It is a privilege to live in a city where nearly 50 musicals are playing on any given day — except Mondays. For The Bridges of Madison County, I booked a ticket in the tallest row of the theater, slightly off-center. I secretly enjoyed the solitude, which seemed to suit this show. Somehow, watching alone, with no one around, felt right.

The performance began with a haunting cello solo and a single wooden bench, immediately setting the tone. As the story unfolded, the backdrop displayed war-torn Italy in sepia, as if seen through a grimy window, its center wiped in a rough circle — offering a partial view, like memory breaking through haze. The farmland of Iowa appeared in soft transitions of daylight, sunset, and night. Francesca’s kitchen and living room were smoothly brought on and off stage using what appeared to be a quiet, magnet-guided system beneath the stage — no visible tracks, no noise. The entrance door itself was operated manually, adding a tactile, lived-in feel to the space.

Francesca was played by Cha Ji-yeon, and Robert by Jaerim Choi — both sang and acted beautifully. Francesca was more emotional than I expected; Robert, more confident. I saw Cha Ji-yeon just a month ago in The Last Empress, and was struck by how much better suited her voice was to this role. She balanced different vocal colors and paced her emotions well — far more expressive than Meryl Streep in the film.

Jaerim Choi’s low and midrange were especially beautiful — expressive, stable, and emotionally resonant. I hadn’t realized how solid his baritone foundation was. His high notes — expressing love and the plea to leave together — were delivered in full voice, with long legato phrasing and minimal use of head tone. His sound resonated through the theater, giving Robert a sense of unwavering conviction — as if he were declaring love like a warrior.

The band featured strings, guitar, and piano — and likely included bass and percussion as well, given the richness of the sound. The orchestration felt full yet intimate, supporting the emotional tone of the show without overpowering it.

As a licensed production, it followed Broadway’s design closely. From clips I had seen, I noted that the Korean version softened some of the romantic scenes, omitted the staircase, and didn’t use large trees in the background. I was disappointed that the covered bridge wasn’t literally depicted — but since this is a licensed production, it followed Broadway’s design, which used three open rectangular frames to represent it. In this version, the frames had strings attached and were lifted into place. They could have added rooftops in the original production, even if disconnected, to more clearly evoke the image of a covered bridge.

I was surprised and impressed by the sinking square in the middle of the stage, which elevated Robert’s pickup truck, Francesca’s bed, and the family car. For a 2.5-month run, that’s a serious technical investment. It even made me a little annoyed that Aladdin, which ran for 7 months at the Charlotte Theatre, didn’t use a single trapdoor. The stage design here was clean, functional, and clearly based on a relatively modern original production — confirmed during intermission to be from 2014. I had expected a simpler, perhaps even slightly dilapidated 1965 rural Iowa setting — and needed a moment to digest the modern elegance.

The music was lovely, and the Korean translation used everyday language that felt natural and relatable.

When I first saw the film as a young person, it left me with a lingering ache, even though I didn’t fully understand Francesca’s pain. I didn’t know why it moved me so deeply at the time — but I felt empathy. That was the power of Meryl Streep’s performance.

This time, it didn’t ache as much. I found myself thinking that the poorest soul in the show was Bud Johnson. Francesca and Robert at least had an anchor point — something to remember, something beautiful. Bud was left behind, perhaps unaware, but surely unloved in the same way. Also, it stayed beautiful because they left the road not taken. In reality, after an elopement, there is no happily ever after. Francesca truly loved Paolo — a kind, ordinary neighborhood boy whom even her sister dismissed for lacking charm or brilliance. But Francesca loved him with all her heart. When the war shattered Italy and took Paolo’s life, she didn’t pursue adventure. She took refuge in Bud — a soldier turned farmer — not out of passion, but because he could offer safety and a way out of ruined Naples. If she had been someone who sought adventure, she wouldn’t have needed Robert to awaken her. Perhaps I’m being too analytical.

The show featured more ensemble work than I expected — over ten actors appeared in scenes such as Robert’s memory of his ex-wife, the state fair, a wedding, and a funeral. Hong Ryoonhee played Marge with great presence — seductive, witty, and vocally strong. Her brief solo as an inside-show singer was a welcome highlight — it would’ve been a waste not to hear her sing more.

Michael and Carolyn’s voices had a prepubescent ring — whether by technique or natural vocal timbre, they carried the bell-like resonance of youth.

The curtain call was thoughtful. After the final bows, young Francesca and Robert stood on opposite sides of the stage under soft spotlights, then quietly exited through separate doors.

The music was rich, and the staging far more modern and polished than I expected. I liked the show — very much.

But the movie still runs deeper. On stage, their love was tender. In the film, it was inevitable.