Driven to Madness (5)
"I will take full responsibility."
"...What?"
In an office nestled in sunny California, warm sunlight streamed through the windows. Sundance Institute President Robert Redford's eyes widened at the words of Irene Cho, who had just returned from her business trip to Chicago. Several staff members in the room shamelessly eavesdropped on their conversation.
"Swing in Chicago is a masterpiece that far exceeded my expectations. We must screen it. And it has to be the opening premiere."
"What?!" Unable to listen to any more of this, a senior programmer jumped to his feet. "Are you out of your mind? The opening film is going to be a movie starring Sion Lee?"
The opening film, screened at the very launch of the Sundance Film Festival, had always been reserved for a work of undeniable artistic merit that defined that year. To put a film starring Sion Lee in such a prestigious slot? It was absolute madness.
Robert flicked his finger to calm him down. However, the rest of the staff had already gathered around, eager to hear more of Irene's "crazy" proposal.
"Go on." At his gesturing hand, Irene continued.
"Sion Lee has changed. ...Or perhaps he was always like this."
"Did he get on drugs?"
"Did he learn some mystical Eastern spell?"
"Hey, that's racist."
"Sion Lee is of Korean descent, too. It's something people don't 'actively' bring up, but everyone in the know knows." A director shrugged.
In reality, Sion Lee was treated as just another "Lee," like Christopher Lee. The fact that he was of Korean descent was something people deliberately avoided bringing up to keep everyone's Hollywood life smooth and uncomplicated. In the first place, mentioning it now was useless gossip; he was "just" incredibly handsome, so nobody cared. If his commercial value ever plummeted, they might inflate that aspect to sell a narrative of "motivation" or "overcoming racial barriers," but that time had not yet come.
Should I say he's lucky he looks white? As a fellow Korean-American, Irene Cho wondered if this cold, bitter reality might have had something to do with the "trash acting" he had put on display until now. Hollywood treated actors as tools, not artists. Of course, there were real star actors who broke free from those shackles. But even they, unknowingly, became cogs in the capitalist calculations driven by ticket power. What could an eighteen-year-old actor with no real connections do? It might look like a sudden, erratic decision, but perhaps, trapped in that system, he had fled to an indie film set in Chicago to send out a desperate SOS. Misunderstanding the situation entirely on her own, Irene pressed on.
"If this brings any harm to Sundance, I will take full responsibility."
"Miss Cho." Robert placed a cigarette between his lips and called her name in a low voice. "Responsibility is not a word to be thrown around lightly. Do you know why?"
"I... I'm not sure."
"Because not just anyone can bear it. There are specific people who can. And you are not one of them."
"..."
"If anyone takes the fall, it's me. So right now, I only want one thing. The movie. Did you bring the rough cut?"
"Of course."
Irene handed over the videotape, which she had obtained only after signing an agreement promising never to leak it outside the Sundance Institute. Everyone gathered in the room stared at it with wary eyes, as if observing a poisoned chalice. Grinning, Robert took a drag of his cigarette and spoke.
"Since everyone has been working so hard, I think I should treat you to a movie."
"Ah, Robert. I actually have to go out on field duty right now..."
"I need to run to the post office before it closes!"
"And you call yourselves cinephiles?"
The employees who were trying to sneak out froze at Robert's sharp remark. Snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray, he continued in a cold tone.
"If you're going to trash it, watch it first. Do you think carrying a business card and giggling over a few films makes you a real filmmaker? If you want to protect your petty pride, show at least a shred of sincerity. No matter how bad the rumors or reviews are, evaluate a film only after you've seen it with your own eyes. That is your job."
Those words stung everyone's pride. But it was undeniably true.
"Yeah, yeah. Of course we should. Damn, I haven't been leaving work on time lately, my brain must be fried."
"Haha, I was just joking..."
Muttering excuses, the members of the Sundance Institute filed into the largest screening room to watch the rough cut of Swing in Chicago that Irene had brought. About an hour and a half passed.
"..."
"..."
Even after returning to the office, the six cinephiles—excluding Irene—remained silent for a long time. They all reacted differently. Two went straight to the restroom, two brewed coffee, and the remaining two sat down and lit cigarettes. Irene felt a swell of triumph and waited for their reactions to burst forth. Finally, Robert was the first to speak.
"I've never seen an actor like this. He's a complete stranger."
"...Has he been doing this on purpose all this time? No, why would he?"
"Shouldn't he be arrested by the police for fraud?"
"Who did he defraud?"
