I watched the Korean-language licensed production of Hell's Kitchen, which I had previously seen on Broadway in 2025. Alicia Keys reportedly took part in the translation and localization process and even appeared on opening night to greet the audience.

When I saw the show in New York last year, what struck me most was how seamlessly the story flowed despite being a jukebox musical. I had the same impression in Korea. Rather than feeling like a collection of existing hit songs stitched together, the score unfolds as though it had been written for the musical from the beginning. Since I already knew how the songs were connected, that sense of discovery was naturally diminished. Even so, "Pawn It All" still gave me the pleasure of recognizing how the song had been adapted for the stage. The fun of spotting the seams that often define jukebox musicals was reduced, but in return the work gained a greater sense of dramatic unity.

It was not until near the end of Act 1 that I began to overcome the feeling that the Korean cast simply looked too Korean to represent New Yorkers of the late 1990s. Honorifics such as "Uncle Ray" and "Teacher Liza Jane," combined with the characters' overall demeanor, inevitably gave the production a distinctly Korean feel. It would have been difficult to localize them in any other way.

One line spoken by Miss Liza Jane to Ali particularly stayed with me:

"You are but the latest branch on a long-standing tree, rising triumphant from the roots of Florence Price, Margaret Bonds, Hazel Scott. We honor these roots—our ancestors, the patriarchs, and especially the matriarchs...“

I had been especially curious to hear how this passage would be translated ever since I saw the Broadway production. In the original script, the phrase "the patriarchs, and especially the matriarchs" clearly places emphasis on the maternal lineage. In the Korean production, however, it became, "We should remember the great fathers of music... and our mothers as well," shifting the emphasis by mentioning the fathers first and treating the mothers as a secondary addition. It was fascinating to observe how the focus of the same sentence changed as it crossed languages.

This production marked Park Jiwon's musical theatre debut, so I watched her first performance with equal measures of anticipation and apprehension. There is a unique charm to a debut performance. I enjoy watching not only a performer's potential but also the freshness and slight awkwardness that disappear with experience. In "The River," her phrasing occasionally felt a little rigid, but she found the groove well and rose to the challenge. The opening section of "Kaleidoscope" highlighted her strengths most effectively. During the climactic ensemble near the end of the song, however, her voice was sometimes overshadowed rather than cutting through the texture.

As the musical unfolded, however, I came to appreciate why she had been cast. More impressive than her singing was how convincingly she captured Ali's age. The Ali I saw in New York was played by an actual seventeen-year-old, whose youthful defiance and excitement of first love came across naturally even in the way she walked and stood. In the Korean production, Ali appeared to have been reinterpreted as an eighteen-year-old (presumably reflecting the Korean age convention), and Park Jiwon was equally believable as a girl of that age.

Lee Michelle, as Tiny, once again demonstrated her distinctive rapping ability. Knuck's friends made less of an impression than they had on Broadway and served little purpose beyond comic relief. Part of that may have been because the bucket drumming, which had been so memorable in New York, was far less prominent in the Korean production. I had been looking forward to hearing those rhythms again, making their reduced presence all the more noticeable.

As Jersey, Hyena Park portrayed a far more stubborn and self-assured mother than her Broadway counterpart. The character gave birth to Ali at seventeen, placing her in her mid-thirties during the events of the musical. Once a promising performer who had earned a place at Manhattan Plaza, she is now consumed by a single goal: making sure her daughter reaches adulthood safely—without becoming pregnant too young. Hyena Park conveyed a woman whose stubbornness came not from authority or control, but from fear.
s
When Kim Young Ju and Jung Young-ju were announced as Miss Liza Jane, I felt I could already imagine the production's vision of a Korean Liza Jane. Both actresses are known for rounded vowels, expressive note bending, and a vocal style naturally suited to R&B, blues, and even touches of country music. Their approach fit the character well. At the same time, it made me appreciate even more the restrained diction that Yolanda Adams brought to the role on Broadway. The comparison highlighted how performers with similar authority can shape a character through completely different vocal styles. On the day I attended, Kim Young Ju portrayed Miss Liza Jane with more restrained diction and movement than I had expected, giving the character a quiet but unmistakable presence.

K. Will played Davis with a slightly rough-edged tenor that gave the role a distinctive color. His duet with Jersey, "Un-Thinkable (I'm Ready)," produced some of the most satisfying vocal harmony of the evening. When Davis entered mid-song and Jersey answered him, Hyena Park's powerful groove brought even greater energy to the number.

"Girl on Fire" remained the most exhilarating musical number. The Korean production wisely retained the English lyrics at key moments, allowing the song to keep its original impact. Lee Haheun delivered the climactic "This girl is on fire!!!" with confidence and power. Throughout the first act, the drums resonated through the theatre, creating a physical sense of impact while maintaining impressive clarity without overwhelming the rest of the orchestra.

The central conflict of Hell's Kitchen felt somewhat different in the Korean production. Like Memphis and West Side Story, this musical is fundamentally driven by racial identity and cultural tension. Presenting such a story with a largely ethnically homogeneous cast is, by its nature, a difficult task (although Korea today is no longer a completely homogeneous society). In the Korean production, lines explicitly identifying characters as Black or White remained unchanged, making those aspects of the original feel somewhat flatter than they had on Broadway. Even so, when viewed as a story about poverty, social class, and coming of age rather than race alone, the musical's emotional core remained intact.

The finale, "Empire State of Mind," also avoided becoming an oversized showpiece. Instead, the restrained orchestration allowed the music itself to carry the scene, complemented by images of the New York skyline.

The drum solo during the curtain call generated as much excitement as the performance itself. Fortunately, filming was permitted until that day, allowing me to preserve the moment on video.

The orchestra was also worth watching. Only the keyboardist, guitarist, and drummer were visible within the steel framework of the set. The piano parts, including Liza Jane's accompaniment, appeared to be played offstage, as the keyboardist's hands were often still before the music began. During the curtain call, the backstage video screens briefly showed the keyboard player, percussionist, and bassist taking their bows, confirming where the hidden musicians had been positioned.

Watching Hell's Kitchen for a second time, now in Korean, became less an exercise in comparing casts than in observing what changes—and what remains unchanged—when a musical crosses languages and cultures. The translation, performances, and cultural context inevitably reshaped parts of the experience, yet Alicia Keys' music remained the production's strongest foundation. Its dramatic power translated remarkably well, even in a different language.