韓國詩人及獨立斗士在舞臺上展現一生

美國表演藝術行業的頂流獎項被人們統稱為EGOT，分別由四大獎項——艾美獎（Emmy，電視類）、格萊美獎（Grammy，錄音類）、奧斯卡獎（Oscar，電影類）和托尼獎（Tony，舞臺劇類）的首字母組合而成。這個“大滿貫”榜單也許不是官方的，但的確是令人望塵莫及的。迄今為止，只有27人榜上有名。

不過，從國家的層面來看，韓國是EGOT榜單上一個令人佩服的競爭者。電影《寄生蟲》（Parasite，2020）獲得了多項奧斯卡獎，劇集《魷魚游戲》（Squid Game，2022）獲得了艾美獎、音樂劇《了不起的蓋茨比》（The Great Gatsby，2022）獲得了托尼獎。此外，韓國音樂家還拿下了相當多的格萊美獎，尤其是在古典音樂方面。然而，相較于該國在編劇和敘事方面的強勁實力，現代歌劇作品卻明顯缺席。盡管培養出許多優秀的歌唱家，并且在既定的劇目及曲目中贏得了一些格萊美獎項，但韓國的新歌劇在國際舞臺上的發展卻很緩慢。

直到現在，這樣的情況才有所改變。由大邱歌劇院（Daegu Opera House）創制的作曲家金成宰（Kim Sungjae）的歌劇《264：一顆星》（264， That One Star）可能是打破這種不平衡的一個契機。目前，該劇在歐洲的“歌劇視野”（OperaVision）網站上串流（Streaming）播放，直至今年的6月13日。這是一部令人印象尤為深刻的歌劇，因為這個故事及其中心人物——韓國詩人和愛國運動家李源祿[ Yi Won-rok，他以筆名李陸史（Yi Yuk-sa）而聞名，這一筆名取自他的囚犯編號264的韓語發音] ——在韓國以外幾乎不為人知。

然而，與任何經典作品一樣，這個故事與各種文化背景息息相關。例如，李源祿（1904—1944）和英國詩人威爾弗雷德·歐文（1893—1918）之間存在一些相似之處：兩人都是軍人出身，都因有限的作品而聲名鵲起（歐文只寫了大約80首詩，李源祿的作品甚至僅有歐文的一半），兩人都英年早逝（歐文25歲離世，李源祿是39歲）。但歐文的作品以關注戰爭的殘酷而聞名——他的詩歌是本杰明·布里頓的反戰作品《戰爭安魂曲》（War Requiem）的關鍵組成部分——李源祿的立場則不同，他支持武裝沖突的必要性。通過他的作品，李源祿將日本對韓國人民的侵略暴行，包括他自己遭受的酷刑，轉化為推翻日本殖民統治的民族情緒。

在他生命的不同階段，李源祿是一位詩人、一位丈夫，也是韓國獨立運動中一位令人敬畏的人物。和沃爾特·惠特曼一樣，他涉獵的領域包羅萬象——事實上，編劇金·哈納（Kim Hana）在歌劇中為這個角色設計了幾個“分身”，每個“分身”都有明確的個性和聲音類型。也許不可避免的是，代表不同年齡和氣質的歌者最終會在一個烘托氣氛的合唱中走在一起。在這段合唱中，李源祿的不同“分身”會有重唱或輪唱（特倫斯·布蘭查德在他的兩部歌劇《冠軍》和《骨子里的烈火》中都使用了這種技巧）。

從歌劇舞臺上退一步說，你可以看到《264》借鑒了韓國電影和電視劇的劇本范式，編劇用創新的——甚至往往是超越傳統的——內容填充進常規的故事框架。他們完全掌握了推動敘事的理念：如果故事中出現了足夠多的令人熟悉的標志，觀眾們就會繼續沿著這條路走下去。

這一點在《264》中尤為重要，因為敘述往往會轉向抽象的方向。導演裴賢鎮（Pyo Hyunjin）很好地處理了分支劇情的焦點，且沒有忽略應有的主線。敘述故事的效果也證明了這類手法的合理性。

