 |
| Left to right: Cindy Im, Amy Kim Waschke, Sean Jones, Paul Juhn. Photo courtesy Oregon Shakespeare Festival. |
The idea of theatre being an accurate representation of
reality, unconsciously assumed by playwrights for thousands of years, has been
called into question by the newest generation of playwrights. Jiehae Park’s
latest work dispenses with these assumptions in order to better deliver its
complicated message. Hannah And The Dread
Gazebo, which sees its world premiere at OSF this year, twists time, space,
memory, and reality to capture the meeting point of heritage, mythology, and
identity in the Korean-American experience.
Though the action of Hannah
is vaguely linear, it meanders into different places to provide a more complete
picture of the characters’ journey. We might take a visit into a lonely subway
line to learn the Korean creation myth secondhand, or journey into a dreamland,
where resides the ghost of Kim Jong Il. Several long stretches of the play are
in Korean, with no supertitles: These dialogue segments are used either to illustrate
the difficulties of the English-speaking characters, or as comedy, punctuated
with goofy uses of body language.
The plot primarily concerns three generations of a Korean
family: the titular Hannah (Cindy Im), a fully Americanized medical student struggling
to make sense of her identity; her mother (Amy Kim Waschke), confined and
tormented, wanting more in her life but able to mask it with a wry sense of
humor; and Hannah’s grandmother (Jessica Ko, who plays a number of other minor
roles), who ignites the action of the play by throwing herself off a building
and into the Korean demilitarized zone.
Im approaches her role with a kind of beleaguered
helplessness: She knows actions aren’t going to alter the Korean political
climate enough for her to retrieve her grandmother’s body, nor are they going
to lower the language barrier between her and the rest of the country (Hannah
barely speaks Korean) or solve her relationship problems. Despite this, though,
she refuses to go down without a fight, and combats her absurd situation with
kindness and whip-smart sarcasm in turn. Meanwhile, Waschke adapts to her
increasingly strange surroundings while still maintaining a sense of
bewilderment; despite all the bizarre things that happen, she keeps her
emotional development grounded and realistic.
Hannah’s brother Dang (Sean Jones) finds himself on his own
journey in a subplot that both confronts him with the mythological origin story
of Dangun, the founder of Korea, and allows him to come to terms with
developing his own identity in a country where everyone looks like him. While
Dang is mainly the comic relief character, juxtaposing important facts about
the family with a barrage of swearing, Jones injects a sense of frustration
into the role that makes him a more sympathetic character. Dang, of all the
characters, has the least idea about what’s going on, but we as the audience
aren’t mocking him for it; rather, we understand the unfortunate circumstances
that surround him.
The remaining characters in the play serve more to support
the development of those more central to the plot, but produce equally
excellent performances. Paul Juhn plays Hannah’s father: As the only functional
Korean-speaker for the majority of the play, much of the work in finding the
grandmother’s body falls to him, and he plays the tragicomic subplot of
navigating government bureaucracy with a mixture of outrage and hope. Eunice
Hong is a nameless girl who meets with Dang on the street: The role mostly
serves to provide information about the DMZ and jokes about overenthusiastic
activism, but Hong’s high-energy performance makes her a delight to watch.
Jessica Ko’s multiple roles are also great, but because many of them are
spoilers, it falls on you to witness her navigate them.
The set, designed by Collette Pollard, matches the mix of
tradition and bureaucracy that pervades the play. A gorgeous forest sits behind
a gray, square set that – thanks to David Weiner’s lighting work – even
lights up at right angles. This conjures images of magic trapped within the
confines of society, while also abstractly illustrating the Korean DMZ, a
wildlife oasis due to the ongoing cold war between the two countries. The
square lighting helps cut the otherwise bare stage into smaller parcels, useful
when denoting locations like the subway or Hannah’s mother’s tiny apartment.
Hannah and the Dread
Gazebo is a play unconcerned with being “proper”; rather, it departs from
the known to better transmit its message of identity, mourning, and ambiguity
as part of the Korean-American experience. Its strong cast, playful dialogue,
and innovative use of language barriers make it a solid, eclectic work.
Hannah and the Dread Gazebo runs through October 28th.
Hannah and the Dread Gazebo runs through October 28th.
