Auditions were over, so we could finally dive into filming our graduation project in earnest.
Right after the audition phase, I’d already assembled the art team. They were taking care of costumes and props.
Thanks to Jun-sung’s connections, securing a location was easy. He tried to cover up the fact that he came from a wealthy family by mumbling something like, “It just so happened to work out this way,” but anyone could tell it was a massive house that no ordinary person could simply borrow.
He mentioned there was a perfect space in the house that could serve as our secret room.
When our team entered, we found a house so visually perfect that we barely had to bring any props, aside from anything breakable.
“Jun-sung sunbae, are you, like, rich? How did you manage this…?”
“But he’s always working part-time jobs. Doesn’t he just crash at Chan-hyun sunbae’s place?”
“Chan-hyun sunbae’s rich, too. Maybe birds of a feather flock together?”
Their whispers annoyed me a bit, but the truth is, Jun-sung really is loaded—on a level my family can’t even compare to.
Meanwhile, my own family is sinking fast, thanks to those multiplex theaters popping up everywhere. My dad never lets on, but looking back, I can only imagine how anxious he must be right now.
From a filmmaker’s perspective, though, the rise of multiplex cinemas is a good thing. Big companies are pouring money into film, which has rapidly expanded the market in Korea—leading to world-famous directors like Bong Joon-ho, Park Chan-wook, and Lee Chang-dong. Without investment, there can be no opportunity.
But as the son of a small, single-screen theater owner, it’s not so great. On the other hand, if I succeed quickly, my family won’t go under. That’s one of my big motivations for absolutely needing to make it.
“All right, let’s set up the props and start filming.”
With my words, everyone on set sprang into action. Though it’s just a short film and officially our “graduation project,” in my eyes, this was my first time in a while holding a megaphone in Korea’s film world. I took a deep breath.
My hands trembled slightly because I was gripping the megaphone too hard from nervousness.
“You okay? Why are your hands shaking?”
Jun-sung, who was beside me, asked with concern.
“I’m fine—I’m just excited. Where’s the slate operator?”
“Hey, Chang-sik! The director wants the clapperboard ready!”
“Yes, sir!”
I saw my junior running over, but I was still taking deep breaths, trying to steady my racing heart.
“Are you feeling sick? Should we delay a bit?”
“No, I’m good.”
Actors, the assistant director, the art team, the sound team, the lighting team—though each “team” really only has one or two people—everyone was waiting on my word.
Forget the past. I’ve been reborn. I’m not going to repeat my old mistakes. Those foolish—no, downright dumb—decisions won’t happen again.
“Ready.”
Hearing me, my junior opened his eyes wide, all tense. The camera switched on, the recorder let out a beep, and started rolling.
“Scene 1, Cut 1, Take 1!”
Clack!
He shouted and snapped the slate, then dashed out of frame.
“Action!”
And so, filming on my first movie of this new life began.
The storyline: The main character, a woman who thought her father had died when she was young, suddenly inherits his estate. That inheritance is a huge detached house. On moving day, a home invasion sets the real events in motion.
The opening scene is the protagonist, Jungmin, talking on the phone with her boyfriend while unpacking in the newly inherited home. The key point is to show the audience how she starts out chatting cheerfully, only to sense something ominous and become uneasy.
Our lead actress, Hyo-sun, looks around a strangely eerie room and says:
“Oppa… Something feels off.”
From behind the camera, her voice carries a heavy sense of anxiety and nervousness that I can practically feel myself. Once again, I realize Hyo-sun is an amazing actress.
“Cut! Okay!”
Thanks to Hyo-sun’s performance, our first scene was a success.
Moreover, we shot this as a long take—starting with a normal, level frame and gradually tilting until we ended in a “Dutch angle.” A Dutch angle subtly slants the camera to make the audience uncomfortable. This off-kilter framing creates psychological unease, perfect for pulling viewers deeper into a thriller.
Combined with Hyo-sun’s stellar acting, the resulting footage was really satisfying—even after watching it again. But this was just the first step.
I was reviewing the footage with a frown, already thinking about everything left to film, when Hyo-sun, looking slightly nervous, approached me.
“Sunbae, are you alright?”
“It’s great. Really. You’re an amazing actress.”
I awkwardly relayed the sense of awe I’d felt from behind the camera, and she gave me a bright smile. Jun-sung, next to me, gave her double thumbs-up in approval.
“Come on, why so nervous? You knocked Kwon Yeon-ji—someone who even had press calling her the ‘next big thing’—right out of the running. And don’t worry about Chan-hyun’s reputation. He might have a sketchy rep, but once you actually get to know him, he’s a decent guy.”
“Th-thank you!”
“He said you’d be way better than Kwon Yeon-ji, and now that I see it on the monitor, I’m sure of it.”
Blushing, Hyo-sun replied:
“Oh no! I wouldn’t compare myself to Yeon-ji sunbae at all…”
“Trust me, you’re better.”
I decided to chime in too, adding a bit of my own praise. In response, Hyo-sun bowed at a full 90-degree angle and then went back in front of the camera. Jun-sung, who’d been chatting with me, piped up:
“Hey, you’ve gotten better at praising people. Didn’t you used to say compliments were toxic?”
“They say even a whale can dance if you praise it enough.”
