My acting ended quickly.
Applauding lightly, Moon Hee-seong asked me, “Were you just copying what you saw on TV?”
“Mm! Right. It was from that drama. The older sister there looked really sad.”
I’d imitated a scene that had just come on the living room TV. It was an episode I’d already seen at home, so I knew the storyline: a female lead who was betrayed by a trusted friend and sobs pitifully while walking through a park at night. Of course, the male lead soon appears like a gallant knight to comfort her, but the part I re-enacted was the crying scene.
When I first watched that episode, I thought it was a fantastic piece of acting… until I learned they might have filmed the crying multiple times, which was honestly shocking.
“Should we take a look?”
My thoughts were interrupted by his suggestion. I walked over to him, and we sat side by side on the sofa to watch the video he’d just recorded of me.
But wait…?
As I watched my performance, my brow furrowed. I realized the emotion I’d intended to convey wasn’t coming across as strongly as I wanted. The tears fell at just the right timing, and my head and hand movements matched what I had in mind. But somehow, it didn’t look as sad as it was supposed to.
What was wrong? Why didn’t it look pitiful?
Seeing my acting so clearly on screen for the first time left me a bit shaken.
Had my reputation as the famed “Golden Mask” been an illusion? Did I have any right to evaluate others’ performances when I’m this lacking?
Amid those swirling doubts, one simple sentence from Moon Hee-seong lodged in my ears.
“You were conscious of the camera, Siwoo.”
“Conscious…?”
I tilted my head, not sure what he meant.
“You might’ve felt like you were doing the exact same performance, but an actor’s feelings change drastically when a camera is present. Didn’t something feel off the moment you started acting?”
“Oh… yeah. It felt… I dunno, like it was staring right into me…”
I reached out and tapped the lens of the camera.
“Exactly. A lot of actors go through that. This is called the camera lens—this dark circle here. Some actors get so nervous they can’t stand in front of it. Even I used to freeze up when I first moved from theater into film.”
“Really?”
The idea that he once froze while acting was as jarring as the shock I felt about my own performance.
“Sure did. That’s the difference between the acting you’ve been doing till now and ‘acting for video.’ To produce a good audition video, you’ll need to overcome that.”
“Heh…”
I’d been excited about this new technology, but I never expected a side-effect like this. I’d never faced such an issue performing live in front of hundreds of people, so it was totally unexpected.
As I studied the camera, he gave me a warm smile and went on,
“Let’s see why you felt uneasy. In theater, you face the audience directly, so you can respond to their reactions, right?”
“Mm! I can see whether they like it, hate it, feel sad—stuff like that.”
“Exactly. Actors sense at least some of that. But here…?”
Oh, so that’s it.
I shook my head.
“You don’t know.”
A camera gives no reaction whatsoever. It’s like acting in front of a wall, not even a mirror.
“So why act in front of a camera at all? There’s no audience, you end up editing emotions together…”
Probably because I was unhappy with my first camera performance, my tone came out rather annoyed.
“In stage acting, what the audience perceives can change night to night because your condition or the stage circumstances change every time, right?”
“Mm, that’s true.”
I nodded firmly in agreement. That’s both the charm and the frustration of live theater. Back then, wearing a mask limited my facial expressions, and some critics offered various theories about my “inconsistent” performances.
“Well, the camera reduces that risk,” he said, lifting it slightly. “Only one version of a scene is shown on TV, so you can consistently deliver the emotion you want the audience to feel. Sure, the viewer’s own perspective may differ, but that’s the same with live theater.”
“…Yes, that part is good.”
Since audience reactions vary in theater, I had no argument there.
“And let’s look at this part.”
He restarted the recording of my performance and paused at a certain frame.
“What about it?”
“See here? Your face is in shadow.”
“Mm, it’s a bit dark.”
“Imagine the camera as a single audience member—one who can’t turn its head or shift its gaze. Not like in a stage show, where the audience can choose where to look or follow your movements.”
“An audience member who can’t move their head…?”
This was an entirely new concept for me.
“So as an actor, you need to consider how that special audience member sees you.”
Huh.
It felt kind of unfair, but he wasn’t wrong. A performer can express whatever they want, but ultimately they still have to connect with the audience for it to be a “good performance.”
The more I listened, the more I realized it was no simple task. And I saw that camera work and the resulting videos weren’t all bad—stage work and video work each had unique strengths and weaknesses.
It’s like how nobles in my past life often looked down on things they’d never personally experienced, dismissing them as trivial. But how could they claim something was easy without understanding it firsthand?
