{"id":823,"date":"2023-06-10T19:49:05","date_gmt":"2023-06-10T19:49:05","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/27\/?p=823"},"modified":"2026-05-28T15:35:12","modified_gmt":"2026-05-28T15:35:12","slug":"the-brecht-brand-and-german-theatre-in-south-korea","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/27\/the-brecht-brand-and-german-theatre-in-south-korea\/","title":{"rendered":"The Brecht-brand and German Theatre in South Korea"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Jan Creutzenberg<\/strong>*<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Abstract<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

When German-language drama reached colonial Korea via Japan in the early twentieth century, reception first adhered to then common notions of \u201cWestern civilization.\u201d Bertolt Brecht was first mentioned amongst other authors of German literature in newspaper articles in the 1930s. Along with his plays and theories, Brecht, then, experienced an interesting career in post-war South Korea, from countercultural idol of academics and forbidden fruit of theatre practitioners to modern classic, on the one hand, inspiration for experimentation, on the other. This essay explores Korean-German theatre relations by tracing the twists and turns in the reception of Brecht. The image of a distant yet timely author worth studying was cemented by scholars of German literature amidst Cold War censorship, decades before the first officially sanctioned production in 1988. Headed by a German guest-conductor and billed as a musical, this Korean premiere of the Threepenny Opera<\/font> reached wider audiences but let down Brecht scholars. Responses to this and other productions showed that the newly attained liberty to stage, adapt and appropriate Brecht\u2019s work had limits, imposed by the overarching \u201cbrand\u201d Brecht had become. Recently, works by directors of different backgrounds show attempts of rebranding and reclaiming Brecht, though, from combinations with Korean tradition to playful remixes commenting on post-COVID society. Their implications, put in perspective with discourses on \u201cGerman\u201d culture at large, contribute to a mapping of performative exchanges between Korea and Germany, including the underlying imaginaries. The changing Brecht-brand, focal point of this essay, furthermore, offers a critical perspective on the cultural capital attached to his name, the use-value of his writings and the aspirations of his affiliates.

