The fallout from Noh Young-hoon’s column was more intense than I’d expected.
Only a few days after it was published, countless other columns joined in support of his view.
Of course, some writers took the opposite stance, writing pieces that seemed to back my position instead.
[Expanding the Film Industry: Commercial Viability Comes First.]
The argument went that people have to start going to the movies for there to be a foundation on which both art films and commercial films can succeed—and that Night had laid exactly that foundation.
It made sense on some level, but the success of Night had sparked an unintended consequence.
[Gunslinger Opens! Can It Match Gyeong Chan-hyeon’s Night?]
An offshoot of Night—a cheap gangster noir flick.
In fact, crummy knockoff gangster noirs were suddenly exploding in number. Thanks to the post-Night wave and the surge in newly available screens, they easily surpassed 600,000 admissions.
Two of those films opened this month alone, and at least four more gangster flicks are slated for release soon.
“Agh, this is crazy. Ugh!”
I crushed a newspaper into a ball and chucked it into the trash. Seeing this, Jun-seong gave me a worried look.
“Why get so worked up over that? Everybody’s just out to make a buck. You’re not some guardian angel of the cinematic arts.”
His words reminded me of what the so-called God of Cinema had said before sending me here:
“Don’t you want to grow the film industry in that world?”
Did Night actually help revive the film industry, or did it drag it further down?
From my standpoint, making Night was the right choice—without it, my family might have gone bankrupt, and Jun-seong could have been forced to study abroad.
But this outcome wasn’t exactly what I’d intended.
Commercial viability is definitely important in film.
But seeing so many blatant clones chasing nothing but money left me feeling suffocated. At this rate, things really might go the way Noh Young-hoon predicted, and the Korean film scene could go downhill. This wasn’t the direction I wanted at all.
Watching me stew in frustration, Jun-seong grimaced.
“Dude, get some air before you lose it.”
“Yeah, all right. Hey, when’s Kim Eun-ha supposed to get here?”
“Any minute now. Go splash some water on your face. You look terrible.”
Sensing my bad mood, he pretended to be extra upbeat, patting my back.
“Sorry I’ve been so snippy,” I mumbled.
“In that case, shut up and bring on your next film!”
He shot up from his seat, pointing at me with a grin. Despite myself, I smirked back.
“Gimme a break. It’s not like I can conjure ideas out of thin air.”
“Didn’t you claim you’re an idea bank or something?”
“Yeah, yeah, keep it down. I’ll be back.”
Once Gyeong Chan-hyeon left, Lee Jun-seong got up and looked at the piles of notes on Gyeong’s desk.
They were covered in dense handwriting, plus cutouts from newspapers—some with gaps from where articles had been removed.
Gyeong Chan-hyeon changed a lot right around the year 2000. Before that, he was always on edge, short-tempered. But after the turn of the millennium, he mellowed out—like the new century made him a new person. Yet he can’t even last three years?
“Jeez, guess he’s really stressed. Acting all grown-up, but he’s still a kid. A big old kid.”
Bang!
“Hey, hey! How’re things!”
In burst Kim Eun-ha, practically kicking the door open.
“What the—! You lunatic, you scared me! Could you tone down that ridiculous entrance?”
She ignored his grumbling and glanced at Gyeong Chan-hyeon’s empty seat.
“Where’s Gyeong Chan-hyeon?”
“Don’t ask. Did you see Noh Young-hoon’s column?”
“Like I’d miss it.”
“It’s got him twisted in knots—he can’t figure out what to do.”
Kim Eun-ha tilted her head in confusion.
“Ugh, that idiot. He can’t express his feelings to anyone—just bottles everything up. If he’d just whine a little, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.”
Sighing, Jun-seong slumped into his chair.
“Well, yeah, he’s worried. It’s not like it’s any random director; it’s Noh Young-hoon.”
“Still… oh, whatever. Focus on your own stuff,” he said.
“I’m making progress, thanks to his new idea. But he’s over there stewing…”
At that, Jun-seong frowned.
“He’s co-director of Seong-hyeon Productions. Helping you succeed is part of his job—strictly business. We’re not volunteers. You think we do this for free?”
He took a deep breath before continuing:
“Plus, you’re the one who dragged him into your mess. So don’t feel all guilty—just focus on success. Bring us a killer script.”
“All right, all right, enough with the crazy eyes. You look like a psychopath.”
“Nothing great is ever achieved without a little madness! (不狂不及, if you prefer!)”
“Let’s just stop talking…”
She shook her head, unsettled by his bug-eyed fervor. He finally blinked back to normal.
“You busy right now? We should grab a drink.”
“You and me, drinking? Hard pass.”
“You think I’m asking you on a date?”
“That’s even worse.”
“It’s about Chan-hyeon, obviously. That guy only talks when he’s drunk. We need that ‘alcohol power.’”
As soon as I came back from the rooftop, Jun-seong and Kim Eun-ha grabbed me and dragged me to a nearby bar. They didn’t explain anything, just hustled me out of the office. I could guess their motive, though.
“Aren’t you busy, Kim Eun-ha?”
“Shut up. I’ve done enough for today; time to relax.”
She brushed me off. Then—
“Here.”
She took a fresh bottle of soju and filled my glass to the brim.
“Whoa, that’s almost spilling over.”
“We’re all drinking like that tonight. Let’s get wrecked.”
