Chairman Kang Hyunseok of Taesan Group.
Just seeing that name made Lee Junseong’s head spin.
The man he had met yesterday, the father of Kang Junmo who had been openly hostile toward him. Then could it be…?
Junseong’s eyes naturally followed the article downward.
What he read was worse than he expected.
“Kang Junmo, CEO of Taesan Trading, appointed as organizing chair of the Cheongpung Film Festival.”
“Ha… unbelievable.”
He read on in disbelief.
Not every year had the festival’s chair been someone from the film world, but never had the event been placed so blatantly in one company’s palm.
Perhaps that arrogant attitude Junmo showed yesterday came from this.
“For the first time in the festival’s history, a young entrepreneur has become chair. This is expected to bring fresh winds to Korean cinema…”
“Fresh winds? They gave the chair to a guy who does not even know what a producer does.”
He checked the list of judges.
The only relief was Vice-Chairman No Younghun of the Film Association, who had recently made peace with Gyeong Chanhyeon.
“There is only one person I can trust.”
A few days later, at Taesan Group.
“How is the Cheongpung Festival proceeding?” Chairman Kang Hyunseok asked.
“We are preparing thoroughly,” Kang Junmo replied. “For Taesan Foods’ promotion, we have replaced the drinks and snacks at every seat with Taesan products, and I have scheduled a meeting with the judges today.”
He handed his father a report with both hands.
While scanning it, Kang Hyunseok said, “The judges are set?”
“Yes. Film Association Chairman Song Woojin, veteran actor Kim Chunho, critic Lee Chanjung. Those three lead, the rest will follow.”
The chairman smiled with satisfaction.
He had spent a lot on the festival, but the extra profit and publicity made it worthwhile.
“The company we have to push is Studio Future Film, right?”
“Yes. We have agreed to acquire that studio after the festival. Their current box-office record is decent. The movie they entered, Our Boss, has reached three-point-four million nationwide.”
“Hmm, still cannot beat that Desirelessness, but not bad. With proper backing it could hit four million.”
He lit a cigarette, frowning slightly.
“I should not have pulled out of film during the IMF. KMD… who knew they would earn so much through movies. At least it is not too late yet.”
Closing the report, he looked at Junmo.
“Handle this festival with no mistakes.”
“Yes, Father.”
Junmo bowed, a grin creeping over his face. Even without that order, he had already planned to deal Lee Junseong a blow through this festival.
People connected to the festival gathered at Taesan headquarters.
Director No Younghun, who had once criticized Night in a column, attended as vice-chairman of the Film Association. He felt honored, believing this could be a big step for Korean cinema, a chance to correct old corrupt practices with his own hands. He entered the meeting room full of hope.
When the seats were nearly filled, organizing chair Kang Junmo came in last. Wearing a faint smile, he glanced over the judges.
“Good day, I am Kang Junmo, chair of the Cheongpung Festival. Shall we first have everyone introduce themselves?”
Following his lead, the judges spoke in turn. Listening, No Younghun noticed there were faces he had never seen before, which puzzled him. Film Association Chairman Song Woojin, seated beside him, saw his expression and whispered.
“Ah, that critic is here too.”
“Who?”
“You don’t know? He is all the rage. Critic Kim Pansik, the one who joined you in attacking Night.”
“I am not acquainted.”
“Dear me, you do not keep up with the times.”
No Younghun glanced at Kim Pansik without replying.
When introductions ended, Kang Junmo spoke as if he had been waiting.
“Thank you all for coming. I ask for precise and fair judging.”
The real deliberations began. Technical categories first: cinematography, lighting, art, costumes, editing, music.
“The cinematography in Our Boss outshone Desirelessness,” Chairman Song Jinwoo said firmly. At once the others agreed.
“Yes, Our Boss was excellent.”
“This year had many good films, but none matched Our Boss.”
Something felt wrong. Normally judges discussed in detail what was good, but today they offered vague praise for one film only.
Thinking something had been arranged, No Younghun glanced at Song Woojin, who met his eyes boldly.
“Is there a problem?”
“…No.”
Thus the cinematography award went to Our Boss.
Several other technical prizes went to third-rate films. After a break they moved to acting awards.
“For best actor, how about Kim Junho in Our Boss? His powerful comedy brought great joy to the public.”
“Absolutely, I agree,” said veteran actor Kim Chunho.
No Younghun cleared his throat.
“Ahem, should best actor not go to Park Junsik of Desirelessness? At least rookie award. His performance drew praise as a milestone in our acting history.”
Kim Chunho cut him off.
“Director No, you have a point, but what film was bad this year? I would give prizes to all. If it were up to me I would split best actor between Park Junsik and Kim Junho.”
“Indeed,” Chairman Song added. “I would love to honor Desirelessness, but there is much support for Our Boss.”
Facing this prepared rebuttal, No Younghun sighed. Voting began.
Kang Junmo opened the box.
“Kim Junho, Our Boss, nine votes. Park Junsik, Desirelessness, one vote. Best actress, Kim Yunjeong in Gangster Three Sisters, ten votes.”
No Younghun sighed and Kang Junmo smiled at him.
“Director No, your opinion is valid, but other voices matter.”
To No Younghun, it felt as if everyone had one goal. The industry chairman and veteran actor swayed everything. Doubt became certainty.
“Now, shall we judge best picture?” Kang Junmo asked.
Critic Lee Chanjung immediately said, “This year, logically, Our Boss is most deserving.”
“It already has over five awards,” someone murmured.
“That suits a fine film,” Lee said.
No Younghun let out a hollow laugh. Our Boss? A derivative of Night. Night had balanced comedy and noir with proper tempo, blending genres meaningfully. Our Boss was, at best, a third-rate gangster comedy. Giving it best picture was humiliating.
Yet discussion, meaningless since the outcome was fixed, went on. He looked at the door he had entered. Minutes earlier he had felt proud to aid Korean cinema; now he was ashamed.
“Then the result is set,” Kang Junmo said.
No Younghun rose.
“Do you truly believe this result is right?”
Junmo answered calmly, “Why would it not be?”
“It seems we gathered to exclude Desirelessness entirely. Choosing winners by such absurd standards!”
He knew the negative talk about Seonghyeon Productions paying proper wages and limiting hours, which angered other companies. Many in Chungmuro resented them, but this open corruption sickened him.
“We have experts here. Are you saying they are inferior to you?” Junmo asked.
Song Woojin added, “Director No, please sit down. We represent the Film Association.”
“No, thank you. I was never here. And vice-chairman? I quit. A man needs a conscience. This is manipulation.”
He threw his nameplate to the floor and left. Slamming the door, he left Kang Junmo bowing his head to hide a grin. Song Woojin apologized, but Junmo waved it off.
“Director No had a point. If Desirelessness wins nothing, people will complain. How about we create a new prize, say, a ‘Trend Award’?”
The judges chuckled and nodded.
“As expected from our chair.”
“English terms are in vogue. Let us name it the Trendsetter Award,” Junmo said.
They glanced for approval and beamed at him. The taste of power was always sweet. Some ants grovel, occasionally someone like No Younghun jumps, but they are no match.
“Let us vote, then. Trendsetter Award.”
Before the words were cold, Gyeong Chanhyeon was fixed to receive the meaningless prize. No one would care about such an award. Giving it was their way of saying, take this and step aside.
Junmo suddenly wondered how Chanhyeon and Lee Junseong would react.
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