About six weeks had passed since filming started.
To help the actors fully immerse themselves in the story, Jun-seong scheduled the shoots in chronological order, and we were now about halfway through the film.
“Man, we’re flying through this. Does making a movie usually take so little time? Everything’s just breezing along—at this rate, we might wrap up next month. And the budget’s still in good shape.”
Smiling contentedly, Jun-seong glanced at the carefully maintained shooting schedule.
“Maybe it’s because you’ve got a great director on board?”
“Tsk. If you’d just kept your mouth shut, I was gonna say that myself. Your big mouth is floating off on its own.”
“Pfft.”
The atmosphere on set had also improved considerably.
Once in a while, if Jun-seong showed up, everyone would stand up and greet him in loud voices—that was the only oddity.
“This is what filming a movie’s really about…”
I hated revisiting the past, but maybe because I’d experienced rock bottom before, even in the midst of this happiness, I occasionally remembered things I’d rather not.
“You talk like you’ve made a bunch of full-length films.”
“Shut up, you punk.”
“Tsk.”
We chatted nonsense over lunch on set. In the middle of our meal, I noticed Kim Seung-hoon sitting with a heavy sigh, as though the world was weighing on him.
Seeing the usually cheery Kim Seung-hoon looking so down, Jun-seong seemed concerned.
“Seung-hoon, you all right? Something on your mind?”
“Is it because of today’s scene?”
“He’s already read the script, so what’s bothering him?”
“I did ask him for a small revision a few days ago.”
“A ‘decadent vibe’ thing?”
“Yup.”
“Wait, that wasn’t a joke? You were serious?”
Jun-seong frowned a little.
“If an actor gets stuck with that kind of image, it can really hurt them, you know? You trying to tank the guy’s career? That’s crazy, especially since he’s such a nice person!”
“What do you mean, tank him? What’s so bad about a bit of a decadent style? If anything, it could be seen as dangerously attractive.”
“You’re insane.”
“I already talked to the makeup team. You’ll see. We can still talk about it if you really hate it.”
After lunch, the production crew got right back to work. Together with Jun-seong, I followed the makeup team. Soon enough, Kim Seung-hoon walked onto the bus used for hair and makeup.
“Director, are you sure about this…?”
He looked at me with anxious eyes.
“Keep that expression in mind,” I teased.
“You crazy idiot,” Jun-seong snapped, smacking me on the back of the head.
“Ouch! Quit it!”
“Pfft.”
Kim Seung-hoon laughed out loud at our antics.
“It’ll suit you, trust me. I’m trying to give you the role of a lifetime.”
“I guess… but still…”
“I already told the makeup team the kind of vibe we want. Just let them do their thing.”
Following my directions, the makeup team began transforming Kim Seung-hoon. They gave him deep dark circles around the eyes, made his hair a bit tousled, and dressed him in a black trench coat.
His character was meant to be a dark, brooding man—someone with a tragic vibe that’d make people want to protect him.
Done right, that kind of look could really attract female fans.
“We’ll wait outside.”
Stepping out of the bus, we waited a short while. Then Kim Seung-hoon appeared.
“Oh…”
Jun-seong clamped a hand over his mouth, stifling an exclamation, while I nodded.
“That’s it exactly!”
“You sure it’s okay? The makeup team looked surprised while they did it. I feel pretty awkward…”
“You remember James Dean, right? You watched those movies, yeah?”
James Dean—he died at 25 in 1955, having left only three films behind, but his image in Rebel Without a Cause was the epitome of that ‘angsty, decadent’ style.
“Yeah, I watched it. But I haven’t really seen any actor like him since…”
“Well, now you can be Korea’s James Dean.”
“You really think so…?”
Kim Seung-hoon flashed a faint, uncertain smile. Jun-seong clapped his hands.
“You absolutely can, Seung-hoon. Right now, remember that look in your eyes!”
Whack!
I whacked Jun-seong on the back of the head as I laughed. He groaned.
“Owww! Why’d you do that?”
“Revenge, punk.”
Still looking a bit uncomfortable, Kim Seung-hoon walked onto the set. Around us, the staff started whispering, clearly intrigued by his transformation.
“Let’s get going. You all set, Seung-hoon?”
“Yes! I’ll give it a shot!”
“All right. Ready…?”
Beep—
“Scene 52, Cut 1, Take 1!”
Clack!
“Action!”
With an almost wistful gaze, Kim Seung-hoon walked down the street. Then he stopped, pulled out a cigarette, and was about to light it when he bumped into an extra and dropped the cigarette.
He silently mouthed a curse without actually speaking aloud.
“Cut! Okay!”
He exhaled a deep breath, clearly still tense. Even after I called “Okay,” he stood there for a moment, sighing.
“Seung-hoon, that was great! Come have a look at the monitor!”
At Jun-seong’s encouraging tone, Kim Seung-hoon managed a faint smile.
“You think so?”
“Wow… it’s even better than I expected. You look great.”
He peered at the monitor, practically leaning in.
“See? I told you the whole universe is on Director Gyeong’s side,” Jun-seong joked.
“We got it in one take, so let’s move on. No need for more,” I said.
We shifted locations to shoot the next scene. Kim Seung-hoon seemed more at ease with his new image, moving around confidently.
“Director, remember that idea you mentioned yesterday? I think I can do it now.”
“You’re sure? Did you clear it with your agency?”
“Yes, I told them last night.”
