A week later, I met with Park Jun-sik again.
He looked a bit unwell, as if he hadn’t been sleeping much.
“Good morning!”
“I’m doing well, but what about you? You look ready to collapse.”
“I’m fine! Haha… It’s actually better than when I was juggling the play and a part-time job. At least I’m seeing my family more often now.”
“Well, that’s good…”
He took out the camcorder I’d lent him.
“Here it is—the homework you gave me.”
“Ah, right.”
I turned the camcorder on. It was packed with numerous video files.
“You recorded all this?”
“Yes.”
When I first gave it to him, I never imagined he’d go this far with it.
“I’ll look through them later. Let’s see a quick performance again for now.”
“Okay!”
He furrowed his brow, taking a moment to control his breathing. It was as if he were performing a personal ritual. Once he finished, he started reciting lines.
“You said… if our daughter’s to be happy, this is the only way. Only Liberation Church can bring us happiness!”
“You’re nuts. Believe it yourself. Don’t drag us all into that insane nonsense!”
Reading lines from the script myself felt awkward, but even so, he managed to immerse himself in the moment.
“That insane nonsense… This—”
The rage that escaped him felt so raw, I couldn’t help being impressed. At first, I thought it might be a natural gift, but I shook my head. It wasn’t just talent. It was pure effort—effort born from desperation. Even just from the camcorder files, it was clear he’d shot hundreds, no, possibly thousands of attempts.
“That was great,” I said.
In an instant, that furious expression melted away, replaced by a big smile.
“Thank you!”
He was a monster—a monster shaped by desperation.
“Okay, now let’s move on to scene fifty-eight.”
“You mean the one where he tries to forget his family?”
“Yeah.”
The character he’d be playing is a family man who falls under the sway of a cult called Liberation Church. After bringing his wife and daughter into it, the cult leader orders him to abandon all attachment to them. So there’s this sequence of him trying to forget the wife and daughter he gave up to the cult leader, a horrifying moment. The actor really needs to convey both the eerie strangeness and the tragedy.
He took a deep breath.
“Sun-ja. Ji-eun. The leader said I have to forget you. If he says forget… then I have to forget. It’s the leader’s word.”
He wore an expression that somehow seemed both crying and laughing at once.
“Heh heh. You know how I feel. I only wanted us all to be happy. You’re happy too, right? Huh?”
At this point, his wife and daughter’s images linger in his mind, so we need the actor’s performance to be on point.
“Why… Why are you crying? Aren’t you happy? Are you crying because of me? Heh heh. You’re crying for joy, right?! Say it! Tell me! Damn it—tell me you’re happy!”
Here, he actually returned to something closer to a theater style. He used big gestures to capture the frenzied mental state of the character.
The moment he finished, I couldn’t stop myself from blurting, “That’s insane.”
“Huh…?”
Startled, he seemed worried that I found it over-the-top.
“Was it too exaggerated? I’m basically doing a monologue here, so it felt more like stage acting…”
“It’s fantastic. Great doesn’t even describe it. I can’t find the words—it’s just incredible.”
“Thank you.”
Realizing that his hard work hadn’t been in vain, he broke into a relieved smile. I was stunned by his effort and skill. It was like he’d soaked up every note I’d given him like a sponge. I almost felt like applauding, but held back.
I’d expected we’d need at least three months to get him to this level, but in just three weeks, he’d nailed it.
“You’re getting enough sleep, right? Don’t burn yourself out. Making a film is more physically demanding than people realize.”
“Compared to juggling part-time work and theater at the same time, this is nothing. And I get to see my family. Honestly, it feels like living again, Director.”
His smile made me grin, too.
“I trust you. Scale down your rehearsals a bit, eat well, maybe take a family trip before filming starts. You won’t have much time with them once we begin.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you!”
After he left, I went back to the office and found Jun-seong.
“Time to prep for shooting,” I told him.
“So soon?”
He looked surprised.
“Didn’t you say it’d be at least three months before a stage actor could handle lead in a film?”
“I just saw him today—he’s more than ready. You’d have to see it to believe it… He’s fully inhabiting the character.”
He smirked.
“Inhabiting, you say? He’s that good?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s practicing nonstop—he shot hours and hours with that camcorder, and the original script looks like an ancient relic from all the notes he made.”
“You’re serious?”
“I told you, he’s desperate.”
He scrolled through some notes.
“All right, guess I’ll start contacting the staff for the shoot…”
“I’ll do it personally.”
“Let the staff handle it. That’s a lot of calls.”
“It’s about relationships, you know. I want to call the same folks from Night first.”
“Up to you. I’ll handle the rest like announcing the production, etc.”
“Cool. Let’s move fast.”