"The entire great American public! How on earth could he hide that kind of acting talent?!"
"An actor hiding his acting talent... Robert, is that even possible?"
"I just told you. I've never seen an actor who is so completely different in commercial films versus independent ones. The Sion Lee I knew was absolutely not this kind of actor."
Robert puffed out a cloud of smoke and continued.
"I've often seen talented guys throw a tantrum and ruin a performance because of friction with the production company or the director. But that's basically spitting on your own face. What does a professional gain by letting their temper ruin their own work?"
"Then what on earth is this? Why did his acting suddenly get this good?"
"He carried the entire film by himself and just went wild...! He kept building up speed, and by the end, it was a total 'Highway to Hell'! Ah! What did I just watch?! Is that really Sion Lee?!"
"Stop denying reality. It is. That perfect face, though a bit ruined..."
"What... what is cinema anyway...?"
Many of them fell into a state of panic. The movie was just that magnificent. On the stage of Chicago, Sion Lee perfectly captured the transformation and ruin of a social misfit. The story was excellent, and the message, mise-en-scène, and directing were so superb that it was hard to believe it was the work of a rookie director. Or perhaps, because the director was a rookie, the film lacked conventional constraints, making it leave an even stronger impression. Because of this, any loose ends in the script were completely patched over by the acting.
No, he didn't just patch it over. He painted the entire blank canvas with his own colors.
Robert couldn't help but fall into deeper confusion. Why? If he could act like this, why had he shown such a pathetic display in Hollywood? Having just watched a film dealing with drugs, Robert seriously wondered if the boy had taken some kind of substance.
Only the ticking of the clock echoed in the silent office. Realizing that the opening day of the festival was drawing closer by the second, Robert immediately stubbed out his cigarette.
"Miss Cho."
"Yes, Robert."
"Put this in the opening premiere. I'll take the responsibility."
"Yes!"
"Is there anyone here who has watched the film and still wishes to oppose this decision?"
No one stepped forward to challenge Robert's declaration. The reason was simple. The film they had just watched, Swing in Chicago, perfectly aligned with the direction the Sundance Film Festival pursued.
Sundance was fundamentally a platform to discover and showcase the artistic side of cinema that a show-business-obsessed Hollywood could never produce. In that sense, this film, which had almost been buried by the prejudices of the Sundance staff, was the perfect piece to present to the public first. If anything, it felt like they had been taught a lesson. By Sion Lee, a young actor who had been the very epitome of Hollywood show business.
Chewing on the shock, the staff sighed in defeat and rubbed their noses.
"Tch, can't be helped."
"Ah, this makes me reflect on our own narrow-mindedness."
"Haha, that Sion Lee kid. He was actually a pretty good actor, wasn't he?"
"..."
Watching them suddenly spout these deeply moved remarks like actors in a rehearsed play, Irene thought to herself. She knew they always acted like this for a while after watching a great film, so she didn't pay much attention to their cheesy comments.
I should call and let him know right away.
She smiled brightly, filled with the joy of having "discovered" the true value of an actor and a film. Completely unaware of what kind of disaster the appearance of a superstar like Sion Lee would bring to this year's Sundance Film Festival.
December 10, 1990. Roughly three months had passed since Sion had returned from being a lonely, disfigured forty-eight-year-old man to an eighteen-year-old youth at the peak of his beauty.
Late in the afternoon, Sion Lee was battling withdrawal symptoms.
"There's none! There's none left...!"
He picked up a cylindrical spray can from the floor and shoved the nozzle into his mouth. With a deflating hiss, only a faint sweet scent drifted out; nothing actually touched his tongue. Indeed, what Sion Lee held in his hand was an empty can of whipped cream spray.
"Argh! Endure it! Just endure it! How can you call yourself an actor if you can't even handle this level of hunger!"
Even as he spoke, his body was brutally honest. Sion Lee picked up the empty whipped cream cans scattered around his apartment one by one, shoving them into his mouth and pulling the triggers. But the completely depleted cans offered nothing but a desolate hiss, like tumbleweeds rolling through a desert.
"...Ah, damn it. I only do this because they're in my line of sight."
His eighteen-year-old body demanded a massive amount of calories to keep moving. Munching on a stick of celery, he stuffed all the empty cans into a trash bag, then opened his apartment door to throw them out.
Right then, with a soft chime, the elevator doors at the end of the hallway slid open. Standing inside was... a disheveled man with a rigid expression.
"Sion! Siooon!!"
It was none other than Daniel Summit, the director of Swing in Chicago.
