Glory Film Company

Episode 21: Casting (1)

The importance of packaging is simple: by securing the script, director, and lead actors in advance, the production company can pass the stringent evaluation of the Investment Review Committee more easily and retain a 40% share of the profits.

Let’s break it down for a moment.

If a movie ticket costs 10,000 won, 1,300 won is deducted for taxes (10%) and the Film Promotion Fund (3%), leaving 8,700 won. The remaining amount is split evenly between the theater and the distributor.

The distributor takes about 10% as their fee and reserves the rest to cover the production costs. Once the film’s revenue surpasses its break-even point, the remaining profit is split—60% for the investors and 40% for the production company.

If the production company fails to package the project properly during the planning stage, this profit-sharing ratio inevitably tilts in favor of the investors.

So, can’t the production company simply do proper packaging? In theory, yes—but it’s not that simple.

In the past, it was a given. A competent producer with solid connections could bring in talented directors, top actors, and exceptional scripts. But today, that’s like saying, “If you want to get into Seoul National University, just study hard with your textbooks”—a frustratingly naive oversimplification.

At some point, capital-armed investors began taking direct control, arranging meetings with directors and casting lead actors themselves. This shift upended the industry’s dynamics.

Now, it’s common for investors to intervene from the pre-production stage, asserting control over a film’s planning and adjusting the profit-sharing ratio in their favor.

Loyalty? Forget it. Directors and actors often prefer contracts with well-funded investors rather than struggling production companies with uncertain futures.

It’s a David-and-Goliath game.

In Korea, where investment-distribution companies often handle both financing and distribution, small production companies constantly face nail-biting battles to retain their share of the pie.

That’s why no ground can be lost during the planning stage. By sheer force of will and resourcefulness, a production company must complete the packaging on its own to survive and prepare for the next project.

“Director Kwak Junghoon’s name value should make casting the lead actor relatively easy… but Ha Pilsung is the real issue,” Youngkwang muttered.

While the script and director were solid, casting the right actor seemed like it would be an uphill battle.

Ha Pilsung had been revising the script up until yesterday. Was it his indecision or lack of focus? No.

It was his relentless perfectionism.

He was trimming every redundant scene, every unnecessary subplot, and every overly elaborate moment to edit the script even before it reached the screenplay phase.

At this rate, we’ll have a polished script in just a few days… but pushing Ha Pilsung as a selling point will likely backfire.

If an erotic film director were to attempt a commercial film, people would naturally view it with skepticism.

Still, there was no need to shop the script around to multiple candidates. One actor’s decision mattered the most: Kang Jooyeon.

Debuting in 2001 at just 17, Kang Jooyeon had over 20 years of acting experience. Both Ha Pilsung and Youngkwang envisioned her as the protagonist once the story took its shape.

Her calm demeanor and striking appearance gave the impression of unshakable composure—even in the midst of a storm or apocalypse. Yet, beneath that exterior lay an intense, fiery energy ready to erupt at any moment.

‘That mysterious face, that captivating presence… it wasn’t ordinary.’

After debuting, Kang Jooyeon spent some time in commercials, capitalizing on her unique appearance. Back then, her acting left much to be desired, and Youngkwang had no particular connection with her.

The only loose tie was through Jang Hyunmin, though even that was likely superficial.

In 2003, at the height of his popularity, Jang Hyunmin had starred in the KBC drama The Man with the Bobbed Hair, where Kang Jooyeon played a supporting role as one of his ardent admirers. Their interaction was likely limited to occasional on-set encounters.

But then, Kang Jooyeon underwent a transformation.

Her breakthrough came in 2005, shortly after Youngkwang’s injury in a fire accident. In the movie Mother’s Bag, which drew in 7 million viewers, Kang Jooyeon delivered a deeply emotional performance.

Had she experienced heartbreak? Lost her family fortune? Discovered some shocking secret about her birth?

No one knew what had happened, but she displayed a depth of acting that hadn’t been there before. She exploded onto the scene, winning the Best Supporting Actress award that year.

Youngkwang discovered the movie while analyzing hit films after 2003, and he was astounded. That Kang Jooyeon had delivered such a performance was beyond belief.

