[Review] Musical 'Arang' brings vivid imagination to stage with risks that — mostly — pay off
[REVIEW]
![A scene from musical "Arang," where Arang and Domi reunite, staged at the National Theater of Korea in Jung District, central Seoul. [ACOM]](https://koreajoongangdaily.joins.com/data/photo/2026/01/31/a23da939-65a9-45f3-b548-7e1b3be01e4e.jpg)
New musical “Arang,” which opened Tuesday at the National Theater of Korea, is a game changer in the local theater scene.
Produced by ACOM, behind large-scale historical musicals such as “Hero” and “Empress Myeongseong,” “Arang” carries an experimental excitement and, simultaneously, the scale and shine of legacy prestige theater.
Hand-painted ink wash imagery on stage, decadent hanbok (traditional Korean dress), poetic lyrics, orchestration that fluidly moves through Eastern and Western sounds and choreography brimming with drama add up to a nuanced and refreshing show that prioritizes meaning over ornament and sets a new bar for the genre.
The show takes one brazen gamble, however, by setting its protagonist as a technical device, and not a moral one. More bluntly, he is incredibly unlikable.
![A scene from musical "Arang" featuring King Yeokyung, staged at the National Theater of Korea in Jung District, central Seoul. [ACOM]](https://koreajoongangdaily.joins.com/data/photo/2026/01/31/6af6e28c-f539-47f7-8c08-eac856426da4.jpg)
![A scene from musical "Arang" featuring Arang and Domi, staged at the National Theater of Korea in Jung District, central Seoul. [ACOM]](https://koreajoongangdaily.joins.com/data/photo/2026/01/31/466f1e17-81af-4ae1-ae02-b40fe7538480.jpg)
Set in 460 A.D., the musical follows a king of Baekje (18 B.C. to A.D. 660) named Yeokyung. Constantly anxious about losing his throne — a recurring concern of many kings in the Korean monarchy — he is plagued by nightmares.
This is where the musical opens. In another nightmare, the king wanders a sort of postapocalyptic wasteland amid a sandstorm until, this time, he arrives at a picturesque, dreamlike utopia.
A full moon that gleams against the shimmering water, with majestic mountains behind, and peach blossom trees with petals blowing in the wind like snow — which are hand-painted with blotted ink on hanji (mulberry paper) — make it feel as though audiences have truly entered a dream, setting the aesthetic of the show.
In this paradise, the king encounters a woman whom he immediately falls in love with. When he wakes from the dream, he orders his loyal servant, Hyangsil, to find her. And it turns out she exists: Arang. But she is newly married and deeply in love with another man, Domi.
From here, events spiral into a series of violent, blood-spattering destruction as the king’s maniacal desire to make Arang his wife curdles into obsession and plain madness.
![A scene from musical "Arang," when King Yeokyung meets Arang in his dream, staged at the National Theater of Korea in Jung District, central Seoul. [ACOM][ACOM]](https://koreajoongangdaily.joins.com/data/photo/2026/01/31/c9003c0a-d272-4da7-9e9c-690ed7744ccb.jpg)
Villains can be protagonists, to be fair. But the musical’s king is not engaging enough for the audience to follow his line of action, especially because viewers are not given time to understand him beyond the madness — his father was assassinated and he rose to the throne during precarious times. Giving only a few lyrics and lines to achieve this, though it makes for a fast-moving show, is insufficient.
But to its bracing credit, the show does not seek audience sympathy for Yeokyung, and there is a distinct refusal to redeem him. His actions are undeniably deranged and the musical’s resistance to soften them is a wise urge resisted. Still, as a viewer, this reporter could not understand why she had to sit through four of his solos — the most in the show. We get it. You have issues.
The choice crystallizes in the moment Yeokyung kills Hyangsil after the faithful servant pleads with him to abandon his fixation on Arang. When the blade falls, the stage empties emotionally. Yeokyung stands alone, staring unapologetically into the darkened auditorium, unforgiven and isolated both within the narrative and from the audience. He stares out blankly under the spotlight.
![A scene from musical "Arang" featuring King Yeokyung, staged at the National Theater of Korea in Jung District, central Seoul. [ACOM]](https://koreajoongangdaily.joins.com/data/photo/2026/01/31/e17e6a6a-4b4e-409d-8bdb-3325763e22ae.jpg)
The weakness is offset by the rest of the show.
The score moves fluidly between Eastern and Western melodies, blending violins with haegeum (two-stringed fiddle) and flute with daegeum (large bamboo flute) and piri (reed instrument). The result does not sound new or inventive — the melodies feel safe and slightly bland — but it is executed well to achieve its intended purpose, which is to be a recognizable musical theater score with distinct traditional sounds and rhythm.