Keywords:<\/strong> <\/em>Korea, Germany, Bertolt Brecht, epic theatre, postdramatic theatre, branding, adaptation<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bertolt Brecht\u2019s relation to Asia is historically loaded, to say the least. Both his plays and theories have drawn inspiration from theatre traditions in Japan, China and elsewhere, often by way of distorting them.[1]<\/sup><\/a> On the other hand, responses to Brecht in various Asian countries, conducted for diverging motives, range from imitation to parody, often encompassing forms of \u201ccross-cultural appropriation\u201d that are at odds with classic interpretations, in \u201ca creative, dynamic process of reinterpreting and retooling certain of Brecht\u2019s ideas or techniques\u201d (Bodden 380). Whether with a political agenda attached or not, as a provider of impulses that may turn traditions up-side down, Brecht\u2019s travels across the globalized world are closely linked to political, economic and cultural flows, from the Cold War era to current crises.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In South Korea, different from its closest neighbors and premodern cultural influencers China and Japan, the reception of Brecht has been complicated and partly delayed by decades of anti-communist censorship. Beginning with the first officially sanctioned production of the Threepenny Opera<\/em> in 1988, ways of staging Brecht took various twists and turns, both continuing and circumventing strands of reception explored by Korean scholars before. Untangling this process, from the first mentions of Brecht in the early twentieth century to recent productions under pandemic restrictions, is the task of this essay. How is Brecht staged and discussed in Korea? How do audiences react to the resulting performances? And how do various agents contribute to wider discourses on Brecht and German theatre?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tracing the pathways opened by these questions, this essay is guided by the notion of a \u201cBrecht-brand,\u201d defined as the set of associations projected onto Brecht, both the person and his work.[2]<\/sup><\/a> As such, the Brecht brand is historically contingent, influenced by philological, cultural and political developments, as well as the success or failure of theatrical practice. Throughout the brand\u2019s transformations, the power granted to those who act in Brecht\u2019s name likewise changes. In order to partake in this power, control over the brand is crucial but, as my assessment of its historical development in Korea shows, rarely permanent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Methods of branding include material and immaterial practices. Andr\u00e9 Lefevere, for instance, shows how different forms of \u201crewriting\u201d\u2014translation, adaptation and critical responses\u2014have played a crucial role in the canonisation of Brecht in post-war Great Britain and argues that \u201crewriters, often operating with an agenda of their own, play the most important part in the acculturation\u201d (109). The efforts undertaken by Brecht himself from an early age, in an attempt at \u201cmoulding his own self-image\u201d (Parker 102), brought to perfection not least through instructive writings and model works, are well known.[3]<\/sup><\/a> But the ubiquity of references to Brecht both in theatrical theory and practice begs the question whether the term \u201cBrechtian\u201d has been rendered \u201ca more or less fashionable label to enhance theatre work ranging from performance art to agitprop,\u201d as Michael Patterson, arguing for Brecht\u2019s continuing relevance as method rather than style, suggested in 1994 (276).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instead of reducing \u201cBrecht(ian)\u201d to a stylistic or generic label, which would boil down to constructing discursive boundaries to provide legitimacy (see Zarhy-Levo on \u201cabsurd\u201d and \u201cin-yer-face\u201d theatre), my metaphorical use of brand terminology stresses co-creation and variable use-value beyond discourse. Unlike a corporate-owned brand, the Brecht-brand belongs to no one, not even his heirs. Yet, like a commercial brand identities that are \u201cprovisional, to be constructed and negotiated in the context of social interaction\u201d (O\u2019Reilly 582), scholars, critics, translators, directors, actors and other theatre workers contribute to the brand identity of Brecht that, in turn, affords or limits their activities.[4]<\/sup><\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Even though Brecht-related theatre practice and scholarship may sell tickets and yield research funding, the profits the brand may provide largely consist of cultural capital derived from Brecht\u2019s status as a modern classic, which co-creators presumably aim to maximize. It may be tempting to consider the Korean reception of Brecht within the framework of a fetishistic fixation on \u201cthe fantasy of originary cultural wholeness, the last vestige of universalism,\u201d as Marjorie Garber characterizes the British \u201cconstruction and dissemination of Shakespeare as an academic and cultural commodity\u201d (242\u201343). Universalism certainly plays a role in the ways Brecht is recognized and represented, as well as adapted and appropriated in Korea, but comprehending the handling of Brecht both on paper and on stage as a form of branding allows to pay particular attention to the conflicts and discontinuities, struggles on terminology and translation that go hand in hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

More complex than a label and more flexible than a fetish, the heuristic concept of a Brecht-brand as a conduit for cultural capital independent from the author and rooted in local contexts, hopefully, helps to circumvent the \u201cclumsy colonial enterprise, dominated by Western critics and practitioners who . . . have tended to universalize and overstate aspects of his [Brecht\u2019s] influence in given cultures,\u201d as Mary Luckhurst characterizes large parts of \u201cBrechtian reception studies\u201d (4). To this end, I draw mostly on Korean voices to explore the ways the co-creators of the brand grapple with his writings and make use of his plays, navigating between the cosmopolitan appeal Brecht\u2019s work emanates and their own aspirations for universality.[5]<\/sup><\/a> In the following, I will trace the historical trajectory of the Brecht-brand, between classic and contemporary, foreign and familiar, masterpieces and material for creative exploitation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Before Branding: Early Mentions of Brecht in Colonial Korea (1930s)<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

