༺ The Film Festival ༻
“Wow, this is really groundbreaking!”
Ki Do-han couldn’t stop marveling.
It was his first ride on the KTX (Korean Train Express), which opened in 2004.
He babbled about how fast it was, making him dizzy, and worried that it would be as catastrophic as a plane crash if an accident occurred. He also went on and sought Yoomyeong’s agreement on how Seoul to Busan now only took three and a half hours, making it practically the same neighborhood.
“Right? It’s super fast.”
Imagine his surprise if he heard that traveling from Gangnam to Busan would only take two and a half hours with the SRT (Super Rapid Train) by the late 2010s.
Although Yoomyeong decided to attend the Busan International Film Festival after getting a call from Director Ki, he couldn’t leave immediately.
His drama schedule was wiped clean, but there were still minor things left to do, like small magazine interviews and revisiting the salon. Meanwhile, Director Ki had already attended the opening ceremony, came back up for some work, and was now heading back down with Yoomyeong.
‘It’s too bad that I missed the opening ceremony.’
Yoomyeong had been to the Busan International Film Festival several times before. Of course, he was never there as an actor and was always just an audience member.
PIFF (Pyongyang International Film Festival, now BIFF), which screened foreign masterpieces not usually seen in Korea, was almost like a dream place for him. He might even get to see famous actors up close.
Even though he was an actor himself, Yoomyeong still had those fan-like thoughts.
“So, is the editing all done?”
“We just barely made the deadline for PIFF since they only accept works completed by September. Thankfully, Seryeon arranged a separate translator for us, or else we wouldn’t even have proper subtitles. I heard it was almost the last submission.”
“That’s great.”
Hearing Seryeon’s name made his heart twinge a bit.
“Is…Sister not coming to the film festival?”
“No. She said she’s busy these days. The last time we talked was when she called to tell me about the festival selection and that she’d arrange a translator.”
“…I see.”
Yoomyeong then changed the subject.
Director Ki might be dull about everything but movies, but Yoomyeong didn’t want him to notice the sigh on his face.
“How did the movie turn out?”
“Good. You’ll see it for the first time at the festival, right? The actors pretty much did everything this time. Oh, and the CG came out really clean. You’ll be surprised.”
“Which category did we get?”
“We got into New Currents.”
Movies submitted to the film festival were classified by the festival itself.
New Currents.
It was a category for the first or second feature films by new Asian directors. It played a role in discovering new trends in Asian cinema, making it one of the most prestigious categories. The New Currents Award was also considered the grand prize of the Busan International Film Festival.
“I’ve already booked two movies for us to watch as soon as we get there today. Our movie has its first screening tomorrow afternoon at Daeyoung Cinema.”
“Wow— that’s exciting. What are we watching today?”
“One is a feature by Director Sun Ming, inspired by Pearl Buck’s <The Good Earth>, and a short film by new directors grouped under the name Asian Wave 4.”
As they chatted, the train announced its stop.
The crowd rushing out seemed unusually focused in one direction.
Their destination was Nampo-dong.
It was a massive stage where hardcore movie fans gathered every October.
*
Yoomyeong hadn’t worn a hat or sunglasses as he wasn’t a well-known actor yet.
Even so, people turned to look at him as he passed through the throngs in Nampo-dong.
‘He doesn’t look like an ordinary person… Is he an actor?’
The identity of an actor was gradually fitting him like a custom suit.
“Wow, that documentary just gave me chills.”
“Right? Documentaries definitely have the ‘power of facts’. Slurp.”
After watching two movies on the first day and drinking beer at Director Ki’s friend’s studio, they slept over. The next morning, they lined up early for tickets, watched a documentary, and were now enjoying a late brunch.
Yoomyeong watched as Director Ki happily devoured the wontons, which was a familiar dish from his visits to the PIFF.
“Oh right, I almost forgot.”
Yoomyeong suddenly felt anxious whenever Director Ki said he had forgotten something.
“There’s a GV (*Guest Visit, a Q&A session with the audience) after our film screening this afternoon.”
“What?!”
“I just checked the notice that came right before we left, and there’s a GV time scheduled.”
“But why are you only telling me this now…?”
“I forgot.”
Sigh—
Yoomyeong sighed deeply and looked down at their clothes.
He was in comfortable jeans, a T-shirt, and a cardigan. The director… well, he was in crumpled cotton pants and a hoodie as usual.
“Let’s go to Gwangbok Lotte Department Store.”
“Uh, why?”
“Then are you going like that to the GV?”
Not understanding what the problem was, Director Ki was hurriedly taken shopping by Yoomyeong, who wrapped it up in an hour.
They didn’t opt for formal suits but changed into neat pants and a jacket. After a haircut at a nearby salon, even the shabby-looking director from the editing room looked pretty decent.
‘No way. Did he actually go to the opening ceremony dressed like that?’
Afraid of the answer, Yoomyeong held the question in.
Before the movie started, they had a brief meeting with the film festival planner at the appointed time.
“So the lead actor suddenly joined. Is anyone else coming?”
“No, there’s only us.”
“After the film, the staff will go in and set up chairs, and I’ll be conducting the session. Both of you can take turns giving a brief greeting and your thoughts, then we’ll have a 20-minute Q&A session.”
“Understood.”
“And…”
Having said everything, the planner looked at them meaningfully.
“It’s a great film. I think it’s going to make quite an impact at this film festival. You’ll probably have a lot of people looking for you two, so you should get a decent outfit.”
