“Thank you so much for coming out.”
As soon as he saw Lee Junseong, Go Sang-woo bowed his head and spoke.
The last time they met he had at least tried to look neat, but today Sang-woo looked far more shabby.
Jun-seong said nothing, simply stared at him for a moment, then opened his mouth.
“So what is it you want to say?”
“It is about the audition…”
When Sang-woo spoke, trembling, Junseong cut him off.
“Let us go inside somewhere first. It is cold.”
Junseong entered the café beside them; Sang-woo followed, and they ordered hot coffee.
“What will you have? Did you eat dinner?”
“Uh… no, I am fine.”
After glancing at Sang-woo, Jun-seong spoke to the clerk.
“Two kaya toasts, please.”
“I said I am fine…”
“I am going to eat it all.”
Carrying the coffees and toast, Junseong sat down.
Sang-woo blinked, staring at the floor as if arranging his thoughts.
“So what is this favor?”
“Well…”
“If you came to ask for filthy business, drink that and leave. I will pretend I heard nothing.”
At those words, Sang-woo clenched his fist and spoke.
“It is not something dirty. What I want is utterly normal…”
“Normal? Do you not think that an actor’s manager meeting a film producer like this is abnormal in itself?”
Jun-seong sliced the toast with a fork, popped a piece into his mouth, and chewed with relish.
Watching him, Sang-woo suddenly drained his still-hot coffee.
“Not hot?”
After inhaling once, Sang-woo asked:
“Seonghyeon Pictures is not one of those companies that takes lobbying money to choose actors, is it?”
“What? Are you joking?”
At the unexpected words Jun-seong frowned and glared at him.
“I hope you will not pick actors through bribes. Please.”
“Huh?”
“Heyum Entertainment… Lee Seobin, you know. She also entered your new open audition…”
“You think if her company bribes us we will gladly choose her?”
When Junseong growled, Sang-woo fell silent, gazing only at the coffee on the table.
So Junseong pushed the untouched toast toward him.
“Eat.”
“Huh?”
“Eat. I am full. I cannot throw it out.”
“….”
Sang-woo timidly picked up knife and fork and cut the toast into pieces.
Seeing that, Junseong smiled.
“Just the same.”
“Eh?”
“Like when we ate pork cutlet back then—you always cut it all first.”
“…yeah.”
Sang-woo speared a piece of toast and put it in his mouth.
“Is manager work hard? How long has it been?”
“Just under a year now. Nothing in the world is easy, but this is manageable.”
“Good. So that is your whole request?”
With toast still in his mouth, Sang-woo nodded.
“I guarantee it will not happen. If Seonghyeon Pictures ever took actor money, like you say, Chanhyeon would scrap the film no matter what I thought.”
“Director Gyeong Chanhyeon would?”
Startled, Sang-woo set down his fork.
“Yeah. He cannot stomach that filth.”
Thinking of Chanhyeon, Junseong let out a laugh.
But Sang-woo only blinked, waiting.
“You know the Song Seong-woo case?”
“Uh… that stage actor? Took secret photos with a digital camera…”
“Yeah. That was Chanhyeon’s doing. He finished him after Seon-sik was harmed.”
“That was Director Gyeong’s work?”
Mouth hanging, Sang-woo lowered the fork holding toast.
“Right. So there will be no dirty business like you fear. Even if I tried, Chanhyeon would stop it.”
In the office, I clutched my head, wondering how to finish.
Imagining Junsik’s awards-ceremony look made the chaebol lines flow, but the reporter character never came into focus while I wrote the script.
The few decent scenes had come out only by picturing Kwak Yeonji… yet with her acting, she probably cannot carry the role.
Still, I had nearly finished the screenplay.
I had placed an important-looking but meaningless MacGuffin1, set up a double twist, and built a tightrope so that viewers would not know till the end whether the reporter nails the chaebol.
The overall suspense was fine, but I hit an obstacle at the end: a cathartic punch line that would smack the audience—a decisive final blow.
“What could it be…”
I needed a killer line, but nothing came.
Creak.
Arriving at work, Junseong saw me gripping my head and scolded playfully.
