Year's End Ambition
The last week of the year. Ryu Chang-min sat alone in his lodgings, lost in thought, his expression grave.
“Haa.”
He let out a deep sigh, raking his hands through his hair. Before him lay a script covered in scribbles—lines written and erased countless times.
Knock knock.
The knock pulled the deeply pondering director to his feet. When he opened the door, assistant director Yeon Jae-pil stepped in with a greeting.
“Director, are you busy?”
“Nah, nothing at all. What's up?”
“Ah, I brought the storyboard you asked for.”
Yeon Jae-pil handed over the binder. The assistant eyed him with concern.
“Is something wrong?”
Ryu smacked his lips at the question.
It had been a month and a half since principal photography began on Red Petals. In all that time, Ryu Chang-min had never once been disappointed on set. Yeonsan-gun, Im Sa-hong—the two main leads. Jang Nok-su—a supporting character on par with a lead. And beyond them, a host of supporting and bit players. It was a sight unlike any in his forty years in film.
Across every scene shot so far, NG cuts hadn't even reached ten. And those few were mostly from external noise overlaps, not actor mistakes. Every performer was delivering their absolute best, making it hard to imagine a better set. The staff, too, shone at their posts.
“Jae-pil.”
“Yes?”
“What should we do?”
Ryu gestured for him to sit as he spoke. The worry gnawing at him: an insatiable greed to shoot more.
“What's going on?”
“I keep getting greedy.”
“Greedy how?”
Ryu sipped the warm tea Yeon Jae-pil had brought with the storyboard before continuing.
“What's our runtime target?”
“Minimum 130 minutes, maximum 141.”
Commercial features typically clocked in at two hours. Not a hard rule, of course—Denmark's Modern Times Forever ran a staggering 240 hours. But modern theater systems favored two hours. Too long, and audiences tired; theaters could schedule clean hourly slots, maximizing profitability. With two hours as the unspoken benchmark—plus maybe thirty minutes max—the consensus held it optimal. Yet Ryu couldn't shake the urge: Shoot more. Flesh out the script a bit.
Watching the actors, scenes he'd boldly cut to fit the runtime haunted him.
Ryu unrolled the storyboard—not the final cut, but the initial draft Yeon had fetched on his orders. He pointed to a few.
“I want to save these. What do you think?”
“Extending the runtime?”
“Yeah.”
“But we haven't cleared that with production or distribution...”
“I'll handle that. Tell me about the scenes. Your take?”
Yeon Jae-pil nodded at the director's prompt.
“I think adding them would be great.”
“Why?”
“Well, take this one...”
Having shadowed Ryu into his late thirties, Yeon Jae-pil's insights cut sharp. He logically unpacked why those scenes would elevate the film. As he finished, Ryu beamed, ruffling his hair.
“You weren't wasting your time learning, huh?”
“Aw, Director. Come on—how many years have I been eating your scraps?”
“Spot on. I agree.”
“Finally dubbing me the second Ryu Chang-min?”
Yeon joked, but Ryu waved it off, grabbing his phone. The call went to the production head.
“Ryu Chang-min speaking.”
The conversation stretched long.
* * *
After production, Ryu ironed things out with distribution too. Final agreement: one added scene, max ten minutes.
Ryu summoned Woojin and Seong-cheol to his room. They knew the film as well as he or the assistant did. From three finalists, which to pick? Debate ensued—ranks aside, free and frank, as Ryu urged.
First candidate:
[Early in the film, Yeonsan, sparking the Gapsa Coup, orders sinners bound to archery targets. From afar, he looses arrows while forcing their wives and daughters to watch. They beg desperately to save husband and father, but Yeonsan's shafts mercilessly snuff the sinners' lives.]
After heated discussion, they nixed it. The coup victims' deaths were already shot; it'd insert as early montage cuts; Yeonsan's cruelty shone plenty in the later Kim Cheo-seon kill.
Next:
[Jang Nok-su, elevated from lowly servant to higher rank by Yeonsan, unleashes cruelty. It leads to her torturing and gibbeting two women—Choi Jeon-hyang and Sugunbi—for dismemberment, and courtesan Ok Ji-hwa to death for stepping on her skirt.]
Consensus here too: History knew Yeonsan's madness; the film's buildup sufficed. No need to hammer Jang Nok-su's villainy just to underscore it.
Last:
[Yeonsan heads out on inspection, ordering riverside homes razed. Villagers pour into streets, pleading; at his gesture, soldiers drive them off roughly. One snaps in rage, lunging—only to be seized. Yeonsan beheads him on the spot, then orders his family slain too. As his palanquin recedes, the people's agonized screams echo.]
“I think this one's unnecessary exposition too,” Woojin said.
Ryu nodded; Seong-cheol and Yeon agreed. One scene was greenlit externally—ideally, one fitting the flow with max impact. They'd culled the best three from discards, but swapping notes left them meh.
“Still, we gotta pick one...”
Ryu groaned. No killer spark hit, despite racking brains. Seong-cheol and Yeon drew blanks too. Silence thickened.
“What if we add a brand-new scene?”
Woojin's words widened three pairs of eyes.
“A new one?”
“Yes.”
“Elaborate.”
“You know I've dug through records analyzing Yeonsan-gun since our first meeting.”
Woojin's rhetoric—big hook, narrowing focus—mirrored that intro chat. Ryu and Seong-cheol were hooked from the opener.
“The most intriguing and useful? Yeonsan-gun's own poems.”
“Night poems?”
“Exactly.”
“Why?”
“They capture his heart best.”
Ryu frowned. The poems featured twice as dialogue already. Another?
“We've had two recitals. Need a third?”
Woojin smiled.
“Those two differ. First voiced coup-sparked rage. Second, pre-Jang Nok-su embrace, was mother-longing verse. One early, one mid-film.”
Ryu's mind rang. His fist clenched unwittingly.
“I see each poem's weight in its spot—mad shift from normal king, pleasure-drowned haze. So why not late-film, pre-demise we all know?”
Early, mid, late: poems charting Yeonsan's arc. Revolutionary. Ryu sighed unwittingly.
Why didn't I think of that?
Regret mingled with awe at Woojin's scripting savvy.
“Brilliant idea. Assistant? Seong-cheol?”
Claps and nods. Ryu pressed Woojin.
“So, your scene setup?”
“No hesitation. Digging Yeonsan and Jang Nok-su records, one timestamp stuck—unfilmed in our script.”
Woojin opened his script, pointing to the late scene of ministers sparking Jungjong's coup.
“Right before this.”
That date: August 23, 1506. One week pre-coup.
* * *
“Records say, mid-revelry a week before the coup, Yeonsan recited a night poem. None reacted—save Jang Nok-su and Jeon-bi, who wept.”
Woojin unfolded a printout tucked in his script—all Yeonsan's poems listed. He tapped one.
“This one.”
Ryu, Yeon, Seong-cheol skimmed it. Smiles spread; eyes gleamed.
“Director, it fits the moment perfectly.”
Yeon said; Seong-cheol nodded vigorously. Woojin continued.
“Mid-film onward, pleasure-soaked Yeonsan felt off dragging to endgame. This foresight scene a week prior smooths it—makes sense.”
He added:
“Plus, fixes another regret of mine.”
Ryu leaned in, intrigued.
“Another?”
“Yes.”
Woojin flipped to the script's cast list. His finger pointed; three gazes followed.
Yeonsan-gun, Im Sa-hong. Next name: [Jang Nok-su]