Chapter 203 : A Story of His Own
Chapter 203: A Story of His Own
Time passed quickly.
And I received the completed screenplay.
It was my first time ever receiving a screenplay, and it was a little different from what I'd imagined.
Was this what screenplays were normally like?
Or was this simply this director's style?
Rather than a screenplay, it felt closer to a novel.
It focused on what was shown and what was heard.
For example, something like this.
[ #26. A Wide Grassy Field. (Day)
Warm sunlight.
A vast grassy field shimmered and rippled.
The blades of grass swayed gently in the breeze, while birds chirped faintly in the distance.
Coco (Poodle, cream-colored, medium-sized) ran in from the right side of the screen, wagging her tail as she dashed across the field.
Her small body bounced across the grass as she scampered playfully in every direction.
Camera switches to Coco's point of view.
Coco sniffed around as she explored the field.
Then she spotted a tiny butterfly.
Lowering her body, she slowly crept toward it like a hunter.
The butterfly fluttered into the air.
Coco jumped after it.
But she couldn't reach it.
A piano melody began to play.
Cheerful and bright rhythm.... ]
“Oh...”
The music and direction more than fulfilled the role dialogue normally played.
In fact, dialogue might only get in the way of an atmosphere like this.
I looked at the cover again.
<Footprints That Became a Star>
Direction & Screenplay — Oh Seungju
The screenplay matched the emotional tone of the title I'd given the song almost uncannily well.
Over the past few days, I'd watched every one of Director Oh Seungju's films.
And I'd reached one conclusion.
Music and film.
Different, yet similar.
When you listened to music, you could see the person behind it.
Even if a melody consisted of only seven notes, the arrangement of those notes, the rhythm, the dynamics, and the chord progression all carried intention.
That intention drew out emotion and shaped character.
Movies were the same.
The fewer the lines in Director Oh Seungju's films, the more they seemed to contain.
Just as a composer combined notes to create a story, the director used images and sound to clearly express what he wanted to say.
In other words...
We were both people who created our own stories using different tools.
As I stared intently at the screenplay, Hyung asked,
“Is it fascinating?”
I immediately looked up.
“Yeah!”
“It was interesting, wasn't it?
Doesn't it almost feel like a novel?”
“Oh, I thought the same thing.”
“I thought there'd be no dialogue at all.
But there actually was some.”
I'd heard there wasn't any dialogue.
But after seeing the screenplay myself, that wasn't entirely true.
Interestingly, dialogue was used only when someone called the name of their companion animal.
That was what I liked most.
A name only had meaning when someone called it.
Coco.
Coco!
Coco?
A period.
An exclamation mark.
A question mark.
The feeling changed depending on the punctuation.
Just by reading the text, I could almost see the actor's expression, hear their voice, and feel their emotions exactly as intended.
Director Oh Seungju had been like that ever since his debut film, <Today Without Tomorrow>.
That film, filled only with lonely backs in black-and-white, faint rough breathing, and the sorrowful ticking of a clock, conveyed the weight of life more powerfully than any dialogue ever could.
Perhaps he'd dreamed of making films where music was the protagonist ever since then.
“Taeyoon.”
“Yeah?”
“I heard something.”
“What?”
Hyung hesitated before finally bringing it up.
“I heard you originally said you'd invest in that movie.”
“Ah...”
Seriously.
There were no secrets in this company.
When I asked how he'd found out, he said anything handled at the company level was shared with all the team leaders.
“I see.
Why?
Were you worried your little brother would waste money?
Like I'd recklessly invest and lose everything?”
I said it jokingly.
But Hyung remained serious.
“Why would I worry about you?
People around the company have been saying this lately.
'The most pointless thing in the world is worrying about Stay.'”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“And so what if you lose some money?”
That surprised me.
This was the same Hyung who'd always warned me not to waste the money I'd worked so hard to earn.
Now he was saying it didn't matter if I lost some?
“What?
You're saying it's okay if I lose money?”
“Everyone has moments in life where they stop caring about money.
I figured maybe this was one of those moments for you.
If you've found something you really want to do, then do it.
If it succeeds, great.
If it doesn't, think of it as paying expensive tuition.”
Then he added,
“Though in the end, it wasn't even your money going into it.”
Looking at him, I answered firmly.
“No.
That movie's going to succeed.”
Hyung looked surprised.
“...Why?”
I hadn't told anyone this before.
When I met with the director and assistant director...
I just couldn't bring myself to say it.