As he rushed forward, a smell resembling rotten cheese wafted over. Having been unable to go home or properly wash for nearly two weeks, he grinned widely. Sion caught sight of a tiny speck of something between his front teeth—something he never wanted to identify for the rest of his life—and instinctively took a step back.
"D-Danny? What's going on?"
"We got the call! Sundance! We're in the premiere!"
"Really? ...Oh, my appetite just vanished. Great."
"What?"
"Nothing. Did Irene call you directly?"
"Yes! She asked us to finish and submit it at least a week before the festival starts! This is all thanks to you, Sion! We had almost given up, thinking we wouldn't make the deadline! Seriously...! Thank you so much!"
"It's the result of everyone's hard work. There's no need to thank me."
"Ah, a perfect face and a perfect personality! You are the greatest actor I know, Sion Lee! Right after Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, Robert De Niro, and Jack Nicholson! Oh, and let me add Dustin Hoffman to that list!"
"Thank you. Thanks for praising me in a way that would make anyone who overheard call me a 'moderately shameless bastard.'"
"Haha! It's just the two of us here, so who cares! Anyway, I'm going to pull all-nighters editing until the festival! If Laura demands more editing fees, I'll pay out of my own pocket to make it work!"
"I was the one who insisted on the tight schedule, so if it comes to that, it's only right that I pay. Or, how about asking the studio for more funding?"
"Oh, that's an option. Since the atmosphere is quite unusual right now, they might actually give us more support..."
"Let's talk more about it on our way down."
"Ah, you were throwing out the trash. ...But why is it filled with nothing but spray cans?"
"The filming is over, so I have to stop eating it now."
Even as he said that, Sion stared longingly at the whipped cream cans in the trash bag. Walking down the hallway with him, Daniel suddenly noticed something and tilted his head.
"Oh, Sion. Have you lost some weight?"
"Like I said, the filming is over."
With a slightly tired face, Sion held the elevator door open—the same one Daniel had just ridden up—and stepped inside with him. However, he couldn't help but instinctively stand a few paces away from the director.
"I have to start managing my body again. I don't know what kind of role I'll get for my next film, so I need to get back to a standard weight."
"Oh... You really are a professional."
"Of course. An actor's face and body are products, so they must be properly maintained."
He figured this diet would probably spike his depression levels in the future, but there was no helping it.
I won't repeat my past regrets. I have to be thorough.
Even while suffering from whipped cream withdrawal, Sion was determined to shed the weight before the Sundance Film Festival next month, maintaining a rabbit-like diet of celery and eggs every single day.
As the elevator reached the first floor, Sion pulled his hood down low. He casually asked Daniel, who had rushed over to deliver the news despite his busy schedule.
"Are you heading back to the editing studio now?"
"I have to. Hearing such good news has completely chased away my sleep."
"If you'd like, I can drive you there."
"Ah, no, that's fine! I'm sure you're busy too, Sion."
"Actually, once filming wraps, an actor's job is to rest until post-production is underway. ...And to control their appetite."
Just as he was thinking about grabbing his car keys, something caught Sion's eye. A newsstand near the bus stop in front of the apartment building. There was a familiar face on it.
"Hmm...?"
"What is it?"
Gesturing for Daniel to follow quietly, Sion picked up a newspaper from the stand. It was the front page of the Chicago Tribune, the largest newspaper in Chicago. Past the political articles, in the bottom corner, was a small photo of his own face.
"Huh...?" Daniel let out a shocked gasp upon reading the short headline. "How did you spot that from so far away?"
"It's my superpower. Recognizing my own face instantly, no matter where it is."
Giving a brief reply, Sion turned the page to the entertainment section to read the full article. The content was straightforward. The indie film Swing in Chicago, starring Sion Lee, had been invited to premiere at the Sundance Film Festival. It also included a fairly detailed synopsis of the Chicago-set film, along with explanations about the Sundance Film Festival and its premiere slots.
Reading the article alongside him, Daniel's eyes went wide. "Where did they get this synopsis?"
"We must have an insider."
"But how did they know we were invited to the premiere? I literally just heard the news at Philip Studios and ran straight here..."
"Then we have two insiders. ...In this case, probably someone on the Sundance side."
After all, there was no way a notification received just moments ago could be printed in a newspaper published in Chicago early this morning. Having finished reading the article, Sion handed a quarter to the newsstand vendor and chuckled.
"Director. We have a big problem."
"Huh? Wh-what is it?"
"The Sundance Film Festival is going to be absolutely packed."
He muttered, his voice filled with absolute certainty.