About this blog

My name is Jan Creutzenberg and I use this blog to record my research and random thoughts on theatre, music, arts in general, (mostly) related to Korea, as well as my impressions on the various performances I witness here, on stage and beyond.

I first got interested in Korea’s rich theatre scene around 2005, after seeing guest performances as a student in Berlin and Paris. After finishing my MA, I moved to Korea in 2010 to conduct doctoral research on pansori, a Korean singing/storytelling tradition (find out more…), received my PhD in 2017, and have stayed ever since. I worked at Goethe-Institut Korea from 2011 until 2013, then taught German at different schools and universities, and currently work as assistant professor at Ewha Womans University. Besides language classes, I teach about “German” culture, theatre, and Korean-German relations in the arts.

My research focuses on contemporary theatre in Korea, especially on creative uses of tradition, international transfers, exchanges, and interweavings through translation, adaptation, collaboration, as well as the many faces of pansori today. I published and presented on Shakespeare and Brecht in Korea, cultural heritage and performing arts, and more recently also on historical themes (see a list of my publications). Other continuing interests include pansori in Europe (#europansori), performative exchanges between Korea and Germany (#PerfExKG) and German-language drama productions at Korean universities (#collegedrama).

Besides research and teaching, I translate Korean articles and literary texts into German. Since 2019, I teach a course at the Literature Translation Institute Korea. I have also written on Korean culture, theatre, and art for various print and online outlets (see the menu for links and details). You can also find occasional thoughts, links, and performance-related news on Twitter (@JanCreutzenberg).

Provincial Performances: Summer 2019 in Gangwon-do

(Note: This is a draft mostly written in the late summer of 2019, then lying dormant for several years. Now, in 2024, it may serve as a glimpse into pre-pandemic life in the countryside, which hasn’t changed that much, after all.)

Summer is a two-sided sword for friends of theatre. On the one hand, it is festival season. On the other hand, most regular theatres are taking a well-earned break. In Seoul, there are still some things going on in smaller places, but the heat and humidity in August, day and night, makes every step outside a struggle. (The similar small number of performances in January and February is related more to the calendars of public funding than the weather, I believe.)

In the countryside, things are different. The air is better, the evenings fresher, and performances – well, not that easy to find. This year, having returned from IFTR in Shanghai (see my report), I spent late July and August, until the start of the new semester, in Gangwon-do, more specifically in Hongcheon County (홍천군). Two hours away from Seoul, I was reading, writing, editing, pulling grass, and preparing for this year’s pink factory art program, interrupted only by the occasional trip to a nearby temple, the local cinema, or a waterfall in the woods.

There were only a few opportunities to see live music and theatre in the region, five to be exact, and these were quite diverse in content and context. In the following, I will briefly compare these provincial performances, as a way to wrap up the summer, and share a few thoughts on art in the province. (For a list with performance details in Korean, see below.)

1. The Everyone Orchestra

Coming to town to buy some food in late July, we ran into this event by chance, as it turned out to be “citizens’ day” (군민의 날, not to be confused with “soldiers’ day”, 군인의 날!). One of the main streets in Hongcheon was blocked by the police and we could see a stage erected across the road. Later we had a closer look at what was going on: some trot singers warming up the audience. We stayed for the speeches by local politicians, but finally, just as the actual event was about to begin, we had to go, unfortunately. For this year’s citizens day, one thousand citizens of Hongcheon had practised to perform together as a huge orchestra! I couldn’t count, but if the number is true, this is quite a lot — given that the whole county of Hongcheon (홍천군) has about 70,000 inhabitants. There was some press coverage (see Hongcheon News, in Korean), but I could not find a video (except for the warming-up show). I would have loved to hear this experiment, which sounds like community art at its best, a low-level project where virtually everyone can participate.

2. Two Sisters from Seoul

The next opportunity to see a show was two weeks later. Production Domo (문화프로덕션도모) presented a (slightly shortened) adaptation of Jean Genet’s The Maids (Les Bonnes, 하녀들, 연출: 황운기, 출연: 이지현, 원소연). This was a one-time event at the Hongcheon Arts and Culture Center, and while there was no entrance fee I had called earlier to make reservations, right after seeing the information on a banner and then checking the website of the Hongcheon Cultural Foundation (홍천문화재단), one of the sponsors. The auditorium is relatively large and some empty seats remained, but the audience was larger than I expected, also including middle school (?) students and soldiers who had been driven in from nearby camps.

The play was on tour this summer, part of a program called “Culture Sympathy Everywhere” (방방곡곡 문화공감). This is one of several support programs that bring performing arts to schools, retirement homes, or culture centers outside of Seoul, sometimes even to the countryside. (Another program of this sort is “Exciting Arts Tour” 신나는 예술여행 that regularly features pansori performances.) The Maids, for instance, was also shown in Hoengseong, a neighboring county, as well as Gangneung, a city on the Eastern coast of Gangwon-do. It seems that in the case of The Maids the play was made with touring in mind and the director (or the producer?) who introduced the performance mentioned that they had been at the Edinburgh Festival. [Interestingly, another Korean production of The Maids, by MOO SOO Theatre group, was shown at the Edinburgh Fringe in 2023, see a review by Marianna Meloni.] It also turned out that he himself was born in Hongcheon — in this sense a truly glocal stage!

3. Let There Be Rock

A few days later we attended the last day of the newly inaugurated Gangwon Rock Festival, thanks to tickets won on the long-time radio show “Bae Cheol-su’s Music Camp” (배철수 음악캠프, everyday at 6pm on MBC 4U, 91.9 FM). As noted in a preview article, the festival, held in Inje County (인제군), next to Hongcheon, was meant “to revive and boost up our rock music,” with Korean bands as headliners supported by international acts (see a Korea Times article from Aug. 15, 2019)

And so it was. When we arrived in the early afternoon, the party was already in full fledge. Despite the strong sunshine that flooded the open soccer field, a group of fans wielding long flags were dancing while the Japanese band 04 Limited Sazabys rocked the stage. Apart from lights and smoke, the heat was somewhat helped by occasional bursts of water from a line of canons installed in front of the stage.

The acts switched between two venues, the stadium and the adjacent gymnasium. We stayed mostly outside, spread out a picnic blanket, and had a beer in-between. The next band, Namba69, was also from Japan, some classic punk-metal, followed by some ska by Hey-Smith. It was great to see the Japanese musicians engage with the audience, greeting them in Korean and stressing that the ongoing tradewars should not spoil the music. To paraphrase one of the singers: “We’re here to rock!” 

After dinner in town, we returned for the evening acts, first the Scandinavian metal-oldies of Stratovarius. Now that it was dark, the light show, the fireworks, and the stage fog did their job. The Korean band YB, headed by singer Yoon Do-hyun (윤도현), finished the day and the festival. This video gives an impression of the atmosphere:

4. Trot and Tradition from Next Door

We found out about the “One Summer’s Night Seonbi Concert” thanks to a banner we saw in town a few days before. On this Monday, as the sun set, a few dozen people — mostly elderly and kids — had gathered at Hongcheon’s Hyanggyo (향교). Originally a place for the study and ceremonial, seasonal praise of Confucianism by “seonbi” (선비), classical scholars, now a small stage had been erected in front and some rows of plastic chairs invited the audience. When we arrived, local trot singer Lee Jin (이진) was in the middle of some pre-show entertainment. Program sheets were provided on each seat, plus a fan with advertisement for the singer (who sells glasses by day). The program was quite diverse and less traditional than the title suggested: First, six children dressed in hanbok who sang different versions of “Arirang”, accompanied by their teacher, Kim Ok-sun (김옥순). Then several traditional groups (all women), with gayageum byeongchang, more folk songs, and pansori. The pansori performance — the wonderful danga “Sacheol-ga” (Song of the Four Seasons) — was the highlight of the evening and quite peculiar, with Kim Ok-sun and two of her students (I presume) playing together, each self-accompanying herself on the drum. In pansori it is usually one drummer and one singer but sometimes, when lacking a drummer, singers accompany themselves, play drum and sing at the same time. I had never seen a trio like this one, though. Interestingly, there were not many reactions from the audience.

The second part of the show consisted of local trot singers performing playback, first self-appointed “in’gi gasu” Lee Jin, whom we had heard before, then Won Gyeong-mi (원경미), a younger female singer. Both walked among the audience at one point or another, shaking hands, and some kids (and even an elderly man) danced in front of the stage. This were clearly the performances with the most popular appeal. The concert closed with a saxophone orchestra.