大多數藝術家（尤其是作家）的傳記作品中最常見的失敗之處在于，很難在舞臺或銀幕上展示他們的藝術天賦，或所有細枝末節的情節。《波希米亞人》（La bohème）故事中的魯道夫是一位詩人，但我們幾乎不得不相信普契尼對他的評價（如果魯道夫不是一位特別優秀的詩人，這可能會讓他更有親和力）。相比之下，保羅·施拉德（Paul Schrader）的《三島由紀夫：人間四幕》（Mishima： A Life in Four Chapters）實際上是從三島自己的戲劇作品中的拍攝程式化的場景而來，并為豐富他的文學資歷邁出了額外的一步。同樣，在《264》中，李源祿的詩歌作品似乎被直接引用并鑲嵌在歌詞中，以證實他的文學和革命資歷（我只能堅信這一點，因為我無法在英文字幕中分辨出他在韓國文學中的文采）。

音樂也遵循著一條類似的路徑。正如許多觀察家喜歡宣稱的那樣，西方歌劇傳統隨著《圖蘭朵》而落幕，但編劇金·哈納估計沒有接觸過這份備忘錄。事實上，在《264》中普契尼始終是一個顯而易見的參照物，不僅有《圖蘭朵》和《蝴蝶夫人》中重新被設計過的“亞洲”音色，而且《264》中的酷刑場景也與《托斯卡》中的某些橋段相呼應。在輕松的時刻——金·哈納清楚地意識到，先揚后抑的節奏會讓戲劇性沖突變得更加強烈——這似乎是從萊哈爾的輕歌劇中得到的啟示。

考慮到韓國歌手們的聲樂實力，這一策略表現得特別好。像世界上大多數歌劇演員一樣，他們接受過多種歐洲語言的嚴格訓練；在《264》中，他們終于有機會用自己的母語演唱了。這使得演員們能夠更好地連接音樂線條，并使情感上的戲劇性傳遞更為流暢。

在劇中飾演士兵李源祿的男高音羅盛洪（Rho Seonghoon，音譯）和飾演丈夫李源祿的李忠民（Lee Chungman，音譯），是同一角色的不同方面，與飾演詩人李源祿的男中音金尚哲（Je Sangchul，音譯）的音色與造型形成鮮明的對比。對于已經了解歷史細節的韓國人來說，事先仔細閱讀故事梗概可能更為合適。女高音李胤卿（Yi Yunkyoung）飾演李源祿的妻子安一陽（An Il-yang），從最初的輕松愉快轉變為對丈夫命運的擔心。女中音金寶拉（Kim Bora）飾演李源祿的靈魂知音，在完全不同的層面上提供了戲劇性的聯系，并激發了道德反思的時刻。男中音李昇玟（Lee Seungmin）在飾演李源祿的哥哥后，以令人難忘的斯卡皮亞式暴行回歸，出演了對李源祿實施酷刑的日本人江軍官（Sergeant Go）。

對于習慣了西方歌劇在過去一百年（實際上正是這個故事中描述的那些年）發展方向的聽眾來說，《264》是一次相當大的倒退。指揮家李東信（Lee Dongsin）不僅帶領主演，還以自信的風格優雅地領導著管弦樂隊和合唱團。輕松的時刻與戲劇性的場景達到了穩定的平衡（可實話實說，大邱歌劇合唱團的成員應該讓《264》的婚禮更加熱鬧生動）。但最終，對于那些發現過去一個世紀的歌劇在音樂上令人不快，并且仍然在尋找挑戰心靈而不傷害耳朵的抒情故事的人來說，《264》可能是適合你的劇目。

America has an elite club in the performing arts called the EGOT， an acronym for people who’ve won the top industry awards in television （the Emmy）， audio recording （the Grammy）， film （the Oscar） and Broadway theatre （the Tony）. It may not be official， but membership is quite exclusive. To date， only 27 individuals have made the list.

As a national entity， though， South Korea is an impressive contender， having won several Oscars for Parasite （2020）， Emmys for Squid Game （2022）， Tonys for The Great Gatsby （2022） and quite a few Grammys， particularly in classical music. Conspicuously absent， though， given the country’s prowess in spinning powerful narratives， is new opera. Despite producing a number of fine vocalists who’ve garnered a handful of Grammys in established repertoire， new Korean stories have been slow to reach the international stage.

Until now. The opera 264， That One Star by composer Kim Sungjae， created and produced by the Daegu Opera House， may be a way of correcting that imbalance. The fact that the show is currently streaming on Europe’s OperaVision through 13 June is particularly impressive， given that both the story and its central character—the poet and independence advocate Yi Won-rok （better known under his pen name “Yi Yuksa”， the Korean pronunciation of his prisoner number， 264）—are all but unknown outside Korea.

