Chapter 18: Script Reading Day – A Stage for Encounters
Script reading days were usually a venue for reunions. The twenty minutes before the reading? Think of it as greeting time. Especially in a vast space like the SBC seventh-floor conference room turned reading room.
At the center, desks arranged in a wide U-shape, with countless long tables linking them coolly. Actors filled the gaps between, exchanging greetings.
“Hey!”
“How’ve you been?”
“Saw you in that CF lately?”
“Long time!”
Actors already seated, those just entering, those weaving between desks—heads bobbed like firecrackers among anyone with even a nodding acquaintance. Was it the genre’s fate? Amid the bustling staff, familiar villain specialists from crime films and dramas caught the eye: Oh Dae-ho, Jang Seok-tae, Ma Ki-beom, Namgoong Yong-su… Even the supporting and bit players clustering around them had that distinctive edge.
Beyond fitting the genre like a glove, these were impression-heavy actors hard to cast elsewhere, gathering in droves.
“Watched your last movie. That presence was no joke.”
“Thank you.”
“Your gangster role’s really leveled up.”
“Well, technically a loan shark.”
“Wasn’t it a dorm-living setup?”
“Thought so too… but per the script, he bolted from the dorm after two months, never even made the police radar.”
“So the loan shark gig wasn’t mob money?”
“Nope. Private lender.”
“Tattoos all peeled off, thought you were full mob life.”
“Haha, I fell for it too.”
“Must’ve been tough recoloring the character.”
“Stripped it clean and repainted. Rogue vs. gangster feels different, y’know?”
What the hell’s the difference? Choi Seong-cheol, the cinematographer for Monster City, swallowed his burning curiosity and scanned the room. Amid the bustle everywhere.
“You’re here, sir.”
Kwak In-ho the writer and Ji Cheol-geun the PD bowed to a veteran actor who’d just entered.
“Aigoo, no need to make me feel old. Anyway, Kwak! This script slays. It’s gonna peak hard.”
“Thank you.”
“Ji PD, you know you gotta direct me like I’m in my fifties, right?”
“Haha, sir.”
Even after settling into the head seats of the U-table—side by side with not a word between them—their vibe hit Choi’s view.
…Feels chilly.
Choi Seong-cheol, cinematographer, had joined Monster City yesterday. Normally, the ‘cinematographer’ who shaped a film or drama’s visuals was the first the chief director scouted.
Rumor’s true, huh?
The reason for his late join? The previous cinematographer vanished after last week’s private audition.
[The OO Baeksang Film Awards Cinematography Award]
He was hitting his stride, fielding love calls from tons of directors. Even he eyed the Big Three overseas fests for his next film’s ‘sheen.’ If his prepped movie hadn’t tanked, leaving a gap, and if he didn’t owe the SBC drama chief a favor, he wouldn’t have jumped into this downswing writer-PD duo’s project.
Oh. One more thing.
The real hook for Choi joining Monster City’s SOS?
Click!
A smile crept across Choi’s lips as the reading room door swung open.
Han Joo-hyuk the actor—yep. Truth was, among stars that age, Choi hadn’t worked with only Han Joo-hyuk.
He craved collaborating with that blazing talent, unrivaled in his peers for igniting raw emotion through expressions. That was his final reason for boarding Monster City.
Let’s see how he fares this time.
If good, he could pitch him for a future film meeting. Film folks prized mise-en-scène; a cinematographer’s sway in realizing the chief’s vision was huge.
Hmm— Choi habitually scored Han’s expression.
…8.7.
Maybe a cinematographer’s quirk, peering at faces through monitors and lenses. At some point, he’d started quantifying the aura from expressions.
Viewing human features as mise-en-scène elements.
Peak condition, he’d top 9.
Obvious at a glance. From the packed facial features to the canvas-ready expressiveness overall. Even pre-shoot, he’d shine.
In this reading room buzzing with rough-faced supports whose acting spectrum screamed villain, Han Joo-hyuk stood alone as an aesthetic beacon. Crows under 5 points scampering amid a lone white heron over 8—Choi unwittingly recalled a poem.
Then, Han stood before Ji PD’s desk.
“PD, think we can start soon?”
“Ah, yeah, let’s.”
Beating the assistant director, Han prompted the PD. Three minutes left, but whatever. As the drama’s savior pitcher, he rivaled Kwak and Ji in centering this reading. Ji naturally greenlit.
Okay. At Ji’s nod, the assistant checked his watch, drawing the room’s eyes.
Clap clap—
“Everyone, please take your seats—thank you!”
The buzz settled instantly. Mics, water, snacks, and scripts up to episode 3 on the U-table; main and key supports settled in.
Got spirit.
Choi, pulling up a chair, eyed Han warmly—then spotted it.
Hm?
