Note: Moving forward, MC will be renamed ‘Gyeong Chan-hyeon’
“Hey, does this look okay?”
Jun-seong held up a photo card coated with an image of Kim Seung-hoon and Lee Jeong-woo wearing the exact outfits they wore in the film.
“It’s perfect.”
“Will this actually do anything?”
“First, we’ll pass them out to reporters. And to magazines as well.”
“I’ve already scheduled a magazine interview. I don’t know if I’m your manager or producer anymore.”
“This is how we’ll get that 2.5 million admissions. People need to know our movie even exists before they can come see it.”
“Well, that’s true, but…”
Jun-seong nodded, still eyeing the stack of photo cards with a hint of skepticism.
“This is going to be our secret weapon at the box office.”
“Secret weapon, my foot. We just made them because they didn’t cost too much. If they’d been expensive, I would’ve latched onto your pants and stopped you.”
Photo cards.
Although Night (밤) does have a solid storyline, its biggest strength is its characters. Two tall, handsome men—Kim Seung-hoon as a cop and Lee Jeong-woo as a gangster—brought their roles to life so well that these photo cards should really take off.
“So, once we grab these and head out, are we missing anything?”
“No, just make sure to smile when you give them to the reporters. Let them know we appreciate them. Wait, I need to give some to my mom first.”
“Right. Then I’ll grab some for my mom and for Ye-ji too.”
Jun-seong started gathering up a bunch of the photo cards.
“Yeah, do your duty as a son and a big brother, will you?”
“I’ll make it up to them once the movie’s a hit.”
Meanwhile, at The Film H…
President Baek Jin-cheol of The Film H frowned as he looked over an entertainment newspaper.
It was full of positive headlines about Night (밤), which had just wrapped up its media screening:
[Lee Jeong-woo and Kim Seung-hoon’s Night receives all-around praise. Critics say, “Can this really be a Korean film?”]
[Exclusive interview with rookie director Gyeong Chan-hyeon—read more in Cinema 24 magazine!]
[Audience preview for Night coming soon! Director Gyeong Chan-hyeon says, “Pick up your free photo cards!”]
“Gyeong Chan-hyeon… that jerk’s the one we first tried to sign, isn’t he?”
“Yes, sir. That’s right.”
“Damn it… Now he’s about to steal all our viewers. All these rave reviews—just how much money did he throw at this?”
“I’m… not sure.”
Baek Jin-cheol tapped the ash off his cigarette.
“You think I’m asking because I expect you to know?”
“No, sir! My apologies!”
“Then get in touch with the reporters. Ask them if they want to grab a meal. We’ve got some journos on our payroll, right? Invite a few critics too. You want them to steal our audience?”
“Yes, sir, right away! You really are a genius, sir. Haha…”
The employee cowered as if frightened.
“By the way, what’s that production company called?”
“They’re called Seong-hyeon Productions.”
“Tsk. In a modern, global era, that name is so old-fashioned. Seong-hyeon? Sounds straight out of the ’80s.”
“You’re right, boss—I mean, Mr. President.”
Baek Jin-cheol glared at the newspaper and puffed out another cloud of smoke.
He couldn’t be certain of the success of A Country Girl Comes to the City!, The Film H’s current project. Worse still, it was scheduled to release around the same time as Night, which was getting stellar press.
To make matters worse, Night was produced by rookie filmmakers and a rookie production company.
There was no way Baek Jin-cheol would allow his film to be overshadowed by Night.
If The Film H lost face to a brand-new production company, it wouldn’t just damage their reputation; even the money-laundering movies that kept them afloat might be in jeopardy.
Even if their film flops, I’ve still got one last insurance policy…
But the best outcome would be to crush them.
Baek Jin-cheol knew exactly how to win.
It wasn’t about elevating your own film—it was about dragging the other one down, by any means necessary.
“Don’t make me use my trump card. We need to beat them fair and square first. Got it?”
“Yes, sir! I’ll do my absolute best!”
Early that morning, Jun-seong and I gathered up every newspaper we could find—especially the entertainment sections. We spread them out in my room, and Jun-seong, arms folded, gazed over them with satisfaction.
“Wow, the articles keep coming. Critics love it, and the public seems really pumped.”
“Thank goodness. I’m glad the reviews are good.”
“Of course they’re good. Who’s the producer here? Me, Lee Jun-seong.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re so great.”
“Ugh, I’m starting to sound like Gyeong Chan-hyeon myself…”
“That’s a compliment.”
“No, it’s not.”
Smirking, Jun-seong looked at the pile of photo cards stacked in the corner of my room.
“But these cards don’t seem to be making much of an impact.”
“There’s a mention or two in a few articles. Just wait. It’ll catch fire soon.”
“Some reporters did write about them, but not that many.”
Sure enough, most articles focused on the film itself; very few mentioned the photo cards.
“Probably a pride thing. Reporters want to write about the movie, not some marketing gimmick. They’re not thrilled about covering giveaways.”
“As if they really care about stuff like that, when all they want is to boost circulation.”
“That’s still better in its own way.”
I stopped myself from commenting that caring about paper circulation was at least more respectable than chasing online clicks.
Right now, internet news wasn’t yet the powerhouse it would become. But it wouldn’t be long before the digital wave would force every paper to chase clicks, turning their headlines into sensationalist drivel.
“What’s so ‘better’ about it?”
“It’s less sensational. At least compared to magazines, right?”
“Yeah, I guess. Just look at some magazine covers. It’s nearly impossible not to buy them if you see them.”
With that, Jun-seong eyed the huge pile of photo cards.
There were way more than we needed for the audience preview—enough to use for future promotional events if we wanted.
“Photo cards are going to be the next big trend. Trust me, they’ll be around for at least 20 years.”
