Chapter 47: Rising Star (2)
Chapter 47: Rising Star (2)
“Hye-jin! Look a bit more this way when you speak! I can’t see your face clearly.”
The full-scale stage rehearsals had begun.
In the process, they were quite literally dissecting every line—chewing, tearing, and savoring the script to interpret it.
Going through the table read was just the beginning.
The roughly six weeks of practice were ultimately aimed at one goal: ‘performing without a single mistake.’
A perfect stage.
That was the most basic requirement for a play to be considered a viable product.
“Seo-yeon.”
“Yes.”
Kim Cheong-un, the assistant director, stroked his chin as he looked at the girl before him.
Generally, in a play, the assistant director is in charge of coaching the actors.
As someone who had seen many actors, Kim Cheong-un still found Seo-yeon to be special.
The genius child actor, Ju Seo-yeon.
The skills of the actor he had once known only by that title far exceeded his expectations.
Mostly in a good way.
“It still feels a bit close to TV acting, but you definitely ride the emotional lines well.”
“Ah, thank you.”
“But I think it would be better if your blocking improved. Your eye contact and gestures are really good, you know?”
“My blocking? Where exactly…?”
When she asked, wondering if there was a specific spot where her movement was lacking.
“You know the part where you look at Shim Cheong-seok and deliver a monologue alone? Try to cross the stage more there.”
“Wouldn’t the blocking be too wide for a monologue?”
“It makes the emotions feel that much more intense. And try to deliver the monologue as if you’re having a conversation with the audience.”
As if having a conversation with the audience.
Hearing that, Seo-yeon nodded.
‘Did she understand?’
This wasn’t the kind of thing one understood immediately just by being told.
No matter how talented Seo-yeon was, something like this…
“Okay! Let’s give it a try.”
At Kim Cheong-un’s word, Shim Cheong-seok approached.
“Well then.”
With his cue, Seo-yeon calmly settled into her emotions.
Hong Jeong-hee, the woman stalking the idol Bae Seong-hak.
As she read the surface of those emotions and exhaled.
‘…It’s fascinating every time I see it.’
Method acting.
There was such a term, but what Seo-yeon was doing now was different.
A faint trace of ‘Seo-yeon’ remained.
When he had asked her about it.
“It’s just practice for now.”
I’ll do it properly during the dress rehearsal, Seo-yeon had added.
‘If she does it properly then, just how good will it be?’
Seo-yeon’s acting that he had seen in dramas long ago.
Recently, Kim Cheong-un had rewatched those dramas. It was an excessively emotional performance for a child.
That was likely Seo-yeon’s greatest strength.
But paradoxically, such emotional acting isn’t always a strength on stage.
Seo-yeon’s emotional acting was incredibly detailed; its true value only revealed itself when the screen was zoomed in, but that was information that couldn’t be fully conveyed in a theater.
Depending on the seat, the audience might not see it properly, and conveying those minute emotions was harder than one might think.
Therefore, the gestures to express them and the blocking—the movement—were vital.
However, these two things often clashed with the concept of ‘Method.’
If one becomes completely immersed in the character, those gestures or movements can’t help but feel somewhat awkward.
In the end, a certain amount of ‘theatrical technique’ was inevitably required.
Seo-yeon’s practice was the process of blending that in as naturally as possible.
“I can’t believe it. Why? Why is he… why is he seeing a woman like that?!”
Looking toward the audience, Seo-yeon’s lines were delivered clearly.
Listening from the seats, Kim Cheong-un watched Seo-yeon’s feet as she moved naturally.
It was exactly the movement he had requested.
The monologue also perfectly captured the feeling of speaking to the audience.
“How was it?”
“It was very good.”
Kim Cheong-un gave a thumbs-up to Seo-yeon as she returned after finishing her scene.
It was a joy to watch a talented actor.
However.
‘There’s something strangely bothering me.’
Kim Cheong-un hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should mention it.
It wasn’t a major issue even if he didn’t say anything.
In fact, it felt complete enough as it was.
“For now, take a break while I check on the other actors.”
“Yes.”
At the assistant director’s words, Seo-yeon stepped back, but…
‘Did I get something wrong?’
Kim Cheong-un’s reaction had been odd.
But if it were wrong, he would have said so first.
“…”
After a moment of thought, the person Seo-yeon sought out was Shim Cheong-seok.
The one who had been on stage with her just now.
“Ah, that?”
He spoke as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.
“There’s no problem, but it feels like there is.”
“What does that mean?”
At Seo-yeon’s question, Shim Cheong-seok sat in a chair and crossed his legs.
He pressed his temples with his thumbs, looking like he was contemplating how to put it into words.
“It lacks affection.”
“…Pardon?”
“Think about it. Why is Hong Jeong-hee stalking Bae Seong-hak?”
“Ah.”
Only then did Seo-yeon realize what he meant.
“The gloominess, the inferiority complex, and the contempt for Song Min-seo—those come through really well. But I don’t feel much of an affectionate emotion toward Bae Seong-hak.”
“I see.”
“But to be honest, I don’t think it’s absolutely necessary for this play. If you try to carry too many things clumsily, it might end up being neither here nor there.”
It was better to emphasize only the dark emotions Seo-yeon was currently portraying.
That was what Shim Cheong-seok was saying.
No, perhaps it was just his way of saying, ‘You’re doing well enough.’
The vibe was different from when he had provoked her before.
“…Why are you glaring at me?”
“I wasn’t glaring. My eyes just look like this.”
“No, they don’t.”
“Yes, they do.”
Shim Cheong-seok chuckled at Seo-yeon’s stubbornness.
“Anyway, this is enough, so don’t worry about it.”
This is enough.
It was true, but Seo-yeon felt a prick of pride.
