acting in relation to the Korean mask dance drama.

66 Actress Park YŏngSuk, who joined the Michoo in the 1990s and performed in madangnori, studied at the Russian Academy of Theatre Arts (GITIS) in Russia and wrote her thesis on the acting principles of Sohn’s madangnori. Due to a language barrier, I could not go over the content, but the author briefly mentioned to me that she compared the acting styles in Russian realist theatre with that of madangnori, concluding that madangnori acting is in fact based on realist acting, contrary to the general understanding in Korea that madangnori acting is non-realist. This can be seen as part of efforts to appeal the legitimacy of madangnori as a decent theatre form. This is later published in Korean in Journal of Acting Studies.

67 Sah published an article about Madangnori The Tale of PyŏnKangSoe, “Unity through Laughing: the Performance of Madangnori Audience.”

68 Kuk-ak Education for Junior-high, Graduate School of Kuk-ak Education. The thesis advisor is Kim SŏngNyŏ.

69 Department of Korean Language and Literature, University of Ulsan. Son argues that the previous studies mainly paid attention to the style of madangnori, whereas its content was understudied. His main argument is that contrary to the general notion that says Sohn’s madangnori only took stylistic traits from mask dance drama and not the consciousness of the mass, his theatre does contain it. Such a renewed focus

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on indigenous material and festival seems to reflect the Korean local government’s active efforts to promote regional festivals as a major component of tourism products.

70 The absence of aesthetical tools to validly measure Korean ethnic culture has been occasionally raised over time. One of the suggestions was to seek an alternative lens in ancient Chinese writings on arts such as Yegi. Though Korea did have immense influence from China in relation to its arts in general, such influence is doubtful when it comes to the indigenous performing arts that were passed on by the farmers, peasants, and fishermen in Korea. The objective of my study is not to present an alternative aesthetic tool that will substitute the tools from the West, but to situate Sohn within a social historical context that is informed by post-colonial consideration.

71 The madanggŭk scholar Lee Y.M. argues that because the madanggŭk practitioners were unaware of postcolonial theories, madanggŭk cannot be considered as a postcolonial theatre. I disagree with such point of view.

72 Cho T., the author of The Principle and History of T’alch’um, has asserted Koreans should discard with their psychological, cultural, and scholarly dependency on the U.S.

73 It is ironic that such characteristics that scholars found difficult to interpret within their western-oriented training are now approached as “‘postmodern” aspects.

74 Before the Japanese colonization, Korea had a long relationship with China, where Korea regarded China as a big brother.

75 I can understand the reluctance from the Public Relations Manager, considering my research topic is not directly dealing with the revenue Michoo is making with or without madangnori. I also suspect the figure was unofficially confidential, as it was the main source of income for the theatre company and, as an Asian organization, it would feel reserved to open it to the public. Upon my repeated inquiry, one of the responses I got from one of the senior members was, “Why not just make it up yourself? Make a good estimate. That is how it is in this field done anyway.” (Communication with author, 2008.)

76 Still, the increase in the number of studies does not equate to the variety or the depth of the study. Lee Y.M., in her preface to her recently published book, stated how pessimistic she was toward those recent theses. The writers continuously contact her for primary sources. Not only the scarcity of the material makes her doubt how scholarly writings could be written but also the absence of firsthand experiences. She stated the motivation for her new book was “to provide primary information” for younger scholar

77 I can understand the reluctance from the Public Relations Manager, considering my research topic is not directly dealing with the revenue Michoo is making with or without madangnori. I also suspect the figure was unofficially confidential, as it was the main source of income for the theatre company and, as an Asian organization, it would feel reserved to open it to the public. Upon my repeated inquiry, one of the responses I got from one of the senior members was, “Why not just make it up yourself? Make a good estimate. That is how it is in this field done anyway.” (Communication with author, 2008.)

78 Scholarly critics like Sŏh Y.H. and Lee S.I. used the term as early as the end of the 1960s, while recent scholars all use phrases like “modernization of tradition” or “stagical reception of tradition.” What is presumed is that “tradition,” what refers to “indigenous cultural tradition,” is “not modern” or “not contemporary” and is situated outside of the indoor theatre, thus it needs certain processes of adaptation to be brought unto the indoor stage. In her doctoral research, Kim Y.J. demonstrated how the professional, scholarly critics through their critique of plays more or less codified what “modernization of tradition” in theatre should be. That is, by crediting only few specific theatre makers’ approaches as the real cases of the “modernization of tradition,” those few cases have become a norm. 264

79 National Competition for P’ansori Singers or National Folk Arts Competition started as a festival, but from the 1960s onward, it has become a competition. For the Preservative Circle of Jeonju Grand Sasŭp- nori, visit http://www.jjdss.or.kr. Both events were broadcasted, where MBC in 1983 made a contract to broadcast live the entire competition.

80 Cho pointed out there was confusion regarding the name of HyŏpRyulsa, since the name was first used for a theatre building and then for an organization.

81 The dates and places of origins, venues, as well as the exact contents of Korean indigenous culture are unknown. Especially because the indigenous life was hardly documented (a social strata who was regarded unworthy to take records about), scholars have to conjecture the history of indigenous cultural forms. Also the disinterest or lack of awareness of documentation still continues to this date, regardless of area of studies.

82 All his later history books focus on the style of theatre. History of Korean Modern Plays, History of Korean Theatre, Han’guk Yŏn’gŭk Chŏnsa, and Our Theatre: 100 Years.

83 Sah. The Tradition of Performing Arts Culture.

84 Kim ChaeCh’ŏl. History of Chosŏn Theatre.

85 During the Chosŏn Dynasty (1392-1910), Korea’s last kingdom in history that spanned over five hundred years, performing arts were actively promoted.

86 He wrote other books to categorize Korean theatre genres and dramas (written scripts) according to the stylistic characteristics. In the “Prologue” to his History of Korean Contemporary Drama (2004), Sŏh stated that he attempted to write a history of contemporary drama “in consideration of the relationship between traditional styles and modern styles” (4). Here, he stated that the realist drama movement in Korea, one of the contemporary theatre style that continuously developed modern theatre style, started in 1911 with shinpa-jo-gŭk (drama after shinpa style) (4).

87 The Important Intangible Cultural Asset number 81. Jindo Tashiraegi is composed of bier play (sang- yŏh-nori), pseudo (or imaginative) mourner play (Ka-sangje nori), goeh-sa sadangnori, sadang and monk nori, and Post-play. Notice all the (elements) are called ‘play’ (‘~nori’). Among them, pseudo-mourner nori and kŏhsa sadang nori are considered as the essential parts. It has been passed down by professional performers with shaman background. Hŏh Kyu wrote a play script inspired by this indigenous tradition under the title of Tashiraegi. Photos and sound clips of the indigenous performance can be found at an online database constructed as a joint project by the Academy of Korean Studies and Jindo Province, Digital Jindo Grand Cultural Exhibition. http://jindo.grandculture.net/gc/contents/index 2012.

88 While shamanism is banned, increasingly more television programs portray a shaman who reads a fortune or exorcise evil spirits. A much milder version that is being practiced publically is the reading of tarot cards.

89 Paik H. remarked on the government’s ambivalent stances toward shaman practices (kut), where its practice as a religion such as a performance at an individual’s home is forbidden, whereas “the artistic aspects of the performance is regarded as tradition to be preserved and promoted,” as revealed in its acclamation of kut in international setting as “helping the nation.” “Issues” 120.

90 “24th 88 Seoul Olympic Opening Ceremony.” 17 Sept. 1988. 8 Dec. 2011.

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91 “SŏngJu” means a house god. “Ogu,” as the way called in the Eastern coastal regions such as KyŏngSang or KangWŏn Province is also called as “Chinogui” in Seoul-Gyeonggi-Hwanghae Province, “ssitgim kut” in Jeolla Province, and “suwang kut” in PyŏngAn Province. The title of Lee YunT’aek’s Ogu is taken from this ritual.

92 Each regional form has its own organization and website. See www.bongsantal.com and http://www.yangju.go.kr/site/tour/sub.do?Key=1606. for details. According to the website, Pongsan mask dance drama team performed abroad such as at Harvard University and New York Natural History Museum in 1965. The narration in a video clip at the website explains that the performance has “satires and love triangle” and “ceremonial opening dance,” where “the four young monks dance to ward off evil spirits.” They dance after reciting ancient poems called “pullim.” Until the recent past, these organizations were rather defensive toward outside of their members and by being less familiar with technology, hardly any online information was provided. However, the nationwide awareness of the need of public relations to both domestic and international tourists, the city or province that hosts the indigenous forms are making great efforts to promote and advertise their cultural legacy through online websites.

93 The Hahoe Village still exists and as a commemoration of both Hŏh To’ryŏng and the young woman who died, it holds a tangje (ritual) and mask dance drama performance. The mask dance drama is known as Hahoe “Hahoe Pyŏlshin-kut talnori.”

94 Pihl 93. P′ansori was designated as the Important Intangible Treasure in 1964 and by UNESCO in 2003.

95 Recent studies examine p’ansori as a kind of performance arts. See Sŏh YuSŏk.

96 Kim HyŏngJu explains that “sori suits im’yŏn” means that the music follows the content of sasŏl.” 180.

97 The studies that assert that p′ansori in principle is literature include writings by the Korean Language and Literature scholars. The studies that counter-asserted p′ansori as theatre was very strong. Now, the theatricality of p′ansori is widely acknowledged in South Korean society.

98 See Im MyŏngJin 29-52; Kim IkDu 53-87; and Kim YŏnHo 191-209 in P’ansori’s Characteristics as Performing Art.

99 Human double nature, such as good and evil or sad and happy.

100 Now the younger stage directors familiar with p’ansori or Korean indigenous music expand the function of drum accompanist to enact dramatic personae without lines. In Lee JaRam’s p’ansori adaptation Mother Courage (2011-2013) by Bertolt Brecht, directed by Nam InWu, two drum accompanists alternate, where the male accompanist represents the oldest son and the female accompanist the youngest daughter. Additional male musician plays the electric guitar and represents the second son. The male and female drum accompanists also play jang-go and other instruments to enhance the dramatic mood of the play. As a whole, they appear to be a contemporary, Western music band rather than musicians of the indigenous performing arts.

101 Similar to solo storytelling performance popular in the U.S. during the 2000s. In this sense, it displays a great similarity to the very contemporary creative solo narrative theatre where an actor builds a drama based on his or her autobiographical episodes or stories they gleaned.

102 The Korean ethnic song, “Arirang," is the best example that reflects that sentiment. Arirang and many other Korean songs are called “sound (song) of han.”

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103 Recently, not only p’ansori but also mask dance drama is suspected to have been revised either by or for the upper class. Its pullim (opening words) consists of difficult Chinese characters and phrases that scholars suspect to have come from the common people.

104 AkHak’GwoeBŏm. Also important is that the term “ak” (“樂”) was a broad term that comprised music, dance, and performances, although theatrical forms were not promoted. See Sah, Tradition. Also, Sohn’s promotion of “ga-mu-ak” also presupposes such a wide concept of “ak.”

105 The theatre buildings reveal double stances toward Korean local theatre: first, measured against the history of theatre buildings, Korea, which had its first theatre building (HyŏpRyul-sa) built in 1902, the outdoor theatre or tent theatre are not counted. Second, since about the same time until even at the present time, Korean artists demand for suitable theatre that is built in a friendly way to the indigenous inspired culture. Sohn’s madangnori tent theatre came into existence exactly out of demand for appropriate performance space for their kind of performance.

106 See “Where Did the Kwangdae Come From?” and “Hwarang Tradition and Shaman Culture” in Pihl’s The Korean Singer of Tales (1994) for the possible origins and social backgrounds of the kwangdae (performer, actor). Although Pihl’s focus is the performer of p′ansori, the performers of indigenous performing arts were regarded in a very similar manner.

107 Also this led to an erroneous argument that Korean theatre starts with modern theatre which is the introduction of Western realist dramas. See Lee M.W. De-centralizing Theatre.

108 Paik H. stated that “from around 1906, the currently used ‘yŏn’gŭk’ [‘theatre’] replaced ‘yŏn-hee’ [‘performance’], while ‘gŭk-jang’ [‘theatre building’] replaced ‘yŏn’n-hee-jang’ or ‘hee-dae.’” Korean Theatre History and Discourse of Tradition 97.

109 Because studies on Korean indigenous theatre were unprecedented, Japanese scholars did research on Korea during its colonization of Korea. Also, because performing groups were nomads and the aristocratic class did not acknowledge the indigenous class, no serious research was conducted on those forms by Korean scholars.

110 “They felt that the modern European theatre was an artistic reflection of these key elements. For this reason, the modern Korean theatre movement had to offer a genuine copy of European drama rather than spend its time adapting the conventions of traditional Korean performances. In fact, the Korean intelligentsia did not attack or reshape the traditional Korean theatre but ignored it and never considered using the theatrical heritage. They needed a new concept, new function and totally new type of theatre” (42).

111 With the general lack of performance space, the Café Teatre hosted traditional Korean percussion performances, most notably that of Kim TŏkSu’s samul-nori. Ku. Reading Theatre. Vol.1.

112 After Kim ChaeCh’ŏl stated there were three forms of Korean indigenous theatre, namely mask dance drama, kut, and puppetry under the category of traditional Korean theatre, it had become the norm to think there were only three kinds. See Kim YunJŏng. This at the same time shows that p’ansori was not yet regarded as “performing arts.”

113 For instance, Paik TaeWung and Yun Chung Kang have actively written on Korean indigenous music, where the former diligently writes scholarly papers and books on the academic and historical aspects of Korean traditional music and the latter critiques on the changing aspects of traditional Korean music in contemporary society.

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114 Although firsthand experience of target art form is not a necessity for the scholars of fine and performing arts, the practical training does elicit one’s awareness to seek an insider’s point of view, i.e., a domestic or independent approach different from the prevalent canonical Western point of view.

115 An exception is the foundation of the Controlling Office of Performers by the Korean government, an institution established by the Korean royal palace to oversee theatrical performances and actors. The film with the title King and the Clown (2005) presents a glimpse into the life of royal actor(s), who as descendants of Namsadang Troupe perform for the king at that venue. More specifically, it portrays the love-like relationship between the male actor and the king.

116 An exception is Chŏn KyŏngWuk, whose father was a performer of PukChŏng Lion Mask Dance. Chŏn, after following his father’s professional path as a performer, went to study Korean Language and Literature, a discipline that offered anthropological and folklore studies. Chŏn published Korean Mask Drama and Traditional Performing Arts of Korea including an English version and several other articles on Korean indigenous performances with a more solid literary foundation than his predecessors.

117 Yun’s Kuk-akCame to Me is a series of the compilation of his critiques and reviews of Kuk- akperformances and governmental policies related to the form.

118 In August 2005, this has become a private organization with a new name, the Arts Council Korea.

119 Paik H. “Discourse on Tradition in the 1970s” 166.

120 Korean scholars have refered to Paik NakChŏng’s account that “modern” in Korean can refer to both “gŭn-dae” and “hyŏn-dae,” two succeeding timelines.

121 Sŏh Y.H. agrees with Yu’s stance. See Modern Plays 4.

122 Park BŏmHun, Paik TaeWung, and Song PangSong.

123 Artists from Korean music and dance exerted to problematize it. Despite the governmental efforts, Korean music and dance were ‘minorities’ while the standard was Western or Western-style music and dance.

124 The pioneer and senior theatre historians, Lee T.H., started as a Korean Literature scholar, and the folklorist Shim W. is known to have collected much more sources and materials on indigenous culture than any other theatre personnel.

125 While I agree with Sŏh’s statement that such periodization of “contemporary” is time-bound, that is, depends on the current, I do not side with his accusation of Lee’s periodization. I think the problem stems from the fact that Lee’s use of “hyŏndae” (contemporary) as a temporal or periodical index clashed with the concurrent use of stylistic genres such as shin-gŭk and “gŭndae (near-modern or modern)-gŭk” under “hyŏndae-gŭk.” Also, the term “shin-gŭk” (new drama) refers to certain stylistic and thematic traits that occurred in certain periods of time, and “gŭndae-gŭk,” although it literally means “near-modern” and refers to a period, presupposes certain stylistic and thematic traits in reflection to the changes in that society.

126 This started with the opening of the major broadcasting companies such as TBC and PBC.

127 A number of senior actors who now exclusively work as television or movie actors in fact started their careers on a live theatre stage. In In Search for Drum Sound with Passion and God-inspiration: Commemorating Hŏh Kyu (2001), book on the director Hŏh, several famous, currently active television actors talk about the times when they worked in Hŏh’s theatre productions. 268

129 The YŏnWu Small Theatre first opened in 1985 in Shinch’on, Sŏdaemun-gu, Seoul, a major university district, and then moved to the current place in DaeHakro, HyeHwa-dong, Seoul. In August 1984, after its staging of My Home Country Where I Used to Live at the Drama Center in the previous month, YŏnWu was sentenced six month suspension of performance. Im ChinT’aek 347.

