SYNOPSIS

Island: 1933-2019 moves between Sorokdo in 1933 and 1966, and Seoul in 2019. It follows three generations of women: Baek Su-seon, her daughter Go Yeong-ja, and Yeong-ja’s daughter, Go Ji-seon. At first, their stories seem separate. As the production unfolds, their family connection comes into view.

[1933: Baek Su-seon and Haebong]

Baek Su-seon is brought to Sorokdo by a Japanese police officer. Other patients reassure her that she will receive treatment and be able to live there. The reality is far harsher. The Japanese director and staff keep the residents under strict control. They are put to work on projects such as building a park, yet continue to suffer from hunger.

Su-seon earns a little money by doing laundry. She grows close to Haebong, who has long been in love with her, and they fall in love. But fear hangs over the island: patients who cannot work may be sent to an isolation room, and men who have relationships with women risk forced sterilization. The isolation room is portrayed as a threat and a means of punishment, not as a place where patients are routinely confined.

Haebong plans to escape with Su-seon, but she wants to endure the life she has rather than risk everything. As they try to board a boat, Haebong is caught and killed by their pursuers. Su-seon escapes alone. Outside the island, she gives birth to a son, Park Seon-bong, and raises him by herself. But stigma and the hardships of single parenthood make it difficult to build a stable life. She eventually returns to Sorokdo, marries another man, and has a daughter, Go Yeong-ja.

Children born on Sorokdo are separated from their parents and raised in a nursery, supposedly to prevent infection. Once a month, parents and children meet on opposite sides of the road at Suthanjang. The children face their parents with their backs to the sea breeze to reduce the risk of infection. The Japanese director’s brutal rule eventually ends when a patient kills him.

[1966: Marianne, Margaret, and Yeong-ja]

In 1966, Austrian nuns Marianne and Margaret care for patients on Sorokdo. Yeong-ja, who was born and raised on the island, helps them. She grows up with her older brother, Seon-bong, but leaves Sorokdo after their mother dies. She later returns to the island on the anniversary of her mother’s death to visit the nuns.

The two nuns are warm and compassionate, but also firm. They ignore rules requiring gloves and masks when treating patients, even though Hansen’s disease is not spread through ordinary contact, and care for wounds with their bare hands. They distribute powdered milk to residents and sometimes give placebos to patients who say they are ill, offering comfort as well as care.

When Yeong-ja tells Marianne that some residents divert medicine to raise money, Marianne becomes furious and rushes off to find them. The nuns insist that medicine should reach the patients who need it. As they grow older and can no longer care for others, they leave Sorokdo after forty years, with only letters to explain their departure.

[2019: Go Ji-seon and Ji-won]

Go Ji-seon is a successful art producer when she marries Hyung-jin, a game developer. They have a daughter, Ji-won, who is diagnosed with a developmental disability. Ji-seon initially struggles to accept the diagnosis, but soon devotes herself to finding the support her daughter needs.

According to the dialogue, families may wait more than two years to enter a public program. After completing one program, they may have to wait again for a place in the next. Private therapy programs offer a wider range of options, but they are expensive. Ji-seon and Hyung-jin do their best to find education and treatment for Ji-won.

At a family gathering, Ji-seon’s sister tells her she can talk about her difficulties, but the sympathy only makes Ji-seon feel worse. When her older brother suggests sending Ji-won to a facility, Ji-seon counters, “I’m not Kim Ji-seon. I’m Go Ji-seon,” and leaves. She is declaring that she chose her mother’s surname instead of carrying the name of a father who failed to fulfill his responsibilities.

On the subway, Ji-won runs around, so Ji-seon runs after her to prevent an accident. At first, other passengers look on in confusion. As time passes, they adjust to the situation. One student folds in their legs so Ji-won will not trip over them.

When Ji-won is ten, a public hearing is held about building a learning center for people with developmental disabilities. Opponents say the facility should be built in another neighborhood, while supporters insist on using respectful and accurate language. Ji-seon explains that, because there are so few suitable schools, Ji-won has to travel for more than two hours to attend one. The hearing ends without an easy resolution.

By the end, the production reveals the family connection: Go Ji-seon is Yeong-ja’s daughter, and Yeong-ja is Baek Su-seon’s daughter. The three timelines connect through family memory and show how exclusion and discrimination continue in changing forms.


