There are some moments in our lives that haunt us for a long time.
In James & Eddie, written by and starring the acclaimed playwright M.J. Kang, our protagonist Eun-Kyung looks back at a period of her life when everything changed for her.
As she fondly reminisces, figures from her past reappear, including her lively older sisters Cah and Twerlch, their mercurial mother Umma, and the titular James and Eddie.
With its fast pace, swift character changes, and youthful bewilderment, one might mistake this play — which premieres at the Toronto Fringe Festival — as a family-friendly show, but as the show progress, it becomes clear a threat of violence lurks at the edges of the frame.
Taking place in Toronto in the 1980s, this encounter between two families, each of whom are still reeling from the aftermath of the Japanese occupation of Korea during World War II, opens up the wounds of intergenerational trauma, child abuse, and the burden of parenthood.
James & Eddie marks the return of Dora-nominee M.J. Kang, best known for her plays Noran Bang: The Yellow Room, Blessings, and dreams of blonde & blue. We had the pleasure to speak to Kang about her inspirations, process and how the theatre industry has changed.
M.J. Kang: The Interview
LvT: To begin with, a question from the play: “Can people return to what is lost?”
M.J.K.: Nostalgia exists for a reason — to yearn and hope for something that can never be again or simply to enjoy what once was. I don’t think people can return to what was lost, but they can revisit and appreciate the changes, appreciate what is now there.
LvT: Based on the synopsis, and the fact that it won Fringe’s Best New Play contest, I came to James and Eddie expecting a very serious drama, but I was surprised to find that it was told through a child’s eyes: curious, perceptive, humorous. Through one character you manage to depict the plight of two families informed by the ravages of history. Of course, as the play — which you call a memory play — progresses, and things start to come to light, we realize that this was intentional on your part all along. There is a current that operates beneath the surface, and it does, indeed, become a very serious drama. How did you land on this tone and structure?
M.J.K.: I’ve always wanted audiences to laugh and cry because life is full of tears of both joy and sorrow. As a parent to a daughter who inspires me every day, I’ve seen life through her eyes, and I’ve come to admire the beautiful innocence I’ve witnessed as she grows up. The innocence and resilience that children have — their need to get up, brush themselves off after a fall, and keep playing. When I meet people, I often see their child in them, and it’s been nice to see people that way, without the pretense of who they are now, but I see their pure humanity.
My wish for the play is that, in the end, parents come home to their children and hug them more, or an adult child reaches out to their parents, or fractured relationships can begin to heal. There is always hope, love, resilience, and connection, with healthy boundaries.
Telling Vital Stories
LvT: From the beginning of your career you have made it a point to depict the experience of being a racialized minority and how alienating it can be. As an artist, why do you feel it is important to remember the details of a generation of people — the details our elders tell us to forget — and do they shift meaning for you when they are brought to life on stage?
M.J.K.: My culture is very important to me. As someone who was born in Seoul, Korea, but left at a young age, I am not really Korean or have been seen as Canadian, and being othered continues, even as I get older. It never seems to stop. How can I help it stop? By having people understand some aspect of the journey I’ve experienced, and what others have experienced. Let people see those they think of as “the other” for who they are instead of the projection of who someone is. That’s why I need to tell stories that are meaningful and culturally specific.
I grew up with elders who didn’t tell me much of their history, and it was only shared in bits and pieces. I had a history project in middle school to interview someone who survived a war. I interviewed my mother, and she was very open to me in the conversation because she wanted me to get a good grade. The teacher’s comment after she graded my interview told me that there’s value in these stories our elders don’t often speak of. It isn’t shameful, but powerful — the ability to have lived through hardship and not only survived, but thrived.
The more we share our stories, the more connected we’ve become.
When my work is brought to the stage, when audiences experience it, I hope they walk away feeling heard and understood, or curious about people who are not physically like them. But of course, with every new production, there is a chance that it won’t land with audiences. I often tell my daughter it is our failures, our moments when we feel defeated, that make us stronger. If I fail publicly, I will grow as a person and artist. I’ve already stopped writing and being publicly creative for over a decade. I’m not going to stop now, even if there is a chance others may want me to be quiet.
A Relationship with Time
LvT: In your artist’s statement you said: “I’ve focused on following the story through the emotions, within the layers of time colliding and when information is withheld or subverted — how it changes the characters.” In one scene, early on, when Eddie has an interaction with Umma, he tries to be positive with her. “Good things happen to good people,” he says. “Bad things happen to good people,” she retorts, adding, “Second chances don’t exist.” A few scenes later, when “the Three Musketeers” are together, Eddie’s optimism has completely been ripped away; “Life isn’t fair,” he says. It’s a subtle moment, but it broke my heart. How has your relationship to time evolved through the process of writing and performing this play?
