Glory Film Company

Episode 33: The Investment Committee (2)

“This way!”

As the door of the whiskey bar swung open, Yang Hyesoo waved her hand enthusiastically to catch Youngkwang’s attention.

Ah, that must be her.

While the younger Youngkwang’s journal had plenty of notes on Yang Hyesoo’s personality, it didn’t describe her appearance at all. He had been worried about recognizing her, but her relaxed and impatient demeanor made it easy. She had already arrived and called out to him first.

She’s smaller than I imagined.

Given her fiery personality, he had expected someone with a more imposing physique. Instead, she was petite with a charming, almost doll-like face.

And that face delivers those savage criticisms?

As Youngkwang studied her curiously, Yang Hyesoo stared back with equal surprise.

“Wow, have you been working out?”
“Huh?”
“You used to be so skinny, like you’d blow away in the wind. But now you’ve put on muscle and gotten taller too?”
“I’m not exactly growing taller at this age. I just started working out because I felt weak.”
“Good for you. You look way better, honestly.”

She’s pretty casual. Were we close as classmates?

Youngkwang’s journal had been filled with resentment toward Yang Hyesoo, almost like a death note, yet she spoke to him with warmth and familiarity. Maybe he had been the only one harboring those negative feelings, or perhaps her easygoing nature meant she never held grudges.

As they sat down, Yang Hyesoo flashed a bright smile and sipped the whiskey she had ordered in advance.

“I was really in the mood for a drink today, and then you called. So, what’s this pitch about?”
“First, take my card.”

Youngkwang handed her a business card for My Way Pictures.

“Wow, you really became a producer? My Way Pictures—that’s been around for a while, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Do you have field experience, though? How are you already a producer? Or is it one of those things where the job’s broken into specialized roles now? Like planning, production, and budgeting all handled separately? Smaller companies sometimes hand out titles early, right?”

Yep, she’s still sharp.

Though it didn’t seem malicious, Yang had a knack for pointing out facts others might prefer to leave unsaid. She didn’t seem too concerned about how her words might come across.

“It’s a small company, so I’m an all-around producer. I handle everything from planning to marketing. Right now, I’m working on two projects, and I wanted to show you one of them, which is why I asked to meet.”
“So you’re hoping to pitch it to Jeil Entertainment?”

She extended her hand expectantly, but Youngkwang smiled mischievously.

“Not paper. Let’s look at the video.”
“Huh?”
“Our project and packaging are a bit prone to misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding?”
“It’s easier to convey through video. That’s why I chose this place for our meeting.”

As he spoke, Youngkwang poured whiskey into a freshly prepared glass, the finely cut ice shifting as the liquid flowed.

They were at the Cheongdam branch of Bae Youngho’s whiskey bar chain, a location conveniently close to Jeil Entertainment. It also boasted a VIP room equipped with a large screen and an audio system rivaling any premium theater. Usually, the screen played music videos or classic films, but today it was set to screen a 20-minute edited preview of 300 Days After We Break Up.

“You’ve got time, right? This won’t be your typical pitch—just enjoy it and watch comfortably.”

As Youngkwang smiled confidently, he gestured to the bar’s manager, who had been prepped by Bae Youngho in advance. The manager expertly loaded the file and started the video.

Static. Fade in.

Produced by: My Way Pictures

Executive Producer: Bae Youngho

The names of the cast, crew, and contributors flashed briefly against a black screen before the preview began. This was the first time the footage had been shown to anyone outside the production team.

****

“Damn.”

Twenty minutes later, the first words out of Yang Hyesoo’s mouth were blunt.

“Are there really production companies making films like this? And with this level of quality?”

Her tone blurred the line between a rhetorical question and disbelief. Though she hadn’t had much to drink, she looked utterly sober, her initial buzz completely gone.

“What’s the name of the male lead? He’s a newcomer, isn’t he?”
“Lee Jaehyun. He’s 26, and he doesn’t have any standout credits yet.”
“He’s our age? Why haven’t I seen him around?”
“He’s known in the indie film scene for being a great actor but hasn’t landed any big projects. He probably had limited opportunities because he’s so obviously leading-man material.”
“Makes sense.”

Yang nodded.

“Actress Kang Jooyeon is amazing too. You can’t even feel the age difference between the two on screen. The acting, the camera work, the lighting, the directing—everything falls perfectly into place. Who’s the director?”
Yang Hyesoo, who had been meticulously praising the technical aspects, couldn’t contain her curiosity about the theme of the film and its director.

