Chapter 156: Palme d’Or
Chapter 156: Palme d’Or
Ten minutes.
Amid a standing ovation and cheers that lasted for over ten full minutes, Director Baek Junbong and the lead actors Ryu Sunho and Moon Ganghyeok walked out to the front of the stage.
At that moment, the audience stirred.
[“What? Wait…”]
[“My god… is that man really the same one from earlier?”]
The audience couldn’t shut their mouths as they stared at Ryu Sunho on stage.
The monstrous man who had twisted his body in madness and shown a chilling grin was nowhere to be found.
In his place stood an elegant, noble young gentleman.
The hair that had been soaked with sweat and disheveled was neatly swept back, revealing his forehead.
The eyes that had lost focus and trembled now shone deep and steady.
[“Looking at him like this, he’s totally a prince…”]
[“How can his eyes be that different—like, a full 180?”]
[“Wow… chills. It’s like he swapped out his soul.”]
[“On screen I couldn’t even breathe because he was terrifying, but in person he’s so handsome it’s suffocating…”]
[“What, then it’s the same either way. You still stop breathing, right?”]
When Ryu Sunho waved with a relaxed smile, a woman in the front row covered her mouth and grabbed the arm of the person next to her.
[“He smiled at me! You saw that, right? Just now?”]
Watching the scene, Reporter Park Hyunseong wore a dazed expression.
Right. It’s only because we’re used to Ryu Sunho. If I were overseas and saw an actor like this for the first time, I’d probably react the same way.
Soon after, the moderator came out and brought the venue back under control.
[“Alright, then. From here, we’ll begin the Q&A session with the director and actors. If you have a question, please raise your hand.”]
Reporter Park Hyunseong swallowed dryly.
Now was the real battleground.
Cannes Q&A sessions were often called a slaughterhouse.
It was the time when critics and reporters from around the world carved up directors and actors with sharp questions.
Especially a silent-film-style format this radical could split tastes.
An aggressive question could come out—
Then.
A French critic sitting in the very front row raised his hand.
Park Hyunseong recognized the face.
A notorious poison-tongued hardliner.
The microphone was passed to him.
[“I enjoyed the film.”]
Then, after a brief silence, he turned his head and looked at Ryu Sunho.
His voice was trembling.
[“Your acting transcended language. There wasn’t a single line of dialogue, yet I could feel in my bones what you wanted to say. Especially the acting you showed in the final ending scene… it doesn’t seem like something within the realm of what a human can express. That was a long preface, so the question I truly want to ask is…”]
It sounded like praise was pouring out, but you had to listen to the end.
A critic’s tongue could lull you with compliments and then drive straight into your core.
[“Ryu, are you a monster, or are you an angel?”]
It wasn’t an attack.
It was a joke dressed up as a question, a praise with laughter mixed in.
The critic looked completely disarmed.
The hall burst into laughter at his words.
After that, it stayed the same.
[“The scene where Gu Sunwoo collapses in front of the mirror—this didn’t feel like acting. More like a ritual where you burned your soul.”]
[“This was the most shocking hundred minutes of my film life. Director Baek—where did you find a monster like this?”]
There wasn’t a single criticism.
Only one-sided praise and reverence poured down.
A gathering of rational critics had turned, in an instant, into an ecstatic fan-meeting venue.
Reporter Park Hyunseong stared at the spectacle with his mouth slightly open.
A shiver ran down his spine.
Ryu Sunho really caused a serious incident.
Park Hyunseong instinctively pulled out his camera.
The reporter’s instinct—he had to capture this historic moment, frame by frame.
In the viewfinder, Ryu Sunho was shining with humble, elegant composure even as applause rained down on him.
For eight more days after that, Cannes’ clock didn’t stop.
A twelve-day marathon.
Every day, formidable new works from around the world filled Cannes’ screens.
While the festival ripened, the nine jurors moved busily, conducting fierce deliberations.
Even jurors didn’t have the privilege of seeing films in advance.
They watched and evaluated in the same theaters as the audience, only from separately prepared box seats.
“……”
The jurors maintained strict silence until the moment the lights came on after each film ended.
They didn’t share impressions with the person beside them.
It was their iron rule, meant to prevent their first impressions from being contaminated by someone else’s words.
After the final competition entry was screened, the seal was finally lifted.
In a space completely cut off from the outside, the jurors gathered in the jury-only meeting room and finally spoke.
“Alright. Now let’s talk.”
The jury president wrote the titles of the twenty Competition films on the board.
“Let’s talk about what we cannot forget—and what must not be forgotten.”
The debate was heated.
Languages and nationalities differed, but they clashed fiercely in the shared language of cinema.
Some works received strong praise, but in the end they couldn’t secure unanimous support.
