Berlin Bound (1)

"We're going to the Berlin Film Festival."

Even though he had said it as if it were nothing, his mind was a tangled mess. Things have certainly gotten interesting. An endless cycle of political maneuvering and backroom schemes. If his only goal was to make a decent name for himself as an actor and earn a comfortable living, he could have kept his head down, grown slowly, starred in decent films here and there, and kept his distance from all the drama... But of course, Sion didn't have a single shred of such a desire.

Since they've picked a fight, I might as well give them a proper response. Knowing early on from his past life what kind of place Hollywood was, he felt a bit annoyed, but more than that, his competitive fire was stoked.

An actor was, at the end of the day, a commodity. He had felt this more deeply than anyone, both before his face was ruined in his past life and after he somehow managed to make a comeback. Once basic skills like acting ability were established, the only difference lay in whether you sold yourself through looks, image, or personal drama. Ultimately, unless you held the power of 'capital,' you were destined to be a puppet dancing in the palms of those who did.

Even if you climbed to the very top, fame often brought unwanted troubles. Sion wanted to defy those rules. Because I want to do whatever I want in the film industry. Still, this clown-like life and the headaches of fame weren't entirely bad.

Sion stared intently at Elena's face as she set dishes on the dining table across from him. She blushed slightly and asked bluntly, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because you're pretty."

Because there was someone by his side.

"...Mr. Lee?"

No, to be precise, there were "people."

"Eat plenty today."

Visiting the Asimov family for dinner at the end of every year had become an annual tradition, but Dmitry, the "official head of the household," still addressed Sion with the stiff title of "Mr. Lee." He clearly disapproved of the romance that had found his beloved daughter.

As a regressor and an actor, Sion was used to dealing with people of all ages and genders, but the position of "girlfriend's father" was inevitably a bit awkward. ...Perhaps that was why, even without realizing it, he naturally slipped into his old "brat" habits.

"Thank you for the meal, Dmitry."

"It is Mr. Asimov."

"Darling, don't be so stiff."

Just then, Olga Asimov, who had brought out the main dish, scolded her husband. "He'll get indigestion. Sion is going to be part of our family soon anyway."

"Oh, should we book a wedding hall for tomorrow?"

Squeeze.

"No, Mom. We're not quite there yet..."

"Then can I look forward to next year? Your physical affection seems very natural~."

Sion flashed a sly grin even as Elena pinched his cheek. ...Sion's avoidant ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tendencies, formed during his childhood, manifested in a strange way.

Watching some punk (?) sitting next to his harmonious wife and daughter, Dmitry sent a gaze as cold as the Siberian Gulag. Once his cheek was released, Sion ladled a scoop of Borscht for Elena first. Seeing Sion take care of her first made Elena's cheeks flush even redder.

"What's gotten into you?"

"Eat up. Thanks for inviting me today."

"Well... I knew you'd spend it alone if we didn't invite you..."

"Oh my, it's so lovely to see you two taking care of each other. Reminds me of when we were young. Right, Dmitry?"

Dmitry muttered a Russian Orthodox prayer in a low voice. He was trying his best to suppress the urge to bury the punk (?) who had stolen his daughter, Russian mafia-style. ...Yet, because Sion had once been the catalyst that helped Olga return to acting, Dmitry couldn't bring himself to hate him completely, which only confused him more.

Sion ladled a scoop for Olga as well. "Please, Olga. You've somehow grown even more beautiful since the last time I saw you."

"Fufu, thank you. Shall we have a drink today, for old times' sake?"

"I'd love to. Drinking with my mother-in-law is always a pleasure."

"I have some vodka chilled until it's thick."

"M-mother-in-law..."

Elena pouted, flustered by Sion's cheeky banter. With that, the proper meal accompanied by vodka began. Having visited for several years now, Sion was quite accustomed to the Asimov family's Christmas. Elena and Dmitry barely drank, while Sion and Olga preferred to enjoy their meal with plenty of alcohol.

