A bold and emotional dance drama reimagines Korean history through contemporary and traditional movement on a Los Angeles stage.
On August 16, 2025, Los Angeles’ historic Wilshire Ebell Theatre became a space of remembrance, resistance, and celebration. More than 60 performers came together for the premiere of Gwang-Hee, a large-scale dance drama created to mark the 80th anniversary of Korea’s liberation from Japanese colonial rule.
At the center of the production’s expressive core was choreographer and dancer Yeji Moon, whose deep grounding in Korean traditional dance and fluency in contemporary dance forms uniquely positioned her to shape the work’s emotional landscape. Trained in Korean dance from childhood and formally educated in modern dance, ballet, and K-pop choreography, Moon now works as a researcher examining how embodied memory and movement intersect across cultures. In Gwang-Hee, her choreography brought historical clarity, cultural resonance, and emotional depth—bridging tradition and innovation with an interdisciplinary touch.
Commissioned to choreograph historically grounded moments within the production, Moon drew on her perspective as both a traditional dancer and a contemporary artist working in the Korean diaspora. Her work gave physical form to the struggles of colonized Korea and the pain—and perseverance—of its people.
“Liberation is not just an event of the past,” Moon says. “It’s an emotional memory still carried in our bodies—especially among the diaspora.”
Her choreography was more than a technical contribution. It was a historically engaged, deeply personal act of remembrance. She worked to convey the layered emotions of loss, resistance, and transformation, particularly in scenes depicting the forced erasure of Korean culture and the wartime violence endured by its people.
One of the most charged sequences in Act 1 was Moon’s choreographic interpretation of the March 1st Movement (3.1운동), the 1919 mass protest against Japanese colonial rule.
Dancers moved in tight formations that evoked swelling street demonstrations, their steps quickening to the rhythm of percussive pulses. Gestures of collapse, reach, and rebound mirrored the violent clashes between protestors and colonial forces, while the ensemble surged with a unified force that filled the stage.
“Rather than recreate literal events,” Moon explains, “I aimed to express the spirit of defiance and collective will—the courage that moved people into the streets.”
The narrative of Gwang-Hee follows a young girl named Gwanghee, who loses her father during the Donghak Peasant Revolution and is raised in a gyobang (traditional dance house) where she learns Korean dance. As colonial repression intensifies, she becomes both a cultural guardian and an active participant in the resistance.
Moon’s choreography traces this transformation—from restrained, ritualistic gestures to expansive leaps and grounded floorwork—capturing the protagonist’s personal grief and her eventual embodiment of cultural defiance.
In addition to choreographing these scenes, Moon appeared onstage herself, performing in key moments that embodied the very histories she sought to honor. Her presence as both choreographer and performer underscored her intimate connection to the work’s themes of generational pain and cultural continuity.
Gwang-Hee was hosted by the Korean American Association of Los Angeles (LA한인회) and produced by the Korean American Dance Association of America (미주한인무용협회). The production brought together local dance companies, actors, and musicians in a multi-generational collaboration that reflected the diversity of the Korean diasporic arts community.
While senior artists and traditional companies directed much of the production, Moon’s task was to infuse certain scenes with contemporary relevance—creating visual languages that could speak across time and geography. Her movement aesthetics intertwined seamlessly with traditional elements, including pansori narration, live vocals, and Korean dance genres such as Salpuri (살풀이춤), alongside iconic folk songs like “Arirang” (아리랑).
Her choreography favored breath-driven sequences, ensemble work, and emotionally resonant group formations that deepened the narrative and spiritual impact of the music.
For Moon, choreography functions as an embodied archive—a way of holding stories that are too painful or complex to articulate in words. In one scene depicting the harrowing experiences of female independence activists pursued and tortured by Japanese police, she expressed this through a physical language of urgency and defiance—movements heavy with resistance, punctuated by sudden freezes, and bound together in interdependent formations—conveying both the terror of persecution and the unbreakable resolve to fight for freedom.
“Some parts of history are too painful to narrate with words,” Moon reflects. “But the body remembers. Dance can hold that pain and still move forward.”
Through this approach, her choreography offered audiences not only narrative clarity but also the visceral textures of mourning, resilience, and healing—turning performance into an act of witness.
Gwang-Hee was more than a commemorative performance—it was a call to remember history through the body. With nuanced choreography and grounded stage presence, Yeji Moon transformed a historical drama into a living memory, connecting past struggles with present identities.
Her work affirms that the stage can be a site of testimony, and that movement is not only an aesthetic form but also a cultural vessel—archival, alive, and urgent.
As Korea marks 80 years of liberation, Moon’s contribution urges us to remember differently: not just with our minds, but with our bodies, our communities, and our shared sense of becoming.
