How a Loan Shark Survives as an Actor – Chapter 92

Author: Cireng

Chapter 92

Lately, this had been my most frequent thought.

‘Drama and film really are completely different genres.’

As a viewer, I’d honestly never felt much of a difference.

But now that my only previous credit was the drama ‘Our Space’, filming ‘What I Loved’ had made me realize just how different they were in many ways.

‘It’s not just fascinating. I can’t get used to it.’

Because television dramas have such tight broadcast schedules, they’re filmed at breakneck speed.

‘Our Space’ in particular had been heavily interfered with by the network, and the script kept getting revised midway through, making everything chaotic.

Even as a supporting actor, overnight shoots had become routine for me. I couldn’t imagine how much harder it had been for the leads, Woo Junseo and Choi Ran.

‘No wonder Woo Junseo went off the rails after a few months.’

I had no intention of defending his misdeeds, but I could at least understand that part.

At least celebrities got paid well.

The staff members doing all the grunt work earned miserable wages.

‘Art really isn’t something just anyone can do.’

Though I wasn’t exactly qualified to say that, considering my sole motivation was money.

Anyway, unlike dramas where there was barely enough time to immerse myself emotionally or recover from it, films were comparatively relaxed.

Director Baek was a perfectionist when it came to his work.

He would repeat takes multiple times for scenes that other directors would’ve approved immediately.

Before every shoot, he’d discuss with the actors how to approach the scene and give detailed direction.

‘So he really had been holding back during script reading.’

Back then, he’d been smiling constantly like a Hahoe mask, so I hadn’t noticed.

Once filming truly began, Director Baek directed the actors like a madman… sometimes to the point that it seemed excessive.

“Dain, try making the last ending almost inaudible.”

“I want the corners of your mouth to tremble a little more. About thirty percent stronger than before?”

“I think somewhere between the first and second emotional lines would be perfect. Alright, let’s do it again!”

It wasn’t meaningless torture where he just made people repeat things endlessly.

Director Baek knew exactly what he wanted, and if the actors couldn’t bring it out, he’d do whatever it took to make them follow him.

There had been a very short scene where Bae Dain said to her subordinate,

“Let’s call it a day.”

For that simple line, she’d had to do forty-seven takes.

Later, she told me that “everything went dark.”

At first, she’d teared up out of guilt, but as time went on, she’d only grown resentful of the director.

And by then, a natural question had arisen.

Why was someone this meticulous…

‘Not saying anything to me?’

At first, I’d liked it.

I thought maybe I was just that good.

I was even a little proud.

But after several shoots, I started feeling self-conscious.

‘Everyone’s getting scolded except me. It’s awkward.’

My character, Dogeon, rarely had scenes with anyone except Yeonhee.

Still, I came to set even on days I wasn’t filming to observe the other actors and pick up some acting know-how.

And seeing countless actors, including Byeon Duho, suffer under Director Baek’s direction had genuinely shocked me.

‘I thought Bae Dain was only struggling because she lacked leading experience.’

Byeon Duho was a veteran actor who’d already played leading roles several times.

I even thought, ‘Wow, he’s good.’

Yet Director Baek somehow still found flaws in his performance.

Eventually, even I got tired watching it.

Imagine how the actors themselves felt.

‘Guess I’ll be next.’

That seemed inevitable.

If even Byeon Duho got grilled like that, my turn had to be coming.

Yet a week had passed since I started filming, and Director Baek hadn’t said a single thing to me.

‘Anyone would think he was playing favorites.’

Not that Director Baek was the type to favor actors because of personal relationships.

And if anything, he was much closer to Byeon Duho than he was to me.

“Cut! Hmm… let’s just retake Dain’s part!”

Today, as usual, Bae Dain got another NG.

After countless takes, she was mentally exhausted.

Meanwhile, I sat beside her feeling awkward.

“Ha…”

After finally getting an okay, Bae Dain collapsed halfway into her chair.

I hesitated, wondering if talking to her would be like pouring oil on a fire, then cautiously handed her an electrolyte drink.

“Tough, huh?”

“Ah, thanks. Ugh… I’m dying, Seulho.”

Bae Dain relaxed her eyebrows and whimpered.

When I mentioned how surprised I was at how demanding Director Baek was, she sighed.

“I already knew. A friend of mine worked with him before.”

According to her, Director Baek never cursed, lost his temper, or got irritated.

Yet he was infamous for making actors cry.

