SYNOPSIS

The story opens with Lee Nal-chi dazzling the audience high above the stage, gliding across a tightrope with paper fans in hand, flipping and leaping with astonishing ease. His fellow jester Gaedari, unable to understand how he does everything so well, asks him outright. Nal-chi answers simply: Nal-chi is Nal-chi, Gaedari is Gaedari — even ChatGPT couldn’t explain it.

Nal-chi was once a servant in a noble household, secretly in love with the young lady Yeon-i. When her father discovered their relationship, he drove Nal-chi out and forced Yeon-i into an arranged marriage. With no place to turn, Nal-chi joined a troupe of jesters and began wandering as a performer.

Along the way, Nal-chi learns that a successful pansori singer can earn enough to purchase noble status, and he becomes determined to change his fate. During his travels, he encounters an eccentric nobleman who behaves foolishly in public — a man who is actually Yi Ha-eung, later known as Heungseon Daewongun, father of King Gojong. Yi Ha-eung acts the part of a harmless eccentric to avoid being perceived as a political threat.

At a festival, Nal-chi, Gaedari, and a clown hear the great singer Park Man-sun for the first time. Captivated, Nal-chi becomes Park Man-sun’s drummer, but as Nal-chi improves, Park Man-sun grows jealous and begins humiliating him, treating him like a servant. Eventually, Nal-chi leaves.

He retreats into the mountains and practices relentlessly, even mimicking the sounds of birds to refine his vocal technique. Gaedari and the clown later join him, and the three endure the harsh training together.

When they return to the world below, they witness a pansori contest and hear the young master singer Park Yu-jeon. Nal-chi immediately recognizes the sincerity and depth in Park Yu-jeon’s art. Waiting on the street every day to meet him, Nal-chi finally sings before him, and Park Yu-jeon — though much younger — accepts him as a student. He teaches Nal-chi to sing from the heart.

Later, Nal-chi and Park Yu-jeon come across a man begging Park Man-sun to sing for his blind mother. Park Man-sun refuses, but Nal-chi volunteers, visiting the home with Park Yu-jeon and his fellow jesters.

Soon after, a major pansori contest is announced. Only two performers may compete: Nal-chi, recommended by Park Yu-jeon, and the king’s father’s chosen contender — who turns out to be Park Man-sun. Nal-chi wins overwhelmingly and is invited to perform at a royal gathering. There, Yi Ha-eung’s elder brother declares that if Nal-chi can make him laugh or cry, he will reward him with 2,000 nyang; if not, Nal-chi will be executed. Nal-chi performs the scene of Simcheong’s father regaining his sight, and Yi Chang-eung breaks down in tears.

The clown hurriedly does the math — 2,000 nyang is enough to buy ten houses inside the capital walls.

Nal-chi is granted a military officer’s noble title, entering the yangban class he once could only dream of. Yet instead of remaining in the capital, he returns home. In the final scene, he reunites with Yeon-i, and the two walk back toward their hometown — a quiet, understated close to Nal-chi’s long, winding journey.


REVIEW

This was my third time attending a Changgeuk performance. It didn’t overwhelm me the way Merchants of Venice once did, but I felt far more at ease with the lyrics. The show includes multiple competition scenes featuring well-known pansori excerpts, including pieces from Simcheongga, which I had recently watched in full. The familiarity helped anchor me.

The performance began with a breathtaking sequence on a tightrope stretched high across the stage. Nal-chi crossed, flipped, jumped, and balanced with a lightness that felt unreal. I kept wondering how a pansori performer could be this acrobatic. Nam Chang-dong (남창동), who performed the rope sequence, was extraordinary. After nearly ten minutes of nonstop motion, he descended, exchanged bows with another actor in identical costume, and exited — revealing today’s Nal-chi.

The actor playing Nal-chi, Lee Gwangbok (이광복), sang with a naturally husky, rough-edged timbre — a quality that aligns well with accounts of the real Yi Gyeong-suk, whose art name “Nal-chi” came from his rope-walking skills. The production blended humor and tradition freely, dropping references to search engines, ChatGPT, and currency exchange rates. Pansori scenes were accompanied by traditional instrumentation, and many cast members — including Gaedari and Nal-chi — played drums skillfully.

The Korean Changgeuk Company consistently surprises me with the quality of its staging relative to the modest ticket price. In this production, a large LED-lit moon descended from above, embodied by an actress as the Moon spirit. Whenever she or Yeon-i sang, modern instruments blended with the traditional pansori sound, creating a beautiful contrast.

As someone still new to pansori, I found the competition scenes wonderfully accessible. They showcased excerpts from Jeokbyeokga, Simcheongga, and other well-known pieces. The most powerful moment was Nal-chi’s performance before the king’s father — 2,000 nyang or death. Lee Gwangbok delivered the scene with such urgency that he looked visibly exhausted afterward.

The creative team clearly wanted to showcase a wide range of pansori traditions while keeping the story lively. The production included the now-famous “범 내려온다” — a song whose title means “The Tiger Descends” — as well as a full staging of the Bukcheong Lion Dance. These choices made the work feel rich, playful, and welcoming to newcomers like me.

Staged in the intimate Daloreum Theater, the show felt cozy and inviting. The Changgeuk performances I’ve attended also sell program books — about ten dollars each — containing the full script along with scholarly commentaries. I plan to attend more Changgeuk in the future. The rhythms and vocal colors, so different from the Western musical styles I hear every day, linger in the ear long after the show ends.