The early twentieth century was an era of political as well as cultural change in Korea. While a new influx of knowledge inspired artists of all genres, colonial domination by the Japanese empire, formalized in 1910, imposed increasing limits on free cultural expression. At the same time, Japanese influences opened up new ways of intellectual exchange. First experiments with realist theatre and Western drama (sin-geuk<\/em>, Kor. \u201cnew drama,\u201d analogous to Jap. shingeki<\/em>) imported by way of Japan dates back to this era. Rather than on stage, many foreign classics were first introduced in writing, though, with quotes, biographical anecdotes and novelizations appearing in intellectual journals. Friedrich Schiller\u2019s William Tell<\/em>, for instance, decades before being performed, served as a model for Bak Eun-sik\u2019s political novel The National Foundation of Switzerland<\/em> (Seosa Geon-guk-ji<\/em>,<\/em> 1907), meant to inspire nationalist sentiments in Korean readers (K. Kim 142).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the early 1920s, when Brecht was beginning to make a name for himself between Berlin and Munich, the first German plays were staged in Korea. After a Japanese guest performance already in 1915 of Hermann Sudermann\u2019s Heimat<\/em> (under the title Magda<\/em>, following the English translation) by shingeki<\/em> pioneer Shimamura H\u014dgetsu and his ensemble Geijutsuza (\u201cArt Theatre,\u201d see Hong 180\u201381), Wilhelm Meyer-F\u00f6rster\u2019s Alt-Heidelberg<\/em>, a nostalgic melodrama from 1901 first staged by avant-garde ensemble Towolhoe in 1923 and in the 1930s several more times by other ensembles, proved popular for the exotic experience it provided (K. Kim 143\u201345; 154). Plays that allowed insights into \u201cmodern\u201d themes like social hierarchies, gender relations and moral liberation, from naturalist works by Gerhard Hauptmann to more contemporary expressionism by Reinhard Goering or Georg Kaiser were staged throughout the late 1920s and 1930s, in translation and sometimes adapted to the Korean context, and received varied responses (see K. Kim 144\u201349).<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
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Announcement and synopsis of Georg Wilhelm Pabst\u2019s Threepenny-movie<\/em>; Brecht is not mentioned. Maeil Sinbo<\/em>, 1 Oct. 1932, p. 5. Photo: Public domain, image source: National Library of Korea<\/a><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

Announcements of Georg Wilhelm Pabst\u2019s Threepenny<\/em>-movie, a hit in Japan and also shown in colonial Korea in October 1932,[6]<\/sup><\/a> did not mention Brecht explicitly, but his name appeared occasionally in the news throughout the 1930s. Possibly the earliest reference to Brecht is from a series on \u201cRecent International Theatre News,\u201d compiled by critic and proletarian theatre activist Min Byeong-hwi. At a 1930 Salzburg performance of the Threepenny Opera<\/em> (Kor. Sam-mun Opera<\/em>, based on the Japanese translation), described as an \u201cadapted political singing drama\u201d (gaejak jeongchi gageuk<\/em>), musicians were apparently expelled from the theatre by a \u201cmob\u201d (gunjung<\/em>); a subsequent performance ban for the play is also mentioned without providing further details (Joseon Ilbo<\/em>, 27 Sept. 1930).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Brecht\u2019s name appears again, together with Franz Werfel, Curt Goetz, Carl Zuckmayer, Alfred D\u00f6blin, Joseph Roth and others, in an article on contemporary German literature by Seo Hang-seok, who had studied German literature in Tokyo; the concluding paragraph mentions the prosecution of communist, Jewish and other authors considered \u201cnon-German,\u201d yet without explicitly mentioning Brecht who had left Germany as early as February 1933 (Donga Ilbo<\/em>, 18 June 1933). Later, Jo Hui-sun, an early proponent and translator of German literature who had likewise studied in Japan, mentions Brecht in an article on exiled writers and introduces him as the author of the Threepenny Opera<\/em>, here rendered as Seopunjjari Opera<\/em>, the translation still common today (Donga Ilbo<\/em>, 15 Feb. 1936). The various Korean spellings of Brecht\u2019s name used in these articles\u2014each of the three articles mentioned uses a different one\u2014indicate that he was not yet recognized, merely a name on lists, one amongst many foreign authors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Establishing the Brand: \u201cEpic Theatre\u201d in Post-War South Korea (1950s to 1960s)<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

