Top Star by Luck

Chapter 30

The typical process for a role audition is as follows.

First, the production company sends out a document with a brief synopsis and character descriptions to each agency and academy.

After gathering the participants for the audition, they provide the script excerpts on the spot.

These are scenes from the actual movie that will be filmed.

The participants then review the script on-site and perform in front of the judges.

This part is crucial.

‘The amount of time given to participants to memorize the script varies drastically.’

There were places where they handed over two or three pages of the script, giving participants around ten minutes to memorize it.

This time, the production company for Forever Green, Ultra Studio, was one of those places.

Although it’s an impromptu script, it was three pages densely packed with words.

In that short time, they had to memorize the lines, analyze the character, and modify it to suit themselves.

It was by no means an easy task.

But in Lee Min Ki’s experience, places like this were still lenient.

Sometimes, they’d barely allow time to read the script once or twice before asking you to perform right away.

‘Shall we start now?’

The audition waiting room.

Before grabbing the script handed over by the staff, Min Ki briefly scanned the surroundings.

In the waiting room, the audition participants were each absorbed in their scripts, each showing their unique personality.

First, there were those who already looked anxious.

“Phew.”

“A… A…”

Without saying a word, some were fixated on their scripts, biting their nails or nervously shaking their legs.

There were even people quietly praying with their hands clasped together.

Those were mostly rookies.

‘I had times like that too. Actually, I still do.’

The weight of an audition for a rookie role was no joke.

Even a single rejection could make it feel like you might be abandoned by your agency.

But the veterans’ approach was a bit different.

It was like this:

‘Let’s think more deeply about the character.’

There were people calmly sitting, holding their scripts, muttering softly to themselves.

‘Those people are the real competitors.’

Min Ki took a deep breath, pulled out his phone, and revisited what Trainer Kim Ah Sung had told him.

[Min Ki, remember. Even if you don’t memorize during the audition, they won’t give you much time on set to memorize the script. Sometimes, things are improvised on the spot. So what’s important? Quickly grasping the script. That’s the key point.]

Trainer Kim Ah Sung had said, snapping his fingers.

[Don’t memorize. You don’t need to perfectly remember every single word. Just understand the context, let it flow naturally, and deeply analyze what kind of character it is.]

He was essentially telling him to give up on perfectly memorizing the script.

There was a time when Min Ki had been excessively obsessed with memorizing scripts.

He firmly believed that the more thoroughly he memorized the script, the better his acting would be.

He also expected the judges to appreciate his quick thinking or diligence.

But now, he knew.

That was the wrong approach.

[If you memorize the script, the lines will be precise. But if you let go of the script, the acting comes to life. What do you think the judges want to see? It’s obvious, right?]

Trainer Kim Ah Sung was right.

‘What the judges really want to see is the character.’

Even if the lines were slightly off, they preferred someone who could embody the character they envisioned.

A slight lack of memorization wasn’t a big deal.

That was something that could be fixed with a little more time.

But finding someone who could bring the character to life was much harder, even if given more time.

That’s why Min Ki changed his approach.

‘Memorize the character.’

After finishing his thoughts, Min Ki flipped through the pages of the script.

It was a familiar scene.

Forever Green – Bae Jung Wook

“That person next door? Ah, come to think of it, they were suspicious. There was this strange fishy smell coming from their house or something.”

“I’d run into them in the hallway occasionally. They always wore these thick clothes, like… what’s it called? A raincoat? Yes, that’s it, a raincoat. They’d pull it over their face so you couldn’t see them.”

“And their eyes were always bloodshot. They carried this weird tool case with them too.”

“Sometimes, they’d bring someone into the house, but once they went in, they wouldn’t come out for a long time.”

“They brought someone inside, you know.”

“Shouldn’t you be able to hear something? Like talking or something, but there’s nothing.”

“I really don’t know what’s going on in that house.”

“What? Do you think I’m strange? Because I’m too interested in my neighbor? You don’t get it. They make such a fuss in their own home whenever there’s the slightest noise from upstairs.”

…

…

Min Ki let out a small breath.

Trying to memorize all of this at once would obviously be difficult.

But this time, it was different.

There was one advantage Min Ki had in this audition waiting room.

‘I already know this film’s story.’

He knew it because he had seen it.

Although Min Ki had watched almost all of Director Yeom Gwang Ho’s films, he had watched Forever Green a full three times.

He hadn’t memorized all the lines.

But he knew how the actors had delivered them, who the character was talking to, and the entire context of the dialogue.

It was still vivid in his mind.

‘This character isn’t just a random citizen. He’s a neighbor who lives next door to a killer who’s set up shop for his gruesome work. He’s annoyed because he’s had a few drinks, and he’s being questioned unexpectedly, so there’s a subtle hint of irritation.’

He didn’t know the person next door was a killer, and of course, he didn’t know the person questioning him was a detective either.

The detective had never visited in uniform, after all.

‘Standing in front of that narrow door, I’d naturally lean forward. I’d feel boxed in and anxious. It would be uncomfortable.’

Even with the same acting, knowing the exact situation versus not knowing made an enormous difference.

And in Min Ki’s mind, the completed scene was already there.

A scene that not even the director knew at this point.

Min Ki’s only task was to analyze the character to fit himself.

However.

‘…’

Suddenly, he hit a wall.

What should he call this?

There are times when something insignificant gets lodged in your mind like a fishbone in your throat.

Like sand stuck between your toes.

Like that tiny sliver of cucumber in jjajangmyeon that you can barely taste.

This time, it was something Manager Park Han Mo had said to him earlier.

