The last shoot was a scene where the actors’ emotions were most crucial.
A tragic ending unfolds: Kim Seung-hoon, under orders from the crime boss, can’t bring himself to kill Lee Jeong-woo and betrays the organization.
To give the audience a sense of catharsis through revenge, Lee Jeong-woo kills the boss whom Kim Seung-hoon once worked under.
That scene even got applause from the production team—especially the boss’s lines:
“Hey! I already turned myself in! That means you’re not supposed to shoot! You’re a cop, aren’t you? Damn it!”
“A cop? Not anymore.”
“What?”
Bang!
“Not from today on.”
Thus, the crime boss dies, and the film ends on that note.
I liked it. Compared to Blue Moon, produced by The Film H, this was on a completely different level.
“Alright, that’s a wrap! It’s finished, everyone! Let’s go to the wrap party, shall we? You’ve all worked so hard!”
Jun-seong, gripping the megaphone, spoke with his usual playful expression.
Even though the crew looked tired, they still answered with bright smiles:
“Of course!”
“Are we going to start speaking casually to Director Gyeong and the producer at the party?”
“Hey, if we do that, won’t we lose our spot on the next film?”
“You think so?”
The crew’s banter brought laughter all around. Lee Jeong-woo also approached me and said:
“You must be exhausted. Great work, Director. Producer.”
“Jeong-woo, you’ve worked incredibly hard too. Are you going to—”
Jun-seong began speaking but trailed off mid-sentence.
Suddenly, he seemed to realize what he was about to say, and his expression froze.
Drinking with the heavyweights, Lee Jeong-woo and Kim Seung-hoon, meant certain doom…
Kim Seung-hoon, who was following behind, hijacked the question before Lee Jeong-woo could answer:
“Of course we’ll go. We’ll drink till we drop tonight. Right, Jeong-woo?”
“Yeah, definitely. We’re going.”
“Ah… haha. Right, haha…”
Jun-seong looked at me with a mournful face, and I just sighed.
Well, at least Captain Q—Jeong-woo’s assassin weapon—wouldn’t be involved this time… that’s a small consolation.
We went around from table to table, receiving drinks from the crew members older than us.
“Hey! Director Gyeong! Producer Lee! Come have a drink with us first! Where’re you going!?”
“Hey, we called them first. You don’t wanna drink with the camera team!?”
“C’mon, the art team goes first!”
Once we got everyone seated by team, Jun-seong and I unexpectedly became the stars of the show. Since most of them were older sisters and brothers, they started treating us like cute younger siblings.
They said stuff like, “You guys seemed scary on set, but you’re really nice outside of work,” which made me laugh.
“That was the plan! We were worried you might not take us seriously if we came off too young.”
“Eh, I sensed it from the very first shoot—both Director Gyeong and Producer Lee are no ordinary talents. I have a feeling this movie will do really well.”
“Ah, thank you so much.”
“Thank me? Then drink up!”
Ugh, enough already…
“Call us for the next shoot, yeah? We’ll keep it professional on set, but here, let’s be like brothers. Got it?”
Park Jin-soo, the cinematographer, put his arm around my shoulders and rubbed his cheek against mine.
He had a thick beard that pricked my face, but I gritted my teeth and put up with it—this was partly my own doing, after all.
“I almost got into a fight with Chan-hyun once, remember? He wanted to talk, but he was glaring, so I thought he was challenging me. Turned out he wasn’t, haha!”
Jin-soo hyung, who’s easily one-and-a-half times my size, pretended to act scared, making everyone laugh.
I tried to sneak away, but Jin-soo hyung grabbed me again.
“Where do you think you’re going? Drink some more!”
“Ah, yes! Thank you!”
I downed another glass in one go, struggling to stay conscious.
I’d always thought I could hold my own in drinking, but the camera crew was in a different league. Maybe it’s because they’re all tough from working in the field; each person easily looked like they could handle three or four bottles each.
“I still have a lot to learn. I thought I had enough experience to brag about, but are you a genius or something? What’s your IQ?”