130 Other liberal colleges that had strong drama circles which were even more credited than theatre programs at colleges include Yonsei University, Sŏ[Sŏ]gang University, and Korea University. While the graduates from the Theatre and Film Department pursue career in television acting, commercial models, film actors, etc., the members of the regular liberal arts or humanities schools pursue somewhat academic and canonical theatre making.

131 Numerous studies have been done on Yu Ch’iJin’s prolific theatrical activities as a playwright, director, and administrator. He started the Theatre Academy in order to form a resident theatre company at the Drama Center. In September 1964, the Theatre Company Drama Center was founded with the graduates from the Theatre Academy. Anthologies of Yu Ch’iJin 8. Seoul Institute of Arts Publication, 1993. The current professional art school, Seoul Institute of the Arts, was first started as a theatre research center that has been evolved into an academy, a school, and the present institute that was approved as a community college in 1998.

132 Yu visited Europe during the Japanese colonization? (seven months in the U.S., two months in England, two months in France, and one month in other places” (202). “World Theatre Tour—The Purpose of World Theatre Tour: ‘To Search for a New Theatre Form’” (219)

133 Kim H.Ch’. “A Study on the Traditional Theatre Studies.”

134 That this theatre building was made possible by a Western capital rather than that of Korea was not as widely known to the public or talked about as much as the landmark performances on its stage. In fact, the support of Rockefeller Foundation was insufficient, and Yu had to sell his own house.

135 From 13 June 1956 to 29 June 1957, Yu was invited by the Rockefeller Foundation to visit theatres in the U.S. The theatres he visited include those in the U.S. (seven months), U.K. (two months), France (two months), and others (one month). He commented on how every organization had its own theatre building, which gives a rationale for securing one on his own [or, for Korea]. Anthologies of Yu Ch’iJin 7. Seoul Institute of the Arts Publication, 1993. 202. The Drama Center building was completed in April 1962.

136 Held 27-30 June 1969. “He [Yu DŏkHyŏng] was the person who presented a hope to solve all these problems that were associated with the Drama Center” and was “somebody who was capable of properly utilizing the stage at the Drama Center,” Kim, S.H. Drama Center, 63. Yu’s directing showcase has been documented as a historical event in Korean theatre history, as Yu M.Y. described it as “a turning point in our theatre movement,” Transition, 451.

137 Ahn married Yu Ch’iJin’s daughter Yu InHyŏng, who directed the musical Forgy and Bess at the Drama Center.

138 Sohn found Ahn’s use of lighting in the early 1970s very impressive (Personal interview, 2005). Yu DŏkHyŏng’s Alaman was invited to perform at the first Third World Theatre Festival at Manila, Philippines, which was the first official presentation of Korean theatre abroad to foreign audiences. In February 1974, Chobun (written by Oh T’aeSŏk and directed by Yu) was invited and performed at the Café LaMaMa Theatre, NYC, under the title of Jil-sa (The Order)].

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139 Hŏh K. “My Paths to Theatre.”

140 Hŏh K. after directing plays at ShilHŏm Theatre Company and working as a producer at KBS, TBC and MBC, resigned from television and opened an actors training institute. In addition to training television actors for MBC, Hŏh also gave acting lessons to the public. See National Theatre. 207.

141 Prior to the foundation of the MinYeh, Hŏh directed The Tale of HŏhSeng in 1970, which some scholars identify as the first case of “madanggŭk.” Paik H. “1970s Discourse of Tradition.”

142 At this time, Sohn was working as a Pongsan Mask Dance Drama instructor at the Minjok-gŭk YŏnGuSo. The institute was opened by the avid folklorist Shim W.

143 Interview with author, July 2004.

144 See In Search for Drum Sound.

145 MinYeh’s early popular repertoires include Seoul Malttugi and Ascension of Hanne.

146 Yun noted that his purpose of doing theatre is “the pursuit of humanity” or “completion of humanity.” (Interview with author, Dec. 2007.)

147 The meaning of this production lies in that “it is the preliminary step to transpose what until now has been staged [outdoors] in madanggŭk format for the [indoor] theatre,” “Director’s Note” to the 1977.6.23- 30 Seoul Malttugi. qtd. in Park H.R. 184. A scene of the 1981 performance is found online. See “The 5th Third World Theatre Festival in Seoul.” It appears in the middle of the new video clip.

148 However, while the director Sohn regards madanggŭk “brother genre” of madangnori and remarks the difference between two of them is primarily the political message, madanggŭk practitioners made efforts how different those two forms were through various writings. See Im Ch; Kim Ch.

149 Depending on the scholars, the Hyangto-uisik Ch’ohon-kut is alternatively mentioned as the “very first” or ‘the prototype’ of madanggŭk performance. Scholars like A and B support this view. The ban on Kim Chiha, an underground writer, was lifted in Feb. 2013.

150 Cho’s publications such as Mask Dance, and Katharsis, ShinMyŏng, Rasa (1997) assert it is imperative to construct Korean literary theories independent and unique from Western principles.

151 See Kim’s English Abstract. This is an excerpt of it.

152 The Madanggŭk Namdo Ch’ŏnji Bab [Rice All over the Southern Province] I attended in December 2008 at the KB Adolescence Hanŭl Theatre at the National Theatre as a program of “Best Madanggŭk Festival” started by addressing the audience members directly. During the play, there was a quiz time where the winners got traditional rice cake, tteok, and other prizes. At the end of the play, audience members were invited on stage to form big circles hand in hand and skip around in the circles. On this particular day, Kim MyŏngGon, then the Minister of Culture, and Park JiWŏn, attended the show. Kim was involved in madanggŭk movement during the 1970s and founded his theatre company Arirang in 1986. He was also featured in the landmark movie, SŏP’yŏnjae, by the director Im GwŏnT’aek. Park is a representative leftist politician.

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Chapter 3

1 Since the publications of the recent English translations of Oh and Lee’s plays also contain overviews and analyses of the plays, I omit production analysis. Also, there are numerous studies done on their work as well as critical reviews. Rather, in the following sections, I look at the personal backgrounds closely related to the sociopolitical conditions of Korea. Then, I examine the overall form and structural characteristics each artist has taken up with, namely some of the manners through which they achieve “Koreanness.”

2 Comparative studies usually deal with the works of Oh and Lee KangPaik, whose plays are also translated into English, but hardly any studies have looked at Oh and Sohn’s or Lee YunT’aek and Sohn’s Koreannesque theatre together. In the early 2000s, when I was working on a draft of Sohn’s theatre, one of the comments I heard from theatre scholars was, “Sohn and Lee’s work cannot even be compared because of Sohn’s seniority and the incomparably higher quality of his plays. Also it would even be offensive to Sohn.” Here, Sohn’s so-called legitimate theatre was in discussion; his madangnori was still regarded as “pure commercial entertainment not worth an academic investigation.” In this chapter, by looking at the initial steps of the three contemporary directors, I want to suggest the fundamental differences behind their identically named “Koreannesque” theatre.

3 The reason Bertolt Brecht became a forbidden author was because he was from East Germany which was a communist country. Additionally, his theatre theories, based on Marxist ideas, were also banned in Korea. The fact that he won the Stalin Peace Award in Moscow in 1995 marked him as a real communist who had to be avoided. Before the first official translated publication of Brecht’s play in South Korea, a translation of Mother Courage and Her Children was published in the journal Korean Drama. Despite the permission from the governmental offices, the live performance was still not allowed. The 1984 publication of A Study on Brecht by Lee WŏnYang was on the black list (of forbidden books) and was ordered to not be sold. Han S.Ch' 260-261.

4 In several occasions, both Oh himself and theatre critics have mentioned the painful and vivid memories of war deeply ingrained in Oh’s childhood. The impact on Oh and his clinging to that incident have come to be so great that the critic Kim N.even uttered it was time for Oh to stop revisiting those memories any further. See The Legacy of Light.

5 Kim SukH. 238-239. See her Directors. She asserts how Yu’s Jilsa was wrongly judged by the measure of “Koreanness” when Yu’s production was in line with intercultural production that transcends both Koreanness and Western trends (231-2).

6 Kim H.Ch’.

7 As of the year 2013, a number of articles have been written on the progressive changes in Lee’s Hamlet in 1994.

8 Such comparison to a priest was stated in the playbill of Korean Ttoeksoe (1973), the opening production of the MinYeh. Sohn frequently mentioned it in his interviews during the 1980s and 90s. See H “Korean Ttoeksoe” National Theatre 278.

9 This is with regard to the director’s approach to written plays and to the form of “art” in general. In terms of their functions, Oh, Sohn, and Lee are all authoritative. This has led to current situations where none of the directors have their succeeding directors. Both Lee and Sohn have made efforts to give opportunities to younger directors to direct the main productions at their theatre companies. The theatre critic Kim N.pointed out in the year 2005 that Oh mistreats the actors and other members of his Mokwha Theatre Company by not offering chances to work with directors other than him. See “The Light and Shadow.” 19. In contrast, Sohn has been conscious of the need for exposing his actors to different directing styles so that 271

young directors from Korea, Germany, and Japan have directed Michoo’s productions once every two years or so. In the case of Lee, he casted different actors to take the role of Hamlet and gave the place of STT’s President to a female actress, Kim SoHee. Lee has actively incorporated inputs by young scholars into his Wurigŭk Institute founded in 1994.

10 Traditionally, the oldest son of the oldest son in a family, called “chang-sohn,” has been treasured while at the same being burdened with numerous responsibilities in terms of administering household events.

11 KyŏngHyang 11 May 1996. Oh’s accounts on his experiences in SeoCheon are also mentioned in Forty Years.

12 KyŏngHyang 14 May 1996.

13 For the English titles of Oh’s plays, I used AhJeong Kim and R.B.Graves’ English translations in their The Metacultural Theater of Oh Tae-Sŏk.

14 Oh learned about its existence the day before its deadline as he came across students in the Theatre and Film Department at the ChungAng (Central) University in Seoul. He was told that General Park ChungHee (after May 16 but before he became South Korea’s president) made an announcement on radio about the first “Citizens’ Arts Festival” which would select a total of nine organizations. Oh was fascinated by the lavish prize as well as the opportunity to stage the play at the National Theatre. Forty Years. 33.

15 Oh says he had courage to apply for the contest because of his belief that his play could be one of the nine winners. The tactic was to “write weird stuff,” and Oh simply played around with language: “Hey, lift up your right hand,” “Left hand,” “lift up your right hand,” “left hand,” “descent hand,” “sorry?” “the descent hand.” Forty Years 34.

16 Cho was a student reporter for the university newspaper Yonsei Ch’unch’u so he got the manuscript paper for Oh. The hour was late so the stationery stores were all closed.

17 Oh and Sŏh, Forty Years 34-35.

18 KyŏngHyang Daily 14 May 1996. http://newslibrary.naver.com.

19 The Stage HoeRo nonetheless disbands after their fourth production, Waiting in Front of the Door.

20 The universities include: the department of Korean Literature, English Literature, the school of Fine Arts at the Ewha Women University, the school of Science and Engineering, and Seoul Women’s University. 40.

21 KyŏngHyang Daily 14 May 1996.

22 Director Im, YŏngWung is best known for his direction of Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, which became a landmark production in Korean theatre history.

23 ShinHyŏp was a theatre company formed with actors trained at the National Theatre of Korea.

24 Oh is described as a “weirdo, monster, genius…” See KyŏngHyang Daily 11 May 1996.

25 Oh said that prior to this play, he was writing plays that “thoroughly adhered to Western dramaturgy, i.e., logical and rational” principles. KyŏngHyang Daily 18 May 1996.

26 KyŏngHyang Daily 18 May 1996. 272

27 The critics commented that the play failed to make use of the unusual performance space of the Café Theatre and also that the unstable plot caused confusion and difficulty to grasp the story or theme.

28 Recent publications include a thesis that compares and contrasts Moliere’s original play text with Oh’s adaptation.

29 The correct term was “Ch’o-bin” (草殯), but Oh misunderstood it and gave an incorrect title to his play. To this, Shim remarked that Oh’s play became too rapidly famous and Shim felt he missed the opportunity to correct the name. This funeral tradition leaves the corpse outdoors for one to three years until the flesh is decomposed, leaving just the bones. After wrapping and covering up the cleansed bones for three to five more years, the deceased is buried underground. This method was banned in the 1970s under Park ChungHee government, but is known to have survived in a few Jeolla-do Provinces.

30 To a Korean native like me, such Romanization causes confusion. Instead of “Jilsa,” it is usually written as “Jilsuh” or “JilSŏ” according to the most updated Romanization system.

31 Kim N. commented that Oh’s confusions in playwriting and directing in the earlier years got settled down in 1973, by the time this play was written. “Act 1 of History: the Modes and the Meaning of Confusion in Oh T’aeSŏk’s Early Plays.” The Historical Grounds of Oh T’aeSŏk’s Plays 161.

32 Such remark is made not only by Kim HyŏnChŏl, but various critics.

33 Michoo actors were very much aware of such a principle and a number of them made their way to study theatre (in Korea and in Russia), dance, p’ansori, or samulnori, to the degree that they became professionals in that area. Chang YongIl, a Pongsan Mask Dance Drama teacher when I attended the Michoo Drama Institute, often emphasized how one should master the present form of mask dance drama in order to be able to go beyond the extant form. (Communication with author, 2004.)

34 Oh’s views on acting is formulated in the Forty Years which is a documented dialogue held in August and December 2001. He held the same views and methods when he talked about it at a Playwriting Workshop held in 2013 at the Namsan Arts Center. At this workshop, he demonstrated such dialogue between father and daughter on the stage.

35 For instance, Ch’oi ChongCh’ŏl at the English Language and Literature Department at Yonsei University has published his first translation in Korean meter with Hamlet, followed by other Shakespearean dramas later.

36 “Friday Talk 2000.” The madanggŭk critic Lee Y.M. cautioned against believing the playwright (or artist)’s account entirely or literally. Theatre in the Era of Daehakro.

37 To name a few, Kim SuRo, Park HuiSun, Ryu HaeJin, Sohn ByŏngHo, Sŏng ChiRu, and Chang YŏngNam.

38 The content takes a great similarity to the books on Oh T.S.

39 “Theatre Criticism.” Theatre Critics. (36): 92-98. His “big mouth” talks back and forth between the past and the presence and [showers] the life onto stage; responses would leak that said “unorganized/illogical,” or “chaotic” things. 92. Lee YŏngMi said that the mere act of saying that one does not understand Oh’s theatre takes great courage. In fact, those who are able to say so (that one does not fully comprehend the play) must be confident in other ways.

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40 Kim N. The Aesthetic Grounds of Oh T’aeSŏk’s Theatre. One of the early studies includes Ch’oi ChunHo and Myŏng InSŏ’s publication.

41 “Oh T’aeSŏk’s mid-phase works that were greatly influenced by traditional theatre take place in such empty imaginary space, as seen in The Medicine Seller, The Wife of Ch’unP’ung, The Lifecord, The Intimacy between Father and Son, and The Dream of P’ilpu, etc. Oh T’aeSŏk imbues Korean[nesque] rhythm and a tremendous amount of liveliness on an almost empty space, by his brilliant babbling, his imagination that lets the time and space do an S, and a dexterous compositional power. He also leaves some unfilled space and space to breathe. The audience can enjoy diverse experiences, only led by Oh’s theatrical imagination.” Kim P. 230.

42 Unfortunately, I cannot cite this because those were personal remarks to me when there were only two of us. Although it was inappropriate to say this back then (in 2004), now that it seems to be a general perception of Oh’s work, it may not be so offensive.

43 The translators of Oh and Lee's plays noted the need for equally considering the staged productions and the written formats, i.e., dramaturgical aspects. This is due to the enhanced effects on the stage and the continuously changing manners of Oh and Lee's staging.

44 “Shelter, Aroong Guji,” Playbill 13.

45 21st Century 427-428.

46 Sohn said the amateur plays (ch’on-gŭk) had different contents every day. KyŏngHyang Daily 25 May 25 1999.

47 Interview with author, 2005.

48 He graduated from elementary school in five years instead of six years, so he was still with his peers.

49 Newspaper and journal articles entries often narrate that “after the graduation of Sŏrabŏl Arts College and during his time as Assistant Director at the Sanha Theatre Company in 1967...” This, however, contradicts yet another entry that says he entered the Sanha in 1967/1968 and the Sŏrabŏl in 1969, graduating in 1970. During an Interview with the author, Sohn had a hard time recollecting the exact years, correcting the years occasionally. Thus, I selectively chose the dates according to other incidents explained in the interview. For instance, I chose the years of entrance to the Sŏrabŏl as 1969 because Sohn said it was the year his father passed away, dated as 1969 as given in Sohn’s 1999 interview with KyŏngHyang.