While he got on with his tasks, I grabbed my phone and made calls to the various heads of departments from Night.
– “Hey, Director Gyeong! I heard the rumors about a new film—this is a casting call, right?”
– “Better to do one project with you than three with other people!”
– “I’d be offended if you started something and didn’t call me.”
– “Director! I’ve been waiting for you, no joke.”
They all picked up in under two rings and greeted me warmly. In Night, I’d tried to treat people better than what’s typical in this cutthroat industry, and they appreciated it—so they were eager to work with me again.
The cinematographer from Night, Park Jin-soo, picked up too, sounding excited.
– “Doesn’t Seong-hyeon Productions have staff who can do this? Why’s the director personally calling?”
“There’s a bond between us. This isn’t the kind of relationship where we have people in the middle, right?”
– “Hahaha, Chan-hyeon. Great, let’s celebrate with a drink. And this time, you’re not getting away.”
“All right, I guess I’d better find someone else then. Take care, hyung!”
– “Hey, no! I was kidding, I was kidding!”
He frantically backtracked, sounding like a big teddy bear over the line.
“I’m joking too.”
– “Ugh, you little punk…”
The day before shooting.
That night, sleep came in fits for Park Jun-sik, as he woke up repeatedly from nightmares. In one, the whole film production vanished because of him; in another, Director Gyeong turned the camera on him for some horrifying purpose. Each time he woke up drenched in cold sweat.
“You’re up again?” asked his wife, Eun-kyung, noticing he stirred.
“N-no, I’m okay. Go back to sleep.”
“It starts tomorrow, yeah? Get some rest.”
“Sure, just a second…”
He got out of bed to drink a glass of cold water.
“Whew…”
His first day on set, his first time leading a movie—he’d worked so hard, but the worry still ate at him. He breathed deeply, muttering, “It’ll be fine, I practiced enough.”
He remembered the barrage of questions from the film’s announcement event a few days ago:
“How does it feel being cast in Director Gyeong Chan-hyeon’s next film as the lead?”
“You have no agency, is that correct? Weren’t there any inappropriate strings pulled to get you cast?”
“People are skeptical. You’ve barely done three years of stage acting—how’d this happen?”
It rattled him, but Director Gyeong’s pep talk had helped:
“They don’t know a thing, just flapping their gums. Once the film’s out, they’ll all become your fans. You saved that first script like a treasure, right?”
At that reminder, he glanced at the well-worn script stored on the bookshelf.
“My treasure…” he murmured.
He dozed off again, then woke up about an hour later.
“Breakfast before you go?”
“Nah, I’d rather keep my stomach empty. If I eat and something goes wrong, it could be a disaster.”
Eun-kyung gave him a worried look, so he forced a grin.
“Imagine if I get a stomachache on set, and everyone has to wait while I’m in the bathroom? I don’t want that. I could literally puke from nerves anyway…”
Suddenly, she pulled him into a tight hug.
“Do your best. It’s your first day, so I’ll let it slide this time.”
“Okay!”
He headed to the filming location in Yangsu-ri. He arrived two hours earlier than they’d asked, but the place was already bustling. People darted around, setting up the set, lugging camera gear.
“Hey! You there!” a voice called.
“Who, m-me?”
“You see anyone else here? We’re busy. Take this over there.”
“Huh? O-okay! Where to?”
The burly guy pointed across the area.
“See the truck over there?”
“R-right, by the truck?”
“Yes, move it there.”
“Understood!”
“Wait, that’s heavy. You’ll need help.”
“It’s fine.”
He hoisted the load—pretty big, but he mustered the strength to manage it.
“Jeez, kid’s strong. All right, carry on.”
“Sure!”
Yes, it was definitely heavy, but he gritted his teeth and did it.
Meanwhile, at the Yangsu-ri set, the art department had worked wonders, creating a great location.
“Where is Jun-sik anyway?” Jun-seong asked, scanning the set.
“I’ll call him,” I said.
The phone rang for a while, and when he finally picked up, his breathing was ragged.
“Where are you?” I asked.
– “Haa… I’m on set.”
“Why’re you out of breath?”
– “I’m helping the art team… haha.”
“What?”
Hearing this, Jun-seong and I raced over to the crew. We found him sweating, assisting the art department.
“Son of a—”
We spotted the burly, bearded cinematographer, Park Jin-soo, who turned to me.
“Why the heck is the leading man doing art team grunt work?”
The art director looked around, bewildered, then at Park Jun-sik:
“He’s the lead actor?”
“Never mind. Let’s get you to makeup, Mr. Park,” I said.
Obediently, he scratched the back of his head and followed me, leaving the art crew behind.
T/N: This poor man. Hang in there! Also, here’s the promised 5 chapters for this series!
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