༺ Kim Young-do’s Emotional Maximization ༻
<The Existential Murderer>
A 90-minute monodrama.
Premiered at Daehak-ro in 2001. The actors Kim Sang-tae and Kwak Moon-hyuk were double-cast, making it a hot topic.
It won the Dong-A Theater Award for its radical storyline.
What particularly intrigued people was the fact that as time passed, Kwak Moon-hyuk’s performance date consistently sold out with premium ticket prices, while Kim Sang-tae’s performance only filled half the seats.
It was a script where the actor’s capability mattered a lot.
Yoon Hansung had also seen the play. He wondered how well he could handle such a challenging role.
How well could Yoomyeong digest such a difficult play in just one day? His fists involuntarily clenched.
With a bluish light shining directly on his face, the murderer cried out in a tormented voice.
“Your Honor, I implore you to give the maximum penalty to this murderer.”
At that sharp sound, everyone’s heart skipped a beat.
“Case number 2000 trial 0124 for murder. The culprit of this case is undeniably the victim’s son, myself, Kim Young-do. The evidence is first, my fingerprints found on evidence knife number 13. Second, the fact that I, Kim Young-do, have no alibi for that time. Third, the deteriorating relationship between us leading up to the incident. As the third piece of evidence, I submit noise complaint records from the apartment below, which were frequently reported to the police.”
A voice dripping with guilt. A young man with a painfully tortured face pleaded for his sins. He was begging not to be forgiven.
The blue light from the projector left a hazy afterimage on his pure white clothing, making it look like prison attire.
“It’s all my fault. Why did I do it? I don’t even know. Was it because I was the unwanted child born by mistake and the one who ruined my father’s life? Or was it because I’m a worthless leech who can’t even earn money and leeches off others for my meals?”
Murmurs—
The only background music Yoomyeong had prepared started playing. It contained the murmuring sound of the audience.
As the sound persisted for about three seconds, the prisoner asked a question with childlike naivety, drowning out the noise.
“Who said such things? Uh… it was my father…”
The projector’s light abruptly turned off.
*
Yoon Hansung felt parched.
Hearing the young man’s raspy voice made him feel as if his own throat was burning, so he quickly grabbed a water bottle next to him and took a gulp.
The tension was high from the beginning, and the audience couldn’t take their eyes off the performance.
The sound of the projector turning on and off along with the rectangular shape made them feel like they were watching a television.
Oh my, he’s the murderer who killed his own father—
Whispering, everyone turned on their TVs to confirm who this devil was.
However, the face that appeared was unexpectedly innocent, and the voice was pleading for the maximum penalty. The people hesitated, captivated.
What? The father said that to his child? Was the motive for the murder child abuse?
Such suspicions were brilliantly evoked by the direction of the play.
And the acting doubled the effect of that direction.
‘What’s with that actor?’
The first act continuously portrayed a courtroom setting.
The prisoner wept tears of repentance as he confessed to a priest. He recreated his father’s verbal and physical abuse, cowering and trembling.
The highlight was the reenactment of the crime at the end of the first act.
The young man, appearing as though his hands were tied, staggered forward, made a motion of grasping something, and tried to stab but ultimately collapsed, unable to do it.
“I… I can’t do it. Father… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please don’t hit me!”
The large, young man begged with his hands, crying like a child. The emotional intensity was so high that watching him felt suffocating.
‘Could it be… that he really experienced abuse as a child…?’
The character seemed so realistic that Yoon Hansung had no choice but to wonder about it.
Then, the second act began.
“Ah, yes, lawyer?”
The actor took a step aside, allowing the projector’s light to hit him diagonally.
A shadow stretched out, and the actor looked at the shadow as he spoke his lines.
Now, two people appeared on the screen.
Everyone was amazed by the opposition created with such simple tools.
“Yes. Public opinion has shifted? They’re saying it’s like wildfire that an accidental murder happened due to continuous child abuse and should be seen as a tragic accident? I heard a fan club was created for me on FreeChat? Haha. I guess I’ll have to pay attention to my style for the next trial.”