50 During the 1960s, Myŏng-dong was the mecca of culture and fashion in Korea. Lee Y.M. also explained in her The Theatre of Daehakro Era (2009) how Myŏng-dong was the singular, most hip and vibrant cultural place in Seoul.

51 As mentioned in the previous chapter, Ch’a had established Chejak Gŭkhoe, which was the pioneer and role model for small theatres in Korea during the 1960s. Ch’a founded Sanha in order to overcome the limitations and have a stable environment for theatre-making. His most frequently read, studied, and staged play is Mountain Fire, which is translated in the anthology by Nichols. It was adapted into a mega-size musical in which Kim SŏngNyŏ played the role of the mother

52 KyŏngHyang Daily 1.

53 The Korean academic calendar starts in the first week of March and ends around mid-December. High school seniors’ classes have finished by the end of December, they go to school for one or two weeks in 274

January, and then take Spring Break. Graduation day takes place in February and they attend the college on the first business day after 1 March, which is a national holiday.

54 They built a rehearsal place with slates, which was around twelve pyŏng. They used wooden boat to travel between the land and the island. (Interview with author, 20 Apr. 2005.)

55 Sohn, with a great affinity for Western literature and classical music, found it natural to be involved in theatre. His choice of directing over acting was because “directors looked cool” and he wanted to give directions rather than be commanded by others. Among the members was Kil Myŏng’Il who attended the Drama Center and worked as the President of Chak’ŏp Theatre Company. The group was eventually disbanded due to multiple reasons, such as the departure of members, a love triangle among the members, etc. (Interview with author, Nov/ December 2007). In another interview, he said that when he had to choose between acting and directing, he chose the latter since he knew he was not talented in acting. (Interview with author, 20 Apr. 2005.)

56 Communication with author, 2005.

57 Communication with author, 2005.

58 Interview with author, 2005.

59 See Chapter 2 of this study for Namsadang.

60 Interview with author, 20 Apr. 2005. The pocket money from these performers was a sign of encouragement. Also it is a custom that older adults give pocket money to younger ones.

61 A pioneering scholar and artist whose publications enabled his contemporary scholars and artists to learn about Korean indigenous performing arts and take the studies further, Shim also created solo performances based on his research and studies. Some of the books include A Study on Namsadangp’ae (2012), Madangkut Yŏnhee-bon, The Folk Dramas of Korea (1975). Other founding members of this institute include Kim SeJung (a.k.a. Mu SeJoong).

62 It is and was a custom then that only the members of Korea Mask Dance Drama Research Association are allowed to give Pongsan mask dance lessons. At that time, its leader was Kim KiSu, who was not on good terms with Shim WuSŏng. So Shim, not being able to give a lesson as a non-member, called in Sohn to his institute. (Interview with author, 20 Apr. 2005.)

63 Entries on the playbill, webpage, and Sohn’s own memory differ one or two years. This is seen in the case of the chronologies of Oh and Lee as well. Here, I mostly followed Sohn’s accounts given during the interview with author, but I have compared it with other available sources. However, I did not give full effort to find out which is the exact year.

64 Interview with author, May 2005.

65 There are two anthologies of Chang’s plays published in Korea: Seoul Malttugi and Mr. KimCh’iKuk Went Crazy. There is a detailed production history at the end of the latter book.

66 See Esther K. Lee’s A History of Asian American Theatre for the accounts on Lee. He immigrated to the U.S. and worked as the head of the Theatre Pan in NYC, NY.

67 Although new to madangnori, Pai has already become a recognized playwright. His play Ch’oi SŭngHui (2004) has been translated into English in Richard Nichols’ anthology Modern Korean Drama (2009). In 275

the short introduction to the playwright written by the translator, Alyssa Kim, the titles of Pai’s plays written in the 2000s are given. Among them, several Michoo productions are named: Jungle Story (2004), The Life of Sir Chu (2006), Inching Toward Yŏlha (2007), The Story of Three Kingdoms (2004), Wealthy Man, Mr. Hwang (2005), Mr. Pyŏn, a Stud (2006), and Mrs. Pak, Who Wears the Pants (2007). Also his adaptations of Japanese and Chinese plays, A Fairy in the Wall (2005) and Chronicles of a Blood Merchant (2003), respectively, are named. Almost all of his plays have won prominent theatrical awards. A musical version of Ch’oi SŭngHui premiered at the Seoul Arts Center in September 2003, which applied for and won a grant for original musicals.

68 Kim ChiIl’s plays were published in two volumes in 2013 with the support of the “2012 Art Creation Fund-Literature” by the Seoul Cultural Foundation. In an interview the author had with Sohn, he would mention how he wanted to have Kim’s scripts published.

69 For Lee KŭnSam’s other musical scripts, see Yu I. 100-103.

70 It was originally a twelve-month-long residency but Sohn prematurely returned to Korea because he was asked to direct the second year MBC Madangnori. The enormous success of the premier led to its consecutive production. Therefore, the listing of his residency as the years 1982-1983 is incorrect. Along with the news that three young directors, Sohn, Yun, and Kang ChunHyŏk, left Korea on 7 January as the first outings by theatre practitioners when the theatre sector looked hopeful in the possibility of the lifting of the national curfew and removing restrictions on small theatres, a newspaper article noted that the fund was cut from the previous year’s $10,000 to $6,000, causing a drastic change. KyŏngHyang Daily 16 January 1982.

71 Yun expanded his interests on musical upon this visit and starts his study in NYC following this residency program. Yun became the first and now leading musical director, as having directed the Korean landmark The Last Empress. This musical has toured on Broadway in the U.S. and on the West End in the U.K., drawing immense attention by Korean theatre artists and scholars. Papers on the reception of this musical were still being presented in the year 2007 when I attended the IFTR conference at the Central University in Seoul, Korea.

72 Interview with author 2005. This was a time when incomprehensible experimental theatre pieces prevailed Korean stages.

73 As featured in Korean Drama (1982), the other artist was the first established musical director Yun HoJin, who had his residency in NYC.

74 Sohn commented that his mentor Hŏh Kyu would have understood and supported Sohn’s agendas. Without Hŏh, Sohn was alone to deal with disagreement and dissatisfaction of his actors who were also Sohn’s peers. For instance, they would disagree with Sohn’s casting, becoming jealous of others with better roles. Also upon his return from the U.K., where Sohn wanted to go beyond direct incorporation of indigenous elements such as wearing hanbok, a traditional garment, or play buk, a traditional drum, others were opposed to the idea. (Interview with author, 20 Apr. 2005.)

75 Located in the Theatre District, Daehakro, Seoul, Korea.

76 Since Kim started teaching in AnSeong, South Gyeonggi-do Province, Kim is known to have another shelter near the university.

77 Although Sohn’s reference to the Bread and Puppet Theatre is not seen in his recent interviews, he mentioned how he was inspired by the group that motivated him to create a communal environment for his Michoo Company members. For instance, growing vegetables, making kimchi together, eating and sleeping 276

together during the madangnori rehearsal period, came out of the desire to promote self-sufficiency and to provide a family-like environment to his members.

78 Chŏng HoBung was hired by the Korean Musical Theatre Department at ChungAng University where the actress Kim SŏngNyŏ works as the Department Chair.

79 As mentioned in the previous chapter, the Seoul Theatre School was the later name of the Drama Center founded by Yu Ch’iJin. When Lee entered the school, Yu was the chief director of the board and his son Yu TŏkHyŏng, the director examined in Chapter 2, was the dean of the academy. But since the school did not have an official permit from the government, it did not even offer a diploma. Lee could not register for the second semester of his first year after spending 900,000 won for staging two plays, Below Heaven above Land and Lituania. Lee nonetheless sat in the classes without enrollment. Conversations 47-48.

80 Although the entrance was rather arbitrary, Lee later thought it to be a fateful event. “When I now contemplate on the process I entered the Seoul Theatre School, it looks like an inevitable process…First, from childhood I disliked being alone. Ironically, there were many instances [that] I had to be all by myself, and because there were so many instances to be alone, because I was all by myself…I wrote …and still I strove not to be alone and mingle with people…” Conversations 42.

81 Class B was taught by Hŏh Kyu.

82 Like Lee’s account that the teachers and the curriculum were of high quality, Oh SoonT’aek, a Korean American actor and playwright who was featured in the film 007 and has been teaching at the Korean National University of Arts since 2000, taught General Acting Method and Voice. Lee WŏnKyŏng taught Pronunciation, Paik KiSu, by then a professor at the then Seoul National University, taught Aesthetics, Yun TaeSŏng taught Playwriting, and Kim KiSu taught Mask Dance-Drama. Conversations with Lee YunT’aek 46.

83 This episode is also dramatized in the DVD title jointly published by the Korean Literature Translation Institute (KLTI) and the Arirang Broadcasting Company.

84 Kim N. wrote that Lee started theatre because of the loneliness of a writer of other literary genres such as poems, criticism, and novels. In order to direct his own show, he felt the need to write plays, which led him to adapt or recreate Western and Asian classics whose quality has been already secured. See Kim, The Aesthetical Origin of Lee YunT’aek’s Theatre 11.

85 Back then, Korea used to be extremely Seoul-centered. It would not be incorrect to say “theatre of Korea” equaled “theatre in Seoul,” because not only the infrastructures such as theatre buildings and universities but also the administrative and cultural affairs mainly centered in Seoul. The first Kamatgol theatre was located at a wooden building of a vocational high school in KwangBok-dong, YongDuSan Ipgu.

86 It celebrated its twenty-fifth anniversary in the year 2011. As of the year 2013, however, Lee decided to close it due to the low attendance and the enlargement of the Miryang Summer Performing Arts Festival as an international event, in which Lee served as the Artistic Director. With the new owner of the place, who used to be a staff member of Pusan Kamatgol Small Theatre, it is believed that Lee’s STT could still perform at the venue when they wanted.

87 Lee Y.T., “Cutting out the affected area of theatre with de-constructive mind” Laugh, Drum, Die 22.

88 This may seem sidetracking, but the continuous incidents of plagiarism of Korean students and scholars of various fields both in and outside of Korea also index how low Koreans’ awareness of the matter can be.

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89 Although it is becoming less and less true, Korea has always represented itself as “mono-ethnic nation” along with other claims of being “white-clad people.’”

90 Kim N. Conversations 12.

91 Most of the currently academically employed theatre practitioners are still very active in praxis.

92 For example, episodes similar to the following one gradually opened the minds of Koreans. A Korean theatre personnel taking a foreigner to changgŭk, expecting high compliments on the “modernity” of Korean musical, getting stupefied upon the response of the foreigner: he asked for “not Western style performance, but a uniquely Korean play”

93 Yet, neither Lee nor Sohn sought to achieve Brechtian alienation effect in its truest sense. Instead of pursuing rationality and objectivity that ‘alienates’ the audience from emotionally attached to the dramatic character, Lee and Sohn both called for empathy. Kim N. observes that Lee’s Mother Courage and Her Children (2006) emphasized “empathy and sympathy on Mother and her misfortunes.” “Act I” 74.

94 Sŏh YŏnHo suggested an alternative term “new generation group” on the grounds that theatre companies sharing the characteristics of “coterie theatre companies” also existed in the earlier eras. However, I find the term “new generation group” equally unspecific, because it may cause confusion due to the fact there always is a “new generation” in comparison to the previous ones.

95 For Sohn, the official foundation of the Michoo Theatre Company is 1987, but since he opened his own theatre institute in 1986, it is used alternatively as the start of the Michoo. In case of Lee, he regards his STT to have started as a “coterie group” in 1986 and is still so after its English name change in 2011. See http://www.stt.1986.com/.

96 Oh’s episode of submitting his very first play is a good example.

97 http://www.doyoart.com/.

98 Or another theme often discussed around Oh, Sohn, and Lee’s plays is the “playfulness” or “playful theatre” (“nori-sŏng”; “nori-jŏk yŏn’gŭk”). See Lee and Soh 370.

99 Kim P. “Postmodernism.” Here she asserts that “nori” or “the spirit of nori” is the logic of Korea, a “sur- logic” as in the case of “sur-realism,” that overcomes the Western binary system. Thus it is not “anti-logic” as found in Western absurdist theatre, but it is “devoid of logic” or “sur-logic.” In fact, the director Sohn gave the exact same account in an earlier interview with the author, along with the statement that Korean theatre does not comply with Aristotelian primacy on plot. Instead, in Asian performances, the spectacle gets the priority and the plot comes last. (Interview with author, 2005.) Kim P. goes on to say that “Korean folk have in their nature postmodern characteristics such as irrationality, fragmentation, and improvisation.” “The Influence of Postmodernism” 246.

100 Sohn. “For the revival production of Ascension of Hanne, [which was Sohn’s first production as a director at a large sized theatre], I had to find someone for the title role who was like an angel, whore, and mother. I wanted to find a new face. At the MinYeh Theatre Company, Master Kim TongAe was teaching p′ansori. When I told her I was having a hard time in finding such a new face, she introduced Kim SŏngNyŏ to me.” Sohn had seen Park OkJin’s performance and he believed that if it was Park’s daughter, she could handle the main character without any problems.

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101 The photo in Yu I.’s book portrays Yun in Lee SuIl and Shim SunAe (1978), a famous repertoire of ak- gŭk. Yu says in the photo caption that Kim S.N. played the role of Shim in 1979 production.

102 Interview with author 2007, 2008.

103 Both Chŏng SŭngHwa (President of the SBS Sports Channel) and Kim IlSu (President of the MBC in Pohang) highly credited Yun for his talents and charisma in enticing and communicating with the audience. 20 Years 138-141.

104 Interview with author in Kim’s van on the way to his newly constructed Kuk-ak (Korean music) kindergarten. Dec. 2007 in Yangju, Gyeonggi-do Province.

105 He said he picked up various regional dialects with such perfection that native speakers of several regions take him as a person of their own region. (Interview with author. 2007.)

106 He built and opened a specialized kindergarten next to his house in Yangju, Gyeonggi-do Province. His wife had studied childhood education and his daughter majored in Korean music as an undergraduate and childhood education at graduate school order to help Kim with devising the curriculum and managing the institution. Equipped with a large auditorium, practice room, and a garden, the kindergarten is a multipurpose space for both the children and their mothers. The mothers receive seminars and watch performances while their children have hands-on experience in learning music, etiquette, and English. It serves as a field trip site for the children of the U.S. army in Korea (Interview with author 2007, 2009). His environment-friendly Arŭmsol [Beautiful Pine] kindergarten has won the Thirty-first Korea Architect Association Prize and has been featured on television and newspapers together with his self-built red clay house.

107 In the Interview with author with the author, Kim confessed that he got upset not being able to take other roles mainly due to Yun’s popularity. Kim played the title role of Paebijang in the 1984 production, which now he cherishes as a memory. (Interview with author, 2007.) When I asked the director Sohn as to why Kim would always play the role of kkoktusoe, Sohn replied nobody else could handle it properly, since that character narrates, sings, and leads the entire storyline in a sense. As a versatile actor, Kim was the perfect fit. (Interview with author, 2008.)

108 In various interviews, Kim explained how she could live as a full-time actress while she is a mother of two children, wife to Sohn, and a daughter-in-law. Traditionally, married women in Korea are expected to stay home and take care of the children and the parent-in-laws, not to mention the husband’s siblings. However, Sohn put priority to her professional life as an actress, which he has publicly declared several times.

109 Since 2005, SŏngAe uses SŏngYe as her nickname. Her younger brother SŏngIl is a choreographer of contemporary dance who performed in madangnori in 1984 and choreographed it in 1987. He also choreographed Michoo’s musical Making Hero (1990). Her youngest sister SŏngA is a professional haegŭm player. Haegŭm is a traditional Korean string instrument.

110 The most well-known song of the time sang by SŏngNyŏ and SŏngAe was “Kkaturi Hunt.” Prior to the collaboration with the oldest sister, SŏngNyŏ, SungAe was already active and had recorded LP under the name of “Dove Siste” with her younger sister SŏngHye.

111 A culmination of such wide range of acting is her performance in The Fairy in the Closet. In this mono drama, she plays thirty roles. She won Dong-A Play Award for her acting in this play.

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112 “Staying on the Path to the Traditional Theatre.” The Weekly Women. 18 May 1984. This is Sohn’s central driving force, to which he still adheres.

