The next day.
Just when I thought I was getting better, my body was actually worse thanks to working out with Jinsu hyung.
“Phew…”
I creaked my way upright.
Today I made a point of doing my hair properly, thinking I especially needed to make a good impression on audiences and reporters.
Then, straightening my bow tie in the mirror, I asked Junseong:
“Do I look okay?”
“Ugh… I’m fine. I didn’t drink that much yesterday. The first day was the—”
“No. I mean, do I look okay to you.”
He looked me over, nodded, and gave a thumbs-up.
“Yeah. Looks good. You’re presentable today.”
He still had a bit of a buzz, staring at me with hazy eyes.
At the film market, nobody cared; deciding he might as well make the most of being in France, he’d spent his days drowning in wine.
“Did you come here to drink wine, or to sell a movie?”
“People have to care before you can sell anything, genius. Most of them don’t even know where Korea is. They hardly come by our booth.”
Clutching his head, he slowly pushed himself up.
“Today’s the screening, right?”
“Yeah. Get moving.”
“Here’s hoping things get busy starting today.”
He sprang to his feet and put on his tux.
“You confident about the guest visit?”
“Obviously.”
That’s the segment where the director or team visits the screening, talks about the film, and does a Q&A with the audience.
“Think Yeonji and Junsik hyung are ready too?”
“Also obviously.”
He seemed to like my confidence; he started to throw an arm over my shoulder then groaned.
“My muscles are still knotted…”
“I did another session yesterday; I am going to die…”
Bickering, we headed for the lobby.
As before, we gathered with the team in the lobby and set off for the Debussy theater.
Seeing the Jawol poster displayed in a foreign country filled me with a pride I couldn’t quite name.
There was a photo-op on the red carpet, but people still didn’t seem interested in us.
One of the reporters waiting by the carpet spotted a cluster of jurors arriving and shouted:
“Oh, there’s Mr. Chester!”
The jury president appeared in front of the theater.
Gold hair, a sharply tailored suit.
Maybe because he was Western and long-legged, the way he strode forward felt oddly imposing.
He looked around as if searching for someone, members of the jury filing in behind him.
“Mr. Chester! Who do you think will take the Palme d’Or this year?”
“If you’re going to ask crap like that, beat it. If you’re a real journalist, ask something original.”
It was English, but anyone could tell from his tone that he was cussing them out.
“Is that guy a thug? I thought he was a famous critic.”
“He is famous… just has a nasty temper. If he doesn’t like something, he grinds it into powder.”
Which made me not want to cross paths with him, but I had the feeling he was heading right toward me.
I wasn’t wrong.
Chester Baker stopped in front of me and said:
“Are you Director Kaiwong Tsu-an Haion?”
Kaiwong Tsu-an Haion?
What kind of name was that supposed to be? I enunciated my real name clearly, syllable by syllable.
“No, I’m Gyeong Chanhyeon.”
“Huh…?”
He stumbled through the spelling, bit by bit, and realizing that his mangled name did mean me, broke into a broad grin.
“Ah, so you’re the guy! I’ve been looking all over for you, man! Well, since I’m the jury president, let’s keep it formal here. After the awards, let’s grab a drink. You like alcohol? I’ll line up something special.”
“Uh…?”
“English not so good? I said—do. you. like. drinks?”
How was I supposed to explain Korean-style English?
Damn cram schooling.
All listening, no talking practice!
While I stood there blankly, Junseong stepped in and snagged the conversation.
“He likes to drink! He’s just not great at speaking English.”
“Ha! That’s its own kind of charm. Heck, if you make great films, who cares about English?”
“Heh…”
While I scratched the back of my head awkwardly, Chester fixed me with a solemn look.
“Baem, Muyoke.”
Leaning in, he said my film titles in clumsy Korean.
“Oh…”
The pronunciation wasn’t perfect, but good enough to understand—it made me smile.
“Dirty fun! You’re a genius. If I weren’t the jury president… anyway, don’t disappear right after the ceremony. Got it? I’m looking forward to this new one—Zua Weol, right?”
“O-okay!”
With his massive frame he offered a handshake; I hauled up my cramping arm and gripped his hand, clenching my teeth and pretending to be fine as I strangled the groan trying to escape.
After greeting Chester, we headed into the Debussy theater.
The sheer size put anything back home to shame.
A thousand seats and the screen was far bigger than I’d imagined.
“Phew…”
“Sunbae, are you nervous too?”
Sitting beside me, Kwak Yeonji asked, face flushed with excitement.
“Thinking of it as a judgment day… yeah, a bit. Hoo…”
“Me too. Hoo…”
Strangely, Junsik hyung was smiling.
