Only the finest ingredients

The lights are still up as the last of the audience make their way to their seats. A large projection screen is presenting a series of facts and instructions to help us pass the time. “’Nanta’ was selected a top tourist attraction in Korea.” “Everybody clap! Now only the ladies! Great job!” It’s a very well-mannered screen. Only minutes to go now. The crowd seems energetic, and the theater is at capacity. Another sold-out performance for the most successful show in Korea.

“Nanta: Cookin’” has been running for 13 years. It’s a drum performance, it’s a slapstick comedy, and it’s a family show with lots of audience interaction. It’s been almost absurdly successful. It now plays at four theaters in Korea, each doing several performances every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, all of them selling out or coming very near to it. It’s been exported around the globe and has played in over 200 cities. Now, you’re probably wondering, “Well what the hell is it? I’ve never even heard of it.” Good question, reader!

Basically, Nanta is kind of like STOMP with kitchen utensils. There is a threadbare plot about some chefs who have to prepare a wedding feast by six o’clock. None of the characters have names and there is very little dialogue. None of that really matters. That’s not what the people come to see. They came to see actors doing flips and dropping mad beats with butcher knives. And that’s what you get!

Where they find these actors, I don’t know. I’m guessing they grow them in vats made of pure power, and produce them by the dozen. It’s the only explanation. Where else are you going to find people who have perfect rhythm, excellent comedic timing, advanced gymnastics skills, juggling ability, knowledge of magic tricks, and easy rapport with audiences? The number of skills required of the actors to be a part of this show is just unbelievable. And if it’s that’s not asking enough, they have to have the stamina to do three performances in a row, a true marathon on stage. It’s ridiculous.

So anyway, the show has about ten “scenes” with fairly generic (and basically irrelevant) conflicts that a group of chefs might face. In this one they need to make a great mass of friend rice, and whattyaknow, it sounds great when they cut up all the ingredients. In this one they need to clean up, as the floor has gotten very messy and the cool guy chef and the goofball chef get in a Jackie Chan-inspired duel with brooms, the rhythm supplied by the tapping of the broomsticks. There was one scene that didn’t have any music where one of the characters got stuck in a trashcan and tried increasingly drastic measures to free himself. Watching it live, I get the impression that the creators of this show must have been big Buster Keaton fans. Slapstick might be one of the lower rungs on the comedy ladder, but when it’s executed really well you can see the devotion to the craft the performers must have, and it is admirable. These folks are fearless and tireless and their energy becomes contagious.

Oh, and oh yeah, I almost forgot. THEY BROUGHT ME UP ON STAGE AND HAD ME PROVIDE THE BEAT FOR SOMETHING!! In your FACE, rest-of-the-crowd. I knew it, too. I saw the actor get off the stage to hunt through the audience for people to recruit, and I was like, oh man, this is mine. I caught his eye like a bear trap catches a lazy rabbit. Pick me, dude. Pick me.

The show has a good deal of audience participation towards the end. For the part I got to participate in, they brought up four people, and divided us into two teams. I was the drummer for my team, and my poor teammate had to make mandu. Mandu is the Korean word for “dumpling”. She really got the raw end of the deal. The competition consisted of the two teams trying to be the first to make ten plates of mandu, but only one of the two teammates had to actually make the mandu. The other one (and that would be me, in the case of team blue) was the drummer and announcer. I kept the beat with a giant pestle in a pot in my left hand, which made a big “BOOM” sound, and in my right was a rolling pin that I smack against a cutting board and made a piercing “CRACK”. When my partner finished a plate of mandu, it was to be put on a conveyor belt, where I would retrieve, hold it up, and announce what number we were on to the audience. “OOOOOOOOOOONE!”, “TWOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” I said as loud as possible. You might think it would be nerve-racking, but I really wasn’t nervous at all. I have UF improv to thank for that, I think. Compared to making up comedy on the spot in front of a hundred people, keeping a simple beat and counting plates of mandu in front of three hundred people is a walk in the park. And you know what? We won! My teammate was the fastest mandu master in the east, and we got little prizes. Hooray!

The best part is, one of my students might have been there. On Fridays, I usually ask my kids what they’re doing for the weekend, to get them talking about different topics in English. One of them said she was going to see Nanta on Saturday! She didn’t seem to believe me at first when I said I had the same plan. I can’t wait to see how she reacts when I tell her what happened at the show I went to. I don’t think she was at the same one as me, because, knowing this girl’s personality, as soon as she saw me on the stage she probably would have shouted “RAAAAAAAAAANDY TEAAAACHERRRRR!” loud enough for the whole place to hear. But we shall see!

Well, that’s it for now. Ah-nyung-ha-se-yo!

Randy