113 Interview with author, 2007.

114 The Korean Music[al] Theatre department has been publishing a series funded by the South Korean government. Led by Professor Kim SŏngNyŏ, multiple researchers including the Michoo actor and Professor Chŏng HoPung and the playwright Pai SamShik, have collaborated on this project.

115 Kim SŏngNyŏ, Kim ChongYŏp and Yun MunShik appeared in a morning show called “Morning Session” (“Ach’im Madang”) on the Educational Broadcasting System (EBS) of Korea. Each of them in separate programs talked about the song, dance, and acting of madangnori and demonstrated excerpts from the past productions. The show hosts asked them questions, following the singing, dance, and acting on the floor of the studio. They also brought props used in the production, such as the horse from Three Kingdom.

116 Kook graduated from Sŏrabŏl Arts College as a dance major and completed the bachelor’s art program in Theatre at ChungAng University.

117 Park BŏmHun. Soriyŏn.

118 Their collaboration is much more important to the artistic development of Sohn’s theatre than it is generally recognized.

119 “Back then, it was a fashion in Myŏng-dong to carry a guitar in jeans. But we intentionally walked around with indigenous instruments, uncased to expose the instruments. Undoubtedly we looked insane. Especially the female members, who wore long braided hair, added the strangeness.” Park Soriyŏn 81.

120 “The reason it should be called ‘original’ ‘creative’ music.” Yun Ch., KukAk Came to Me 43.

121 The scenographer Yun ChŏngSŏp won the Silver Prize in Scenography at the Prague Quardrennale in Czech in 1995, the first case among Korean artists. Yun, the former MBC Art staff, was in charge of several productions of Sohn’s madangnori. In one interview, Yun said he stepped into Stage Art upon the urge of Sohn. Monthly Art. Unfortunately, he did not keep the blue prints or design materials for madangnori. His name is listed in the productions of 1982, 1983, 1984, 1985, 1986, 1987, 1993 as “Stage Designer.” Upon the request for an interview, his response was “does madangnori have significance?” implying that it does not. To many Korean artists, mainstream Michoo’s performances matter a lot more than the madangnori. Take for instance, the scholarly critic Lee MeeWŏn, took note of madangnori as “a commercial madangnori led by MBC with a blaze of publicity, smooth acting, and wits.” “History of Reception” 76.

122 “ChungAng” literally means “central” and it also comes from Park’s alma mater ChungAng University where he has been teaching for decades now.

123 Although it did not earn public attention, after MBC stopped to make contract with Park’s ChungAng KukAk Orchestra due to financial disagreement, Park also stepped down from composing music for madnagnori. The break seems to have been unnoticed since Sohn and Michoo put previous repertoires for almost a decade. See Soriyŏn.

124 They took over the small theatre Cecil Theatre near Deoksugung Palace, which had 312 seats. Despite the problems it faced such as financial deficits, strict requirements of the revised Production Law, it successfully hosted the first and third Korean Theatre Festival and many other productions. The major newspaper Chŏsun Daily reported how Cecil was opened by Im SŏkKyu’s private funds, targeting the 280

theatre practitioners who had lost their ground with the closure of Myŏng-dong Art Theatre, and how Cecil was loved by the theatre-goers during its four-year-long operation. 24 Dec. 1980.

125 This was a play by Ahn ChongGwan and was the first and last play text to be published in the journal Creation and Criticism (Ch’angchak Kwa Bipyŏng) as it was ordered by the Military Regime to discontinue publication. Kim ChiIl, 20 Years 14.

126 From an interview with Sohn. Kim ChiIl states in 20 Years that it was he who suggested the term. Sohn asserts that the playfulness of Korean indigenous performance arts is best formulated as “nori,” a Korean equivalent of “play,” “Spiel,” “jeu,” and “asobu” (English, German, French, Japanese respectively.

127 Kim H.S. asserted that several book publications such as Kim Y.O.’s How to do Eastern Studies (1985), What is Woman (1984), Paik T.W.’s Men and Music (1987), and her own work A Study on Sanjo (1987) are all the products of “self-training” through the group AkSŏGoHoe that held meetings between March 1984 and December 1987. p.100. Some other noticeable results that the author sees as owing to the group are the foundation of the very first private traditional music orchestra ChungAng Kuk-ak Orchestra in April 1987, the foundation of Michoo Theatre Company in April 1987, the creation and production of Divine Sonata at Mountain PaikDu (1988), and Paik’s composition of “Sinawi for the Diamond Wedding Ceremony.” 10. The program shows a study of the roots and other genres through reading and presentations and a discussion among the members. For example, at the second seminar (11-13 Aug. 1986) held with a theme of “What is Music,” Park BŏmHun presented on “How to Compose Kuk’Ak,” Sohn JinCh’aek on “The Theatricality of Our Music,” and Ch’oi YŏngAe, the wife of Kim YongOak, on “The Drama of Chinese Yuan Period.” 95. “What Kind of Society is the AkSŏGoHoe?” 1992.

128 They are now “the” representative scholars, musicologists, and artists in Korean traditional music who have contributed immensely to heightening the status of traditional music in Korean society. Sŏng KiSuk, when describing the dance background of Kook, cites Kim T’aeWŏn’s remark on his teacher, Song in her Transformation of Tradition and Creation of Dance as follows: “whether you like or not, Song Bŏm is the history of Korean dance itself.” Sŏng says that Song completed the “Koreannesque dance” who took mythical, historical, and legendary tales as topics for the dance. 94-95.

129 Besides their involvements in the study circle, each of them continuously published to advocate “live, contemporary Kuk-ak” as opposed to “museum pieces.”

130 Kim H.S. 121.

131 Kim, a professor who supervised the nong-ak circle (pungmul) at Korea University during the 1980s, actively participated in mask dance drama, madanggŭk, drama circles, and the kuk’ak [revival] movement (46), formulated his idea of “madang” in this book. He asserted that it should not be associated with a stylistic aspect, i.e., the roundness and arena stage. Rather, one should recognize the performance space as a “field where the performer’s and audience’s ki (氣) [energy] respond to each other” (47).

132 Park, SoriYŏn 82-83. Park identifies his madangnori songs for the productions made from 1981 to 1993 except the years of 1989 and 1992. SoriYŏn 90.

133 The titles of the festival have changed over time: GwaCheon Madanggŭk Festival (1997).

134 Kim S.N., 20 Years 26. Sohn would refer to such rumors even in his program note for the thirtieth anniversary production in 2010.

135 The World of Korean Musicals 504-505.

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136 Oh was stuck at the library and read Korean classic novels, five representative p’ansori scripts, and various mask dance drama scripts. This was when he was fascinated by certain characteristics and elements of Korean language (vernacular language, rhythm of Korean language, jest, narration, etc.) and “playfulness” ‘nori-sŏng.’ KyŏngHyang Daily 18 May 1996.

137 In fact, quite many “great” Korean playwrights of the modern era and onward, who had been highly praised to be the leaders of Korean modern plays, turned out to have emulated Western—if not Japanese— writers and artists of the time. For example, the playwrights in the 1920s introduced modern European theatre styles to Korea through their koreanized versions: Kim WuJin (1897-1926), the representative of expressionist drama, and Yu Ch’iJin (1905-1974), the father of realist drama. Ham SaeTŏk (1915-1950) emulated Irish plays. This parallels the receptions of the theatrical work of Ahn MinSu and Yu TŏkHyŏng as noted in the previous chapter. Rather than treating them as contemporary directors who adopted the same artistic approaches as the American avant-gardists of the time, Korean scholarly critics and practitioners hailed their work as “high-modern Korean theatre.” As Ahn himself commented, such erroneous reception was due to the ignorance of Korean people who had very limited interaction with people or culture outside of Korea. See Chang W.’s Irish Influences, for how Korean intellectuals sought to establish modern Korean theatre by emulating European dramas. Chang stated how Koreans partly mistook Irish play(wright)s, being preoccupied with political analysis of the plays.

138 See Kim’s Directors and Ahn MinSu.

Chapter 4

1 That Korean theatre historiography utterly disregarded indigenous performance forms, is now widely acknowledged by Korean theatre scholars. As mentioned in earlier chapters, scholars such as Sŏh YŏnHo started to accommodate those indigenous forms into theatre historiography by revising current trends.

2 Interview with author, Dec. 2007.

3 Lee described Hŏh’s activities as those in accordance with government’s policies. See Principle.

4 Interview with author, Nov. 2008.

5 The lower section of the auditorium seats 1,650 people and the upper section seats 2,968 people. Up to 1,000 additional seats can be generated on the floor with plastic chairs. See the ChangCh’ung Gymnasium website. http://www.jangchunggym.co.kr. The total number of people it can hold is 8,000.

6 As of November 2013, ChangCh’ung Sports Gymnasium is under the renovation.

7 It gives a bird-eye view of part of Seoul on the mountain top. I would walk up there when the rehearsals were not ready or I was there too early for an observation or an interview. Not far from the mountain lie various parks—Yangje Citizen Forest, Seoul Forest, Namsan Park, to name a few.

8 How actively Michoo made effort to publicize it is unknown. Online newspapers in Culture and Arts sections published headlines such as, “the rivalry between two madangnoris,” or “did you know there is more than one madangnori?”

9 When the dispute and separation between Sohn and MBC was not widely known to the public, audiences who simply bought the tickets to the MBC’s madangnori as usual were dismayed at the absence of Yun and Kim SŏngNyŏ. Accusing MBC of misleading audiences to buy tickets for a ‘fake’ performance, some people demanded refunds for their tickets. There are people who welcome a change in the cast and the 282

format of the play, but it is undeniable that a great number of people have changed venues for madangnori to see Yun and Kim’s performance.

10 According to the Michoo performers, she would jokingly complain about the audience showing such favoritism toward her older sister while not giving much attention to her. (Communication with author 2007.)

11 The source material for p’ansori literature and classic novels both place Ch’unHyang at the center of the plot. For this year’s production, the character Byŏn was in the middle of the poster and his name was used in the title, replacing Ch’unHyang’s centrality. A precedence of this was The Tale of Ppaingp’a, shifting the focus on Ch’unHyang’s mother Ppaingp’a.

12 This may be a parallel to the adjacent genre changgŭk which employed senior p’ansori singer Ahn SukSun to play the role of fourteen year-old ShimCh’ŏng well through the years when Ahn was in her forties. Born in 1949, now that she is in her sixties, she mainly plays the role of the Narrator-Singer (to- chang).

13 It was publicized that Min won the title role through an audition. When interviewed by the author, however, the actress said it was not an open competition or audition. Because of the acquaintance made with the author back in the year 2005 as a student and English instructor, she was more open to what could be seen as a sensitive issue. She first said “off-the record,” and then left the decision to me. Since giving opportunities to one’s student is almost customary in Korea and the advertising of an audition can be read as an effort to draw attention to the new young actress, the author decided to make a note of that episode. Such a “white lie” could be understood as a marketing strategy and love of a Korean teacher and artist (Kim) who wishes a bright future for her student. Take for instance, the newspaper report that says Min was Kim’s best student, who now has a reunion on the same stage. “Teacher and her Student on the Same Stage.” SeoulNews. 15 Nov. 2008. Web. 28 Dec. 2009. http://www.seoul.co.kr/news/newsView.php?id=20081115016005.

14 Yun M. Interview with author, 2007.

15 Interviews with author, Dec. 2007.

16 In addition to madangnori, the Michoo Theatre Company stages conventional productions in large-sized mainstream theatres. Unlike madangnori, these conventional productions have received positive reviews by mainstream theatre critics. The one-time cast members Ch’oi SŏngJin and Min EunKyŏng remarked how amazing all the Michoo performers must be to be able to handle such a huge space as actors. Although they have watched madangnori previously, it was an entirely different experience being on stage. Interviews with author, 2007.

17 Cho, Chŏng’Gŭn. Interview with author, 21 Dec. 2007.

18 For the governmental system and the training process, visit the website of Korean Association for Preservation of Important Intangible Cultural Properties at http://www.kpicaa.co.kr/cultural/cultural02.asp.

19 Kim H.S. Communication with author, 2005. Kim also pointed out to me in 2005 that the dance in procession for the earlier madangnori was primarily individual, while the later productions sought a harmonized dance by the chorus. Then, he finished the M.F.A. program in Traditional Korean Music School at the Korean National University of Arts.

20 Interview with author, Dec. 2007.

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21 Kim S.N. See interview with Yun SŏkHwa.

22 Sohn, Interview with author, 2005. Every March, a new group entered the program, who participated in the graduation production in the following February.

The chronological listing of Michoo Drama Institute:

1986-1995: Three-month-long training program for thirty “Research Students at the Michoo Theatre Company”

March 1996: The move of Michoo Sanbang [from Seoul to Yangju, Gyeonggi Province] Establishment of fulltime instructors and the basic training program One-year-long training program for twelve students as “Trainees at the Michoo Drama Institute”

March 1997: One-year-long training program for sixteen students as “Trainees”

March 1998: The first batch of the Michoo Drama Institute (eighteen students)

February 1999: The Graduation Production Fiddlers on a Roof directed by Chŏng HoBung and Seagull directed by Kim ChongMan

January 2006: Change to a three-month-long intensive actors training program.

23 Prior to this author, a director called Hong ChaeBŏm observed the theatre training program at the Michoo Drama Institute and published an article about it. Kim PangOk also briefly mentioned about the actors training of Michoo.

24 This was based on Sohn’s own experience with the contemporary actors. After realizing that the actors do not have any or insufficient background in Korean traditional performing arts forms, Sohn felt even more imperative to open the acting program. Interview with author, Apr. 2005.

25 Interview with author. Dec. 2007.

26 Interview with author, Dec. 2007.

27 Interview with author, Dec 2007.

28 Interview with author, Dec. 2007. Governmental and private supports on theatrical performance of various size and types are only very recent phenomena, which have greatly diversified and increased in their numbers from the late 2000s.

29 Interview with author, 20 Apr. 2005.

30 The official production website is currently closed.

31 Pamphlet.

32 Compared to the 2008 MBC’s madangnori Haksaeng Boogoonshinwi, in which one male actor came out on the stage at the beginning of the show who called out for audience contestants, Michoo’s selling Korean traditional toffees would appear less enticing. The actor asked the contestants to compete each other on the stage and gave the gift certificate to the winner. It went on for more than fifteen minutes in a manner of the so-called ‘prize event halls’ in Korea, where television comedians or pop singers entice passer-bys into the 284

store – usually clothing and electronics – by loudly attracting them with a microphone in one hand while shaking prize items in another hand.

33 Kim ChŏngHwan, Interview with author, Dec. 2007.

34 Interview with author, Dec. 2007.

35 One of the MBC madangnori audiences in 2008 complained in a posting at the MBC website that the particular year’s madangnori was “not madangnori.” The posting started with a definition of madangnori and that Haksaeng Bugunshinwi did not meet any of them. The posts also complained that the humor and comedy were ill-fitting and unsuitable to the plot and exaggerated.

36 Interview with author, Dec. 2007.

37 MBC v. Michoo Theatre Company. 2001 Dang 1903. 2001. Web. PDF. 12 October 2013.

38 Sohn, Interview with author, 2007. Like the jeans Levi’s, who uses the stamp design of its logo, the word “madangnori in Korean is printed as if it is a stamping on brochures and other public relation material.

39 Interview with author, 2007.

40 Park Y.S., Interview with author, Dec. 2007.

41 Sohn, Communication with author, 2005; pamphlet.

42 Interview with author, 2007.

43 The audience reviews on online bulletin boards or e-newspaper articles that state the madangnori with Kim and Yun is the original.

44 As still seen in today’s shaman rituals, mask dance drama, Namsadang Troupe.

45 Interview with author, 2007.

46 In 2008, the actor Yun MunShik would act out as if conducting the orchestra in the middle of the play. In 2009, the actor Yun MunShik shook hands with the conductor in the middle of the play. According to the director Sohn, some conductors in the past got genuinely offended by this kind of ad lib which drew attention to them.

47 He adapted his film version of Haksaeng Bugun shinwi (Farewell My Darling 1996) to the 2008 MBC madangnori and directed it under the title of “Almost Going Crazy” (Hwanjang-hagaet-nae).

48 The price was 2,000 won, around 2 U.S. dollars for a pack of 4 sticks of toffee.

49 A web post by a female audience member titled “I do not think this performance was a madangnori,” criticized the inconsiderate treatment of the subject matter (a father’s death and the feud among his children and relatives) and language that was ill-fitted for children. She spent most of the performances explaining words and expressions to her sixth-grade son. (hyunho0305.) Another post similarly pointed out that one does not attend madangnori to receive a lecture on the processes of a funeral.

