A Shock to the System (1)
An early afternoon, a few days after the Golden Raspberry Awards.
Charlie Kang pulled out a Camel cigarette. He popped it into his mouth and struck a match, the tip of the paper flaring a bright, cherry red.
"Put that out. This is a smoke-free house."
"Uh, what?"
"Quit while you're at it. Why are you smoking when your bronchial tubes are already shot?"
Sion Lee spoke from the sofa, his eyes narrowing. Looking sheepish, Charlie shuffled over to the window and stubbed the cigarette out.
This was Sion's house—a mid-sized home in Studio City, just northwest of Hollywood. With the Golden Raspberry Awards wrapped up and the release of Swing in Chicago right around the corner, Sion and Charlie had met up in a relaxed mood to gauge the public's reaction.
Craving nicotine, Charlie smacked his lips and dropped a stack of newspapers and documents onto the coffee table.
"Looks like you've caused quite a stir again." Charlie's tone was exasperated, yet he couldn't hide his amusement.
Sion leisurely picked up the papers.
"Every newspaper and magazine is talking about you."
"When are they not?"
"You even made CNN. They were mostly critical, but quite a few pointed to your outburst at your second Golden Raspberry win and said you've matured. It was fascinating."
"Nice. Though hearing I've matured from people I don't even respect doesn't exactly make me jump for joy."
Sion mumbled that such was the life of a celebrity as he flipped through the pages. Sure enough, Behind the Scene had published an article with a similar sentiment.
"Two years ago, Sion Lee reacted violently to his win, calling the Golden Raspberry Awards 'worthless parasites that don't possess a fraction of the money I make or the influence I have on people.' Yet, as time passed, Sion admitted his acting fell short and personally attended the ceremony."
Reading the article, Sion felt a wave of embarrassment so intense he wanted to cough up blood.
...I talked that much trash back then?
To Sion, it was a past from over thirty years ago, but in this timeline, it had only been a year. The ripples of his past outbursts were still fresh. He had lived a life full of shameful moments, but at least his memories of them were usually hazy. If he could, he wanted to travel back in time just to smack his younger self a few times.
Still, even though he had expected it, Sion was pleased to see his attendance at the Razzies drawing such a wide range of reactions. Because he understood the flow of the era perfectly, he knew that a "cool" response to his own failures would ultimately benefit his image.
No matter how hard I struggle, the past where I acted like trash won't disappear.
It was far better to acknowledge it and move forward. Because of that, the media and public reaction split cleanly down the middle.
On one side were those who respected Sion Lee for humorously accepting ridicule and satire. On the other were those who criticized him, claiming his attitude was disrespectful to his co-stars and the films themselves.
Both are perfectly valid reactions.
And eventually, these clashing opinions converged into a single, burning question.
"So, just how good is Sion Lee's new movie?"
His acceptance speech had dropped heavy hints about Swing in Chicago, ending with a bold, ambitious vow to one day stand on the Academy Awards stage. With the Sundance Film Festival already driving up interest in Sion's acting transformation, public anticipation was soaring to a fever pitch.
The vibe isn't bad at all.
Sion smiled softly, eagerly counting down the days until the film's release.
"He's totally cool."
That was the sentiment most teenagers had developed toward Sion Lee over the past few days.
It was an era where that kind of attitude was increasingly respected. The times were changing rapidly. The optimistic 1980s had drawn to a close, and the America of the early 1990s was slowly sinking into a quiet depression. The anti-communist sentiment that had once united Americans had collapsed, and as people looked back at the flashy decade they had just left behind, the desolate reality of individual lives came into sharp focus.
Those who felt the wool had been pulled over their eyes—especially the youth, who were the quickest to register these cultural shifts—felt despair and anger. Naturally, this fueled a rebellion against the existing establishment.
Even Hollywood could not escape being a target of this resentment.
This cultural undercurrent was precisely what drove the massive interest in independent films, and recently, in Sion Lee himself.
"So damn cool."
In the early morning hours in New York, outside a large theater in the Upper West Side, an Asian teenager with his hood pulled low stared at a movie poster. It was the poster for Swing in Chicago, which was premiering today.