The debate continued in tension, and the two Korean films were placed on the chopping block.
“This year, Korean cinema’s surge is striking.”
“It is. I’m experiencing firsthand that the destructive power of K-culture keeps growing by the day.”
“‘Boundary’ was excellent.”
“I agree. The screenplay structure was a bit flat, but the social message was clear. And above all…”
“The lead actor, Gong Hajin, was impressive. Pulling off two roles so perfectly isn’t easy.”
“I agree. Technically, it was flawless acting.”
The other jurors nodded as well.
Gong Hajin’s performance was textbook-level, without a blemish.
It was more than enough to be discussed as a Best Actor candidate.
“But…”
Evan Harris, the Hollywood actor and juror, spoke while twirling his pen.
“If Gong Hajin in ‘Boundary’ showed ‘perfect acting,’ then Ryu Sunho in ‘Mueon:ga’ erased the word ‘acting’ itself.”
“I agree. That film… ‘Mueon:ga’ was shock itself.”
A director from Italy took the handoff, voice rising with excitement.
“There isn’t a single line of dialogue. And yet far from being boring, it was so overwhelming I couldn’t even breathe. It completely broke down the language barrier. There were no subtitles to read, so you end up focusing entirely on the actor’s eyes.”
“Exactly. Especially that ending scene…”
“The mirror scene. I’ve directed countless actors in my life, but I learned for the first time that a human being can control muscle and breath to that degree.”
“That wasn’t acting… it was almost like possession.”
As if on cue, the jurors nodded together.
The afterimage of Ryu Sunho was still clearly carved into their minds.
“Then the Palme d’Or… there can be no dissent.”
Meanwhile, at the same time, Reporter Park Hyunseong was also conducting his own fierce deliberation alone in his hotel room.
It was to write his annual column, “Predicting the Palme d’Or’s Destination,” which he posted right before the Cannes closing ceremony every year.
“Hmm… overall it wasn’t bad, but…”
He muttered while scribbling something for a long time.
He analyzed strengths and weaknesses of the leading contenders, then combined local reactions and ratings.
“But after watching the reactions overall, it feels like the weight will ultimately lean toward one film.”
He circled the words “Mueon:ga” again and again.
Whether it was the audience response or the critic response, this side was overwhelming.
Screen Daily ratings were also recording an all-time-level number.
Of course, on-site reactions did not always represent the outcome.
The jurors’ evaluation often went against expectations.
But with a response this overwhelming, it would have struck the jurors as well.
Then “Mueon:ga” winning the Palme d’Or looked quite likely.
It was a happy thing, but if that happened, the problem was Ryu Sunho…
There was an unspoken rule at Cannes.
If a film won the Palme d’Or, it couldn’t win overlapping awards in other categories.
Meaning—the Palme d’Or was an award given to the director, so Ryu Sunho couldn’t win Best Actor.
Of course, the Palme d’Or itself was an enormous prize.
If they won it, it was a tremendous honor even for the lead actor.
But still, it would be such a shame for Ryu Sunho to go home empty-handed.
In Park Hyunseong’s view, “Mueon:ga” couldn’t have received that level of acclaim without Ryu Sunho’s possessed performance.
Could the film’s completeness even be discussed without him?
“Haa… this is hard!”
Reporter Park Hyunseong left the Palme d’Or and Best Actor lines blank and agonized for a long time.
He rolled his pen and tugged at his hair.
Still, considering the weight of the prize, it has to be the Palme d’Or. For Ryu Sunho himself, that would be the greater honor.
As if deciding at last, he filled in the blanks.
[Palme d’Or prediction: “Mueon:ga”]
[Best Actor prediction: Gong Hajin — “Boundary”]
Compared to Ryu Sunho, Gong Hajin’s impact felt slightly lacking, but against the other competing actors, he could stand more than high enough.
Even the local press and critics acknowledged the delicate psychological depiction of his dual role.
If “Mueon:ga” took the Palme d’Or and was excluded from Best Actor, then the next strongest candidate was Gong Hajin.
Then Korean cinema would take both the Palme d’Or and Best Actor?
That was insane too.
It would be a scenario where Gong Hajin won Best Actor by reaping the benefit of circumstance, but even so, as a Korean, it was a perfect result.
The day of the closing ceremony arrived, bringing the long Cannes marathon to an end.
Now all that remained was the awards.
Tonight, someone would smile while holding the highest honor called the Palme d’Or, and someone would have to go home empty-handed.
“We’ve arrived.”
At the staff member’s guidance, the car door opened.
Ryu Sunho inhaled deeply and stepped out.
Director Baek Junbong and Moon Ganghyeok stood beside him.