The atmosphere shifted entirely.
As if the naive and terrified young man from Act 1 seemed like a deception, Kim Young-do’s demeanor completely transformed. He approached the shadow, raising his hand and placing it upon it.
“I appreciate your efforts. Please continue your hard work. Huh? You have a question? Of course, I’m not the culprit. I’ve told you from the beginning. When I came home, I found my father… my father had collapsed.”
There was a forced tremor in his voice, and he sniffled audibly.
“I don’t know who framed me, but given the dire situation, my lawyer suggested I confess and plead insanity. My lawyer said he believes in me. Yes. It truly wasn’t me. I rely on you. You’re all I have.”
There was a chilling shift in emotion. It felt like watching a psychopath who could act very well.
A sense of unease spread amongst the audience.
Until Act 1, the audience empathized with a young man filled with guilt, who, after enduring abuse from his father for over a decade, momentarily lost his sanity and swung a knife.
But what was this feeling of betrayal?
As Act 2 progressed, the betrayal deepened. After being declared innocent due to persistent exposure to violent acts leading to his alleged insanity…
“Hahahahahahaha…”
Kim Young-do’s perfectly radiant laughter reached a climax.
The man before them didn’t seem like the Shin Yoomyeong they knew.
It was terrifying.
*
Act 3.
In the end, the prosecutor appealed, and Kim Young-do’s dark intentions were revealed during the appellate trial. He had meticulously planned his father’s murder.
However, the fact remained true that he had suffered from child abuse.
‘You can’t tell what the hell this guy is thinking.’
The victim, referring to her own son, was disgusted as if looking at an insect. Kim Young-do, who lacked much emotion, deteriorated further due to his sole blood relative’s loathing and abuse.
The murder was simple and carefree.
As he got closer to the back wall, the distance between the young man and the shadow decreased until there was only about a hand’s breadth of space left.
The young man swiftly swung the kitchen knife he had hidden behind him, and the knife embedded itself into the shadow.
It gave off an illusion as if the shadow was struggling.
“The defendant is sentenced to life imprisonment.”
The sentence was pronounced upon the young man who had turned his back on the audience.
His head hung low.
The play concluded with Kim Young-do’s peaceful words while eating in prison.
“The warm rice is delicious.”
It was an ending that implied a life where he had only received cold meals from his father.
Click—
Yoomyeong turned off the projector, and with the aid of the light from his mobile phone, walked over and turned on the hall lights.
Exhale—
The audience let out the breath they had been holding in.
Yoon Hansung also wiped his sweaty hands.
How did he memorize the lines from the entire play? What was the source of the lifelike realism that made it seem like the character was breathing? What kind of life had he lived?
Countless questions swirled in his mind.
And with those questions came desire.
The desire, as an audience, to see more works of that actor.
And the bubbling urge, as an actor himself, to perform alongside him.
Suppressing all those words, he slowly approached the stage.
“Actor Shin Yoomyeong.”
He gazed intently at Yoomyeong.
“I made a mistake. Let’s forget about the formalities when we’re alone. I only thought of you as a junior, but you’re already an impressive actor.”
The students who had regained their composure finally clapped so hard that their hands hurt.
Clap clap clap clap clap clap—
“However, as I expected, I see a problem. It’s fine for a one-act play, but the tension is too high for a full-length performance.”
“…?”
“Your acting is beyond reproach. Everyone probably watched without losing focus, so maybe this criticism is unnecessary, but it’s a bit hard to watch. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like jumping in place even when you’re on solid ground as if you can’t shake the habit of treading water even when you’re on land.”
‘Ah…’
“You’re an actor who commands attention just by standing still. I wanted to tell you not to try too hard.”
Amidst the other students turning their heads in curiosity, only Yoomyeong understood and gave a grateful nod.