A Russian-American home-cooked meal, a corner lit with icons and candles, and the occasional Christmas songs playing in the background felt much closer to sacred hymns than upbeat carols. It was a time of catching up and wishing each other well for the coming year. As the atmosphere grew warm and cozy, Olga suddenly spoke up.

"It seems you've gotten yourself tangled in something troublesome, Sion. Catching Harvey Weinstein's eye."

"Well, men harboring jealousy toward me is an ancient tradition."

"..."

Feeling a bit tipsy, Sion tried to lean in closer to Elena, but catching Dmitry's glare, he immediately straightened his back. If he crossed the line here, he might actually end up buried.

"He's a man who has recently taken a tight grip on Hollywood... no, the Academy. He brought in all kinds of artistic indie films and revived that market. He has his achievements, but the rumors about him are terrible." Olga sipped her vodka, recalling her memories of meeting him. "He is a highly political, greedy man." That straightforward description fit him perfectly.

"If your opponent were just a major studio, it might be different, but this time, I think it'll be tough."

"I am looking into various options."

At that, Dmitry chimed in. "Then, how should we interpret Sion winning the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor last time?"

"Pure talent."

"Pure talent, indeed."

Elena stared at the shamelessly confident duo of Olga and Sion, looking slightly bewildered.

"W-was there really no other reason? Like, maybe he thought highly of Sion back then?"

"No way. There's bad blood between them. They were like you and me in the past, Ellie. Sion caused that man far more pain and suffering than you did back when you used to tell me, 'I hate you.'"

"Ah, now that I think about it, wasn't Miramax the distributor for Swing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in Chicago?"

"...Holding a grudge over that until now? In an industry that changes faster than any other? Something smells fishy, Sion."

"Well, when I saw him at a party recently, he definitely looked like he doesn't wash. I, on the other hand, am always squeaky clean."

"Oh, right. You do have a unique scent like that."

"My, Elena. How do you know that?"

"...W-what? No, I mean, when we're this close, of course I'd know!"

Her face flushed bright red as the table suddenly felt like an interrogation room. Olga looked at Elena with a knowing smile, while Sion, uncharacteristically, refrained from teasing her and instead stole a glance at Dmitry.

"..............."

The father-in-law had frozen solid like a stone statue, unable to utter a word. Wait, we haven't gone that far yet. He seemed to have jumped to a massive misunderstanding.

The new year of 1999 dawned. Although the fear of Y2K loomed large, that was mostly the talk of conspiracy theorists and media outlets hungry for sensationalism. Ordinary people, on the other hand, were gradually looking forward to the new millennium. Meanwhile, companies with "dot-com" attached to their names were highly valued due to baseless expectations, giving rise to the phenomenon known as the "dot-com bubble."

As always, the youth expressed anger, depression, and helplessness, but easily forgot it all over a can of beer, while those who had barely established themselves enjoyed culture while pretending they were still young. This aspect isn't much different whether in the future or the past. The adage that society merely repeats itself suddenly crossed Sion's mind.

After fully enjoying his New Year's holiday splitting time between the Asimov family and the Kang family, Sion joined Tom Cruise and boarded a flight to Germany just as American society began to gear up again.

"I heard German beer is incredibly delicious."

"Ah, Sion. Alcohol is bad for your body!"

A trip accompanied ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠by the ever-bright and cheerful Tom.

Flying to Berlin, where the film festival was in full preparation mode, the first person they met was Angela Molina, the Jury President of this year's Berlin International Film Festival. True to her Spanish roots, she was a beauty who exuded a passionate aura. However, her attitude was cold.

"Normally... I would flatly reject such a proposal."

The "Big Three" film festivals—Berlin, Cannes, and Venice—tended to emphasize the artistic merit of cinema, and thus valued "independence" from the influence of capital above all else. Among them, Berlin was relatively friendly toward the Hollywood studio system, despite its commercial saturation. To be precise, they believed that good films could still emerge from a highly commercialized environment. Therefore, choosing Berlin was the best option in terms of both timing and probability.

The problem, of course, was that the screening process for invited films had already concluded, with only the official announcements remaining.

"My Olivia told me that if I don't meet Sion and bring back a photo and an autograph, she will never see me again."

