SYNOPSIS

In 1969 Seoul, a clever and sharp-tongued young woman named Sunhee is repeatedly dismissed from bakery jobs for challenging male authority and asserting her expertise. After leaving her final post at a well-known bakery run by Na Sangmo, she discovers a long-abandoned Western-style pastry shop being offered at a suspiciously low rent — and signs the lease.

But the building is haunted.

The resident ghost, Henri, was born in 1915 and once dreamed of becoming a great baker. He died young — some say in a tragic tram accident, others whisper it happened while running an errand for Sangmo. His spirit, trapped by unfulfilled ambition and betrayal, tries to scare Sunhee away by rattling utensils and moving objects. But Sunhee, strong-willed and practical, refuses to be frightened. Instead, she confronts the ghost head-on.

As it turns out, Henri and Na Sangmo were once close friends — and rivals. Henri's prized recipe, the now-famous “Sangmo Tart,” was taken by Sangmo after his death and used to build a successful bakery empire. Upon learning this, Henri is filled with renewed resentment. But alongside Sunhee, who dreams of building her own bakery from the ground up, he begins to rediscover joy and purpose. He teaches her how to make pastries, including his signature éclair, and their unusual partnership flourishes.

Together, they create a warm, inviting shop — Ghost Bakery. Their teamwork is fueled not by romance at first, but by shared passion and unspoken trust. As they decorate the shop and bake for the neighborhood, their bond deepens in a way neither expected.

But conflict reemerges. Na Sangmo, now a powerful figure, discovers Sunhee’s shop and threatens her livelihood by buying the building and attempting to evict her. Henri, having remembered the details of his untimely death, confronts Sangmo through ghostly intervention. In a karmic twist, Sangmo flees the bakery in terror and is killed in a car accident — much like Henri decades before.

Now, as a ghost himself, Sangmo sees Henri once again. Henri, having resolved his anger, fades from Sunhee’s world. She searches for him, calling out in sorrow — but realizes she must move on and live her own life.

In the final moments, we see the quiet presence of Yeongsu, a humble assistant in the bakery. He has quietly loved Sunhee from afar. The ghost is gone, but perhaps the bakery — and Sunhee — have a future rooted not in fantasy, but in real, enduring companionship.


REVIEW

The story unfolds in 1960s Seoul — a charming contrast to the future-set Maybe Happy Ending, another musical by the same creators, Will Aronson and Hue Park. The set evokes the faded elegance of mid-20th century interiors, featuring French china, a wall-built oven, and an antique clock frozen at the moment of Henri’s death.

Once a haunted ruin, the bakery becomes a warm and lively space — visually supported by a witty and effective staging detail: the same apron and backdrop that once read “Na Sangmo’s Bakery” flips to reveal “Ghost Bakery” with a simple turn.

The lighting design emphasizes contrast — Na Sangmo’s shop is brightly lit and commercial, while Henri’s ghostly domain is gentle, intimate, and tinged with nostalgia.

The scenes between Sunhee and her sister felt personal — subtle but touching — reminding me of the gap between youthful dreams and the weight of reality.

When Sunhee first notices the ghost, she sings that he is “crazy handsome.” The audience gasped and laughed — because the ghost, in an exaggerated twisted pose, was indeed very handsome. (At my performance, the actor Song Won-geun played the ghost — he also played Raoul in The Phantom of the Opera during the 2023–2024 season.) I later learned that all three ghost actors are, in fact, known for their good looks.

The stage setup was well-suited to a medium-sized theater, with an oven cleverly built into the right wall — pastries and éclairs appearing almost by magic. This once-haunted bakery now feels alive and inviting.

Henri’s backstory — his untimely death and betrayal by his once-close friend Na Sangmo — could easily have turned melodramatic. But Hue Park handles the emotional material with balance. The lyrics are layered yet accessible, allowing the audience to follow the plot while keeping the tone light, human, and gently sad.

Rather than ending in tragedy, the story leans gently toward hope — Sunhee finds her strength, and perhaps a quiet future with Yeongsu, the earnest young employee who has quietly supported her.

Some awkward but charming moments arise from the ghost’s partial invisibility — only Sunhee can see him — which creates both tension and humor. These scenes are playful, heartfelt, and cleverly staged.

Na Sangmo, the antagonist, is greedy but not evil. His fate — being struck by a car, just as the ghost once was — feels poetic and just.

The songs are lively, full of upbeat energy, and emotionally warm. They’re not grand, sweeping showstoppers — but melodies you hum without realizing, tunes that linger long after the show ends.

When I walked out of the theater, a soft warmth stayed with me. Not just from the story — but from the music still quietly playing in my head.