“Since it’s the last day, let’s wrap up early and continue our conversations at the after-party. Everyone has worked hard.”
“Thank you!”
And so, the Oedipus Summer Workshop concluded.
However, it wasn’t completely over.
“Could we talk in private?”
At the after-party, Hansung asked Yoomyeong for a private chat.
*
“Was your earlier performance based, even slightly, on personal experience?”
“…I’m the eldest of two siblings, a boy and a girl. I have a harmonious relationship with my loving parents and a good bond with my sibling.”
“I see.”
Hansung emptied his shot of soju. Yoomyeong picked up the bottle and refilled his glass.
The Oedipus members occupied a large group seat, but the two of them sat at a separate table a little distance away. Yoomyeong glanced over at the group seat and then spoke to Hansung.
“Senior, may I share my perspective?”
“Go ahead.”
“I don’t believe that the scope of emotion is determined by experience.”
Hmm…
Hansung gulped down another shot, making a humming sound. That was the very thing he wanted to ask.
Shin Yoomyeong was barely twenty-three years old. If he hadn’t gone through unbelievable twists in his life, then where did that profound emotional expression come from?
“When I open my heart to a character and immerse myself, I genuinely feel their emotions. It’s not something I understand by comparing it to my own experiences, but the real emotions of what I would feel if I were in their shoes.”
“…”
“That’s why I didn’t particularly like the Emotional Maximization workshop. While it helps awaken emotions by forcing actors to be honest with themselves, digging into trauma can be risky.”
“So how do you awaken your emotions?”
Hansung’s tone became more casual and less formal.
“I empty myself. I set aside Shin Yoomyeong, approach the character without prejudice, and open my heart to feel what it would be like if I were Kim Young-do. I observe similar personalities and gather information to collect emotions.
Then, while reading the script, I sift through various fragments of emotions that come to mind for each scene, choosing the ones that best suit Kim Young-do and building the character bit by bit. I do that until I can naturally become that character.”
“That’s a very textbook approach.”
“Fundamental approaches are tough. But that’s how I was able to create a Kim Young-do that’s more authentic to Kim Young-do rather than a Kim Young-do based on Shin Yoomyeong.”
“…Characters based on Yoon Hansung…”
That had been Hansung’s dilemma.
His emotional expressions were markedly skewed towards tragedy, and since the base of his emotions was fixed, the portrayal of his characters always seemed similar.
Although he had an exceptional ability to evoke sympathy from the audience, leading to many seeking him out, he was slowly sensing his limitations as an actor.
‘I thought I couldn’t portray happiness because I rarely felt it, but is it an issue with the method of portrayal itself?’
“Even though I didn’t do the Emotional Maximization Workshop yesterday, today’s performance wasn’t any different for me in terms of emotional maximization. Any script shows the part of a character’s life where emotions are maximized. Perhaps today was the emotional maximization of Kim Young-do.”
Strangely enough, the advice from the twenty-three-year-old didn’t seem out of place. It felt like sharing thoughts with a fellow actor who had been pondering acting for a long time.
Today, Yoon Hansung obtained a homework assignment.
It was a longer, more challenging one than the ones he had ever given out before.
*
“Um… excuse me!”
After finishing the private chat with Yoon Hansung and mingling with the Oedipus members, someone cautiously approached and started talking to Yoomyeong.
It was Seon Yu-ri.
“Yes?”
“Ah…”
Yu-ri seemed unsure of how to proceed, then hastily blurted out a word and bowed her head deeply.
“I’m sorry!”
“Pardon?”
“Well… I was rude. I spoke with prejudice without really knowing you. Even afterward, I made things uncomfortable… I’m truly sorry.”
With her ears turning red, Yu-ri, who was clearly not accustomed to apologizing, looked adorable as she conveyed her sincere regret.
“Pft… Can I ask you something?”
“…Yes.”
“So, did doing the workshop together help?”
Yu-ri’s entire face turned bright red in response to Yoomyeong’s teasing.
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