The K-pop band “Rainbow” at the DSP family festival. We often associate K-pop with Korean performance, but what about the older aspects of Korean culture, both as an alternative and an influence?
In a stadium 45 minutes outside of Seoul, eight thousand fans gather to watch the national finals for League of Legends. At the same time in the Itaewon district north of the river, a Mudang balances an entire pig on a pitchfork to dispel evil spirits. Somewhere South of the river, nearby to Gangnam, a group of B-boys, poppers and lockers gather for an organized dance battle, competing with dancers from China, Japan and the U.S. Korea is a dynamic country where ancient performance traditions exist side by side with the popular culture of E-sports and K-pop. Oftentimes as countries develop economically traditions will die out or become commoditized purely for tourism. However, South Korea has managed to maintain a cultural identity in the performance arts, maintaining the traditions of ancestors while modernizing for the global cultural landscape. While all of these performances are radically different on the surface, much of the core stays the same throughout. Tae Oh’Sok, one of Korea’s most prominent modern playwirghts, describes the nation better than I could:
“Listen to Korean music and its chang’dan. It never keeps the same beat. Our tradition has always avoided set forms. It has descended to us not in a fixed state, but in an ever-flowing fashion. Our tradition has grown spontaneously. It constantly changes, reflecting current situations because it is innately fluid.” – Tae Oh’Sok
At its core, Korean performance has always been unique both in comparison to both Eastern and Western art forms. In fact, theatre as we generally know it with audience in their seats, actions on stage and proscenium arch did not exist in South Korea until Japanese imperialism forced it on the population in the early 20th century as a propaganda tool. Before Japan’s occupation, Korean performance always involved a large gathering of the village or community, often shaped like circle in a large open space, though sometimes people would even watch from restaurants. The main purpose of these performances, which varied greatly between Tal’Chum (a masked performance), a dance unique to the village, or a Kut, a ritual conducted by Korean shaman to banish evil spirits or bring good luck. Moreover, many of these performances were unique to a specific town or region, performed annually or more for the sake of bringing prosperity and happiness to the community. Though different in aesthetics, all of these performances shared the similarities of gift-giving, bringing good luck. and gathering villagers together to participate in the performance, often joining is a massive dance party during the finale. These would (and still do) sometimes last for days, and included food, drink and joy to please the spirits of the land.
A modern day “Kut” (Korean shamanic ritual) in action. Even in the modern day, many people still hire Mudang for their services in these rituals, from rural farmers to politicians to CEOs.
This brings me to the major goals I have in my project; analyzing and understanding the role of the performer in Korean society, how their performances shape Korean identity, and what we can learn from Korea to bring back to the U.S. In the most logical sense, theatre as only a method of entertainment and storytelling could be seen as obsolete compared to film, television and the internet, where we can reach a similar art much more conveniently. Why then, does theatre persist? To me, it comes from a genuine need and love of human interaction, which I believe is somewhere inside every human being. And so, rather than the traditional Broadway stars we have come to know in the U.S, I instead seek an understanding how Korean performance artists facilitate these gatherings of people, where closeness and interaction with the audience is the norm, and where gifts are freely given to bring happiness to the guests. Moreover, the Mudang (shamans) who perform Kut in the modern world regularly take calls from their clients, as one (who has asked to remain anonymous) put it to me; “It has become about changing with the times. Mudang are no longer village chiefs, but now we must act as advisers, confidants, healers, and friends to our clients. Our role changes, but our service stays the same.”
The League of Legends National 2014 Winter Finals, where the audience gathered in collective cheers and action, also receiving gifts thrown from the hosts.
Just as Mudang would give Tteok (rice cake) to their guests during a Kut (shamanist ritual), E-sports finals will send capsules of movie tickets and key chains flying out into the audience. Just like the finale dance party of ancient Tal’Chum, the audience is asked to stand and dance at the end of Nanta!, a modern production that has played in countries all over the world. The numbers of Mudang in the country are higher than ever, and can be easily found in and outside of Seoul. Even as the surface modernizes, Korean performance continues to serve what I see as one of the most vital needs of modern society; the collective gathering and joy of people from different, backgrounds, all together for the sake of happiness and celebration. As my journey continues I will not only log what I learn from performance training, but also herbal and natural healing concepts that Mudang use every day, different structures of performance as a whole in Korea, and the benefits I see in making these gatherings a part of everyday life. As I continue to travel and gain knowledge from different countries, I hope to one day use what I learn to create a new kind of performance for modern America, one that redefines and inspires us, building national identity and a global community. Though what I seek may seem hard to grasp, I feel that one of my favorite performance theorists, Jerzy Grotwoski, describes it in his Holiday Manifesto:
” I am being born so that you are born, so that you become. And also: do not be afraid, because I am going with you.”
I believe that within Korean performance, there is an essential piece of that invisible, unnameable, yet undeniable feeling he describes, and I will continue searching in the most unexpected places to find it.
Disclaimer: As their performances have been and continue to be an integral aspect of Korean culture, this and future blog posts will partly deal with Korean shaman called “Mudang.” I am not writing this for the sake of argument for or against their beliefs, the reasoning behind them, or any religious aspects of their work. Rather, I seek to present their work as they perform in everyday life, why they chose such a life and their motivations, and how they help their communities. I am looking specifically at the role of them as performers in society, and both in gratitude and respect for their work when learning from them I do believe in their viewpoints and ideas, as I am very lucky to interact with them as a foreigner. While this is not a space to argue whether the work of Mudang is “right or wrong,” any inquiries into the opinions, lifestyles and beliefs they hold which I have found in my research are more than welcome.
Works Cited:
Jerzy Grotowski: Święto, według stenogramu spotkania ze studentami i profesorami w auli New York University,
Kister, Daniel A. Korean Shamanist Ritual: Symbols and Dramas of Transformation. Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó, 1997. Print.
O, Tʻae-sŏk. The Metacultural Theater of Oh T’ae-sŏk: Five Plays from the Korean Avant-garde. Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai’i, 1999. Print.
Yu, Ch’i-jin, Man-sik Ch’ae, and Jinhee Kim. Korean Drama under Japanese Occupation: Plays by Ch’i-jin Yu and Man-sik Ch’ae. Dumont, NJ: Homa Sekey, 2004. Print.
Wireless Peninsula 