Park Jin-soo continued to pour me drinks relentlessly.
“I, uh… never measured it…”
“Is that so? Well, here’s another one!”
“Stop picking on him! Director Gyeong can’t keep this up.”
Kim Joo-ri from the art team came over to rescue me.
“Heh, something like this won’t kill him.”
“Look at his face. And why is his cheek all red?”
“Please save me, noona…”
At my words, Kim Joo-ri giggled, and Park Jin-soo let go of my shoulders with a pout.
“Tsk. Feeling a bit betrayed here, Chan-hyun?”
“Go have fun with Jun-seong, okay? I’m done for now…”
“Bring him here! Lee Jun-seong! Where— oh, never mind…”
At last, I managed to slip away and catch my breath. In the distance, Kim Seung-hoon and Lee Jeong-woo were drinking like mad. They noticed I was taking a break and waved me over.
“Hey! Director Gyeong! Get over here!”
“Where’s Producer Lee?”
Lee Jeong-woo grinned from ear to ear.
I had no choice but to sigh and head back toward them.
The next morning.
“Gyeong Chanhyeon! Get up! Ugh, you reek of alcohol.”
“Huh… Mom? Where’s Jun-seong?”
“You two passed out in front of the house! Your father had to drag you both in. Unbelievable.”
“Oooff…”
“So, is the shoot all done now?”
“Yeah… just got editing left.”
“Then come eat! I made some hangover soup!”
Mom sighed heavily as she looked at me.
“Lee Jun-seong! Come out and eat!”
“Huh? Why am I here? I was just in Hollywood… making a film…”
Whack!
I jumped onto the bed where Jun-seong was sprawled out.
“Ugh!”
“Get up. Snap out of it.”
Jun-seong struggled to sit up.
“Ugh… So we start editing today, right? Or should we hire someone to edit for us? We’ve got more leftover budget than I expected.”
“Then give it to my dad. Idiot. I’ll handle the editing.”
“Gah, can I at least rest here today—”
Thump!
“Argh! Talk to me like a normal person, you psycho!”
“I only talk to people who are actually human.”
“Ugh…”
Over the next few weeks, we finished editing.
After that, we contacted the production crew and investors for a test screening.
“Is your dad coming?”
In the waiting area for the screening, Jun-seong was so nervous he was biting his nails.
“He’s coming with some company execs.”
“No wonder you’re on edge.”
“I’m not nervous, okay?”
Despite his claim, Jun-seong greeted the production staff with tense shoulders.
It’d only been a few days since the wrap party, but since we’d basically been glued together for weeks, it was surprisingly nice to see everyone again.
“Phew, Chan-hyun.”
“What?”
“This first movie of ours might be our last, but it’s been fun.”
“You idiot, are you gonna die if it fails?”
“If this movie bombs, my life is practically over. I’ll be forced to study abroad and deal with numbers I don’t care about.”
“You actually like numbers.”
“Numbers unrelated to filmmaking don’t interest me. Ugh…”
We were still bickering when a group of well-dressed people in suits came in.
Leading them was none other than Chairman Lee Jeong-ho, Jun-seong’s father.
“Deep breath… Let’s go say hi.”
Taking a final gulp of air, Jun-seong slowly approached Chairman Lee.
The people behind his father bowed to him, and Jun-seong bowed to his father.
“You’re here?”
“Yeah. So, is it worth looking forward to?”
“Yes. You can definitely look forward to it.”
I also bowed behind him.
“Hello, sir!”
“Oh, Director Gyeong, how was filming?”
“It went well.”
Chairman Lee smiled, apparently pleased by my answer.
“Just make sure I don’t go to jail for embezzlement.”
“Pardon?”
“You know, I’m the one who insisted it’d be worth investing in after talking with you. Securing funds from KMD isn’t easy.”
“Oh… no, sir!”
“And to top it off, it’s my son’s movie. People might think it’s money laundering.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you see a hefty return.”
“Hah, you sure talk a good game, kid.”
Chairman Lee, apparently satisfied, took the best seat in the house, waiting for the film to start.
