Crank In (5)

Exactly two days after the publication of Behind the Scene.

Sion Lee was listening to a voice on the phone that sounded dangerously close to a curse.

"You sound great, Charlie. How've you been?"

"Filming is going great. I haven't caused any trouble, and I've been brushing my teeth every day."

"My face? It's perfectly fine."

"Tell them thank you for the great clothes that cover my body shape even with a belly."

Charlie Kang was making bizarre groans, unable to contain his rage. It sounded like a sudden zombie outbreak had hit California. Sion, realizing he had provoked him a bit too much, gave a lazy smile and began to soothe him.

"It's better than when I was riding motorcycles and causing trouble in California, isn't it?"

"Behind the Scene must have sold quite well. I should go treat them to a meal later."

"Most of the shooting from now on is indoors, so it's fine. I anticipated this and coordinated the schedule with the director. And... if anyone comes all the way here to take pictures, can't we just smash their camera?"

"I know, I know. You don't have to worry like I'm a child near the water."

"Ah, it's time for me to go shoot. I'll call you later."

Sion hung up, cutting off the nagging that was sure to follow.

The apartment was still desolate. The only change since he first moved in was a row of empty whipped cream spray cans lined up on the windowsill, naturally serving as a piece of interior decor.

Sion figured he had given Charlie enough peace of mind.

After all, he had told him he wasn't drinking, meeting women, or riding motorcycles. Still, Charlie called every morning out of worry, which allowed Sion to keep track of what was happening in California in real-time.

The Behind the Scene interview was such a massive deal that the news had spread quickly even to Chicago, but being 1990, it was hard to catch the finer details of the public's reaction immediately.

I don't expect smartphones, but the lack of internet at this time is a bit frustrating.

But even without it, there was a strange thrill in rebuilding his career step by step.

How would the public view this version of him? How would people react when the movie came out?

Sion patted his newly acquired belly fat and began getting ready for the shoot.

"Cinephile" is a portmanteau of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠"cinema" and "philia," referring to someone who consumes and contemplates film as an artistic and cultural object.

Depending on the era, it carried a sophisticated image, but in 1990s America, cinephiles ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were usually understood as "people who built their own kingdoms in their attics."

An old CRT television, a VCR, and walls lined with videotapes. Sitting on a couch, munching on popcorn or nachos, watching movies together, and debating them all night.

To them, the "modern" Hollywood industry was a bunch of fools churning out garbage using capital.

And the ones they despised most were those who "cranked out" films solely on "star power," devoid of artistic merit, story, or coherence.

In other words, Sion Lee.

Somewhere in America, on a desert highway.

A man sitting down stroked his thick double chin and spoke.

"I don't know what kind of sorcery this is."

In front of him lay the latest issue of Behind the Scene.

The cheap paper magazine was already slightly crumpled, its durability lacking. Flipping to a specific page, a group of men, averaging 100 kilograms, began discussing the shocking article.

"It's shocking enough that Sion Lee is shooting an indie film, but he changed his image this much?"

"It's ridiculous. With his acting skills, the movie is bound to make you gag."

"Why did they cast him? For viral marketing? Well, I guess they'll recoup the budget."

"Ugh, I still haven't recovered from the trauma of Deadly Summer Camp."

Across America, many cinephiles debated the news of Sion Lee starring in an indie film. While most concluded it was just a viral stunt and the movie would be trash, a few found themselves intrigued by Sion's dedication—gaining weight and growing a beard just for a role.

Meanwhile, on a beach somewhere in America.

"Ah, ahhh...!"

"Kyaaaaa!"

A few girls who looked like Valley girls were screaming in denial.

"Nooo, Sion! My Sion-!!"

And in a teenage girl's bedroom.

One wall was completely plastered with Sion Lee's face. Movie posters and magazine cutouts were haphazardly taped together, looking almost stalker-like to an outsider.

"I'm... I'm going to Chicago too!"

"I have to go and see for myself! If that is really Sion!"

Among the girls gathered in that room, the seeds of obsession were beginning to bloom.

In this manner, people all over America were consuming the brand of "Sion Lee." And to meet that demand, various tabloids churned out articles.

While major media outlets and television news avoided mentioning it due to reporting guidelines, tabloids desperate for tomorrow's sales fabricated rumors relentlessly.

"Well, because of that... there's going to be a war of lawsuits for a while."

Hearing the words of Michael Mitchum, the editor-in-chief of Behind the Scene, one of the reporters asked during their usual coffee and smoke break.

"Huh? A war of lawsuits?"

"Yeah. Right now, the agency Sion Lee belongs to must be in absolute chaos. It's a tiny place, but the representative is famous for his wide network. Plus, given Sion's commercial value, the sponsors won't just sit back and let pseudo-journalists spread false rumors. Only the lawyers will win in the end."

"Will it really go as far as lawsuits?"

"Most of them will issue corrections once they're threatened, so probably not. But there are always those crazy bastards who go too far, right? We can't exactly send mobsters to trash their offices like the old days..."

"Come on, looking at lawyers, mobsters actually seem like gentlemen."

"Well, I agree. If those agencies sue for real, they won't let go until they've stripped them clean. They'll use every trick in the book within the boundaries of the law to destroy them."

Sipping his coffee, Michael took a deep drag of his Marlboro and exhaled a long stream of smoke.

"Anyway, looking at all this and thinking about Sion Lee, it gives me a really strange feeling."

"What kind of feeling?"

"Does that bastard know that just by taking a breath, he generates about five thousand dollars in commercial value? Of course not. If he did, he wouldn't beat up fans, drink, and ride motorcycles. And he certainly wouldn't go to Chicago to shoot an indie film and pull a stunt like this. He's completely brainless."

"But he has that face."

