SYNOPSIS

A rhinoceros was raised in an elephant orphanage — a safe haven for wounded or orphaned elephants. The elephants lovingly believed he was one of their own, even though his nose grew not long, but thick, short, and white. When they finally realized he was a rhino, one wise elder smiled and said,
"You’ve become a perfect elephant. Now it’s time you become a perfect rhino."

In their world, names didn’t matter. With a grateful heart and a wide smile, the young rhino left to find others like him — to find himself.

But the world outside was harsh. The rhino, now given the name Norden (노든) by humans, was captured and locked in a zoo. There he met another rhino named Ahngaboo (앙가부, pronounced Ahng-ga-boo), who tried to befriend him. Grieving and angry, Norden resisted at first — haunted by nightmares and determined to stay alone. Yet Ahngaboo gently taught him how to speak, to dream, and to laugh again. The two even planned to escape together, but Ahngaboo was killed by poachers for his horn, leaving Norden the last white rhinoceros on Earth. Later, a kind human explained that Norden’s horn would be removed to save his life — not to harm him.

In the same zoo, two penguins — Chiku (치쿠) and Wimbo (윔보) — discovered a speckled egg that no one was incubating. Chiku, grumbling and skeptical, gradually learned to care for it, helped by Wimbo’s cheerfulness. But during a bombing caused by human war, Wimbo died protecting the egg. With Norden’s help, Chiku escaped with the egg. Though losing his eyesight, Chiku pressed on, determined to reach the sea for the unborn chick. Before they arrived, Chiku collapsed. Norden made a promise — and hatched the chick himself.

The baby penguin, having never met humans, had no name. Together, Norden and the chick began a long journey to find the sea. Norden described it as an endless blue horizon, full of sardines — the paradise Chiku and Wimbo once spoke of. Each day they traveled — through hunger, injury, and danger. Norden, who couldn’t swim, even tried to teach the penguin how to swim when they found a lake. He told stories of the chick’s three fathers — Chiku, Wimbo, and himself — and the love they shared.

One day, sensing danger, Norden told the penguin to hide. But the humans who appeared didn’t harm him — they left behind a branch of acacia, his favorite food. The penguin cried and begged him not to seek revenge, saying,
"I won’t go to the sea. I won’t be a penguin. I’ll live as a rhino like you."

Norden gently replied,
"You’re already a perfect rhino. Now it’s time to become a perfect penguin."

Then, instinctively, the penguin caught the scent of sardines and sensed the presence of the sea nearby. She told Norden. He smiled, proud that she had grown strong enough to face the world and find others like her.

As Norden lay dying, the penguin stood by his side, then slowly walked toward it at last — the vast, endless sea.


REVIEW

I went to see a small-theater musical, Long Long Nights, after it was recommended by the algorithm on a ticket site. Reading the synopsis, I was worried the subject might be emotionally too difficult for me, and I even wondered why the algorithm kept suggesting such heavy stories. But with high ratings, near-full occupancy, and the production nearing its end, I decided to go.

The music was good—so good that I found myself humming the main theme on my way home. That’s always a clear sign that the melody was memorable. The instrumentation was simple: primarily piano, with occasional strings that were likely synthesized, considering how sparsely they were used. But once again, I was reminded of how powerful the piano is in bringing out drama and emotional intensity. The music wasn’t excessive—it came in just the right amount, with the right tone, and was balanced by ample spoken dialogue. It could easily have stood as a play, except that all the actors were excellent singers, and that single piano carried them all the way through.

The cast I saw today included Hong Woo-Jin (홍우진) as Norden, Seol Ga-eun (설가은) as the penguin, Park Geun-sik (박근식) as Ahngaboo and Wmbo, and Lee Gyu-hak (이규학) as Chiku. Is performing just a job for actors? Do they also feel the pain, the sorrow, the rare moments of joy that their characters and audience do? Somehow, I knew—they were the characters today. Even hours after the show, something still aches inside me. Yet I kept humming the tune. It must have been a mix of emotions.

The show featured just four actors — three men and one teenage girl as the penguin. The elephants used yard-long gray hoses as trunks; the rhino held a horn while dancing. The penguin used castanets as she walked, giving a rhythmic charm to her movements. When the rhino left the elephant orphanage, they gave him a large brown suitcase. On its side, he anchored his horn — symbolizing growth, his cut status, and functioning as a multipurpose stage prop throughout his journey. Confinement in the zoo was represented simply, with a bell-adorned ankle band worn by Ahngaboo. Everything was modest in scale, but each choice was deliberate and effective.

The penguin expressed her anger with just the right amount of body language — never too much, always natural. Most of all, the show portrayed deep, quiet caring. The elephants accepted the rhino exactly as he was. Ahngaboo welcomed Norden. Grumpy Chiku and sweet Wimbo tenderly cared for the egg. Norden and Chiku cared for each other, and later for the penguin. And finally, the penguin cared for Norden. One quietly simmering theme was this: no one judged or tried to change anyone. They were simply there.

When Chiku worried over the egg, I saw tears falling continuously from the actor’s eyes. Yes — he cried on stage. I heard weeping all around me in the audience. Guilt — yes, I felt guilt for being human. I am an animal too. Anthropomorphism, or humanization, can be a powerful tool to make humans reflect, feel shame, and most importantly, feel empathy. The actor who played Ahngaboo and Wimbo had a disarming smile, perfectly suited for both roles. Norden was the emotional anchor of the show.

The actress who played the penguin is just fifteen, according to her Namuwiki profile. She had the youthful energy and sincerity needed to portray a young penguin, and she, too, cried.

The storytelling wasn’t grand. There were no flashy metaphors or theatrical tricks. But its simplicity carried the weight of everything — grief, love, time, and transformation. I usually see the real actors during curtain call — not their characters. But on the rare days I still see the characters, those are the performances I carry with me, not just in my memory but in my heart. Today was one of those rare days. The ache in my heart hasn’t gone away.

Trying to be a reviewer is rather difficult and emotionally challenging. I really need to pace it.