The Lion King

Years Attended: 2019, 2022
Venue: Minskoff Theatre, Broadway

Well, need I talk about the story? Everybody knows it. I attended The Lion King in late 2019 while passing through New York from Korea on my way to another U.S. city. I landed at LaGuardia, left my luggage at a nearby restaurant ($7 storage), and made it just in time for the matinee at Minskoff Theatre. I sat in the first row at the aisle of the center orchestra block.

From the very first call of Rafiki, the show burst to life. Cast members portraying animals entered from the back corridors, parading through the aisles and onto the stage to celebrate the birth of Simba. The puppetry and choreography were stunning—every movement, every gesture felt like a marvel. The animals were alive. The hyenas, especially the third one who moved a half-beat slower than the others, drew big laughs from the audience.

Young Simba and Nala were adorable in their scenes, and “I Just Can't Wait to Be King” was a delightful, colorful number. I could hardly believe I was hearing Tsidii Le Loka’s voice live after all these years. Mufasa’s low baritone voice was warm yet commanding, resonating deeply in the auditorium. The cast moved with the grace of athletes; I was bundled up and still cold, while the actors sweated heavily under the lights.

Scar’s “Be Prepared” was delivered with deep menace—his voice dark and thrilling. One moment that quietly tugged at my heart was when Timon casually dismissed the idea of the Circle of Life—a lesson Mufasa had once taught Simba with such reverence. I braced myself for Mufasa’s death scene (a part I usually skip in the animation), but the scene transition was so visually striking that I could bear it. Still, it ached.

When Timon and Pumbaa entered, the mood instantly lightened. Their physical humor and banter were pitch-perfect, and the transition of young Simba growing into adult Simba during “Hakuna Matata” was seamless and joyful. The audience clapped along, humming and laughing.

Later, when Simba, Pumbaa, and Timon stargazed, it was a quiet, contemplative moment. Then came the blossoming love between Simba and Nala—gently teased by Timon and Pumbaa—leading into the beautifully harmonized “Can You Feel the Love Tonight.” It melted the audience.

My favorite scene came near the end, with “He Lives in You.” Mufasa’s spiritual reappearance, framed by ensemble movement and harmonies, was both powerful and uplifting. Simba’s battle with Scar brought the show to a rousing climax, and the finale—repeating the opening but with a new generation—brought everything full circle. That’s life, for lions, animals, plants, humans, and all living beings.

After the Sunday matinee, I hurried to Penn Station for my connecting trip, feeling satisfied that I had squeezed in one show. I’d already booked a summer 2020 return ticket to NYC, lightheartedly planning for more theater.

Little did I know it would take more than two years before I could return. As the world battled a silent enemy, even simple joys like theater felt like distant luxuries. Life patterns paused.

In the summer of 2022, I came back. I would’ve picked another show, but the nostalgia of that last visit—and my son’s suggestion—brought me back to The Lion King. I chose the same seat, this time with my son beside me.

Oddly, the cast looked and sounded almost identical to 2019. Every ensemble member seemed the same. Vocal tones, pauses, phrasings—so familiar. Except for Simba and Nala, who had clearly aged out and been recast, and Rafiki, whose voice was thinner and less powerful. During intermission, I asked the usher. She confirmed that the original Rafiki was still in the production, but an understudy was performing that day. She also explained that the theater kept the temperature low for COVID-19 prevention. Still, the actors perspired heavily.

The city wasn’t fully back yet. We had to show vaccine certificates at the entrance of a jazz club, and mask-wearing was still common inside theaters. But the audience energy was high, and the performance felt alive. That visit felt like a broken timeline mending itself—a return, a quiet confirmation that things could be okay again.

This review has turned into something more than a typical write-up. But then again, who needs a story summary for The Lion King? Everyone knows it. What I found was more than a show—it was a marker of time, of life pausing and resuming. The Circle of Life wasn’t just staged—it was lived.