Even the veteran director who had been through everything looked tense, lips dried tight, and Moon Ganghyeok was rigid like a robot.
“Go on, then. Up to the judgment stand.”
At Director Baek’s words as the signal, they stepped onto the red carpet.
Pushing through the flash barrage, they entered the Lumière Grand Theatre, and a crushing heat and tension surged in.
They sat in their assigned seats.
Cannes seating was brutally honest.
The teams with high chances of winning were placed near the center aisle where cameras captured them well.
And the “Mueon:ga” team’s seats—
Dead center.
The most visible place.
Close enough to make eye contact with the jury.
Director Baek Junbong’s hand trembled faintly; he couldn’t possibly miss what that placement meant.
“…Stay calm.”
Ryu Sunho smiled and held Director Baek’s hand.
Turning his head slightly, he saw the “Boundary” team seated a short distance away.
His eyes met Gong Hajin’s.
Gong Hajin sat with legs crossed, forcing an air of calm, but the tip of his dress shoe was twitching with impatience.
Soon after, with the in-house announcement, the lights slowly dimmed.
The murmuring noise fell away in an instant.
Boom— boom— boom—
With heavy drums, a spotlight dropped onto the stage.
Michelle, France’s national actress, appeared as the host.
[“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.”]
She opened with elegant French.
Lighter awards like the Caméra d’Or were presented first.
Applause erupted each time a winner was called, but everyone’s attention was fixed on what would come later—the main Competition awards.
[“We will now begin the Competition awards.”]
With Michelle’s line, the jury came onto the stage.
This year’s jury president was the American director John Nicholson.
He was famous for blunt speech, but today he looked unusually tense.
Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and the hand holding the microphone trembled slightly.
Michelle caught it and, to ease the tension, asked John Nicholson a question in French.
[“Mr. President, what is the first award?”]
It was the customary question—whether Best Actress would be announced first or Best Actor first.
But in extreme tension, John Nicholson misunderstood Michelle’s French.
A translation error occurred in his head, and he mistook “the first award” for “the first-place award.”
He looked down at the paper listing the winners—
and, without hesitation, shouted out.
[“The Palme d’Or is… ‘Mueon:ga’!”]
[“……?!”]
A sudden announcement.
A dead silence fell over the hall, like cold water had been poured on it.
The audience, the actors, even viewers watching on TV doubted their ears.
[“No, no! Wait!”]
Michelle screamed and shouted urgently.
One of the jurors behind them rushed forward, covered John Nicholson’s mouth, and whispered into his ear.
[“What do you think you’re doing…?”]
A massive broadcast accident unprecedented in Cannes history.
[“Oh… please forget what I just said. That was my mistake.”]
Realizing what he had done, John Nicholson turned pale and apologized hastily.
But the water had already spilled.
Murmurs, sighs, and awkward laughs burst out throughout the seats.
Director Baek Junbong stared blankly, then looked at Ryu Sunho beside him.
“…Did we get it?”
“…I believe we did.”
It was confirmed.
The fact that “Mueon:ga” had won the Palme d’Or had been forcibly revealed to the entire world.
In the midst of that chaos, Gong Hajin bit down hard on his lips, but his mind spun fast.
…This is actually good.
He had expected, to some extent, that “Mueon:ga” would take the Palme d’Or.
The local response had been that strong.
It made him feel sick with jealousy, but calculating coldly, he thought this situation might not be bad for him either.
It meant Ryu Sunho couldn’t win Best Actor.
Then who was left as the Best Actor candidate?
Him—who had been praised by local critics and delivered perfect dual-role acting.
This is better.
Hand the Palme d’Or to Director Baek Junbong, and take Best Actor—the greatest glory for an actor—for himself.
The director he worked with might feel disappointed, but for him, this was a far more beautiful picture.
In Cannes’ official records, Ryu Sunho would be absent, and he would remain.
Gong Hajin forced down the laughter that wanted to burst out and controlled his expression.
Acting sad, acting regretful, acting disappointed—
as Michelle, sweating hard, worked to patch the situation.
[“Everyone! Please forget what you just heard! We all didn’t hear it! It was auditory hallucination, hallucination! Haha…”]
The forced hosting made awkward laughter rise from the audience.
[“Alright, from the beginning again! We will proceed in the correct order.”]
[“…Yes, I apologize. This time, it is Best Actor.”]
John Nicholson stood at the microphone again.
He still looked flustered, but with trembling hands, he opened the envelope again.
[“The winner of Best Actor is…”]
Gong Hajin fastened his jacket button and prepared to stand.
Just as he repeated the first line of his acceptance speech in his head—
[“Congratulations! Ryu Sunho of ‘Mueon:ga’!”]
…What?
Gong Hajin’s pupils shook as if an earthquake had hit.