Glory Film Company

Chapter 27: The Plan (2)

“Ah, Director Bae! How are you?” Youngkwang stood up abruptly and greeted him with exaggerated enthusiasm, as if he hadn’t noticed him earlier.

“Oh, My Way’s Youngkwang PD, right?”
“Yes, sir! Lee Youngkwang. It’s an honor to see you again.”
“Haha, right. Looks like you’re working on a project?”

When Youngkwang swiftly took the plate of snacks and placed it on the table, Bae Youngho awkwardly wiped his hands on his pants and smiled.

“Ah, let me introduce everyone! This is Director Ha Pilsung, actor Lee Jaehyun, and—”
“C’mon, there’s no need to introduce Kang Jooyeon. Everyone knows her.”
“Haha, true enough.”

Turning to his group, Youngkwang said, “Let me formally introduce the owner of ‘Gin Sai,’ our whiskey master distiller, but more importantly, a director in his own right—Director Bae Youngho.”

“Director?”

Lee Jaehyun, the youngest and seemingly unaware of this fact, tilted his head in curiosity, eliciting the exact reaction Youngkwang had anticipated.

“Wow, you don’t know Director Bae Youngho? Unbelievable! My apologies, Director. I should’ve mentioned this sooner!”

“Haha, no need. It’s been ages since I directed.”

“Nonsense! You’ve made some legendary films—The Island, The Clue, Your Afternoon, 12 Years of Autumn. These are masterpieces!”

As Youngkwang rattled off Bae’s filmography, Lee Jaehyun nodded with newfound respect, while Ha Pilsung and Kang Jooyeon offered faint, approving smiles. Bae’s cheeks twitched with joy at the recognition.

“This is no time for pleasantries. Director, if you have time, please join us!”
“Oh, uh…”
“We’re here for a project. The packaging is just wrapped up, and now we’re preparing for funding and the shoot. There are a few tricky parts, and your advice would be invaluable.”

What they truly needed was not advice but investment, though Youngkwang kept his intentions well-concealed behind a bright smile.

“Well, I’ve been out of the game for so long, I’m not sure how much help I can be…”

Despite his words, Bae slid into the empty seat. The sharp-eyed manager quickly brought another glass and ice, setting them in front of him.

Clink.

The glasses clinked together in a toast, and Youngkwang caught Bae sneaking glances at Kang Jooyeon.

Still hung up on her and films, huh? Youngkwang thought with a slight smirk. Even if that weren’t the case, he had other ways to persuade Bae, but this sign made things much easier.

He allowed his thoughts to drift briefly to the past.

The last project Bae had worked on, the film Awakening, had taken three years to prepare. Its female lead had been Kim Minseo—a decent actor, but not the ideal face or vibe Bae had envisioned when writing the script.

Casting is about aligning heart, money, and timing. Kim Minseo had been a compromise, but Bae’s first choice back then had been Kang Jooyeon.

At the time, however, Kang Jooyeon’s selection had seemed nonsensical to both the production company and Youngkwang, who had been the producer.

Back then, we thought it might’ve been personal feelings at play, Youngkwang recalled with a smirk.

“Her acting had been good enough, I guess, but the moment she opened her mouth, all the charm evaporated,” Bae used to lament whenever he saw Jooyeon on TV.

The female lead he envisioned had always been Jooyeon, but back then, she was primarily known as a CF queen with subpar acting skills. Her rare drama appearances were met with fierce criticism, with viewers flooding forums to complain about her lack of range, accusing her of ruining immersion in the narrative.

But over the years, Jooyeon had reemerged as a transformed actor, now untouchable in terms of her craft. Somewhere along the line, Bae had noticed her potential, and it seemed he still carried complex feelings about her.

“So, what’s the project?” Bae asked, taking a sip of whiskey and cautiously posing the question.

“It’s called 300 Days After We Break Up. A romantic comedy with a dash of black comedy,” Youngkwang began, setting the stage.

Kang Jooyeon picked up the thread seamlessly. “The story is told from the male protagonist’s perspective. It follows Minwook, played by Lee Jaehyun, as he navigates the chaotic process of breaking up with the woman he loved, Ha Yeonsoo.”

