Parasite's Cannes Invitation
Making a film for the Cannes Film Festival was a business that mixed all sorts of people. It was something you could never do alone. Filmmaking required the help of countless individuals. Directors and actors were important, of course, but so was the collaboration of the camera crew, investors, and many others.
If a movie flopped, the damage wasn't just to the director. Everyone involved in the production took a hit. Of course, that didn't apply to the day-rate extras who just showed up to shoot their scenes. Nobody really cared about them anyway. People went to the movies to see the stars, not some bit players.
In that sense, I could understand why writer Park Sung-min had called me in. He was muttering beside me even now, staring at me.
"Sora, you see all these people clutching wads of cash? They came after reading your screenplay."
Investors had supposedly shown up with money bags after seeing the screenplay I'd written. But I'd asked them to leave my name off it, and no one would've come running for a screenplay from someone with no credits—especially not one co-credited with me. Naturally, they'd come because of Grandpa Sung-min's name next to it.
Grandpa Sung-min must have had his share of flops too. But his recent works had a knack for easily breaking even. That was probably why investors were swarming with cash.
"I asked you to take my name off..."
"Ah! Well, that's just how things work with us adults..."
Adult circumstances or whatever—I didn't care. The silver lining was that Grandpa Sung-min's name was in huge letters, prominently displayed. Mine was tucked away in tiny print.
Audiences didn't pay much attention to writers anyway. They came for the director and the actors. Even if a film bombed, the director and stars took most of the heat; writers rarely caught flak.
Investors, though—they scrutinized the writer. After all, the screenplay held nearly half the power over a film's success. A trash script could doom even the best acting and directing. But a killer script? It could carry a mediocre cast and crew without anyone noticing. Screenplays wielded immense power in movies.
And just like that, without wanting it, I'd wormed my way into the production of Parasite as some kind of official. Grandpa Sung-min gripped my hand tight and dragged me around, introducing me to staff and crew.
"Heh heh, Sora here's a real genius."
"You could say this film was born from Sora's hands."
I could feel my network in the film industry expanding by force. Grandpa Sung-min had made sure everyone knew me. At least during the shoot for Parasite, no one would be clueless about who I was.
I knew nothing about filmmaking. But tagging along with Grandpa Sung-min, I'd picked up the basic order of things. Thanks to that, the director of Parasite now stood before me.
"Heh heh, nice to meet you, Sora."
This was the man directing Parasite—a close friend of Grandpa Sung-min's. He greeted me warmly, without any pretense.
"Hello."
"I read the screenplay cover to cover, and wow. Sung-min said you're a genius, and he wasn't kidding. It made me want to direct it myself."
Kim Man-jae, the director helming Parasite, beamed at me. He was no slouch himself. Even actors I'd only seen on TV smiled at me up close.
"So cute~"
"Sora, want some candy from big sis?"
Being a kid, that's all I got—snacks. And so, I visited the Parasite set now and then. I even brought Mom and Dad along. They wanted to see the actors, after all. Seeing Grandpa Sung-min take care of my parents like that just made him grin wider.
Before long, Parasite wrapped production, and its theatrical release loomed.
Before Parasite's release, the internet was abuzz with complaints about it being another melodrama. It was the same reaction as in the era I'd lived in before—no surprise there. The people griping were Korean, after all; their takes wouldn't differ.
Pre-release buzz on Parasite was harshly negative. The more people heard about it, the more fatigued they got—especially with melodramas.
But something flipped public sentiment overnight. It was the film festival awards.
Parasite had been invited to Cannes. I stared at the news in a daze. I'd half-expected it, but seeing it happen for real felt... strange, somehow. Grandpa Sung-min and Director Kim Man-jae were probably fielding a barrage of calls right now.
Korean films had been invited to Cannes before, even won awards. But they weren't mainstream globally yet. Sure, OTT platforms were rising, and K-dramas were spreading the Hallyu wave—but that boom was still years away.
As Parasite news exploded, Mom and Dad freaked out and turned to me. They knew I'd been involved in the movie to some extent.
"Sora, Sora! Isn't that the movie we went to the set for last time?"
"Right! You took me and your mom to the shoot!"
I nodded. It was true.
"Yeah, the one we went to together."
"Whoa...!"
Mom pulled me into a hug and started petting me endlessly. I wriggled in her arms—my nose was buried in her chest, and I couldn't breathe. When I swatted at her arms, she set me down with an awkward smile.
"Sorry, Sora...! Mommy got too excited...!"
I got why Mom and Dad were so thrilled. It made total sense. We were losing our minds over here—what must it be like elsewhere? Total chaos, probably.
Sure enough, a call came soon after. Mom picked up the house phone, nodding nonstop.
She hung up and told me. She'd met the Parasite crew face-to-face, so they knew each other.
"Sora! They're throwing a celebration dinner for the Cannes invite! Wanna go? It's Korean beef!"
"Korean beef!"
Seeing Mom and Dad's eager faces, I couldn't say no. And so, the three of us headed to the Parasite crew's dinner.
Inviting the whole family instead of just me was a smart move. If it'd been only me, I wouldn't have gone—too guilty leaving them behind to eat goodies alone.
We arrived at the restaurant. It was a premium Korean beef spot, sparkling so bright it almost hurt to look at. Mom and Dad stood out front, eyes shining as they looked at me.
"Thanks to our Sora, we get to try Korean beef!"
"Yeah! Couldn't have dreamed of this last year...!"
They seemed deeply moved. Truth be told, I felt the same. Just escaping that roach-infested one-room was enough to make me want to jump for joy. Sure, we still had debts, but we could earn way more now. And Grandpa Sung-min wasn't doing this for free. If Parasite succeeded, our debts might all get cleared.
"Let's head in, Sora."
"Okay."
We went inside. The owner guided us after we mentioned our party. I headed straight for the table with the key players: Director Kim Man-jae and Grandpa Sung-min. They'd claimed their seats first. Other staff were around, but no one dared sit with them.
The aura they exuded was no joke—too fierce and dominant for ordinary crew to handle. But it didn't faze me. I had no reason to be intimidated. If anything, I was the top dog here.
Every line of Parasite's screenplay had come from my head. I was the original author.