Before the screening began, Jun-seong gave a presentation on how the production budget was spent. Then we took a short break.
“God, I’m dying. This is a thousand times more stressful than our graduation project. What if I go crazy?”
“Calm down and take a nap. Want me to put you to sleep?”
“How?”
“My right fist is a sleeping pill, and my left fist is a one-way ticket to the afterlife.”
“You maniac. Why do I even bother?”
Jun-seong, having chewed every last bit of his nails, started shaking his legs.
Night (밤).
A single, bold character appeared in the middle of the screen to mark the beginning of the film.
The production staff watched with smiles on their faces, and so did the actors.
I couldn’t see Chairman Lee’s reaction, which bothered me, because his was the opinion that mattered most.
Since I’d watched the film countless times while editing, I used the screening to think about what to do next.
Night starts out as a comedy, then ends with a tear-jerking tragedy.
Later on, such “K-drama sentimentality” (신파) would gain international recognition. Remember how Squid Game received praise from foreign viewers for the emotional immersion, often labeled as “Korean melodrama”?
Of course, in the year 2000, it’s still tough for Korean films to go global.
There’s no real chance yet for overseas distribution; the best bet is to get a good reputation among foreign critics someday.
Remember Bong Joon-ho’s acceptance speech at the 2020 Golden Globes for Parasite? He said, “Once you overcome the one-inch tall barrier of subtitles, you will be introduced to so many more amazing films.” Back in 2000, that barrier was even taller for Korean films.
So I’ll focus on making a name for myself in Korea first, until Hollywood comes calling…
About two hours later, the film ended.
The production crew cheered, hugging each other.
“Let’s hit 2.5 million admissions!”
“This is the most fun I’ve ever had watching a movie I was involved in.”
“Usually, if I worked on it, I can’t enjoy it. But why was this so entertaining?”
“If it blows up, are Lee Jeong-woo and Kim Seung-hoon going to have to keep their promise? We better be on guard.”
Amid the chatter among staff and actors, I quickly turned around to see Chairman Lee’s reaction.
I saw the executives whispering something to him, so I went over with Jun-seong.
“How was it, sir?”
“Hm. It was decent.”
The executives nearby looked like they were barely holding in their laughter.
“But remember, Jun-seong—if it doesn’t surpass 2.5 million, you’re going abroad. Understood?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Tsk. I’ll be off, then.”
With that, Chairman Lee and the execs left the theater.
“That’s good enough, Chan-hyun. Phew… If that’s his reaction, I’ll take it.”
“Didn’t I tell you it’d be fine? Next time, just trust me.”
“That’s easier said than done. My whole life’s riding on this.”
“My life depends on it too.”
“You’re just weird. I’m the normal one.”
Jun-seong snickered and nudged me in the ribs with his elbow.
“Next is the distributor preview, then the press screening, then a public preview for audiences… Did anyone in the crew mention any issues with the editing?”
“No, nobody said anything. Didn’t you hear all that praise earlier?”
“When did you get this good at editing?”
“I’ve always been good. It’s called talent.”
“Tch. You’re gonna talk yourself into ruin one day.”
“Hey, but let’s make some merchandise.”
“Merch? What do you mean?”
Jun-seong cocked his head, as if he’d never heard the word before.
“You know—something special we can give out at the audience preview. Didn’t you say we still have some budget left?”
“Yeah, but…”
“You don’t trust me? This is a marketing tactic, you moron.”
“Will free gifts really be that effective?”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Alright, alright… but what should we make?”
“Hmm…”
I thought hard for a moment.
For male viewers, the film’s theme of male bonding is a strong hook, while for female viewers, the key would be the cast’s star appeal.
Then a brilliant idea popped into my head.
“Photo cards! That’s it!”
“Why are you yelling all of a sudden, you nutjob?”
“Let’s call in Lee Jeong-woo and Kim Seung-hoon to make plastic photo cards—ASAP!”
“Photo cards? What the heck are those?”
Jun-seong let out a long sigh, looking at me like I was some kind of weirdo.
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