“This kind of romance is truly rare. It even reminds me of Director Yoon Taekil’s old films. Is it along those lines?”

Yoon Taekil was a director who had fiercely fought against the unreasonable practices of the Korean commercial film industry before moving to Europe. Come to think of it, Ha Pilsung’s film did indeed have a distinctive style.

However, the difference was that Ha Pilsung knew how to use clichés more cleverly and could produce commercially viable films.

“Not at all. As far as I know, there’s no connection.”

“Then where did this person come from?”

“He was an erotic film director.”

“What? Erotic?”

“He was famous in that genre. He made about ten films, and some were hits.”

“……”

“Do you think it’ll get investment?”

Youngkwang asked Yang Hyesoo bluntly as she sat there with her mouth agape, her expression growing increasingly complicated.

“Did you bring the script?”

Yang Hyesoo adjusted her expression to a more serious one as she asked. She wanted to make sure that the 20-minute edited version she had seen wasn’t an exaggerated portrayal of the full story, which required a proper review.

“Of course.”

Youngkwang handed over the script.

“One hour will do.”

Yang Hyesoo’s eyes sparkled as she turned the first page of the scenario.

The gains from that day boiled down to three main points:

First, Yang Hyesoo no longer looked down on Youngkwang as she had before. Not only that, she became actively interested in both the changed Youngkwang and the project he brought, 300 Days After We Break Up.

“But getting through the internal review won’t be easy.”

“Why not?”

“You might not know this, but Jeil Entertainment requires unanimous agreement from all members of the investment committee for a project to pass. Usually, unless it’s a project with a massive scale, they tend to go easy… but…”

Second, the fact that Jeil Entertainment’s investment committee operates on a unanimous system—and that, unfortunately, Yang Hyesoo had drawn the ire of Park Sunghoon, the powerful head of the department—meant the chances of any project she proposed being approved were close to zero for the time being.

“Ha, but it’s a bit unfair for me.”

Lastly, the third realization was that Director Ahn Junseok’s next work was at the core of the issue.

‘Would it be better to distance myself from her for now?’

Youngkwang frowned as he watched Yang Hyesoo, having heard the whole story. He had contacted her out of a reasonable suspicion that My Way Pictures’ projects were being deliberately blocked by Gu, the head of the company.

He thought that even a low-ranking member of Jael Entertainment’s investment committee might be useful, but in her current position, she was worse off than Youngkwang himself.

But… was there truly nothing to gain from Yang Hyesoo?

“Why did you cast a dissenting vote?” Youngkwang asked cautiously.

“Wow. My goodness.”

Yang Hyesoo looked at him with an expression of pure amazement.

“You’re the first person to ask me that.”

“Ask what?”

“Why I cast a dissenting vote. Everyone else just cursed me out, asking if I was crazy or if I thought I had that great an eye.”

Letting out a long sigh, Yang Hyesoo spoke with a face full of contemplation.

“It’s a disaster film set in the near future, with some sci-fi elements. You know, the kind of story where the world is suddenly on the brink of collapse, and people are panicking and dying.”

“And?”

“Why do people watch blockbusters like that?”

“Audiences?”

“Yes.”

Her perceptive question impressed Youngkwang. That question alone was enough to pinpoint where Yang Hyesoo had taken issue with Director Ahn Junseok’s script. He even anticipated what she was about to say, so he preempted her.

“The results are the clearest indicator.”

“What?”

“Look at Galaxy, which was recently released in North America, and Brazil’s Narrow Gate.”

“Oh, right! That’s exactly the point!”

Yang Hyesoo’s eyes widened as she responded to Youngkwang.

“Despite an enormous budget, Galaxy barely broke even. Realistically, it’s a failure. On the other hand, Narrow Gate was a low-budget film, yet it drew huge crowds of enthusiastic viewers. Both had innovative settings, and the actors’ performances weren’t bad. The difference was…”

“The level of immersion. Which comes from a solid story.”

“…!”

Yang Hyesoo looked as if she’d been struck by lightning.

“…Exactly, that’s it! The difference was whether it captured the audience’s attention through the story or just the style. Style alone can’t keep audiences immersed for two hours! Without a solid story, they’ll turn their backs. …Yes, that was it. That was the part that didn’t sit right with me.”

Yang Hyesoo prided herself on her sharp eye for judging projects. It was that confidence, coupled with her actual track record, that had brought her to where she was today. Yet, with just one remark from Youngkwang, something she had forgotten opened up within her. It was as if a mental block had suddenly cleared.

