Glory Film Company - Chapter 25

Episode 25: The First Meeting (2)

Alternative.
A term for freestyle acting that deviates from conventional direction.

In other words, Lee Jaehyun was asking if he could perform an additional take that diverged from the director’s instructions.

What was so unusual about it? Strictly speaking, the very act of asking for direction and permission before performing was odd. In an audition, actors typically showcased what they had prepared right away.

But Jaehyun first asked for the director’s direction, and after hearing it, essentially said, I understand your intent, but let me also try something my way.

This is deliberate. It was a challenge, a way of saying, See for yourself which approach works better.

Youngkwang nodded in satisfaction as he sensed the anticipation thickening in the room. This was precisely the kind of lead actor he had been hoping for—not just one with fresh, immersive acting skills, but someone who could also provoke and energize Ha Pilsung and the staff.

“Alternative? Oh, great. Not just one, go ahead and do ten if you want,” Ha Pilsung said, momentarily caught off guard but quickly leaning forward with an intrigued smile. The tension in the room became palpable, especially for Choi Suhyeon, Joo Kanghyuk, and Park Younghoon, who was now Jaehyun’s direct competitor.

In other settings, this might have led to an eruption.

Film is often called the director’s art, as opposed to television (the writer’s art) or theater (the actor’s art). This reflects the director’s commanding role in shaping a film, with many exercising this authority uncompromisingly.

If this were Kwak Junghoon, it’d be chaos… Youngkwang mused as he narrowed his eyes at Jaehyun.

The director, after years of wrestling with the script, often has the best grasp of how the film’s internal world should move and function. Actors can research their characters and share their ideas, but ultimately, it’s hard to overpower the director’s vision.

Did Jaehyun not understand this? Unlikely. His actions, though potentially misleading, didn’t seem like a sign of disrespect or arrogance toward Ha Pilsung. The truth of his intent would become clear as soon as his performance began.

“Can I go first?” Park Younghoon raised his hand abruptly, breaking the flow. Perhaps he saw this as a golden opportunity to win over the director.

Ha Pilsung glanced at Jaehyun, who nodded politely, conceding the turn.

Park Younghoon’s performance began.

“Ha. So it wasn’t a coincidence we ran into each other at the theater that day? The fact that you already had an umbrella when it rained, or disappeared from the library, or stood in front of that motel… Ha. Hahaha!”

Scene 92 was a pivotal moment in the script. It revealed Ha Yeonsoo’s lies and forced Minwook to confront the truth, shaking him to his core with betrayal.

It was an emotionally intense scene where Minwook finally accepted the painful breakup he had avoided for 300 days, clinging obsessively to his ex-girlfriend.

Park Younghoon’s performance followed the textbook approach, steadily building up his emotions.

This is a key scene that encapsulates the film’s theme. How the actor interprets the scene’s purpose and the character’s direction can completely alter the performance, thought Youngkwang as he observed Ha Pilsung’s reaction.

Ha Pilsung’s expression was focused, revealing neither admiration nor disappointment, making his opinion difficult to discern.

Meanwhile, Jaehyun reread the detailed notes he had written in the margins of his script.

300 Days After We Break Up.

When Jaehyun first read the script, he’d been slightly underwhelmed by its limited scale and scope, especially compared to Director Kwak Junghoon’s Gate, a blockbuster exploring human nature amid ideological conflicts set against a war-torn backdrop.

But as he read further, he realized Ha Pilsung’s script had its own distinct charm.

The narrative is tight. There’s room to fill.

In particular, Jaehyun appreciated the brief, unexpected stage directions, which added a sense of intrigue. While not overly specific, they left plenty of room for an actor to interpret and bring the character to life.

For instance, when the female lead, Ha Yeonsoo, betrays Minwook and meets another man, a typical script would zoom in on Minwook’s shocked expression before transitioning to the next scene. Ha Pilsung’s script, however, took a different approach.

Minwook, realizing Ha Yeonsoo has noticed him watching, quickly turns around and hides behind a cabinet in the corner. There, he begins recalling all the lies and suspicious moments from their past relationship.

A single line of stage direction—“Minwook’s face twists with complex emotions”—invited the actor to ponder how to portray this intricate moment.

