Even the day after the audition, Park Jun-sik was still on stage performing. Word had already spread throughout the theater troupe about his audition with Director Gyeong Chan-hyeon.
“Hey, Jun-sik sunbae. Heard you auditioned for Director Gyeong Chan-hyeon’s new movie?”
“Any news on how it went?”
“No idea yet. I haven’t heard.”
“I hope you get it, sunbae. You’ve really been through a lot…”
“I heard he’s quitting the troupe too…”
Unable to sleep as he waited for the call, Park Jun-sik was running on nerves alone. Director Gyeong had said they’d be in touch by today, and it was already evening. This might really be his last day performing here…
“Park Jun-sik.”
That sharp voice belonged to Song Seong-woo.
“Y-yes, sunbae.”
“So I hear you went to an audition.”
“Uh… yes.”
“You happy about that?”
“No, sunbae.”
He stared hard at Jun-sik, speaking in a mocking tone.
“You feel like you’re really something now, huh?”
“No, sunbae.”
“What role is it, exactly?”
“I’m… not sure yet. They haven’t told me anything…”
“What? Maybe it’s a scam, huh? Did you even really audition?”
He scoffed, and all Jun-sik could do was force a hollow laugh.
“Haha… right, maybe it is…”
Beep-beep.
A phone rang. Scowling again, Seong-woo clapped him dismissively on the shoulder as if to say “you’re on your way out anyway” and walked off.
“Good work, and let’s never see each other again.”
But none of that mattered—Park Jun-sik couldn’t hear a thing anymore. The name on his phone read [Director Gyeong Chan-hyeon]. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t imagining it.
“Uh…?”
He vaguely knew that usually the director didn’t personally call to announce results, but no matter. He hurried to the bathroom, confirmed he was alone, and answered.
“Hello?”
– “Hello, Mr. Park Jun-sik?”
“Yes, is this Director Gyeong Chan-hyeon?”
– “Congratulations, you’re in. You got the part.”
“R-really?”
– “Ah, and I didn’t tell you this before because I didn’t want to pressure you, but you’ll be playing the lead.”
His mind went blank. The lead?
Sure, he’d occasionally been a lead in stage performances, but only when Seong-woo sunbae wasn’t available. He remembered all too well how the audience, who’d come expecting to see Seong-woo, booed him.
“The lead…?”
– “Yes. I didn’t mention it before because I was afraid you’d be too nervous at the audition.”
He swallowed hard.
“I’ll do it—whatever you say, Director. If you tell me to die, I’ll die!”
He’d do anything if it meant a chance to act. Practically bowing into his phone, he replied over and over, as though Director Gyeong were right in front of him.
– “Huh? No, that won’t be necessary. One more thing: we’ll be using your personal story as part of our marketing, to help the audience connect.”
“M-my story? Marketing…?”
It startled him. How could they use his personal life for publicity when they barely knew each other?
– “We’ll craft your ‘image’ using the story you already have.”
“Well, that’s… not really a condition. But… how much do you actually know about me…?”
– “I’ll learn more as we go.”
“Yes, Director!”
After hanging up, he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. A few days earlier, he’d been sobbing, cheek swollen from a slap, but now he saw hope in his reflection.
“This isn’t a dream, right?”
He pinched his cheek and felt the twinge of happy pain—definitely real.
“It’s not a dream… it’s really happening…”
He dialed the number labeled [Madam] in his phone.
– “Hello?”
“Eun-kyung.”
– “What’s with you? Why so serious all of a sudden?”
“It’s done…”
– “What?”
“I got cast! They said I’m… the lead! The lead!”
– “…”
All he could hear was her softly muffled sobbing. Hearing that, his own tears welled up again.
“Hey, don’t cry—everything’s going to be fine now. You worked so hard.”
Her crying grew louder, and he could hear their son, Se-jin, in the background.
– “Dad, why’s Mom crying? Did you do something bad?”
“Se-jin! About that spinning top you wanted, I’ll buy it for you.”
– “Really? Ten of them? Wait, that’s not the point! Did you make Mom cry? She’s sobbing!”
“I’ll be home soon. Take care of Mom till I get there, got it?”
– “Okay! Hurry up and say sorry to Mom!”
A few days after I called him with the good news, I waited for Park Jun-sik in the Seong-hyeon Productions meeting room. He soon arrived, dressed simply.
“Hello?”
“Hey, thanks for coming.”
“Not at all!”
He waved his hands like it was no big deal, obviously nervous.
“Still feeling a bit lost, I bet?”
“Ah… yes. Haha. I can’t believe this is happening…”
That was natural. A complete unknown stage actor with no proper agency, suddenly cast as a film lead—it couldn’t happen anywhere else if not for our producer, Jun-seong.
“Well, congratulations on getting cast.”
“Thank you.”
“And about what we talked about over the phone…”
“Oh, right. You mean my personal story?”
“Yes.”
His story was that of an unknown actor struggling to get by. It’s no small matter for a family man to spend three years jobless, chasing auditions.
“I’d like to put that story out to the public through the press, if that’s okay. Can you tell me more about it?”
“Aha… haha, it’s my first time having someone ask about my personal life. I’ve only ever acted as other people…”
He scratched his head, flushing slightly. He then took a sip of water, turning aside so as not to be rude.
“Think of it as ‘performing’ yourself.”
“Huh?”
He looked startled. After a moment’s thought, he took a deep breath.
“Whew… yes, Director.”