REVIEW

Children of people who were officially classified at the time as “non-infectious leprosy patients” attended the elementary school I went to. As a child, I knew little about the circumstances behind it. When our teacher said, “Hands,” we would immediately hold hands with our classmates, and our class was praised for doing it better than the others. We argued with one another and shared side dishes. I do not remember seeing those friends’ parents at school. Our teachers and parents would visit their village for the volunteer work. Watching Island: 1933-2019 brought my old friends back to mind. We had simply been children who spent time together, but now I can see the discrimination behind that ordinary life, and how difficult it must have been for their parents to come to school.

In the production, children are separated from their parents and meet them once a month at Suthanjang. The children face their parents with their backs to the sea breeze to reduce the risk of infection. The scene made me think about what my friends and their families must have gone through.

As a child, I felt proud of my school. After seeing the production, I felt ashamed to realize that I had grown into an adult who is not especially enlightened and still carries prejudice and bias. I found myself wondering whether the lessons repeated in childhood had helped me hold on to the basic decency we owe one another. I left determined to do better.

Perhaps Yeong-ja could have been one of my friends. As I watched her, I saw the faces of the children who used to fence with mop handles while cleaning our classroom.

I knew a little about Sorokdo’s history, so Su-seon and Haebong’s story was painful to watch. Their love is shown as young and tender, without exaggeration. I found the writing beautiful in that respect. Jeongyeon played Marianne and Go Ji-won, Lee Ji-sook played Margaret and Baek Su-seon, and Kim Ri-hyeon played Haebong and Voice 5. The other performers were listed as Voice 1 through Voice 10. They took on many roles and ensemble parts, including some major characters.

The performers wore pale, undyed costumes reminiscent of hemp and cotton garments from the Joseon period. Scarves helped define characters and situations. Beige scarves represented the residents of Sorokdo. When Haebong was pulled from the boat, several performers used black scarves like ropes to show him being bound. The set and lighting were simple. The work was closer to a dialogue-heavy play with music, but the songs were lovely and the cast sang very well.

The production found moments of humor without forcing them. In the 1930s scenes, there was both sorrow and wit in Su-seon and Haebong’s romance and in the conversations among the men who lived in Haebong’s section. In the scenes set in the 1960s and 1970s, I laughed at moments such as a patient pointing to his head while claiming that his chest hurt, and at the nuns’ lines mixing Jeolla dialect with Korean profanity. Since Sorokdo is in Jeolla Province, it makes sense that the foreign nuns speak in the local dialect, but hearing it onstage kept making me laugh. Sister Marianne is devoted and kind, yet quick to flare up at even a small injustice, which gives her plenty of colorful lines.

In the present-day story, we see early on how Ji-seon’s arrogance gives way to devotion to her daughter, Ji-won. Ji-seon and Hyung-jin are portrayed as good parents who look for practical ways to support their daughter instead of denying her disability or becoming consumed by self-blame. According to the dialogue, families may have to wait more than two years to enter a public program, then wait again to join the next one after completing the first. Private programs offer more choices, but each can be expensive.

The scene in which Ji-seon’s older brother suggests sending Ji-won to a residential facility was a shock. I do not know enough about how residential facilities and new admissions currently work to say how closely this line reflects the present situation. What came through clearly was that there is no simple answer to raising a child, and how heavy the responsibility of family care can be. I admit that the suggestion that Ji-seon should live apart from her child affected me more deeply than Su-seon and Haebong’s scenes.

The subway episode offers practical guidance on understanding the behavior of people with developmental disabilities and how others can respond. Like Kiki’s Borderline Personality Disorder Diary, which I saw recently and which dealt with personality disorder, this kind of educational opportunity seems very useful.

Hansen’s disease is not transmitted through ordinary day-to-day contact, yet the production shows rules requiring patients to wear masks and gloves. Those scenes brought back the way fear of infection during COVID-19 changed people’s daily lives and attitudes. The two diseases differ in how they spread and in their risks, but fear can lead people to treat someone as dangerous before considering the actual risk. The pandemic showed how quickly that fear can reshape ordinary life. Decades from now, memories may fade, and people may forget that time as if they had pressed a reset button. No one is completely safe from illness, disability, or accidents.

The opening number begins with the melody of Yun Sim-deok’s “In Praise of Death,” based on Iosif Ivanovici’s “Waves of the Danube.” It expands into a chorus for the ensemble. The newly composed songs were also flowing and beautiful. I especially liked the ensemble numbers and the solo passages that emerged between them.

The production uses an island as an image of isolation created by prejudice and discrimination. The Voice Project—writer Jang Woo-seong, composer Lee Seon-young, and director Park So-young—created it using records of real people, a documentary film, and related books. The writing, music, and overall tone make this a finely made work. I can imagine it reaching audiences in other cultures as well.