Chapter 811: Sundance, and the Sun (7)

There’s a saying that once you leave home, hardship follows.

I’d heard that when Koreans live overseas, they experience all sorts of stress. After all, they have to live as minorities in that society.

Racial discrimination.

Language barriers.

Of course, I didn’t know what life was like for Korean Americans who had been born and raised in the United States from the start...

“They’re going to change Seon Myungju’s race...?”

Watching Director Kim Bora’s eyes burn, it seemed she hadn’t had an easy time of it.

There was a lot accumulated in those blazing pupils.

“No.”

She let out a hollow laugh.

“There are things you can change and things you can’t. Changing a real person?”

“They said it’s a trend.”

“Breaking barriers of gender and race is a trend these days? {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} That’s true. And I agree with that to some extent. But the direction they proposed is wrong. And discriminatory.”

Still fuming, she drained her lemonade in one long pull and fanned herself with her hand.

Then she gave a bitter smile.

“When you think about it, it’s not surprising. That’s the Hollywood I’ve known.”

“When you’re in this industry, you get used to it.”

Director Yoo Geon sipped his lemonade and nodded.

“You wouldn’t believe the kinds of things that happen. Even scandals that were buried for decades in this industry are only coming out now.”

Not knowing much about the American film industry, we listened quietly.

Perhaps her temperature had spiked; she took off her coat and rolled up the sleeves of her sweater.

“Ah. I’m so pissed.”

“Should we order you another drink?”

“That would be great.”

We ordered another lemonade—their house specialty—and I asked,

“Sounds like you’ve had a lot building up.”

“A lot? It’s not just a lot. It’s at the point of explosion.”

She crunched ice like an angry hamster chewing sunflower seeds.

I couldn’t help laughing.

“When I was young, I dreamed of becoming an actress, you know? Honestly, I’m pretty, right? That’s an objective fact. Wooju, you’re fully aware you’re handsome too, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I am.”

“Right! There’s no way you wouldn’t know.”

Director Yoo Geon and Seokhwan hyung looked at us with flat expressions.

She took another gulp of lemonade.

“So I went to auditions constantly from a young age. Even after I became a college student. I spent almost ten years going to auditions in Hollywood...”

She asked,

“What do you think? Do you think I got cast a lot?”

“Yes. If I were a director, I’d cast you.”

Her features were sculpted and camera-friendly. I knew that because she had played the lead in her own debut film.

“Not once.”

“...?”

“Not once. Weird, right? But it’s true. No matter how much I prepared, they wouldn’t cast me. I got picked for small, minor projects, but never for major ones.”

When I wondered why, she answered.

“They said I looked too Western for an Asian.”

“......”

“I didn’t fit the image they wanted. Hollywood has a very specific idea of what an Asian face should look like.”

Then she delivered a line that stuck.

“It’s not that there aren’t handsome or beautiful Asian actors. It’s just that those bastards only put forward the stereotypes they’ve decided on.”

“I see.”

“That’s why Seon Myungju is everyone’s icon.”

The conversation circled back to my father.

“Music has an even stronger glass ceiling than film.”

“Really?”

“If I ask you to name Asian actors active in Hollywood, you can, right?”

“Yes.”

I knew a few. Whenever a Korean American appeared in an American series or film, domestic media would excitedly report it.

“Then what about singers?”

“....”

“Do you know any Asian singers in the mainstream? Not just musicians in general, but ones the TV networks actively promote. Like Hailey Blue.”

“...No?”

I knew many Asian musicians active in America. I could name twenty on the spot.

But mainstream pop stars?

Not one.

Now that I thought about it, it was strange.

“Really not one.”

“Right? Isn’t that weird? You can’t tell a singer’s race just by listening to their voice. So the distribution should be diverse. But there isn’t a single Asian pop star.”

“That’s true.”

“They just don’t let them in.”

In mainstream American pop, you regularly saw White, Black, and Hispanic artists.

But Asian artists?

I couldn’t recall seeing one on stage at Billboard, VMA, or AMA ceremonies.

“In that industry, Seon Myungju was active in the mainstream. He should be treated as a legend in popular music and jazz. A GOAT. A GOAT.”

“A goat?”

“Greatest of All Time.”

After saying that, she exhaled and drank her lemonade.

Had she cooled down a bit?

Her torrent of words carried such pent-up resentment that I felt it too.

It felt like she had hundreds of stories she couldn’t possibly unpack in one sitting.