I always wondered about that, and spending three years with the Oscar Troupe shattered many of my preconceived notions. Yet it seems there was still more to break.
Standing in front of a camera, I now realized my prejudice against “camera acting” ran along the same lines. If I’d gone on without trying it, I’d have been just like those haughty nobles, labeling all non-stage acting as “fake.”
I remembered the performances of top drama or film actors I’d once admired. Perhaps they were far more skilled than I’d imagined.
“All right, let’s do it again.”
But it’s not like I can’t do it. I’m confident in my acting.
I glared at the camera.
You’re in for it now—I won’t underestimate you again!
With a changed mindset, I filmed a variety of free-acting clips.
“How about we do it again? You moved out of the frame’s center, so the balance is off.”
Take two.
“Once more, you jumped into the emotion too quickly.”
Take three.
Each time, he patiently assisted me, showing no sign of fatigue, offering guidance freely. Thanks to his help, my updated attempt at that tragic heroine role turned out much better than the first.
“Wow, I did good!”
“Haha, yeah. You’ve eased up on the awkwardness you had at first. However, Siwoo, remember: the camera doesn’t always stay fixed in one place.”
“Mm?”
“Actually… never mind. I’ve already shown you plenty today. For now, let’s focus on your audition video, because in this case, we’re dealing with a fixed camera.”
“Yes!”
I answered eagerly, then darted over to the sofa. My body was warmed up, so it was time to think carefully about what kind of free-acting performance I’d do for the audition.
First, I picked up the “RUN” synopsis again. As I mulled it over, he asked,
“Siwoo, have you seen the original version of this show?”
“No?”
“Right. Then let’s watch that first.”
He stood up and walked to the large shelf near the TV. Then he slid part of the wall aside. The first time I saw him do that, I was practically speechless— not only was it wild to see a wall sliding away, but behind it were shelves of film reels and DVDs.
“Here it is.”
After rummaging for a while, he pulled out a DVD. Of course, he had “RUN.”
“Let’s watch it, then we can figure something out.”
He turned off the lights, prepared cookies and chamomile tea, then started the movie. The large screen filled with the title “RUN,” and the animation began. We both curled up with cushions, watching intently.
I’d been used to animations since I was two, so it didn’t feel strange anymore.
“Sniff.”
So touching…
RUN tells the story of a grandmother who finds a new lease on life thanks to her grandson. She had known only her little corner of the world, but after ending up living alone with this grandchild, she experiences a modern world she never knew. Through that, she overcomes her gloomy outlook on aging and regains happiness. A warm, heartwarming tale.
“Sniff, so sad.”
“Right? Even seeing it again, it’s well made.”
The grandson is straightforward: innocent, playful, bursting with the energy to help an old woman break free from rigid ways and rediscover her youth. He portrayed that perfectly in the film.
“Hm…”
Watching the original gave me a clearer idea of what free-acting I should do. My tragic heroine was probably too different from this grandson in RUN, so that’s out. The role of that pitiful wretch who just cries the whole time is also out.
What could I do that would show a pure, bright character?
Sniffle.
I wiped my runny nose and grabbed the audition script—just a few specific scenes. Glancing at the lines, I wondered what this child was really like.
Wait, it’s strange. The boy’s mom ran away because of the dad, and the dad is never home because he’s off “making music.” The child ends up abandoned with his paternal grandmother, who’s basically a stranger. So would he be so happy with Grandma from the start?
Probably not. But the kid must have sensed that if Grandma is his only caregiver, he needs to make a good impression on her. At the same time, he must resent his father and feel too anxious to fully love Grandma, worried, “What if she leaves me like Dad did? What if I’m cast aside the moment I do something bad?”
Living with those fears… eventually, he realizes Grandma isn’t like his father and grows to love her sincerely.
That conflicts with how the film version shows him bonding almost instantly with Grandma. Maybe it’s a limitation of animation, or a directorial choice I don’t understand.
But as an actor, I can show my own interpretation. I settled on a plan with a fresh perspective.
“Mister.”
After some thought, I found the perfect monologue.
“Huh? What is it, Siwoo?”
He’d been quietly waiting for me to gather my thoughts, and answered quickly.
“Could I… do an original short scene for my free-acting?”
“…A-a piece you wrote yourself?”
For once, the usually unflappable Moon Hee-seong just blinked, at a loss for words.
“Yes or no?”
“Sh-should be fine, I think? Might want to double-check, but probably yes.”
It took him a moment, but that was basically a go-ahead. Great.
“Paper—paper and pencil, please!”
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