Chapter 51
Chapter 51
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 51
Chapter Title: Nomen (3)
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Just as I had been forced to attend the lecture on "An Actress's Duty,"
Yoo Jun-seung was being forced to take the lecture on "A Manager's Duty."
I was passing it on to Geum Yu-na, and Yoo Jun-seung to Kim Gyu-jin.
Just as I was seeing results from it, it seemed Yoo Jun-seung was benefiting too.
Knowledge related to work can grow with study, but sense isn't so easy to cultivate.
His sense had improved, which was definitely worth praising.
"Thanks. I was just getting thirsty."
My throat wasn't actually dry, but I took the water bottle and sucked it down greedily.
It was performative hydration.
Yoo Jun-seung looked satisfied.
Like he was about to scamper over to Executive Kim Gyu-jin and say, "Did I do good?"
'What a dog.'
Not in a bad way.
He was too big to call a puppy, so "dog" it was.
After chugging the water, I gave Yoo Jun-seung a warm look.
Then I scanned the set.
The director and screenwriter were huddled over the monitor, talking nonstop among themselves.
In front of them, the camera and lighting crews bustled about.
At the center of it all, the script supervisor clutched her notebook, checking off items.
When shooting scenes out of sequence, "continuity" is key.
That's where the script supervisor comes in.
Positions from the previous scene, prop placements, poses—everything.
She notes all the directorial details.
Recording to ensure no discrepancies between the previous shot and the current one.
If there's no script supervisor, or if they skimp on the budget by dumping it on other crew?
You get that old variety show bit: "Find the flaw in the jade."
A scene shot in the morning and continued in the evening already causes issues.
Days or weeks later? The brain distorts memories, guaranteeing inconsistencies.
You might think it's perfect from your own recollection, but studies show even events from seconds ago get warped in storage.
The script supervisor, documenting everything, plays that crucial role.
Even now, you could see it.
"The oil drum is a bit off. Reset it to the mark."
"Got it! On it!"
Someone from camera, lights, or sound must have bumped the drum I was hiding behind. Position shifted.
Without the script supervisor, some audience member might have pointed it out while watching the film.
Sure, it's minor enough to overlook.
But gloss over enough little things, and the movie turns to shit in no time.
As everyone threw themselves into their tasks,
"Alright! Let's keep rolling! Standby everyone!"
It was the actors' turn.
Yoo Jun-seung, who had been meerkat-ing the set with me, scurried out of frame.
Actor Shin Su-hyeok took his mark, and I curled up behind the drum again like a pillbug.
The director's cue sign dropped, and shooting resumed.
"Ready! Action!"
Kim Ha-yul realizes the grenade is a fake trap and springs up, running desperately.
Changing her path made sense—real booby traps might lurk ahead.
Tadak—
No run-up needed.
She pushes off the ground with her right foot, plants her left on the container, and leaps.
Using the rebound and arm strength to climb the container.
Then she starts sprinting across the tops.
Chasing Yi Jang-woo across the row of containers...
Peeing—
Another safety pin pulled.
Maybe fake again? But always suspect everything.
She rolls down under the container for cover.
Kwaaaaaang!
A roar, and a shockwave hot with blast hits her back.
(Of course, the fake grenade just pops with sound now. CG team will handle the rest.)
Whether or not, no shrapnel, no injury.
Kim Ha-yul keeps running, pursuing Yi Jang-woo.
Three or four more grenade traps follow, all fakes.
Grinding her teeth at being toyed with, she races after him out the abandoned factory's back gate.
"Cut! That was great, but one more! This time, no teeth-grinding—glare coldly, then run!"
"Got it!"
A direction deviating from the script.
Common on set.
I glanced at Screenwriter Bae Jong-wook; he nodded along, silent.
Maybe he even suggested the retake.
'...Yeah, the elite killer character felt too emotional there.'
Made perfect sense.
Not that disagreeing would mean punching the director or anything.
Kim Ha-yul donned her blank, emotionless mask again.
Paradoxically, to play emotionless, she ramped up her feelings.
But on camera, it'd be pure Kim Ha-yul.
Matching the director's cue, up the container again, leaping down from the top.
Rolling, running, diving.
By the time I was questioning if I was an actress or stuntwoman,
"Cut! Okay! Perfect! Jeong-ssi! Flawless! No injuries?"
"Nope! All good!"