It felt like I'd be pretending to know more than professionals.
Like I was presumptuously evaluating their film.
So I simply covered everything with the word “fun.”
But somehow...
I felt I could say it confidently in front of Hyung.
“I thought the movie would be fun, sure.
But beyond that...
I was convinced it'd succeed.”
“Huh?”
Hyung blinked several times.
His expression practically said,
'I have no idea what you're about to say, but you're speaking confidently, so I'll hear you out.'
Determined not to disappoint that expectation, I continued.
If I didn't say it now, I felt like I'd explode.
“I didn't say I'd invest just because I got swept up in the moment.
Do you know how hard I worked to earn that money?”
“Then what was it?
I'm genuinely curious.
It's a movie without dialogue.”
At those words, I snapped my fingers.
“Oh!
That's exactly it.
The lack of dialogue.”
That was the answer.
A movie without dialogue.
That was precisely what fascinated me and gave me complete confidence in its success.
To go even deeper...
Not domestically.
Internationally.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
Despite wearing an incredulous expression,
Hyung pulled his chair closer with obvious curiosity.
“Listen.
No dialogue means no translation errors.
No worrying about dubbing either.”
“Huh...”
That reaction surprised him.
I liked it when people reacted like that.
It meant they were paying closer attention to what I was saying.
Growing even more excited, I continued.
“And you wouldn't have to worry much about subtitles either.
That means the language barrier disappears, right?”
“Is that really so important?”
I nodded slowly.
“It is.
Very important.
Remember when I went to America?”
“Yeah.
I remember.
Back then, communication with the Aether Sound panelists wasn't very smooth, so you used those translation earbuds...
Hm?”
Hyung suddenly stopped talking.
It felt like he'd connected the dots himself.
So I simply grinned.
Back then,
I'd taken out the translation earbuds and spoken to them directly in Korean.
Shall we just talk through our music?
Naturally, Koreans understood because they heard their own language.
But among the English-speaking listeners, it had been translated and interpreted like this.
If you're so confident, stop talking and come at us with your music!
Among Aether Sound viewers, who generally leaned toward macho attitudes, that became a positive interpretation.
But what if the audience had been different?
“I think language is the strongest barrier in film.
Especially in emotional movies like this.
A single line can completely change the nuance.”
“That's... true.”
“The way people express themselves is different too.
Even humor is different.
But what if everything could be conveyed using only music and visuals?”
I paused and lightly tapped the screenplay on the table.
“Then this becomes a story without nationality.
Anyone, anywhere, can understand it.
More accurately...
They won't simply watch the movie through my music.
They'll feel it.”
Hyung stared blankly at me before murmuring,
“...You're right.
That actually makes sense.”
“I like that.
People can watch it and think,
'Huh?
This is my story.'
Because there's no dialogue, everyone can interpret it in their own language.
Wouldn't it actually do even better overseas?”
“Ah...”
Only then did Hyung slowly nod in understanding.
“It's similar to music.
Am I understanding this correctly?”
“Exactly.
Music's the same.
Some people are comforted by the exact same song.
Others remember the past.
Some just quietly cry.”
“So you can interpret it that way too.
But Taeyoon.”
This time, Hyung carefully chose his words.
What was he about to say?
“Yeah?
Go ahead.”
“There's another saying.”
“What is it?”
“'You won't know until you watch the movie.'”
“...Huh?
Who says that?”
“Yeah, people say it.
So...”
He took a breath before quietly continuing.
“Don't expect too much.”
...Hmm.
He'd been acting unusually pessimistic this whole time.
Now I finally understood.
He was worried that if the movie didn't meet my expectations, I'd end up emotionally crushed.
I appreciated that he cared about me.
But regardless...
I was certain.
Besides...
“Hyung.”
“Yeah?”
“They say if ten screenplays get written, twelve get canceled before they're made.
Even so...
Isn't the fact that this one actually gets made meaningful enough?”
Whether the movie became a hit or not was secondary.
The fact that it would actually reach theaters...
Wasn't that amazing in itself?
After a moment of silence,
Hyung let out something resembling a sigh.
“...I can't beat you in an argument anymore.
You're right.
No matter what happens, the important thing is that the movie's getting made and Stay's doing the OST.”
Then he patted me on the back.
Muttering, “Good kid,” almost to himself, he left the studio.
I hoped my thoughts had gotten across properly.
Now I only had one job left.
To create music that perfectly matched the director's vision.
That, I was confident about.
Though...
'You won't know until you watch the movie?'