5. A Literary Drama

Rather spontaneous we went to Hoengseong (횡성군), another neighboring county, to see a pansori-theatre piece about an episode from colonial history. Yujeong-ae-ga (유정애가), literally “Yujeong’s Love Song” (裕貞愛歌) or, depending on the reading of the underlying Chinese characters, “Yujeong’s Sad Song” (裕貞哀歌), focuses on the odd relationship between Kim Yujeong (김유정, 1908–37), a modernist writer from Chuncheon, another city in Gangwon-do, and the famous pansori master singer Pak Nokju (박녹주), with other writers of that era, such as Yi Sang (이상, 1910–37), aka Kim Hae-gyeong (김해경, his birth name) as supporting characters. These are relatively well-known historical characters, but the anti-romantic plot is, as a projection announces, “30% fact and 70% fiction”. Yujeong falls in love after seeing Pak Nokju perform and starts stalking her, without much success but much irritation on part of his colleagues and drummer Cheon (천고수), confidant of the master singer. And thus the love story, failed to doom, evolves…

The performance, while sparkling with popular elements (tap dance, gags etc.), also featured quite a lot of pansori singing, sometimes as performance-in-performance. In fact, the ongoing complication between on- and off-stage music was a very interesting aspect of this performance. At one point, the “drummer” came towards the audience to borrow a drum from the (off-stage) drummer who was sitting with the other musicians in the first row. I knew the on-stage drummer by reputation, it was Lee Il-gyu (이일규, bowing on the photo below), a member of the legendary Ttorang Gwangdae (또랑 광대). This group, active in the early 2000s, had created new pansori pieces based on real life for contemporary audiences (see their manifesto).

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While vastly different, these five performances had one thing in common: I attended them all for free (in the case of the Gangwon Rock Festival by chance). This is not uncommon even for gugak performances in Seoul, but all in all it seems that rural performance is in search of an audience. Some events respond by bringing music to the people, so to speak. [Pink Factory’s street theatre project “Granny’s Distant Place”, a collaboration that took place the following year, would essentially do the same.  And mime Yu Jin Gyu would perform a Corona release ritual right in Hongcheon’s Central Market in 2021 as part of the Gangwon Triennale]

From touring theatre to concerts by local artists, the dynamics of movement are important to all these events. They are all, in a way, inward-bound, though. The Rock Festival is meant to bring tourists to Gangwon-do, theatre that has been shown abroad is meant to draw in local crowds – and if in doubt, soldiers from the many nearby camps are sent, too. Whether artsy or popular, touristic or rooted in local communities, the performances demonstrate both the diversity of efforts to establish a cultural life in the province, but also show their limits.

There is an occasional theatre performance at Hongcheon Art and Culture Center (plus magic, concerts, and other events), trot star Lee Jin keeps on singing, and Kim Ok-sun sang pansori last year for Pink Factory’s “Hongcheon Crossing” exhibition opening. The Gangwon Rock Festival’s webpage linked above, for instance, is down. But then again, I haven’t spend as much time there as I did during the high tides of the pandemic but hope to return this summer for an extended stay, including some performances…

Suggested reading: A Masters thesis by Hur Ju Mi (허주미, 동국대학교 2018; in Korean) on ensemble Tuida (공연창작집단 뛰다), a theatre group based in nearby Hwacheon County (화천군). I wrote on their production “Hamlet Cantabile” a while ago and they seem to continue performing in Hwacheon County, as well as elsewhere.

— 27 July; 14, 18, 26, 31 Aug. 2019 (土 水 日 月 土)

1. 1000人 홍천 Festival, 홍천 읍내, 2019년 7월 27일 (토) 오후.
   1000 Persons Hongcheon Festival, Hongcheon Town, July 27, 2019 (Sat.).
2. 하녀들, 홍천예술문화회관, 2019년 8월 14일 (수), 오후 7시반, 원작: 장 주네, 각색/연출: 황운기, 출연: 이지현, 원소연.
   Hanyeo-deul [The Maids] (Hongcheon Yesul Munhwa Hoegwan [Hongcheon Art and Culture Center], Aug. 14, 2019 (Wed.).
3. 강원 락 페스티벌, 인제 잔디구장 및 소양강변 일대, 2019년 8월 16~18일 (금~일).
   Gangwon Rock Festival, Inje-gun, Aug. 16–18, 2019 (Fri.–Sun.).
4. 한 여름밤의 선비 음악회, 홍천 향교, 2019년 8월 26일, 오후 7시 (월).
   Han Yeoreumbam-ui Seonbi-Eumak-hoe [One Summer’s Night Seonbi Concert] (Hongcheon Hyanggyo, Aug. 26, 2019)
5. 유정애가, 횡성문화예술회관, 2019년 8월 31일 (토), 오후 6시, 작/연출: 장태준, 출연: 김지희, 이일규, 정수석, 장학철, 윤국중, 제작: 예술단 농음.
   Yujeong-ae-ga [Yujeong’s Love Song] (Hoengseong Yesul Munhwa Hoegwan [Hoengseong Art and Culture Center], Aug. 31, 2019)

RIP René Pollesch (1962-2024)

The news about German playwright-director René Pollesch’s sudden death at the age of 61 on February 26, 2024, hit hard – not only the theatre scene but the whole cultural sphere in Germany and beyond.

Ich schau dir in die Augen, gesellschaftlicher Verblendungszusammenhang! (Seoul, 2012)

Since then, countless obituaries – with the title of Pollesch’s latest and last play, Ja nichts ist ok (“Yes nothing is okay”), as the obvious tagline – have been published in German media (see nachtkritik.de for an overview). Actor Fabian Hinrichs, one of his frequent collaborators, even called for an embargo on obituaries (“Why not one month, two month, one year later?”).

For English-readers, these two articles – a longer one in the New York Times, a shorter one in the Guardian – sum up the most important information on his humble background (his “caretaker father” is mentioned regularly, his house wive mother only in a few articles), his productive life (from early work in Gießen, Frankfurt, Zürich etc. to his long, briefly interrupted tenure at Volksbühne Berlin), and his ambiguous, large but unreplayable heritage. (For a more academic take on his earlier work, see, for instance, David Barnett, “Political theatre in a shrinking world: René Pollesch’s postdramatic practices on paper and on stage”, Contemporary Theatre Review 16.1 (2006): 31–40, https://doi.org/10.1080/10486800500450957.)

Ein sehr trauriger Tag.
Adieu, René Pollesch. pic.twitter.com/jDxuSYQ5mm

— Kristin Becker (@kbecker) February 27, 2024

If I count correctly, I have seen two of Pollesch’s works, one while studying theatre in Berlin (as part of a seminar), another one in Seoul (as part of a job, which was writing the announcement for Goethe-Institut Korea’s website, and checking the Korean translation).

Of the first one, I don’t recall much more than the title,  Pablo in der Plusfiliale, “Plus” (an acronym of “Prima leben und sparen”, i.e. “live great and save”) referring to a supermarket chain, as seen in the photo below. Of course, there was no supermarket set on stage and no “Pablo” to be seen. Fragments of “discourse-shit” (not my words), such as “integrating one’s sexuality” or “terminating the contract” reappeared in recurring loops, with on-stage dancing and karaoke providing time-outs. This was a rather typical Pollesch-play of that era.

 

 

More memorable than this performance was René Pollesch’s appearance in a series of talks with practitioners, a refreshing addition to our mostly theoretical curriculum. One particular statement he made stuck with me: He talked about a scene in which a black actor is body-checked for drugs on stage (I’m not sure if he was referring to a concrete production or if this was a made-up example). The point he made was that the re-enactment of violence in this scene – whether intended as critique or not – was also a reproduction of violence.

As far as I know, René Pollesch (usually spelled 르네 폴레쉬, sometimes 폴리슈) had never been to Korea. Ich schau dir in die Augen, gesellschaftlicher Verblendungszusammenhang! (2010, trailer on Vimeo), his first collaborative monodrama with actor Fabian Hinrichs, had been invited to open Festival Bo:m in spring 2011 but was cancelled following the Fukushima disaster. I saw it the following year, on March 22, 2012, but Pollesch himself had not come.

Ich schau dir in die Augen, gesellschaftlicher Verblendungszusammenhang! (Seoul, 2012)

This guest performance was a highlight of my time at Goethe-Institut Seoul, during which “postdramatic theatre” (포스트드라마 연극) played a quite important role. Hans-Thies Lehmann’s eponymous 1999 classic was published in Korean translation (2013, as 포스트드라마 연극, translated by 김기란) and She She Pop visited two times, once with their fathers, once without)

The Korean title is as long as the German one (현혹의 사회적 맥락이여: 당신의 눈동자에 건배를), which translates to “Here’s Looking at You, Social Context of Delusion”, and I remember vividly discussing possible alternative translations (even though the title seems to have been fixed already the year before). In my notes from back then, I further dwell in the intricacies of the title:

The English translation of this historical [?] title is ambivalent. International festivals use Here’s Looking at You, Social Context of Delusion!, which is orthodox both with regard to Casablanca and Adorno. An academic article uses Looking You in the Eyes, Social Context of Deception, dropping both references in favor of a more poignant (yet apocryphal) translation of the Adornian term “Verblendung”. How about: Social Glare of Blindness, (Have a) Look at Me, where the reversed subject acknowledges what seems like a Freudian slip common in German renderings of the famous quote (“Schau mir in die Augen, Kleines…”) but, according to Wikipedia, is based on an early German dubbing.

