A ninety-minute monodrama.
Premiered at Daehak-ro in 2001, it became a hot topic due to the double casting of actors Kim Sang-tae and Kwak Moon-hyuk.
It won the Dong A Theater Award for its radical storyline.
What particularly intrigued people was that, as time passed, Kwak Moon-hyuk’s performance dates consistently sold out at premium ticket prices, while Kim Sang-tae’s performances only filled half the seats.
It was a script that depended heavily on the actor’s capabilities.
Yoon Hansung had also seen the play. He wondered how well he himself could handle such a challenging role.
How well could Yoomyeong digest such a difficult play in just one day? His fists clenched involuntarily.
With a bluish light shining directly onto his face, the murderer cried out in a tormented voice.
“Your Honor, I implore you to give the maximum sentence to this murderer.”
At that sharp sound, everyone’s heart skipped a beat.
“Case number 2000 Trial 0124 for murder. The culprit in this case is undeniably the victim’s son, myself, Kim Young-do. The evidence is, first, my fingerprints found on evidence knife number 13. Second, the fact that I, Kim Young-do, have no alibi for that time. Third, the deteriorating relationship between us leading up to the incident. As the third piece of evidence, I submit the noise complaint records from the apartment below, which were frequently reported to the police.”
A voice dripping with guilt. A young man with a painfully tormented face pleaded for his sins. He was begging not to be forgiven.
The blue light from the projector left a hazy afterimage on his pure white clothing, making it resemble prison attire.
“It’s all my fault. Why did I do it? I don’t even know. Was it because I was the unwanted child born by mistake, the one who ruined my father’s life? Or was it because I’m a worthless leech who can’t even earn money and lives off others for my meals?”
Murmurs—
The only background audio Yoomyeong had prepared began to play. It contained the murmuring sounds of an audience.
As the noise continued for about three seconds, the prisoner asked a question with childlike innocence, drowning it out.
“Who said such things? Uh... it was my father...”
The projector light abruptly went out.
Hearing the young man’s raspy voice made him feel as though his own throat were burning, so he quickly grabbed the water bottle beside him and took a gulp.
The tension was high from the very beginning, and the audience couldn’t take their eyes off the performance.
The sound of the projector turning on and off, along with the rectangular frame of light, made them feel as though they were watching television.
Oh my, he’s the murderer who killed his own father—
Whispering among themselves, everyone turned on their TVs to confirm who this devil was.
However, the face that appeared was unexpectedly innocent, and the voice pleaded for the maximum sentence. The people hesitated, captivated.
What? The father said that to his child? Was the motive for the murder child abuse?
Such suspicions were brilliantly evoked by the play’s direction.
And the acting doubled the effect of that direction.
‘What’s with that actor?’
The first act continuously portrayed a courtroom setting.
The prisoner wept tears of repentance as he confessed to a priest. He reenacted his father’s verbal and physical abuse, cowering and trembling.
The highlight was the reenactment of the crime at the end of the first act.
The young man, appearing as though his hands were tied, staggered forward, made a motion as if grasping something, and attempted to stab, only to collapse in the end, unable to do it.
“I... I can’t do it. Father... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please don’t hit me!”
The large young man pleaded with his hands clasped together, crying like a child. The emotional intensity was so overwhelming that watching him felt suffocating.
‘Could it be... that he really experienced abuse as a child...?’
The character felt so real that Yoon Hansung had no choice but to wonder.
Then the second act began.
“Ah, yes, lawyer?”
The actor took a step to the side, allowing the projector light to strike him diagonally.
A shadow stretched out, and the actor looked toward it as he delivered his lines.
Now two people appeared on the screen.
Everyone was amazed by the contrast created with such simple tools.
“Yes. Public opinion has shifted? They’re saying it’s spreading like wildfire that an accidental murder occurred due to prolonged child abuse, and that it should be viewed as a tragic accident? I heard a fan club was created for me on FreeChat? Haha. I guess I’ll have to pay more attention to my style for the next trial.”
The atmosphere shifted completely.
As though the naive, terrified young man from Act 1 had been a deception, Kim Young-do’s demeanor transformed entirely. He approached the shadow, raising his hand and placing it against it.
“I appreciate your efforts. Please continue your hard work. Hm? You have a question? Of course I’m not the culprit. I told you from the beginning. When I came home, I found my father... my father had collapsed.”
There was a deliberate tremor in his voice, followed by an audible sniffle.
“I don’t know who framed me, but given the dire situation, my lawyer suggested that I confess and plead insanity. My lawyer said he believes in me. Yes. It truly wasn’t me. I’m relying on you. You’re all I have.”
The emotional shift was chilling. It felt as though they were watching a psychopath with exceptional acting skills.
A sense of unease spread through the audience.
Up until Act 1, the audience had sympathized with a young man filled with guilt who, after enduring abuse from his father for over a decade, momentarily lost his sanity and swung a knife.
But what was this feeling of betrayal?
As Act 2 progressed, the sense of betrayal deepened. After being declared innocent on the grounds that prolonged exposure to violence had driven him temporarily insane...
“Hahahahahahaha...”
Kim Young-do’s perfectly radiant laughter reached its climax.
The man before them no longer seemed like the Shin Yoomyeong they knew.
It was terrifying.
In the end, the prosecutor appealed, and Kim Young-do’s dark intentions were revealed during the appellate trial. He had meticulously planned his father’s murder.
However, the fact remained that he had suffered child abuse.
‘You can’t tell what the hell this guy is thinking.’
The victim’s mother looked at her own son with disgust, as though he were an insect. Kim Young-do, already lacking in emotion, deteriorated further under the hatred and abuse of his only blood relative.
The murder was simple and effortless.
As he moved closer to the back wall, the distance between the young man and the shadow narrowed until only a hand’s breadth remained.