One of the most memorable numbers is “O Moon, My Moon,” sung by Arang and the couple’s spiritual protector Bia in the first act as Domi leaves at the king’s command, promising to return.
![A scene from musical "Arang," featuring Arang and Bia, staged at the National Theater of Korea in Jung District, central Seoul. [ACOM]](https://koreajoongangdaily.joins.com/data/photo/2026/01/31/9e8cc2eb-4e49-4e79-be47-660546e02e52.jpg)
Sung in the style of jeongga, a restrained and refined traditional vocal form, the piece gains depth through stillness rather than theatrical excess. Gugak (Korean traditional music) singer Ha Yoon-joo, a certified practitioner of gagok (a style of gugak) and Yuria deliver performances of exceptional clarity and control.
These traditional aspects of the musical can easily feel ornamental, as if added simply to provide cultural flair. Sometimes, it is only the facade that is traditional, while the plot lacks genuine historical grounding.
The musical's strongest suit is that it is deeply rooted in the past.
The plot itself is centuries old, first recorded in the Samguk Sagi (1145), the oldest surviving chronicle of Korean history, and retold throughout the Joseon Dynasty (1392-1910).
![A scene from musical "Arang," staged at the National Theater of Korea in Jung District, central Seoul. [ACOM]](https://koreajoongangdaily.joins.com/data/photo/2026/01/31/646edade-5d1b-4d9e-8be9-7edd5270f029.jpg)
Yeokyung is modeled on King Gaero of Baekje (18 B.C. to A.D. 660), whose reign began amid political collapse, foreign threat and personal tragedy. Domi and Arang descend from Mokjiguk, a real ancient polity later absorbed into Baekje (18 B.C. to A.D. 660). In the musical’s reimagining, their people become a displaced community — moon worshippers living in hiding within the peach garden.
One of the songs, built around “Arirang,” resonates deeply. Less a word than an emotional refrain, the term carries longing, separation, grief and resilience, shaped collectively by history, colonization, war and migration. Sung as the community is forced into exile, it carries the distinct jubilance of ancient Korea’s commoners, though they are starved and cold.
It also speaks to the political undercurrent of the plot, seemingly about love triangle but better understood as a story in which the people — Domi, Arang and the exiled community of Mokjiguk — endure and fight against the tyrannical power of the ruling class, holding onto the dream that one day they might prevail.
This is a struggle audiences ultimately end up cheering for, not just the romance.
And as for the reprehensible lead, there is one part audiences may secretly understand and even empathize with: having a dream that collapses under the weight of reality; of wanting something deeply but utterly failing; a dream turned into a nightmare.
It is this tension — between aspiration and ruin — that gives “Arang” its haunting afterimage. And even when the dream fails, the musical itself does not.
BY LEE JIAN. [lee,jian@joongang.co.kr]
A scene from musical "Arang," where Arang and Domi reunite, staged at the National Theater of Korea in Jung District, central Seoul. [ACOM]
New musical “Arang,” which opened Tuesday at the National Theater of Korea, is a game changer in the local theater scene.
Produced by ACOM, behind large-scale historical musicals such as “Hero” and “Empress Myeongseong,” “Arang” carries an experimental excitement and, simultaneously, the scale and shine of legacy prestige theater.
Hand-painted ink wash imagery on stage, decadent hanbok (traditional Korean dress), poetic lyrics, orchestration that fluidly moves through Eastern and Western sounds and choreography brimming with drama add up to a nuanced and refreshing show that prioritizes meaning over ornament and sets a new bar for the genre.
The show takes one brazen gamble, however, by setting its protagonist as a technical device, and not a moral one. More bluntly, he is incredibly unlikable.
A scene from musical "Arang" featuring King Yeokyung, staged at the National Theater of Korea in Jung District, central Seoul. [ACOM]
A scene from musical "Arang" featuring Arang and Domi, staged at the National Theater of Korea in Jung District, central Seoul. [ACOM]
Set in 460 A.D., the musical follows a king of Baekje (18 B.C. to A.D. 660) named Yeokyung. Constantly anxious about losing his throne — a recurring concern of many kings in the Korean monarchy — he is plagued by nightmares.
This is where the musical opens. In another nightmare, the king wanders a sort of postapocalyptic wasteland amid a sandstorm until, this time, he arrives at a picturesque, dreamlike utopia.
A full moon that gleams against the shimmering water, with majestic mountains behind, and peach blossom trees with petals blowing in the wind like snow — which are hand-painted with blotted ink on hanji (mulberry paper) — make it feel as though audiences have truly entered a dream, setting the aesthetic of the show.