Regardless of the title, seeing Fabian Hinrichs criss-cross the stage, a one-man band on speed, with his text slipping by in Korean translation, was an intense experience. And reading actors, critics, and other theatre people reminisce about Pollesch and his way of working, now, I wish I had seen more of his work.

Given that René Pollesch’s plays are not available for restaging by others, there is some possibility that they will disappear from stage. But if his legacy remains alive and his plays continue to be played, there might be a slim chance of seeing his work in Korea again. Until then, rest in peace and here’s looking at you!

Ich schau dir in die Augen, gesellschaftlicher Verblendungszusammenhang! (Seoul, 2012)

 

 

— 26 Feb. 2024 (月)

Understanding Korean Names

On the occasion of proofing Korean names and terminology in the forthcoming Routledge Companion to Performance-Related Concepts in Non-European Languages (edited by Erika Fischer-Lichte, Torsten Jost & Astrid Schenka), a huge tome with keywords in six languages and concepts from three continents (forthcoming later this year), I thought a guide on Korean names might be helpful for those who do not speak or read Korean (and don’t plan to learn) yet want to deal with Korean artists, scholars, or others in a respectful and informed way.

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Korean names are not overly complicated but can come in various forms when romanized, (i.e. rendered in latin letters). The first step to get a grip of them is to distinguish between given and family name, though.

First, there are not that many Korean family names. For someone named, for instance, Kim Dae-jung 김대중 (or Dae-jung Kim, for that matter), Lee Chang-dong 이창동, or Park Chan-wook 박찬욱, it is obvious that Kim, Lee, and Park – the most common surnames – are the respective family names. These three family names alone cover about 50% of all South Koreans and appear thus frequently in literature, politics, media, and other contexts. Their romanized spelling might slightly vary, however, For instance, Lee 이, which according to official romanization rules would be I, could also be written “Yi”, as which it appears more often in historical texts, “Rhee”, as in Syngman Rhee 이승만, “Yee”, as in Yee Sookyung 이수경, or in other ways. Park 박 (officially: Bak) is by far the most common spelling but also appears occasionally as “Pak” or “Bac”. Kim 김 (officially: Gim) is rarely spelled otherwise.

This word cloud shows the 47 most frequent names, find a list of them below:

Second, most Korean given names contain three syllables, one for the family name (almost all of which are monosyllabic) and two for the given name. In many cases, the given name is written as one word, especially in cases where one syllable consists of one letter only (like Lee Ufan, 이우환), or both syllables are linked by a hyphen (e.g. Bong Joon-ho 봉준호). Very rarely, in-word capitalization is used to distinguish the two syllables, as in JeongMee Yoon 윤정미, which is often overseen, especially when the whole name is capitalized. And Kimsooja 김수자 is, to my knowledge a quite unique case.) Sometimes, all three syllables are written separately, in which case the family could be the first or the last syllable, because…

Third, while the usual Korean name order (like in many countries) is family before given name (which, consequently, isn’t really a “first name”), many people use the “Western” order (as seen in some examples above). Identifying the family name is usually no problem, though, because besides Kim, Lee, and Park, there are only a relatively small number of more or less frequent ones. The following family names, less than 50 that together represent more than 100,000 individuals (of about 50 Mio. South Koreans in total) each, are listed in order of frequency, according to a 2015 census by KOSIS, the Korean Statistical Information Service. I used the most common spelling, according to my experience, here, with the official romanization, if different, added in parentheses:

1. 김 Kim [Gim]
2. 이 Lee [I / Yi]
3. 박 Park [Bak]
4. 최 Choi [Choe]
5. 정 Jung [Jeong]
6. 강 Kang [Gang]
7. 조 Cho [Jo]
8. 윤 Yoon [Yun]
9. 장 Jang
10. 임 Lim [Im]
11. 한 Han
12. 오 Oh [O]
13. 서 Suh [Seo]
14. 신 Shin [Sin]
15. 권 Kwon [Gwon]
16. 황 Hwang
17. 안 Ahn [An]
18. 송 Song
19. 전 Jun [Jeon]
20. 홍 Hong
21. 유 Yoo [Yu]
22. 고 Koh [Go]
23. 문 Moon [Mun]
24. 양 Yang
25. 손 Son
26. 배 Bae
27. 백 Baek
28. 허 Hur [Heo]
29. 남 Nam
30. 심 Shim [Sim]
31. 노 Roh [No]
32. 하 Ha
33. 곽 Kwak [Gwak]
34. 성 Sung [Seong]
35. 차 Cha
36. 주 Choo [Ju]
37. 우 Woo [U]
38. 구 Kooh [Gu]
39. 민 Min
40. 류 Ryu
41. 나 Na
42. 진 Chin [Jin]
43. 지 Chi [Ji]
44. 엄 Um [Eom]
45. 채 Chae
46. 원 Won
47. 천 Chun [Cheon]

Game: Taking turns naming Korean politicians (or classical musicians, or whatever category), adding up the rank numbers as score – whoever gets the most points wins (any name not on the list can be considered worth 48 points).

So name order shouldn’t be an obstacle, though sometimes things get tricky. The novelist Han Kang 한강, for instance, has a one-syllable given name (Kang) that is also a common family name. Often when browsing book stores in Germany, I find her novels under “K”, when it should be “H”. Philosopher Byung-chul Han 한병철 (who shares his family name with Han Kang, though both are probably not related), in contrast, can be found under “H” (in the philosophy section) – I don’t remember any misplacements. Even a large German weekly, in a feature that addressed authors of world literature by their given name (already highly questionable), referred to her as “Han”, which is odd in more than one way.

https://x.com/JanCreutzenberg/status/1220487502076747779?s=20

But in most cases figuring out the family name is no big deal. Pronunciation can sometimes be difficult, though, especially if the romanization is idiosyncratic. Consider Nam June Paik 백남준, the “father of video art”, for instance: The first word, “Nam”, could theoretically be his family name, but in fact it is “Paik”, or rather “Baek”, following standard romanization (Nam and Baek are almost similar in frequency, but June Baek, or Jun-baek, sounds less probable as a first name.) I won’t go into detail on pronunciation here, but “Nam June” is pronounced quite straightforward, like “nun” with an “m” and like the sixth month. Paik, however, isn’t like “pike” (as in, say, “turnpike”), but rather “back” (like in “I’ll be back).

Two more possible fall traps: First, it can be tricky or even impossible to deduce the gender of a person from their name. Some syllables are, depending on the underlying Chinese character, considered more male (like “yong 용 龍”, which can mean “dragon”, for instance) or more female (e.g. those that end in “-suk 숙 淑”, meaning “pure”, “good”) – I didn’t mention it yet but most names are based (and can be written) in Chinese characters, which contain a mostly allegorical meaning. In many cases it’s best to check or, in a mail correspondence, use the full name.

Also, in Korea, people don’t change their family names when marrying. The children get the father’s name; even though there’s a small trend towards acknowledging the maternal line, too, which results in double family names, still rarely seen, though. That means that the husband of a “Mrs. Kim” is almost never a “Mr. Kim”.

All in all, even though Korean names and how they are written in Latin letters (and pronounced, more in a later post) might seem complicated at times, most cases are not. Unfamiliarity or some odd conventions should be no obstacle to address or write about people in fitting ways. I hope this short guide is of some help towards this goal.

— n.t.

From Localization to Co-Production: Rimini Protokoll in Korea

On the occasion of planning a seminar on (German-language) documentary theatre, I thought that collecting what I know about the activities of Rimini Protokoll in Korea, one of the most representative current collectives in this field, might be a good idea (even though they might not call their work “documentary”, and what does that mean anyway?).

The productions of Stefan Kaegi, Helgard Haug, and Daniel Wetzel, who work together or in various constellations under the collective label “Rimini Protokoll” (rendered in Korean as 리미니 프로토콜), are diverse and go beyond what most would consider “proper” theatre. They cast amateurs (or rather “non-actors”), regular people also known as “experts of the everyday”, who use their professional skills to perform themselves and talk about their experiences in a specific field. Many early productions were composed around a certain theme, such as the death industry in Deadline (Haug / Kaegi / Wetzel, 2003), with a funeral speaker, a funeral musician, a stone mason etc., or the legal system in Zeugen! ein Strafkammerspiel (Haug / Kaegi / Wetzel, 2004), featuring a lawyer, a lay judge, a courtroom attendant, and others.