While the final look of the scene would depend on the storyboard, the more Jaehyun read, the more he craved the role. The script was engaging, making the lines easy to memorize and the movements clear in his mind.

This side of the room is by the window. A couple of small tables are here. Past them, there’s a broken cabinet. From inside the cabinet, he looks out, and memories of their first night together resurface.

The flashback would be conveyed only through audio, meaning Minwook’s expressions would be the sole focus. The emotions of the flashbacks would flow naturally, evolving on screen.

The scene needs to strike a delicate balance, seamlessly blending past and present…

Lee Jaehyun closed his eyes and carefully simulated the scene in his mind.

When did Minwook first suspect Yeonsoo’s lies? How deep must his anger and disappointment be as he watches her now? And the memories that surface in the cabinet—are they free of distortion? Is Minwook entirely blameless in this relationship…?

The two cameras in the small office, which had just finished capturing Park Younghoon’s performance, rested for a moment.

“Now, Jaehyun, it’s your turn,” Ha Pilsung signaled.

Lee Jaehyun—or rather, Minwook, now fully inhabiting the character—watched as the audition space transformed into the student clubroom of Scene 92 through the camera’s lens. Taking a deep breath, his body trembled with the thrill of performing, a joy he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Wow.”

Jaehyun’s first performance was already on a completely different level in terms of detail compared to Park Younghoon. Even the subtle gaze through the cabinet—debating whether to keep watching or close his eyes and shut out the scene—was layered with internal conflict.

“Haa…”

But it was the second, freestyle performance that left everyone stunned.

While his first take followed Ha Pilsung’s direction, portraying Minwook’s pathetic side with precise detail, his second interpretation added a new layer of depth, fundamentally altering the character.

“You caught all of this in just two days?” Ha Pilsung asked in disbelief after the second take.

“Did I interpret it correctly?” Jaehyun asked with a small smile, prompting Ha Pilsung to laugh heartily.

At first glance, the second performance seemed more subdued, even dry. It wasn’t about the standard outburst of emotion upon discovering Yeonsoo’s lies. Instead, it started with the assumption that Minwook had known about the lies for some time and reflected the quiet, resigned grief of that realization.

“If you’re going to lie, you shouldn’t let yourself get caught.”

This line, delivered in the second performance, carried an entirely different weight. In the first take, it was filled with anger; in the alternative take, it was steeped in sorrow.

Interestingly, this interpretation seemed to align more closely with Ha Pilsung’s vision for the character, judging by the atmosphere in the room.

“I’m curious about that audition you saw, PD,” Ha Pilsung said, turning to Youngkwang with an inquisitive look. “I bet he did just as well with Director Kwak’s script, right?”

Youngkwang shrugged, his expression nonchalant. “He was excellent. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.”

This time, Ha Pilsung addressed Jaehyun directly.

“I actually prefer the alternative. Watching it, I felt like I understood the tone of the scene even better. How did you come up with this interpretation?”

“Minwook didn’t strike me as someone clueless or stupid,” Jaehyun explained with a small laugh. “I thought, maybe he knew the truth but chose to ignore it because he loved Yeonsoo too much. If his reasons for believing such obvious lies were love, obsession, or possessiveness, wouldn’t that add more complexity to his character?”

“So instead of an emotional outburst, I wondered if it would work better to show him sorting through his feelings calmly. I wasn’t sure how far I could take it with your direction, so I asked if I could try an alternative take,” Jaehyun added.

“Ah, so you wanted to show both and let me decide?”

“Yes. It increases my chances of getting the role,” Jaehyun replied with an easy smile.

At that moment, the lead role in the film was essentially Jaehyun’s to lose. The only person left in the dust was Park Younghoon, whose presence had all but vanished.

His performance wasn’t bad. If the supporting roles fit, he might work as another of Yeonsoo’s love interests. He’s got a clean-cut look too, thought Youngkwang, already considering how Park Younghoon might be cast in a different role.

“Let’s review the footage,” Ha Pilsung said, clapping his hands to draw everyone’s attention. While they had all watched the performances live, seeing how they translated on screen was just as important.

Choi Suhyeon and Joo Kanghyuk immediately got up to connect the camera feeds to the monitor.