Hoping to catch the film of the actor currently dominating the media, a massive crowd had been lining up since the previous night. Campers had pitched tents at the very front of the line, which stretched so far back it wrapped entirely around the exterior wall of the massive theater.
The boy's friend nudged him.
"Think we'll actually get to see it today?"
"Probably? Though it might not be until tonight."
The boy glanced at the end of the line and tilted his head.
"Dude, that's dangerous! I have to be home by eight, or I'm grounded!"
"Do you think Sion would worry about something like that?"
"Sion? Where did that come from?"
"Think about the Golden Raspberries. If Sion cared about what other people thought, would he have gone? No way. He coolly admitted his past shortcomings and showed up anyway."
"...I get what you're trying to say, but your logic makes zero sense. How is Sion winning a Razzie the same as me risking getting grounded to watch this movie?"
"Ah, whatever! It's just cool!"
"Well, he was definitely cool this time. But do we really have to go this far to see it..."
"This movie is going to be badass, I'm telling you. Look at my outfit today. Don't I look like Sion on the poster?"
"You jerk, weren't you talking mad trash about him just a while ago because Anna likes him?"
"W-When did I?! And why are you bringing up Anna?!" the boy yelled, his face flushing red.
Even young men who had previously disliked Sion Lee were starting to view him favorably after hearing about his self-deprecating appearance at the Razzies. This was to say nothing of the cinephiles who were purely interested in the film's quality, or his existing, rock-solid female fanbase.
As the crowd waited, the lights inside the theater box office finally flickered on.
"Let's go!"
"I've waited three months for this!"
The cinephiles at the very front packed up their tents and immediately bought tickets. The first screening of Swing in Chicago was set to start in just twenty minutes. Those who missed out on the morning slots watched them walk away with envious eyes.
Because it was a major theater, there were three ticket windows. The staff worked at a frantic pace, handing out paper tickets to relieved moviegoers who then dispersed to find seats.
From day one, the public's interest in Swing in Chicago was staggering—the kind of hype usually reserved for major Hollywood blockbusters. However, the massive lines were also a result of the film's limited release.
Swing in Chicago was opening in only 853 theaters nationwide. Considering a typical Hollywood film secured around 2,500 screens for a wide release, this was barely a third of that. Targeting major metropolitan areas with a strong appetite for independent cinema had been their only viable option.
It was the limit of Miramax's distribution power, and they had to focus on cities where audiences were willing to engage deeply with complex content.
In short, places where people enjoyed immersing themselves in a film and thinking about it long after the credits rolled. California, the heart of the film industry, was exactly that kind of place.
Outside a theater somewhere in California, a man wearing an open-collar shirt, jeans, and sunglasses stood looking utterly dumbfounded.
It was the legendary American actor, Jack Nicholson.
Even though this theater staggered its ticket sales by the hour, the line was still incredibly long. Jack frowned, chewing his lip as he thought.
Should I call someone and just have them send me a print?
An actor of his stature could easily make that happen. In fact, the filmmakers would probably be thrilled that Jack Nicholson was showing interest and send him a thank-you letter. But because of what he had promised his girlfriend, he simply stood there, chewing his tobacco with a crooked grimace.
"Should we line up?"
"What? You're Jack Nicholson. And you're going to line up at a movie theater?"
"Babe, right now, I'm just Jack the cinephile."
With a playful wink, Jack prepared to join the queue with Rebecca Broussard. Nearby, paparazzi were relentlessly clicking their camera shutters.
"Take as many as you can. Get a good shot and send it out immediately."
"Wow, this much hype on opening day... Insane."
These photographers didn't care about the movie itself; they were only interested in the spectacle surrounding it.
It really is quite something, Jack thought.
Just as he was wondering what would happen if the film failed to live up to the massive hype, the theater doors flew open and a young man ran out, screaming at the top of his lungs.
"THE MOVIE IS ABSOLUTELY CRAZY!!!"
His voice boomed across the plaza. Everyone in line turned to look. Though he hadn't specified which movie, everyone knew exactly what he was talking about. Sion Lee's movie.
