The Explosive Power of On-Site Presence
In the group chat 'Kkaetok' where all members of the theater troupe participated, the audition results for the third-quarter regular performance were revealed. The casting board for Team A in Saw the Pheasant? had been decided by unanimous vote, the notice announced.
Given the theater's current audition system, this outcome adhered strictly to the unbreakable core principle, so everyone accepted it cleanly.
The core principle of the internal audition system was transparency.
- Reveal the entire process, from start to finish, to every member in minute detail.
- This applied equally to auditions held on the scheduled date and any makeup auditions for those unavoidably absent due to overlapping external commitments.
It was all about openness. To achieve the goal of transparent and fair competition, they had decided that every detail of the process must be disclosed to the whole group.
The current system, which prioritized transparency above all and was built upon it, hadn't been whipped up overnight with a snap of the fingers. It had taken far longer to solidify than it appeared, due to one major stumbling block.
That obstacle? Absences occurred at a high rate during every audition.
Coordinating a date and time when dozens of people could all gather simultaneously was no simple task. During regular auditions, it was common to have anywhere from one or two absences on lighter days to as many as ten on busier ones.
Even with the majority attending, a few empty seats were inevitable. Yet, per the core principle, actors had the right to know what performances their peers had shown. This created a contradiction that could only be resolved one way: by recording it.
And so, a camera was always set up front and center on the stage during auditions. The actors' performances were captured in full, and the dozens of unedited videos were uploaded entirely to the troupe's cafe.
Fully public.
Only then could everyone view everyone else's audition footage. It was clearly the most effective way to bridge the gap in intuition between the majority attending on the main day and the minority auditioning later.
But it wasn't perfect. Because footage shot through a camera could never match the live performance seen with one's own eyes 100%.
That's why complaints would occasionally arise whenever results were announced.
I did better than that guy, so why did he get cast?
This happened mainly when people couldn't accept performances they hadn't witnessed intuitively themselves.
Why did this occur? Because some things couldn't be perfectly captured on camera.
In other words, some things could only be grasped through direct intuition.
Namely, the vivid on-site presence.
Singers make for an easy example. Imagine a vocalist with exceptional lung power performing.
1. Hearing it live at the venue with your own two ears.
2. Hearing it through a TV or a fan-uploaded video online.
It's often said that the singer's vocal prowess comes across as not even half—as in, half of half—of the live experience when mediated through a screen.
Why? Because the former is direct experience, the latter indirect.
In the realm of art, whether the audience's experience of a performer's act or work is direct or indirect is a hugely important matter. Human senses are undoubtedly heightened in direct encounters.
It's just that, even viewing the same thing, people's subjective impressions vary wildly, making it impossible to define precisely or quantify.
When discussing on-site presence, adjectives like "vivid" or, in modern slang, "real" often precede it. Because on-site presence is, by definition, the emotion that hits you skin-deep only when witnessed live on the spot.
Just like with singers, the same holds for actors. Suppose an actor delivers a heart-wrenching performance on TV or the big screen. The reactions from those who saw it live on-site versus those who watched through a screen or tube would differ greatly.
In this way, the power of the live site undeniably exists, and it can only be felt there.
I... haven't been working as insanely hard as I thought.
Choi Yeong-do's realization, after seeing Baek Woojin's performance with his own eyes and hearing how he'd spent the same week as everyone else differently, that his own self-satisfaction masked inadequate effort.
How do you even beat that...?
The troupe members' involuntary sighs upon witnessing a desperation in an actor they'd never imagined capable of such fervor, one they thought lacked it entirely.
Does that even make sense?!
Playwright Ma Seol-ah's jaw-dropping shock, as if her imagined inner world had been laid bare for the first time.
Jeong Jae-min's expression, already aware of Woojin's scorching passion and effort for acting through direct and indirect accounts, yet still unable to hide his astonishment.
Director Oh Tae-hyeop's pounding heart, eager to assemble Team A's stage right then despite the audition being far from over.
All of it! Stemmed from the power of the on-site presence, manifesting in the fullest degree and form each individual could express.
Woojin's performance bore clear traces of effort and analysis that would have stunned even through video. But because they'd witnessed it live on-site, the shock and awe everyone felt hit twice as hard.
The audition site for Actor's Yard's 2013 third-quarter regular performance of Saw the Pheasant? had erupted with an on-site presence incomparably massive compared to any previous round.
At its center stood the actor Baek Woojin, who shattered fixed notions in one blow, alongside a coincidence of no small influence.
Namely, the usual one to half-dozen absentees had, for once, numbered zero that day.
A 100% attendance rate was a rare occurrence, and it just so happened to be the day one participant was Woojin.
It was an audition where the actor's skill and fruition, forged through effort, harmonized exquisitely with coincidence's perfect timing.
Not a single person missed Woojin's audition performance; they all intuited it live, feeling an on-site presence incomparable to any video.
Thus, the announcement of his Team A casting at the end could only elicit acknowledgment and conviction.
Woojin had simply focused on what he needed to do and showed it. And he succeeded in convincing everyone.