Stepping forward, Sion smiled gently and spoke first. "Olivia? That's a beautiful name."

Angela thought that perhaps because he had French blood, he looked less like a typical American heartthrob and more like a European beauty, with a mysterious aura swirling around his striking features.

"She's my daughter."

"If you would seriously consider our proposal, let's all have dinner together."

"I have no intention of going that far. That is outright lobbying."

"It might bring an early end to your daughter's puberty."

"Instead, she probably won't be able to marry for the rest of her life, spending her days reminiscing and longing for your beauty after having dinner with you somewhere in Berlin." Angela broke the ice with a somewhat old-fashioned joke. "Alright. I've heard the rumors, and I've watched the film." After a moment of hesitation, her hand gripped her pen tightly. "To put it simply, it is an exceptionally good piece of work."

"Thank you!"

"Don't smile just yet, Mr. Cruise. I'm not saying we can screen it." Angela firmly suppressed the budding hope in their eyes and continued. "I've heard roughly how this film is being received in the United States. It seems to have been caught up in an uncomfortable political battle, and accepting such a film at this late stage and making an enemy of Hollywood is not something we want. After all, we are just local filmmakers."

"Because you are filmmakers, shouldn't you accept this film?"

"...Excuse me?"

When Sion threw her own words back at her, Angela's eyes widened in surprise. In front of her, Sion calmly laid out his thoughts.

"Isn't this something that has always happened? Good films being buried due to the control of power. It was precisely because filmmakers cried out for freedom that festivals like this were created. In the past, it was political power; now, it is the power of capital. And right now, this film is being buried in the massive Hollywood market by those who wield giant capital."

To be honest, it wasn't being buried to that extreme extent. But words are a matter of interpretation, and Sion deliberately framed it in a way that would appeal to Angela.

"To unearth such a film and give it a chance to compete in the main category, as a one-time exception. Wouldn't that be seen not as picking a fight, but as an artistic protest? Much like your own life, Mrs. Molina."

"My life, you say..."

Angela Molina had long maintained an uneasy relationship with the conservative establishment. She had pushed for characters with strong sexual agency, characters who rebelled against the existing order, and narratives that challenged religion and authority. As a result, she had faced numerous screening restrictions and demands for edits. Having walked such a path, it was true that she felt uncomfortable with Hollywood's current attempt to suppress a film using its authority.

But to think that the people trying to raise the same banner she had fought for were the two men representing the very pinnacle of capitalist Hollywood.

"I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠find it hard to understand. That Mr. Lee and Mr. Cruise would face such issues and come to us for help."

"Isn't it said that life is a tragedy when seen in close-up, but a comedy in long-shot?"

Seeing Sion quote Charlie Chaplin, Angela made up her mind. There was no turning back now.

As January of the new year began, newspapers and film magazines across the United States dedicated pages to their own film awards. And the film that swept the most awards was, without a doubt, Echos of a family. The meticulous Oscar campaign run by Cruise & Wagner Productions had yielded these results.

While outlets under Harvey Weinstein's influence primarily selected films he had produced or distributed, it seemed to suggest that the film that truly resonated with many Americans living in the present era was Echos of a family. This film was, in essence, about the vagueness of life and anxiety. And it was also a film about shaking off those feelings through the uniquely human capacity for empathy.

The restrained, dry visual beauty and the perfectly matched emotional delivery. Sion Lee did not show overly intense acting throughout the film. Yet, the character he portrayed resonated more than anyone with the hearts of modern men—those who were exhausted from living standardized lives.

However, Harvey Weinstein, who had previously attended the film preview hosted by Tom Cruise as if to show off, evaluated the film in front of others like this:

"Well, it wasn't a bad movie. But..."

He went on to say it was too cliché, that it wasn't the kind of film the Academy wanted these days, and that historical dramas should take priority this year. Spouting whatever nonsense he pleased, he deliberately tried to push Echos of a family out of contention for the Academy Awards and the Golden Globes.

Then, on a morning in late January, while reading the newspaper, he came across an unexpected article.

"Huh...?"