Encouraged by the crowd's expectant stares, the young man yelled again.
"SION LEE DIES AT THE END!!!"
"..."
"..."
The white guy bolted, disappearing into the distance. For a long moment, the crowd—including Jack Nicholson—stood in stunned silence. Only Rebecca Broussard burst into a fit of incredulous laughter.
A week had passed since the release of Swing in Chicago.
With the film screening across the country, the embargoes had lifted, and reviews and public reactions had been pouring in daily since the morning after the premiere. Among them, Sion found the theater-front interviews broadcast on local entertainment news particularly entertaining.
The praise for Sion's acting transformation was unanimous. Some viewers offered surprisingly deep insights.
The mainstream press, which evaluated films as works of art, published similar analytical reviews.
"Swing in Chicago shows how far a human being can fall. In doing so, it vividly exposes the current reality of Chicago, trapped in the Rust Belt."
"Sion Lee's performance blends exquisitely with the film. The weight he gained, the beard, the unwashed hair to play Chicago's white trash aren't just cheap tricks for an image makeover. His acting showed an evolution far beyond physical appearance."
"Hollywood's bad boy has revealed a side never seen before. He has reached a new horizon as an actor, not just a teen heartthrob. And in an independent film with an extremely tight budget, no less. It makes one look forward to his next work even more."
"I don't know what his previous performances were. A movie filmed less than half a year after his last. Has there ever been an actor in Hollywood history who showed such a gap in such a short time? Acting is a domain that grows with experience, but looking at Sion Lee's performance now, it's as if he skipped that entire process in a single bound. Is it because the pain left by his childhood wounds has finally settled properly within him? Or is this truly the realm of pure talent?"
As these analytical pieces continued, some journalists tried to rationalize this "impossible" leap by digging into Sion's past.
"Sion Lee was born and raised in a mixed-race family in Chicago. His beautiful looks are known to be inherited from his French mother. His childhood environment was quite impoverished. Perhaps that experience was melted directly into this performance, giving it such depth."
Hmm, this is written too simply and bluntly. Third-rate tabloid journalists really lack style.
Despite his critique, Sion was entirely used to this kind of treatment. Ten years as a star based solely on looks, ten years as a recluse, and twenty years as a ruined failure. It was more than enough time to get used to media outlets that flipped their opinions on a dime depending on his current market value.
Well, I suppose this is just the price of fame.
In the end, actors were treated as fictional characters even in real life. The media had no qualms about exposing and dissecting personal details that ordinary people would keep strictly private. Because Sion understood this and actually used his teenage image to navigate his daily life, he didn't feel any real negativity toward these invasive articles.
"..."
Still, reading them made it impossible to completely suppress a sudden wave of longing and regret.
"I was gone for a long time. In many ways."
Sion picked up a framed photo of his parents smiling warmly around his younger self and gently wiped away the dust. Since his regression, these few remaining photographs were the only way he could see them.
"I always think things would have been better if I had realized them just a little sooner, but life doesn't always go the way we want."
Immaturity and the ruthless flow of time were the enemies of human destiny. Hesitation and emotional instability could easily render past, present, future, talent, passion, and potential completely worthless.
Sion, who had felt this truth to his very bones in his past life, had been given a fresh start thanks to the miracle of regression. Even if this second chance was a mere coincidence, he was deeply grateful for it.
"Everything will be different now. Please keep watching."
Sion caressed the faces in the photo, vowing once again to leave no room for regret. Just then, the phone rang.
Sion kissed the frame, set it down gently, and walked into the living room to answer.
"Hello?"
📞 Charlie Kang
"Ah, Sion? I'm coming to pick you up. What time works?"
"You can come now. Aren't we going to the salon to get styled first?"
📞 Charlie Kang
"Right? Then I'll head out now. Haha, to think the day would come when you're invited back to The Tonight Show!"
"I'll be waiting."
Sion hung up with a soft smile. On the television, the entertainment news continued to play.
It was the first sweet fruit of the new path Sion had chosen to walk.