50 Kosa is an offering ritual to [a] house god, wishing peace [for] a family and a good harvest of crops. Originally, it was an offering ritual performed in October in Lunar Calendar, thanking harvest and wishing 285

well-beings of a house. This gradually changed in the later era, not depending on the specific seasonal occasions or family. […]. While kut has to be performed by shaman (mudang) according to specific formalities, usually on a grand scale, kosa traditionally has been executed by the female master (host) of the family. […]. Since kosa is performed by an individual for his/her own household, it was open to everybody, but since it targeted the house guardian god, people without a house could not perform. However, over time the character of kosa changed and now it is generally performed before starting something new, rather than in regard to a house. That is, it is now common to do kosa before launching a new business or shooting a film. Wishing that no accidents occur, one does kosa with a purchase of a new car. […]. Kosa, what announces a new task asking for other’s interests as they gather together, readily reflect the sentiments of Korean people who are used to [mingling].” Guide to Our Culture 322-323.

51 The ChangCh’ung Gymnasium cut down the production cost as it holds a much greater number of people and is more easily accessible by public transportation. However, the former space was more conducive to the desired effects of the madangnori, namely “intimacy between the performers and the audience.” 20 Years 58.

52 In the interview with the male actor Kim regarding the toughness of madangnori acting, I asked why some theatre practitioners would comment the Michoo performers’ acting as unrefined and lacking in emotional depth. Kim replied that as the actors exert to reach the audience sitting on the furthest seat in that huge sports gym, to be heard and to be seen by them, they easily fall into traps of exaggerating their voice and movement. (Actor Kim ChŏngHwan, Interview with author, Dec. 2007.)

53 In the year 2007, with the production of Tale of Lee Ch’unP’ung, Sohn’s madangnori hit 3,000 performances with a total of 35 million audiences. Actors such as Kim SŏngNyu and Yun MunShik mentioned this several times, each time thanking the audiences for their love for madangnori. They not only emphasized the fact that they could continue productions thanks to the audiences’ love in their interviews for newspapers, but also on television and in the middle of the productions.

54 See the entries by the MBC staff. MBC. 129-167.

55 The tale is one of many widely heard tales in Park JiWŏn’s travel essay anthology, YŏlHa IlGi (1780).

56 Pai, Communication with author, 2007.

57 Pai’s plays and adaptations at Michoo include Musical Ch’oi SŭngHee (2003), YŏlHa IlGi ManBo (2007), The Fairy in the Closet (2005), all of which have won prominent theatre prizes for the script and the staged production.

58 Pai SamShik: For his main works, see Appendix C.

Education

1996 (B.A.) Seoul National University, Anthropology. 2001 (M.F.A.) The Korean National University of Arts, The School of Drama, Playwriting.

Awards

2004 “This Year’s Theatre Prize” by Arts Council Korea. 2005 “The Art of This Year Prize” ARKO. The Fairy in the Closet. 2007 Daesan Literature Prize. YŏlHa IlGi ManBo. 2007 Best Prize for Script. Dong-a Theatre Prize. YŏlHa IlGi ManBo.

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59 Jian Xiao Xye, the CEO of a performing arts organization took care of the entire launching process, including acquiring funds from the regional government and corporates. “Jiang Xiao Xye, who planned aChinese Version of Madangnori.” Yonhap News. News.naver.com. 26 June 2007. http://news.naver.com/main/read.nhn?mode=LSD&mid=sec&sid1=103&oid=001&aid=0001676964.

In another article, it is reported that the Chinese director Tien QinXin recommended Sohn’s madangnori to Jian Xiao Xye after watching Madangnori Three Kingdoms in Korea. Sohn ran six auditions over a four month period and rehearsed for around fifty days, from 9am to 10pm. Unlike Sohn’s Michoo actors who are trained in acting, singing, dancing, and delivering lines, Chinese actors, for whom it is customary to take care of one single skill for their entire lifetime, be it acrobatics, acting, singing, or dacing, had to put great efforts to familiarize themselves with various skills. “Interview—Sohn JinCh’aek, Who Exported Madangnori to China.” 25 June 2007. http://idhn.co.kr/index.cgi?action=detail&number=25380&thread=04r01.

60 Interview with author, 2007.

61 The Korean Theatre Review 2008.

62 Sohn, Interview with author, 2005, 2007.

63 Sohn, Interview in a newspaper.

64 For the 2005 and 2007 productions, additional characters have been invented, where Lee KiPong, one of the founding members, and Sŏ ISuk, one of the early members, played the roles of the young couple from two rival families, reminiscent of Romeo and Juliet.

65 Theatre critic Kim Y.Ch’, for instance, used two thirds of the page of MunYeh Yŏn’gam [Annual Arts Report] in 2007 on lauding Pai. While Kim pointed out YŏlHa IlGi ManBo was the best of that year, which won him the Best Prize, DongA Theatre Prize, he mentioned the two madangnori scripts along with other representative scripts. Conventionally, madangnori is not even mentioned in the Annual Report, but Pai’s excellence in conventional play scripts placed them along with his other scripts.

66 Sohn would refer himself as a “humanist” and publicity also describes him as a humanist. Critics tend to take such remarks as they are. See Hŏh S.

67 The servant of the heartless moneybag Nolbu in The Tale of Nolbu (1983) epitomizes the typical servant- master relationship where the clever servant jests in a manner in which he becomes superior to his master, which is only revealed to the audience.

68 Interview with author, Dec. 2008.

69 Richard Schechner’s following observation can shed light to the star performers like Kim and Yun: “Being a star is to be a person whose very presence transcends whatever activity s/he may be absorbed in” (232). “The appearance of stars—their empty but emblematic look and gestures—encourage the public to project unto them every kind of expectation and fantasy” (233). Such remarks on Japanese noh applies to Sohn’s madangnori, where Kim as a female actress enacts male heroic roles such as Hong KilDong, Lee ToRyŏng, and CheGalGongMyŏng, in cross dressing, and strong female characters such as Lady Pak and Mrs. Ppaengdŏk who saves weak husbands or exercises power over men. In a television program, Kim mentioned how middle aged and older women loved the scenes in The Three Kingdom where Kim gave orders and yelled at the enemies, even clapping hands and saying hoorays.

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70 The action of Lee’s son is tailored to the skills of the actor. For instance, the son suddenly sings to Lee a song from p’ansori The Tale of ShimCh’ŏng, which the Blind Shim’s daughter Ch’ŏng emphatically sings at her reunion with her father. The actor is a graduate from the Korean Musical Theatre department at the ChungAng University taught by the actress Kim SŏngNyŏ.

71 President Kim Yŏng Sam (1993-1998) was the first president of South Korea who did not have a military background, so it was called “a civilian government” in contrast to the previous military regime.

72 Lee is also a graduate of the Korean Musical program at ChungAng University where Kim SŏngNyŏ is teaching.

73 Ahn started with traditional Korean dance at the age of twelve and studied contemporary dance at Ewha Women’s University in Seoul, Korea. She created her own dance company, Ahn EunMe Company in 1985. She graduated from the Tisch School of Arts at the New York University in 1994. In 1992, while at NYU, she received Manhattan Foundation for the Arts. In 2002, she won Artist Fellowship from the New York Foundation for the Arts.

74 Interview with author, 2008.

75 Interview with author, 2008.

76 Interview with author, 2008.

77 See Kook’s account on the manner of their close collaboration.

78 Such props included, Personal Computer (PC) of the monk who takes down the note as the Blind Shim promises to donate rice bags, Shim’s dinner table with various dishes that instantly changes to empty plates upon rotating the panel upside down, horses which actors carry around the body yet create a visual of horse-riding, magnified sizes of scissors and magnifier, a boat on the roller blade, etc.

79 Kim S.N., Interview with author, 2008.

80 While Min who took the role of Chŏng performed as kind of a guest performer, there are two or more graduates of Korean Music Theatre, i.e., former students of Kim, who are members of Michoo and perform throughout the year.

81 Look at the next section for more info on the procession and kosa.

82 In the young p’ansori singer and performer Lee ChaRam’s recent performance of Mother Courage at LG ArtsCenter in October 2013, announcements were made during the intermission, not to talk to the person next to you. An old couple in their late sixties or seventies sat about two rows down to where I sat, and the elderly man constantly talked to his wife during Act I. Because they returned to seat after the announcement was over, they did not hear it and continued talking during the remainder of the play. In their notion, p’ansori, an old traditional performance which used to be played in fundamentally different setting, was not something they had to watch or listen to with mouths shut. Also, the performer Lee broke the conventional theatre watching by coming out of the dramatic character and telling the audience she is too thirsty to go on and she needs water before continuing, or by remarking how challenging it was to perform outside of Korea when the foreign audiences did not catch the fun and pun intended in verbal jests. There was even a moment when she passed around a kettle of traditional Korean rice wine to the auditorium. Such moments of breaking from the dramatic illusion also included when she specifically asked the audience to give ch’u’imsae. She repeatedly said that a p’ansori actor lives by the audience responses and because the director (Nam InWu) would get unhappy if Lee did not follow the direction to 288

teach the audience on “how to respond,” she took about three minutes to demonstrate examples of ch’u’imsae and invited the audiences to contribute. This reminds of the 2008 MBC’s madangnori where a number of people brought in snacks and food such as mandarins and rice cakes, MBC strictly demanded that no food was to be consumed during the show. The sudden change of policy seemed to confuse the audience, because Michoo’s madangnori did not control food consumption during the show.

83 Kim MyŏngKon who wrote the script erased this to-chang completely, the first time in contemporary ch’anggŭk, for the purpose of re-arranging the script according to the protagonists, actions, gestures, and dialogues. He also selectively chose from different versions of p’ansori scripts. Im H.S. 425.

84 Transitions are used in various ways. In the 1992 version of The New Lee Ch’unP’ung, the Kkoktusoe introduces himself long-windedly. He explains what he does as a dramatic character and why that character is included in the play. Kkoktusoe helps the temporal transition when he witnesses the flirting between the kiseng Ch’uWŏl of PyŏngYang and Lee Ch’unP’ung with a short remark, “I can’t stand the scene anymore.” He then jumps to a later time period when Ch’uWŏl spends Lee’s money like water, which he describes through a narrated song. The song is a parody of ‘The Song of Gourd’ in The Song of Hungbo that effectively describes the context, situation, and manner of Ch’uWŏl’s money spending. This links the previous scene where the couple appears as lovebirds, with the following scene in which Ch’uWŏl despises Lee after using up all his money. The song is necessary for the flow of the plot.

85 Take this line in Pongsan mask dance drama which Malttugi gives after he enters the stage:

MALTTUGI: (Standing near the center of the stage) Shih-h-h. (Music and dance stop.) Here come the noblemen! Because I say they are noblemen, don’t you ever take them for genuine old gentlemen who have retired after serving in all the supreme positions of the three state chancellors and the six cabinet ministries and even the royal advisory office. I mean here come the dogged yangban who are good-for-nothings!

NOBLEMEN: Hey, what did you say, you rascal?

MALTTUGI: My goodness! I dunno whether you yangban got me right. I said here come the three sons of Mr. Lee who has retired after serving as al the three state chancellors […]. (Cho T., Korean 89) (English by Cho.)

86 Another take on this technique can be found in Ch’unHyangDyŏn, a movie filmed by Im KwŏnT’aek.

87 While such direct remarks seem to be accepted harmlessly, it is not so at conventional theatre. The aforementioned Lee ChaRam’s Song of Courage (2013), when she pointed out a specific audience to address him as the dramatic figure in her song, an ugly and despicable kind, she repeatedly said “Please excuse me” and “Please forgive me.”

88 Interview with author, 20 Apr. 2005.

89 Interview with author, 2007.

90 To see a regular madangnori-goer’s response to such non-conventional elements that could provoke men, see SungNyo Nara. http://blog.naver.com/sungnyonara/100045474469>. 24 Dec. 2007. Blog. Dec. 2009.

Chapter 5

1 At a talk commemorating the sixtieth anniversary of the National Theatre of Korea, held in 2010, the Artistic Director of the National Changgŭk Company raised issue with insufficient financial support and

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other problems. Still, considering the overall status of performing arts in the country, one cannot deny the unceasingly positive treatment changgŭk has received for a century.

2 After his break with MBC, his Michoo had to search for financial sponsors to stage madangnori. Luckily for him, some former MBC staff has moved to other major broadcasting companies such as KBS or SBS, which most likely would have made it easier to have them as the main sponsor and feature on television. However, in contrast to the MBC’s hard cover publication of the 20 Years of MBC Madangnori in 1990, Sohn’s Michoo gave up its thirtieth anniversary publication due to the financial difficulties. (Communication with author, Sept. 2013.)

3 In an online newspaper interview, Kim expressed her expectations in her son, who has recently started to work as an assistant director. In the latest online newspaper article on Sohn, Kim, and their two children, the daughter has just returned from Mongolia after working in a non-profit organizational program to teach music, dance, and arts to children, and the son has opened a management agency. http://news.hankooki.com/lpage/culture/201311/h2013110321293486330.htm. Hankook Daily. Web. 10 Nov. 2013.

4 See Sohn and Kim. “Thirty Years of Madangnori.”

5 In a short telephone communication in Nov. 2013, Sohn explained that although no concrete plan has been made yet, the way he sees the future of madangnori is one that conforms to the change in society. In specific, it is no longer realistic to run a theatre company with fifty or more constant members and expect them to fully commit themselves to one specific organization. Sohn says that in whatever form the new madangnori will be, it would not confine to Michoo actors anymore. While it has been quite challenging to train the performers skilled enough to manage madangnori, now that there are plenty graduates from the Korean Musical Theatre department at ChungAng University taught by the actress Kim SŏngNyŏ, it would be much more realistic to employ the readily trained performers. To the question of whether or not Sohn will continue to direct the play or find a successor, he replied that he could help someone to become familiar with the mechanism or have a younger generation to start right away. (Communication with the author, 18 Nov. 2013.)

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Bibliography

VHS and DVDs

Madangnori The Tale of Paebijang. Dir. JinCh’aek Sohn. Perf. MunShik Yun, SŏngNyŏ Kim, and ChongYŏp Kim. MBC Productions, 2000, DVD.

Madangnori The Tale of Pong’i Sŏndal. Dir. JinCh’aek Sohn. Perf. MunShik Yun, SŏngNyŏ Kim, and ChongYŏp Kim. MBC Productions, 2000, DVD.

Madangnori The Tale of Pyŏljubu. Dir. JinCh’aek Sohn. Perf. MunShik Yun, SŏngNyŏ Kim, and ChongYŏp Kim. MBC Productions, 2000, DVD.

Madangnori The Tale of Pyŏn’Gangsoe. Dir. JinCh’aek Sohn. Perf. MunShik Yun, SŏngNyŏ Kim, and ChongYŏp Kim. MBC Productions, 2000, DVD.

Madangnori The Tale of PyŏnHakdo. Dir. JinCh’aek Sohn. Perf. MunShik Yun, SŏngNyŏ Kim, and ChongYŏp Kim. MBC Productions, 2000, DVD.

Madangnori The Tale of HŏhSeng. Dir. JinCh’aek Sohn. Perf. MunShik Yun, SŏngNyŏ Kim, and ChongYŏp Kim. MBC Productions, 2000, DVD.

Madangnori The New Tale of Lee Ch’unP’ung. Dir. JinCh’aek Sohn. Perf. MunShik Yun, SŏngNyŏ Kim, and ChongYŏp Kim. MBC Productions, 2000, DVD.

Madangnori The Tale of Nolbu. Dir. JinCh’aek Sohn. Perf. MunShik Yun, and SŏngNyŏ Kim. MBC Productions, 2000, DVD.

Kim, ChiIl. “Madangnori The Tale of Pyŏljubu.” MBC Madangnori. Dir. JinCh’aek Sohn. MBC. Seoul, Korea, 1 Jan. 1982. Television.

Lee, YunT’aek, dir. Ogu. Perf. Kang Puja. KNAA, 1997. VHS.

Oh, T’aeSŏk. “Friday Culture Talk.” 2000. Korea Arts and Culture Education Service. VHS.

_ _ _. The Wife of Ch’unP’ung. 1999. VHS.

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“To Learn Madangnori-Fun of Madangnori, Improvisational Acting.” 5 Jan. 2005. To Learn Madangnori. EBS Munwha Center. EBS Media. DVD.

“To Learn Madangnori-Laugher and Satire.” 6 Jan. 2005. EBS.

“To Learn Madangnori Songs.” 4 Jan. 2005. EBS.