Youngkwang is right. The problem was the story!

While elements like art direction, CGI, action, and cinematography—the “style” of a film—certainly have the power to captivate the audience instantly, without a strong narrative to back it up, they are nothing more than a pretty wrapper. A film that is all style and no substance cannot hold the audience’s attention until the end credits. This was a truth already proven time and again.

The biggest issue with Ahn Junseok’s script was its obsessive focus on style, driven by an ambition to dominate the global stage, at the expense of its core essence. Youngkwang had picked up on this flaw effortlessly.

Who is this Youngkwang? Is he really the same guy I used to know? How did he catch on so quickly?

As Hyesoo followed the train of thought ignited by Youngkwang’s comment, Youngkwang himself was equally surprised, watching her in awe. However, Hyesoo was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to notice, instead marveling at how perceptive Youngkwang had suddenly become.

“You… I didn’t even explain the book in detail. How did you come up with such a spot-on example? Was it a coincidence?”

Hyesoo wasn’t one to beat around the bush, and Youngkwang wasn’t the type to downplay his abilities.

“I know the style. It was clear in Ahn Junseok’s previous work, and you can see his ambitions for his next project.”

Youngkwang had always kept an eye on promising directors, anticipating the chance to work with them someday. Naturally, young talents like Ahn Junseok and Park Seyoung were already on his radar, along with a rough understanding of their styles and aspirations.

‘Both are likely aiming for global content.’

During the pandemic, Ahn Junseok, along with others like Park Seyoung, had gained popularity with exclusive projects for the major OTT platform NetPlus. One of his works, the six-episode series A Drink After Work, even topped the global charts for a week.

“The blend of healing themes with fantasy elements worked perfectly.”

The premise was seemingly simple: a protagonist visiting bars after work, enjoying food and drinks. It was a format already proven popular in many dramas and variety shows. However, Ahn Junseok added a layer of fantasy. While intoxicated, the protagonist would encounter various characters and events, presented as an anthology of comedy, thrillers, and romance.

Initially lighthearted, the series delved deeper into its fantasy elements, leading to mixed reviews. While it was praised as unique and stylish, it was also criticized for sacrificing its narrative depth to style.

Youngkwang fell into the latter camp. He saw that if Ahn Junseok truly wanted to delve into this type of fantasy, his ambition might cause him to stumble in his next project.

“Someone as discerning as Hyesoo must have picked up on that.”

Confident in his stylistic approach, Ahn Junseok had likely pushed forward, believing he had hit the mark with the audience. Meanwhile, Gu, the head of Stay Film, would have been eager to sell the project as quickly as possible, and Jeil Entertainment’s Park Sunghoon would have assumed that a director with Ahn Junseok’s name recognition and track record couldn’t possibly fail.

Enter Yang Hyesoo, the unexpected roadblock.

“Hyesoo, if you want to fix Director Ahn Junseok’s project properly,” Youngkwang said, thinking quickly, “you should oppose it more firmly.”

“What?”

“Point out every flaw until Ahn Junseok himself asks to meet you. Or until Gu from Stay Film or Park Sunghoon arranges a meeting with you.”

“Are you saying I should criticize it outright?”

Hyesoo blinked her large eyes in disbelief. After her dissenting vote had already turned her position into a disaster, now she was supposed to escalate things?

“Criticize it openly. Just make sure you offer a solid alternative.”

“What?”

“If Ahn Junseok is as skilled as we think, he’s already questioning himself. No director completely ignores self-criticism. He’s probably frustrated.”

“True. That could be the case.”

“If you give him a solution to the problem that’s been bothering him, it will enhance the project’s quality, and he’ll be grateful. Plus, your presence and standing in the company will grow.”

Hyesoo couldn’t deny the logic in what Youngkwang was saying. Yet, she still seemed confused—not because of his reasoning, but because of Youngkwang’s unexpected attitude.

‘This guy came here looking for investment, didn’t he? So why is he helping me instead of himself? Is he even serious about getting funding?’

Still, there was something she couldn’t hold back from asking.

“What’s this solid alternative you’re suggesting?”

Youngkwang smiled slyly.

“It’s simple. But on one condition—when they arrange a meeting, how about I join you? I have an idea that could work.”

Youngkwang wasn’t easy to deal with, and he knew Hyesoo would have no choice but to accept his suggestion, even if it made her uncomfortable.