Sure, her character “Ah-young” had a lot to work with. But landing such a role and delivering it so convincingly meant she had become a prepared actress.

Since then, Kang Jooyeon’s career had flourished, with a steady stream of hits across dramas and films every 2–3 years. Her eye for scripts was sharp, and her hunger for challenging roles only seemed to grow.

But now, she was likely at her breaking point.

In 2019, a massive scandal revealed that she was a single mother, leading to the cancellation of all her projects and the failure of her comeback attempt.

“If she was raising a child she had out of love, couldn’t people just leave her alone? But no, they had to ask who the father was, why she kept it a secret, and demand explanations. It’s disgusting how much they hounded her.”

Reading through old articles, Youngkwang felt a tightness in his chest.

The persistent rumors—claims that her child was the product of an affair with a married man, or perhaps the result of a rebellious fling with a chaebol heir, or even that she had been involved with sponsors before her debut—still circulated online, multiplying across obscure corners of the internet.

Kang Jooyeon had chosen not to respond to any of these rumors, and as a result, she lost all her advertising deals and acting opportunities. For a while, she seemed to vanish from public view entirely.

In 2021, she attempted a comeback as the lead in the cable drama The Basement, but was reportedly fired after just three episodes due to conflicts with the director. After that, even her agency didn’t renew her contract, seemingly considering her a lost cause.

“So, basically, she’s just… taking it easy now?”

Youngkwang stopped walking and looked up at the building in front of him. It was the one he’d found online, listed as being owned by Kang Jooyeon. The café on the ground floor was reportedly managed by her directly, making it the perfect place for a stakeout.

One day, then two, three, and finally four days passed.

On the fourth day, Kang Jooyeon finally appeared.

Whirr.

The automatic doors slid open, and in walked a woman with a slender figure. She wore oversized sunglasses, her hair was tied up, and her loose-fitting clothes hinted at an effort to avoid attention. Yet, her radiance was impossible to conceal.

Even from behind, from the side, or upside down—there was no mistaking it. This was Kang Jooyeon.

“Excuse me, are you Actress Kang Jooyeon?”

Youngkwang approached her directly, only to be met with a wary glare.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but please return to your seat,” the café manager interjected firmly, stepping in as if this wasn’t the first time such an incident had occurred. Kang Jooyeon, too, stiffened slightly and took a step back.

“I’m Lee Youngkwang, a producer from My Way Pictures. I’ve been hoping to deliver a script to you but couldn’t find another way, so I decided to come in person,” Youngkwang said, keeping his explanation brief as he handed over the script for 300 Days After We Break Up by Ha Pilsung, along with his business card.

“My Way Pictures?”

“Our representative is Director Lee Deokjae…”

“I know. That company.”

Youngkwang had been bracing himself to deliver a more elaborate introduction, but it seemed Kang Jooyeon was already familiar with My Way Pictures and Lee Deokjae. Whether that was a good or bad sign, her expression didn’t reveal.

“Well, please take a look at the script and don’t hesitate to contact me.”

Youngkwang bowed politely.

The fact that it had taken him four days to meet Kang Jooyeon had worked out in his favor. Just the day before, Ha Pilsung had completed another round of revisions, leaving the script in a state that Youngkwang deemed perfect for pitching. He had come armed with a fresh copy, confident that no actor with Kang Jooyeon’s eye for quality could ignore it.

“Wait a moment.”

Just as he was about to leave, Kang Jooyeon called out to him.

“Yes?”

“Wait here. I’ll read it right now.”

“…?”

Had the manager tipped her off? Had they told her about the guy camping out at the café every day, waiting just to meet her? Was she moved enough by the effort to decide to read the script and give an immediate response?

Her kindness was as impressive as her beauty. Feeling slightly emotional, Youngkwang nodded.

“I’ll have a hot Americano and a salted butter roll. What about you, Producer?”

“Oh, I’ll have an iced Americano and an an-butter pastry,” he replied.