Some productions take place outside of the theatre, in the form of walks, or in the borderland between inside and outside, like Torero Portero (Kaegi, 2001), where we, sitting in a lobby, see across a display window three concierges (porteros) from Córdoba perform on the street Other productions actively involve the audience (more on that later). The themes tackled are timely, sometimes documentary, sometimes based on pre-existing dramatic or non-dramatic texts, always thought-provoking and memorable. Many theatre productions saw another day as radio plays, putting the focus on the stories and experiences told, yet all of Rimini Protokoll’s works deal – in one way or another – with the theatricality of social life, too. Every court is a stage and the graveyard serves as setting of our last acts.

Their earliest specifically dealing with Korea is Black Tie (Haug / Wetzel, 2008), in which the stage is offered to journalist and South Korean adoptee Miriam Stein, who discusses and performs her search for roots. This insightful and moving solo show about a highly personal theme (here is an earlier post, including a link to a full video) was not shown in Korea, but Rimini Protokoll certainly are no strangers there.

Rimini Protokoll is well-known in South Korea, not only in theatre circles but also in the art world, thanks to several appearances in exhibitions, for instance with screenings of 100% Gwangju and 100% Amsterdam as part of the Nam June Paik Art Center 10th Anniversary Commemorative Exhibition “#Art #Commons #NamJunePaik” in 2018 (see photo below). Earlier – maybe for the first time in Korea? – their “intercontinental phone play” Call Cutta in a Box (콜 커타 인 어 박스, Haug / Kaegi / Wetzel, 2008) was part of the “Now Jump”-festival at Nam June Paik Art Center (백남준 아트센터) in 2008. Most recently, the jellyfish installation win > < win (Kor. 승 > < 승, Haug / Kaegi / Wetzel, 2017) waas shown at the Museum of Contemporary Art Busan (부산현대미술관) in the exhibition “Posteriority” (그 후, 그 뒤, Oct. 29, 2021–March 1, 2022), in cooperation with a local aquarium and voice-over provided by musical singer Zev Choi (최재림, see an interview video on Youtube) .

Video installation of 100% Gwangju, Nam June Paik Art Center, 2018

Besides art exhibitions, I know of three times that full-scale productions by Rimini Protokoll where shown in Korea:

Karl Marx: Capital, Volume One (2009)

In 2009, Karl Marx: Capital, Volume One (Karl Marx: Das Kapital, Erster Band, 칼카를 마르크스: 자본론 제1권, Haug / Wetzel, 2006) was invited to Seoul for Festival Bo:m. I wasn’t in Korea at that time and couldn’t see it myself, but there are two peculiarities about this guest performance that I can glance from archival material: First, an “Asian version” of the stage set is mentioned (produced first for a guest performance in Japan the month before in Tokyo, which is, as Rimini Protokoll’s website notes, an “adapted version”). Comparing a five-minute archival video (DA-Arts) with photos and videos from performances elsewhere, I  could not find distinct differences. I assume that the original stage set was just too heavy to send to Asia (other guest performances took place throughout Europe only) and had to be recreated in Japan.

screenshot from Karl Marx, Capital, Volume One, Seoul (March 28, 2009, via DA-Arts)

 

 

screenshot from Karl Marx, Capital, Volume One, presumably Berlin, HAU2 (2007, via Vimeo)

Second, Gang Shin Joon (강신준), first Korean translator of Marx’ Capital, was included in the cast (his name is mentioned – in bold – in the festival program in the Korean description of the production but does not appear in the cast list). In the video, we see Gang reading quotes from his Korean translation of The Capital (자본, 도서출판 길, other translators also used 자본론, lit. “Capital Theory”), usually spoken by another performer, economist and Marx-expert Thomas Kucynski (1944–2023) in German.

Karl Marx’ Capital in Gang Shin Joon’s translation

The Korean text is also shown on a projection screen, but as Gang highlights the (Korean) page number in question (p. 845, the book he is referring to is volume I-2, with a Manet painting on the cover, see photo), it seems audience members have their own books, too, like the Reclam books distributed in the German performance. Apparently, Gang was added as another on-stage translator, with Franziska Zwerg (Russian-German translator) is also present. Gang is thus included in the cast both as an expert on the subject matter, as well as a mediator for the Korean audience.

100% Gwangju (2014)

The next time Rimini Protokoll was in Korea was in 2014, but this time not in Seoul (as all others), but in Gwangju, way in the south of the peninsula. Before opening, the Asia Culture Center (국립아시아문화전당) there had commissioned a production of the “100% City”-format, which led to 100% Gwangju (100% 광주, Haug / Kaegi / Wetzel). Originally conceived in Berlin (100% Berlin premiered in 2008, I saw the anniversary remake 100% Berlin Reloaded on a student trip in 2020), this format features 100 demographically selected citizens of the respective city who share the stage to perform their own demographics, experiences, and opinions, acting as representatives – in the case of Gwangju, 14,169 each.

100% Gwangju (2014), photo: Ahn Gab Joo

100% Gwangju was a huge, production, headed and coordinated in Gwangju by Soo-eun Lee (이수은), took five months of preparations, which included, like in all other cities, what must have been a complicated process of gathering the 100 performers:

100% Gwangju began with the casting of one member who had to recruit another in 24 hours, who then recruited another and so on – all according to specific criteria of age, gender, household type, geography and ethnicity mirroring the demographic make-up of Korea’s 6th biggest city

100% Gwangju (2014), photo: Ahn Gab Joo

The final production was shown two times in Gwangju, as well as two more times at the National Theater in Seoul. A full video with English subtitles can been seen online (Vimeo).

100% Gwangju (2014), photo: Ahn Gab Joo

The “100% City”-series is product of a globalizing theatre and festival culture, as well as possibly Rimini Protokoll’s most popular concept (in the same year 2014, it was produced in Darwin, Brussels, Paris, Riga, Philadelphia, and Amsterdam), yet the most locally-rooted one, too. It is an outside look on the city of Gwangju and, in some ways, South Korea as a whole by insiders who both present and represent their place of residence.

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Stefan Kaegi, after a screening of Uncanny Valley (2021, via 가상 정거장 Facebook page)

A screening (apparently) of a recording of Uncanny Valley (언캐니 밸리, Kaegi, 2018), a lecture by a cybernetic copy of German novelist Thomas Melle, took place at Virtual Station (가상정거장) on March 13, 2020. The event concluded with a (fittingly) virtual live talk with Stefan Kaegi (Youtube). In the midst of the pandemic, Kaegi was happy to hear applause – if only on record from the past, by the audience of the Munich Kammerspiele premiere that had been shown. His mention was, of course, followed by applause from the (Korean) live audience.

Conference of the Absent (2022)

In 2022, I had the chance to see Rimini Protokoll myself here (or not?) for the first time, at the Seoul Performing Arts Festival (서울국제공연예술제): Conference of the Absent (Konferenz der Abwesenden, 부재자들의 회의, Haug / Kaegi / Wetzel, 2021) is, like “100% City”, an internationally acclaimed and heavily touring, yet slightly simpler format. It consists of a series of talks, some 10–15 minutes each, presented in a standardized stage design (couch, plant, Hamlet’s skull etc.) on topics that relate to absence in the widest sense (from phantom limbs to undercover spies). The speakers are not present, though, and spectators stand in for them, speaking from their scripts or in-ear recordings, produced in the local language by local theatre staff, in the case of Korea listed as Gyohee Baek (백교희, assistant director), Yeonhee Cho (조연희, anchor voice), and Un-chul Baek, Ranhee Baek (백운철, 백란희, in-ear voice). An experiment in “remote directing”, no actor has to travel for this production, yet the experience of live “ghost-speakers” is also different from the virtual conferences via Zoom we have become accustomed to. A supercut of footage from various locations can be seen online (Vimeo).

https://www.tumblr.com/gongso/698905807444672512/2022-10-23-%EB%A6%AC%EB%AF%B8%EB%8B%88-%ED%94%84%EB%A1%9C%ED%86%A0%EC%BD%9C-%EB%B6%80%EC%9E%AC%EC%9E%90%EB%93%A4%EC%9D%98-%ED%9A%8C%EC%9D%98-%EB%8C%80%ED%95%99%EB%A1%9C%EC%98%88%EC%88%A0%EA%B7%B9%EC%9E%A5

For me, the talk by Holocaust-survivor Solomon “Sally” Perel, who told (embodied by a volunteer) his story of pretending to be “Hitler youth” while disappearing as a jew, was the most impressive one and a welcome throwback to his visit at my high school some 25 years ago. Even though it was not his own voice we heard (and in Korean), it was nice to know that this great speaker was still alive (sadly, as I just found out, he passed away soon after in early 2023). 

