Musical "Deyandor" (2)
Unlike Kim Ju-hyeong, who sat beside him with his mouth hanging open as he watched the stage, Yeon-woo began focusing in earnest on the script.
With singing ability like his, even if a musical opportunity came along he would never get another chance—so this was his first and last shot at Deyandor.
That meant the best he could do was pour everything into this single scene and deliver a performance he would never regret.
Here, put the strong stress on this part… The version I saw in France left a deep impression.
For this line, it would be better to jump in half a beat faster, the way they did in the Austrian production I watched.
In his mind he pictured every scene he would appear in, calling up the countless versions of Deyandor he had seen in countries all over the world.
From the various interpretations of famous actors he began drawing out the strengths, adding whatever his own performance needed and carving away everything unnecessary.
Shane Dillinger’s father had been run down by a car and shot by a rival organization, murdered right before his son’s eyes.
The grown Shane had slaughtered every last member of that rival group and seized control of Detroit’s underworld, yet the disappearance of his targets for revenge felt like losing the very engine of his life, and that terrified him.
Naturally he came to regard the technological advances—the cars and guns that had killed his father—with hostility, and he grew to hate the munitions plants and industrial factories that were springing up like weeds across 1930s America.
His younger sister Jane, by contrast, was simply a girl full of dreams; the world changing day by day fascinated and delighted her.
Then she fell in love with a young man named Ezel who managed the laborers at an automobile factory, and she found herself torn between her older brother and the man she loved.
The role Yeon-woo would step into for a short while was the representative of the factory’s physical laborers—the blue-collar chief, Ezel.
The scene in which Ezel and Shane clash fiercely, each asserting his own creed, is a stretch of the musical that runs for more than five minutes on pure dialogue, without a single note of song.
Before long the company that had rehearsed up through the preceding scene took a brief break.
Clap clap clap!
Wheee!
Kim Ju-hyeong, who had been watching with his mouth wide open, completely absorbed, broke into loud applause, and beside him Manager Kim Min-su blew a sharp whistle.
Then Jin Yu-han, who until moments ago had been Shane on stage, came down and spoke to Yeon-woo.
"How about it, Yeon-woo? Got the lines down?"
"Yeah. I’ve memorized the lines. For the blocking—I’ve seen the original of this musical. Should I just match that?"
The blocking was not particularly difficult. There was one moment where Ezel and Shane closed in as if they might seize each other by the collars.
"That’s right. The blocking is exactly like the original."
Jin Yu-han nodded and looked toward the stage with an expectant expression.
In truth Yeon-woo felt the same anticipation.
It had been his favorite musical since his previous life; there might not be a single person in this company who had seen Deyandor more times than he had.
"Then I should get ready too."
Yeon-woo rose from his seat.
Jeong In-chan was a sixth-year musical actor.
When Jin Yu-han first visited the company he belonged to, In-chan had simply found it novel.
He had nodded at the handsome face of the young actor who was doing so well these days.
So that’s the kind of face that works in straight theater.
Even when he heard Jin Yu-han had been cast as one of the leads, he had felt some resentment, yet with such things so common these days he also felt a flicker of expectation.
In truth it was not expectation for stage acting, but for how much publicity the casting would bring.
Musicals are on a completely different level from mere straight plays. Let’s see how good he really is.
As expected, it began with vocal production that simply did not match a musical’s tone, then gestures far too small for the stage—gestures shaped by long familiarity with cameras.
Camera acting doesn’t work here after all.
It was all looks that kept him eating. True acting, In-chan believed, only appeared when it was performed live on a stage.
But this isn’t even funny.
That Ryu Yeon-woo had come to cheer Jin Yu-han on was fine.
He had brought good food, and In-chan knew the visit would help the making-of footage that was still rolling.
But suddenly putting Ryu Yeon-woo on stage—even for a practice run?
In his own mind this was absolutely not an emotion like jealousy.
Rather, it was concern—the concern of a benevolent senior.
"Ryu Yeon-woo-ssi, musicals—and especially this scene—are not something you can do with ad-libs. Since it’s only practice and just for fun, how about reading from the script?"
He offered the advice of a senior while watching Ryu Yeon-woo climb onto the stage with a displeased face, but Yeon-woo quietly shook his head.
"I’ll do my best not to cause any trouble. I memorized the lines diligently while you were rehearsing Act One."
