Baek Janghoon.
A giant in the Korean film industry, the person who brought blossoms to the barren land of Korea’s film industry.
Baek Janghoon’s stature in Chungmuro is as grand as the majestic heights of the Taebaek Mountains and is beyond words.
He was evaluated as a person whose life itself was a movie. No wonder he was called the living legend of the film industry.
The cityscape is like a dense jungle filled with lush greenery. Instead of ancient trees, there are numerous gray buildings rising abruptly, and instead of wild animals, cars flood the streets.
In this urban jungle, where losing one’s way is almost certain if distracted, there stands a peculiar building.
“It always makes me nervous coming here.”
The exterior walls, finished with glass, reflect the sunlight, making the building shine like a crystal, creating an illusion of being in a famous foreign city.
This is the holy land and the dream utopia where every filmmaker in Chungmuro wants to step at least once. It is the headquarters of Baek Janghoon Productions.
“How can I help you?”
An employee at the desk rises from their seat upon seeing a young man walk in.
“I came to see Director Baek Janghoon.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, I came unexpectedly, so I couldn’t contact him beforehand. If you tell him Youngguk is here, he will know.”
“Excuse me?”
Even after becoming known as the ten-million cameo, he used to freely come and go from this building as if it were his own home. Despite that, an inexplicable tension envelops him whenever he steps into the headquarters of Baek Janghoon Productions.
He remembered how much effort he had put in to step into this place even once. Eventually, the doubtful employee picks up the phone and widens her eyes.
“You can go up now.”
“Yes, thank you.”
The female employee continues to gaze at his receding figure with curiosity, but recognizing his face is difficult because of the deeply pressed hat.
The representative’s office clearly reflects the character of his grandfather.
The furniture, worn with use, clearly shows the passage of time, and the gramophone and old LP records make one feel as if they’ve stepped into Nakwon Arcade.
The posters of representative works attached to the walls are the only indicators that this is a production company.
“Grandfather.”
“Would you like some beverage, or some warm green tea? No, I have some Pu’er tea from China that I’ll serve. Its aroma is superb.”
“Aren’t you curious why I came suddenly?”
Grandfather speaks as he pours tea into a cup.
“You brat, you used to come to work with me almost every day when you were young. Of course, I’m curious. You didn’t say anything during breakfast. Now, drink it before it gets cold.”
“I acquired a script.”
“A script?”
Grandfather’s eyes show curiosity. It’s understandable since there are already countless screenplays just within the production company.
Of course, not all of them get adapted into films. Only the selected few among the numerous screenplays get produced.
“It’s a complete script without any synopsis or treatment. The writer submitted it multiple times to various film companies, but it got rejected numerous times.”
“Is the writer unknown?”
It’s undeniable. Most film companies do not accept complete scripts. They don’t have the time or manpower to read through the numerous scripts from various writers.
Therefore, they only sample the works through brief synopses and treatments.
Especially if the writer is unknown. No production company in Korea is willing to read a complete script from an unknown writer.
In short, Go Gwangtae approached it the wrong way.
Grandfather placed his teacup down with a sound and added.
“But you seem interested?”
“Very much.”
“If you, Youngguk, are saying that, it means the script is immersive as a screenplay. Are you telling me this because you want me to review the script again?”
“You’re half right.”
“Half right?”
“I’m curious if this script is worth you personally taking the megaphone, Grandfather.”
As one ages, concentration tends to decline. Time has passed as much as the white hair has grown.
Just as vision and hearing deteriorate, memory and focus also seemed to have waned with the numerous things stored in the mind.
But at this moment, it feels like going back to the younger days.
How many hours have passed?
It was after Youngguk, who was like a grandson, had left.
He started by unfolding the old, worn-out pages of the script. The surrounding turned dark, and only the light from the script seemed to shine, making it hard to take his eyes off it.
“Ho.”
He even took out the reading glasses he rarely wore. Occasionally, the glasses slid down and poked his nose due to his twitching cheeks, but he didn’t mind.
As a film director who had spent many years in Chungmuro, it’s been a long time since a work has immersed him this much. The occasional exclamations and swallows were the only signs of his deep focus.
Then.
Knock, knock.
The repeated knocking sound made Director Baek Janghoon finally look up. He briefly said to come in, and a cautious employee opened the door.
“Director, it’s time for the regular meeting.”
“Is it that time already?”
A regular meeting held weekly with the production staff.