The young man swiftly swung the kitchen knife he had hidden behind him, and the blade embedded itself into the shadow.
It created the illusion that the shadow was struggling.
“The defendant is sentenced to life imprisonment.”
The sentence was pronounced upon the young man, who had his back turned to the audience.
His head hung low.
The play ended with Kim Young-do’s peaceful words as he ate in prison.
“The warm rice is delicious.”
It was an ending that implied a life in which he had received only cold meals from his father.
Click—
Yoomyeong switched off the projector and, using the light from his mobile phone, walked over and turned on the hall lights.
Exhale—
The audience released the breath they had been holding.
Yoon Hansung wiped his sweaty palms as well.
How had he memorized the lines from the entire play? What was the source of the lifelike realism that made the character seem alive? What kind of life had he lived?
Countless questions swirled through his mind.
And with those questions came desire.
The desire, as an audience member, to see more works by that actor.
And ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) the growing urge, as an actor himself, to perform alongside him.
Suppressing all those thoughts, he slowly approached the stage.
“Actor Shin Yoomyeong.”
He stared intently at Yoomyeong.
“I made a mistake. Let’s forget the formalities when we’re alone. I only thought of you as a junior, but you’re already an impressive actor.”
The students, having finally regained their composure, burst into applause so intense that their hands began to hurt.
Clap clap clap clap clap clap—
“However, as I expected, I do see a problem. It’s fine for a one act play, but the tension is too high for a full-length performance.”
“...?”
“Your acting is beyond reproach. Everyone probably watched without losing focus, so maybe this criticism is unnecessary, but it’s a little exhausting to watch. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like jumping in place even when you’re standing on solid ground, as though you can’t shake the habit of treading water even after reaching land.”
‘Ah...’
“You’re an actor who commands attention simply by standing still. I wanted to tell you not to try so hard.”
While the other students tilted their heads in confusion, only Yoomyeong understood and nodded gratefully.
“Since it’s the last day, let’s wrap up early and continue our conversations at the after party. Everyone worked hard.”
“Thank you!”
And so, the Oedipus Summer Workshop came to an end.
However, it was not entirely over.
“Could we speak in private?”
At the after party, Hansung asked Yoomyeong for a private conversation.
“...I’m the eldest of two siblings, a boy and a girl. I have a harmonious relationship with my loving parents and a good relationship with my sibling.”
“I see.”
Hansung emptied his shot glass of soju. Yoomyeong picked up the bottle and refilled it.
The Oedipus members occupied a large group table, but the two of them sat separately a short distance away. Yoomyeong glanced toward the group before speaking to Hansung.
“Senior, may I share my perspective?”
“Go ahead.”
“I don’t believe the scope of emotion is determined by experience.”
Hmm...
Hansung hummed as he swallowed another shot. That was exactly what he had wanted to ask.
Shin Yoomyeong was only twenty-three years old. If he had not experienced unbelievable twists in life, then where had such profound emotional expression come from?
“When I open my heart to a character and immerse myself in them, I genuinely feel their emotions. It’s not something I understand by comparing it to my own experiences, but the real emotions I would feel if I were in their place.”
“...”
“That’s why I didn’t particularly like the Emotional Maximization workshop. While it helps awaken emotions by forcing actors to be honest with themselves, digging into trauma can be dangerous.”
“So how do you awaken your emotions?”
Hansung’s tone became noticeably more casual.
“I empty myself. I set aside Shin Yoomyeong, approach the character without prejudice, and open my heart to what it would feel like to be Kim Young-do. I observe similar personalities and gather information to collect emotions.
Then, while reading the script, I sift through the various emotional fragments that arise in each scene, choose the ones that best suit Kim Young-do, and build the character bit by bit. I keep doing that until becoming the character feels natural.”
“That’s a very textbook approach.”
“Fundamental approaches are difficult. But that’s how I was able to create a Kim Young-do who feels authentic to Kim Young-do, rather than a Kim Young-do based on Shin Yoomyeong.”
“...Characters based on Yoon Hansung...”
That had been Hansung’s dilemma.
His emotional expression leaned heavily toward tragedy, and because the foundation of his emotions remained fixed, all of his characters tended to feel similar.
Although he possessed an exceptional ability to evoke sympathy from audiences, leading many people to seek him out, he had gradually begun to sense his limitations as an actor.
‘I thought I couldn’t portray happiness because I rarely felt it, but is the problem actually with the method itself?’
“Even though I didn’t participate in the Emotional Maximization workshop yesterday, today’s performance was no different for me in terms of emotional maximization. Every script shows a moment in a character’s life where emotions are heightened to their peak. Perhaps today was the emotional maximization of Kim Young-do.”
Strangely enough, advice coming from a twenty-three-year-old did not feel out of place. It felt as though he were exchanging thoughts with a fellow actor who had spent a long time contemplating acting.
Today, Yoon Hansung received homework.
It was longer and more difficult than any assignment he had ever given before.
After finishing his private conversation with Yoon Hansung and mingling with the Oedipus members, someone cautiously approached Yoomyeong and spoke to him.
It was Seon Yu-ri.
“Yes?”
“Ah...”
Yu-ri hesitated, unsure how to continue, then hurriedly blurted something out and bowed her head deeply.
“I’m sorry!”
“Pardon?”
“Well... I was rude. I spoke with prejudice without really knowing you. Even afterward, I made things uncomfortable... I’m truly sorry.”
With her ears turning red, Yu-ri, clearly unaccustomed to apologizing, looked oddly adorable as she sincerely expressed her regret.
“Pft... Can I ask you something?”
“...Yes.”
“So, did doing the workshop together help?”
Yu-ri’s entire face turned bright red at Yoomyeong’s teasing.