Her friend had swallowed tears several times after being gently but mercilessly criticized.

“I was prepared, but this is no joke. Still, what can I do? When I look at the footage, Director Baek’s version is way better.”

She muttered bitterly.

Even during the forty-seven takes of “Let’s call it a day” five days ago, she’d wondered why such a simple line deserved so much effort.

“But if you think about it, this is Director Baek’s movie. His name’s on it. He’s showing it to the whole world. Of course, every little thing matters to him.”

She understood that.

But that didn’t make the exhaustion disappear.

Listening to her somehow made me feel guilty.

Even though I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong, I felt like the youngest child standing beside the eldest sister while their parents scolded her.

Despite never having an older sister… or parents.

“Why do you look like that?”

Just as Yeonhee could read Dogeon’s expressions, Bae Dain read mine.

She immediately stood up from her chair.

“What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

Scratching the back of my head, I said,

“Just feeling a little self-conscious.”

“About what?”

“…I don’t mean to sound arrogant, but Director Baek doesn’t say anything to me. At first I liked it, but now I’m having all sorts of thoughts.”

Maybe it wasn’t because I was acting so well.

Maybe he thought giving me direction would be pointless because I couldn’t keep up.

If my acting was really that good, shouldn’t I at least get some praise?

‘He could at least say it was good.’

Director Baek neither criticized nor praised me.

Throughout filming, he just moved his lips as though he had something to say.

Then he’d keep his mouth shut and move on to the next scene.

“Seulho, are you kidding?”

For the first time, Bae Dain looked genuinely serious.

I hurriedly tried to take my words back, thinking I’d sounded spoiled.

But…

“Hey, if I were him, I wouldn’t know what to say either. Director Baek’s only human.”

“Huh?”

“If he opened his mouth, all that’d come out would be praise. But it’s not like you’re the only actor here. He has to think about the atmosphere on set too.”

Then she added that the director must have his own difficulties.

Which meant…

According to Bae Dain, my acting was simply too good.

“How do you know? Did you talk to him?”

“I have eyes, Seulho.”

She looked dumbfounded before suddenly chuckling.

“You’re cute when you’re like this. Suddenly you really seem younger than me.”

“……”

A girl nine years younger than me saying that?

The absurdity left me speechless.

Bae Dain patted my back.

“I know you’re anxious, but just endure it. Everyone has their own struggles. Think about how hard it must be for Director Baek.”

“No, but–”

“You think he’s the only one struggling? There were so many times I wanted to applaud while acting with you that I clenched my fists. But Director Baek always noticed and told me to relax my hands.”

She sighed again and rambled on.

I wanted to ask how she could be so sure of what Director Baek was thinking.

But I figured I wouldn’t like the answer.

So I changed the subject.

“Are you okay?”

“Hm? About what?”

“Just worried you might lose confidence.”

“Oh~. I’m fine. At first, I was shaken. But now I kind of get it. It’s not like I’m getting NGs because my acting sucks.”

I tilted my head.

‘NGs aren’t necessarily about acting skill?’

Seeing my confusion, Bae Dain suddenly sounded like a senior talking to a freshman.

“What I did just now would’ve gotten an immediate okay from some directors. That doesn’t mean those directors are worse than Director Baek. It’s just preference.”

“Preference…”

“I don’t lack filming experience just because I’ve never been a lead. I’ve been on sets for eight years, and every director has… what do they call it? A favorite?”

“A favorite?”

“The idol fan term.”

“Oh.”

“You know, the person they like most. A fancier word would be ‘persona’. Anyway, I just tell myself I’m not Director Baek’s favorite.”

“If I keep thinking the problem is with me, it’ll be too hard.”

Bae Dain smiled.

That decisiveness reminded me of Yeonhee.

For the first time, the two overlapped in my mind.

I smiled too.

“Yeah.”

“And if you’re really worried, just go ask Director Baek. Honestly, you seem like the type who’d march right up and ask instead of brooding alone. Surprised you haven’t.”

I couldn’t deny it.

We hadn’t known each other long.

How did she know me this well?

‘I’d like to ask.’

But Director Baek kept avoiding me.

Yesterday, I’d finally asked him to talk after filming.

He’d agreed…

Then ran away while I was changing clothes.

Which was why I couldn’t accept Bae Dain’s theory that he was just holding back praise.

If he couldn’t say it because others were around, why avoid me when we were alone?

‘Sigh.’

It wasn’t something I’d solve by thinking about it.