When the shoot paused, Park Jun‑sik sat in a chair, closed his eyes, and replayed the scene in his head for the hundredth time. A voice interrupted.
“Mr. Park Jun‑sik?”
It was cinematographer Park Jin‑soo.
“Ah—hello, sir!”
“Nice work out there.”
“Haha… thank you.”
Jin‑soo dragged over a chair and sat beside him.
“Smoke?”
“I don’t, actually.”
“Figures. Seems all the talented guys are non‑smokers these days.”
“Pardon…?”
“Director Gyeong doesn’t smoke either. Mind if I drop honorifics? I’d like us to be friends.”
With that huge frame and a beard like a grizzly, it was hard to refuse. Park nodded with a smile.
“Please speak comfortably. Director Gyeong says actor and DP (director of photography) are basically one body, after all.”
“Haha! Then we’re hyung and dongsaeng.”
His laughter made the ground vibrate.
Park blinked at the tremor, then smiled at the DP’s infectious grin.
“You came from theatre, right?”
“Yes.”
“Pay’s terrible there?”
“Well… unless you’re one of the lucky few.”
“Artists, huh—always starving.”
Jin‑soo lit a cigarette, exhaled, and continued.
“You wouldn’t know yet, this being your first set, but Gyeong is different. Most shoots pull all‑nighters; directors burn film on shots they’ll never use just to stroke their egos. Gyeong’s storyboards? Detailed. Almost nothing gets wasted.”
“I felt that too—it helped me a lot.”
“So you do know you nailed it? Thought you’d play humble.” He tapped Jun‑sik’s shoulder—lightly, yet it stung.
“Haha… it’s thanks to the director. I only did what he asked.”
“Doing what he asks is already huge. The last guys we broke in took ages, and you’ve never even shot a movie before.”
The praise was so lavish Park wriggled in embarrassment.
Jin‑su glanced at Gyeong Chan‑hyeon, who was hurrying across set.
“That kid’s going to sit at the center of Korean cinema.”
“Night already proved—”
“Plenty call that luck. It wasn’t. Skill. He’ll prove it with this one. I can tell.”
Park followed the DP’s gaze. Even without Jin‑su’s reverence, Chan‑hyeon had rescued his acting life; believing in him felt natural. Park’s lips curved into a quiet smile.
Hours of rehearsal and still not there. A single unbroken two‑minute take: no cuts, no action, but a full dramatic arc. Hard for any actor—except a seasoned stage performer like Park.
The snag was Lee Dae‑hoon, whose only job was to support.
I sighed at the monitor. Sitting here wouldn’t solve it. Where was Dae‑hoon?
“Smoking,” a crew member said.
“How much schedule time left?”
“About an hour.”
Two hours already on this one take; Park looked spent from giving 100 percent each run‑through.
“I’ll talk to him.”
At the smoking area Lee Dae‑hoon was happily puffing away.
“You smoke, Director?” he asked with a grin.
“No.”
“Ah… haha.”
“Feeling better now?”
“Honestly, don’t know what came over me. I’m usually fine but today—”
His smile set my teeth on edge: that breezy, not‑my‑fault grin. I swallowed the curses.
“Bit tough, huh? Standing opposite Mr Park?” I said mildly. “Older than you, stronger actor—can be intimidating.”
A twitch under his eye—good.
“Might be best to drop you from this shot,” I added casually. “Park can carry it alone; your hesitation is breaking the immersion.”
Dae‑hoon stared, blank. Then he bowed.
“I’m sorry! Please—one more chance.”
I glanced at my watch, then back at him.
“Last chance. If it doesn’t work, I rewrite you out.”
Of course I couldn’t really cut him—the plot needed his character—but he didn’t know that.
“Yes, Director!”
I returned to video village. Jin‑soo was yawning.
“Long day for a Chan‑hyeon set,” he said. “Thought you’d work magic like on Night.”
“Had to adjust one actor’s attitude,” I replied.
“Break his nose a bit?”
“Just a little surgery.”
Jin‑su chuckled.
Back to rehearsal. For two solid minutes Park poured out everything—rage, despair, madness—now with real fatigue that made the scene even rawer. Lee Dae‑hoon, jolted by fear of being cut, finally matched him.
“Not asking for much! Just… just happiness, that’s all I wanted!”
He collapsed; cultists clubbed him unconscious.
“Cut! Perfect. That’s the one.”
Everyone watching had their mouths open. Jin‑soo whistled.
“Magic again. How’d you yank that performance out of Dae‑hoon?”
“I’m good at beating people—with words.”
He nodded, remembering the Night shoot.
“Open an acting academy, you lunatic—you’d make a fortune.”
“Should I?”
“Forget it. Just keep making movies.”
“You’ll keep shooting them with me, right?”
He laughed, beard shaking.
“Is that a confession? If you call, I’ll come, kid.”
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