Following the liberation of Korea from Japanese colonialism in August 1945, intellectual exchange formerly mostly limited to Japan now shifted towards the United States, the occupying force of the southern part of the Korean peninsula and main participant in the Korean War (1950\u201353).[7]<\/sup><\/a> The \u201cWest\u201d in general became the dominant cultural influence during the Cold War, and those who could afford it or were supported by politically motivated philanthropic organizations such as the Rockefeller or Ford Foundation studied abroad, in the U.S. and Europe. Soon, a new generation of theatre practitioners began to translate and adapt various dramatic models as well as plays, inspiring the re-emerging theatre scene in South Korea. While some German plays were staged in these early post-war years,[8]<\/sup><\/a> English- or French-language dramas generally received more attention.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As an openly communist author from the Eastern Bloc, Brecht and his works were not deemed appropriate for public discussion\u2014let alone performance\u2014amidst the strict anti-communism the authoritarian Cold War governments in South Korea were based on. But his thoughts were imported via English-language sources and theatre students who had attended college abroad, such as Gunsam Lee, one of the leading playwrights of the post-war era. Lee notes in his reflections on studying in the U.S.[9]<\/sup><\/a> that \u201cin 1957, everyone, whether professor, student or critic, was completely influenced by Brecht\u2019s epic theatre\u201d (Seo 70; see also S.-b. Lee 171\u201372). After returning to Korea, Lee introduced the term \u201cepic theatre\u201d (written in Roman letters) in a paper titled \u201cShakespeare in the Brechtian Theatre\u201d (1961), despite its title written in Korean but sprinkled with English, occasional German words.[10]<\/sup><\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mentions of Brecht continue in the news throughout the 1960s; for instance, in an address on the occasion of the International Theatre Institute\u2019s first \u201cWorld Theatre Day\u201d by theatre critic (and later director) Kim Jeong-ok, who had studied in France in the late 1950s (Dong-a Ilbo<\/em>, 27 Mar. 1962). Not least thanks to Kim, one of the most prolific early users of Brechtian theory, terms like \u201cepic theatre,\u201d \u201cestrangement effect\u201d or \u201cgestus\u201d began to enter discussions of Korean theatre. For instance, in a review of Kim Ui-gyeong\u2019s play Galdae-ui Norea<\/em> (\u201cSong of Reed,\u201d 1964), Kim Jeong-ok notes that it is \u201cwritten as if based on the theory of \u201cepic drama\u201d [transliterated as \u201cepik deurama\u201d], which is unfamiliar to our [Korean] theatre world\u201d and mentions that one character in particular, a prostitute with a heart of gold, reminds him \u201cof the female lead in a Brecht-play\u201d (presumably referring to The Good Person of Szechwan<\/em>), but despite the good acting, \u201cfeels removed from our [Korean] life\u201d (Joseon Ilbo<\/em>, 1 Dec. 1964).[11]<\/sup><\/a> Unlike the inevitable distance of earlier name-drops, the sense of difference that Kim articulates here contributes to the branding of Brecht as a modern \u201cclassic\u201d that may be increasingly familiar but useful only in theory, not (yet) in practice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Building the Brand: Between Ivory Tower and Stage (1960s to 1980s)<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

While staging Brecht\u2019s plays remained almost unthinkable until the late 1980s, serious scholarship of his work began in the late 1960s and laid groundwork for the development of a full-fledged Brecht-brand that went beyond the name and associated terminology. The emerging academic field of German language and literature (henceforth: \u201cGerman literature\u201d) offered opportunities to engage with Brecht directly by reading his writings in German. Won-Yang Rhie, a pioneer amongst academic Brechtians, wrote the first master\u2019s thesis on epic theatre (1968) and the first monography on Brecht (1984), when only a handful of research articles on Brecht had been published, and he translated numerous German plays until well into the 2000s. As he later regrets, however, this early scholarship was conducted \u201cunder the counter\u201d and in the \u201civory tower,\u201d ignoring Brecht\u2019s Marxist politics and isolated from theatre workers who, out of necessity, relied on English-language (secondary) sources to access Brecht \u201cthrough the back-door\u201d (131\u201332).[12]<\/sup><\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The leading role German literature scholars played in building the Brecht-brand, backed by their exclusive access to Brecht\u2019s writings, could not prevent political usage of Brechtian terminology, though. Students and intellectuals involved in the minjung<\/em> (\u201cpeople\u201d) movement against the authoritarian regimes in the 1970s and 1980s not only found ideological support but also discovered affinities with their protest theatre, ad-hoc performances known as madang-geuk<\/em> (\u201cbackyard theatre\u201d)[13]<\/sup><\/a> that incorporated traditional performing arts. In particular, Brecht\u2019s epic theatre, now known in Korean as seosa-geuk<\/em>, provided a theoretical foundation to their otherwise hands-on methodology, given that the episodic structure and the common use of a narrator in madang-geuk<\/em> could be interpreted as devices of \u201cestrangement,\u201d a term for which no authoritative translation had been established yet.[4]<\/sup><\/a> When the genre <\/em>had lost its political urgency after South Korea\u2019s democratization in the 1990s, German literature scholars mostly dismissed these parallels, though, citing essential incongruences between Brecht\u2019s demand for \u201crational awareness\u201d and the \u201ccollective enjoyment [sinmyeong<\/em>]\u201d or community building sought by the protestors (Chang 152).[15]<\/sup><\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

