Chapter 1036: I knew it (5)

In Hollywood, there were entities commonly known as the Big Six studios.

Corporate giants that had dominated the global film industry for over half a century, dating back to the birth of cinema itself in the twentieth century.

To describe the position they held within the industry—

—Our word is law.

The kind of power that could fire a director overnight if they didn't like him.

The kind of power that could erase an actor from the industry overnight for making an anti-Semitic remark.

People often imagined that the American entertainment industry operated more rationally than Korea's, but the excesses of the major Hollywood studios were so severe that Korean film companies would look at them and think:

Good heavens... I still have so much to learn.

Yet despite everything, they continued to reign supreme for one simple reason.

They controlled distribution.

Put simply, if one of these studios blacklisted you, your film wasn't getting into theaters.

And since they were remarkably good at closing ranks among themselves, getting blacklisted by one could effectively end your career in the film industry forever.

"Things are better these days because NetPlus exists. Back in the old days, it was apparently insane."

"I see..."

Ri Hyuk adjusted his glasses and aggressively highlighted passages in a book titled The Birth of Hollywood.

"Some of the things that actually happened were..."

Stories poured from his mouth that sounded more like urban legends than reality.

—All Black people look alike anyway, so nobody will care if we replace him with a different Black actor in the sequel. Hehe!

—Oh, the director's wife died in an accident? Well, if filming doesn't continue immediately, that's a breach of contract.

—What?! The female lead is becoming more popular than the protagonist? Get rid of her immediately... Hmm? The contract prevents us from removing the actress? Then let's just ruin her character instead!

While Jiho chimed in with, "Oh, I know what movie that's from," and explained each story's background, I quietly listened to the tales of Hollywood studio atrocities before finally turning to Ri Hyuk.

"Ri Hyuk."

"Yes?"

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because if you prepare for the worst-case scenario, you'll feel better. Now you'll be able to survive whatever crisis comes your way. No matter what they're coming here to say, it can't be worse than this, right?"

"..."

Ri Hyuk flashed a bright smile.

"You're welcome."

"..."

"So? Feeling less worried?"

It had not helped in the slightest.

Thanks to Ri Hyuk, I slept even worse.

"Tsk..."

"Why do you look like a zombie?"

"It's Ri Hyuk's fault."

"...?"

Pouting, I climbed into the car.

The meeting with representatives from Silver Screen Pictures—the distributor and investor behind Sound of Sun—was scheduled at a galbi restaurant in Gangnam.

As the car headed toward our destination, I pulled out my phone and searched.

—Silver Screen Pictures

One of Hollywood's Big Six studios.

World Art Studios—the same studio that had once suggested turning Sun Myungju into a Chinese character—occupied the prestigious number-one spot.

Silver Screen sat somewhere around fourth.

Given its long history, a remarkable number of famous franchises belonged to it.

The industry's assessment of the company was simple:

—Minimal interference in filmmaking. Problematic upper management.

They generally gave producers and directors full creative control.

That was where the compliments ended.

Apparently the company was infamous for internal factional conflicts and baffling executive decisions that left everyone asking, Why on earth would they do that?

Regardless of industry opinions, they were still our precious investor—the studio that had generously contributed fifty billion won.

When other studios had said "No," they had stepped forward without attaching any significant conditions.

"But why are they flying all the way to Korea just to talk? Any guesses?"

"Not really."

The Math Ghost shook his head.

"I don't think it's something huge. More like the kind of thing where they think, This is a little awkward, so we'd better explain it in person."

"Hmm."

"It's probably nothing serious. My guess is they want to build a relationship with you."

"Why?"

"Because there aren't many stars as hot as NewBlack anywhere in Asia. Outside the United States, China, Japan, and Korea are among the biggest film markets in the world. China might be blocked off right now, but your popularity and influence aren't something anyone can ignore."

And when countries like the Philippines, Thailand, and Indonesia were added to the equation, the impact became enormous.

Seokhwan Hyung chuckled.

"They don't want to get on your bad side. The fact that they're coming all the way to Korea instead of sending an email says a lot."

"Maybe."

"It's probably nothing major. Probably."

As we talked, the restaurant came into view.

Four of us attended the meal.

Me.

Seokhwan Hyung.