“Relax your face; your forehead will wrinkle. What is wrong?”
“I cannot fix the last line. I want something that will stick in the audience’s mind.”
“A famous quote? What is the situation?”
“As the chaebol is dragged to the police, the reporter lands one shot.”
He propped his chin, imagining, then grinned.
“How about ‘You’re finished’?”
“Childish. Too clichéd.”
“‘Gotcha, you punk’?”
“Let’s not. If we end with that, they’ll throw popcorn.”
Laughing, he booted his computer.
“Open auditions start the day after tomorrow, so mail me the pages you have. Only the last line is blank?”
“Yeah.”
After reading he exhaled deeply.
At his heavy sigh, I worried the story itself had issues, but his concern matched mine.
“It will sell, certainly… but the box office rests entirely on the lead’s acting. The character feels like an animation figure: nail it and it is huge, miss and it crashes.”
“True…”
Among the applicants, none displayed extraordinary skill—famous maybe, but known for looks not acting.
Some might grow later, but right now none shine.
“With this script, we can attract investment; your name alone draws money. But without a cast, I cannot sense it…”
“If the acting fails, we scrap the film. Better that than bombing.”
He stared at the screenplay, serious.
“Too good to scrap… the weak taking down the strong in a slick way never done before… I don’t know. Maybe rewrite with Junsik hyung as the reporter?”
“No. Let’s first see the actors. Over eight hundred; surely one fits.”
He forced a nod.
“Right, if you say so… I would believe you if you claimed red beans make soy sauce.”
Days later.
Before her audition, Kwak Yeonji stood in the restroom mirror, breathing deeply, recalling what Sang-woo had told her.
“Nothing dirty will happen. Focus! Focus!”
She tried desperately to expel negative thoughts, closed her eyes.
Then someone spoke.
“Oh, unnie! Long time no see!”
It was Lee Seobin.
Acting friendly, she sidled up.
“Are you auditioning, too?”
Seeing her, Yeonji pretended not to know her and walked out.
Ignored, Seobin followed her outside, chattering.
“You do not hear me now? So cold… you know how much I like you.”
Arm in arm, she clung closer.
Old memories flashed across Yeonji’s mind.
On set, Seobin had mocked her like this more than once.
If Yeonji showed annoyance, Seobin would act pitiful and badmouth her to the crew.
Her image on set had sunk fast because of it.
But Seobin was a powerful agency’s star; Yeon-ji’s agency was weak.
Her CEO had told her countless times to swallow it.
“Lee Seobin-ssi, please stop even here.”
Suddenly behind Yeonji, Sang-woo’s voice sounded.
Seobin beamed at him.
“What did I do? Just chatting with an unnie I haven’t seen.”
“Yeon-ji-ssi is uncomfortable. Please leave.”
Seobin’s gentle eyes vanished; she glared at him with spite.
Feeling the surrounding gaze, she put on a teary face.
“I am sorry… I only wanted to talk with her after so long.”
As she almost cried, whispers rose.
“Wow, Kwak Yeonji is rude.”
“What’s with the manager? They just wanted to talk.”
“See her clenching her teeth? So nasty. Comfort your junior.”
Several managers rushed over to Seobin.
Shouting at Sang-woo,
“What did you say to Seobin? You punk…”
“Just leave. Let’s not bother each other.”
Big men approached but Sang-woo stood firm, ready to fight.
Seobin slipped between them, bursting into tears.
“It’s my fault… I troubled unnie. I am sorry, managers.”
Her pure voice stirred another murmur.
“Trying to rattle the competition before the audition? Yeonji is sly.”
“It is only the first round and she is already checking her.”
Shutting her eyes tight, Yeonji pretended to hear nothing.
When Seobin finally left and things quieted, a voice rang from the audition hall.
“We will now begin the first open audition! Applicants, please prepare!”
- A MacGuffin is a plot device (usually an object, goal or piece of information) that all of the characters care deeply about but whose specific nature is largely irrelevant to the audience. Its main job is to set the story in motion, give the characters a reason to act and create tension or conflict; once the action is underway, the MacGuffin’s detailed qualities often fade in importance. ↩︎
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