It felt even worse because the words contained a rare bit of consideration from someone like Shim Cheong-seok.
‘But.’
Affectionate acting, huh?
Seo-yeon bit her lower lip.
He was right.
She had unconsciously excluded those emotions.
‘I was feeling it a little.’
Romantic acting was an essential part of dramas and movies.
It wasn’t something she could avoid just because she shied away from it.
It might be fine for Hong Jeong-hee to lack it, but there was no guarantee it would be the same for her future roles.
‘I’ll have to think about it.’
Because the boundary between male and female was ambiguous for her, this kind of acting was even more difficult.
Acting out affection for another person.
For Seo-yeon, who specialized in method acting, this was an unavoidable hurdle.
*
Seoul Yeonhwa High School.
Famous for its modern buildings and pretty uniforms, it was a high school frequently sought out by students who specialized in the arts rather than traditional academics.
Among its clubs, the theater club had a very high level of talent, including active actors and many aspiring ones.
“Ji-yeon! Oh, our dear actress.”
The theater club’s advisor, Teacher Song Da-yeon, ran over like a butterfly and grabbed Lee Ji-yeon’s hands.
“…What is it?”
“Oh, don’t be so cold.”
Ji-yeon frowned.
The teacher had told her to stop by the theater club for the first time in a while, and this was what she got the moment she arrived.
‘She definitely has a favor to ask.’
That was the natural conclusion.
Reading Ji-yeon’s expression, Song Da-yeon cleared her throat and continued.
“It’s good news for you too. Do you know the variety show Looking at the Past and Memories?”
“No.”
“…Right, yeah, I guess you wouldn’t.”
Was it that unpopular?
She wondered if the show was okay, but…
“They’re filming at our school this time. As for what kind of show it is…”
Song Da-yeon explained in detail what she had heard at the staff meeting.
The other theater club students were also eavesdropping with intrigued faces.
“A reenactment of The Moon That Hides the Sun?”
“Exactly!”
“But what does that have to do with me…?”
“What do you mean? Obviously, I want you to play the role of Princess Yeonhwa, Ji-yeon!”
When Song Da-yeon looked at the other students, they seemed disappointed but soon nodded.
If you had to pick the student with the best track record, the best acting skills, and the best looks in the theater club, it was undoubtedly Lee Ji-yeon.
“Princess Yeonhwa?”
However, Ji-yeon’s expression was strange.
Wasn’t this a very familiar role?
‘Park Jung-woo is coming too?’
If it were true, the internet would go wild.
Coincidentally, the school’s name was also ‘Yeonhwa’ High School.
It felt like a match made in heaven.
‘The outline is to reenact Episode 8 of the original.’
The content of Episode 8 was the reunion scene.
The episode where the grown-up Yoon Seo-il and the grown-up Lee Hye-wol reunite was Episode 8.
Naturally, the ratings had exploded and it was well-received, but…
‘There was also a lot of criticism.’
That was the time when actress Ha Ye-seo, who played the adult Princess Yeonhwa, was receiving harsh reviews.
People said Princess Yeonhwa didn’t have as much presence as the child actor.
That she didn’t quite fit the role.
That evaluation hadn’t changed even now, and Ha Ye-seo herself often brought up that time.
She said it wasn’t easy being compared to the child actor.
“Then I’ll do it.”
“Really?”
“But, would it be okay if I brought someone from my agency? I want to make sure the makeup is done properly.”
“Oh, of course it’s okay!”
Ji-yeon nodded.
And she smiled faintly.
It was because an interesting thought had occurred to her.
*
A large van sped down the road.
Inside, a man in casual clothes had his eyes closed behind a sleep mask.
“Jung-woo, we’re almost there. Let’s wake up.”
“…”
What a pain.
That was the first thought in Park Jung-woo’s head.
Originally, it was a shoot he had no interest in, but…
“Please, just this once! Do me a favor! Do you know how much I’ve talked you up?!”
It was a request from an acquaintance he had met by chance during a previous shoot.
Since it happened to overlap with his break, he decided to help out as a special favor.
“Looking at the Past and Memories is doing both a drama and a variety segment this time, right?”
“That’s right. Since you’re appearing as a guest, we can’t just let you go after doing only one thing.”
“Sigh, it’s not like I’m anyone special.”
“What do you mean? You’re Park Jung-woo.”
The hottest actor these days.
His next movie had already been decided.
And he was the lead.
It was a big-budget film with a great director.
His life was a smooth highway without a single thorn—or so everyone thought.
“The Moon That Hides the Sun after all this time… is that why this variety show isn’t doing well?”
“Don’t be like that. It’s a pretty meaningful role for you too.”
“…I suppose so.”
Park Jung-woo nodded at the words of his manager of five years, Ha Hyeong-hwan.
A meaningful role.
‘I wonder what that girl is doing now.’
In Park Jung-woo’s acting career, there weren’t many experiences that had truly shocked him.
The girl he met on the set of The Moon That Hides the Sun remained vivid in his memory.
Her acting.
And her sudden retirement.
“…”
The image of the girl crying at the awards ceremony came to mind.
An expressionless, boring child.
The girl who had crushed his pride as a child actor for the first time.
The way she looked at everyone and cried.
The way she smiled—it all came back clearly.
Sometimes, Park Jung-woo thought about it.
Back then, should he have tried harder to persuade her to keep acting?
What if he had told her it was a waste to quit like that?
If he had…
‘It’s all in the past.’
While he was lost in thought, the van had come to a stop.
He felt the manager’s gaze as he looked back.
“Jung-woo.”
“Yes.”
Erasing the phantom of the girl from his mind.
He slowly opened the van door.
At that moment.
The cheers of countless students erupted.