What I’d asked for was a scene that showcased him smoking in a visually appealing way.
Back then, public opinion often frowned on celebrities smoking, so I couldn’t force it. Especially since Kim Seung-hoon’s brand was more of a well-mannered, quiet type—smoking didn’t suit that “clean” image, according to his agency.
But a rebellious, decadent aura often involves a moody smoking scene. Without it, the concept wouldn’t be fully realized.
Now that he was up for it, I was grateful. Sometimes relationships are everything in this business.
“All right, let’s do it then?”
“Sure!”
In the film, Seung-hoon’s character takes on all the dirty jobs in his gang. He’s fundamentally gloomy, so if he’s alone on-screen without Lee Jung-woo, the atmosphere should feel especially somber.
“Okay, let’s go! Ready…”
“Scene 53, Cut 1, Take 1!”
Clack!
“Action!”
Seung-hoon steps into a deserted alleyway, lights a cigarette, takes a long drag, and looks up at the sky—then lets a small smile cross his face.
Watching him, I thought to myself how perfect a choice he’d been. It felt like a scene people would talk about for a long time, even years later. Sure, there’s no YouTube now, but I could already picture a future where footage of Kim Seung-hoon in his prime would be everywhere, and that made me grin.
“Cut! Okay! Excellent—absolutely perfect!”
I shouted, and Jun-seong clapped. Kim Seung-hoon scratched the back of his head in embarrassment.
“Seung-hoon, come look at this,” I said.
He checked the monitor.
Seeing the screen go hazy from his cigarette smoke, he looked impressed.
“Director, please put me in your next project—really. I’m begging you.”
He let his accent slip a bit as he spoke, and the nearby staff tried not to laugh.
“I plan to start on my next movie after a brief rest,” I said.
“Then please include me. My dream is to be in lots of projects.”
“Pfft. By then, you might be too expensive for us.”
“Come on, we’ve bonded now. I’d even do it for free.”
“You say that now…”
It was a warm, cheerful moment.
Sure, it’s a bit of posturing to say I’ll be on the next film soon—if we don’t hit 2.5 million admissions, who knows what’ll happen. But that shot was so perfect I felt like we’d already gained at least 500,000 viewers. The more I saw his performance, the more my worries faded.
That night, for the first time in a while, I slept at my apartment in Seoul. The familiar bed, the familiar smell—somehow it felt a bit unfamiliar after weeks away.
Just the day before, we’d finished filming Lee Jung-woo’s scenes, meaning the work involving both him and Kim Seung-hoon was done. We were entering the film’s latter part.
Time had flown by. We’d been so busy we barely realized how quickly each day passed. We’d easily shared over 100 meals with the production crew, and Jun-seong had produced dozens of shooting schedules.
But no one on the crew complained. Compared to some of the harsh conditions they’d endured on other shoots, our set felt like heaven.
Lighting, camera, set design—if any one element is off, the shoot can stretch late into the night. Endless night shoots are practically routine in the film industry.
A common piece of wisdom (or warning) in the movie world:
“Don’t get married. You’ll never see your family. Your own kids won’t recognize your face, and if they hug you, they’ll cry.”
Sure, that sentiment exists in every demanding job, but in film it’s extreme.
It never affected me much since I’m single, but I’ve met newlyweds who basically lived apart for months, and it was heartbreaking.
Knock, knock.
While I was lying in bed, lost in thought, someone knocked on my door.
“Hey, are you asleep?”
“No.”
“I’m coming in.”
Jun-seong walked in, stretching as he did.
“Aaaah… yeah, you really can’t beat sleeping here. Motels are so uncomfortable. Are we almost finished now?”
“Not even close. We’ve still got technical previews, test screenings—this is just the beginning, dude.”
He deflated at my words, then perked up again and grinned.
“So if this movie’s a big hit, how many staff members are we hiring? I’m gonna run a tight ship, that’s for sure.”
“Huh? Listen to that young boss talk.”
“A boss with skill isn’t a boss, man—I’ve got more than enough career cred from this. I’ve practically done the work of several people.”
Flopping down into my chair, he switched on the computer.
Beep—whirrrrr
The fan made an unpleasant noise as it spun.
“Let’s see what’s going on in the world. Haven’t watched the news, so I’ll check the internet.”
“You could just sleep some more…”
“Come on, people who make movies need to stay on top of trends. We gotta know what’s happening out there!”
He opened a browser and then suddenly jumped to his feet.
“Five–nothing?!”
“What’s five–nothing?”
“Soccer, man! They just lost to France, five–zero. That Hiddink guy or whatever, I knew it was fishy from the start.”
“It’s France.”
“Still, losing 5–0 is humiliating. Ugh, remember our bet? I’m betting on you hitting 10 million admissions.”
“What do you want to wager?”
I asked, smiling.
“What’s with that face? Don’t tell me you actually think Korea’s gonna make the semifinals someday. That’ll never happen, not in our lifetime.”
“No, I meant what are we betting.”
“Hmm… well, what are you putting on the line?”
“My entire savings. You do the same?”
He studied my face warily, then shook his head.
“You’re wearing that ‘fortune-telling’ grin again. No way, man. You psycho.”
“Coward.”
“Ugh…”
“All right, let’s get going. This is our last day of filming.”
We threw on our clothes and headed out, ready to wrap up Night (<밤>) once and for all.
Rebel Without a Cause VHS Cover
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