“How do they fall in love?” Bae asked curiously.

“That’s revealed through Minwook’s flashbacks, but the main focus is the breakup—the stages of letting go.”

This time, Lee Jaehyun jumped in to elaborate.

“The opening scene sets the tone. The guy’s apartment is littered with empty bottles, and he’s passed out like a wreck after being dumped.”

“So, it’s about a guy dealing with a breakup and wallowing in self-pity?” Bae Youngho asked.

“Exactly. He’s full of contradictions and utterly obsessed,” Jaehyun chuckled. “But it wasn’t always like that. He realizes it was a toxic relationship, and he struggles with that awareness. But Ha Yeonsoo is just too captivating. He falls for her like it’s fate, only to realize she didn’t feel the same way. After being dumped, he spirals into obsessive, pitiful behavior.”

“Won’t that make female viewers uncomfortable? If the character isn’t convincing, it might come off badly.”

It seemed Bae was ready to launch into a lecture about the importance of sensitivity in modern cinema, given how much audience expectations had changed since the ’90s and early 2000s.

“Oh, the female lead is even crazier, so it’s fine,” Kang Jooyeon interjected with a laugh.

“She uses her trauma as a weapon, has a revenge complex about her first love, and turns into someone who habitually infuriates her partners. That’s the kind of character she is,” Jooyeon added, clearly enjoying her description.

“Well, it’s certainly different from typical rom-coms. The tone sounds unique…” Bae glanced at Ha Pilsung before turning his gaze back to Youngkwang.

“You’re right. It’s fresh and entertaining, but convincing investors won’t be easy,” Youngkwang admitted candidly.

“Exactly. With all the films delayed during COVID still in the pipeline, plus concerns about changes in theater-going culture, investors aren’t as aggressive as they used to be,” Bae said.

“Culture?” Lee Jaehyun asked, feigning curiosity to keep the conversation flowing.

“OTT platforms have grown immensely. They’re producing exclusive content, some of which have been hugely successful. Many films that initially aimed for theatrical releases pivoted to streaming instead.”

“That’s true,” Jaehyun nodded.

“So how do we bring audiences back to theaters? Do we focus on blockbusters that truly shine on the big screen? Musical films where sound is paramount? Or should we revamp multiplex culture by integrating shopping, dining, and special events more effectively?”

Even while sitting in a whiskey bar, Bae was sharp and well-informed about industry trends. However, he didn’t have answers to the problems he raised.

“But there’s still money in films,” Youngkwang said confidently. “Plenty of investors are eager to back good projects.”

“True. But the bar has gotten much higher,” Bae replied.

“Exactly why we’re taking a different approach,” Youngkwang said, steering the conversation to his plan.

“A different approach?” Bae’s eyes widened with curiosity.

“We plan to meet the investment committee with a 20-minute demo reel,” Youngkwang revealed.

“What?” Bae’s jaw dropped.

“Does My Way Pictures even have the funds for that?” he asked, knowing full well the company’s financial state.

“If we did, we would’ve shot something already,” Youngkwang laughed. “We’re looking for an initial investor—someone willing to put in about 10 billion won.”

“Ha.”

“They would later become a co-investor alongside others who join later. But since they’d be stepping in early, they’d have closer oversight of the project and more favorable profit-sharing terms if the film succeeds.”

Youngkwang casually listed the benefits, throwing them out like bait.

“This film isn’t easy to grasp at first glance. Before we can persuade anyone, we need to show them something concrete. That’s why we concluded that making a demo reel was the best option. And to show our commitment, everyone involved—My Way Pictures, the director, lead actors, and cinematographers—has agreed to receive only 50% of their guaranteed pay until the film surpasses 1.2 million viewers.”

“1.2 million? For what looks like a low-budget film?” Bae asked skeptically.

“If COVID hadn’t disrupted the industry, we’d be aiming for 2 million. Otherwise, why would our cast, crew, and production company agree to such unfavorable terms?”

“So, you only get your full pay after reaching 1.2 million viewers?”

Bae muttered, shaking his head. He then looked around the table. “Is this for real?”

Ha Pilsung, Kang Jooyeon, and Lee Jaehyun all nodded.

