I spent the last few days filming and we were all pretty tense about our final shoot.
It was the scene where Jeong-min escapes from Joong-hoon and Jeong-se in a locked room. This moment was the grand finale of our movie, the part that would make people’s imaginations go wild, so the acting had to be spot on.
Because Joong-hoon and Jeong-se had cut the power, nothing was visible. The only light was the two flashlights they were holding. But the thing about a flashlight is that its beam is basically a harsh, direct light.
Relying solely on such direct light in a dark space isn’t great if you want the audience to actually see what’s happening—and it can really strain their eyes, too.
In these situations, the go-to trick is to use acrylic sheets.
I’d given the art team a heads-up, so they brought along acrylic cut to the size of the flashlight lenses.
“If we stick this to the flashlight, the light diffuses, right? Then it’s easier on the audience, while we can still show exactly what we want to show.”
The art team taped the acrylic sheet over the flashlight lens, and the once-harsh beam got dispersed, giving us a much more natural look on camera.
“Wow, this is seriously amazing, boss. How’d you know about this?”
“You figure stuff out if you hang around sets long enough. Keep tagging along and learning—there’s always tons to pick up when you’re on-site.”
“Yes, sir!”
Once our makeshift lighting solution was in place, we started rolling again.
The scene began with Hyo-sun quietly sneaking out of the locked room. Her uneasy gaze was mostly hidden because it was so dark, but in a way, that’d only make the audience focus more on what was happening.
She accidentally kicks some item on the floor, causing the robbers to scramble around in a panic. She manages to hide in a closet, holding her breath. The flashlight’s beam slips through the cracks of the closet door and shines onto her face.
Then we cut to a close-up of that face. Right when the camera pulls away—where the script says to end the scene—Se-jin suddenly curses and punches the wall.
An ad-lib.
It was such a perfect ad-lib that I couldn’t help but be impressed. It happened right when the flashlight lit up Jeong-min’s face on the monitor, and that short burst of swearing totally amped up the tension.
“Cut!”
Everyone around the set stared at me. Jun-sung also gave me a worried look.
When I said “cut,” Se-jin seemed to snap out of it and started apologizing like crazy.
“I’m so sorry, sir! I don’t know what came over me…”
“No, the ad-lib was great. Let’s keep that swear at the end. We’ll just run with what we just shot.”
“What?”
Everybody else looked at me like, Huh?
Awkward silence. Jun-sung lightly tapped my shoulder.
“You okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“You normally hate ad-libs, remember?”
“Nah, hey! Se-jin! That was actually awesome, man. I’m not kidding.”
I said it loud enough for Se-jin—who’d been feeling guilty—so she’d realize she wasn’t in trouble. Her expression brightened right away.
“From the moment you started writing your own scripts, you’ve gotten more flexible than I expected. But this is so different, it’s almost unsettling,” Jun-sung teased, giving me a suspicious look. I just replayed Hyo-sun’s performance for him.
“Dude, Hyo-sun’s acting is crazy good! The subtle expressions, the tiny trembling—like, how’d she pull that off?”
I gushed about Hyo-sun on the monitor, and Jun-sung snickered.
“Well, I’ll humor you. Better that than you turning into an even bigger jerk.”
The filming was finally done.
Usually, movie shoots take longer than planned—mood changes if the lighting’s different, camera angles shift, actors have issues, unexpected stuff piles on. But since it was a locked-room set, we didn’t have to worry about weather. Plus we had some of the best up-and-coming actors, a fantastic production team, and me—a 26-year-old with over 20 years of hands-on experience—so we actually finished on schedule in two weeks.
“It’s our wrap party—time to let loose, right? Everyone free?” Jun-sung’s voice made the whole crew grin.
“Hell yeah!”
“Fried chicken and a cold beer would have my soul right now.”
He came over to me. “You’re coming too, right? Don’t skip out for editing. C’mon, hang out with people for once. We’re almost done with school, so we gotta enjoy it.”
“Hmm…”
“You’re not bailing again, are you? This isn’t just you and me talking movies like a couple of fossils. We’ll have a real group. We graduate soon—we’re on our last leg here.”
“All right, fine. Filming finished early anyway.”