So he laid out his whole tale. A job lost when his son was in kindergarten. Endless worries over how to keep his family afloat. Then stumbling upon a stage play one day, and discovering renewed hope in life.
“I’m… so irresponsible, aren’t I? Leaving my family behind to chase my dream… a selfish, incompetent family man, haha…”
“You’re fine. There’s someone else like that, too.”
“Huh?”
“N-never mind.”
Everything about his weary expression felt so familiar to me, like we’d shared the same burdens. If you replaced ‘wife and kid’ with ‘parents and younger sibling,’ it was basically my own story.
“Anyway, in the interviews, just share the same details. People are going to be curious.”
He blinked, eyes widening.
“Sure… I’ll do my best! If the director tells me to die, I—”
“Stop with the dying. You’ve got a family to think of. Let’s not talk about death so much.”
He gave me a bright grin, bowing repeatedly.
“Haha… right. I’ll work so hard for you! Really, I’ll do my absolute best!”
He left with his interview schedule in hand. This much detail should give him a compelling angle in the public’s eye.
On all those reality audition shows—Superstar A, Glorious You, etc.— raw talent matters, but the contestants’ personal stories are key. The networks know that “story” is what moves viewers, and they use it well.
I’m just borrowing the same technique: a guy weighed down by guilt toward his family for chasing his dream, living off part-time jobs and stage gigs with no steady sleep… that’s going to resonate.
It didn’t take long before the press started buzzing about him:
[Director Gyeong Chan-hyeon’s New Film: Lead Role Goes to an Unknown Stage Actor?!]
[A Bold Move from Gyeong Chan-hyeon—Who Is Park Jun-sik?]
[Cinema 24 Exclusive: An Interview with Park Jun-sik]
Plenty of articles questioned the casting. Even on the filmmakers’ community boards, it stirred debate:
[Has Gyeong Chan-hyeon Gone Mad? Must Be An ‘Artistic Delusion.’ Why ignore all these actors for some nobody?]
┗ “Right? He was off to a great start with that first film, but now…”
┗ “I hear the guy’s some older father, known for being a nice guy in the theater scene.”
┗ “Being nice has nothing to do with acting ability.”
┗ “Casting is complicated, plus there’s that Noh Young-hoon column fiasco making waves.”
“At least it’s grabbing attention, good or bad,” said Jun-seong, reading over my shoulder. “People need to know something before they can care.”
He continued:
“In the fan café, we’re updating regularly about him, but how’s his acting plan going? Didn’t you say there’s stuff to work on?”
“Before we start shooting, I’ll help him refine everything. We actually set a meeting for later.”
He propped his chin on his hand.
“Though do we really need more coaching? He seemed good enough.”
“It’s got to be perfect, so the naysayers can’t say a word.”
Then word arrived that Park Jun-sik was here, and I went to meet him in the meeting room.
“You did that homework assignment, right?”
“Yes, Director!”
The first task I gave him was understanding the difference between film acting and stage acting.
“All right. So what’s the difference, exactly?”
“Well, stage acting is directed at the live audience, while film acting is aimed at the camera.”
“And what does that mean, in practical terms?”
He hesitated a moment, but quickly caught on.
“In theater, you have to convey emotion directly—often in an exaggerated way—whereas on film, it needs to feel more like everyday life, subtle and understated.”
“Perfect. Okay, let’s try the first scene from the movie. Even without your scene partner, we’ll do it line by line.”
“Just the two of us?”
“I’ll read the other lines. Ready?”
“Yes!”
No sooner had he answered than he closed his eyes, frowning in concentration as if diving straight into character. That took me off guard.
“You’re just starting like that?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“Don’t you need to check the script?”
“Oh, haha…”
“Huh?”
“It’s just… the script was so interesting that I memorized the whole thing.”
“What…?”
I stared, momentarily speechless. It had only been a few days, and he’d memorized the entire script?
I needed to see that script.
“Let me see your copy.”
“Sure!”
He took the script from his bag, and it was so worn it was barely recognizable—marked up with endless notes.
“Wow… you’ve really been at it.”
“Thank you!”
His comment about being willing to ‘die if you say so’ suddenly felt less like a joke. The margins were filled with personal interpretations for each line, scene, and emotion.
“I’ll give you a fresh copy—better treat that one as a keepsake. It might fall apart soon.”
“Thank you!”
“Okay, let’s try again,” I said.
He closed his eyes once more, brow furrowing slightly.
“You said—our daughter can’t be happy unless we follow this path! The Liberation Church is the only way to make us happy!”
His emotional intensity was still impressive, but…
It felt too theatrical. Even though he’d toned it down, it was still bigger than a typical movie performance.
“Hold on. It’s too exaggerated. One sec.”
I hurried to get a camcorder.
“Ever watched yourself act before?”
“Yeah, once. A recording of a stage show.”
“Let me film you with this, then we’ll watch. Is that okay?”
“Yes!”
I recorded him and then showed him the playback. He immediately understood.
“Director, you’re right—it’s overdone. Viewers would feel overwhelmed.”
“Yes. In front of the camera, you can’t just do it like stage acting. Hmm… there’s a saying for moments like this…”
“Oh, yes. They say that compared to theater, you should act ‘half-in, half-out’ on camera, sort of hold back?”
“Exactly. Try practicing at home with this camcorder.”
“I can take it home?”
“This is my film, and if you can’t pull it off, I’m sunk.”
He swallowed nervously.
“Just keep that little bit of pressure in mind. I know you can do it.”
“Understood…”
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