"Yeah, yeah. He made it this far solely on that face. It's ridiculous. But he's going to get completely humiliated in this movie. You can't get away with just a 'face' in indie films. There's no promotion or budget to cover for you."

"Maybe he'll do well?"

"...You bastard, are you trying to bet with me again?"

"Chief, you just barely got off the hook with the team by buying us beer after walking around in women's clothes. How can you even bring up a bet? You'll just lose again."

A classic "chicken" provocation. The editor-in-chief was not one to back down from such a challenge.

"Fine. If Sion Lee actually shows decent acting in this movie, I'll wear women's clothes to his premiere and interview him myself. But if I win, you guys buy me beer for a month."

Michael made his declaration with absolute confidence.

Later, he would deeply regret this choice.

Scott Jones. Forty-five years old.

A film school graduate, he was the only Black student in his class and started his acting career immediately after graduation. He worked in various theater companies in Chicago before moving to Hollywood with big dreams. However, in the 1970s, roles for Black actors in Hollywood were extremely limited.

He survived as a day laborer with a flexible schedule, but after appearing in only a few minor film roles, he was forced to return to his hometown. Since then, Scott had made a living working at a gas station and coaching after-school drama classes at a local school.

The label of "failed Black actor" followed him like a shadow.

But even now, Scott had not given up. He continued acting in a small local theater company and built up his resume by appearing in minor roles on local television and in indie films.

And now, he was participating in a film called Swing in Chicago.

At first, he had auditioned thinking it was just another trendy indie film in the style of Sex, Lies, and Videotape after its Palme d'Or win. But to his shock, after working hard to pass the audition, he found out that the male lead was none other than Sion Lee—a famous Hollywood actor whose stock was rising in more ways than one.

When he first heard the rumor, he assumed he had misheard. As someone who knew the reality of the Hollywood industry from experience, Scott knew on a common-sense level that such things did not happen easily.

But on the day of the table read, he came face-to-face with the actual Sion Lee, and only then could he accept the reality of starring in the same film.

When he first saw that face, Scott thought an angel had descended from heaven. A fallen angel, at that.

"Ah, you must be the one playing Detective Cobbs. Let's make this a great shoot!"

His tone was light and cheerful, unlike what one would expect from a celebrity, but because of the "vessel" that contained it, one felt they couldn't dare fathom his true depth. His pale skin and messy dirty blond hair perfectly fit the description of a "teen idol," and his deep green eyes exuded a decadent charm that made even another man's heart flutter. And this was even after he had gained weight.

A face perfectly suited for a leading man.

But many people claimed that Sion's value began and ended there. An eighteen-year-old actor whose face was magnificent, but whose acting skills and on-set attitude were deemed sub-par. It was only natural that Scott's first worry was whether he could work well with such a person.

However, after they all gathered for the table read, Scott couldn't help but tilt his head in confusion.

Huh?

His acting wasn't bad. ...No, it was actually excellent.

His acting tone is incredibly stable...

His vocalization, pronunciation, facial expressions, tone, and nuances—none of it made him seem like an eighteen-year-old actor. The weight of his title as a Hollywood actor was palpable, and Scott found himself nearly losing his own acting pace more than once.

If he could act this well during a simple table read, it was normal for him to perform even better on an actual set. Acting was both a technique and an art; thus, actors on set became more immersed as they physically moved within the space.

He's not even half my age. Why did he ruin his previous films so badly?

Faced with a massive discrepancy that clashed with his preconceived notions, Scott had asked an industry acquaintance who was still working in Hollywood if they knew about Sion Lee.

Is the person I saw... a different person?

It was his first time encountering an actor whose actual performance on set differed so drastically from his reputation and rumors. In the end, unable to bridge that gap, the day of the crank-in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠arrived.

According to the schedule, the first day Scott participated in the shoot was after several scenes had already been filmed. Arriving at the small apartment that served as the set, his heart was a mix of excitement and nervousness, as it always was. There, he witnessed a completely unexpected sight.

While the crew was preparing for the shoot, Sion Lee was rolling around on the carpet.

"......?"

"Oh."

Noticing Scott, "Alex" jumped up and extended his hand for a handshake.

"Hello. It's been a while since the table read. Scott Jones... right?"

"Ah, yes. Mr. Lee. ...You seem busy?"

"I was doing a bit of art direction."

Sion smiled gently and pointed to the red carpet on the floor.

"This carpet is just too clean, don't you think? For Alex's apartment."

"Well, that's true."

"I thought it needed to be dirtier, so I went and rolled around on the grass in the nearby park for about ten minutes. Rolling around here after that really brings the scene to life, don't you think? There's some dirt and grass clippings scattered now, and my clothes look like something I just picked up after someone threw them away... It's great."

"I heard this is the director's apartment. Is it okay?"

"Yep, I already got permission. Right, Danny?"

"Yes, yes! Do whatever you want!"

Hearing the nickname "Danny," Scott barely suppressed the urge to tilt his head.

Daniel Summit was currently explaining the shooting intentions to James, the cinematographer, and the rest of the crew, gathering their opinions. In the short time since Scott had last seen him, a faint, subtle madness seemed to have settled into Daniel's eyes.

When Daniel framed Sion and Scott with his thumbs and index fingers, his intense determination to capture something extraordinary was clearly conveyed through his single open eye.

I've never experienced this kind of atmosphere before.

Though he had worked as an actor in the film industry for many years, he had never been on a set where the air felt this dense. To dismiss it simply as the nature of an indie film set was impossible—after all, hadn't he worked on other indie sets before?

Glancing at Sion, who was rolling on the apartment floor to make the carpet dirty despite being the lead actor... Scott shook ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his head.

No way.

Surely, it wasn't Sion Lee who had created this atmosphere.