Post-prompt, seated, Han’s gaze shot somewhere with veiled hostility.
“Thrilled to meet you all.”
That scorching stare persisted, even as Ji PD opened formally before the actors.
…Who’s he glaring at?
***
Lee Tae-gyu sat at a back straight desk sans snacks, amid bit players.
…Me?
He sensed Han’s stare right after Ji began the reading overview.
“Hello, I’m Ji Cheol-geun, director of Monster City. Bit nervous.”
Even during the PD’s intro from the U-head, that intense gaze pinned Tae-gyu.
Then PD’s spiel continued—
“I’m Kwak In-ho, the scriptwriter. Script decent, yeah? Haha.”
Writer’s bit too—
Let’s crush MBC’s rival, aim for season 2, your outfits are intriguing—light icebreakers flew—
“Now… let’s do introductions one by one.”
By role importance, U-table seats reflected current fame. Han’s eyes paused briefly.
“Han Joo-hyuk, as Kang Hyeok. I’ll pour my soul into this drama. Please take care of me.”
Amid applause post-intro, reseated, the stare reignited.
And even.
“As Go Yeong-seom…”
Clap clap clap—
“Hello, I’m…”
Clap clap clap—
“Please take care. I’m…”
Clap clap clap—
After U-table intros, a pause—then.
Flash!
Mic-less bits got assistant intros; the glare flared again.
“Lee Tae-gyu as Oh Dae-bak.”
Tae-gyu nodded at the intro, spotting Han amid clappers, now openly glaring.
…What the.
He scratched his head blankly; no reason surfaced.
Intros done, Kwak’s comments followed, oblivious to Han’s stare.
“Monster City is about villains losing humanity. Focus on how raw desires warp them—interpret characters through that emotional arc.”
Readings synced the whole pre-shoot. Directors gauged actor takes and tone; actors traded breaths with opposites, nailing rhythms, noting fresh ideas. Writers/PDs final-checked character fits pre-cranks. Mismatches rarely swapped casts, but…
“Today’s reading covers up to episode 2.”
Tae-gyu, unfazed, took Han’s hostile glare head-on.
Scratch.
That loaded stare. But his focus snapped to PD’s formal cue.
“Month OO, day XX—Monster City reading begins.”
His interest sparked at scene 1’s reading.
“Ch-Chairman!”
“What’s this between execs, Assistant Manager Jo?”
“I’ll fix it all. P-please, one more shot!”
“Gave you plenty.”
“Got a solid guy under me! Use him this once—if it flops, take my head, no complaints! Just spare me…”
“Sigh, you keep making me the bad guy.”
A marvel to Tae-gyu. No visible emotion grip, yet that quiver in a crowd of dozens.
This is actors’ world—
Not full acting, but subtle inflections, tones, expressions hinted directions.
Like this.
Recalling industry trivia from recent study: two actor types at readings. Ones unpacking their analysis clearly; ones saving color for shoot, just toning overall.
Han seemed the former.
“Manager. You serious?”
Kang Hyeok’s first line dropped; air thickened, noir vibe locked.
Pale face, trembling hands. Han had summoned Monster City’s protag to the reading.
“You know how I suffered for this project better than me.”
“Team Lead Kang.”
“That incentive you mentioned? I need it bad.”
“Company ain’t new to you. Nitpicking this?”
“Anything. Please—”
“Anything? Can Team Lead Kang own those words?”
Even surrounding actors’ faces shifted. Typical: mid-tier overacting draws ‘playing legend solo?’ eyes. But a 10M actor? Inspires ‘me too…’
Ad-libs too. Readings shunned them—madman label. But.
Han’s special, so norms bent—his unpredictable ad-libs turned challenges for vets.
“Files? What’s that sudd—”
“Who’s CEO Ko?”
“You here? Sniff—!”
From here, Han’s stage.
“Just here for intros. Yeah, call me Team Lead Kang…”
Ad-lib-ish lines crept: stretching ellipses, subtle pauses, rhythmic stresses per word end.
Definitely different.
Acts well.
That vibe?
Opposites and even Ji PD nodded approval. Character read spot-on. But tweaking script lines? Kwak’s face soured subtly.
“What is this…”
Time.
Money bag. Ordinary salaryman finds crime org’s stash.
Soon, bag-grabbing [Kang Hyeok] meets gambling addict [Oh Dae-bak].
The key unlocking Kang’s buried madness: Oh Dae-bak.
Post-trades with many, Kang faces Oh.
“Gulp!”
[ #33 ]
Oh Dae-bak eyes the bag; Kang entangled. Han, channeling, eyes gleaming—mouth opened.
“Hey… wanna die?”
Ad-lib burst.
Reading room hushed.
“……!”
“……!”
Heavy madness descended—
“……Heehee, you baldy fuck?”