As I left the Charlotte Theater after Mrs. Doubtfire, I felt as though I had watched several different shows stitched together into one. At times it was like catching bits of MJ, & Juliet, Tina, and Dear Evan Hansen all at once. The story stayed close to Chris Columbus’ film, but the rhythm jumped between musical, sketch comedy, children’s TV, and variety show. The ensemble appeared as rainbow workout models, TV hosts, cooks, and multiple Mrs. Doubtfires, while a Spanish singer and chorus added yet another layer.

The curtain projection before the show was particularly charming: Mrs. Doubtfire appeared as though she were a character in Mario or Tetris, which drew laughter and clapping from children in the audience. That playful, video-game energy set the mood before the story even began.

This was a non-replica production: most of the staging followed the original, with only slight changes, while the real differences came from the rewritten dialogue and cultural references. Localization was bold and unapologetic, and Korean audiences responded with laughter and applause. Wordplay jokes were completely rebuilt around Korean humor. One of the cleverest moments came when Daniel phoned Miranda to apply for the nanny job. He hesitated over a name, just as a couple passed by. The woman called the man oppa. He protested, “I’m younger than you,” and she snapped back, “잘 생기면 다 오빠야” (“If you’re handsome, you’re an oppa”).

Oppa (오빠) originally means “older brother” in Korean, but women also use it to address a slightly older male friend, boyfriend, or husband. In K-pop culture, fans often call male idols oppa, giving the word an affectionate or playful tone. Here, the sound “da oppaya” morphed into “Doubtfire,” which Miranda misheard as Daniel’s name. A cultural twist unrecognizable abroad, but it landed perfectly in Seoul.

The make-up brainstorming scene was another highlight. Daniel’s options ranged from Hillary Clinton and Elsa to disco diva Donna Summer — and even Shin Saimdang (신사임당), the Joseon-era artist and writer whose portrait is printed on Korea’s 50,000 won bill, long held as a symbol of the “ideal mother.” The cultural mash-up drew big laughs. Daniel also learned to cook from YouTube instead of books (Broadway once used TikTok), and when food delivery arrived in a previous scene he shouted Harry Potter spells like “Alohomora” and “Wingardium Leviosa.” In Act I, his inability to prove steady work as a Scottish nanny pushed him into cleaning at a broadcasting station, which set up The Jolly Show — a variety segment that ran long but pulsed with DJ beats.

Frank and Andre’s transformation scenes of Daniel into Mrs Doubtfire drew laughs, if slightly stretched. Andre’s tributes to Donna Summer and Jennifer Holliday carried disco nostalgia; some audience members recognized Summer, but very few seemed to catch Holliday’s reference. The Act I finale, “I’m Rockin’ Now,” even began like Hot Stuff before spinning into its own tune.

Act II opened with Miranda’s gym-fashion runway and Lina (as Miranda) carried the number with her sharp-edged vocal color, giving her songs bite at the start of phrases. “Big Fat No“ was visually cluttered, with male ensemble members exercising in the background during her conversation with Stu. At moments like this, the staging felt too busy, when a stronger impact might have come from spotlighting the leads first and then expanding to the ensemble.

The children were standouts: Lydia (Seol Ga-eun) sang with striking control, Chris (Sein Kim) combined dance and song with ease, and young Natalie (Kim Chae-min) proved herself a capable singer. Their energy grounded the family story.

Localization reached further: the script referenced Rose’s APT, name-dropped Jennie of Blackpink, and teased the K-pop hit “Just One Ten Minutes” before breaking off with a meta-joke about needing a license. These touches made the show feel up-to-date on the surface, though some — like the DJing — already felt like a decades-old concept.

Despite the scattered variety-show feel, the balance of humor and heart worked. Daniel began as a man-child who thought of himself more as his kids’ friend than their parent. By the end, he had grown into a father who could be trusted with responsibility. Miranda could not love him again, but she accepted his sincerity and allowed him to co-parent. The closing note was generous: family can take many forms, so long as love for the children remains.

What surprised me most was how freely this Korean licensed production embraced rainbow-colored and gender-fluid imagery, weaving them through the staging without hesitation. The result was sometimes overlong, sometimes uneven, but ultimately heartfelt, lighthearted, and surprisingly progressive.