Drunk Choi Seong-cheol Remembers LA
In his drunken stupor, Choi Seong-cheol recalled LA. Memories from the LA Film School, that dream palace arrogantly built by Hollywood leaders including Walt Disney. It had been a beautiful time—the impulsive days of a young film student. Sunny Southern California, wild surfing and boards, booze and nights, sandy beaches and downtown streets. The lingering long-haired hippies, rock clubs, and small screening rooms that wove romance. Musicals and concerts, the otherworldly Disneyland and Getty Museum, plus the dreamlike Hollywood memorials. Those memories of his glory days, playing back at 1024x speed, slowed somewhere along the way.
"·········Ah."
May, one year. "Wassup, Choi—wassup, Julie—" Two passionate film students clinking beer bottles on a sun-dappled California beach.
"Choi, I like your shots. There's a mysterious beauty in the negative space—unlike these pretentious assholes around here."
"That's the aesthetics of the East."
"It's amazing."
"It's not over yet. I'll show you what our true selves look like, not some Western orientalism."
"Can I ever get into that mise-en-scène of yours someday?"
"Of course."
From some point on, cinematographer Choi Seong-cheol had become obsessed solely with connections to arthouse directors and a deep-seated longing for overseas film festivals. Yeah.
"Let's both make it big and meet again in Hollywood—"
Looking back, that obsession might have stemmed from a tangled history with a certain actress who was now a Hollywood superstar. He'd returned to Korea with grand ambitions, but with no one giving him a chance, he'd scraped by in Chungmuro and Sangam-dong carrying bags for famous DPs—those grueling times he'd long forgotten. That enigmatic rookie actor with the rare 9.1+ canvas score, hard to find in Korea, had dredged them up.
The hazy snippets from Kwak In-ho and the guy's conversation replayed in Choi Seong-cheol's confirmation bias.
"They said your expressions weren't great. Since when? From the script reading. Why? Your tastes are expensive. What tastes?"
Obviously, tastes in acting.
"He has particular tastes he likes separately······"
LA——recently, Choi Seong-cheol had been hunting only for pipelines to Hollywood. A sly grin crept across his lips. In his self-made delusion and misunderstanding, the drunken cinematographer had found it.
"·········Got it!"
A study-abroad comrade where he could unleash his Eastern mise-en-scène to his heart's content.
"See! Anything 9+ has to be purebred—no domestic feed, or it just doesn't come out that way! Now I get why you had no Korean career till now, man!"
Choi Seong-cheol, face beet red and reeking of booze, bellowed.
"Where in LA are you from? I'm LA Film School—"
"Director, you're drunk again."
"Tae-gyu? Knew you had a backstory. Yeah, you're one of those types with history!"
"Hey, help me support him!"
"I'm fine! Tae-gyu, after Monster City, let's hit Hollywood together!"
"Sorry, hold on. I'll clean this up quick."
The assistant director propping up the rambling Choi Seong-cheol bowed repeatedly to the worried meat shop owner.
"Hollywood! Hollywood!"
Only the AD, plus a bunch of staff and actors, could rein in the giant attempting tap dance on shattered bottles.
"·········."
"·········."
Once things calmed, people gathered at Kwak In-ho and Lee Tae-gyu's table, near the commotion.
"Writer, you okay?"
"I'm good."
"And you, Tae-gyu? Must've been shocked."
Everyone held drinks, using the chaos as an excuse to chat—with Lee Tae-gyu, who'd been expressionless since the script reading, feeling off.
"That DP's nickname is Hollywood Choi. Once he drinks, it's Hollywood this, Hollywood that with every breath."
"·········Ah."
Lee Tae-gyu nodded quietly. He raised a bottle toward the four actors around the table.
"Want a drink?"
"Hell yeah."
Their faces lit up. The tough cop and gangster, crooked prosecutor and loan shark—no, the noir specialist supporting actors—extended glasses with polite smiles as Tae-gyu poured.
"Oh Dae-ho."
"Jang Seok-tae."
"Ma Ki-beom here."
"Namgoong Yong-su."
The noir quartet, infamous for visual violence even in cameos, filled the two empty seats and dragged over two more from behind, making six total with Kwak and Tae-gyu.
Clink—
The loud toast changed the shop's vibe slightly.
In other words.
The attention focused by Choi Seong-cheol's antics shifted right away to the uproar from the noir four at the next table.
"Your ad-lib earlier was seriously impressive."
"If it's not rude······ mind sharing your acting secrets?"
Now, all eyes were on Tae-gyu's mouth, hungry for answers everyone wondered about.
Happily sloshed Han Joo-hyuk muttered pointlessly and stood.
"Bathroom—"
"I'll go with you, Joo-hyuk."
"Hyung, I'm still fine."
"Still."
"Getting manager-coddled here will get me hate."
He sat Yoo Manager down and staggered to the bathroom. But he had no real business there.
Lee Tae-gyu and Kwak In-ho's table. The one now buzzing with the noir four about acting—that was the only seat he wanted.
"·········Wanna butt in."
Questions piled up: How do you act? Where'd you learn? What techniques? Method actor like me? How do you reset emotions after? How bridge acting and daily life—
But.
"·········Why'd I have to show off."
Spotlight was on. Not just that table—nearby ones had ears perked over drinks.
Damn. Han Joo-hyuk circled wide toward the bathroom, shooting resentful glares at the noir four.
Big shots sit heavy. No one noticed earlier? He'd planned to slide in casually, apologize for earlier rudeness, and chat. Plan A scrapped.
