“What’s going on?”
At my question, Junseong let out a sigh.
“Everything’s a wreck from the very start. She had a huge blow‑up with the first AD, so a few assistant directors have bailed… The set feels like a wake, and the actors are in an uproar. I’m losing my mind.”
“Why are the actors upset?”
“Kim Eunha’s really working them to the bone. But when you look at the footage she sends in, it’s amazing. That’s what’s craziest.”
I’d been thinking I could finally rest and maybe take a trip somewhere… but one look at Junseong’s face told me my break didn’t matter.
Come to think of it, I’d only seen Kim Eunha’s finished footage—never her shooting process.
“First, let’s watch what she’s filmed so far.”
We screened the raw takes the studio had stored.
Fortunately, everything already shot matched the level of skill I knew she had.
The acting was solid, the camera framing and directing all fine.
“Even with all the noise and the ridiculous amount of time it takes, the results are good. Unreal.”
“Because Kim Eunha’s talent backs it up.”
“Still… you know filmmaking’s a race against time. In the end, it’s a money problem.”
Ding—
A text had come to Junseong. The second he read it he rubbed his forehead and sighed.
“Ha… now it’s the cinematographer. He says he’s quitting. Great… here we go again…”
I could guess the problem, but to pin it down I had to meet Kim Eunha.
“I’m going to see her.”
“Now? Right away?”
“Yeah.”
He let out a long breath and looked at me.
“Fine… please show us a miracle, teacher. I’m begging you…”
“Call me that when things are going your way, not just when you’re in a jam.”
I called Eunha and arranged to meet in a café near her rooftop studio apartment.
A little later she walked in.
Her voice on the phone had sounded normal, but in person she looked much thinner.
“Congrats on <Desirelessness>. Four million, right? It was fun. Worth all the work.”
“Thanks.”
She looked at me as if nothing were wrong.
“So what’s up? It’s not like you to come bragging.”
“It’s about your movie.”
“You really can’t talk in circles, can you?” She actually laughed, not seeming offended.
“How are the rushes?”
“Great. I’d like to give you more time… but time is money.”
“Still, I’m glad you think they’re good.” She exhaled, half relief, half worry.
“Set atmosphere’s bad, I heard?”
“Uh? Uh‑huh…”
She clenched her teeth as if she’d swallowed a lot.
“You guys trusted me, so I really wanted to prove myself, but…”
The pressure of her current film seemed enormous.
Maybe that was natural. Even though she’d debuted with a feature, she was still only twenty‑eight—young for a director—and her last film had bombed. Having only the title “director” on set is an easy position to get ignored.
“I know you’ve been working hard.”
While shooting <Country Girl Goes to the City!>, she’d already been burned badly by other crew. Wanting to do better, she’d pushed too hard, tangling her relationship with the staff. With a nickname like “Mad Dog,” she’d probably just rammed straight ahead, and repeating that cycle had brought things to this point.
“I’ll ask Jinsu‑hyung to step in as DP. If he causes any trouble, call me. A guy like him I can handle.”
In the end, film sets run on connections.
That’s why while making <Night> and <Desirelessness>I’d cultivated good relationships with the crew.
On a set where the director has no allies, she’s basically a powerless puppet.
And there are three ways for a director to escape puppet status: prove your skill, flash a hit record, or throw physical weight around.
There’s a famous story of a big‑name director trading punches with an actor who fancied himself a budding auteur.
From the footage, Kim Eun‑ha had already met the first condition—skill.
But maybe that wasn’t enough to convince a crew steeped in a male‑dominated culture.
“And the actors are a problem too?”
“Yeah…”
No S‑tier stars were in her movie—just A‑listers or below.
Most would rise to S‑tier later after working with famous directors.
For disciplining the set, Jinsu alone would probably suffice; he always respected people with real ability.
“Hyung alone should fix most of it.”
“What?”
“He respects anyone with skill. Trust me. With him—and the first, second, third he brings—you’re in good hands.”
“Thanks… I’ll repay this double someday.”
“You knew the risk when you took our investment. No need to repay anything—just make it a hit. That’s enough.”
She clenched a fist and nodded.
After thanking me over and over she left, and I phoned Jinsu‑hyung at once.
—Chanhyeon? Ack! Don’t pull my beard, Princess!
I heard his frantic voice playing with his daughter.
“Hyung, what are you up to these days?”
—Just relaxing, hanging with my princess. Ack! I told you not to pull! Honey, watch her for a sec. I’ve gotta take this, it’s Director Gyeong… yeah, yeah, I’ll be right out front.
He looked like a gang‑boss, spoke in a deep baritone—yet used a high falsetto with his wife and kid. His voice alone gave me goosebumps.