“You must have had it tough.”

Seokhwan hyung said with a smile.

“But doesn’t this help you understand?”

“Understand what?”

“Why we’re offering you the director position. You must realize by now.”

I smiled and nodded beside him.

—You know what’ll happen if we hand this over to those Americans, right?

She nodded firmly.

“At first, I thought I couldn’t do it because of the pressure... but I’ve changed my mind. I have to make this.”

“A wise decision.”

“Whew... That was close.”

As she swept back her long hair, I said,

“We’re not asking you just because you have ties to Korea. I genuinely believe you’ll do a great job.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Affection matters.”

No matter how much know-how or capital a major Hollywood studio had, affection mattered more.

“When I work with photographers, I sometimes hear this. No matter how skilled a photographer is, when it comes to baby photos, they can’t beat the parents.”

It meant that when you look at someone with love and attentiveness, you capture something no one else can.

“But every studio we met gave us irrelevant answers. When we asked what their favorite recent song from my father’s performance was, they couldn’t answer. One even mentioned Answer—the song I composed.”

“Oh my.”

“So... I believe a director who truly knows my father will be able to portray him properly.”

Director Yoo Geon agreed.

“Affection is everything. That’s why directors like working with actors they love. When there’s affection for the subject, even the camera angle changes.”

Director Kim Bora nodded.

Then she fell into thought.

“Director?”

“One moment.”

After pondering for a while, she finally spoke.

With a smile.

“For now, I’d like to consider the director proposal positively.”

“Thank you.”

“But I have one condition.”

She looked at me.

“I want Wooju to be involved in production. Especially for the music work.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You just said it yourself. It has to be filled with affection. Who loves your father’s music the most?”

That was why she wanted me involved in music and production.

I had planned to participate anyway, even if she hadn’t said so.

As I was about to say that, Director Yoo Geon chuckled.

Director Kim tilted her head.

“What is it, Gun?”

“You really don’t know anything, Bora.”

“Huh?”

“Wooju’s going to be involved in production anyway. He owns the production company.”

“...?”

She stared at me in shock.

I waved my hand.

“I just hold a small share in the parent company.”

“A small share?”

At something Director Yoo Geon whispered, she gasped and covered her mouth.

Very American, the size of her gestures.

Her eyes wide, she asked,

“Why are you a singer?”

“Because I like it.”

“Ah. That makes sense....”

We all burst into laughter.

In any case.

In a cheerful atmosphere, we wrapped up a verbal agreement about the director position and moved somewhere else.

Even though there weren’t many Koreans around, we were cautious about eavesdroppers.

“Cheers!”

“Cheers!”

We ended up at a small pub in Park City.

“What do you call this in Korea again?”

“Day drinking.”

“I love day drinking.”

With Director Yoo Geon advising and Director Kim Bora taking the lead, we went into more detailed discussion.

Though the budget hadn’t been secured yet, we could outline the basics.

As a major shareholder, I had full authority delegated on this matter.

“For now, we can structure the shooting schedule and actor auditions like this.”

“The shooting period is short.”

“Editing takes time. In America, filming periods are short.”

In Korea, shoots tended to run long. Hollywood’s workflow seemed different.

Director Yoo Geon whispered,

“American labor costs are insanely expensive.”

“....”

“Every extra shooting day is money. If you ran crews like in Korea, the production company would get shredded.”

“That’s funny and sad at the same time.”

When the topic turned to the wages of cinematographers and crew—

I said,

“First, we’ll need to secure staff to support the director.”

“Exactly.”

Director Kim nodded.

“That’s the biggest issue. The major Hollywood studios were irritating, but they weren’t entirely wrong. It’s a film about a Korean protagonist active in America—not even Korean American.”

It was bitter but true.

From Hollywood’s perspective, it wasn’t an obviously attractive project.

That part worried me.

Even if film was a director’s domain, it wasn’t made alone.

Blockbusters always had the best professionals in the industry as staff.

We’d need strong talent.

While I was thinking that, she smiled.

“But don’t worry.”

“Why?”

“There’s a way to secure top-tier talent. At first, I was worried about how to find people. But now I know exactly how to bring them in.”

She winked at me.

“You just showed me the way.”

“Me?”

A massive Hollywood soundstage filled with green screens.

Inside a studio built to resemble a suburban home, shouting erupted.

“What the hell!”

An elderly director began swearing.