“Hyung, focus. We’ve got the GV too!”
“Haha. They’re gonna love it. It’s a Chanhyeon film! Haha!”
So he’d left the building…
Seeing him spaced out made me even more jittery.
Before long, the lights went down, and the screening began.
Chester finished greeting Gyeong Chanhyeon and entered the Debussy theater.
“Isn’t that kid a riot?”
“Sir?”
A juror beside him echoed the question.
“How many people would scowl like that right in front of the jury president? Haha, I like him even more.”
“Haha…”
“He didn’t flinch and he gave me a strong grip on the shake too, teeth clenched. If Hollywood had someone with that kind of spine, I’d make him a star. Tsk.”
The juror beside him frowned.
“Isn’t that rude?”
“Rude…? No, that’s not rude.”
“Sir?”
“It’s called backbone. Look at the nerve on him! No shrinking, scowling like, ‘I’m about to show you a film that’ll make your jaws drop, so get ready.’ You don’t see that?”
The juror shook his head.
“If you can’t see it, you can’t. Tsk. You don’t know how to read people.”
Chester rubbed his palms together with a mischievous grin.
“Can’t wait to see what kind of tasting menu we’re in for.”
Before long, the lights went out.
With proper subtitles rolling, Chester watched Jawol.
He was first entranced by Kwak Yeonji’s vibrant, breathing performance, then found his brow knitting at Park Junsik’s.
He couldn’t be sure it was the same lead he’d seen weeks ago in Desireless.
The aura was completely different.
What had they done to draw that kind of performance out of him?
Even in Hollywood, not many actors had a range that wide…
And then the final highlight.
The scene where Yeonji seizes Park Junsik’s weak spot and works him—acting, direction, framing—there wasn’t a single seam to pick at.
He didn’t even have time to glance at the audience.
Eyes glued to the screen, hands clasped, he lost track of time; tension beaded his palms with sweat.
“Wow…”
When the highlight finished, the juror beside him breathed a soft exclamation.
Hearing it, Chester turned and smiled, relieved that his eye hadn’t failed him and delighted at the prospect of writing a good review for the first time in a while.
[“What on earth made you go this far?”]
[“Do I really have to spell it out for you?”]
With Yeonji’s last line, the movie ended, and the lights came up.
“It’s fun… but not just light. Fresh and electric.”
“You’re right, Mr. Chester… This belonged in Competition.”
A juror whispered to him.
“Doesn’t it? Later, track down Desirelessness and Snake too. Those are good films. Now let’s stand and give that director some applause. After a film like that, the least we can do is say thank you.”
After a few more words, Chester rose to join the already standing crowd, applauding Gyeong Chanhyeon’s film.
“That one standing up, is that Director Hyeon?”
“Uh… yeah. But I don’t think that’s how it’s pronounced. I heard it’s ‘Gyung.’”
“Gyung?”
“Yeah. Let’s call him Director Gyeong.”
Despite the ovation pouring over him, Gyeong Chanhyeon didn’t flash a big smile.
“He won’t even smile, huh. Heh…”
“That’s incredible confidence.”
The actors beside him bowed brightly to the crowd, but Gyeong kept his chin high, calmly scanning the room as if this were the natural order of things.
The moment the film ended, the applause thundered down.
I was moved by their thanks for my film, but my neck was so stiff it even hurt to look around.
Still, the sound of their clapping made my heart pound harder.
Maybe because I’d never felt this before, I had no idea what expression to wear.
The standing ovation went on for over ten minutes.
“Sunbae, you were right…”
“Knew it. Because it’s a Chanhyeon film!”
Beside me, Yeonji and Junsik hyung bowed toward the audience that was applauding us.
I wanted to bow with them, but my neck was too tight to bend.
As the applause subsided, we slowly moved to take the stage in front of the screen.
I caught snatches of industry chatter:
“Where is that guy from? Contact the production company now! We have to get the distribution rights!”
“Call the folks at the film market! Quick! Sunghaion Pictures? Whatever, find them! He’s Asian!”
“Move! We’ve got to hook them first! We have to distribute that film!”
Leaving that buzz behind me, I ran through what I’d anticipated.
From light questions to heavy ones.
I’d prepared thoroughly; aside from my creaking body, everything felt right.
As soon as we sat on the dais, the eyes in front of us brimmed with curiosity.
Just as the looks were starting to weigh on me, a staffer handed me the mic.
The interpreter beside me waited for my words, and with effort I forced out the first line.
“Good to meet you all. I’m film director Gyeong Chanhyeon, from the Republic of Korea.”
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