Hearing those words, Jeong In-chan’s expression hardened.
…Ha. The kid’s got some nerve. When a senior speaks, you listen. That’s the problem with succeeding so young. They think they can do anything.
Among the company members, quite a few colleagues wore the same inscrutable smiles, as if sharing similar thoughts.
Tsk. What’s so entertaining about watching a young actor embarrass himself? Nasty hobby those guys have. What was Jin Yu-han thinking, making this suggestion to a friend who only came to cheer him on?
In reality most of those smiles sprang from simple anticipation at seeing Ryu Yeon-woo and Jin Yu-han act side by side, but once In-chan began viewing everything unfavorably, every face looked twisted to him.
Jeong In-chan was certain Yeon-woo would stumble over the lines—or that even if he had memorized them, with no stage experience he would merely recite rather than inhabit the role—and he climbed onto the stage as the lights gradually dimmed.
He took his place in front of the fluorescent markers and waited for the scene to begin.
A low trombone note, thick with tension, rolled out across the space, and a single spotlight dropped onto Yeon-woo, who stood five paces from Jin Yu-han.
Tak—.
"What is this commotion? Who are you people!"
At the first line the actors already on stage flinched.
It landed perfectly. As if he knew exactly when the trombone would cut off.
Yeon-woo took another large step forward and continued.
"Did you not hear me? Who are you to come into this factory and raise hell?"
"A dog covered in filthy coal soot has a lot to say. Who am I? I am Shane Dillinger of Detroit."
When Jin Yu-han spoke his name, the other actors shrank back.
"…Hey, Colson. He just said Shane, right? Could it be that Shane?"
"Shh! James. Watch your mouth. Catch his eye for no reason and you’re liable to get beaten."
While the others murmured and instinctively stepped back, bowing at the appearance of the mafia boss who ruled Detroit’s underworld, Yeon-woo straightened further and advanced one more step.
Watching from the seats, Kim Ju-hyeong also sensed that Yeon-woo’s acting was somehow different from the rest of the musical company.
…Ah. So that’s why he looked a little small at first. He was deliberately hunching just enough so that in this scene the contrast would suddenly enlarge his presence.
When Yeon-woo first appeared delivering his lines, his height—well over 180 centimeters—had somehow looked diminished beside the surrounding actors; now Ju-hyeong understood why.
Yeon-woo, you had it all planned, didn’t you?
Ju-hyeong nodded, and Yeon-woo spoke again.
"Shane Dillinger? So you want to exchange names. I am Ezel."
Unlike everyone else who shrank at the mere sound of the name, the man before him stepped forward with a confident face and offered a handshake. Shane felt a flicker of interest as he studied him; the subordinates behind him laughed exaggeratedly at the newborn puppy that did not yet know to fear the tiger.
"Ezel. An interesting fellow. Today I will kill every one of you and blow this factory to pieces."
"I thought this Shane Dillinger was an Italian, but it turns out he’s a German. Well, the two are allies anyway, aren’t they?"
At the sarcastic jab the men behind Shane twitched as if ready to charge; Shane raised a hand and held them back.
"Italian? German? What are you talking about? I am an American."
"I figured you were just aping Italian mafia—swaggering around the back alleys with money made selling liquor in secret, those big lugs in tow—but watching you come in a pack today talking about blowing things up and killing people, how are you any different from that mustached fellow way over in Germany?"
Watching Yeon-woo deliver the long, intricate speech with perfect vocal production while still finding room for easy, precise facial work, the actors on stage marveled inwardly.
From the seats Kim Ju-hyeong, analyzing every beat, was equally startled.
…Something’s different. It’s different from any of the other actors I watched in Act One. What is it?
A self-proclaimed film buff who had made a habit of dissecting everything through club work, Ju-hyeong could feel the difference clearly yet could not seize the clue; he clutched his head.
Ah! That’s it. The others feel like a Korean adaptation. Yeon-woo feels like the original-language version is being automatically translated as you hear it. How is that possible when they’re all speaking Korean the same way?
Jin Yu-han, standing face to face and trading lines, was feeling exactly the same thing.
Something about the exchange felt off-kilter from every rehearsal he had done before—an indescribable dissonance.
…The stress is different? It feels dynamic, like everything is locking into place. How does he do that?
