The 2025 Korean production of Evita at Gwanglim Arts Center’s BBCH Hall surprised me with its stark minimalism. In a venue that recently hosted The Bridges of Madison County—a show that proved the hall can support sizeable scenic elements—Evita chose a completely different path: a bare stage, mobile platforms, modular metal structures, and choreography-driven transitions. No grand staircases, no iconic Casa Rosada façade, no huge “EVITA” letters. The visual world relied on lighting, ensemble geometry, triangular towers with single-face mirrors powered manually from inside, and a few rolling podiums that became everything from runways to balconies.

The musical story itself avoids mythmaking. Political figures can never be portrayed “neutrally”—their lives are tied to the many people they impacted and to how history remembers them. Eva Duarte rises from poverty through ambition, instinct, and a keen understanding of timing; she does good for the poor and women, but her methods are often calculated and sharp. Her interaction with Perón’s mistress reveals the ruthlessness she could wield when necessary. The creators were not excessively kind to her, and the introduction of Che—clearly named to evoke Che Guevara—gives audiences a political narrator who explains what might otherwise be opaque, especially for those unfamiliar with Argentine history. In this production’s pared-down frame, the clarity of the story stood out even more.

In this stripped-down form, Evita felt closer to an opera than a traditional musical—not in vocal style, but in narrative flow. With its sung-through structure and continuous musical argument, the show moved with operatic inevitability. I love when recitative-like connecting melodies are delivered well; they reveal more about a performer’s true level than the big melodic numbers do. The lack of sets exposed ALW’s score in a way that made its strengths stand out. Andrew Lloyd Webber’s instinct for melody carries even the barest staging, though the recurring Argentina motif appeared a bit too often for my taste. The tango sequences, on the other hand, added welcome rhythmic color—playful breaks from the rock-infused anthems and military marches that dominate the score.

The casting aligned uncannily well with the minimalist staging. Michael Lee was an exceptional Che—far more compelling here than as Gringoire in Notre Dame de Paris at Sejong Center, where the hall’s heavy reverb blurred his articulation. BBCH Hall’s dry, intimate mix served him perfectly. His natural rhythmic intelligence—both in phrasing and movement—grounded the production from the moment he walked onstage. Whenever he entered, the empty stage felt full again. His Korean diction retained hints of English-accented color, but clarity was never compromised.

Yuria, one of the most powerful female singers in the Korean musical scene, found an excellent match in Eva Perón. She moves effortlessly between quiet emotional restraint and explosive vocal power, with clean high belts, fluid transitions, and an unusually strong lower register. As Esmeralda in Notre Dame de Paris, she sang beautifully but lacked the instinctive seduction that role demands—something only a few performers naturally possess. Eva’s emotional sincerity and ambition suit her much more naturally. She played Eva not as an icon but as a woman in motion, rising and faltering with believable human weight.

Paek In Tae (Magaldi), making what seems to be his first major-venue debut at BBCH—aside from his recent lead in the opera Dosan at Seoul Arts Center Opera House—was a bright presence. His Act I number showcased a clean tenor tone and confident movement, though the role grants him little stage time. The actress playing Perón’s mistress, 은채현, offered a surprisingly polished and emotionally clear performance, and made strong impact in only a few minutes onstage.

Some visual choices and ensemble tableaux were reminiscent of the 2024–2025 Regent’s Park → West End revival of Evita: sculptural choreography, industrial structures, harsh white spotlights, and ensemble bodies forming architecture. This feels less like coincidence and more like part of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s current global direction. ALW-licensed shows in recent years increasingly favor contemporary minimalism—concert-like fluidity, scaffolding, haze-filled beams, and actor-driven staging. Korea’s Evita seems aligned with this trend rather than constrained by venue limitations.

In a sub-1,000-seat hall, the amplification leaned toward rock-concert density—something I personally enjoy, though my friend said her ears hurt. Ensemble passages were heavily compressed, sometimes blurring diction during massed lines. But the dry mix kept the principal voices clear, and the overall balance felt intentional for a show built around political mass energy.

This Evita didn’t aim for spectacle—it aimed for clarity, rhythm, and emotion. In its minimalist frame, the score and performers carried the entire architecture. And in returning to a fully sung-through musical after several dialogue-heavy productions I’ve seen recently, I was reminded of why I love sung-through storytelling: the emotional line is never broken, and the music becomes the map. It wasn’t a grand production, but it was a satisfying one—clean, focused, musically engaging, and anchored by performers whose strengths finally found the right roles.