The impersonation of speakers by various local volunteers worked quite well in our case, though I heard from students who visited another performance, that most volunteers were acting majors, a funny twist on the concept of non-actors. In any case, by widening the focus from representation to presence itself, the production offers much food for thought and as a methodological tool might be an interesting way to reduce travel to academic conferences, too.

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Most recently, a revival of sorts of Karl Marx: Capital, Volume One was shown as part of the Ob/Scene Festival (Nov. 21–22, 2023, Kim Hee-su Art Space). Described as a lecture performance meant as a retrospective look on what happened since 2009, the 90-minute event featured three persons – besides Gang Shin Joon, the veteran translator who participated in the 2009 performance, singer-activist Chora Chorion (초라 초륜, on Medium and Bandcamp) and theatre maker Yoon Hansol (윤한솔) of ensemble Green Pig (극단 그린피그). As the show was sold out quickly, I didn’t have a chance to hear more about Rimini Protokoll’s stage debut in Seoul, unfortunately.

Karl Marx: Capital, Volume One (lecture performance), photo by 정길우, via Facebook

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Korean-language bibliography on Rimini Protokoll

There is much to read on Rimini Protokoll (see a list of books on their homepage, many more research articles have been published, too, in German, English, and other languages), and during the last years, Korean academics have contributed various journal articles, some of which are listed here (Latin spellings of names and title translations are by the authors; the links often provided English or German abstracts; I haven’t checked for book chapters, reviews, or other writings yet):

• 김형기 (Kim, Hyung-Ki), “일상의 퍼포먼스화 – 혹은 뉴 다큐멘터리 연극 – 리미니 프로토콜의 연출작업을 중심으로” (Die Performativierung des Alltags – oder das neue Dokumentartheater – unter der besonderen Berücksichtigung der Inszenierungsarbeit von ‘Rimini Protokoll’), 헤세연구 24 (2010): 339–361. (link)
• 김성희, “극단 리미니 프로토콜과 다큐멘터리 연극” (Rimini Protokoll und das dokumentarische Theater), 브레히트와 현대연극 25 (2011): 141–165.
• 유봉근 (Bong Keun Yoo), “독일 예술경영과 문화민주주의 – ‘리미니 프로토콜’을 중심으로” (Kunstmanagement und Kulturdemokratie in Deutschland unter besonderer Berücksichtigung von “Rimini Protokoll”), 독일언어문학 70 (2015): 431–454. doi: 10.30947/zfdsl.2015..70.431 (link)
• 김정숙 (Kim, Jeong Suk), “의료인문학 분야의 다큐멘터리 연극 활용가능성에 대한 시론 – 리미니프로토콜 (Rimini Protokoll)을 중심으로” (Utilization of Rimini Protokolls documentary theatre in the Medical Humanities), 한국연극학 56 (2015): 375–406. doi: 10.18396/ktsa.2015.1..011 (link)
• 이예은, “‘포스트-브레히트’ 연극의 환원불가능성 구현 – 리미니 프로토콜의 <100% 광주>를 중심으로” (Study on the Realizing of Non-Reductionism in Post-Brechtian Plays – Focusing on <100% Gwangju> of Rimini Protokoll), 한국연극학 62 (2017): 185–210. doi: 10.18396/ktsa.2017.1.62.006
• 임형진 (Im Hyoung-jin), “과학혁명과 연극 패러다임의 변환 – 타자의 정체성과 몸의 반증가능성 -리미니 프로토콜<블랙 타이 Black Tie>(2008)” (Scientific Revolutions and Transformation of Theatre Paradigm -Identity of the Other and Falsifiablity of the Body – Rimini Protokoll’s < Black Tie >(2008)), 드라마 연구 55 (2018): 67–96. doi: 10.15716/dr.2018..55.67 (link)
• 백영주 (Baik, Youngju), “포스트 프로덕션으로서 현실주의 연극－리미니 프로토콜의 <죽음 뒤에 남는 것－아무도 없는 방>과 <상황실>의 체계성” (Reality of Theater as Postproduction Phase – Structural Analysis on Rimini Protokoll’s Nachlass – Pièces sans personnes and Situation Rooms: A multi player video piece), 한국연극학 73 (2020): 147–186. doi: 10.18396/ktsa.2020.1.73.005 (link)
• 백영주(Baik, Youngju), “안드로이드 연극 <언캐니 벨리>의 사이성 – 메타시스로서 현실주의 연극” (In-betweenness of Theater as Metaxis: Rimini Protokoll’s Android Performance Uncanny Valley), 한국연극학 81 (2022): 205–246. doi: 10.18396/ktsa.2022.1.81.006 (link)

— 22 Nov. 2023 (水)

Korean information on the works shown in Korea:

• 리미니 프로토콜, 카를 마르크스 자본론 제1권, 아르코예술극장 대극장, 2009년 3월 27~28일, 페스티벌 봄.
• 리미니 프로토콜, 100% 광주, 2014년 5월 19~20일, 광주문화예술회관 대극장, 2014년 5월 26~27일, 국립극장 해오름극장.
• 리미니 프로토콜, 부재자들의 회의, 대학로예술극장 소극장, 2022년 10월 20~23일, 서울국제공연예술제. (link)
• 리미니 프로토콜, 칼 마르크스: 자본론 제1권 (렉처 퍼포먼스), 김희수아트센터 Space 1, 2023년 11월 21~22일, 옵/신 페스티벌. (link)

Three Visits to Hongcheon: Long Distance Views on Pink Factory’s 2023 Project “Hongcheon Crossing”

The following notes on Pink Factory’s recent art residency project “Hongcheon Crossing: Long Distance Short Cuts of Life” (홍천횡단: 생동의 축지법) are a preview of the bilingual catalogue (in print now), where the text will appear alongside many other writings as well as photos of the art works and the project as a whole. Even though I couldn’t participate very much in person this time, and saw most of the project unfold only from a distance, the resulting exhibition (and the opening rooftop concert) were memorable – and offered many new perspectives on life in Hongcheon, Gangwon-do, and peripheral regions in general.

Three Visits to Hongcheon

Before wondering how to cross Hongcheon, the more pressing issue is: Why cross Hongcheon? The obvious answer: Because it takes too long to go around. But Hongcheon is more than a stopover or a transit zone leading somewhere else. It is a space of living, a place for dwelling, a somewhere in and of itself.

During Pink Factory’s 2023 project, I spent most of the time working in Seoul and got to know the artists’ ongoing work merely by translating their statements and reading their notes online. But for three times I went to Hongcheon myself and here is what I experienced:

1. The bus ride to Hongcheon may take less than one hour if traffic flows. But soon after leaving the bridges and riverside highways of Seoul behind, driving between mountains, through one tunnel after another, until being dropped off on the curb at the central bus terminal, one slowly feels like going to another world.

Everything is slower here. Taking my time, I slowly walk towards the central market, up the stairs onto the empty rooftop, then into the air-conditioned recreation room where my short presentation on selected art works from Pink Factory’s archives is supposed to start soon. Some artists are chilling while others still explore the town, the staff is playing ping pong. After setting everything up, I take a step outside.

All of a sudden, out of nowhere, some bicycles appear. Criss-crossing over the grey rooftop glimmering in the sun, they approach me. I see familiar faces coming to a stop.

2. Three weeks later, on the eve of the exhibition’s opening, I return to Hongcheon. I have seen what the artists have been doing only online. Their excursions and explorations, their mingling and night-time beers, their occasional missteps and mistranslations, their conflicts and collaborations, appeared as posts in a shared chat room and on social media.

As I approach the market, electric guitar riffs are blasting from the rooftop, the whole neighborhood is vibrating. Black Air is setting up instruments for their concert. Over at the exhibition space, the rooms are filled with art and people, making it difficult to see everything and looking closer at anything.

Outside again, the weather is changing, some raindrops are in the air, when all of a sudden someone points to the clouds. A double-rainbow has formed, crossing the greyish sky, bridging all of Hongcheon, possibly the whole Korean peninsula.

3. It is October now, leaves are falling and the exhibition is about to conclude. This time, I have a chance to take a closer look at the different works on display.

Even though the artists are gone, much is going on between the folded white walls and the separate spaces they form. There are sounds to hear, masks to wear, buttons to press, canvases in all sizes, moving images and images I have to set in motion myself. Periodically, a karaoke version of the K-pop song “Super Shy” by New Jeans tunes in, whenever Kang Youngmean’s travelogue video comes to an end.

Exhibition “Hongcheon Crossing”, installlation view with art works by Bae MiJung (painting), Jeon Suhyun (installation), Marian Wailb (mask)

Within the white-walled limits of the exhibition space, the experiences of twelve artists compress and condense. It is the end of a long distance trip, the final destination their zig-zagging travels both within town limits and across the county lead to. Their emotions culminate, if not in a fixed image, maybe in an atmosphere set on repeat, mixed feelings of distance and connectedness, turning tables and moving memories, gazes through pink glasses and dark masks, self-expression and self-doubt. Will their art(s) leave a mark in the landscape of Hongcheon? On the streets they walked, on the hills they climbed? Will people remember them dancing in the park? Only time will tell.