Unlike the even, level cadence of ordinary Korean, every line Yeon-woo spoke carried distinct, deliberate emphasis.
Of course it did.
Yeon-woo had drawn on the countless top-tier musical actors who had performed Deyandor in their own languages around the world, extracting only the best intonation for each line and carving them together like a sculptor; the words could not help but cling to the mouth.
"Interesting story. The reason I came here today is also to wipe out every last one of those mustached Germans you speak of. The cars, the tanks, the guns you lot produce—they are the root of all evil that poisons this society."
Watching Jin Yu-han spit the lines as if chewing them, Yeon-woo’s eyes lit.
He took a light step forward, spreading both hands as if orating, drawing every gaze to himself—Yeon-woo’s Ezel.
"Is the sin of harming a neighbor with a knife the knife’s, or the one who swung it? If you erase every knife in the world, will people stop dying? Then what will they use to shave your mustache at the barbershop, and what will they use to chop the ingredients for the stew you ate this morning?"
"Sophistry. A knife and a tank are different. These iron lumps you produce—they lighten a man’s sense of guilt."
Bang—.
Kyaaak—.
Shane’s eyes, after firing into the air, glittered with madness.
"Just by twitching one finger like this, you can kill a man. No need to feel the horrifying sensation of swinging a blade, cutting flesh, and having steel strike bone."
Looking at the factory workers who had collapsed in terror at the gunshot and covered their ears, Ezel stepped forward with an enraged face and shouted.
"Is this the justice you believe in?"
"Justice? I don’t carry any grand reason like that. I simply need a target for my father’s revenge."
At the opening of the scene Ezel had stood five paces from Shane.
One step when the trombone cut off.
One step straightening his shoulders as the others retreated.
A step as if offering a handshake while speaking of exchanging names.
One step spreading both hands in oration.
And finally one rough, furious step.
Without the audience—or even Shane—realizing it, Ezel had closed the distance to point-blank range. With a quick flash of hands he snatched the pistol Shane held and leveled it at his head.
"Hey, big guys. If you don’t want a hole blown through your boss’s skull, get out of this factory right now."
A silence fell across the stage, thick with the charisma radiating from him.
Even though it was a passage they rehearsed every day, the actors were overwhelmed by the completely different breathing and atmosphere of the lines.
…What is this? Was this a scene that could be driven with this kind of rhythm?
My whole body is tingling. Is this power that devours the stage really coming from that young actor?
When the silence stretched too long, every eye turned to one man.
Jeong In-chan, who had been so displeased about Yeon-woo taking the stage, was just as frozen as the rest.
"Jeong In-chan! Deliver your line!"
Startled by the veteran senior’s roar, he opened his mouth.
"…What the hell are you—"
Jeong In-chan’s mind went blank with panic; the next line would not come.
Damn it, this is driving me crazy! What was it?
Then Yeon-woo murmured softly.
"How dare you give orders to the brothers of Detroit."
"Ah! How dare you give orders to the brothers of Detroit!"
Relief that he had weathered the crisis flickered across In-chan’s face for an instant, then twisted into the expression of a man who had just chewed a bug.
Damn it!
Before the scene began he had told Yeon-woo to hold the script because the lines could not possibly be memorized—yet he himself had needed Yeon-woo’s quiet prompt to scrape through this short speech. Humiliation did not come deeper than this.
The other actors, watching, were startled all over again.
He must have been hard-pressed just to learn his own lines… yet he memorized everyone else’s too?
It was not only the actors on stage who were astonished.
Kim Ju-hyeong, watching the rehearsal from the seats, felt goosebumps rise along his spine with every passing second.
…This is acting.
Only after seeing Yeon-woo’s performance with his own eyes did he finally understand what he had been yearning for all this time.
This is what I want to do.
Of course he was not dreaming of becoming an actor. He lacked the talent, and even if he could not act he could still look in a mirror.
At first, after spending his entire high-school life buried in college-entrance study, he had begun by staying up all night watching Summer’s Closet in the sheer liberation that followed.
Then, gradually pulled deeper by film, he had even joined a club.
But today, watching this stage, he felt an intense, unmistakable desire.
I want to write theater scenarios. I want to write lines that feel alive and moving.
It was the moment when the playwright who would one day double-cast Ryu Yeon-woo and Jin Yu-han first recognized his own deepest longing.