Thud, thud.
Still, to eavesdrop for another shot, he walked slowly to the bathroom.
"Your gambling addict was so real. Been to a real casino?"
"Visited Gangwon Land."
"Oh, nice! Interviewed addicts there? Or played a few hands?"
"Stayed over. Lived the live baccarat life—"
His legs wobbled.
Live baccarat—instinct hit. "·········This madman's gone that far?"
Lee Tae-gyu was like him! Diving into roles with endless experiences!
But unlike him, cautious due to fame, this guy crossed lines fearlessly! All for acting—hanging with the "live bac" endgame gamblers. Awe hit at Tae-gyu's answer.
"Whoa. I totally get that vibe now."
At Namgoong Yong-su's words from the noir four, Han Joo-hyuk yanked the bathroom door open.
Click.
Inside, he scowled, muttering bitterly at what he'd heard.
"Bullshit, you don't know—"
Not dismissing as a supporting actor. The gulf in effort and passion between his acting and Tae-gyu's showed it. No way they knew.
The daily grind: breath reeking of acting practice, shoe soles worn through dozens for role-useful experiences. On the verge of burnout, breakthrough ecstasy and pride.
You can't know without living it—the insane grind birthing that thrill. Han Joo-hyuk sneered hard at Namgoong Yong-su blabbing cluelessly, recalling one phrase.
"Endure patiently. Someday this pain will serve you—"
Tae-gyu probably had something like that too, to console his hard-to-understand self.
Click.
Han Joo-hyuk nodded, stepped out. Again, slow steps to eavesdrop on Tae-gyu's table.
"Up close, you're pretty handsome. Unlike rough guys like us, must get tons of girls."
"No girlfriend."
"Huh."
Han Joo-hyuk's flushed cheek twitched unwittingly. At Tae-gyu's answer, stirring inferiority in skill, he felt cheap victory elsewhere.
"Nah, liar. Want me to hook you up? Got model friends who dig actor types—"
"I'm good."
But Tae-gyu's follow-up.
"Acting's fun for me."
"Ooh."
The noir four overreacted dramatically, but Han Joo-hyuk's jaw dropped for real.
"···············!"
True masters spot masters. Han Joo-hyuk sensed Tae-gyu's words rang true.
"Ah."
Sudden inexpressible despair and shame crashed in. At Tae-gyu's mindset—so unlike his own—he recalled words etched when starting out.
"Shoot an arrow at a clay pot as a wager, and you'll hit true; wager a belt buckle's silver ring, and your mind wavers; wager gold, and your vision blurs. Skill's the same, but attachments arise, prizing externals—and prizing externals cheapens the heart."
He'd started pure. But eventually, stolen by gazes, money—externals—cheapening himself.
Han Joo-hyuk was sincere about acting. Pride, style, validation hunger, rivalry—all built on skill.
Thus.
I gotta befriend that guy no matter what. Natural for drunk Han Joo-hyuk.
Thud··· thud···
Booze as armor for courage, he slipped behind the rowdy Tae-gyu table.
"So how much do you practice acting normally···Huh."
"Ahem."
Han Joo-hyuk coughed, casting a shadow over the table.
"Oh, lead's here!"
"Dude, your ad-lib today was killer!"
"Joo-hyuk hyung!"
"You two fired me up big time."
Han Joo-hyuk's focus wasn't on the fawning noir four.
Lee Tae-gyu. Apologize for rudeness to this master, make a connection.
Too many eyes.
Even drunk, no courage for lead actor rejection in this crowd.
Then.
Light joke to close distance first.
Good humor bridges gaps perfectly.
"Talking acting practice? Mind if I join?"
"Honor for us!"
"Honor, my ass."
Perfect topic. Acting practice. To this master: I'm better than you saw—excuse, plus solid joke to seem relaxed master.
Feeling eyes, Han Joo-hyuk coolly opened to Tae-gyu.
"Right, Tae-gyu? Nice to meet ya."
"You too."
"Know which month I practice acting the least?"
"No···idea."
"February."
"Why?"
"Only 28 days, hahaha—"
Too drunk, craving master's nod, he couldn't hold back.
"I mean, I practice every day. So months with 31 like Dec or Oct? Full 31 days. But February's short, so us daily practicers lose absolute time."
Explaining his own joke—cringe committed.
"······"
Chilling silence blanketed the table.
"Cool···"
"Joo-hyuk hyung as expected···"
"Ah···"
"Impressive···"
Noir four's awkward praise.
"Joo-hyuk."
At Kwak In-ho's line to him, staring at still-deadpan Tae-gyu, Han Joo-hyuk realized.
"Drunk a lot?"
·········Fucked up.
"·········Cool guy."
After-party night. Reeking of booze home, Lee Tae-gyu's lips curved faintly.
That February bit—gotta use it later.
High-class joke. Hook like monthly backstory, twist with day counts, slip in passion naturally—exquisite. Lead actors are different, Tae-gyu thought.
Han Joo-hyuk. Drunk but elegant joke, then vanished. Recalling his back, Tae-gyu guessed the script reading weirdness.
Probably building emotion.
Opposing role on paper, so glared early to brew feelings slowly.
That level of effort's required···
Click.
Mirror showed solar plexus dokkaebi fire. Somehow guilty.
Now three flames—
Whoosh!
Whoosh!
Whoosh!
Script reading done, filming imminent.
Wonder if this is okay······
Tae-gyu had figured how the emotion pocket expanded.