Time flows differently in Hongcheon, but it does not stop altogether. “Hongcheon Crossing” is about magical movement, but we can only take one step at a time. Strolling the streets, taking back alleys, haunting abandoned houses, or even following the steep path up never-ending mountains. There are many ways to cross a country, a county, a city, or a street. In Hongcheon, even when traveling by magical means, there are neither short cuts nor emergency exit.

— 2 September, 23 September, 21–22 October 2023 (土, 土, 土~日)

Singing & Sharing Time Together: Performative Perspectives on Noraebang-Culture

This is an addendum with bibliographic information on my paper “Singing & Sharing Time Together: Performative Perspectives on Noraebang-Culture”, (to be) presented at the conference Eolssigu, Jota! Sinmyeong Nanda! The Creative and Transformative Spirit of Korean Music (participation via Zoom), part of the Perspectives on Contemporary Korea-series hosted by the Nam Center of Korean Studies at University of Michigan, Ann Arbor. I’m participating online in this hybrid conference, which also features many artist talks and performances – it would have been a blast to be there in person, obviously!

My paper is a further developed follow-up to the one on noraebang (“song-room”, i.e. “karaoke-box”) I presented at the Microtopoi-conference this summer. Below is the abstract, followed by a bibliography of references mentioned:

Jan Creutzenberg (Ewha Womans University)

Singing and Sharing Time Together: Performative Perspectives on Noraebang-Culture

Karaoke culture has quickly expanded beyond Japan since its invention in the 1970s. Meanwhile in South Korea, the noraebang (lit. “song-room”) – a smaller version with separate rooms – is usually rented among peers for communal sing-along fun, rather than a public stage performance. Like the karaoke stage, entrance and exit to the norae-bang appear to be voluntary, but social codes and conventions enforce participation to different degrees. With the introduction of the single-user coin norae-bang, this semi-private space for musical interaction is differentiating further.

Though part of a more general “bang-culture” that permeates South Korean society since the advent of modernity, the noraebang stands out with its focus on communal interaction. Given the trend towards contact-free interactions, the face-to-face setting of a noraebang may seem outdated, yet offers opportunities of co-presence and joint creation that have become rare and precious. How does the constricted space, dominated by a screen, affect behavior? What parts of the noraebang-experience cannot be substituted in online environments? And why is the noraebang bound to stay in an increasingly virtual world?

Drawing on performance theory and artistic depictions, this paper attempts to conceptualize noraebang culture as affording potentially liminal experiences, between communication, consumption, and recreation. Expanding on discourses on global karaoke practice, usually understood as expression of individual identity or (metaphorically) participation in public discourse, I argue for a differentiated look at the noraebang as a “microtopos”, a space that enforces interaction and creates relations.

This is a brief excerpt from the introduction, followed by material related to the different sections:

Since its invention in the 1970s, karaoke culture has quickly expanded beyond Japan. In South Korea, rented rooms for sing-along in smaller groups referred to as noraebang (lit. “song-room”) have become ubiquitous since the 1990s. Compared with the abounding literature on karaoke across the globe, research on noraebang culture tends to focus on its historical and technical development, sometimes also on the (changing) social usage. But what does the noraebang, a semi-private, constricted space dominated by a screen, provide that other musicking environments do not? What options and opportunities are offered, what are the limits? And is the noraebang-experience a specifically Korean one?

 

1. From karaoke to noraebang

(where I consider how existing theories on karaoke translate to singing in the noraebang)

These are the relevant references I mention:

• Auslander, Philip, “Music as Performance: Living in the Immaterial World”, Theatre Survey 47.2 (2006): 261–269, doi:10.1017/S004055740600024X.
• Drew, Rob, “‘Once More, With Irony’: Karaoke and Social Class”, Leisure Studies 24.4 (2005): 371–383, doi:10.1080/02614360500150679 . https://doi.org/10.1080/02614360500150679
• Fischer-Lichte, Erika, The Transformative Power of Performance: A New Aesthetics, transl. by Saskya Iris Jain, Routledge, 2008.
• Frith, Simon Performing Rites: On the Value of Popular Music, Harvard University Press, 1996.
• Giddens, Stephen Royce, “Singing Otherwise: Karaoke, Representation, and Practice”, Studies in Popular Culture 28.3 (2006): 93–109. https://www.jstor.org/stable/23416173
• Hesselink, Nathan, “Kouta and Karaoke in Modern Japan: A Blurring of the Distinction between Umgangsmusik and Darbietungsmusik”, British Journal of Ethnomusicology 3 (1994): 49–61. https://www.jstor.org/stable/3060805
• Joo, Jayoung, “In Search of Asylum: Solitary Singing Practice in Koin Norae-Bang by Contemporary Korean Young People”, Asian Music 50.1 (2019): 3–27, doi:10.1353/amu.2019.0001. https://doi.org/10.1353/amu.2019.0001
• Mitsui, Toru and Shuhei Hosokawa, eds., Karaoke around the World: Global Technology, Local Singing, Routledge, 1998, doi:10.4324/9780203982396. https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203982396.
• Murray, Soraya, “Cybernated Aesthetics: Lee Bul and the Body Transfigured”, PAJ: A Journal of Performance and Art 30.2 (2008): 38–50. https://www.jstor.org/stable/30133339
• Turino, Thomas, Music as Social Life: The Politics of Participation, University of Chicago Press, 2008.
• Yano, Christine, “The Floating World of Karaoke in Japan”, Popular Music and Society 20.2 (1996): 1–17, doi:10.1080/03007769608591620 (https://doi.org/10.1080/03007769608591620).

2. Noraebang in film and literature

(where I have a look at depictions of noraebang sessions in film and literature)

The two examples I discuss are a scene from the movie My Boss, My Hero, directed by Yun Je-gyun (2001; 두사부일체, 감독 윤제균; available on Youtube, for the scene I showed see below) and a literary essay by Lee Seula, titled “Non-literary Noraebang” (이슬아, “비문학적 노래방”) from her book Anyway, Songs (Hugo Books, 2022; 아무튼, 노래, 위고).

3. Towards a phenomenology of the noraebang

(where I attempt to conceptualize the noraebang as a “microtopos”, a ‘small space’ that enforces interaction and creates relations)

On the concept of “microtopoi”, see a talk by Christian Kirchmeier (who coined the term and hosted a conference this summer, see above) held at University of Groningen (on Youtube).

Conclusion: how Korean is the noraebang?

(where I do not answer this question)

But here are a few references where possible answers can be found (in order of appearance in my paper):

• 문지현 (Moon Ji Hyun), “한국 노래방의 성장을 둘러싼 사회문화사: 테크놀로지의 발전을 중심으로” (Socio-cultural History of Korean Noraebang Growth Focusing on Development of Technology), 문화와 사회 제21권(2016): 121–170.
• Creighton, Millie, “Is Korean Noraebang Japan Kara-OK? Reflections on Singing Doctors, Singing Banquets and Singing Rooms in South Korea”, in: Korean Pop Music: Riding the Wave, 123–136, edited by Keith Howard, Oriental, 2006.
• Chung, Guyon, “The City of the Bang”, Curatorial Statement, 9th Venice Architecture Biennale, 2004, https://www.arko.or.kr/pavilion/04pavilion/e_2004_02.htm.
• 김종철, “서편제와 노동의 새벽, 그리고 노래방” (Seopyeonje, the Dawn of Labor, and Noraebang), 월간 말, 통권 93호 (1994년 3월): 178–181.

To conclude:

The noraebang stands out not only from other ‘microtopoi’ but also from other ‘bang’ in Korean society. Unlike spaces that provide different degrees of privacy, from dabang (“tea-room”) to video-/DVD-bang to PC-bang, the noraebang, while separated from the public, is not exactly a private space.

Even though ‘social masks’ may drop here, the noraebang is also a stage that allows us to put on other masks. It might be exactly its flexibility and accommodation of various tastes and usages within both written and unwritten rules that makes the noraebang not only an essential part, but also a particularly sharp reflection of South Korean contemporaneity – even without gugak.

— 10 Nov. 2023 (金)

Conference Call: Shakespeare Association of Korea

After three years of (mostly) online conferencing, any live opportunity to share thoughts and anecdotes over black coffee seems like a party. Apart from the rather cozy “Microtopoi”-workshop in Germany this summer – everyone sitting around a table and talking – the Shakespeare Association of Korea’s (SAK) 60th anniversary conference was the first mid-scale academic live event I attended in what felt like years. The AKS Korean Studies conference last year around this time was of similar size but felt quite different with many familiar faces and long-time-no-see reunions.