In this paradise, the king encounters a woman whom he immediately falls in love with. When he wakes from the dream, he orders his loyal servant, Hyangsil, to find her. And it turns out she exists: Arang. But she is newly married and deeply in love with another man, Domi.
From here, events spiral into a series of violent, blood-spattering destruction as the king’s maniacal desire to make Arang his wife curdles into obsession and plain madness.
A scene from musical "Arang," when King Yeokyung meets Arang in his dream, staged at the National Theater of Korea in Jung District, central Seoul. [ACOM][ACOM]
Villains can be protagonists, to be fair. But the musical’s king is not engaging enough for the audience to follow his line of action, especially because viewers are not given time to understand him beyond the madness — his father was assassinated and he rose to the throne during precarious times. Giving only a few lyrics and lines to achieve this, though it makes for a fast-moving show, is insufficient.
But to its bracing credit, the show does not seek audience sympathy for Yeokyung, and there is a distinct refusal to redeem him. His actions are undeniably deranged and the musical’s resistance to soften them is a wise urge resisted. Still, as a viewer, this reporter could not understand why she had to sit through four of his solos — the most in the show. We get it. You have issues.
The choice crystallizes in the moment Yeokyung kills Hyangsil after the faithful servant pleads with him to abandon his fixation on Arang. When the blade falls, the stage empties emotionally. Yeokyung stands alone, staring unapologetically into the darkened auditorium, unforgiven and isolated both within the narrative and from the audience. He stares out blankly under the spotlight.
A scene from musical "Arang" featuring King Yeokyung, staged at the National Theater of Korea in Jung District, central Seoul. [ACOM]
The weakness is offset by the rest of the show.
The score moves fluidly between Eastern and Western melodies, blending violins with haegeum (two-stringed fiddle) and flute with daegeum (large bamboo flute) and piri (reed instrument). The result does not sound new or inventive — the melodies feel safe and slightly bland — but it is executed well to achieve its intended purpose, which is to be a recognizable musical theater score with distinct traditional sounds and rhythm.
One of the most memorable numbers is “O Moon, My Moon,” sung by Arang and the couple’s spiritual protector Bia in the first act as Domi leaves at the king’s command, promising to return.
A scene from musical "Arang," featuring Arang and Bia, staged at the National Theater of Korea in Jung District, central Seoul. [ACOM]
Sung in the style of jeongga, a restrained and refined traditional vocal form, the piece gains depth through stillness rather than theatrical excess. Gugak (Korean traditional music) singer Ha Yoon-joo, a certified practitioner of gagok (a style of gugak) and Yuria deliver performances of exceptional clarity and control.
These traditional aspects of the musical can easily feel ornamental, as if added simply to provide cultural flair. Sometimes, it is only the facade that is traditional, while the plot lacks genuine historical grounding.
The musical's strongest suit is that it is deeply rooted in the past.
The plot itself is centuries old, first recorded in the Samguk Sagi (1145), the oldest surviving chronicle of Korean history, and retold throughout the Joseon Dynasty (1392-1910).
A scene from musical "Arang," staged at the National Theater of Korea in Jung District, central Seoul. [ACOM]
Yeokyung is modeled on King Gaero of Baekje (18 B.C. to A.D. 660), whose reign began amid political collapse, foreign threat and personal tragedy. Domi and Arang descend from Mokjiguk, a real ancient polity later absorbed into Baekje (18 B.C. to A.D. 660). In the musical’s reimagining, their people become a displaced community — moon worshippers living in hiding within the peach garden.
One of the songs, built around “Arirang,” resonates deeply. Less a word than an emotional refrain, the term carries longing, separation, grief and resilience, shaped collectively by history, colonization, war and migration. Sung as the community is forced into exile, it carries the distinct jubilance of ancient Korea’s commoners, though they are starved and cold.
It also speaks to the political undercurrent of the plot, seemingly about love triangle but better understood as a story in which the people — Domi, Arang and the exiled community of Mokjiguk — endure and fight against the tyrannical power of the ruling class, holding onto the dream that one day they might prevail.
This is a struggle audiences ultimately end up cheering for, not just the romance.
And as for the reprehensible lead, there is one part audiences may secretly understand and even empathize with: having a dream that collapses under the weight of reality; of wanting something deeply but utterly failing; a dream turned into a nightmare.
It is this tension — between aspiration and ruin — that gives “Arang” its haunting afterimage. And even when the dream fails, the musical itself does not.
BY LEE JIAN. [lee,jian@joongang.co.kr]
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