She poured full glasses for herself and Jun-seong, too.
“Dude, are you feeling bad?”
When our glasses were set out, it was Jun-seong who spoke first.
“What would I be feeling bad about?”
“Then let’s toast.”
Clink.
She’d poured so much that a bit sloshed over. We lifted our glasses, practically having to meet them with our mouths first.
“Gah, bitter,” I muttered.
“What’s wrong with soju? Want a beer instead?”
“Shut it. I only poured soju because of you,” she shot back.
“…”
Eyeing me, Jun-seong quickly filled my glass again.
“You’re not drunk yet, right?”
“No, but—”
“Then drink.”
Clink.
Several bottles in, as our faces grew steadily redder, Jun-seong finally spoke up, voice slurring:
“Dude, if you’re struggling, just say so! We’ve lived together, you know—am I a stranger? You think you’ll keel over if you admit you’re in pain? You used to be better at blowing up in anger, man. Now you’re just letting it eat at you. You idiot!”
And Kim Eun-ha chimed in:
“Exactly, fool. That column? Sure, it might get to you. So freaking say so! Argh! I didn’t even know you were upset, you jerk!”
She tapped me on the head with her spoon.
“Ow!”
“Oops, sorry. Might’ve been a bit hard.”
She gave a silly grin, definitely tipsy.
“When’d you start acting all mature, anyway? We’re still in our twenties, you know.”
“Being 28 makes me an adult.”
“You’re not drunk enough, wise guy. Drink up. 28 is still a kid! C’mere!”
Raising the bottle, she poured again. We kept knocking them back.
“Ah, geez, we’re still young! Don’t get all down over that nonsense, you moron!”
“Sure, sure. Stop drinking so much,” I tried.
“We’re just getting started!”
Now she stood, laughing wide-eyed, sliding the soju bottle through her fingers.
“This is bad,” muttered Jun-seong to me, under his breath.
“What’s bad, you cowards? Are you guys done already? Drinking is all about willpower!”
“Wait…”
I slipped outside for some air. She followed me, lighting a cigarette.
“Jun-seong worries a lot about you, you know,” she said.
“I know. That’s why I didn’t want him worrying. …I just didn’t want to burden him this time around.”
I wanted a relationship where we helped each other equally, not a one-sided dependence.
“You keep calling yourself a genius. Then crush this column nonsense, okay? That’s what a genius does.”
Grinning drunkenly, she probably wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow.
“Anyway, I’m not going to be a second Jun-seong in your life, but you two were the only ones who gave me a chance. My so-called friends, seniors, juniors—nobody else reached out. But two people I barely knew from school just showed up at my doorstep…”
Her face was red as she vented, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.
Honestly, there’s no need for her to feel grateful. Part of my motivation was just to ease my own guilty conscience—and to use her in my revenge on Baek Jin-cheol. If anything, I should feel bad about that.
Sensing she felt indebted, I teased,
“Are you crying?”
“Shut up. Why would I cry? I was yawning.”
“You’re totally crying.”
“Agh!”
Whack!
“Ow!”
“Sorry, I’m drunk. Hard to control my strength…”
She rubbed the back of my head apologetically, a faint grin on her face.
I let her hand linger there and said lightly, “Don’t thank us for offering a hand. We’re just investing in you, not doing charity.”
“Ha, you two are eerily in sync. You realize you literally said the same thing, word for word?”
“Huh? Did Jun-seong say that too?”
“Yep. Right before dragging me out. You two soulmates in a past life?”
“Ew, don’t even joke about that. If I were married to him, I’d have divorced in less than a day. Actually, an hour—no, 10 minutes. Hell, I’d have bailed even before we started dating.”
She burst out laughing. Then her face grew serious as she headed back inside.
“If you’ve got more brooding to do, finish it out here. Bet that whiny baby’s bored without you.”
Watching her go, I sighed deeply.
On the surface, she was brash and tomboyish, but in her filmmaking, she was precise and elegant. The reason critics lauded her style was that her social commentary always emerged subtly from her artistry.
So I was sure she’d weave Memories of Murder-style artistry and commercial appeal into the “Hwaseong Serial Killings” storyline I’d given her.
“…Huh?”
Lost in thoughts about her film, a simple, bright idea suddenly popped into my head.
All my frustration was about Night.
But the answer was simple: Make my next film differently from Night, blending commercial viability and artistic depth. Then I’d address some of the problems Night had caused—plus I’d get to walk the path I really wanted to follow.
Of course, that’s easier said than done. Commerce and art can be parallel lines; balancing both is tricky. But better to wrestle productively with the next film than to keep angsting over Night.
“Hoo… haah…”
Stretching and breathing in the cool night air, I felt the booze clearing a bit. I went back in.
By then, Jun-seong was out cold, and Kim Eun-ha seemed barely lucid.
“Heh… Kim Eun-ha, you okay to get home?”
“Screw that! We’re far from done! Get up, you damn Lee Jun-seong! We’ve still got loads to go!”
“Kill me now…”
“…”
Were they trying to cheer me up, or just get drunk themselves…?
TN: The phrase “不狂不及” is a succinct Chinese aphorism that can be interpreted as meaning “if you’re not a bit crazy, you won’t get there.”
In essence, the saying serves as a motivational reminder that a little bit of risk-taking and unconventional thinking can be the key to breaking out of mediocrity and reaching one’s true potential.
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