“Twenty years? You really think these can be as influential as those old ‘folder file goddesses’? Like the ones with Joey Wong from A Chinese Ghost Story or Sophie Marceau from La Boum—those were huge.”
“Even bigger. It’ll become a massive marketing strategy. Idol agencies will crank them out like crazy.”
“Idols? You, who only listens to sweaty rock music, talking about idols?”
“Hey, that ‘sweaty’ music is full of romance.”
“You call a guitar screeching ‘eeeng!’ and a drum banging ‘boom boom’ romantic? Even my dad wouldn’t listen to that.”
Jun-seong pretended to play guitar, mocking me. I inched closer and put him in a headlock.
“Kuh-eck! Let go! I admit it’s romantic!”
After our little musical debate, we headed off to the audience preview.
Right before the screening, neither Jun-seong nor I were well-known faces, so we tried to mingle and see how big the crowd was. We quickly realized we didn’t need to “check” anything at all.
The line at the entrance was already so long that we had to enter through the back door of the theater.
“Director, Producer, how have you been?”
Kim Seung-hoon and Lee Jeong-woo greeted us warmly.
“Of course, did you see all the articles?”
“Absolutely. They’re full of praise.”
Kim Seung-hoon beamed.
“Even the harshest critics are raving. Someone asked if a film like this could really come out of Korea.”
Lee Jeong-woo followed suit with more praise, but his expression was slightly awkward.
“By the way, what’s up with those photo cards? People seem to be taking only the ones for the actor they like—Lee Jeong-woo fans only taking his, my fans only taking mine.”
“They’ll change their minds once the movie’s over.”
“Huh?”
Everyone looked at me like I was talking nonsense.
“Trust me. The characters are so compelling, they’ll want both.”
“Uh… sure.”
Soon, the audience preview started.
The actors and I stood in front of the screen, and a deafening cheer erupted from the crowd. The male-to-female ratio in the audience seemed well balanced, so the cheers blended perfectly—high-pitched shouts from women, lower ones from men.
It was thrilling. My heart pounded like crazy.
But the more I made eye contact with the people up front, the more nervous I became.
“You okay, Director?”
Kim Seung-hoon asked, noticing my tension. I forced a chuckle.
“Haha… I’m just excited.”
“You look like you’re about to die. Try to relax.”
“Right… haha…”
Lee Jeong-woo took the mic next, flashing a bright “capitalist’s smile”—the sort of grin people associated with his public image.
I introduced the film, explaining what it was about and which points the audience might focus on to enhance their enjoyment. Because I was so anxious, my words were jumbled, and I left awkward silences here and there. My shaking hands only made me more tense.
“The director seems really nervous,” Lee Jeong-woo said into the mic, grinning at the crowd.
He gave his signature smile once again. “But on set, no one’s more devoted to making a good film.”
Stepping forward, Lee Jeong-woo addressed the audience directly, prompting a surge of delighted squeals.
“He told me something before we came out here—something that really stuck with me.”
Huh? What did I say? I couldn’t remember.
“He said everyone here is special to him. You all came out to see his first film, especially when times are tough. He’s grateful for that.”
Lee Jeong-woo even pretended to wipe away tears. The crowd, clearly moved, turned to look at me like I was some kind of saint. A very different reaction than when I had the mic.
“Why don’t we all shout the director’s name together?” Lee Jeong-woo suggested.
The audience complied, chanting in unison:
“Gyeong! Chan! Hyeon! Gyeong! Chan! Hyeon!”
The tension melted away like snow in sunlight. Hearing my name echo through the theater felt surreal, and my trembling hands slowly steadied.
Lee Jeong-woo glanced back at me with a warm smile, and I grinned right back.
“We dedicate this film to all of you. Please enjoy!”
Kim Seung-hoon said his piece, and then the film began.
Once again, I watched Night with the audience.
I’d seen it countless times, editing until I practically memorized the timeline, but it was still fun. If I found it fun after so many views, how much more exciting would it be for a first-time audience?
As I reveled in this thought, wearing a broad smile, Jun-seong whispered quietly so only I could hear:
“Dude, it’s a sad scene right now. Are you a psychopath? How can you be smiling?”
“All I can see is our shot at 2.5 million admissions. That doesn’t make you happy?”
“Give me a peek. Don’t hog that vision all to yourself. Where’s all this confidence coming from?”
We were now reaching the final part of the film.
Bang! Bang-bang! Bang!
– “Are you done shooting? That’s bulletproof glass, you bastard!”
– “I’ve got one bullet left.”
– “What?”
Bang!
– “Arrrgh!”
As Lee Jeong-woo delivered the last line, many in the audience started clapping.
His eyes, set on avenging his friend at any cost, convinced everyone of his resolve.
“Holy crap, Night is amazing. I thought those articles were hyping it up, but they weren’t lying…”
“I know, right? Did Kim Seung-hoon and Lee Jeong-woo always act this well? They look like real friends.”
“The story’s killer too. This is insane—there’s never been a movie like this before.”
Hearing this kind of praise was exhilarating.
Lee Jeong-woo and Kim Seung-hoon turned to me and smiled brightly.
“The response is great, but the photo cards don’t seem to matter much,” Jun-seong muttered.
“Wait for it. This is just the beginning.”
“Huh?”
Right then, the audience preview venue suddenly turned into a massive photo card swap meet.
“Um… does anyone have Kim Seung-hoon’s card? I only got two of Lee Jeong-woo!”
“Swap with me! I only got two of Kim Seung-hoon’s!”
Before the movie, fans had picked up only their favorite actor’s card. After seeing the film, though, they wanted the other card, too—because now they were invested in both characters.
“See?” I nudged Jun-seong.
“…Wow, it’s really working. Incredible.”
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