Interviews

Ahn, EunMi. Interview with author. Dec. 2007. Telephone. (Choreographer for Madangnori The Valiant Lady Pak; contemporary dancer)

Chang, YongIl. Communication with author. 2004. Yangju, Gyeonggi-do Province. (Pongsan mask dance player, lecturer at Michoo Drama Institute)

Cho, Chŏng’Gŭn. Interview with author. 21 Dec. 2007. ChangCh’ung Sports Gymnasium, Seoul. (Michoo actor)

Ch’oi, SŏngJin. Interview with author. 18 Dec. 2007. ChangCh’ung. (Guest performer, a graduate from The School of Traditional Arts, the Korean National University of Arts)

Chŏng, HoBung. Communication with author. Mar. 2004-Feb. 2005. YangJu. (Michoo performer; the headmaster of Michoo Drama Institute)

_ _ _. Communication with author. 2008, 2009. ChangCh’ung.

_ _ _. Communication with author. Mar. 2010. Walker Hill, Jamshil, Seoul.

Kim, Alyssa. Communication with author. Sept. 2013.

Kim, ChongYŏp. Interview with author. 16 Dec. 2007. YangJu. (One of the madangnori’s trio performers)

Kim, ChŏngHan. Interview with author. 18 Dec. 2007. ChangCh’ung. (Michoo performer)

Kim, HakSu. Communication with author. 17 May 2005. Seokgwan-dong, Seoul (Michoo performer; samulnori teacher at Michoo Drama Institute)

Kim, SŏngNyŏ. Interview with author. 21 Dec. 2007. ChangCh’ung. (Michoo’s main actress; Sohn’s wife; the department head at ChungAng University; The current Artistic Director of the National KukAk Company)

Kim, TongYŏng. Communication with author. Nov. 2009. SangAm, Seoul. (Michoo performer; the prop manager for the Lee Ch’unP’ung 2009)

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Lee, YuRa. Communication with author. Dec. 2007 ChangCh’ung. (Author of a MA thesis on Michoo’s madangnori)

Min, EunKyŏng. Interview with author. Dec. 2008. Email. (Actress; a graduate of Kim SŏngNyŏ’s Korean musical program)

_ _ _. Communication with author. Dec. 2008. Sang-am.

Pai, SamShik. Communication with author. Dec. 2007. ChangCh’ung. (Michoo’s main playwright)

_ _ _. Communication with author. Dec. 2008. Sang-am.

Park, HyŏnSuk. Communication with author. 2005, 2007, 2008, 2009. (Michoo’s public relation’s manager)

Park, YŏngSuk. Interview with author. Dec. 2007. ChangCh’ung. (Michoo’s actress; a teacher of the Michoo Drama Institute)

Sohn, JinCh’aek. Interview with author. 20 Apr. 2005, YangJu.

_ _ _. Interview with author. July 2005. YangJu.

_ _ _. Interview with author. Nov. 2007. ChangCh’ung.

_ _ _. Interview with author. Dec. 2007. ChangCh’ung.

_ _ _. Interview with author. Nov. 2008. Sang-am.

_ _ _. Communication with author. 2009. Sang-am.

_ _ _. Communication with author. Oct. 2010. Myŏngdong Arts Center

_ _ _. Communication with author. 18 Nov. 2013. Seoul. Telephone.

Yun, MunShik. Interview with author. 16 Dec. 2007. ChangCh’ung. (One of the madangnori’s trio members; the founding member of Michoo Theatre Company)

_ _ _. Interview with author. Nov. 2008. Sang-am.

Live Performances

Madangnori Almost Going Crazy [Hwanjang-hagaet-nae.] Dir. Park Ch’ŏlSu. ChangCh’ung Gymnasium, Seoul, Korea. Dec. 2008. Performance.

293

Madangnori The Tale of Prodigal Lee C’hunP’ung. Dir. JinCh’aek Sohn. Madang Theatre, Seoul, Korea. Dec. 2009. Performance.

Madangnori The Tale of Lee Ch’unP’ung. Dir. JinCh’aek Sohn. YangJu Theatre, YangJu, Gyeonggi-do. July 2005. Performance.

Madangnori The Tale of Shim Chŏng. Dir. JinCh’aek Sohn. Madang Theatre, Seoul, Korea. Dec. 2008. Performance.

Madangnori The Valiant Lady Pak. Dir. JinCh’aek Sohn. ChangCh’ung Gymnasium, Seoul, Korea. Dec. 2007. Performance.

Pansori Song of Courage. Dir. InWu Nam. LG Arts Center, Seoul, Korea. Oct. 2013. Performance.

Pansori Song of Sezuan. Dir. InWu Nam. Jayu Theater, Seoul Arts Center, Seoul, Korea. July 2010. Performance.

1. Materials in English

Ashcroft, Bill, Gareth Griffiths, and Helen Tiffin. Post-colonial Studies: the Key Concepts. 2nd ed. London and NY: Routledge, 2000. Print.

Assoc. for Asian Performance. “Richard Nichols on Korean Theatre.” YouTube. 6 Nov. 2011. Web. Apr. 2012. http://youtu.be/muRbyI2Rfkk.

Barlow, Tani E, ed. Formations of Colonial Modernity in East Asia. Durham, NC: Duke UP, 1997. Print.

Bauman, Richard. Verbal Art as Performance. Waveland P, 1977. Print.

Befu, Harumi, ed. Cultural Nationalism in East Asia: Representation and Identity. Berkeley, CA: Institute of East Asian Studies, 1993. Print.

Bhabha, Homi K. The Location of Culture. London: Routledge, 1994. Print.

Brandon, James R., ed. “Korea.” The Cambridge Guide to Asian Theatre. NY: Cambridge UP, 1997. Print.

Brockett, Oscar and Franklin J. Hildy. History of Theatre. Boston: Pearson. 10th ed. 2008. Print.

294

Chang, WŏnJae. “Conflict of Modern and Tradition: Different Concept of Theatrical Space in Traditional and Modern Korean Theatre.” Korean Theatre Studies Association, ed. 2005. Print.

_ _ _. Irish Influences on Korean Theatre during the 1920s and 1930s. Colin Smythe; Gerrards Cross, Buckinghamshire, 2003. Print.

Cho, OhKon. Korean Theatre: From Rituals to Avant-gardes. Jains Publishing Company, In Print.

_ _ _. Traditional Korean Theatre. Asian Humanities P, 1988. Print.

Cho, TongIl. Korean Mask Dance. Trans. Kyonghee Lee. Ewha Womans UP, 2005. Print.

Chŏn, KyŏngWuk. Korean Mask Dance Drama: Their History and Structural Principles. Trans. DoSeon Eur. Pajusi, Gyeonggi-do: YŏlHwadang, 2005. Print.

Chŏng, PyŏngHo. “Revival and Significance of the ‘Madang nori.’” Korea Journal 22. 9 (1982): 50-52. Korean National Commision for UNESCO. Print.

Ch’oi, ChungMu. “The Discourse of Decolonization and Popular Memory: South Korea.” Formations of Colonial Modernity in East Asia. Tani E. Barlow, ed. Durham, NC: Duke UP, 1997. Print.

_ _ _. “The Minjung Culture Movement and Popular Culture.” South Korea’s Minjung Movement: The Culture and Politics of Dissidence. Ed. Wells, Kenneth M. Honolulu: U of Hawaii P, 1995. Print.

Ch’oi, YŏngHo, Peter H. Lee, and Wm. Theodore de Bary, eds. Sources of Korean Tradition: from the Sixteenth to the Twentieth Centuries. New York: Columbia UP, 2001. Print.

Gilbert, Helen, and Joanne Tompkins. “Traditional Enactments: Ritual and Carnival,”’ Post- Colonial Drama: Theory, Practice, Politics. London: Routledge, 1996. Print.

Gilbert, Helen. (Post)colonial Statges: Critical & Creative Views on Drama, Theatre & Performance. Print.

Glassie, Henry. “Tradition.” Journal of American Folklore. American Folklore Society. 108. 430 (1995): 395-412. Print.

Graves, R.B., and AhJeong Kim, Trans. The Metacultural Theater of Oh Tae-Sok: Five Plays from the Korean Avant-Garde. Honolulu, Hawaii: U of Hawaii P, 1999. Print. 295

Hahn, ManYoung. Kugak: Studies in Korean Traditional Music. Trans. Inok Paik and Keith Howard. Tamgu Dang. 1990. Print.

Hauptfleisch, Temple. Theatre and Society in South Africa: Reflections in a Fractured Mirror. Pretoria: J.L. van Schaik, 1997. Print.

Hobsbawm, Eric J. “Introduction: Inventing Traditions.” The Invention of Tradition. Ed. Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger. Canto. U.K.: Cambridge UP, 2003. Print.

International Cultural Foundation, ed. P’ansori in Korean Culture. Kim KeeHyŏng, Kim TaeHaeng, Kim ChongCh’ŏl, et. al. Kimpo College P, 2009. Korean Culture Collection. Vol. 5. Trans. OkHee Jŏng et. al. Print.

Kendall, Laurel. “Introduction.” Consuming Korean Tradition in Early and Late Modernity. Honolulu, Hawaii: U of Hawaii P, 2011. Print.

Killick, Andrew. In Search of Korean Traditional Opera: Discourses of Ch’anggŭk. Honolulu: U of Hawaii P, 2010. Print.

_ _ _. “Jockeying for Tradition: The Checkered History of Korean Ch’anggŭk Opera.” Asian Theatre Journal 20.1 (2003): 43-70. JSTOR. Web. Nov. 2009. http://www.jstor.org/stable/1124052.

_ _ _. “Korean Music.” The Garland Encyclopedia of World Music. Print.

Kim, AhJeong. [Ah-Jŏng]. “The Modern Uses of Tradition in Contemporary Korean Theatre: a Critical Analysis from an Intercultural Perspective.” Diss. U of Illinois at Urbana- Champaign, 1995. Print.

Kim, AhJeong. Introduction. Metacultural Theater of Oh T’aeSŏk. Trans. Kim and R.B. Graves. Honolulu: U of Hawaii P, 1999. Print.

Kim, Alyssa. “Madangnori.” Leiter 391.

_ _ _. “Sohn Jin-Chaek.” Leiter 677-678.

Kim, TongWuk. “Hamlet in Korea—a Descriptive Study of Selected Productions from 1971 to 1989.” Diss. Michigan State U, 1990. Print.

Kim, YŏngJak. “Park ChungHee’s Governing Ideas: Impact on National Consciousness and Identity.” Reassessing the Park Chung Hee Era, 1961-1979: Development, Political 296

Thought, Democracy, and Cultural Influence. Ed. HyungA Kim and Clark W. Sorenson. U of Washington P, 2011. 95-106. Print.

Kim, YunChŏl, and MiHye Kim, eds. Contemporary Korean Theatre: Playwrights, Directors, Stage Designers. Theatre and Man, 2000. Print.

Kim, YunChŏl. “The First BeSeTo Theatre Festival.” Rev. of BeSeTo theare festival. Theatre Journal. 47. 3 (1995): 416-419. JSTOR. 1 June 2008. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3208901.

Knowles, Ric. Reading Material Theatre. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2004. Print.

Lee, KangPaik. Allegory of Survival: the Theater of KangPaik Lee. Trans. Alyssa Kim and HyŏngJin Lee. Cambria P, 2007. Print.

Lee, YunT’aek and TongWuk Kim. Four Contemporary Korean Plays. Ed. TongWuk Kim and Richard Nichols. UP of America, 2007. Print.

Leiter, Samuel. The Encyclopedia of Asian Theatre. 2 vols. Greenwood, 2006. Print.

Mackerras, Colin. Chinese Theatre: from Its Origins to the Present Day. 1983. Print.

Michael. “Shakespeare in Hanbok: Merchant of Venice Transformed into Korean Traditional Musical.” 15 Nov. 2005. Web. 4 Sept. 2008. http://shakespearemag.blogspot.com/2005/11/shakespeare-in-hanbok-mearchant-of.html.

“Modern Korean Theatre Turns 100.” The Korea Times. Chung, AhYŏng. 19 Mar. 2008. Web. 30 Aug. 2008. http://www.koreatimes.co.kr/www/news/art/2008/10/145_21003.html.

Nichols, Richard. Introduction. Modern Korean Drama: An Anthology. Ed. Richard Nichols. NY: Columbia UP: 2009. 1-12. Print.

_ _ _. “Theatre-in-the-Round.” Theatre and Space. Korean Theatre Studies Association, 2005. Print.

Oh, TaeSŏk. The Metacultural Theater of Oh T’aeSŏk: Five Plays from the Korean Avant-Garde. Trans. AhJeong Kim and Robert.B. Graves. Honolulu: U of Hawaii, 1999. Print.

Ong, Walter. Orality and Literacy: the Technologies of the Word. New York: Routledge, 2002. Print.

297

Park, Ch’an E. Voices from the Straw Mat: Toward an Ethnography of Korean Story Singing. Hawaii Korean Studies on Korea. Honolulu: U of Hawaii, 2003. Print.

Pihl, Marshall R. The Korean Singers of Tales. Council of East Asian Studies. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard UP, 1994. Print.

Pronko, Leonard C. Theater East and West: Perspective toward a Total Theater. Berkeley: U of California Press, 1969. 177-178. Print.

Schechner, Richard. Performance Studies: an Introduction. 2nd ed. NY, NY: Routledge, 2002. 2006. Print.

Scott, James C. “Voice under Domination: The Arts of Political Disguise.” Domination and the Arts of the Resistance: Hidden Scripts. Yale UP, 1990. Print.

Shils, Edward A. Tradition. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2005. Print.

Shim, ChŏngSun. “Korea.” The World of Theatre: an Account of the Theatre Seasons 1996-97, 1997-98, 1998-99. Ed. Ian Herbert and Nicole Lclercq, 2000. Print.

_ _ _. “The Shaman and the Epic Theatre: the Nature of Han in the Korean Theatre.” New Theatre Quarterly 20. 3 (2004): 216-224.

Shin, KiWuk, and Michael Robinson, eds. Colonial Modernity in Korea. Cambridge: Harvard University Asian Center, 1999. Print.

Turner, Victor. The Anthropology of Performance. NY: PAJ, 1988. Print.

Van Erven, Eugene. “Resistance Theatre in South Korea: Above and Underground.” The Drama Review (Fall 1988): 156-173. Print.

Wedding Day and Other Korean Plays. Ed. The Korean National Commission for UNESCO. Seoul, Korea: The Sisa Yŏng’ŏ’sa Publishers, Inc., 1983. Print.

Willoughby, Heather. “The Sound of Han: P’ansori, Timber and a Korean Ethos of Pain and Suffering.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 32 (2000): 17-30. JSTOR. Web. Nov 2009. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3185241.

Yu, Ch’iJin. Three Plays. Trans. Chang WŏnJae. Colin Smythe Limited, 2005. Print.

Young, Robert. Post-colonial Studies: the Key Concepts. Ashcroft, Griffiths, and Tiffin. 298

2. Materials in Korean (title translated by the author unless there are other translations available; the location of publication is Seoul, Korea, unless specified elsewhere)

Academy of Korean Studies. July 2008. Web. http://lib.aks.ac.kr/Web/.

“After Watching the Last Performance of Madangnori Valiant Lady Pak.” Web log post. SungNyoNara. Naver, 24 Dec. 2007. Web. 10 Dec. 2009. http://blog.naver.com/sungnyonara/100045474469.

Ahn, ChinSang. “Historical Development of Madangnoli [sic] and Its Outcome as Part of Culture Industry: the Case of Madangnoli [sic] by a Theatrical Company Michoo.” MA thesis. ChungAng University, 2012. Print. (English by Ahn)

Arko Arts Library. March 2008. Web. http://library.arko.or.kr/.

Arts Institute at The Korean National U of Arts. An Outline of Korean Contemporary Arts IV: 1970s. [Han’guk HyunDaeYesulsa Dae’gye IV: 1970 NyunDae.] Sigong-art, 2004. Print.

Arts Institute, The Korean National U of Arts. Sourcebook of Theatre Criticism of the 1970s I & II. [70 NyŏnDae Yŏn’gŭk PyŏngRon ChaRyoJip I, II.] Sigong-art, 1990. Print.

Chang, SoHyŏn. Malttugi of Seoul. [Seoul Malttugi.] Yeni, 1988. Print.

Cho, TongIl. “Issues of Theatre History.” Principle of T’alch’um, ShinMyŏng puri. Chishik Sanŏpsa, 2006. Print.

_ _ _. Katharsis-Rasa-ShinmyŏngPuri. Chishik Sanŏpsa, 1997. Print.

_ _ _. “The Origin and Role of Aksa.” The History and Principle of T’alch’um. HongSŏngsa, 1979, 1983. Print.

_ _ _. Principle of T’alch’um, ShinMyŏng puri. Chishik Sanŏpsa, 2006. Print.

Cho, YŏngKyu. Correction on the HyŏpRyulsa and Wŏngaksa. Minsokwŏn, 2008. Print.