They couldn’t possibly mention that they had just bought their current outfits.
*
A man with blonde hair and blue eyes entered the cinema.
He was a true cinephile.
Even though watching movies was his job, he still came to film festivals during his vacations.
Before coming to Korea, he carefully reviewed the participating films and pre-booked the ones he really wanted to see.
One of them was “Ballerina High,” a film he agonized over booking it because it barely met his criteria.
He was a ballet enthusiast and a big fan of Gaston Leroux, the novelist who wrote <The Phantom of the Opera>.
He wondered whether this combination of his two favorite things would be a match made in heaven or an absolute trainwreck.
After much, much deliberation, he added this film to his watchlist at the last minute.
‘Finally…’
He settled into a seat in the old cinema.
Although it was only the 9th year of this film festival, the audience’s enthusiasm was palpable. As usual, the seats were filled to the brim.
And then, the lights went out.
Thud—
Thud—
An indiscernible booming sound echoed as the film began.
It started with a picture book story, the familiar tale of Andersen’s <The Red Shoes>.
[Karen went to church wearing a pair of red shoes.]
Karen went to church wearing a pair of red shoes.
Beautiful illustrations followed, but the regular thudding noise was oddly irritating.
[The shoes kept dancing. Day and night, through rain or snow.]
Day (thud—) and night (thud—), through rain (thud—) or snow (thud—).
[Crossing fields, bushes, and barriers.]
Crossing fields (thud—) and bushes (thud—) and barriers (thud—).
The noise, wedged between the words…
[Finally, she went to the executioner and asked him to cut off her feet.]
(Thud—)
Thudded loudly as the large axe fell, slicing off her ankles.
The sound swiftly vanished, and only the severed feet continued to dance cheerfully in the midst of utter silence.
[Though Karen lost her feet, the severed feet continued to dance.]
As the last line was typed in a classic font style, the screen faded and overlapped the desolate face of Karen with that of the female protagonist, who was reading the book.
“Why did she cut off her feet if she could dance?”
Displeased, she pursed her lips and closed the book.
The scene shifted to a ballet studio.
‘Jesus…’
What first amazed him was the ballerina.
An Asian ballerina with perfect balance, a slender and long neck, with an overall delicate figure. She was a frail woman who would fit the role of a swan beautifully.
The video captured the dark emotions of the practice room.
As a ballet enthusiast, he knew that ballet wasn’t just a beautiful art as it appeared.
He always brought opera glasses whenever he watched ballet. Through them, he admired the thigh muscles which trembled to maintain the graceful arabesque, and the beads of sweat running down the dancers’ spines while performing the perfect cambré angle.
To him, a true ballet lover, the traces of pain and endurance wrapped in beauty were also a part of ballet’s charm.
Because of that, he tightly clenched his hands during the practice room scene.
‘Incredible. It’s not just beautiful; it’s a magnificent scene.’
The scenes chaotically interweaved.
As one dancer performed a jeté with a sly glance, it was followed by an even higher jeté performed in a way as if showing off.
There were gnashed teeth, trembling muscles, and toes almost breaking in sharply angled pointe shoes.
“You’ve been practicing hard, haven’t you?”
There was a close-up shot of lips. It was a casual greeting laced with a razor edge.
The day the tension mounted until it reached a crescendo for the female lead, Hwaran…
The theater doors were locked, leaving behind the ballerina who had been practicing desperately till the very end.
Huff— Huff— Haa—
The camera showed Hwaran’s perspective.
With heavy breathing in the background, the shaky camerawork frantically captured images.
A purple tutu.
Stage props piled at precarious angles.
Toe shoes soaked in blood.
Then, a chilling, metallic scream burst from the screen.
Aaaaahhhhh—
As if responding to the scream, a sliver of moonlight fell at her feet.
“Child, are you lost?”
And then, the Phantom appeared.
*
‘It’s a stellar combination of a top-notch cinematographer and a first-class ballerina. Of course, the director’s skill is at the helm.’
He was impressed.
He had heard that New Currents was a category for first or second feature films by new directors. However, the quality and arrangement of the scenes were astoundingly professional, rivaling the works of experienced directors.
‘It’s definitely a director with a compulsive and meticulous nature. The lead actress’s acting is a bit lacking compared to her ballet… but it was worth watching.’
As he was leisurely thinking this, the Phantom caught his eye for the first time.
A ballet angel, bathed in radiant moonlight.
Yet, there was something subtly off about his manner of speaking.
“Ah, you’re one of the children performing the Swan Dance. What was your name again?”
Was this an homage, depicting the Phantom as a completely benign character?
Even though he knew every line of ‘The Phantom of the Opera’ by heart, he was initially fooled by the character.
Captured in a low-angle shot, the light falling from the ceiling illuminated the Phantom’s head, creating a halo effect.
But why…
“Well, since we’ve met like this because of fate, I’ll tell you something.”
Did ‘fate’ sound like ‘inevitability’?
Even though he didn’t understand Korean and was reading the subtitles, a shiver passed through him when that one word was pronounced.
The Phantom stared intently at the unsuspecting female lead as if warning her.
“After Swan Lake, the next performance will be Giselle.”
Giselle, of course.
If so, it would be a tragedy that could never end happily.
He became irresistibly curious about this ballerina’s Giselle and the Phantom’s Albrecht.
And soon after, he was shocked.
It was due to the Phantom’s Giselle, which he hadn’t expected.
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