Why ‘Fan Letter’ is a Must-See: 10 Years of Lee Kyuhyung’s Transformative Performance

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“Ten years ago, I viewed the character largely as he appeared on the page. Over successive seasons, I began asking what fresh approaches I could try. I dug into the life of the role’s inspiration, Kim Yu-jeong, and the historical context. That research has kept the character alive for me.”

Lee Kyu-hyung made that observation about playing the brilliant novelist Kim Hae-jin in the musical Fan Letter, which runs through June 7 at the Hongik University Daehangno Art Center Grand Theater. Since its 2016 premiere, he has returned to the role every season; the part is also shared this season by Kim Kyung-soo, Kim Jae-beom and Kang Pil-seok (listed in Korean alphabetical order).

Kim Hae-jin is a fictionalized version of the real-life writer Kim Yu-jeong, author of works such as Sonakbi, Camellia and Spring, Spring. Despite the hardships of the era and his illness, he’s driven to finish a singular new work.

The character channels that creative drive even as hope and the era itself dim, drawing inspiration from aspiring novelist Jung Se-hoon (played by Moon Seong-il, Moon Tae-yu, Yoon So-ho and Hong Ki-beom) and Se-hoon’s other self, Hikaru (So Jeong-hwa, Kang Hye-in, Lee Bom-sori and Heo Yoon-seul).

Director Shin Won-ho — who saw the show and later cast Lee in Prison Playbook — calls Fan Letter “special” for him. Even after a decade, the production remains engaging rather than worn out.

“Each season I’ve emphasized different dimensions of the character,” Lee said. “Some seasons I played him as a man obsessed with leaving behind one great work before he dies. Other seasons I highlighted a stalker-like hunger for love. At times, the role has simply expressed a deep desire to live longer as a person.”

“As the seasons accumulated, the character grew more layered, and I came to see that he contained almost everything. When I read books or web fiction, I jot down ideas that might fit Fan Letter. I bring those ideas to rehearsals, and some are incorporated into the production.”

“When Se-hoon reveals his identity to Hae-jin in the ‘confession’ scene, a rush of thoughts hits me. In the preceding ‘mirror’ scene, the two sometimes fall asleep during their struggle; this season they open their eyes and stare, blurring dream and waking. That shift changes the inner life and the expression in the subsequent confession.”

Despite those variations, one constant has remained since the premiere: Hae-jin knows he is dying and that time is short, and he wants to leave a work that will make his name last.

Hae-jin first connects with someone who truly understands his writing through a letter signed “Hikaru.” As their affection grows and they collaborate on a final work, Hae-jin learns the true identities involved but keeps that knowledge to himself until the end.

Lee likens that concealment to walking on thin ice — pretending not to see a crack for fear it will break. If the relationship collapses, he said, he risks losing something tied to his lifeline.

“Completing a work is when he feels most alive,” Lee explained. “If the identities are exposed and the relationship shatters, he worries he may no longer be able to write — as if he might die. So, in a moment that feels like forgiving someone on the verge of death, Hae-jin writes Se-hoon: ‘No matter who it is, I cannot help but love the author of the letter.’ He also hopes that Se-hoon, a talented writer, will finish what they started together and that such a literary voice will carry them forward.”

As an artist himself, Lee admits he envies the idea of finding a beloved who becomes a muse, but he doesn’t romanticize a celebrated writer’s entire life.

“Even great writers have small, anxious moments — like waiting for a text reply — alongside their triumphs. Their stature comes from their work, but in other ways they can be messy or flawed. The real-life model, Kim Yu-jeong, displayed stalker-like tendencies and other unattractive traits. As an artist, I find points of empathy and points of distance. I also imagine how I’d act in those circumstances, and that interpretation brings my own nuance to the role.”

Lee said he uses AI to research the era and episodes from Kim Yu-jeong’s life. “I recently watched a Chinese AI program produce an action scene with just two commands that looked like a blockbuster movie moment, and it felt like a slap across the back of the head.”

“I asked myself what I — living now — can do. But these shifts have always happened: TV arrived when there was no TV, movies came when there were none, and the internet brought new ways to share video. I agree that live performers will become rarer and command a premium — things robots can’t replicate. You can watch AI-generated footage for free, but I don’t think anyone will pay even 50,000 KRW (about $37.50) to watch robot acting. That scarcity should increase the value of live stage art.”

Reporter Heo Mi-seon hurlkie@viva2080.com