“You specifically called that nonsense.”
“Hmph… well, should I stop complimenting then?”
“Nah, I’m glad you changed your mind. Do you always have to be so extreme?”
“Thanks for the compliment.”
“You can say thank you, too? Wow.”
“Gonna start doing that from now on.”
After wrapping the first scene, we shifted to a different area to continue filming.
Jungmin explores the huge house, eventually heading down to the basement. Although it’s filled with junk, she notices a rather nice-looking wardrobe. Then she spots scratch marks on the floor in front of it, and, driven by curiosity, she struggles to push the wardrobe aside, revealing a hidden room.
“Cut! Okay!”
“So, should we get Jaehun hyung and Sejin ready now, Director?”
Jun-sung asked with a grin, and I nodded.
Jaehun hyung is playing the role of Jungmin’s half-brother, Joong-hoon, who’s basically a delinquent. Sejin is playing Jung-se, the friend who teams up with Joong-hoon to rob the house in hopes of splitting the money. One is from a fairly wealthy family; the other is at rock-bottom, enticed by the promise of easy cash.
Their dialogue needs to show them as truly villainous—characters you can’t excuse. Part of me wanted a morally ambiguous setup like the Joker and Batman in The Dark Knight, but this is just a short film. It’s tough to delve into that level of complexity. Instead, I went for straightforward good vs. evil, something that quickly hooks viewers and is easy to follow.
“Director, the actors are ready.”
“Alright. Ready!”
“Scene 3, Cut 1, Take 1!”
Clack!
“Action!”
Like Hyo-sun, Jaehun hyung and Sejin delivered excellent performances. They’d been goofing around right before the cameras rolled, but as soon as we called “Action,” I saw no trace of that. They must’ve practiced plenty on their own; with fluid, natural movement, they clambered over the fence and started swapping crude jokes per the script, grabbing the audience’s attention. Right before my eyes, they became Joong-hoon and Jung-se.
“Cut! Okay!”
“How was that, sunbae?”
As soon as I gave the cut sign, Sejin, back to his normal self, asked with a tense face.
“It was great. You and hyung could probably shoot a crime movie together—you were that natural.”
“Seriously. Sejin, who knew you had such a foul mouth? Good thing we’re seniors; if we were your juniors, we’d have to take all that abuse.”
Sejin laughed awkwardly at our praise, and I turned to Jaehun hyung:
“You were awesome, too—super slimy. Let’s keep it going like that.”
Looking like a big goof again, Jaehun hyung joked:
“Chan-hyun actually giving compliments? Are you messing with me?”
“Hyung! I told you he’s a bit different now. Maybe he’s becoming human!”
As Jun-sung chuckled, Jaehun hyung beamed good-naturedly.
Why didn’t I try to create this kind of atmosphere before my return? I used to think a film set had to be tense, that the director, who bears all responsibility, must stand above everyone else. Once I let go of that hang-up, the atmosphere got so much better.
And the footage we’ve got so far doesn’t just look “all right”—it looks downright good. Apparently, I’m not the only one who thinks so. Peering at the monitor beside me, Jun-sung exclaimed:
“This is insane. Remember those senior projects we talked about? This blows them out of the water.”
He leaned in so close, it looked like he might get sucked into the monitor.
“Dude, you’ll go cross-eyed. Back up a bit.”
He stepped back, grinning.
“I think this is really going to be a hit. It’s gonna become the stuff of legend at our grad exhibit. What if the professors give us a standing ovation?”
“You’ve got a wild imagination.”
“Dream big, man. You’ve got to have ambition. Don’t you want this to lead to your official debut as a director?”
“I’ll do that within the year, obviously.”
“Pff… The moment I hype you up, you shoot for the moon. ‘Obviously’? At 27?”
“Age doesn’t matter.”
“What about an assistant director role?”
“I’ve got my experience from summer break, right?”
At that, Jun-sung turned serious.
“Okay, I take back what I said about dreaming big. Are you like this because I filled your head with nonsense?”
“Weren’t you the one who told me a short could still spark a feature film idea?”
“I said maybe.”
“Hmm… Didn’t realize your ambitions were so small, Jun-sung.”
“What?”
“I can’t believe my friend’s a ‘Ha-namja’!”
He snorted at the new term.
“Is that something you just made up? ‘Ha-namja’? The opposite of a ‘real man’ or something?”
“I don’t know. You’re just a Ha-namja. Guess I’d better find myself another producer.”
“Hey, hey~ Let’s not be hasty, Director Gyeong. We’ve been together this long, right?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I nudged him away as he laid on the charm and went back to reviewing the footage. So far, it bore some resemblance—unintentionally—to David Fincher’s Panic Room, minus the fact that we don’t have a daughter character. But I can’t let it keep following that film’s path.
Though that “Film God” told me to make movies that don’t exist in this world, simply copying what I know from my past life would make me no more than a plagiarist. That’s not what I want.
Regardless of how I get there, the “Film God” wants me to grow this industry, right? I’ll draw on creative ideas where needed, but ultimately, I want to create my own film. By pouring everything I’ve learned about production, planning, cinematography, lighting, art direction—everything—into this project, I’m sure it’ll succeed here. And, hopefully, it’ll help expand the film scene as well.
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