But the Brecht-brand also had use-value for less politicized theatre workers. For independent \u201csmall theatre\u201d (so-geukjang<\/em>) ensembles tired of the prevailing realism and the classics-productions at public theatres (if German plays were shown there at all),[16]<\/sup><\/a> contemporary works by Max Frisch and Friedrich D\u00fcrrenmatt were popular choices as \u201cstand-ins\u201d for Brechtian epic theatre. For instance, D\u00fcrrenmatt is introduced as a \u201cmoralist who combines Aristophanes\u2019 comedy, Brecht\u2019s epic-ness (seosa-seong<\/em>) and Thornton Wilder\u2019s British [sic] dramatic style\u201d (Dong-a Ilbo<\/em>, 18 Mar. 1970). Peter Handke, in contrast, whose Offending the Audience <\/em>(Gwan-gaek Modok<\/em>, 24 Nov. 1978) became an evergreen under Gi Guk-seo\u2019s direction and was revived in various versions until recently, was presented as a counterpart to Brecht. German literature scholar Song Dong-jun highlights in the program book that Brecht\u2019s \u201cimpure\u201d epic theatre was a valid target of criticism, showing that the Brecht-brand could even function ex-negativo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Despite cases of mutual support and collaborations between scholars and practitioners, the reliance on theory in the absence of plays, fueled by ideological division, resulted in a dialectical tension in the co-created Brecht-brand: On the one hand, Brecht remained a foreign classic, an authority that demands study and devotion, which the scholars were happy to provide. Despite their gatekeeping, Brechtian thought and terminology also served as a practical alternative to mainstream drama, with possible links to Korean tradition and political radicalism. When his plays finally became available for staging, Brecht in Korea was\u2014as Seok-Hee Choi poignantly comments\u2014\u201cbrand new and rather old at the same time\u201d (377).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Limits of the Brand: Post-Censorship Productions (since 1988)<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

