There is always something meaningful about seeing someone’s first work: beyond questions of perfection lies the pleasure of discovering what kinds of stories they might go on to tell. Language of Joe and Cho, at Camden Fringe, is a debut that leaves us looking forward to what Donghyun Lim might create next.
Trusting the audience’s imagination rather than relying on elaborate sets or realistic representation: this is precisely the appeal of the Camden Fringe. In London, alongside large-scale West End productions, there are countless opportunities to encounter new forms of theatre created in small spaces with only the simplest of props. Language of Joe and Cho, performed at the Etcetera Theatre on 3 and 4 August, was written and performed by Donghyun Lim and directed by Woogie Jung.
Lim speaks to the audience as though telling an old friend about something that happened to him. He describes the real landscape of London in meticulous detail, tracing the route from Swiss Cottage to Finchley Road and naming Snappy Snaps, Waitrose and the Japanese grocery store Natural Natural along the way, drawing the audience directly into the events. For those who have lived in London, these familiar surroundings make the story feel even more immediate; for those who have not, they naturally convey the city’s specific texture and multicultural landscape.
The narrator, a young Korean actor studying in London, encounters Ricky, a man threatening women on the street. As he watches what is happening, Ricky mistakenly believes he is filming the scene and assaults him. The police arrive, and Ricky is arrested and imprisoned, but the incident leaves the narrator with deep anxiety and trauma.
Lim places a suitcase covered with green fabric on stage to represent Ricky. Despite being at the centre of the assault and stalking that drive the story, Ricky’s caricatured appearance is comic and even oddly endearing. It is intriguing to see such a central character represented through such a simple object.
As he approaches graduation, the narrator is waiting for his father, who is travelling from Korea to attend his graduation ceremony. That same day, however, he unexpectedly encounters Ricky again in a library, now released from prison after the earlier incident. Ricky threatens him, blaming him for posting footage of his arrest on social media, where racist comments caused distress to Ricky’s mother. The narrator is anxious and distressed by being followed by Ricky, but cannot bring himself to tell his father.
The story moves back and forth between the present and the past, illuminating the narrator’s childhood and the years that shaped him. As a child, he was unable to have the iMac he desperately wanted, and he witnessed countless livestock being buried alive during an outbreak of foot-and-mouth disease in Korea. He watched his father, a veterinarian, live through a period of helplessness. When he later announced that he wanted to become an actor, his parents strongly opposed the idea, and from then on, he found it difficult to share his dreams and troubles with them. In a family where love was expressed in different ways, silence gradually became the familiar ‘language’ between father and son.
His father has travelled for many hours to attend the graduation. As they spend time together in London, the narrator realises that he can no longer hide Ricky’s threats or his own fear. Eventually, he finds the courage to tell his father everything, and the two confront Ricky together.
The following day, at his graduation ceremony, the narrator steps onto the stage as his name is called. He cannot find his father somewhere among the audience, nor can he hear his applause, but he knows and feels that his father is there. His father has always been there. It is a moment in which he belatedly understands that the father he had always believed did not understand him had, in fact, always been by his side.
The word ‘Language’ in the title goes beyond the idea of different spoken languages. How people love, are hurt, and sometimes communicate feelings they cannot put into words all become languages of their own. Through a father and son gradually learning to recognise each other’s language, the play shows how easily we can misunderstand the feelings of even those closest to us.
With no props, Lim brings his father onto the stage through voice and physicality alone. A Korean father who is reserved and finds it difficult to express his emotions, yet has quietly carried the responsibility of supporting his family, comes vividly to life. The play neither forgives Ricky nor reduces him simply to a villain. Instead, it sees him as a human being carrying hurt, anger and complicated feelings about family, and uses his presence as a catalyst for change in the relationship between the narrator and his father.
Another of the production’s strengths is that Lim wrote the play himself, drawing on his own experiences. He has brought to the stage the story he knows best and feels most compelled to tell. Something is energising about an actor creating their own leading role rather than waiting for an opportunity to arrive. As a result, the London streets, family memories and struggles of a young man dreaming of becoming an actor all feel specific and vivid. There is always something meaningful about seeing someone’s first work: beyond questions of perfection lies the pleasure of discovering what kinds of stories they might go on to tell. Language of Joe and Cho is a debut that leaves us looking forward to what Donghyun Lim might create next.
Feature Image Credit: Raye Yu
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