The SAK conference, on the other hand, was a bit like a wedding where you only know bride and/or groom. Everyone was really nice and friendly (even though I was slightly out of mind, post-midterms), there was much feedback and much to learn (within two days, I filled half of my notebook, which usually lasts for a few months), but more on that later. In the spirit of weddings, I jotted down some highlights according to the old rhyme:

• Something old: the A|S|I|A database, an annotated compilation of dozens of full-length videos of Asian Shakespeare productions with subtitles in four language headed by Yong Li Lan (National University of Singapore), whose 15th anniversary was celebrated in a panel;
• something new: archival records unearthed by Yi-Hsin Hsu (National Taiwan University) for her research project on Japanese touring theatre troupes in pre-colonial Korea and Taiwan, whose might have well performed the first Shakespeare plays on Korean soil;
• something borrowed: Harold Bloom on Freud as the “prose version” of Shakespeare, as quoted by Unyoung Park (Kyungpook National University);
• something blue: Gary Taylor (Florida State University) beginning his keynote with a photo of his father, Korean war veteran, and talking about how he never heard anything about Korea from him and would love to share his own impressions now that he’s here – but can’t anymore.

And another top-four:

• funniest visual: people playing with the first video chat, a satellite connection between two screens placed in show windows in LA and New York in 1980, an inspiration for Tom Gorman”s (Coventry University) fascinating “telemetric transnational” student productions of Shakespeare plays;
• most ubiquitous concept: “universal lighting” (what else);
• biggest surprise: my co-panelist Hisao Oshima (Kyushu University, picture below) explaining the meaning of the carriage in the final scene of Singing Shylock (which I, coincidentally, had seen earlier this year – I’d associated the carriage with Mother Courage’s trailer);

• most unexpected reunion: Taroo’s Sora Bong performing her Pansori Hamlet Monologue – the first time I had the chance to see this latest iteration of the “Pansori Hamlet Project” live (had only seen the stream in 2020 so far)! 

https://www.tumblr.com/gongso/732416329398763520/2023-10-28-%ED%8C%90%EC%86%8C%EB%A6%AC-%ED%96%84%EB%A6%BF-%ED%98%BC%EC%9E%A3%EB%A7%90-%EC%84%9C%EC%9A%B8%EB%8C%80%EC%9D%B8%EB%AC%B8%EA%B7%B9%EC%9E%A5

https://www.tumblr.com/gongso/612098692469669888/2020-03-08-%ED%8C%90%EC%86%8C%EB%A6%AC-%ED%96%84%EB%A6%BF-%ED%94%84%EB%A1%9C%EC%A0%9D%ED%8A%B8-%EC%86%A1%EB%B3%B4%EB%9D%BC%ED%8E%B8-%EC%97%B0%EC%9A%B0%EC%86%8C%EA%B7%B9%EC%9E%A5

— 27–28 Oct. 2023 (金–土)

Windows to Other Worlds: Christian Petzold and His Cinema

Filmmaker Christian Petzold, one of the few authors I do not hesitate to call myself a fan of, was in town. For one week he visited Korea on the occasion of the release of his latest movie’s release. Afire (Korean: 아파이어, German original title: i, lit. “Red Sky”). At the end of what must have been a full schedule, he took some time to come to Ewha Womans University, where he met our students and responded to their many questions.

Christian Petzold, in discussion with Prof. Lee Joon-Suh (left) who had invited him to our university

He also talked a bit about his early career, theatre studies and German language & literature at Freie Universität, while waiting to turn 26, the minimum age for film school. This was particularly interesting because I had studied there some twenty years later when, different from Petzold’s time in the 80s, film and theatre studies had become separate departments (which didn’t prevent me from taking some classes here and there).

Christian Petzold’s Cinema Talk

Today, I had the thankful job of introducing the fifty-something students to Petzold’s work. As it turned out, this was hardly necessary, because many of them had seen more than one or two of his movies. I had shown Transit, a bold adaptation of Anna Seghers’ eponymous World War 2 novel (1947/48) set in contemporary Europe, in a seminar last year and one first-year student had outed herself as a fan in another one, but it seemed as if everyone present was more or less familiar with Petzold’s œuvre. Maybe no surprise, he is well-known in Korea and his movies regularly get a wider release here, too, thankfully.

Because, in my opinion, Petzold’s movies need to be seen on the big screen where you can really watch closely the small things people are doing, get immersed in subtle changes of atmospheres, and kind of feel the film. And as I didn’t see much sense in describing plots or showing piecemeal-parts, I took a personal approach in my introduction, too (and this blogpost likewise might be one of the most personal ones I’ve written yet).

So I mostly shared some thoughts and memories while avoiding spoilers, if that is even possible, all to the backdrop of some film posters. I found it always fascinating how iconic these are and how often the large faces on them seem to gaze back at you or, in reverse, deny any gaze – in a way like the movies they promote.

Anyway, Petzold’s sudden arrival seamlessly transformed my rambling into applause and then he began to talk, something he had grown quite fond of in the last days, as he admitted. Besides the study years and background information on some movies – I’ll never see the final scene of Phoenix the same way, I guess, after hearing how it was shot –, he also offered some thoughts on German history.

The indulgence in art (and especially in theatre), for instance, like the romanticist escapism, as proxy for failed political participation since the 19th century. Or the relentless yet fruitless attempt of “German Johnny” – a character in Phoenix, but also a general stand-in for Germany present and past – to return things to the way they (never) were. His takes on the non-existing German movie industry and the related tendency to overact (“Americans are the better drivers, at least in the movies”) was another highlight. And asked about the recent rise of the far-right in Germany, he noted that there had always been 20% assholes, but now they had a party to vote (referring to the AfD, self-proclaimed “Alternative für Deutschland”).

Petzold also briefly talked about his childhood in Haan, a town of 30,000 people in the mid-West of Germany. Without any movie theatre there, he said that “Reading was my cinema”. Spending days at the local library, he continued, the panoramic window there, making up for the lack of a silver screen, served as an outlook on life.

While my own hometown, Herdecke, is likewise rather small (and less than half an hour away from Haan, as I found out), I had the luxury of a cinema with weekly screenings of more or less recent films. Even though the “Onikon” (“no kino” in reverse) didn’t have a really big screen – it’s non-commercial, more of a club run by film enthusiasts –, those last years of high school when we’d watch any movie that came out there, followed by drinks and discussions at the only place open, remain as fond memories.

This summer, when visiting Herdecke, I was lucky enough to be just in time for the end of Onikon’s summer break. Usually, they don’t show any movies when I’m there, but this time I had the chance to see Afire, with beer, candy, and the obligatory mid-film break. Nothing less than spectacular, and just the perfect place to enjoy the slightly nostalgic mood of this movie on the end of an era, right where the weekly film screenings had shown me a glimpse of the wider world half a life ago.

So does the movies-as-window-to-the-world-metaphor work for Petzold’s cinema? Does Afire offer insights on the current state of things in Germany (and beyond)? Maybe not… still his films show us other worlds, worlds that might have never existed, like the colorful GDR in Barbara , the Greek-blue Baltic Sea in Jerichow, or the fairy-tale Tiergarten in Ghosts, but way very well do: realistic in detail and mythological in scope. In this vein, Afire reminded me of Lee Chang-dong’s Burning (버닝, 2018) in some respect. Without the nihilistic remnants of hyper-capitalism that unload in rural arson there, Petzold’s latest film shows, again, romantic ambition and stoic pride now in the face of likewise human-made approaching fire (maybe, therefore, a “German” movie?).

Back to the present, back to Korea: After one hour of dense talk and questions, Petzold had to run for his plane, still signing autographs for the students on the way to the elevator. If I’d had a chance to ask a question, it would have been if he plans to do theatre again (after a one-time gig at Deutsches Theater in 2009). For now, it’s time to step out of the movie theatre and get the semester started, some theatre in its own way.

— 7 Sept. 2023 (木)

 

Staging Worlds: Howard S. Becker

Howard Becker, Art Worlds

I didn’t know his name when I bought the 25th anniversary edition of his monograph Art Worlds (University of California Press, 1982) in a used bookstore near University of Hawai’i just before (or right after?) attending the “Brecht in/and Asia”-conference there in 2010. But since then I’d remember the name Howard S. Becker. Better-known for his studies on deviance and labeling, his conceptualization of art as the result of collective, coordinated efforts helped shape my thoughts on the pansori- and larger gugak-“world” in Korea. Especially his typology of art audiences (combined with CedarBough Saeji’s Korea-specific “Typology of Audiences for the Traditional Performing Arts”, Korea Journal 56.2, 2016; and Cha Chung Hwan’s historical audience categories, 『한민족문화연구』 46, 2014), was great for distinguishing different ways of perceiving and participating in pansori performances.

Now Howie (nobody calls me “Howard”, says his NYT obituary), sociologist and pianist, has died at the age of ninety-five.