[You know, there’s compatibility between an actor and a role, right? Your role is a bit dry. But you, as an actor, have a bit more… let’s say, a more stimulating flavor. You need something intense! Like that subtle salty taste that creeps in!]

He’d said Min Ki’s character was a bit more stimulating.

There was no need to follow the manager’s suggestion to a T.

But he had asked him to analyze the character, not imitate it.

Was mimicking the performance from the completed film really Min Ki’s acting? Was that what the director wanted to see?

Was that really the kind of acting he aspired to?

If he painted the image of another’s performance in his head and followed it, would it really capture the essence of the scene?

‘What is my acting style?’

Min Ki found himself momentarily lost in thought.

And then.

‘I’m just overthinking again. Let’s focus on the task at hand first.’

Min Ki put his thoughts into action.

It had only been one minute and thirty seconds since receiving the script.

* * *

Inside the audition room.

“Yes, thank you. That was contestant number eight, Kim Dae Chul.”

“Thank you! I’m Kim Dae Chul, contestant number eight!”

“Alright, you can go.”

Director Yeom Gwang Ho, who had finished judging the eight previous participants, let out a tired sigh.

“Phew.”

“Director, are you alright?”

The artistic director asked with concern.

“You’re really overworked, after all.”

“No, it’s not that. My mind is clear.”

“Then, is it the audition?”

“Yes.”

Director Yeom Gwang Ho nodded in agreement with the artistic director’s comment and said,

“There’s nothing that really grabs me yet. Is it because the character is just a normal neighbor living next to the criminal? It seems like they’re all just trying to play an average, ordinary citizen.”

“Well, they are ordinary citizens, after all.”

“Yes, they are. But it feels a little off from what I envisioned.”

Something was missing.

It was like flat cola, lacking that essential fizz.

It was a hard aspect to overlook.

In thrillers, where acting was crucial, even small details like these could affect the overall quality of the work.

“Haha, it’ll be fine.”

The artistic director gave a lighthearted laugh, trying to reassure Director Yeom.

“There are still plenty of participants left. Surely one will stand out.”

“Yes, I hope so. Ah, it looks like the next one is about to begin.”

A moment later, the sound of footsteps could be heard from behind the audition room’s curtain, which doubled as the stage entrance.

Step, step.

The stage was dark.

A faint spotlight illuminated the figure of a man stepping forward.

The name of this contestant was…

“I’m number nine, Lee Min Ki.”

It was Min Ki.

‘Hmm.’

The first thought that came to Director Yeom Gwang Ho’s mind when he saw him was this:

‘His look isn’t bad.’

His face suited the role.

He had a somewhat delicate face that fit the role of an ordinary citizen.

There was some concern that his slightly handsome features might break immersion, but it was nothing that couldn’t be fixed with makeup.

The contestants didn’t know this, but the scene would likely be shot with flushed, inebriated faces from drinking.

“Begin.”

At Director Yeom’s command, Min Ki took a deep breath.

And three seconds later.

A change appeared in an instant.

‘Oh?’

Min Ki’s transformation was immediate.

“Is that the neighbor? Ah… who was it? They seemed a bit suspicious. Should I say there was a strange fishy smell coming from their house? Yeah, that was it.”

He became nonchalant.

Particularly, he added unnecessary remarks to the lines.

His demeanor and expressions showed a man who seemed slightly fed up with life itself.

‘Was that intentional?’

Director Yeom Gwang Ho raised his eyebrows, surprised by a side he hadn’t seen in any of the previous participants.

But there was still more to see.

Then.

“When they bring someone into the house, they lock the door. And they don’t come out for a long time.”

As the performance continued, the dialogue strayed further from the original.

It wasn’t bad.

In fact, the slightly provocative shift to informal speech fit perfectly.

The irritation directed at the police officer who had come to question him was palpable.

This wasn’t an ordinary citizen.

But it was precisely because he wasn’t an ordinary citizen that the character emerged.

‘He’s gone beyond just memorizing and reciting lines. Did they say he was a rookie? Judging by his instincts, it seems like he’s been in and out of audition rooms quite a bit.’

At that moment, Director Yeom Gwang Ho could already see Min Ki standing on the set of the film.

‘If we shoot that… hmm, what angle should we use? Should I try a knee shot? That’d really bring out the feeling of anxiety. Or maybe mix in a down angle?’

This was a good sign.

Watching Min Ki’s performance, Director Yeom was no longer simply evaluating his acting; he was already imagining how to use it.

Had Min Ki known, he would have danced with joy.

However, the audition wasn’t over yet.

Min Ki continued his performance, now half-improvising his monologue as if he’d long since forgotten the script.

“Hey, why are you so eager to barge into someone’s house? Do you have a warrant? You’re just going to break in without one? You know that’s a crime, right? Look, I’m a tax-paying citizen of South Korea too.”

And about 20 seconds later.

Min Ki’s performance came to an end, leaving just a slight sense of lingering regret.

“Thank you. That was contestant number nine, Lee Min Ki.”

But how should it be described?

There was a subtle hint of disappointment in Director Yeom Gwang Ho’s gaze.

It wasn’t a matter of acting ability.

It wasn’t a character issue either.

If they hired him based on that performance alone, there wouldn’t be any major problems.

But there was a more fundamental thirst.

A thirst to utilize him in a different way.

Yes, for example.

“One moment.”

Director Yeom Gwang Ho unconsciously raised his hand.

“Yes?”

Min Ki, startled, paused his steps as he was about to leave, while Director Yeom Gwang Ho moved his lips, as if searching for an excuse for his actions.

After a few seconds.

Finally, making up his mind, he spoke.

“Your performance was good enough. But try reading this script too.”