Normally, Director Baek Janghoon would have been the first to arrive at the meeting room. This time, they had to come and get him.
No wonder, as it was well past the scheduled time. Director Baek Janghoon let out a hollow laugh.
“Haha. Reading through each sentence in the script, I didn’t realize how much time had passed.”
“Is there a specific script you are reviewing, Director?”
“I encountered it through Youngguk. It felt like a jolt to my stale body. It woke me up. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way. The more I read, the more it felt like a live fish wriggling in my hand. Manager Cha, can you find the writer who wrote this script?”
Director Baek Janghoon held up the script. Even at a glance, it was evident that it was an old, worn-out script.
“His name is Go Gwangtae. He’s in Sillim-dong’s study village. And Manager Cha, I think we need to reschedule.”
“The regular meeting?”
At that moment, Director Baek Janghoon shook his head. Following Manager Cha’s puzzled gaze, Director Baek Janghoon gave a faint smile and glanced at the worn-out script.
“I mean, I’ll have to postpone my planned sabbatical.”
Acting is a continuous learning process. To explore the world unfolded in a script requires great effort. In that sense, Youngguk can be seen as a natural hard worker.
He had already realized in his past life that the talent given to him was as dim as a firefly, compared to the dazzling sun-like brilliance of the seasoned actors in Chungmuro.
He overcame the unfillable gap with painstaking effort.
When he played the role of a homeless man, he even spent fifteen days living among the homeless at Seoul Station. No wonder his nickname used to be “crazy guy.”
“Advice?”
Professor Shin Junggil looked at Youngguk sitting across from him with a puzzled gaze.
It wasn’t unusual for an undergraduate to meet their professor, but the purpose of this meeting was peculiar.
Indeed, if he were a typical law student, most of his questions would be about the bar exam or the legal profession.
“Advice on acting rather than law? Isn’t that your area of expertise more than mine?”
Professor Shin Junggil had spent his life in the legal field. He rarely watched TV, let alone went to the theater, making him a person distant from visual media.
Then Professor Shin Junggil asked again with a curious look.
“Is your next project related to law?”
The life of a legal professional is somewhat similar yet different from that of a politician. They are skilled at reading people, having spent their lives detecting lies from criminals.
Youngguk looked up at Professor Shin Junggil.
“Have you ever felt disillusioned while working as a judge, Professor?”
“Disillusioned… It would be a lie to say I haven’t. Though I chose this profession after interning at the Judicial Research and Training Institute, there were times I felt doubtful. Sometimes, I felt like I was living with a mask on.”
“……”
“On the surface, it seemed like a profession that others envied and respected, but in reality, it was rotten inside. Perhaps that’s why I left the bench to educate future generations.”
Professor Shin Junggil was known to be a candid person. But he had no idea he would be this straightforward.
It made sense since most people in the legal profession build a massive wall around their pride.
“Did you ever regret any of your judgments as a judge?”
“Are you kidding? A newbie is always full of enthusiasm. There was an elderly man who stole food because he couldn’t bear the hunger. It was his first offense, and given the minor damage, he was given a suspended sentence. But later, I found out he stole for his grandson, not to fill his own belly. I can never forget how he cried for mercy in the courtroom.”
“That was an inevitable judgment as a judge, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. The law must always be fair to everyone. But seeing a company chairman who embezzled hundreds of billions hire a bunch of lawyers under the guise of special treatment and get a suspended sentence made my head ache. Are the crimes of an elderly man who stole food and a chairman who embezzled hundreds of billions truly equivalent?”
Professor Shin Junggil ran his dry lips over his teeth.
“Whether as a judge, prosecutor, or lawyer, it would have been the same. The legal profession itself is like that. They should uphold the law and maintain the equilibrium of what is called common sense, but.”
“……”
“Sometimes they can’t. The beliefs held in the early days are not strong enough to ascend the massive pyramid that is the organization. Though close to the law, it is, in a way, the furthest from it. Isn’t it ironic? That’s probably why I’m here now. I couldn’t do it, so I’m here to help nurture the beliefs of the new generation. You asked if I ever regretted my judgments.”
Professor Shin Junggil’s wrinkled eyes were closed.
They reopened, bringing back memories of the past, revealing reflections in his half-open pupils.
“The Talmud says a judge should feel like they are being hanged before sentencing someone to death. The early version of myself who sentenced that elderly man to fines and probation still feels as though I sentenced him to death.”
