Daehan Theater Festival.
A sea of people was forming as countless attendees waited to enter the venue. It was so unusual for a theater performance to draw this many spectators that it could be called unprecedented. This alone showed just how much public interest in the Daehan Theater Festival had grown.
“Sunbae, was theater always such a popular industry? With this many people coming to see shows?”
AD Kim Yeongmin asked, his eyes wide with surprise.
“You’re telling me you want to be a drama PD and you’ve never even watched a play?”
“No, I came a lot when I was in college, but this is on a whole different scale from the plays at the Daehak-ro troupes. I’ve never seen a theater this big before. And look at the people. There are a lot of young people, too.”
“Yeongmin, you don’t read the newspaper, do you?”
“The newspaper? Who has time to read the paper these days? For the past month, I’ve been living under sunbae’s thumb, barely keeping my head on straight. Just look at my eyelids. My dark circles are so bad, they’re about to reach my neck.”
Just as Kim Yeongmin said, there were many young women among the audience. Most of them were fans of Yeongguk. Upon hearing that Yeongguk would be appearing at the Daehan Theater Festival, his fan club had bought tickets in groups, packing the seats to the brim.
With such a response, the actors preparing for the performance couldn’t help but be more excited than usual. After all, no matter how outstanding your acting was, what’s the point if there was no audience? It’s the same for every performance. The more people there were, the more the excitement would be.
I’ve Returned as a Lawyer, huh.
The opening performance of the Daehan Theater Festival was none other than Gongbyeol Troupe’s I’ve Returned as a Lawyer. The cast consisted of veteran actors who had weathered all sorts of ups and downs in the theater world. Even the script was so good, it felt like a waste to only perform it on stage.
A long-term exam taker who had been preparing for the bar exam for years at the Noryangjin study boards kept failing the second round and, in the end, decided to commit suicide. But just as he was about to jump off Mapo Bridge, he received a call from his mother in the countryside.
– “I haven’t gotten the results yet. Don’t worry. I had a good feeling this time. What? Mom, what do you mean, terminal stomach cancer!”
His mother told her son that she had been diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer at the hospital. The long-term student gave up on suicide and went down to the countryside to be with his mother in her final days. But, afraid that the news of his failure would shock her, he lied and said he had passed the bar exam.
– “What? You passed the bar exam?!”
At first, it was a lie meant only for his mother, but when the village chief heard the news while visiting his ailing mother, he threw a big celebration. In the end, the long-term student pretended to be a successful bar exam passer and returned to his hometown in triumph.
Not bad.
PD Yu Myeonghan, sitting in the audience, watched Actor Park Sangcheol, who was playing the long-term student on stage. The main reason he had come to the Daehan Theater Festival was to cast a lead actor, but he was also keeping other roles in mind.
It made sense, since the actors who specialized in historical dramas had already been cast in KBC’s special epic drama project. With the shows airing at the same time, it was nearly impossible for those actors to choose MBS.
In a way, historical dramas really do go well with theater.
Because of the nature of historical dramas, the vocalization and tone of regular drama actors were different. Even the intonation had to be changed. If you cast actors from modern mini-series in a historical drama, the sense of incongruity is impossible to erase. On the other hand, in theater, the large gestures and blocking that were visible to the audience fit well with the style of historical dramas.
“It’s really fun coming here after so long, sunbae.”
Before they knew it, more than an hour had passed and the play was over. As the curtain fell, the actors who had performed, led by Park Sangcheol, lined up on stage and bowed deeply to the audience in thanks. AD Kim Yeongmin was chattering away beside him, but Yu Myeonghan’s gaze remained fixed on Park Sangcheol.
* * *
As if announcing the start of spring, forsythias were blooming in profusion along the riverside. Just as the saying goes, “the Daedong River thaws after Gyeongchip,”[1] the river flowed gently, and a kingfisher greeted a frog awakening from hibernation. Along the riverbank, a sturdy man was out for his morning jog. Yeongguk was running with his cap pulled low, but there were always people who recognized him.
“Jang Yeongguk, I’m a fan!”
Just as Yeongguk was catching his breath, a woman in a wide-brimmed hat approached and handed him a water bottle. When Yeongguk thanked her and took the bottle, the woman gave him a shy smile. As he felt the refreshing coolness and his Adam’s apple bobbed with a big gulp—
“Why do you always just take things from strangers and drink them so easily?”
Puhuhp.
Yeongguk looked at the woman with a startled expression, almost choking. Only then did she take off her hat.
“Sunbae?”
“Sunbae, my ass. Call me noona, relax. But seriously, how can an actor be so unobservant? Just because I put on a hat and changed my voice a little, you didn’t recognize me.”
It was actress Park Sangah. There was a time when their relationship wasn’t so great, thanks to her rough way of speaking. But as the saying goes, even hate can turn into affection, and after nearly a month of running through rehearsals together all day, they couldn’t help but grow close. Besides, in the play, Park Sangah and Yeongguk’s characters were inseparable.
“I didn’t recognize you because you’re not wearing makeup.”
“You little—!”
He wasn’t joking. Park Sangah usually wore heavy makeup, even during rehearsals, always showing up with bright red lipstick. In contrast, she looked so natural now, it was almost plain. With no makeup and a hat on, it was no wonder he didn’t recognize her.
“How did you know I jog here?”