Chŏn, KyŏngWuk. “Modern Meanings of Traditional Performing Arts.” Korean Literary Education. Korea University Korean Literary Education Institute 9 (2011): 249-288. Print.

_ _ _. Korean Mask Drama, Its History and Principle. Yŏlhwadang, 1998. Print.

_ _ _. Pongsan Mask Dance Drama. HyŏnAmsa, 2004. Print. 299

Chŏng, HoSun. The Small Theatre of Korea and Theatre Movement. 2002. Print.

Chŏng, HaYŏng. “Song of ShimCh’ŏng,” The World of P’ansori.[P’ansori ŭi SaeGye.] Munhakgwa Chisŏng, 2000. Print.

Chŏng, HyeWŏn. “A Study on Hŏh Kyu’s Directing, the Precursor of Complete Ch’anggŭk Theatre,” Contemporary Asian Theatre. ChungAng University, 2003. Print.

Ch’ae, HeeWan. Interview. Lee Y.M. Madanggŭk through Oral Documentation. 1:15-283. Print.

Ch’oi, ChongMin. “National Ch’anggŭk Company and Huh Kyu’s Ch’anggŭk.” National Theatre. Ch’anggŭk. 109-128. Print.

Ch’oi, YŏngJu. “Madang Aesthetics as Seen through Tale of Prodigal Lee Ch’unP’ung and YŏlHa IlGi ManBo.” Journal of Korean Theatre Studies Association. Korean Theatre Studies Association 48 (2012): 385-395. Web. 10 Oct. 2013.

Ch’oi, YunWu. Preview. “Legitimate Madangnori is Like This: The Madangnori Chronicle of Three Kingdoms by Michoo Theatre Company. The Korean Theatre Review. Dec. 2004. 10-13. Print.

“Coming Soon: Drama Center is opening.” DongA Daily. Rpt. in Yu M.Y. A History of Korean Modern Theatre. 428.

Committee of 100 Years’ Korean Modern and Contemporary Theatre. 100 Years of Korean Modern and Contemporary Theatre History. Chipmundang, 2009. Print.

Eun, HyŏnChŏng. A Cultural Consideration on Modern Transformation of Classic Novel—in case of Madangnori ICh’unP’ung NanbongGhi.’ Gyŏrae Umunhak. 2009. Print.

“The 5th Third World Theatre Festival in Seoul.” Ehistory. 33 min 5 sec. 1981. Web. Dec. 2012. http://ehistory.go.kr/page/pop/movie_pop.jsp?srcgbn=KV&gbn=MH&mediaid=2022&m ediadtl=8841&quality=W.

“Glossary of Korean Studies.” The Academy of Korean Studies. N.d. Web. July 2008. http://glossary.aks.ac.kr/.

Han, SangCh’ŏl. The Issues and Reflection on Korean Theatre: Han SangCh’ŏl Theatre Critiques. Hyŏndae Mihaksa, 2008. Print.

300

_ _ _. “Korean Contemporary Theatre Seen Through Directors’ Work.” Journal of Korean Theatre Studies Association 6 (1994): 25-33. Print.

_ _ _. “On Oh T’ae Sŏk I.” The National Theatre. 1979. The Issues of Korean Theatre and Reflection. Hyŏndae Mihaksa, 1992. Print.

Hŏh, Kyu. “The Archetypes of Our Drama,” National Theatre [Minjok-gŭk] and Traditional Arts. Munhak SaeGyesa, 1991. 90-93. Print.

_ _ _. “Hyŏndae-gŭk gwa Chŏntong-gŭk,” National Theatre [Minjok-gŭk] and Traditional Arts. 68-70.

_ _ _. “The Ideas on Nori-madang and Madangnori,” National Theatre [Minjok-gŭk] and Traditional Arts. 119-124.

_ _ _. “KangRŭng Maehwa-chŏn,” National Theatre [Minjok-gŭk] and Traditional Arts. 320-322.

_ _ _. “Korean Ttoeksoe,” National Theatre. 277-278.

_ _ _. MulDoriDong: Plays by Hŏh Kyu. PyŏngMinsa, 1998. Print.

_ _ _. “My Path of Theatre,” National Theatre [Minjok-gŭk] Traditional Arts. 199-209.

_ _ _. “My Paths to Theatre.” Hŏh Kyu’s NoriMadang. Comp. HyŏnRyŏng Park. InMungDang, 2004. 100-110. Print.

_ _ _. “Seoul Malttugi,” National Theatre [Minjok-gŭk] and Traditional Arts. 312-313.

_ _ _. “The Traditional Arts of Korea,” National Theatre [Minjok-gŭk] and Traditional Arts. 73-80.

_ _ _. “Understading Folk Play,” National Theatre [Minjok-gŭk] and Traditional Arts. 81-84.

_ _ _. “The Vitalization of Original Plays through the Small Theatre Movement,” National Theatre [Minjok-gŭk] and Traditional Arts. 192-195.

An Analytical Study on Hŏh Kyu’s Tashiragi: in Relation to the Modern Adaptation of Indigenous Performance Tashiragi. 2002. Print.

Hŏh, SunJa. “Sohn, JinChaek.”Contemporary Korean Theatre. Ed. by Kim YunChŏl and Kim MiyHe. Theatre and Man, 2000. 136. Print.

301

_ _ _. Interview. “Jin-Ch’aek Sohn: a Humanist Vision.” Theatre Voices. Critical Stages, The IATC Webjournal. 2 (Spring 2010): N. p. 8 April 2010. Web. 15 Dec. 2010.

100 Years of Our Kuk’ak. Wuri Kŭk’ak 100 Nyŏn. Eds. Han MyŏngHee, Song HyeJin, Yun ChungKang. HyŏnAm, 2001. Print.

Hyunho0305. “I do not think this is Madangnori.” MBC, 25 Nov. 2008. Web. 15 Dec. 2008.

Im, ChinT’aek, et. al. Creation of Mass Performances [Minjung Yŏnhui Ui Ch’angjo]. Ch’angjakgwa Pip’yŏngsa, 1999. Print.

Im, HyŏngSu. “A Study on Dramatizing of ‘Ch’unHyang Motif’—focusing on Ch’ang’guk, New Drama, Madangnori.” Han’guk Language Literature Studies. Korean Language Literature Studies Association 59 (2006): 415-454. Web.

Kim, ChaeCh’ŏl. History of Chosŏn Theatre. Tongmunsŏn, 2003. Print.

Kim, ChiHa. Folk Aesthetic of Mask Dance. [T’alch’um ui Minjok Mihak.] 2004. Print.

Kim, ChiIl. “A Burden I Want to Get Rid of.” Madangnori The Tale of Hong KilDong. Playbill. 2000. Print.

_ _ _. “Genuinely New.” 20 Years. MBC. 282.

_ _ _. Kim ChiIl Play Anthology. Ed. KongYŏn Munhwa Sanŏp Yŏn’guso. T’aeYang, 2013. Print.

Kim, ChongYŏp, and MunShik Yun. “A Scene from The Tale of Hungbo.” KukAk NakNak. KukAk PangSong. Youtube. 22 Feb 2013. Web. July 2013. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PgioWIS-Msc.

Kim, ChongYŏp, MunShik Yun, and SŏngNyŏ Kim. Interview. “The Thirty Years.” Web.

Kim, ChongIng. “The Communication and Development in Madangnori: on T’alch’um, Madanggŭk, and Madangkut.” Communication Research Institute, KyŏngHee University. 5 (1985): 129-139. Print.

Kim, HaeSuk. “What Kind of Society is the AkSŏGoHoe?” Bulletin of Korean Music History. Korean Music History Association 9 (1992): 87-101. Print.

Kim, HyŏnCh’ŏl. “A Study on the Traditional Theatre Studies—Focusing on Yu Ch’iJin and Osanai Kaoru.” Playwrights 2—Yu Ch’iJin. Theatre and Man, 2010. 261-266.

Kim, HyŏngJu. P’ansori as a Performance. Pogosa, 2011. Print. 302

Kim, HŭngGi. In Search for Drum Sound. Ed. Yŏh SŏkGi. 878.

Kim, HyunMin. “A Study on the 1970s Madanggŭk.” MA Thesis. Ewha Women’s University, 1993. Print.

Kim, Kee. “The ‘Love Song’ by Kim ChongYŏp, the Keeper of Madangnori.” Oh My News. 16 Dec. 2007. Web. Dec. 2008. http://www.ohmynews.com/NWS_Web/Articleview.

Kim, KilSu. A Study on Korean Playwrights. [HanGuk GŭkJakGaRon.] PyŏngMinSa. Print.

Kim, KwangLim. Kim Kwang-Rhim Play Series 2 – Come to See Me. [NalBoRŏ WaYo.] Print.

Kim, KyŏngHee. “Theory of P’ansori.” P’ansori. National Center for Korean Traditional Performing Arts, 2008. Print.

Kim, MiDo. “Aspects of Tradition Acceptance of Korean Drama in 1970s’—on Hŏh Kyu and the Theatre Company MinYeh.” Journal of Korean Theatre Studies Association. Korean Theatre Studies Association 27 (2005): 5-30. Print.

_ _ _. “Modernization of Tradition, Formation of Musical.” Committee of 100 Years’ Korean Modern and Contemporary Theatre.

_ _ _. Re-assessing Korean Modern Drama. [Han’guk Gŭndaegŭk ui CheJoMyŏng.] 1995. Print.

_ _ _. “A Study on the Reception of Tradition in the 1970s’ Korean Theatre (1)—in the Case of DongRang Repertory Theatre.” Journal of Korean Theatre Studies Association. Korean Theatre Studies Association 16 (2001): 5-39. Print.

_ _ _. “‘A Study on the Reception of Tradition in the 1970s’ Korean Theatre (2)—in the Case of JaYu Theatre Company.’” Journal of Korean Theatre Studies Association. Korean Theatre Studies Association 21 (2003): 131-165. Print.

_ _ _. “Theatricality of ‘Kut’ in the Modern Drama of Korea.” Journal of Korean Theatre Studies Association. Korean Theatre Studies Association 9 (1997): 29-50. Print.

Kim, MinJŏng. “A Comparative Inquiry into Madanggŭk and Madangnori—Centering on Wukŭmchi’s Madanggŭks and MBC’s Madangnori.” MA thesis. ChungAng U. 2005. Print.

Kim, MunHwan. The Center of Aesthetics. Seoul National UP, 2001. Print.

_ _ _. Review. “Expecting New Things: on Tale of Paebijang (1987).” MBC. 346-347.

_ _ _. “Sohn JinCh’aek.” Koreana.

303

Kim, NamSŏk. “Act 1 of History: the Modes and the Meaning of Confusion in Oh T’aeSŏk’s Early Plays,” The Historical Grounds of Oh T’aeSŏk’s Plays. Theatre and Man, 2005.161. Print.

_ _ _. Aesthetics of Theatre by Lee YunT’aek, Its Inception. P’urŭn sasang, 2008. Print.

_ _ _. Conversations with Lee YunT’aek. [Lee YunT’aek DaeDamJip.] Theatre and Man, 2006. Print.

_ _ _. Historical Contemplation of Oh TaeSŏk’s Theatre. [Oh TaeSŏk Yŏn’gŭk ui Yŏksajŏk Sayu.] Theatre and Man, 2005. Print.

_ _ _. The Aesthetical Horizon of Oh TaeSŏk’s Theatre. Hyŏndae Mihaksa, 2003. Print.

_ _ _. “The Light and Shadow of Oh T’ae Sŏk’s Theatre.” The Legacy of Light. Theatre and Man, 2008. Print.

_ _ _. “The Modern Adaptation of The Song of Hŭngbo.” P’ansori Yŏn’gu 21 (2006): 239-288. RISS. Web.

Kim, PangOk. “Crisis of Literary Theatre—Focusing on the Influence of Traditional Theatre on Original Theatre since 1970s.” 1984. The Current Status of Korean Literature III. Ch’angjak’gwa Pip’yŏngsa. Rpt. in The Aesthetic of Open Theatre: from Traditional Theatre to Postmodernism. Munye Madang, 1997. 167-200. Print.

_ _ _. Medicine Seller, Agnes Dei, and Madanggŭk. Mun’ŭmsa, 1989. Print.

_ _ _. “Romeo and Juliet by Mokhwa Theatre Company.” 21st Century Theatre. Theatre and Man, 2003. 427-8. Print.

_ _ _. “The Search for and the Incorporation of the Indigenous Theatrical Elements of Acting in Modern Korean Theatre: From Mask Dance to ‘Korean Way of Acting.’” Journal of Korean Theatre Studies Association 28 (2006): 53-126. RISS. Web.

_ _ _. “A Study on Madanggŭk.” Journal of Korean Theatre Studies Association. 1995. The Aesthetic of Open Theatre: from Traditional Theatre to Postmodernism. Munye Madang, 7 (1997): 100-164. Print.

Kim, SŏngHee. “The Modern Reception of Tradition and Adaptation.” Ye-sul-gye (Summer 1985). Print.

Kim, Sŏng’Il. “Hurray Pong’i Sŏndal!” Madangnori The Tale of Pong’i Sŏndal. MBC. 317.

Kim, SŏngNyŏ. “Learning Madangnori—Fun Madangnori.” 3 Jan. 2005. EBS Munwha Center. EBS Media. 2008. DVD.

304

_ _ _. Interview by Song SŭngHwan. Culture, Culture People. 3 Jan. 2004. EBS Media. 2004. DVD. http://www.ebs.co.kr/replay/show?prodId=495&lectId=1167797&gnbVal=1&pageNum= 1&srchType=1&srchText=김성녀&srchYear=&srchMonth=.

Kim, SukGyŏng. Contemporarization of Tradition and Five Directors. Theatre and Man, 2012. Print.

Kim, SukHyŏn. Directors at the Drama Center. Hyŏndae Mihaksa, 2005. Print.

_ _ _. Ahn MinSu’s Directing Aesthetics. Hyŏndae Mihaksa, 2007. Print.

Kim, SuWon. “Study on the Modes of Classic Novel into Madangnori: Focusing on Kuwoonmong and Ch’unHyangJun.” MA thesis. Yonsei University, 1992. Print.

Kim, SŭngOk. Korean Contemporary Drama and Awareness on Tradition. [Han’guk Hyŏndae Hee’gok’gwa Chŏnt’ong’uisik.] Theatre and Man, 2004. Print.

Kim, TaeHaeng. “What is P’ansori?” The World of P’ansori. P’ansori Research Association. Munhak’gwa Chisŏng, 2000. Print.

Kim, TongWuk. “Glocalizing Hamlet: a Study of Yun-Taek Lee’s Intercultural Productions of Hamlet from 1996 to 2005.” Shakespeare Review 44. 4 (2008): 717-751. Web. Apr. 2010. (English by Kim)

Kim, T’aeGyun. “Chŏng InSŏp.” Asking Maestros for the Way 3. Minsokwŏn, 2007. Print.

Kim, WuOak. “A Proper Model for Contemporary Musical Theatre.” Journal of Korean Theatre Studies Association 5 (1993): 33-41. DBPia. Web.

_ _ _. “Reflection on and Prospect of Korean Theatre Scholarship.” Journal of Korean Theatre Studies Association 5 (1994): 14-17. KISS. Web.

Kim, WukDong. “T’alch’um and Carnival of Language.” Aesthetics of T’alch’um. HyŏnAmsa, 1994. Print.

Kim, YongOak. Beauty and Ugliness. T’ongnamu, 1987. Print.

Kim, YunJŏng. “Main Plays and the Change of Theatre Environments.” Committee. 297.

_ _ _. “A Study on the Use of Tradition and Its Dramatization in the 1970s.” Diss. Seoul National University. 2004. Print.

Kim, YunCh’ŏl, and MiHye Kim, eds. Contemporary Korean Theatre: Playwrights, Directors, Stage Designers. Theatre and Man, 2000. Print.

305

Kim, YunCh’ŏl. “Some Notes about Sohn, JinCh’aek.” File last modified on 18 July 2008. Microsoft Word file.

_ _ _. “Theatrical Aesthetic of Space.” Playbill. Oh T’aeSŏk Theatre Festival. 1999. Print.

KNAA, The Korea National Archives of the Arts. Web. 2013. http://www.knaa.or.kr/.

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Appendix A: Timeline for Sohn JinCh’aek’s Michoo Theatre Company

From his years at the MinYeh Theatre Company onward, Sohn has mostly directed original Korean dramas, translations of foreign plays and channggŭk. He also has been active in directing dance drama or musical theatre, ga-mu-gŭk, governmental events, and guk-ak concerts.