M.J.K.: I felt haunted while writing James & Eddie, or maybe I’ve allowed myself to be haunted, probably because of witnessing my father’s slow death. What happens with Eddie in the play is heartbreaking, but he’s also a survivor. I’ve met many survivors. The journey they’ve come from and the hope and joy they still have are what we can focus on. There is always a tomorrow, even when it doesn’t feel like there could be. We can have moments of despair, loss of innocence, and yet, those can be regained in different ways, and there are better days ahead. Children can speak the truth and still have their innocence and hope. Adults can have that, too.
LvT: In addition to writing and acting, you are also the sound designer of James and Eddie and the co-director along with the other actresses, both of whom play several roles throughout the show. How has it been for you to wear so many hats, and what it is like to collaborate with them? What are some unexpected solutions that have arisen?
M.J.K.: I sound designed two shows early in my career as a theatre artist. I worked many different jobs in theatre so I could make a living and learn the roles and appreciate all that is needed to get a production together. I’m thankful I had those experiences because they’ve been so useful for this production. With the Fringe Festival, there are many artists wearing multiple hats. I’m doing what needs to be done for the show to continue — for the love of theatre.
I love collaborating with Elsha Kim and Katherine Ko. Working with people whom you don’t know very well is like going on a blind date. I am grateful it has worked out with them. We trust each other and have created a safe space. This project has become meaningful beyond this play. Working together as co-directors wasn’t a choice, but it has become a great solution. We can openly give each other notes and come up with ideas and suggestions.
During the rehearsal process we have unexpectedly had guest artists coming in and giving us feedback. They gave us an outside perspective, which has allowed the production to get better and better. They came in as if by magic, and I am grateful for their contributions.
and M.J. Kang (blue jean jacket, blue dress) (Photo: Mia Safdie)
Forgiveness
LvT: One of the most powerful themes of the play is that of forgiveness. “Forgiveness isn’t for them,” James & Eddie’s mother yells Eun-Kyun. “It’s for you.” The responsibilities of a child of immigrants vastly differs from that of a parent. Why did the concept of forgiveness come to resonate with you and what words of advice without you offer prospective audience members who have a hard time with their relationship to it?
M.J.K.: Forgiveness is a continual process. It doesn’t negate the need for boundaries or to be heard and understood. During the writing of this play, I took a self-compassion course. I no longer wanted to be angry with my parents or angry at the memory of them. I also wanted and needed to love myself and re-parent myself in the ways I would have loved to have been parented. My parents did the best they could, and being a parent myself, who knows I made mistakes, I honestly did the best I could too.
The best thing that happened to me is becoming a parent. I could look at this sweet, innocent person who relied on me for their continued existence, and while there were moments of frustration and when I was not my best, I knew it was my duty to respect, honour and be true to letting my daughter continue to be who she is — for her to love every part of herself. That’s when I needed to forgive — to let myself be free from the past and live in the present.
The Rise of Korean Content
LvT: When your first play Noran Bang: The Yellow Room was produced in 1993 you were known as being the first Korean-Canadian playwright to have a work produced on Canadian stages. Much as changed since then, and it continues to change. How have you seen the industry evolve over the years, and how has that affected your process?
M.J.K.: When Noran Bang: The Yellow Room was first produced, I was still a teenager and had recently run away from home. I didn’t have many coping skills or support. I was alone in many ways. I wrote because I needed to. I still need to. I would have loved not to be the first because it was lonely. As decades have passed, I am proud to have been the first because that means there have been others since.
I love that Korean content is now celebrated and even revered. When I went to Korea to research my play, blessings, which was produced on Tarragon MainStage, I saw back then, how Korean media was rehashing American content, but as the years have gone by, they’ve made it very much their own and added elements of their society culture, history and beliefs. I work in adapting Korean content to American and Canadian audiences, and it’s mind-blowing how much value it has in the West, when for so long no one knew what Korea was.
Korea has become a huge success story on many fronts and it does bring a sense of sadness for me — that what is now valued was once dismissed or discouraged, made fun of when I was younger. Why can’t we support and value immigrants more and more, understand their contributions instead of putting so many barriers to keep them small?
I hope the value and contribution of diverse voices continues. I hope it’s normal and no one is othered for who they are. I hope people approach people who are not like them with curiosity and hope, because as the world becomes smaller and smaller, we need each other more.
By: Nirris Nagendrarajah for Ludwig-Van
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