Chapter 143
Crunch!
A single tree, cleanly split in half, tumbled to the ground and rolled.
The person responsible for the scene, achieved with just a machete, was Lee Min Ki, who mumbled as if embarrassed.
"Ah, did I overdo it?"
"..."
Don’t say that with such a shy face.
It’s terrifying.
Seeing Lee Min Ki shyly swinging the machete, Director Shim Sung Bo’s expression was filled with disbelief.
‘This isn’t just a matter of overdoing it.’
That tree.
Was it the kind of thickness that could be felled with a single slash?
‘How did he even do that?’
Was his strength that extraordinary?
Or was there already a crack in the tree?
Could a tree in slightly bad condition be chopped down in one blow?
No, Sung Bo.
What’s the point of trying to find scientific rationale for something that’s already happened right in front of you?
It’s futile.
‘Still, it’s strange.’
How could an actor, who normally never swings a blade, manage to cut so perfectly?
‘Does this even make sense?’
While Director Shim Sung Bo was still puzzled, Lee Min Ki scratched the back of his head awkwardly and spoke.
“Uh, if it’s an NG, should we reshoot it?”
“That’s…”
Shim Sung Bo hesitated, then shook his head and replied.
“No, this actually feels better.”
“Really?”
“Good NGs are called ad-libs.”
It wasn’t what he intended.
The original plan was for the protagonist, [Nam Seok Goo], to stab the machete into the tree to create a chilling atmosphere, but instead, the whole tree had been taken down.
So, was it bad?
‘No, it’s actually great.’
As a director, it was the kind of NG worth welcoming with open arms.
There’s even a term for this kind of thing.
Ad-lib.
Good NGs naturally become elevated into ad-libs, don’t they?
Just like in a certain fantasy film long ago, where a broken flag during an NG was hailed as a prophecy of a fallen kingdom and revered as part of the scene.
Lee Min Ki was the same.
This actor, without even meaning to, was already a master of ad-libs.
‘When filming with this actor, good scenes just keep coming to mind.’
Director Shim Sung Bo swallowed hard, feeling a small thrill as he looked at the fallen tree.
Was this the only instance?
‘The mise-en-scène just doesn’t stop.’
It was always like this.
No matter what scene was intended, when Lee Min Ki stepped in, the atmosphere became more vivid and flavorful.
[Crack!]
In a scene where the protagonist was ambushed, he happened to step on a branch.
It was supposed to be portrayed as a purely instinctual reaction to the ambush, but now it had gained credibility.
[Splash!]
[Die! Die, you bastard!]
During a scuffle, he accidentally tripped and fell into a mud puddle.
It made the scene appear far more desperate.
[Growl]
While Lee Min Ki was walking, the sound of a beast’s growl echoed from somewhere.
This naturally heightened the eerie atmosphere of the island.
It happened frequently.
If it were just one instance, fine, but it kept happening.
With Lee Min Ki, the actor, these fortuitous moments of great execution occurred far too often.
“Actor, you’re quite lucky.”
“Haha, I hear that a lot.”
For now, he laughed it off, but it wasn’t clear if it could simply be dismissed as luck anymore.
One by one, the planned direction of the scenes kept being altered.
But the problem was that every change was so good.
Caught between joy and regret, Director Shim Sung Bo wiped the cold sweat trickling from his forehead.
‘Does the god of ad-libs follow this actor around?’
It seemed plausible.
Behind the actor Lee Min Ki, it felt as if the god of cinema was hiding.
Otherwise, it made no sense.
How could every performance consistently inspire the director’s creativity?
Situations that might only happen once or twice in a lead actor’s career were happening repeatedly?
‘It’s absurd.’
After contemplating for a while, Director Shim Sung Bo decided to simply enjoy the situation.
‘As long as the work comes out well, that’s all that matters.’
As long as the final result was good, there was no need to interfere too much with the actor.
Meanwhile, it wasn’t just Lee Min Ki who stood out.
The other two people he had brought along, while perhaps not as exceptional, were also outstanding actors in their own right.
“Ahhh! A snake! A snake! A snaaake!!”
“Seriously? Is this your first time seeing a snake? You’re totally acting like a spoiled rich kid.”
The two actors brought in at Lee Min Ki’s suggestion were Kim Tak and Yoo Seon Ah.