For anyone who hasn’t had the pleasure, I can recommend the following collaborative paper, actually a performance script, on theatre communities, traditions, spaces across 1980s America, with many voices from San Francisco, Chicago, and elsewhere referenced and embodied by the authors at the American Sociological Association in 1988, at a conference in Atlanta:

• Howard S. Becker, Michal M. McCall, Lori V. Morris, “Theatres and Communities: Three Scenes”, Social Problems 36.2 (1989): 93–116, www.jstor.org/stable/800802.

More can be found on his personal homepage.

— 23 Aug. 2023 (水)

Rest in Peace, Howard S. Becker (April 18, 1928 – August 16, 2023).

Sharing Time Alone Together: Noraebang as Microtopoi

These are some extra links and sources for my talk on noraebang (노래방, lit. “song-room”), the Korean karaoke-variant practiced in small cabins, often amongst semi-anonymous colleagues. I participate in a workshop titled “Microtopoi: Poetics of Small Spaces” the KWI (Kulturwissenschaftliches Institut, Cultural Studies Institute) in Essen, Germany, organized by Dr. Christian Kirchmeier of University of Groningen and currently fellow at KWI.

This conference is something I’ve been looking forward to since my paper got accepted, that is all semester, because the concept brings up so many ideas – once you start looking around, you see them everywhere!

According to the call for papers, “microtopoi” are

small spaces that can only be entered and exited at certain times [… where] the mere co-presence of bodies forces communication

In many ways, this could also be a broad definition of theatre…

Anyways, here is 1) the English abstract I submitted earlier this year (I’ll present, like everyone else, in German, though, using the slightly modified title “Gemeinsam allein statt einsam daheim: Südkoreanische “Bang”-Kultur im Zeitalter des Livestreamings”), with suggests a slightly wider scope than I managed to include in my actual presentation; 2) two links to examples of noraebang scenes from literature and film; 3) a rough bibliography on karaoke, noraebang and “bang”(방, “room”)-culture in South Korea.

Last but not least, many thanks to the workshop organizers for the opportunity to think and talk about noraebang, these fascinating, exciting, and also scary little rooms – I’m looking forward to the discussion —, and likewise thanks to the friends and colleagues who provided feedback in the final stages of preparing this talk!

1. Abstract

Jan Creutzenberg (Ewha Womans University)

Sharing Time Alone Together: South Korean “Bang”-culture in the Era of Live-streaming

Karaoke culture has quickly expanded beyond Japan since its invention in the 1970s. Meanwhile in South Korea, the norae-bang (lit. “song-room”) – a smaller version with separate rooms – is usually rented among peers for communal sing-along fun, rather than a public stage performance. Like the karaoke stage, entrance and exit to the norae-bang appear to be voluntary, but social codes likewise enforce participation to different degrees. With the introduction of the single-user coin norae-bang, the semi-private space for musical interaction has become further secluded. On the other hand, though, South Korean bang (“room”) culture itself, once common for various social outings from dating to after-work leisure, seems to turn inwards while going virtual. Meokbang (“eating-broadcast”), where individuals having lunch or dinner are filmed and live-streamed to thousands of viewers are the most popular example and culmination of this trend.

This paper explores how South Korean bang-culture, activities in semi-private and partially voluntary microtopoi, has changed in recent years. As more and more social interaction proceeds contact-free, the close-quarters setting of a bang, used face-to-face but mediated by a screen, may seem outdated but also offers opportunities of co-presence and joint creation that have become rare and precious. What parts of the bang-experience can be substituted in virtual environments, which ones are dismissed or modified? Does video-presence, for instance, allow enhanced forms of communication or render unwanted communication unnecessary? Does reduced feedback stimulate shifts from participatory to more representational performances that create boundaries between those sharing a bang? And what does “sharing time alone together,” the original function of many bangs, mean when physical space is not necessarily shared anymore?

Drawing on performance theory, this paper attempts to conceptualize bang culture as a liminal experience of the everyday, between communication, consumption, and recreation. With a focus on singing, under the label karaoke usually understood as expression of individual identity or (metaphorically) participation in public discourse, I argue for a differentiated look at the bang as a space for mutual engagement within the limits of a changing mediascape. Beyond the case of South Korea, bang-culture offers a compelling lens on current phenomena, including the consumption and co-creation of cultural contents.

2. Examples

My first example is a literary essay by Lee Seura, titled “Wenn Literaten singen” in my partial German translation, the original title literally reads as “Non-literary Noraebang” (이슬아, 비문학적 노래방). The essay is part of the wonderful small book 아무튼, 노래 (“Whatever, Songs”, 2022), which can be easily found as ebook and paper back online.

The second example is from the movie My Boss, My Hero (dir. Yun Je-gyun, 2001; 윤제균, 두사부일체). The full movie is available in lousy quality but with English subtitles on Youtube, the noraebang-scene I show (around 1 hour into the movie) can be seen here:

3. Bibliography

These are references to (mostly) academic literature I discovered while preparing my talk, in chronological order. I haven’t accessed/read all of them and cannot guarantee for their quality but they might be helpful to anyone interested in the topic. Most is on karaoke, much less has been written (even in Korean) on noraebang or bang-culture at large, it seems.

On karaoke

• Don Cusic, “Karaoke: High Tech and the Folk Tradition”, Tennessee Folklore Society Bulletin 55.2 (1991): 51–55.
• Johan Fornäs, “Karaoke: Subjectivity, Play and Interactive Media”, Nordicom Review 15.1 (1994): 87-103, http://www.nordicom.gu.se/?portal=publ&main=nordicom_review2.php&me=2.
• Christine Yano, “The Floating World of Karaoke in Japan”, Popular Music and Society  20.2 (1996): 1-17, https://doi.org/10.1080/03007769608591620.
• Nathan Hesselink, “Kouta and Karaoke in Modern Japan: A Blurring of the Distinction between Umgangsmusik and Darbietungsmusik”, British Journal of Ethnomusicology 3 (1994): 49-61, https://www.jstor.org/stable/3060805.
• Toru Mitsui and Shuhei Hosokawa, eds., Karaoke around the World: Global Technology, Local Singing, Routledge, 1998, https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203982396.
• Rob Drew, “‘Once More, With Irony’: Karaoke and Social Class”, Leisure Studies 24.4 (2005): 371-383, DOI: 10.1080/02614360500150679.
• Millie Creighton, “Is Korean Noraebang Japan Kara-OK? Reflections on Singing Doctors, Singing Banquets and Singing Rooms in South Korea”, in: Keith Howard (ed.), Korean Pop Music: Riding the Wave, 2006, 123–136.
• Stephen Royce Giddens, “Singing Otherwise: Karaoke, Representation, and Practice”, Studies in Popular Culture 28.3 (2006): 93-109, https://www.jstor.org/stable/23416173.
• Kevin Brown, Karaoke Idols: Popular Music and the Performance of Identity, Intellect, 2015.
• George Rossolatos, “Carpool Karaoke: Deconstructing the Directly Lived Experience of Hearing Oneself Singing”, Social Semiotics (2016), http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/10350330.2016.1261480.
• Jayoung Joo, “In Search of Asylum: Solitary Singing Practice in Koin Norae-Bang by Contemporary Korean Young People”, Asian Music 50.1 (2019): 3-27, https://doi.org/10.1353/amu.2019.0001.

On Noraebang

• 김혜경, “노래방의 실태와 여가선용의 활성화에 관한 연구”, 음악과 민족 제10호(1995): 286~304.
• 이상원, 배순용 & 이성업, “문화콘텐츠의 몰입에 공간이 미치는 영향: 노래방의 사례를 중심으로”, 한국 HCI학회 학술대회 논문집 제2호 (2009): 395~402.
• 박소진 (Park So Jin), “대학생의 노래방 체험: 자기표현과 전시” (College Students’ Experiences in ‘Noraebang’: Self-Expression and Exhibition), 문화와사회 제13권(2012): 7~52.
• 문지현 (Moon Ji Hyun), “한국 노래방의 성장을 둘러싼 사회문화사: 테크놀로지의 발전을 중심으로” (Socio-cultural History of Korean Noraebang Growth Focusing on Development of Technology), 문화와 사회 제21권(2016): 121~170.
• 김정남 (Kim Jeong-nam), “나도 가수다, 라고 전해라: 문화적 사건으로서의 노래방”, in: 1990년대 문화키워드, 문화다북스, 2017.

Regarding bang-culture in general, an interesting take is the following, more may be added later: 

• Guyon Chung, “Curatorial statement for the Korean Pavillion of the 9th Venice [Architecture] Biennale [titled “City of the Bang”]”, 2004, https://www.arko.or.kr/pavilion/04pavilion/e_2004_02.htm

— 20 July 2023 (木)