Director Jo Gyuhwan.

And Director Kim Bora.

The moment we entered, the restaurant owner practically sprinted over in greeting.

"Mr. Wooju! You're back! Where are your younger brothers today?"

"We've got a meeting. Would it be possible to order takeout later?"

"Of course!"

We entered a private room where the side dishes had already been prepared and took our seats.

While Seokhwan Hyung arranged the wine he'd brought specifically for our foreign guests, I turned to Director Jo.

"Director, have you heard anything about today's agenda?"

"No."

The handsome man, who somehow resembled a Tibetan fox, stroked his chin.

"But given the circumstances, it'll probably be something related to promotion."

"Promotion?"

"If there had been issues with production, they would've contacted us by email. The fact that they're coming in person suggests some sort of contractual issue."

He explained his reasoning.

"When we signed the investment agreement with Frank Chow, there were a number of promises related to marketing. Nothing legally binding, but there were verbal commitments regarding how much promotional support they'd provide."

"Ah..."

"My guess is something changed on that front."

The theory sounded plausible enough that I nodded.

Maybe Director Kim knows something...?

At my glance, Director Kim Bora shook her head.

"This is my first commercial feature film."

"Ah..."

Apparently her experience with this sort of thing was limited.

Up until now, she'd worked primarily in independent cinema.

While we waited—

The door slid open.

The guests arrived.

Representatives from Silver Screen Pictures, whom our staff had picked up directly from the airport.

"Ha ha! NewBlack! Incredible!"

A large white man with an impressive amount of jaw fat greeted me enthusiastically.

His smile instantly put people at ease.

As I offered my hand, I asked:

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr...?"

"Goodman. Dwight Goodman. It's a pleasure! My daughter is a Souffle!"

His grip was so strong I felt my entire body shaking during the handshake.

After greeting me warmly, Dwight Goodman turned toward the others.

"Ah, our genius director! We thoroughly enjoyed the cut you sent us. Expectations are extremely high."

"Thank you."

Director Kim Bora visibly relaxed.

She had probably been worried they might try to hack apart her edit.

As we finished exchanging greetings, another man stepped out from behind Goodman's enormous frame.

"My name is Robert Hwang. I came with Mr. Goodman."

"Nice to meet you."

A Korean American.

The oddly mismatched duo took their seats, and the meal officially began.

While the owner personally grilled meat for us, we chatted casually.

"Would it be possible to take a photo? I'd love to brag to my daughter."

"Of course."

After taking a picture with Goodman, both of us smiling brightly, dinner continued.

Wine was poured.

I quietly raised my glass of zero cola and joined the toast.

On the surface, the atmosphere was exceptionally friendly.

Everyone laughed at every joke.

Yet beneath the surface, both sides were constantly sizing each other up.

Eventually the meal wound down.

As Goodman dabbed sweat from his face, he sighed happily.

"That was extraordinary barbecue. Gal-bi, was it? The moment I get back to Los Angeles, I'm finding a Korean restaurant."

Robert Hwang nodded while wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"I enjoyed it as well."

"Tell me, Rob. Do Koreans really eat food this good every day?"

"I was born in America..."

Goodman slapped him repeatedly on the back and laughed.

Robert didn't seem particularly thrilled, but he merely smiled politely.

After Goodman finished a lengthy speech about how delicious the food had been, a brief silence settled over the room.

"..."

"..."

Our eyes met.

"I've been wondering when to bring this up. I suppose now is as good a time as any."

"Please."

Goodman scratched his cheek.

"As you know, when we first signed the investment agreement, we made several commitments regarding promotion."

"Yes."

"We will no longer be able to provide that promotional budget."

"I see."

Everyone nodded calmly.

A reduction in marketing funds wasn't exactly shocking.

These things happened.

Director Jo asked:

"How significant is the reduction?"

"Five percent."

"Oh, so you're reducing it by five percent."

"No, no."

Goodman pulled out a pen and wrote 5% on a napkin.

"We'll be spending five percent of the originally allocated budget."

"...?"

If they'd originally promised two billion won for marketing, they were now offering roughly one hundred million.

Director Jo's expression stiffened.

"If you're only spending five percent, that's practically the same as not promoting the film at all. You'll upload a trailer to MyTube and call it a day."