“Don’t panic. We’re stronger.”
“And yet, why are you so calm?”
“Because I’m getting paid.”
Kim Tak, playing the role of a wealthy heir.
And Yoo Seon Ah, playing the bodyguard hired by Kim Tak to form a team for money.
From start to finish, the two actors showcased explosive chemistry.
‘They’re good. No wonder Min Ki vouched for them.’
What should I say?
At this point, Director Shim Sung Bo thought to himself.
‘I feel at ease.’
Yes.
That’s how normal actors should be.
Actors who execute the script and direction exactly as expected.
It was as natural as moving limbs attached to one’s body.
This was normal.
It was Lee Min Ki who was unusual.
‘I’m not the strange one.’
Finding a small sense of comfort in their performances, Director Shim Sung Bo spoke up.
“Are you ready? Let’s shoot one of the big scenes now.”
The highlight of [Man Man Two].
There was a scene in this movie that had to become legendary.
A magnificent building.
One of Hollywood’s seven major studios, AST.
In a high-rise office within the building, a woman ground her teeth and spoke.
“So Lee Min Ki has gone to Netplay, huh.”
It was Emma Spector.
A petty person who harbored a grudge because their direct efforts to recruit someone had been rejected.
She muttered in a voice filled with even greater anger upon hearing about Lee Min Ki’s recent news.
“...It seems he has joined hands with a relatively small company.”
Her secretary flinched at her voice and responded.
“It’s called Maillard Pictures, a Korean film company that’s practically unheard of. It seems to be a new one.”
“Their previous work?”
“It flopped.”
“Pfft.”
Emma Spector scoffed softly and turned her head sharply before speaking.
“They’re all the same, insignificant nobodies. It’s obvious without even seeing it. A young pup, too full of itself, probably rejected all the offers that came its way until no company would have them.”
Her words were grandiose, but they were filled with personal spite.
However, it was a common occurrence as well.
How many times had rookie actors, acting cocky after just gaining fame, ended up losing their place in the industry entirely?
Those very same people often ended up partnering with nameless studios and working on projects later on.
“Does Netflix have any Korean works?”
“Yes, some directors have released works. However, most of them didn’t perform well.”
“The reason?”
“This is just my personal guess, but…”
The secretary cleared his throat and said.
“I think it’s likely the result of focusing too much on the global market.”
“Explain in detail.”
“This is common in Asian countries. They aim for the global market, but it ends up feeling awkward... and the result is a movie that doesn’t quite work for foreign audiences either.”
As he said, it was a frequent issue.
When Hollywood made movies with an “Oriental flavor,” how did actual Eastern audiences perceive them?
[What the heck is this supposed to be? Is this even our country?]
If it didn’t provoke cursing, that would be lucky.
[Do people in Paju actually drink snake wine?]
[Has the production team ever even been to Korea?]
[This feels more like Vietnam than Thailand.]
[They named someone Yoshimura Kim Hyun Soo and thought it sounded Korean? Do they think Korea is still under Japanese colonial rule?]
These errors arose because the West viewed the East from their own perspective.
Because some rural areas in Korea made snake wine, they turned Paju, a Korean city, into the snake wine capital.
Because Thailand and Vietnam were neighboring countries, they used the same architectural style for both.
And because Westerners sometimes mix names from different countries, they thought they could do the same with Eastern names.
It wasn’t a one-sided mistake.
Eastern directors also frequently made similar errors when creating Western-style works.
Crunch.
Emma Spector bit her lip hard.
‘It’s not that Korea is incapable of making good films, but half-hearted attempts are worse than none at all.’
She, too, had memories of occasionally watching Korean films at festivals.
While their direction and scripts showed enough skill, they often hit a production budget ceiling that prevented them from going further.
‘So, Lee Min Ki is ultimately just that kind of actor.’
Domestic-only.
If that’s his level, then his limits are clear.
While feeling a sense of relief, she also felt an inexplicable sense of unease.
Her secretary, standing beside her, dispelled that unease.
“Surprisingly, this new project is said to be targeting the global market.”
“…!”
Emma Spector’s eyes widened at the remark.
“What?”
“I’ve checked all the interviews. They’ve declared they’ll be targeting the global market, including Hollywood, China, India, and Europe.”