What kind of saying was that?
I'd never heard it before.
It was probably something Hyung made up just to tease me.
I immediately searched for it on the Green Portal.
You won't know until you watch the movie
A post from a movie community immediately appeared.
[ No matter how much a movie gets promoted, you won't know until it actually opens, right? Some movies peak with the trailer. ]
↳ Seriously. There's a reason people say, 'You won't know until you watch the movie.'
↳ I've really been feeling that lately.
↳ I've lost count of how many highly anticipated movies ended up disappointing me.
↳ Ah, can't a genuinely fresh movie come out already?
What?
...It actually exists?
Some time later, the songs were finished.
Including the main OST, <Footprints That Became a Star>, there were ten tracks in total.
Coco's Day, Welcome Home, A Conversation Without Words, Wind of Memories, You Always Went First Today, Even If the Footprints Disappear...
The songs followed four emotional arcs throughout the film.
A movie like a musical.
That was what Director Oh Seungju and I had focused on most.
After completing the final version, I sat silently in my chair for quite a while.
It was always like this.
Whenever I finished composing, emptiness arrived before joy.
Music was strange.
While creating it, I immersed myself so completely that I felt like I could die.
But once it was finished...
It always left me feeling hollow.
My head.
My heart.
Both felt completely empty.
“Why do I feel like this?”
I forced myself to stand.
To me, composing music wasn't about “making” it.
It was about “matching” it.
Like tailoring clothes that fit an artist perfectly.
Like creating the perfect beat to elevate the atmosphere of a club.
Something like that.
Club tracks needed powerful drops.
Idol songs needed addictiveness.
R&B needed soul.
Before I knew it, I was solving them almost like mathematical formulas.
Looking back...
That was how it had always been.
Of course, I'd matched them well.
I'd succeeded.
I'd earned enough money to trip over.
But throughout that process...
I was merely the supporter.
Not the protagonist.
A composer.
The shadow hidden behind a single credit line.
I thought that suited me.
That was why I'd stubbornly sat alone, thinking endlessly as I searched for my own way.
But this time was different.
I kept asking.
Again and again.
What emotions does this scene carry?
What expression will the dog have when this music plays?
Every time, I received the same answer.
However Writer Stay's heart guides him.
This was work where I had to create meaning myself.
Weaving emotional textures.
Creating gaps within rhythm.
Imagining an atmosphere that didn't yet exist.
It was the first time.
Instead of simply wanting to make something good...
I wanted my feelings to be the right ones.
I turned my chair toward the window.
The sunset was fading.
Beautifully.
Like a movie.
This was exactly when Coco had chased the butterfly.
Half nervous.
Half excited.
As if making up my mind, I opened my email.
[ Would you like to send the file? ]
[ YES ]
Tap!
I hit Enter and stretched.
“Huaa...!”
Layering silent music onto a silent movie...
Only now did I understand what it meant to create not music...
But a story.
And...
“I really want to watch the movie already.”
For the first time in my life,
I truly didn't care about the charts.
At last, the first day of filming arrived.
Everyone gathered to prepare for the traditional safety ceremony.
Normally, a pig's head and steamed rice cake would be placed on the ceremonial table...
But since the film centered around companion dogs,
there was no pig's head.
Instead, the table was filled with treats and chew bones that dogs would enjoy.
“Please let the filming go smoothly!”
“Please let everyone stay safe and avoid getting hurt!”
It was a simple ceremony.
But it was filled with sincerity.
After finishing the ceremony and preparing to shoot the first scene—
“Hm?”
A strange sight unfolded on one side of the set.
“Did you hide treats in your pocket or something?”
“...What are you, the Pied Piper?”
Coco, along with the other four important canine actors,
had formed a neat little line behind Taeyoon, following him everywhere.
“Writer Stay.”
“Yes?”
“You didn't happen to spray on some dog food-scented perfume, did you?”
“No.
I honestly didn't do anything...”
The corners of Taeyoon's eyes drooped helplessly.
All he'd done was shower them with affection!
Even after the cameras started rolling,
they refused to leave his feet.
The problem was...
It looked completely natural on camera.
Watching the director's monitor, Oh Seungju thought,
'What a waste.
Seriously.
He's better than most supporting actors.'
Meanwhile, Taeyoon was thinking something entirely different.
'Ah...
Am I delaying filming because of this?'
The faster he tried to leave...
The more the dogs misunderstood it as playtime and happily chased after him.
...You little troublemakers!