Hearing that, he whooped. “Our director is coming too!”
“Whoa! Chan-hyun’s coming?!”
“Dude, I get to drink with Chan-hyun himself?”
Everyone was pretty surprised that I’d tag along. Usually once shooting was done, I’d either vanish into the editing room or just disappear somewhere on my own.
The next day, after the wrap party…
We were all nursing our hangovers but headed straight to the editing room.
“Ugh, my head… hey, did I do anything embarrassing last night?” Jun-sung flopped into his seat on the bus to campus, looking at me anxiously.
“You don’t remember? You actually confessed to Hyo-sun.”
“What…? That’s BS. I don’t even like her.”
“Sure, messing with people’s feelings now, huh? Look who grew a pair.”
“No, for real, did I? Did I actually confess?”
“Kidding, dude.”
“You absolute psycho. You nearly made me graduate without being able to show my face.”
Still, last night was fun.
“Wow, Chan-hyun, your stories are great—you talk like my dad or something.”
“Hey, just call me hyung or oppa, will ya?”
“You never shut up, but it’s fun. Like chatting with a funny uncle?”
Stuff like that. Most of the conversation was about how I apparently talk like an old man, but it was still a good time. I also got friendlier with the staff and the newbie actors. Maybe that’s why as soon as we got to school, a bunch of younger classmates started greeting us. Well, mostly greeting Jun-sung, but hey.
“Let’s bring ramen to the editing room. I feel like death,” I said.
So we whipped up some instant noodles and carried them to the editing room. A handful of the student crew members were loitering outside.
“Look, we’ll handle editing ourselves. The editing room’s cramped enough as it is, and you guys clearly didn’t drink enough last night. I should’ve made sure you were totally out of commission.” I unlocked the door with my ramen in one hand, and Hyo-sun smiled.
“We’re young, we can handle it~. We just want to watch how you edit and help out if you need anything.”
“I don’t need help from any of you. Go get some hangover soup or something.”
I handed them some of my hard-earned cash. Hyo-sun, apparently acting like the spokesperson, bowed.
“Thanks, senpai! Then we youngins will be back after some soup!”
Because we’d gotten pretty close the night before, they joked around and headed off.
“Look at you, finally loosening up. But it’s your last semester—how’s that gonna help?” Jun-sung teased.
“We can stay in touch.”
“Uh-huh. Sure. You’re the guy who never answers calls.”
It’s not like I’m trying to build up Hyo-sun just because she’s going to be a famous actress with major talent or something. Well, in the future, she does become pretty successful and does lots of interviews and appearances. She once said in an interview:
“In college, I hardly had any friends. No matter how many auditions for student films I tried, they never picked me. That’s when I realized life is basically a solo journey.”
That interview always stuck in my head for some reason, even back when I was casting. I didn’t want Hyo-sun to end up like me, trudging through it alone, so I gave her the part. Seeing her now with a whole group of friends behind her, I felt pretty proud my plan worked out.
Thunk!
Suddenly, Jun-sung slapped me on the back of the head.
“Dude, spit’s about to fly out of your mouth, you creep. You’re staring way too hard.”
“What?”
“You’re the one who actually likes Hyo-sun, right? That’s why you picked her over Gwak Yeon-ji?”
“Look at the way she acts, man. You’re the one spouting nonsense.”
“Yeah, fair… But still, we’re eating ramen while they get soup? How much money did you give them?”
“20,000 won. They’re still growing, and we’re old geezers. We have to feed them well.”
“Dude, with minimum wage at 1,865 won, that’s like 10 hours of work. You just gave them that much?”
Nothing’s better than a generous senior’s wallet to earn some loyalty. And that money’s gonna come back to me a hundred, nah, a thousand times over someday.
“Anyway, are old folks like us even allowed to eat ramen? Without even cracking an egg in it?”
“Then don’t eat it, hand it over.”
At my comment, Jun-sung slurped down a mouthful.
Sluuurp.
“Ah—hot! Gah, I burned my mouth!”
“You idiot.”
He’s supposedly from a wealthy family, but sometimes I wonder.