“…Ha, haha.”
Emma Spector let out a hollow laugh.
“He’s out of his mind. I thought he was just a foolish actor, but he’s a lunatic.”
Otherwise, it didn’t make sense.
It was laughable enough that someone with a career just busy grasping market structures was directly involved in production, let alone targeting the global market.
He wasn’t even worth considering as competition.
Emma Spector smirked and opened her mouth.
“When’s the Netflix launch date?”
“May, apparently.”
“May? Perfect.”
Emma Spector laughed again and said.
“Isn’t there a project of ours launching in June?”
“Yes, New Guardians.”
New Guardians.
A drama about three heroes protecting New York.
Just like Man Man Too, it was set to launch on Netflix.
Originally focused on theatrical releases, AST was also setting its sights on the OTT market, and this was a meticulously crafted project.
Its success seemed assured.
The only question was whether it would be a hit or a blockbuster.
‘She’s asking me about a project she directed herself.’
Just as one might wonder why Emma Spector mentioned the project.
“Didn’t they say the movie title was The War of All Against All? Well, the movie industry truly is a war of all against all.”
She spoke with a sinister smile.
“I’ll have to see if we can move our release date up to May.”
Since Lee Min Ki returned to the past and started filming new projects.
There was one phenomenon he had been experiencing frequently.
Namely.
‘The story keeps changing?’
Every time he participated, the story would deviate significantly from what he remembered.
‘That happened with the campus story.’
He had entered the project as a one-time disposable villain, but by the time he realized it, he was the second lead in a love triangle.
‘It happened in Forever Green, too.’
Suddenly, he became a supporting character at the main cast level.
‘And in Café del Día, too.’
In this case, Kim Ji Hwan’s character interpretation had changed entirely.
The characters’ dynamics were completely restructured, and the flavor of the work itself had been transformed.
‘Even Fashion & Fashion.’
A film currently awaiting results from Western film festivals.
This work, which had surpassed five million viewers and could now be called Lee Min Ki’s representative work in his career.
‘The project was practically remade from scratch.’
It went without saying.
The sleek and chic protagonist Lee Min Ki remembered from the original Fashion & Fashion no longer existed.
All that remained was a stray cat worn down by emotion.
‘Things change too much when I’m involved.’
The story changed, and so did the results—dramatically.
He had come to accept this pattern.
If old films stayed the same whether he participated or not, what meaning would there be in putting effort into his acting?
A bit of change was better.
That was true.
That’s what he thought, but...
“Hmm, you improvised here again.”
“Was it bad?”
“Not at all. It was excellent.”
If it was [Man Man Two], it was only natural to feel a little uneasy.
‘It’s a globally anticipated hit—what if I end up ruining it?’
A lingering sense of dread seemed to remain.
Because it was such a highly anticipated project, the pressure worked in reverse, making him anxious.
Not to mention the fact that Maillard Pictures seemed to be watching his every move excessively due to the scale of the project.
‘The films I’ve worked on before didn’t feel this intense.’
During the earlier stages of his career, directors disregarded his ad-libs.
No director would risk jeopardizing the overall vision of their project by entertaining the whims of a rookie actor.
Of course, from Director Shim Sung Bo’s perspective, such an idea was laughable.
‘No matter what outcome I imagine beforehand, the actual shoot always produces a better result. Actor Lee Min Ki really is a monster.’
He simply accepted the good results as they came.
Nothing more, nothing less.
What was wrong with calling something good when it was good?
However, for Lee Min Ki, such compliments only felt like empty flattery.
As a result:
[Ad-libs are always welcome!]
With endless approvals being granted, Lee Min Ki found it difficult to be confident about [Man Man Two]’s success.
It was natural to fear failure.
‘Hmm, isn’t there a way to reduce the risks somehow? At the very least, if I could get a reliable third party to review it...’
As Lee Min Ki was lost in thought, Director Shim Sung Bo casually brought up a new topic.
“The screening is already tomorrow.”
A screening.
Not just any screening—a mid-production screening.
It was time for Netplay to conduct their evaluation.
“The results this time will determine the direction of future investments and promotions.”
The moment he heard that, the hairs on Lee Min Ki’s body stood on end.
‘This isn’t the kind of third party I was hoping for.’