As with any classic， though， the story is immediately relatable to many cultures. For example， a few parallels exist between Yi （1904–1944） and the English poet Wilfred Owen （1893–1918）： both were soldiers， both burnished literary reputations from a limited output（Owen wrote only about 80 poems， Yi only half that） and both suffered premature deaths （Owen at 25， Yi at 39）. But where Owen’s work famously focused on the horrors of war—his poems are a key component of Benjamin Britten’s anti-war War Requiem—Yi championed the occasional necessity of armed conflict. Through his work， Yi was able to turn the story of Japanese atrocities against the Korean people， including his own torture， into a national sentiment to overthrow Japanese colonial rule.

Yi was （at various points of his life） a poet， a hus- band， and a formidable figure in Korea’s resistance movement. Like Walt Whitman， he was large and contained multitudes—so much， in fact， that librettist Kim Hana divides the character into several roles， each with a clearly defined personality and voice type. And perhaps inevitably， the singers representing those different ages and temperaments finally join together in a climactic ensemble， where the different sides of Yi’s persona sing among themselves. （Terence Blanchard， for one， utilizes this technique in both of his operas， Champion and Fire Shut Up in My Bones.）

Stepping back a bit from the opera stage， you can see the ways that 264 borrows from the same playbook as Korean film and television dramas， where storytelling fills largely conventional forms with inventive—often transgressive—content. They fully grasp the idea of driving a narrative： If the story has enough familiar signage， audiences will keep following the road， no matter how dark or imposing.

That’s particularly important in 264， where the narrative often veers into abstract directions. Director Pyo Hyunjin does a fine job of keeping those byways in focus， not losing sight of the story’s highway. So too does the storytelling work to justify the effort.

The most common failure of most biographical accounts of artists—writers in particular—is that it’s hard to show on stage or screen what all the fuss is about. Rodolfo in La bohème is supposed to be a writer， but we pretty much have to take Puccini’s word for it.（If he’s not a particularly good writer， that probably makes him even more relatable.） By contrast， Paul Schrader’s Mishima： A Life in Four Chapters actually films stylized scenes from Mishima’s own dramatic works， taking that extra step in establishing his literary credentials. Similarly In 264， direct quotes from Yi’s work seemingly waft through the libretto， as if to confirm both his literary and revolutionary reputation （I’m taking this on faith， since the English subtitles often miss the literary mark）.

The music follows a similar familiar path. If the Western operatic tradition ended with Turandot， as so many observers are fond of declaring， Kim didn’t get the memo. Puccini， in fact， remains a palpable model throughout， not just with repurposed “Asian” sonorities from Turandot and Madama Butterfly but also echoes of Tosca in the opera’s torture scenes. Lighter moments—and Kim clearly grasps that dramatic moments become much stronger when lightened beforehand—seem to take a cue from Léhar operettas.

Given the musical strengths of the cast， that gambit plays particularly well. Like most opera singers around the world， they are heavily trained in numerous European languages； here， they finally get a chance to sing in their own. The result leads to palpable connection to the musical line and conviction in dramatic delivery.

Playing different facets of the same character， tenors Rho Seonghoon （Soldier 264） and Lee Chungman（Husband 264） stood both in physical and vocal contrast against baritone Je Sangchul （Poet 264）—though， perhaps especially for Koreans who already know the historical details， a close reading of the synopsis beforehand would be in order. Soprano Yi Yunkyoung as Yi’s wife An Il-yang moves from an initial lighthearted bloom into emotional resolve over her husband’s fate. Mezzo-soprano Kim Bora as Yi’s Soulmate offers dramatic connection on a different level entirely， inspiring moments of moral reflection. Baritone Lee Seungmin， after a disposable turn as 264’s brother， returns with memorably Scarpia-like brutality as Japanese torturer Sergeant Go.

For listeners used to the direction Western opera has taken over the past hundred years （essentially the years portrayed in this story）， 264 is quite a throwback. Conductor Lee Dongsin leads not just the principal cast but also the orchestral and choral forces with assured stylistic grace. Lighthearted moments find a smooth balance with scenes of dramatic intensity （though truth be told， members of the Daegu Opera Choir might have rendered 264’s wedding with a bit more exuberance）. But ultimately， for anyone who finds the past century of operas musically off-putting and is still in search of lyrical stories that challenge the mind without tasking the ear， 264 may be the show for you.