We finished up some editing and stepped out of the room. Even cutting a 15-minute short film can take ages. But we’d sorted out a lot of the sound effects and planned the ADR. Things were mostly shaping up.
(T/N: ADR stands for Automated Dialog Replacement, a post-production process for film and television in which dialog is re-recorded in a controlled environment to replace the original production dialog.)
“That’s good enough for today—it’s getting late,” I said.
“Thank God,” mumbled Jun-sung, rubbing his eyes. “My eyeballs are about to pop out, and my back’s killing me.”
“Stop whining.”
“Is tomorrow the weekend?”
“Yeah, it’s Saturday.”
“I have work, ugh. So annoying.”
We picked up the trash in the editing room and locked up. The moment we stepped outside, someone called my name.
“Gyeong Chanhyeon, right?”
I spun around at the sharp voice. It was Gwak Yeon-ji, facing me and Jun-sung.
“Oh, uh… hey,” I said awkwardly, giving her a clumsy smile.
“Hi, Yeon-ji. Been a while. You doing okay?” asked Jun-sung just as awkwardly.
She frowned a bit. “So, about this Kim Hyo-sun person. How come she got the part instead of me? You even made me audition. I’m busy, you know? I took time out of my schedule for that.”
This was Gwak Yeon-ji—an actress who’s going to be pretty famous for a few years thanks to her looks. She would’ve done just fine without me, but she’s got one big issue: her acting is terrible.
Back in Blue Moon, her wooden acting meant I had to trash a lot of footage, and it gave me major trauma. Plus, she had a massive diva attitude on set. That’s why I decided to pass on her. Over the next few years, some producers will cast her just for eye candy, but then overshadow her with the new wave of actresses who actually have talent. Her career in films will fade.
“Uh, well, you see—” I started to speak, but was still trying to find the right words. Jun-sung cut in.
“Yeah, right? I was all for casting you, but then we saw Hyo-sun, and well—”
I pinched his thigh so hard he squealed.
“Argh!”
I leaned in and whispered so only he’d hear, “Don’t throw Hyo-sun under the bus. Let me handle this.”
“What are you two saying?” Yeon-ji snapped, irritated.
My mind was racing through a dozen ways to respond. I finally picked the least crappy one.
“We just, uh… we figured you might be too busy. We did a ton of all-nighters, and yeah, right? Right, Jun-sung?”
“Uh, yeah, exactly. I mean, we were practically awake 24/7. Hyo-sun’s skin got so wrecked from lack of sleep and everything… you saw it, right?”
“Totally. And her acting’s not so great either, so that’s gotta be rough with her skin messed up like that.”
“Exactly, she was basically hopeless. Must be because she’s such a terrible actress—”
Our performance was so fake that Yeon-ji’s scowl deepened.
“She wasn’t even wearing makeup today, and her skin looked perfectly fine,” she said flatly.
“…”
The truth is, we’ll be leaving this school soon, but Hyo-sun will still be here. If Yeon-ji’s pals start stirring up trouble, guess who’ll take the heat?
Might as well let a graduating senior like me shoulder it. I sighed.
“I like Hyo-sun, all right? Guess I lost my mind for a bit and picked her over you. I’m sorry. Really sorry.”
I wasn’t sorry at all, but I’ve kneeled and apologized countless times before just to keep other people out of trouble. So this was no big deal.
“Oh… so you’re in loooove, huh, Gyeong Chanhyeon?” Jun-sung covered his mouth and stared at me, wide-eyed. Yeon-ji looked like she finally believed it, nodding her head.
“I guess that makes sense.”
A proud person’s pride was preserved, and I got to keep the person I actually wanted for the project. Win-win.
Yeon-ji gave a quick nod and turned to leave.
“Damn, you’re a real tough guy,” Jun-sung teased. “But why are you bending over backwards for her?”
Because for a few years, that newbie with crappy acting will be treated like a top star. She’s going to have connections in the film industry before I do, and there’s no reason to be on bad terms with her. Better I come off as some lovestruck weirdo than pick a fight.
“She’s debuting soon. Gotta stay in her good graces.”
“Wow, look who’s grown up!” Jun-sung grinned, patting me on the back. I let out a sigh of relief, watching Yeon-ji walk away.
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