“That big manager of yours told me. He said Yeongguk jogs by the Han River every morning. Anyway, thanks.”
“For what?”
“I heard about Ji-sunbae from the troupe leader the other day. I was badmouthing him in front of you without knowing anything. I feel like I didn’t show you the right example as a sunbae, so I wanted to apologize. I thought it’d be easier to say it before the Daehan Theater Festival. Don’t look at me with that surprised face. I already went to Ji-sunbae and apologized, too.”
She wasn’t a bad person. Admitting your own mistakes was never easy.
“Yeongguk, you’re more of a fighter than you look. I heard you even had it out with the association. That actor Park is a real hothead, you know. Don’t do that next time. I get where you’re coming from, but you don’t avoid shit because you’re scared of it, you avoid it because it’s filthy.”
“Thank you for the advice, noona.”
“But are you sure you can perform well after jogging like this today?”
“The stage director put so much effort into building the set, and there are audience members waiting for us. Of course I have to do well.”
The Daehan Theater Festival lasted four days. Stage directors from each troupe had been working for a month to prepare the venue. Just because a performance was coming up didn’t mean Yeongguk would stop jogging. In fact, warming up like this helped prevent his body from tensing up on stage, so it was killing two birds with one stone. Yeongguk handed the water bottle back to Park Sangah.
“What, why are you giving it back?”
At that moment, Yeongguk started jogging again and added,
“I’m not warmed up yet.”
As Yeongguk’s figure receded into the distance, Actress Park Sangah clicked her tongue. A duck diving nearby peeked over at the scene.
* * *
“Is this the place?”
Yeongguk’s mother and Mrs. Yang[2] had come up to Seoul together. Standing in front of the venue where the Daehan Theater Festival was being held, the two women’s eyes grew wide at the gathering crowd. Then Mrs. Yang looked at the young women passing by and whispered excitedly to Yeongguk’s mother.
“Yeongguk’s mom, did you see that? All those young girls walking by are holding signs with Yeongguk’s name on them. There’s already so many of them. But shouldn’t we be lining up, too?”
“No, Bongchun said he’d come out if we just wait here.”
“Bongchun?”
“Oh, that’s Yeongguk’s manager.”
She just couldn’t help herself. Right then, M3
anager Lee Bongchun came running over, out of breath, his large frame making him hard to miss. Surprised by the sudden appearance of the big man, Mrs. Yang studied him, recognizing the familiar accent.
“Ma’am, I really had a hard time finding you.”
At that, Yeongguk’s mother explained to Mrs. Yang,
“He’s from our hometown. He said he was born and raised in Jagalchi.”
On the final day of the Daehan Theater Festival, not only journalists but also people from the broadcasting industry filled the seats. Starting with the so-called “National Actor” Ahn Jeonghyeon, Actresses Park Suyeong and Seo Minhye, rising Chungmuro blue chip Song Jeongseok, and even the great director Baek Janghun—one after another, famous names were sitting in the audience. The atmosphere was so electric that even the journalists and audience members were a little giddy. To an outsider, it could have been mistaken for a film festival awards ceremony.
“Hyung, it’s been a while since you’ve seen a play, hasn’t it?”
Actor Ahn Jeonghyeon asked Director Baek Janghun, who was sitting next to him. Director Baek Janghun nodded briefly, his eyes wrinkling. In the past, before he became a film director, Baek Janghun had also directed plays.
The same was true for Actor Ahn Jeonghyeon. Before appearing in commercial films, hadn’t he also worked as a theater actor? In a way, this place felt like home, and it was only natural to feel nostalgic.
I wonder what kind of performance he’ll show.
Director Baek Janghun scanned every corner of the stage with his wrinkled eyes. He was curious to see what kind of acting Yeongguk would show on that stage. In fact, ever since Yeongguk said he’d chosen a play for his next project, he’d been worried. After all, theater and film are completely different beasts. But seeing Yeongguk’s confident demeanor, he couldn’t help but be curious.
Yeongguk, who was usually the epitome of humility, didn’t seem the least bit nervous. Soon, as the audience filled every seat, the theater went dark. The audience murmured, wondering what was happening, but then a voice rang out, making their throats tighten.
“The story that begins now is my story, the story of Baek Muyeol.”
It was Yeongguk’s voice. His voice filled the vast auditorium, resonating through the darkened theater. It was a deep, powerful tone.
“I was nothing but a scoundrel, spreading rumors about countless women and strutting through the streets of Gyeongseong[3], but there was no other reason for it. Just as those who crossed the Manchurian Plains fought for independence, I too did what I could for the independence movement as a scoundrel on the streets of Gyeongseong. Wasn’t it all for the sake of bringing spring back to Joseon?”
Gulp.
“Though I disappear like dew on the execution ground, someday spring will come to Joseon. So please, listen to the story that is about to begin. And remember my name. The last scoundrel of Joseon, Baek Muyeol.”
At last, the darkened stage flashed with light, and the curtain rose. The stage had become the streets of Gyeongseong. Rickshaws moved about, Japanese people in geta and kimonos walked by. In the midst of it all stood a so-called “modern boy” in Western dress. It was Yeongguk, in a black suit and fedora.
[1] Daedong River is in North Korea. Gyeongchip symbolizes the start of spring.
[2] Mrs. Yang was their neighbor and a close friend of Yeongguk’s mom.
[3] Gyeongseong was the name for Seoul during the Japanese colonial period.