"I know. It's a bit shocking."

Goodman raised both hands.

Then he placed one over his chest.

"Believe me, I'm not happy about delivering this news either. Do you think this is comfortable for me? I'm simply a messenger carrying out the wishes of upper management."

In other words:

Don't blame me.

He continued.

"As you know, there are reasons for this."

"What reasons?"

"Well, our company's situation hasn't been ideal lately. To explain properly, I need to start with Luna Comics..."

And so the story began.

It started with Luna Comics, one of the world's three largest superhero franchises.

Watching rival studio World Art dominate the global box office with Wonder Comics, Silver Screen acquired a comic book company of its own and attempted to build a cinematic universe.

—Just wait, Wonder Comics! We'll catch up soon!

Instead, they focused so heavily on expanding the universe that they neglected storytelling.

The result was failure.

Then more failures.

Finally, Silver Screen unveiled its trump card.

—We're rebooting everything!

The entire franchise would be reset and started over from scratch.

They assembled a dream team of famous directors and stars.

The production budget alone—

"Approximately two hundred fifty million dollars."

Goodman's expression darkened.

"And another one hundred fifty million in marketing. That's what a blockbuster requires."

"..."

Now I understood why Director Jo had been horrified by the announcement.

Marketing budgets were much larger than I'd realized.

Granted, this had been a studio-defining project, but still.

I hadn't known promotion accounted for such a huge portion of the budget.

In any case, the four-hundred-million-dollar-plus project Phoenix: A New Beginning had—

"Failed spectacularly."

"..."

"It needed roughly eight hundred million dollars worldwide just to break even. I'll spare you the details."

I could imagine how badly it had gone.

Even when I was busy, I usually heard about major superhero films.

I'd never even heard of this one.

Goodman shrugged.

"Let's leave the depressing stories there. You don't need to know all that. The point is that after Phoenix failed, the marketing budgets for upcoming films were cut."

Apparently upper management had reacted to the disaster with a simple order:

Cut the marketing budget.

Up to that point, the explanation was understandable.

If not for one detail.

The fact that they'd reduced ours to five percent.

"I have a question."

I looked at the smiling American.

"Are the other films receiving only five percent as well?"

"..."

I already knew the answer.

Goodman wiped sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.

"I can't deny that priorities existed. Some projects received thirty percent. Others received seventy."

"So ours got ninety-five percent cut."

He interlocked his fingers.

"Listen."

His tone became objective.

"I understand this may feel unpleasant, Mr. Wooju, but this isn't discrimination. It's simply a rational business decision."

"The film's quality is excellent. I acknowledge that. But quality doesn't determine box office success."

"I know."

"From an objective perspective, this film's commercial prospects are not particularly strong."

I listened quietly.

"Of course it will do reasonably well in Korea and Japan. Sun Myungju's reputation is enormous. But let's broaden our scope."

He spread his arms.

"Audiences in Europe and North America are extraordinarily narrow-minded. They simply won't spend money on a film with an Asian lead. At best, your most devoted fans will show up."

"..."

"And China isn't an option. From what I've seen recently, Chinese theaters have no intention of screening films featuring Korean actors."

His attitude suggested the conclusion was obvious.

Korea and Japan would watch regardless.

China—the world's second-largest market—was closed.

And Europe and North America wouldn't care even if money was spent promoting the film.

"Marketing only makes sense when marketing creates value. And frankly, I don't see anything about Sound of Sun that justifies major promotional spending."

I could practically hear the studio's calculations.

—Koreans will watch it anyway because it's a Sun Myungju movie.

—Ten million admissions in Korea alone means roughly one hundred million dollars.

—Japan will generate plenty of revenue too.

—So why spend more money?

The logic was simple.

Leave it alone.

The film would make money regardless.

Director Kim Bora bit her lip.

Director Jo and Seokhwan Hyung let out bitter laughs.

Director Jo spoke.

"The terms seem quite different from what was originally discussed."

"The circumstances changed."

"Why was our film singled out for such a severe reduction?"

Goodman nodded.

"Because your situation differs from the others."

"How so?"

"The films receiving smaller cuts all have one thing in common. Star actors. Star directors."

"..."