Director Kim Chi-seung and Screenwriter Bae flashed pleased smiles and thumbs-up.
No exaggeration when they warned my action scenes would dominate this film—action overload from the jump.
Stunt-free action, all me.
Just climbing and running atop containers? Fine.
But dodging grenade traps with rolls thrown in.
Worried crew and managers swarmed me.
"Gyeowol! You okay? Hurt anywhere?"
"I'm fine. This is nothing."
Me, Jeong Gyeowol—head of Seoul Action School, top disciple of Korea's greatest action director, master Bae Gi-young.
...Probably?
"You good? Your back must hurt."
"Aigoo... Rolling hard on day one."
"That was badass! Epic! Action queen!"
Pitying my Day 1 tumbling and flying, the crew comforted me.
Somehow, Kim Ye-rim had wedged herself in there too.
"That's why they cast me as Kim Ha-yul—for action like this, right?"
Seemed like recognition at a glance.
But I caught the sarcasm amid the crew's fussing.
She wasn't here to console.
Still no clue why she targeted me, but it didn't faze me.
Directors compete with direction, actors with acting.
Power plays on set just sour the vibe.
'Not chickening out of clapping back.'
...For real.
Anyway, the factory interior scenes wrapped.
This factory appeared more than once, so shooting wasn't done.
Lee Ji-an, having lost Yi Jang-woo, starts training for revenge.
And who trains her? Me (Kim Ha-yul).
Kim Ha-yul teaches her in the same abandoned factory from their game of tag. For quite a while.
Ideally, shoot up to that now.
But a midday outdoor scene under the blazing sun awaited.
Shin Su-hyeok and I outside the factory.
Quick shots while the sun's up, then back inside.
Shoots always zigzag by weather, season, time.
First meet by day, finale at night.
Climax dash together, then back to shy early scenes.
A movie flows beginning-middle-climax-end for viewers.
For shooters, it's a jumbled mess.
I once thought, naively: "Hand 'em the script, act nonstop—emotions build naturally, right? Acting's easy?"
Then: Film a love scene for the first meet.
Grow close on set, shoot the shy scene.
Mortal enemies play a couple.
Secret lovers act out cheating.
Watching other actors on set shows: not just anyone can do it.
"Outside setup's ready!"
"Shin-ssi! Standby!"
Shin Su-hyeok's outdoor shoot began.
Once done, I'd run, roll, run some more.
The classic urban parkour action scene.
One take would be nice.
But multiples likely—conserve energy.
I plopped into the camping chair Yoo Jun-seung had set up.
Behind it: "[Great Actress Jeong Gyeowol]" in huge letters.
His handiwork, probably.
Sense compliment revoked.
'Just noticed this.'
Snorting, I reached for water—but the bottle with his drilled hole and straw was gone.
"...Huh? Where's that bottled water from earlier?"
"Huh? I put it by the chair. Where'd it go?"
"Someone toss it?"
Drilled hole, straw inserted... Right by my chair. Mistake it for trash?
Fair enough—busy set, someone knocks it over.
Better tossed than ignored.
"Hang on, I'll grab another."
"Thanks."
Wanted to fetch it myself, but that last scene drained me.
All ahead: action.
Even burnout mid-shoot possible—minimize movement.
Sipping princess-style water from Yoo Jun-seung,
"Cut! Okay! Great! Shin-ssi, your acting's on fire!"
Excited Director Kim Chi-seung's voice rang out.
Shin Su-hyeok nailed the scene, no NG.
Crew prepped the day's highlight with grim determination.
Steadicam guy shooting my front would run some.
Drone op couldn't lose me.
The young handheld cameraman shadowing me up close? Sprinting hardest.
*Handheld: A filming technique used in places where laying rails is difficult, or for pulse-pounding chases and moving scenes.*
I run light, but they haul cameras, eyes glued to monitors.
Sure enough, tense gazes.
"Run me as many times as needed—don't push and get hurt."
"You stay safe too... Signal if needed; we'll call cut."
"Thanks, appreciate it."
They're sparing me the awkwardness of telling the director myself—as a rookie.
First-impression strategy paying off.
Shin Su-hyeok probably fretting for me down the alley too.
"Scene 26! Take 1! Everyone stay safe! Standby! Shooting in 30 seconds!"
Assistant director's voice boomed like he'd swallowed a megaphone, echoing across the set.
Director's cue followed right away.
"Ready!!! Action!!!"
Shooting resumed.