Youngkwang’s newfound love for iced coffee and an-butter rolls—perhaps a product of his adaptation to 2022 trends—was oddly fitting for the moment. He reached for the company card to pay, but Kang Jooyeon’s subtle shake of her head stopped him before he could even pull it from his wallet.

Following Kang Jooyeon’s instructions, the manager prepared the order while she settled at a window-side table.

Wow.

When Kang Jooyeon removed her sunglasses, her beauty was breathtaking.

Youngkwang had met many of Korea’s top stars, but her aura placed her firmly in the upper echelon. Even at 38, she could easily pass for someone in her late twenties or early thirties, showing no trace of age.

Her focus as she began reading the script was even more captivating.

Kang Jooyeon furrowed her brow as she read some pages quickly, others slowly as if savoring every word. Occasionally, she flipped back to earlier sections to cross-check details. In just a couple of hours, she had thoroughly worked her way through over 100 pages.

By the time her coffee had been refilled twice and her plate of bread was spotless, she finally closed the script with a decisive motion.

Thud.

“Are you offering me the role of Ha Yeonsu?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

It was a role dense with layers and depth—one that could not be ignored. Youngkwang was confident. He believed this project could resonate deeply with Kang Jooyeon.

“Hah. That’s unexpected.”

“Pardon?”

“I’ve had plenty of people approach me like this—some even trying to reach out through mutual acquaintances.”

Of course, she was Kang Jooyeon.

Even though her comeback project had been a disaster and her agency had dropped her, there were undoubtedly many people eager to revive her career.

“But all the scripts they brought me had such extreme content: stories about tragic madams, women selling their bodies, or mistresses to chaebol heirs.”

“…Ah.”

It was understandable. Those were likely residual effects of her scandal.

People tend to typecast. Once an image sticks, it’s hard to shake. Actors who excel at playing teachers are offered more teacher roles, and those known for villainous parts are flooded with offers for antagonists.

And an actress who had maintained a spotless career suddenly revealed she had a five-year-old daughter? The vultures would have swarmed.

“But this… it’s a romantic comedy. And it’s actually quite funny.”

“Yes. We’re aiming for a high-concept rom-com with touches of black comedy.”

“This is interesting. It’s also intriguing that you’d offer it to me.”

“This script was written with you in mind from the very beginning. As you can see, it’s not just about love—it’s a story that focuses on the ugly emotions that arise when people fall in love: jealousy, obsession, anger, and self-loathing. It’s distinctly different.”

“And the comedic points that come from the contrasting perspectives of the male and female leads are quite enjoyable, aren’t they?”

Kang Jooyeon, playing along with Youngkwang as he passionately extolled the script’s strengths like a salesman, gave a slight nod.

This is as good as a green light.

“And I liked that there’s no nudity.”

With a small smile, Kang Jooyeon nodded again.

“Oh, I see.”

Youngkwang feigned ignorance in his response.

In truth, it had been a deliberate strategy. While the story wasn’t devoid of sexual undertones, Ha Pilsung had assured them he could craft impactful scenes without explicitly showing anything. He intended to stimulate the audience’s imagination with subtle techniques—quick inserts, bold close-ups, and sound effects—creating an even more powerful impact than overt displays.

Youngkwang had calculated that this approach would make convincing Kang Jooyeon much easier.

And it seemed to have worked.

“I like it.”

The words flowed from her lips like a string of pearls.

“I’d like to meet the director.”

“Anytime. He’s usually at the office.”

“But… Ha Pilsung? I don’t recognize the name.”

“Oh, it’s his first commercial film. You could call him a mid-career newcomer.”

“Ah, I see.”

Her tone and expression hinted at mild disappointment, though she tried to mask it.

Youngkwang, however, chose not to elaborate further. A detailed introduction could wait until they met in person. For now, he didn’t want to disrupt the positive mood.

“This Friday works for me.”

“Our office in Yeonnam-dong is a bit cramped, so I’ll find a suitable location in Gangnam and let you know.”

“Here’s my number.”

Instead of handing the contact details to her manager, Kang Jooyeon gave Youngkwang her direct number.

The vibe was good—everything was progressing even better than Youngkwang had anticipated.

At least, it was, until the moment he shared the good news with Ha Pilsung.