In the late 1980s, authoritarian rule in South Korea began to crumble. Not least due to the minjung<\/em> movement, more liberties and civil rights were reinstated in the years leading to the 1988 Seoul Olympics, including the lifting of the ban on Brecht-related books in 1987 (Gyeonghyang Sinmun<\/em>, Oct. 19, 1987). The screening of Pabst\u2019s Threepenny<\/em>-movie at the Goethe-Institut (German Cultural Center) in January 1988 (Joseon Ilbo<\/em>, Jan. 20, 1988) seems in retrospect like a prelude to the first officially sanctioned production of Brecht. Later that year, the Threepenny Opera<\/em> (Seopunjjari Opera<\/em>, dir. Jeong Jin-su, premiere: Dec. 10, 1988) by ensemble Minjung was shown, with live music by the Seoul Symphony Orchestra and supported by the Goethe-Institut, whose director Hans-J\u00fcrgen Nagel conducted himself. Ensemble Minjung, originally one of the first small theatre ensembles co-founded by Gunsam Lee and Kim Jeong-ok in 1963, had turned their focus to producing musicals during the 1980s and promoted their Threepenny Opera<\/em> as such. Even though revived the following year, the production was only a mild success[17]<\/sup><\/a> and received mostly negative responses. Critics condemned the conventional (realist) staging as \u201canti-epic\u201d (Song Dong-jun, qtd. in E.S. Jang, \u201cBrecht heute\u201d 156) and noticed a \u201cforce of habit\u201d to follow the aesthetics of Broadway-style musicals, drawing comparisons to Guys and Dolls<\/em>, <\/em>which ensemble Minjung had produced earlier that year <\/em>(Maeil Gyeongje<\/em>, Dec. 12, 1988). Despite its historical importance, the 1988 Threepenny Opera<\/em> is generally remembered as a failure against which later productions are regularly measured.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Among the various productions that followed soon, mostly smaller in scope, the Korean premiere of The Good Person of Szechwan <\/em>(Sacheon-ui Chakhan Yeoja<\/em>, May 18, 1990) by ensemble Hanyang Repertory, consisting of students and alumni of the theatre and film department of Hanyang University, was widely discussed. Notably, director Choe Hyeong-in, an actor who had studied for several years in the United States where she encountered Brecht\u2019s works in the 1970s (yet without much enjoying them), did not rely on the existing Korean translation by German literature scholar Im Han-sun (Sacheon-ui Seonin<\/em>, Hanmadang, 1987). Instead, she translated the play herself from Eric Bentley\u2019s 1956 English version while already conducting rehearsals (Choe 123\u201324). Choe later mentions that after her return to Korea in 1984, \u201cthe name Brecht ( . . . ) became a scary word\u201d for her, as students and theatre professionals alike constantly referenced him and his theories (124). Her production could have been an easy target for those in favor of fidelity to the original, but while various problems were mentioned in reviews, it received generally more positive responses (e.g. Yu Min-yeong, Joseon Ilbo<\/em>, May 20, 1990).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In a critical, yet conciliatory essay on \u201cProblems in the Reception of Brecht\u201d from 1990, German literature scholar Yun Si-hyang criticizes both Broadway-style \u201cvisual spectacle\u201d and the unpolitical \u201cAmericanization\u201d of Brecht, as well as \u201cfalsification\u201d and \u201cdistortion\u201d of Brecht\u2019s \u201cimage\u201d by critics relying on non-German sources (118). On the other hand, cautioning against \u201cdogmatism,\u201d she suggests the \u201cadaptation\u201d of Brecht\u2019s works, from simplified translations to shortened running times, advocating joint efforts by artists and scholars for productions \u201cappropriate for Korea\u201d (119\u201320). By closing with Heiner M\u00fcller\u2019s famous quote that \u201cTo use Brecht without criticizing him is to betray him\u201d (\u201cBrecht gebrauchen ohne ihn zu kritisieren, ist Verrat,\u201d Engl. transl. Ludwig 253), Yun opens the way for what Eun-Soo Jang later calls \u201cproductive destruction\u201d (\u201cBrecht heute\u201d 162)\u2014the liberation of the Brecht-brand from its theoretical (as well as, partly, political) chains. Yun\u2019s intervention, first presented at a symposium and then reprinted in the monthly magazine Han-guk Yeon-geuk <\/em>(Korean Theatre Review<\/em>), reads like a conciliatory gesture that signals a shift away from philological authenticity, but could not fully bridge the divide between scholarship and practice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Battling with the Brand: Liberating Brecht from Theory (1990s to 2000s)<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

Without the limits of censorship, scholars set off to consolidate their efforts of disseminating research results in the Korean Brecht Society, founded in 1989 mostly by German literature scholars but also one each from theatre and English faculties (Dong-a Ilbo<\/em>, 24 Feb. 1989). Director Yi Sang-il expresses \u201chope for a lively illumination . . .  of the \u2018name\u2019 Brecht that is hidden behind the \u2018phrase\u2019 epic theatre\u201d (14). But despite scholars\u2019 increased research output in the bi-annual academic journal Beurehiteu-wa Hyeondae Yeon-geuk<\/em> (\u201cBertolt Brecht and Modern Theatre,\u201d since 1995) and regular collaborations with practitioners, mostly in educational contexts, it becomes clear that name recognition of the Brecht-brand is now high enough to render academic framings unnecessary, maybe even counterproductive, as more and more established ensembles begin to approach Brecht in new ways. Ensemble Michu\u2019s Good Person<\/em> (Sacheon Saneun Chakhan Saram<\/em>, 11 Feb. 1996), for instance, is set in the original (allegorical) China, but director Yi Byeong-hun, against the current tendency to \u201cfocus on theory over drama,\u201d promises a \u201cpoetic, romantic approach\u201d (Gyeonghyang Sinmun<\/em>, 3 Feb. 1996). Oh Tae-seok\u2019s free adaptation of the Threepenny Opera<\/em> (ensemble Mokhwa, 9 June 1996) is set in contemporary South Korea, with Mackie\u2019s wedding in a bingo parlor (rather than a stable) and the president as deus-ex-machina (instead of the Queen\u2019s messenger), a prophetic reference to real life South Korean politics (E. S. Jang, \u201cBrecht heute\u201d 157\u201358).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