With what? Acting.
An actor convinced other actors—not with words, but with acting.
My desperation for the role is far greater than you imagined.
Thinking one's attitude toward each option differs when choices abound, compared to when there's only one, is mere prejudice.
I am just one actor, no different from you.
Nothing surpasses what an actor proves with acting.
From the audition onward, no one ever imposed "theater world" standards or yardsticks on Woojin again.
The troupe members' gazes toward him naturally mirrored those toward Lee Kang-sik.
Admiration and goodwill.
* * *
With casting complete, they needed to handle various ancillary tasks before diving into full rehearsals. So Woojin picked up Lee Kang-sik in his own car and headed straight to the Actor's Yard building.
"Senior, good morning!"
"Hello!"
Even on a weekday morning, the building brimmed with troupe members. Those they encountered in the lobby bowed their heads and waists deeply upon spotting Lee Kang-sik, greeting him loudly.
"Haha, you don't need to bow that deeply. I'm not that intimidating a person."
"Yes, Senior!"
Choi Yeong-do, at the front, promptly straightened up. Lee Kang-sik smiled and spoke in a gentle voice.
"Good morning, juniors. Have you had breakfast?"
"Ah, not yet!"
"Oh dear... How many are already in the basement practice room?"
"About, uh, thirty!"
"Haha, I'll be in the director's office, so pick a menu and let me know."
"Y-Yes?!"
"We'll be working together for the next three months—shouldn't we have as many meals as possible with everyone gathered? The sooner, the better, right?"
"Ah, yes!"
Choi Yeong-do answered immediately, his tension still evident, while
"Woojin, you'll eat too, right?"
"Of course, Senior."
Woojin replied with relaxed ease, unlike Choi Yeong-do.
"We'll do proper introductions a bit later."
"Thank you, Senior!"
Lee Kang-sik patted Choi Yeong-do's shoulder before heading to the director's office. Woojin followed behind.
As he passed Choi Yeong-do, their eyes met briefly; Woojin nodded politely to his senior first. Choi Yeong-do's lips curved into a bright smile. He seemed to have something to say, but the director's office came first—they'd talk later.
Woojin and Lee Kang-sik passed the lobby and walked down the hall.
Wow.
Walking briefly behind Lee Kang-sik, Woojin suddenly recalled their first meeting.
It was just before Justice cranked in. At a restaurant in Sangam-dong, with Park Min-jae, the tvKR drama department head, and writer Kim Soolim.
Lee Kang-sik's first impression remained vividly etched in his memory.
During Justice, their bond had grown as close as father and son, and now they treated each other as colleagues without reservation.
But to Actor's Yard members and actors who'd started in theater, Lee Kang-sik was still the Mountain Lord—the very image from Woojin's initial impression.
That explained why the lobby members had bowed so profoundly. Yet Lee Kang-sik himself seemed slightly uncomfortable with such reactions.
He was absolutely not the type of senior derisively called "boomer." Woojin could vouch for that from personal experience. Moreover, Jeong Jae-min had said he'd been the loudest cheerleader when purging past injustices from Actor's Yard.
He must have grown impatient waiting for someone to create spaces for everyone to mingle. A wonderful senior who always reached out first to break down walls with juniors.
"Senior."
"Hm?"
"That just now... was pretty cool."
"What're you talking about?"
"I first saw you in a drama, so I didn't know. But the scene entering the lobby felt... different somehow."
It was true. Even Woojin, who shared a casual rapport with him, had felt the great tiger's intimidating presence through his whole body in that moment.
At those words, Lee Kang-sik burst into hearty laughter and suddenly pinched Woojin's cheek.
"Puhaha! This guy."
"...!"
"Finally realizing how awesome Dad is?"
"Ah, aa! Aa, Senior!"
"Say 'Dad' after all this time. I'll let go right away!"
The senior's playful side emerged. The familiar title from Justice days, forgotten right after wrap, wouldn't come out now.
Lee Jung-hyuk's garb was fully shed. He was perfectly ready for a new character.
"Quick!"
"Ah, aa! Dad! Ah!"
"Good, hahaha!"
With the title finally uttered, Lee Kang-sik released his grip. Woojin rubbed his cheek and shot the senior's back a mock glare.
"Hearing it after so long feels great!"
Whatever. Lee Kang-sik, beaming with satisfaction, knocked on the director's office door.
- Come in.
"Yes, hyungnim!"
Jeong Jae-min's voice came from inside.
"Something good happen?"
"Ah~ No, hyungnim! Puhaha!"
Lee Kang-sik's laughter continued for a while. Woojin chuckled softly too.
After some brief chit-chat, they filled out paperwork.
The appearance contract for Saw the Pheasant?.
The contents weren't particularly noteworthy, but contracts demanded care, so Woojin read every word meticulously.
'Cause I didn't, SJ... Ah, no.
Anyway—
After slowly reviewing, Woojin signed the bottom of the last page without hesitation.
The start of the stage acting he'd dreamed of.
The moment the curtains truly opened.