The Turning Point
Snow is falling.
Park Myungjin stared blankly with hollow eyes at the snow piling up on the bare, skeletal branches of a tree. Winter was already coming to an end. And the same was true for Room. With only three episodes left to film, this strange, unique journey would soon reach its conclusion.
"But I still don't know how it ends."
This part was something he just couldn't get used to. It was the first time he had ever held a megaphone without knowing the ending. It was only natural, of course. How could one direct a piece of work without knowing the resolution?
That was why he had asked Ryu separately when they last met. He asked what kind of ending he had in mind. Of course, since Ryu didn't know the ending of I Am an Actor either, he couldn't have decided who would live or die... but surely, he must have had some idea of which direction the story was heading.
However, to that request, Ryu had replied without a single change in expression:
"Pardon? Better that I don't know?"
"Yes. The chaotic atmosphere that arises precisely because we don't know anything is what fills this work right now. An atmosphere where it wouldn't be strange if anything happened at any moment. That's only possible because you, the director, don't know the ending."
Ryu’s eyes sparkled.
"...I didn't expect to be comforted."
Park Myungjin swallowed a sigh. He knew Ryu’s words made sense. But as a PD, directing a project without knowing the ending was bound to feel unsettling in more ways than one.
Not only would he be unable to see the overall picture, but even when a script was handed to him, he couldn't immediately dive into filming. As a PD, he had to agonize over what angle, what color palette, and what rhythm to use to direct each scene. It wasn't easy for Park Myungjin to figure out those compositions like a time-attack challenge every time a script arrived.
"In a way, I suppose it's fair."
Park Myungjin let out a dry laugh. The actors were also thrown onto the set without enough time to fully digest the script. If they were doing their best under such difficult, harsh conditions, it wouldn't be right for him, the PD, to be the one whining.
Still, he couldn't help but worry.
"Three people were eliminated this time."
How on earth did Ryu plan to have them exit? What kind of death would be bestowed upon them? As of now, it was impossible to know. He wanted to know quickly. Only then could he visualize what kind of imagery would be most beautiful in his mind...
"PD-nim!"
"Oh, huh? What is it? Did the script arrive?"
Just then, the assistant director called out to Park Myungjin in a frantic voice. The script! Park Myungjin’s face brightened as he turned toward the assistant director. But the assistant director shook his head.
"No, that's not it... A review just went up!"
"...A review?"
Park Myungjin’s expression withered in an instant. Honestly, reviews were already pouring in more than enough. From netizens to all sorts of review channels and 'wreck-a' YouTubers, everyone was talking about Room. But,
"It's a review posted by Nugulnaegul!"
"...Nugulnaegul?"
That was different. Nugulnaegul. He was a reviewer whose name was mentioned quite often in the industry these days. Or rather, it would be more accurate to call him a critic, not just a reviewer.
"He's definitely an industry insider."
Or at the very least, he came from the industry. If not, there was no way to explain the level of intuition and seasoned expertise contained in his critiques. There was even talk that film directors were most nervous about his reviews. There was no other critic in the industry right now who possessed both credibility and influence over the public like Nugulnaegul. To add a slight exaggeration, one could say the success or failure of a film hinged on a single word from him.
Perhaps that was why. Park Myungjin’s hands were trembling slightly as he took the tablet from the assistant director. Room was already on the right track. Even if Nugulnaegul’s critique didn't have a massive impact at this point... he couldn't help but feel nervous.
A turning point. At those words, Park Myungjin’s nostrils flared. Did Nugulnaegul see the same thing Park Myungjin saw?
As if to answer that question, Nugulnaegul continued:
Nugulnaegul showed a photo. It was a collection of cuts from the daily lives of the ten participants before they entered Room. Park Myungjin’s eyes sparkled as he saw it.
Refreshing. He was reading everything that people hadn't been able to decipher yet. Even,
Being praised like this naturally made Park Myungjin’s nostrils flare even wider. He continued watching the video, convinced once again that Nugulnaegul was definitely an industry insider.
Nugulnaegul paused for breath. He had been so excited while talking that he had forgotten to breathe for a moment.
Why should we live? Park Myungjin smiled without realizing it. He couldn't help it. How could he not smile when there was someone who read his work so perfectly? Of course, the challenge remained. Kim Sunwoo was not just a question, but also the answer. Had Nugulnaegul found out what that answer was?
At this moment, Park Myungjin’s lips curled up so high there was no room for them to go any higher. He couldn't help it. From a PD’s perspective, encountering someone who fully understood their work like this was a blessing.
"Ha. Look at this guy talk."
Park Myungjin let out a hollow laugh. That was practically a warning sent to the production team. It was a warning that since he was enjoying it now, he wouldn't let it slide if they made a mess of it by failing to finish it properly. He didn't feel bad. In a way, it meant that Nugulnaegul had that much expectation for Room.
Even after that, Nugulnaegul talked about various things regarding the work. From the actors' acting to the meaning hidden in the details of the stage background. And just when he had finished watching the 20-minute review,
"Director! Director!"
The assistant director approached, making a fuss again. Park Myungjin turned to the assistant director with a listless expression. He didn't expect the script to have arrived. He had expected it earlier and only ended up disappointed.
"Why. What now."
"The script has arrived! I brought the printed copy!"
"...Already?"
But this time, it seemed to be for real. Park Myungjin hurriedly took the script from the assistant director. And how much time had passed? Park Myungjin, who had turned the last page, muttered quietly.
"I won't have to hear the words 'common survival story'."
"Pardon?"
"No, just talking to myself."
Park Myungjin smiled broadly.
"Something tells me the next week is going to be very special."