The Comfort Woman is a spectacular debut from writer and performer Minjeong Kim, confronting the harrowing ordeal of young girls as comfort women – the system of sexual slavery imposed by the Imperial Japanese government and army during World War II. Choosing to use this term in her title, Kim signals her refusal to look the other way – instead, reclaiming the voices and narratives of those who suffered through unfiltered storytelling; setting the tone for the play before it’s even begun.
Kim tells the story of Minja, a young Korean girl living in a remote village against the backdrop of World War II. She walks the audience through Minja’s innocent teenage escapades: skimming stones with her best friend, accidentally getting drunk off Makgeolli, and walking home from school with the boy she fancies; pretending to kiss him when he isn’t looking. This innocence of girlhood is quickly shattered when Min is kidnapped by the Japanese Army and taken to a military base, where Kim details the horrors and abuse endured at these camps through the lens of Min. This can’t be an easy subject to write about, but Kim addresses it in a way that is both frank and delicate. When Min recounts the abuse that the girls and women encounter, she withholds the full details, compelling the audience to fill in the gaps and confront the horrors themselves; leaving us silently perturbed.
Kim is supremely talented; a force to be reckoned with. She brings humour, warmth and a bucket full of emotion to this character and to this complex, harrowing narrative. She is a superb physical actor, demonstrating this most diligently when she is speaking Korean, as those of us who aren’t familiar with the Korean language understand what has been expressed through her actions. Her physical movements are subtle, not over‑exaggerated, and enhance the pace and flow of the story. Kim switches between narrating Min’s story and acting it out, while also jumping into various other characters – her mother, her school crush, fellow comfort women – with ease. This style of storytelling enables Kim to engage with the audience in a way that feels particularly personal, as though it is a friend on stage, talking to you.
Kim is supported on stage by Ji Eun Jung playing the Gayageum, a traditional Korean instrument, from the moment the audience enters the theatre until the very end. The sound of this instrument is soothing and soft, and Ji Eun Jung changes the tempo to reflect the context and sentiment of the story: increasing it for fear, softening it for joy. It complements the story really well, and is a beautiful addition to this one‑woman play.
However, the story and writing trail off slightly halfway through the performance. Kim’s writing feels stronger at the beginning of the play, and where it loses momentum, her command falters for a moment, though I can piece together her intention. Both the writing and Kim’s command pick up again towards the end, ultimately ending this play on a strong note.
The production is simple and effective: restricting Kim to one prop, a wooden chair, enhances the significance of this performance, allowing the audience to be fully immersed rather than distracted by a noisy set. The efforts of the entire production team are commendable; enabling Kim’s storytelling to flourish. The Comfort Woman is an emotionally loaded tale, but one that Kim faces head‑on with grace and tenacity. It is a clear tribute to the girls and women who endured such horrific fates, but also a nod to the wonders of human resilience and fortitude. Kim is an incredibly impressive talent, and I must applaud her for delivering such a raw and unflinching debut performance.
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