At his Michoo Theatre Company, Sohn annually invited younger directors from Korea,

Japan, and Germany to direct Michoo’s seasonal productions. Sohn said it was his intention to have his actors to experience various directing styles other than his. Considering Sohn’s busy schedules outside of his theatre company, however, it would have allowed him to direct other non-theatrical events such as World Cup, which he directed under the title of “From the East.”

The following table is the list of madangnori productions from 1981 to 2010 (20 Years) highlighted in grey. Unhighlighted are Michoo’s productions directed by Sohn and other directors.

Date Title Staff Venue Remark 18-19 Dec. 1981 Written by Free Admission Lee KŭnSam; Munwha Sports Tale of HŏhSeng adatpted by Gymnasium, Seoul Kim ChiIl 2-4 Dec. 1982 Kim ChiI / Free; Scenography Munwha Sports Orchestra Minsok Tale of Pyŏljubu by Yun Gymnasium, Seoul Akhoe Sinawi ChŏngSŏp 18-20 Dec. 1983 Munwha Sports Free; Gymnasium, Seoul First regional tour 25 Jan.-8 Feb. Tale of Nolbo Kim ChiIl Indoor Sports Center, Regional Tour 27 Nov.-18 Dec. Started to sing TheTale of Lee Regional Tour 7-9 Dec. 1984 Kim ChiIl “Today’s Guests” Ch’unP’ung Munwha, Seoul song

314

21-30 Nov. 1985 *ChungAng Kuk- 1-15 Nov. 1985 Regional Tour ak Orchestra and The Tale of Pangja Kim ChiIl Munwha, Seoul Minsok Akhoe Sinawi 28 Nov.-7 Dec. Munwha *ChungAng Kuk- The Tale of Pong-i 13-28 Dec. 1986 Kim ChiIl Regional Tour ak Orchestra Sŏndal 18-22 Feb. 1987 Munwha, Seoul 1987 The Founding of Michoo [Ugliness and Beauty] Theatre Company Apr. 1987 Written by *the opening Main Theatre, The Keeper Chŏng production MunyeHoeGwan PokGŭn 5-14 Dec. 1987 Regional Tour *ChungAng Kuk- The Tale of Paebijang Kim ChiIl 10-29 Dec. 1987 Munwha ak Orchestra 17-30 Dec. 1988 *playscript was The Toenails of General Main Theatre, Park ChoYŏl released from Oh MunyeHoeGwan censors 3-12 Sept. 1988 *ChungAng Kuk- 28 Oct.-20 Nov. ak Orchestra Munwha 2-6 Dec. 1988 The Tale of Shim *presented as part Kim ChiIl Regional Tour Ch’ŏng of Cultural events Munwha for the ’88 Seoul Olympics May 1989 Main Theatre, Shin Iguk-gi Ch’oi InSŏk MunyeHoeGwan No Michoo Madangnori Mar. 1990 Main Theatre, *an original Making Hero Kim ChiIl MunyeHoeGwan musica 2-19 Nov. 1990 Regional Tour *revival of Tale of The Tale of Ch’unHyang Kim ChiIl 1-16 Dec. 1990 Munwha Pangja (1985) June 1991 Manuel *co-directed Lutgenhorst, Main Theatre, among The Shadow of Time adapted by MunyeHoeGwan Lutgenhorst, Kim, Kim Y.O. and Sohn 29 Oct.-23 Nov. *revival of Tale of Regional Tour 1991 Nolbo (1983) The Tale of Hŭngbo Kim ChiIl 30 Nov.-15 Dec. Munwha 1991 Apr. 1992 Ariel Main Theatre, (playwright from Death and Maiden Dorfmann MunyeHoeGwan Chile) 23-30 Aug. 1992 *revival The Toenails of General Vladivostok, *the 1st Asia- Park ChoYŏl Oh Russia Pacific Theatre Festival

315

29 Oct.-23 Nov. *revival of Tale of Kim ChiIl / Regional Tour 1992 The Tale of New Lee Lee Ch’unP’ung Scenography 28 Nov.-13 Dec. Ch’unP’ung (1984) by Min UnOk Munwha 1992 June 1993 Main Theatre, The Sky of Namsadang Yun TaeSŏng MunyeHoeGwan 22 Oct.-17 Nov. *samulnori by Kim ChiIl / Regional Tour 1993 The Tale of Hong Turep’ae Yun 27 Nov.-12 Dec. KilDong ChŏngSŏp Munwha 1993 24-30 May 1994 Dir. K. (director from Macbeth Babitski Poland) 16-24. Sept. Tour in the U.S. *revival of The 1994 Tale of Shim 15 Oct.-19 Nov, Tour in Korea Chŏng (1988) The Tale of Ppaengp’a Kim ChiIl 13-16 Dec. 26 Nov.-11 Dec. KBS’88 Sports 1994 Gymnasium, Seoul 1995 No Michoo Madangnori 1996 No Michoo Madangnori 11-22 Feb. 1996 B.Brecht / Adapted by The Good Person from Main Theatre Um InHee Sezuan MunYeh Dir. Lee PyŏngHun 1 June-24 July *part of Ch’oi’s 1996 When the Spring Comes Ch’oi InHun Jayu Thetare, SAC play festival hosted by SAC 1 June-24 July Tungdung Nakrangdung Towol Theatre, ( “ ) Ch’oi InHun 1996 SAC 16-22 Sept. 1997 *revival (also The Toenails of General Park ChoYŏl Jayu Theatre, SAC performed in 1992, Oh 1994, 1995) 25 Oct.-15 Nov. *ticket sales Regional Tour 1997 / recorded 100,000 The Tale of Aerang Kim ChiIl 20 Nov.-7 Dec. tickets Munwha 1997 25 Apr.-2 May Small Theatre, *revival Ariel 1998 Death and Maiden MunYeh Dorfmann HoeGwan

316

5 Oct.-7 Nov. Regional Tour *Sold out every 1998 / day The Tale of PongI Kim Jungdong Event *Michoo Orchestra Kim ChiIl 14 Nov.-13 Dec. SŏnDal Hall (name *revival of Tale of 1998 changed from PongI SŏnDal Munwha gym) (1986) June 1999 Main Theatre, That, Fire Kim YongOak MunYeh HoeGwan 2 Oct.1999- *ticket sales Regional Tour / 8 Jan. 2000 / decreased

26 May-3 June / *revival of Tale of NY, LA, USA The Tale of PyŏnHakdo Kim ChiIl Pangja (1985) and

12 Nov.-15 Dec. Tale of Jungdong Event 2000 Ch’unHyang Hall (1990) Mar. 2000 Sinakawa *collaboration Tokyo, Osaka, Hibakari—400 Years Masayoshi with Japan Japan (Japan) 5 Oct.-13 Nov. Regional Tour *MBC changed 2000 / The Tale of Hong the venue Kim ChiIl 17 Nov.-3 Dec. KilDong ChangCh’ung 2000 Sports Gymnasium 2001 Separation with MBC 31 Aug.-2 Sept. Sinakawa (playwright from 2001 Hibakari—400 Years Masayoshi DongSung Hall Japan) (Japan) 9 Nov.-30 Dec. *MBC sued 2001 Michoo for The Tale of JungDong Event Kim ChiIl performing under Pyŏn’Gangsoe Hall the title of “madangnori” Aug. 2002 Shakespeare, Midsummer Night’s Park SuJin

Dream Dir. Shin YongSu 10-20 Apr. 2003 Hŏh SamGwan Pai SamShik Main Theatre MaeHyŏl-gi [Chronicles Dir. Kang MunYeh of a Blood Merchant] TaeHong 14 Nov.2002- Madangnori *World Cup Game 1 Mar. 2003 The Tale of ShimChŏng Kim ChiIl Theatre, National Theatre

317

14 Nov.2003- Madangnori The Tale of Lee 13 Feb. 2004 Kim ChiIl Theatre, National Ch’unP’ung Theatre 5-9 May 2004 Pai SamShik (director from Main Theatre Bakery Dir. Manuel Germany) MunYeh Lutgenhorst 4 June-4 July Hŏh SamGwan *revival of 2003 - Dongsung Hall MaeHyŏl-gi 17-29 Sept. Pai SamShik Seoul Yŏlling *titled as “Family Musical Jungle Story Dir. Chŏng Gŭkjang Musical” HoBung Ch’angdong Oct. Dal-orum Theatre, Ch’oi SŭngHee Pai SamShik National Theatre 20 Nov.2004- The Tale of Three Madangnori *Pai starts to write Pai SamShik 13 Feb. 2005 Kingdoms Theatre, Sang-am a new script 26-28 Mar. 2005 Daniel Keith *tour production Story of ChŏlSu Dir. Pai Michoo Sanbang for culturally SamShik marginalized areas June Wurim Fairy in the Closet Pai SamShik Chŏngdam Theatre Mar. Main Theatre, *a production per Ariel request by New The Other Side MunYeh Dorfmann National Theatre

HoeGwan in Japan 2005 The Tale of Rich Hwang *with MBC Pai SamShik ChangCh’ung of Mapo Mar. 2006 Jugong Haengjang ARKO Pai SamShik [The Life of Sir Chu] Main Theatre Written and (from China) Cho ssi Goa dir. by Tien QinXin 2006 The Tale of Kim ChiIl/Pai *revival of ChangCh’ung Pyŏn’Gangsoe SamShik Pyŏn’Gangsoe. 10-25 Mar. 2007 Towol Theatre, *won various YŏlHa IlGi ManBo Pai SamShik Seoul Arts Center awards [Inching Toward Yŏlha] (SAC) 2007 The Tale of Valiant Lady *with MBC Pai Samshik ChangCh’ung Pak

318

27 Mar.-6 Apr. *the opening play 2008 for the Main Theatre, commemoration of The Sky of Namsadang Yun TaeSŏng ARKO Arts the Centennial of Theatre Korean [modern] theatre 3-19 Oct. 2008 *commemorating the Centennial of the establishment The Silver World Pai SamShik Jungdong Theatre of Won-gak-sa, the first modern theatre building in Korea 2008 Kim ChiIl / Madangnori Shim Chŏng Pai Theatre, SangAm Mar. 2009 King Lear Dir.Lee ARKO Arts PyŏngHun Theatre 20 May-6 June Shakespeare/ Towol Theatre, The Tempest 2009 adapted by Pai SAC 2009 The Tale of Prodigal Lee Kim ChiIl / Madangnori Ch’unP’ung Pai Theatre, SangAm 2-14 Oct. 2010 MacBeth under the Chŏng Myŏngdong Arts (from Japan) Equator UiShin Theatre 2010 *30th Anniversary Madangnori The Tale of Madangnori Pai SamShik of Sohn’s Theatre, SangAm madangnori *Kim S.N. presented excerpts and abridged 2011-Mar. 2013 Temporary Closing of Annual Madangnori versions of madangnori with her students

14-23 Oct. 2011 Dir. Chŏng Guro Arts Valley *also written by Tears of Mouse UiShin Theatre Chŏng 2011 *Kim S.N. became Sohn was appointed as the Artistic Director at the National the CEO of Theatre of Korea Michoo 2012 Kim S.N. was appointed as the Artistic Director at the National Changgŭk Theatre 2013 *Sohn returned to (The Fairy in the Closet is scheduled for the year 2014). Michoo in Nov. 2013

(Note 1:The above is only a selected list of Michoo production.) 319

(Note 2: the productions highlighted in lilac are directed by guest directors.) (Note3: for Pai’s plays, I included Alyssa Kim’s translation in brackets. For instance, Hŏh SamGwan MaeHyŏl-gi [Chronicles of a Blood Merchant]. See. Richard Nichols. Modern Korean Drama (2009).

Date Events / Title of Play Remark *After leaving the MinYeh Theatre Mar. 1986 Opening of Sohn JinCh’aek Directing Institute Company *Kim YongOak named the theatre Aug. 1986 Founded Michoo Theatre Company company Feb. 1987 Recruited its first members *production as a result of workshop Apr. 1987 The Keeper written by Cheong in indigenous performance forms Moved to Hongjuk-ri, Paeksuk-eup, Yangju city, Mar. 1996 Gyeonggi-do Founded Michoo Drama Institute as a one-year- Mar. 1998 long actors training program Apr. 1998 Founded Michoo Orchestra Aug. 2001 Started Michoo Sanbang Weekend Theatre Modified to a three-month-long intensive actors Jan. 2006 training program

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Appendix B: Production List of Kim SŏngNyŏ

The below is a listing of Kim SŏngNyŏ’s Early Acting career including debut performances:

Date Events / Title of Play Venue Remark 1976 Debut through Ascension Hanne MinYeh Theatre (debut) Company 1978 -Entered the National Changgŭk Theatre Company. *received private -Toured around forty countries as a Forty countries member of the Folk Arts lessons Company. 1981 -Entered the National Theatre Company. National Theatre -Performed in Don Juan and Paridugi. 1982 Performed in Season of Winter Small Theatre of the Wind, directed by Lee HaeRang. National Theatre 1985-1995 Featured on television dramas Appeared on (The Land andSeoul TtukpPaigi). Television television to make living 1985 -Performed in the musical Don Quixote directed by Sohn Grand Theatre of the JinCh’aek. National Theatre

Won the Best Prize for Acting at the 22th PaikSang Arts Prize.

1987 The Founding Member of the Michoo Theatre Company

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Appendix C: Production List of Pai SamShik

The following is a list of Pai SamShik’s recent playwritings. Notice the collaborations with Sohn:

2011 Snow in March. Dir. Sohn JinCh’aek. National Theatre. Paik SŏngHee ChangMinHo Theatre.

Kim Hongdo, the Painter. Dir. Sohn JinCha’ek. National Theatre. Haeorum Theatre.

Bees. Dir. Kim TongHyŏn. Myŏngdong Arts Theatre.

2010 Musical Dodo. Dir. Kim MinGi. Hakjŏn Blue.

2009 Tempest. Dir. Sohn JinCh’aek. Seoul Arts Center (SAC). Towol Theatre.

White Cherry. Dir. Kim TongHyŏn. Doosan Arts Center

Shakespeare of 13th Year of Ch’ ŏljong. Dir. Matsumoto Yuko. Daehakro Arts Theatre, Main Theatre.

2008 Gertrude. Playwright and Director. SAC, Jayu Small Theatre.

The Silver World. Dir. Sohn JinCh’aek. Chŏngdong Theatre

2007 YŏlHa IlGi ManBo. Dir. Sohn J.Ch’. SAC, Towol Theatre.

The Chronicle of the Three Kingdom Oh 吳. Dir. Sohn J.Ch’. Nanjing, China. New World Square Outdoor Theatre.

Madangnori The Valiant Lady Pak. Dir. Sohn JinCh’aek. ChangCh’ung Sports Gymnasium

2006 Chugong Haengjang. Dir. Sohn J.Ch’. ARKO Main Theatre.

2005 Ch’ŏlSu Story. Script, Directing. Michoo Sanbang. Culturally Minority Tour Program.

Red Tokkaebi. Script for Korean Production. Dir. Noda Hideki. ARKO Small Theatre.

The Fairy in the Closet. Dir. Sohn JinCh’aek. Wurim Chŏngdam Theatre.

Madangnori Rich Hwang of Mapo. Dir. Sohn J.Ch’. ChangCh’ung Sports Gymnasium.

2004 Bakery. Dir. Manuel Horst. Main Theatre at Munyeh HoeGwan.

Hŏsamgwan MaeHyŏl-gi. Dir. Kang TaeHong. Dongsung Arts Center. Dongsung Hall.

Ch’oi SŭngHee. Dir. Sohn JinCh’aek. National Theatre. Dal-orum Theatre. 322

Madangnori The Chronicles of Three Kingdoms. SangAm World Cup Stadium Madang Theatre.

2003 Jungle Story. Dir. Chŏng HoBung. Seoul Arts Center. Jayu Small Theatre.

Hŏsamgwan MaeHyŏl-gi. Dir. Kang TaeHong. Main Theatre at Munyeh HoeGwan.

Ch’oi SŭngHee. Dir. Sohn JinCh’aek. Towol Theatre.

2002 OngNyŏh, the Barbarian Woman. Dir. Kim TongHyŏn. Yŏn’gang Hall.

2001 Life is Dream. Translation, adaptation, and dramaturgy. Dir. Kim KwangLim. Seoul Arts Center. Towol Theatre.

1999 November. Dir. Yun JŏngSŏp. Small Theatre at Munyeh HoeGwan. Specially invited play to Seoul Arts Festival.

1998 Story of White Circle. Dir. Kim SŏkMan. Seoul Arts Center. Jayu Small Theatre. Adaptation of B.Brecht’s The Caucasian Chalk Circle.

1998-2001 M.F.A. in Playwriting, The School of Drama, the Korean National University of Arts

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