"Who does Sound of Sun have? There's simply no obvious hook worth spending marketing dollars on."

The remark was aimed directly at Director Kim Bora and the Korean cast.

Director Kim responded calmly.

"Perhaps we don't have stars. But we do have star crew members. Director Han Giyoung won Best Cinematography. We have Golden Globe-winning screenwriters—"

"Do audiences know who they are?"

"..."

"I'm not diminishing their contributions. Crew members matter. But stars are what sell tickets."

Then Goodman smiled and looked at me.

"Although in your case, we do have one superstar sitting right here. Even with a reduced marketing budget, there's still Souffle, isn't there? One social media post from you and your loyal fans will flood social media around the world."

Everyone looked horrified.

I answered quietly.

"Mr. Goodman."

"Yes?"

"My fans aren't volunteers."

The moment I pointed that out, he burst into laughter.

"Just joking."

Then he smoothly changed the subject.

"Instead, we'll offer a few conveniences! There has to be give and take."

The additional conditions weren't particularly remarkable.

More creative freedom.

More autonomy.

Do whatever you want with the marketing.

The rest of us could only grimace.

Even I didn't know much about filmmaking, but I knew this budget wouldn't accomplish anything.

The Americans had calculated everything perfectly.

A Korean premiere event.

A Japanese premiere event.

A trailer upload on MyTube.

And the money would be gone.

Seokhwan Hyung asked:

"Is there any chance this situation changes?"

"Hmm... perhaps if Sound of Sun demonstrated stronger commercial potential."

At that, we all nodded quietly.

There was no point arguing.

This wasn't a negotiation.

The decision had already been made.

The man was merely delivering the message.

So instead, we focused on securing whatever concessions we could.

After negotiating several terms—

"I'd love to stay for dessert, but I don't think the atmosphere is quite right for that. We'll be going now."

Dwight Goodman patted his belly and stood.

Everyone escorted him out with polite smiles.

Then I exchanged farewells with Robert Hwang as well.

The Korean American employee who had spent the entire meeting silently nodding.

"I... enjoyed... the meal."

His Korean was clumsy.

But as he alternated glances between us and his departing superior, it looked as though he wanted to say much more.

Then he quietly handed over a business card.

[Robert Hwang | Accounting]

"Accounting...?"

"Correct."

Accounting.

Which meant he'd likely been dragged into this meeting despite having absolutely nothing to do with it.

Probably because someone thought:

They're Koreans. Bring a Korean American along and they'll complain less.

The sort of thinking executives used when they made mistakes and then hid behind innocent subordinates.

Then, in hesitant Korean, Robert Hwang said:

"I'm rooting for this movie."

He bowed his head and left.

After he was gone, all of us stared at the business card for a long moment.

Unsure how to feel.

The waiting room was left with only the Koreans.

Yoon Seokhwan let out a hollow laugh.

Nearby, Director Kim Bora tossed back her wine like soju and muttered:

"Those bastards..."

Everyone felt the same suffocating frustration.

How are we supposed to market a movie with this?

Nobody had expected global box-office domination.

But there was a massive difference between some promotion and no promotion.

—Marketing is hard, right? But NewBlack is famous, so you'll figure something out!

The Hollywood executive had essentially left behind those encouraging words and walked away.

Everyone shook their heads.

Seokhwan said:

"My head hurts, Director."

"We'll find a way. We always do."

"..."

At that moment, the restaurant door slid open.

The owner poked his head inside.

"Would you like some sujeonggwa?"

"Yes. Thank you."

As they accepted the cinnamon punch, they finally realized that one person had remained silent the entire time.

Wooju.

Sitting alone, deep in thought.

But—

...He's smiling.

It was an expression Seokhwan knew well.

Sun Wooju wasn't someone whose emotions fluctuated easily.

But when he was genuinely angry—

This was the face he made.

"This is good."

"Hm?"

"I said this is good."

"What?"

"They said it themselves. Dad's movie supposedly doesn't have much commercial potential. So they're giving us complete freedom over production and promotion."

"They did say that..."

They had promised autonomy.

The leader of NewBlack smiled mischievously.

"Then we'll do exactly what they promised."

He calmly took a sip of sujeonggwa and set the cup down.

His eyes gleamed.

"I have a very good plan."