Wait a second… why is Joo Kanghyuk here volunteering his time when we haven’t even discussed pay?

Joo Kanghyuk, technically still part of Director Kwak Junghoon’s team and a freelancer, had yet to officially sign with My Way Pictures, but he had been showing up as if he were already an employee. He seemed to have entirely abandoned his family’s shellfish restaurant business.

But that’s not the main issue here, Youngkwang reminded himself, refocusing on the audition.

He recalled the moment Jaehyun’s performance ended. Ha Pilsung hadn’t called “cut,” so the camera had kept rolling long after Jaehyun finished speaking. Only after Youngkwang cleared his throat a few times had Ha Pilsung snapped out of his trance and stopped the recording.

How did that moment look on the memory card?

“…Hah.”

What they had seen with their own eyes was impressive, but the footage captured by the camera was even more dramatic.

“Heh heh.”
“Well, this is something…”

After reviewing the recorded performances, Ha Pilsung suddenly stood up and embraced Youngkwang.

“This is amazing! Absolutely amazing! PD Youngkwang! Where did you find such a treasure?!”

“The formal meeting is tomorrow, so let’s take it easy tonight,” Youngkwang said, cautioning everyone multiple times, but the excitement in the room refused to die down.

“There’s nothing more to see. Just as you said, PD, Lee Jaehyun is perfect for the lead. I’m almost wondering if I wrote this script with him in mind. He’s so unique… and ridiculously handsome!”

With his acting, looks, preparation, and even subtle charm, Jaehyun had fully captured Ha Pilsung’s heart. Jaehyun, meanwhile, simply sat quietly, smiling.

The office soon turned into an impromptu drinking party, with even Choi Suhyeon and Joo Kanghyuk casually joining in.

“So in the end, my character is the real winner, right? I’m Yeonsoo’s last boyfriend, after all,” Park Younghoon, who had accepted the supporting role, cheerfully remarked, raising his glass.

Though initially tense, the mood loosened up as the hours passed. With everyone already running on fumes from sleepless nights, three hours in, hands holding glasses began to drop, and one by one, they all fell in drunken glory.

“This feels just like that day.”

Youngkwang chuckled as he recalled his first day at My Way Pictures, when he had walked in to find Lee Deokjae, Choi Suhyeon, and Jang Hyunmin passed out, reeking of alcohol.

Quietly, he got up, closed the office door firmly, and began preparing for the meeting scheduled for the next day.

*****

Actress Kang Jooyeon seemed to have grown even fonder of the script in the few days since she received it.

Friday afternoon, in a quiet corner of Gangnam, Kang Jooyeon met Ha Pilsung and immediately showered praise on the script. She also mentioned that she had watched the audition tape Youngkwang sent her about five times and was impressed with Lee Jaehyun. However…

“Isn’t this combination a little too risky?”

She didn’t hold back where it mattered.

“A director with a background in erotic films, a female lead with scandals and controversies, and a rookie male lead. Do you think anyone’s going to fund this?”

It was a fair question.

“Of course, it’s going to be difficult,” Youngkwang admitted without hesitation.

“Difficult, huh? But what if we can’t secure funding? Will you just wait? One year, two years, three years?”

“No, I can’t afford to wait. I’ll secure funding quickly.”

He meant it. For Youngkwang, who had once enjoyed a lavish lifestyle, living on a basic salary of 800,000 won for the past few months had been nothing short of hell. He needed results—and fast. With results, he could earn incentives, lock in a contract for Director Kwak Junghoon’s next project, and start clawing his way back to stability.

“Do you have a way to secure funding quickly?”

At Kang Jooyeon’s pointed question, Ha Pilsung and Lee Jaehyun perked up, their ears almost visibly twitching as they swallowed nervously.

“Yes,” Youngkwang replied confidently.

“And what is it?”

“I’m thinking of approaching the investor review process differently.”

“Differently how?”

“Instead of relying on a pitch deck or verbal explanations, how about we shoot a few key scenes and show them directly?”

Youngkwang’s proposal made everyone at the table widen their eyes in surprise.

It was an all-or-nothing gamble.

A bold alternative—but with a 99% chance of failure. And this was the solution Youngkwang was proposing.