While German language scholars celebrate Brecht\u2019s 100th anniversary in 1998, theatre critic Han Sang-cheol comments on the diminished relevance of Brecht\u2019s politics after the end of the Cold War in an editorial for Han-guk Yeon-geuk<\/em>. He notes that Brecht has \u201clost all mystery and illusion\u201d and \u201conly his plays remain\u201d (4), certainly a response to the continuing tendency to turn from general ideological questions towards South Korean issues. For instance, Yang Jeong-ung\u2019s version of The Good Person<\/em>, aptly titled The Good Woman of Seoul<\/em> (Seoul-ui Chakhan Yeoja<\/em>, ensemble Yeohaengja, 23 Dec. 2003), sets the play right after the Korean War, a time when dire circumstances make it difficult to live a good life, turning an allegory on the inherent contradictions of capitalist society into a history play.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
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Poster of Killing Brecht<\/em> by ensemble Silheom Geukjang (play by U Hyeon-jong, dir. Kim Seong No, 2001); In the role of \u201cBrecht\u201d actor Bae Sang-don (center, in color). Photo: usage with permission by Kim Seong No, image source: ARKO Arts Archive<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

The continuing complication of the Brecht-brand is showcased by U Hyeon-jong\u2019s original play Killing Brecht <\/em>(Beurehiteu Jugigi<\/em>, dir. Kim Seong No, ensemble Silheom Geukjang, 5 Jan. 2001). The critical reflection on the democratization process in 1980s South Korea uses motives from plays across Brecht\u2019s \u0153uvre\u2014Man Equals Man<\/em>, He Said Yes\/He Said No<\/em> and The Caucasian Chalk Circle<\/em>\u2014and features Brecht himself as a character. The program book offers different angles on the purported death of Brecht, from pretended indignation (Yi Sang-il) to hopes for \u201ca Korean genius artist like Brecht\u201d (Yang Hye-suk) or, in a letter to Brecht, congratulations for leaving excellent heirs behind (Yun Si-hyang). Heiner M\u00fcller\u2019s quote on the necessity of Brecht-critique features twice, in two slightly different translations.[18]<\/sup><\/a> Whether localization or meta-Brechtian play, these productions show that, rather than any purported philological authenticity, still represented by German literature scholarship even though not necessarily advocated by the authors, has waned in importance. The deciding factor of a production\u2019s popular and critical success is now to \u201cbetray\u201d best; that is, to adapt Brecht in the most unique and relevant way, shifting authority over the brand identity further away from text to stage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Expanding the Brand: Towards a Korean Brecht (2006)<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

The 50th anniversary of Brecht\u2019s death in 2006 was generally considered a \u201crevival\u201d of sorts (Gyeonghyang Sinmun<\/em>, 13 Oct. 2006) and lead to several key productions that evoke earlier approaches but also show new directions. The invitation of Holger Teschke, formerly of the Berliner Ensemble, to direct the Threepenny Opera<\/em> with a Korean cast (Seoul Art Center, 15 Nov. 2006), supported by Goethe-Institut and Lufthansa, appears like the realization of the \u201cauthentic\u201d Brecht some scholars had been waiting for. Indeed, in an interview Teschke stresses his adherence to the original, with a focus on Weill\u2019s (only slightly rearranged) songs, the \u201cbackbone of the play,\u201d but also highlights his attempts at localization; for instance, with a backdrop projection of Seoul\u2019s skyline (6\u20137). Reviewers appreciate that Teschke\u2019s approach \u201cuntangles the more difficult parts,\u201d while offering a \u201cquite different feeling from musicals\u201d (Han-guk NGO Sinmun<\/em>, 16 Nov. 2006), making it \u201cunnecessary to be afraid of the name Brecht\u201d (S.-b. Kim). The framing of the production as part of a series dedicated to \u201cauthentic theatre\u201d (jeongtong yeon-geuk<\/em>), mostly other European plays directed by non-Koreans, nevertheless, shows that Teschke\u2019s Threepenny Opera<\/em> bears traces of the \u201cforeign\u201d Brecht in need of explanation, this time offered by a German practitioner and with a contemporary twist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two different productions of Mother Courage<\/em> shown earlier that year took more radical, opposite approaches towards the domestication of Brecht. Lee Yun-taek\u2019s production (ensemble Yeonhuidan Georipae, 5 Sept. 2006), subtitled \u201cA Chronicle of the Korean War,\u201d changed the setting from the Thirty Years\u2019 War to a more recent Korean past. Kim Gwang-bo\u2019s production (ensemble Cheong-u, 17 Oct. 2006), in contrast, closely adheres to the original setting but uses unconventional staging methods to create distance between performers and spectators. Theatre critic Mido Kim, who considers the Korean reception of Brecht as \u201cbiased towards a didactic production-style,\u201d sees both as part of a \u201cliberation from the Brecht-obsession\u201d of earlier times (167). Kim Gwang-bo\u2019s \u201crational\u201d production clearly intends to \u201cestrange\u201d the spectators, who are sitting on the stage while the performance itself takes place amongst the seats of the auditorium; the actors play several roles each and change into different symbolic costumes while the simple stage design and flexible lighting likewise stresses the theatrical situation (169). In contrast, Lee Yun-taek\u2019s \u201cemotional\u201d production uses traditional pansori<\/em> singing to \u201cimmerse\u201d the audience; even without intentional estrangement, Brecht\u2019s critical message remains largely intact (168).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