Soon he was back on the line.
—Yeah, hello?
“Hyung, you’re surprisingly domestic for how you look. Ha‑ha.”
Embarrassed, he fell silent a moment.
—Have a kid yourself, punk. Anyway, you didn’t call to ask how I’m doing. Need a drinking buddy?
“No booze today. Can I ask a job favor?”
—Work? <Desirelessness> just wrapped—when did you write another script? Taking someone else’s this time?
“No, it’s not my film… Remember Director Kim Eu‑ha we talked about on set?”
—…Huh? Kim Eunha?
“Yeah, the talented one.”
—Ah! Ah‑ha! The <Country Girl Goes to the City!> director?
His tone darkened.
—And suddenly you’re asking me? What happened to her DP?
“He quit.”
—Quit? What’s his name?
“Saw the text earlier… Kim Gyeongjin? Know him?”
—Know him, don’t care to. So why me?
I told him what Eun‑ha had told me and added my own opinion.
—Ha, Kim Gyeongjin. Still pulling that crap? Stupid jerk.
Apparently he and Kim Gyeong‑jin had bad blood—when Jinsu announced he’d had a daughter, the guy sneered, “You need a son; what use is a girl?” so Jinsu decked him on the spot.
“As a dad with a daughter, shouldn’t you crush guys like that? Those types block your girl’s future too.”
—Who said my daughter’s going into film?
“Jerks like that exist everywhere. Lay down the law and brighten her future.”
—Hah… let me think. I’ve been trying to relax with my family; if I jump into another shoot my wife’ll kill me…
“I’ll pay one‑point‑five times your rate.”
—What do you take me for, some money‑grubber? Kid, I—
“Double.”
—Double is…
I heard hesitation.
I tried a bit of push‑and‑pull.
“Fine, forget it. I’ll look for someone else. If double makes you hesitate…”
—Hey, wait! Hold on, punk. Why so hasty?
“So, deal?”
—Ha… deal.
Park Jinsu reviewed the storyboard and script, then the footage shot so far. All he could think was that Gyeong Chanhyeon was right again.
Kim Eunha’s talent was outstanding—from storytelling to direction.
He couldn’t help believing Chanhyeon had a special eye. Otherwise, how could he see such ability in the director of trash like <Country Girl Goes to the City!>?
First it was Park Junsik; now Kim Eunha—Chanhyeon’s eye was indeed unique.
A few days later—the first day of shooting with the new DP.
Jinsu arrived with his crew.
With little time left before call, no actors had shown yet; Eunha sat frowning at the monitor.
“Director, hello?”
“Oh! Hello! You’re Park Jinsu, right?”
She greeted him with an awkward smile, but worry clouded her face.
“Yes, that’s me. Whew, Director, the footage so far is fantastic.”
“Ah! Thank you!”
Seeing her smile, Jin‑su recalled Chanhyeon’s words: “As a dad with a daughter, shouldn’t you crush guys like that?”
The more he thought, the truer it rang, so he raised his voice for the loafers nearby to hear.
“Tsk. I hear there are a lot of money‑sucking leeches here. That right?”
Eunha’s eyes went wide.
“Uh…”
“My crew keeps clear of parasites—though we do specialize in extermination. Ha‑ha.”
He intentionally spoke loud enough for the idlers to hear.
Eunha burst out laughing.
“Whew. The cavalry’s finally here. I’ve been tearing my hair out over the bug bastards around here.”
Her crisp profanity startled him for a beat, then he laughed along.
“Director, feels like we can actually talk now, ha‑ha.”
“Of course! Ha‑ha!”
“So—actors aren’t even here yet?”
“No…”
“Then we’ll step out for a smoke.”
“I’ll come too!”
Brightening, he asked,
“Oh? You smoke, Director?”
“Whew, it’s my soul mate.”
At her cheeky reply he nodded.
“Nice! When we shot Chanhyeon’s film that punk didn’t smoke—boring. This’ll be fun. They’d better show up before we finish our smokes. If not, I’ll cuss them out on the spot.”
Eun‑ha looked happily at Jinsu and his team.
With solid backup, the worry on her face began to lift.
Meanwhile the staff who’d been slacking blinked at the unexpected arrival.
“That guy… Isn’t he the one rumored to be a gangster?”
“Yeah. Famous for wrecking Kim Gyeongjin’s face.”
“We’re screwed… a guy like that…”
“Is that a DP’s build? More like a thug’s. And what’s with the beard?”
The crew who’d been lazing around, opposing Eunha at every turn, could only heave deep sighs as Jinsu and the director walked away.
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