“Which bastard painted the door like that? Show yourself! Set team! Where’s the set team?”

The legendary Hollywood director, Robert McGinnis, veins bulging, was furious.

A master director whose films dominated global box offices.

He could shout and swear on set—but when he did, there was always a reason.

“Why is he so angry?”

An assistant camera director asked.

Han Giyeong answered in English.

“The set team painted the door red.”

“So?”

“Look at the scene. The bank robbers are about to start shooting at each other.”

“Right.”

“If the door and interior props are red, will you even see the blood splatter?”

“Oh...”

In the script, it read: “Blood splatters on the door.”

Painting it red was indeed worthy of being yelled at.

“Thirty-minute break!”

Filming was delayed as McGinnis tore into the prop team.

Han Giyeong, the cinematographer of West Hollywood—one of the most anticipated films of the year—stepped outside the studio.

“Whew...”

Stretching in the fresh air, he smiled faintly.

‘It took a long time.’

From entering the industry to becoming the cinematographer for a Hollywood legend.

He was arguably the most successful Korean American in the film industry.

Clean visuals. Exceptional skill.

Praised relentlessly by top directors.

Proposals kept coming.

‘West Hollywood is wrapping soon... how should I schedule the rest of the year?’

As he weighed attractive offers—

Bzzzz.

His phone vibrated.

Korean flowed from his mouth, a language he rarely used on set these days.

“Hello.”

—Giyeong oppa! How have you been?

It was Kim Bora, active in indie films.

They had met at a networking party for Korean American filmmakers.

“What’s up? Aren’t you at Sundance?”

—Yeah, I’m at Sundance.

“Submitted something?”

—No, just attending as a guest... I heard you’re filming with McGinnis. Congratulations, even if it’s late.

After some small talk—

—If you’re not too busy, I have a proposal.

“Proposal?”

—I’m doing a commercial film this time.

“Congratulations. What’s the budget?”

—About forty to fifty million dollars.

“That’s pretty small.”

Blockbusters easily exceeded one hundred million.

“Music or musical film?”

—Yes!

“Popular these days.”

—It’s Seon Myungju’s biopic.

“Oh? Really?”

It sounded interesting—for a moment.

—I’d like to offer you the cinematographer position.

“Me?”

—Of course we’ll match your fee. But Han Giyeong can’t be hired on fee alone.

True.

He chose projects he wanted.

Still—

‘Hard to see it succeeding.’

Seon Myungju’s film wasn’t an obvious career move.

‘Too niche.’

“Schedule isn’t impossible, but I have a lot of offers. I’d need to think about it.”

He asked,

“Who’s producing?”

—Studio Lemon, probably.

“Never heard of it.”

—It’s a Korean company.

Even less appealing.

—It’s owned by NewBlack’s Wooju.

“NewBlack?”

—Yeah. The proposal came from Wooju.

NewBlack.

He leaned forward slightly.

As he casually asked for a signed album for his kids and chatted about what Wooju was like in person—

She added,

—Honestly, I’m scared too. Jumping from indie to commercial film is...

“You’ll do great.”

—You think so?

“If anything, you’re late. You should’ve moved earlier.”

She had the talent.

“So why the change of heart?”

—If I don’t do it, someone else will ruin it.

“Ruin it?”

—Wooju told me. A major Hollywood studio suggested making Seon Myungju’s film...

His ears caught it.

—They said they’d cast a Black actor as Seon Myungju.

“...Sibal.”

—What?

“What did they say?”

His summer schedule, previously undecided, filled instantly.

Out of a population of three hundred million Americans, roughly 1.5 million were Korean American.

A small fraction.

Yet they were active across society.

Hollywood was no exception.

Few celebrities, perhaps.

But behind the screen—writers, sound engineers, VFX specialists, editors—

There were many.

And among them were top-tier professionals.

And now—

“What?”

The best of them were reacting the same way.

“Sibal...”

“Say that again. What... what are they doing?”

“They’ve finally decided to mess with my identity too? Those crazy bastards.”

Blood pressure rising at the idea of altering Seon Myungju’s casting.

After hanging up their phones amid curses in both English and Korean, they all took deep breaths.

A sense of urgency washed over them.

‘If I don’t do this, someone else will screw it up.’

Around a promising director, a dream team began to gather.

Unintentionally...

The absurd remark made by World Art Studio at the negotiation table was summoning Hollywood’s best crew members.