―Iɴᴛᴇʀᴠɪᴇᴡ Wɪᴛʜ Tʜᴇ Aᴄᴛᴏʀ
The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Performed by Seoul Players.
He doesn’t often get to venture into the world of acting. His primary business has more to do with the ins and outs of the government - segments on President Park and Prime Minister Jung. He’s gotten used to the monotony of it all.
But sometimes - sometimes he’s allowed to play with the theatre junkies. The men and women who dedicate themselves to breathing life into the creations of others. Jinki can respect that.
Hamlet, though, is a terrible tragedy… to sit through. By the time Ophelia starts singing, his mind is already going numb. He has to break out a can of Volcano to focus before he heads backstage. It’s still in his hand as he slides towards the back wall, where the stage director is quietly congratulating everyone that passes him by on a good performance. Something in the way the man smiles, worn-out looking and content, says that they’ve already been through a big hurrah.
After a question or two, he’s redirected to the dressing rooms, where a small flock of people is buzzing, some tired, some excited, and others complaining. He makes a beeline for who he recognizes to be their Hamlet, just barely visible within the chaos.
"Excuse me! Would you mind sparing me a few minutes of your time?"
For those with supremely healthy personal habits such as Kibum, it goes like this: you begin the day drained, what little sleep you managed anything but restful, and add however much caffeine it takes to jolt your weary bones into motion. Throughout the day this fuel is burned off, slowly at first, and then hitting a rapid decline about the time a normal person's work-day is winding down.
Kibum is no normal person. Stage productions begin, almost without fail, after the sun has gone down. And so it is a minor miracle every time he pulls off a long play such as tonight's with no forgotten lines or stumbling over set pieces.
Just as his own days have a particular rhythm, so too does the living entity that is the theatre. As curtain time draws near, the buzz of energy backstage reaches a crescendo in time with the murmurs of an impatient crowd. The first act is always the most vibrant, with more effort put into maintaining that vitality for each subsequent one.
Hamlet has five acts, and a run time of three hours -- on a good day. Kibum is lucky he's still standing.
At the moment, all he wants out of life is to get out of his make-up, into his street clothes, and home to collapse into bed. So naturally, every co-star, stagehand, and extra in the place has to engage him in conversation he's only slightly too polite to rebuff.
A stranger's voice chimes in, and only upon turning does he realize he's been roped into an interview. The guy looks friendly enough -- though young for a journalist, at least compared to others he's seen around here. Must really need the story. So Kibum accepts, though he fails his attempt to seem enthusiastic.
"Sure, why not. Got nothing better to do."