While both productions received positive reactions for their distinct direction and fidelity to Brecht\u2019s spirit (for example, Kwon 49), Lee Yun-taek\u2019s Koreanized adaptation of Mother Courage <\/em>dominated discussions and was, subsequently, revived several times. With the backing of Goethe-Institut and Korean Brecht Society, even a guest performance in Germany was planned (129). While the production was never shown in Germany,[19]<\/sup><\/a> Lee had proven that Brecht could be used as a vehicle for Korean tradition. He argues that his \u201cKorean interpretation\u201d was appropriate because the \u201cdefamiliarization effect\u201d (saengsohwa hyogwa<\/em>) as Brecht intended it could only work in Germany, based on the \u201cextremely rational national sentiment\u201d that \u201cclearly separates rationality and emotionality\u201d\u2014in his eyes distinct from the \u201cmuch more synchronous way\u201d that Korean audiences express emotions (127). With the pitfalls of authenticity largely neutralized, Lee\u2019s \u201cKorean\u201d Brecht production profited from broadened brand expectations. By convincingly showing that traditional song and emotional investment were compatible with Brecht, he expanded the brand essence itself, beyond what scholars used to consider Brechtian.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Brand Abroad: Traditional Pansori <\/em>Singing and Emotional Brecht (2000s to 2010s)<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

As the brand became more open for experiments with tradition, a relation that, so far, had been explored theoretically only with reluctance,[20]<\/sup><\/a> the most radical impulses came neither from German language scholarship nor the world of theatre but from traditional music. The pansori<\/em> singer Lee Jaram, in collaboration with theatre director Nam In-u, created two all-over adaptations of Brecht plays. By combining the emotional expressiveness of the singing-storytelling art pansori<\/em> with Brecht\u2019s epic plays, humorous audience interaction with social critique, she almost single-handedly increased the aesthetic range both of the minimalist solo genre pansori<\/em> and of the Brecht-brand.[21]<\/sup><\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sacheon-ga <\/em>(lit. \u201cSong of Sichuan,\u201d based on The Good Person<\/em> of Szechwan<\/em>, 30 Nov. 2007) mainly proceeds like a traditional pansori <\/em>work, as solo narration with interspersed songs. Lee Jaram plays the titular \u201cgood person\u201d Sun-deok (the Korean Shen Te), who changes into her fictional cousin, as well as most other supporting roles. Additional actors appear as the gods, a singing and dancing trio which disrupts the exclusive focus of attention on the solo singer in short intermezzos. While Sacheon-ga<\/em> localizes Brecht\u2019s parabolic plot from a metaphorical China to a slightly anachronistic yet clearly contemporary Seoul, Eokcheok-ga<\/em> (\u201cSong of Courage,\u201d 14 June 2011) changes the setting of Mother Courage <\/em>from seventeenth-century Europe to a semi-fictional Chinese past. Here, too, the solo performer, switching effortlessly between multiple roles, remains center-stage while facing not only the atrocities of war but also discrimination as migrant laborer and challenges of single motherhood. It is, therefore, most striking when, in the final scene after the death of Courage\u2019s daughter, Lee Jaram turns her back to the audience, denying them the expected emotional communion that is typical of pansori<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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