“Ha. The more I hear about this, the more curious I get. It must be quite something for all of you to be this committed. Can I read the script?” Bae asked, openly expressing his growing interest.

“Ah, I left it at the office today,” Ha Pilsung replied smoothly. “But next time, I’ll make sure you get a look.”

Ha Pilsung wasn’t going to make things easy.

He had already picked up on the possibility that Bae Youngho might be one of the investors Youngkwang was targeting. Instead of falling for the bait immediately, Ha decided to play his own game of push and pull.

“Honestly, I must be a lucky actor,” Kang Jooyeon said, changing the subject with a subtle smile. “This will be my third ‘role of a lifetime.’”

“Third?” Bae perked up, betraying a hint of fan admiration. “The Mother’s Bag was your first big breakthrough, and you followed it up with several hits. How is it only three?”

Jooyeon chuckled at his earnestness. “The Mother’s Bag was definitely a turning point, and Ahyoung was my first ‘role of a lifetime.’ But the projects that followed… while I was deeply engrossed in them at the time, they lost their shine after a few years. They felt faded.”

“So, what was your second ‘role of a lifetime’?” Bae asked, leaning in with curiosity.

“During a bit of a personal crisis, I took on a small indie film. It’s still in post-production, I think,” Jooyeon said.

“An indie film?”

“You did an indie?”

Her revelation surprised everyone at the table, even Youngkwang, who had no idea about her recent work.

“Oddly enough, being on a low-budget set helped me break out of my slump. There’s so much to learn in a tough environment, and watching other actors perform made me think, ‘Oh, that’s another way to approach this.’ It felt like going back to my roots. Even though my role was small, it shifted my perspective, so it became a ‘role of a lifetime’ for me.”

“That makes sense. So, is the third one this project?”

Bae asked with a smile, and Jooyeon gave a slight nod before taking a sip of her whiskey.

“Well, Director, if you happen to know any potential investors, we’d appreciate an introduction,” Youngkwang said with a laugh, refilling everyone’s glasses.

The conversation about work ended there.

While Bae seemed intrigued by the project, his furrowed brows betrayed that he was mentally calculating the risks and rewards.

Youngkwang, keeping pace with the flow of the evening, subtly gestured to the group that it was time to wrap up.

“Let’s meet again soon,” Youngkwang said.
“Absolutely. Thank you so much for tonight,” Ha Pilsung added, shaking Bae’s hand firmly.

A few steps away, Jooyeon bowed gracefully, and Youngkwang reached out to shake Bae’s hand as well.

Just as they were leaving, Youngkwang noticed Lee Jaehyun hesitating by the sofa. The young actor was discreetly sliding a copy of the script under the seat, pretending it was an accident.

What a clever move.

Youngkwang had planned to give the script to Bae later, but Jaehyun had preemptively dropped it as bait, feigning carelessness.

****

The phone call came the next day.

Actually, it wasn’t Bae who called first, but Lee Deokjae.

-“What happened yesterday?”
“What do you mean? We had our first meeting with the cast and director.”
-“Ah, you were at Hapjeong? Bae Director asked for your number out of the blue.”
“Bae Director? What for?”
-“No idea. He’ll call, I’m sure. Talk to him.”

It seemed Bae had taken his time before calling. When he finally did, he suggested a private meeting.

That evening, Youngkwang met Bae at a small izakaya in Yeonnam-dong. As soon as he saw the well-worn script in Bae’s hand, Youngkwang took a deep breath.

We’re almost there.

The script was noticeably more tattered than the day before, evidence that Bae had spent the night poring over it.

“This script… what if I invested?” Bae asked, diving straight to the point, true to his personality.

“Given the conditions you mentioned yesterday, I’m intrigued.”

It seemed like all that was left was to finalize the amount. But then…

“I think I could manage about 500 million won,” Bae said, offering a deal that fell frustratingly short of expectations.

Did he already forget that I mentioned 1 billion as the baseline? Youngkwang wondered, keeping his irritation masked.

He responded with a polite, mildly troubled smile. “That’s a generous offer, Director, and I’m deeply grateful. But we’re looking for an investor willing to put in 1.5 billion.”