In This Life, I Will Die As An Actress, Not As A Villainess [EN]: Chapter 70

Tension filled the chilly set.

Director Chae-sung was searching for the right answer with a stiff expression.

Watching him, I swallowed hard.

I seemed to be the only one on set who could read the extreme tension beneath his rigid face.

Perhaps it was because we had been through thick and thin together, filming a drama for several months.

Director Chae-sung pondered, checking the storyboard.

But what’s the point of checking…

He’d only be confirming the number of cuts proceeding as planned.

That wasn’t important right now.

The characters weren’t visible.

After a longer silence than expected, Director Chae-sung made a decision.

“Let’s put the filming on hold for a bit.”

A surprised murmur erupted from the crew.

“Director, we’re already behind schedule…”

The assistant director blocked Director Chae-sung’s path, looking opposed.

“I’ll discuss adjusting the schedule with the production company. For now, let’s film the scenes we planned to shoot from sunset into the evening.”

Director Chae-sung bowed his head towards the staff.

The staff all wore bewildered expressions.

With that, Director Chae-sung walked away, seeking a place to be alone with his thoughts.

Someone sighed softly as they watched his back.

Hearing that sound, I was reminded once again.

That’s right, that’s what it meant to be a director.

Especially since this was his debut work, the weight on his shoulders must be immense.

Looking at the actors, they, too, wore troubled expressions.

The rookies, Kim Eun-seo, Seon Yu-seok, and Kkot-byeol, were hanging back, just watching.

These kinds of conflicts were common on any set, but this was the first time I’d experienced it since my regression.

Within the actors, the souls of the characters they had freely created during the previous filming and observation camera sessions still remained.

Director Chae-sung, who hadn’t been present at the time, couldn’t possibly see those souls.

Now that the script was in his hands, the characters were destined to be reborn.

The characters, now possessing two souls, were causing confusion on set.

‘The actors and Director Chae-sung are all trying to portray the characters well. It’s just a problem that arose because of that.’

As Yuri had said, the time difference was the issue.

I couldn’t offer a solution in this situation.

Doing so would be dangerous.

As the original director, my stepping in could be seen as threatening Director Chae-sung’s position and disrespecting him.

I sighed deeply.

This might be a more difficult road than I thought….

* * *

The sun set quickly on the island.

As darkness fell, the staff returned to standby, setting up their equipment.

The atmosphere on set was heavy and quiet.

The assistant director was looking around, as if searching for Director Chae-sung.

Avoiding people’s eyes, I approached the assistant director.

“Assistant Director, would it be alright if I brought the director back?”

The quick-witted assistant director nodded as if he understood.

I hurried towards the back of the pension.

There wasn’t much time.

In the distance, I saw Director Chae-sung sitting on a fishing chair, lost in thought.

I quietly approached and sat next to him.

“Director!”

At my voice, Director Chae-sung looked over at me as if snapping out of a trance.

I smiled and handed him a coffee.

“It’s so cold on the island.”

Director Chae-sung took the coffee, opened it, and took a long swig without answering, as if frustrated.

Then he said,

“Director Moon told me, if you can’t reach an agreement when conflicts arise with actors, either suppress them or be suppressed.”

Director Moon?

It was the first time in a while I’d heard about Director Flat Shoes [a nickname, possibly referring to his style or personality].

“Directors who can suppress are experienced, and directors who are suppressed are newbies. He said that’s the only result in this world.”

I was speechless at the absurd yet realistic teaching.

“But I can’t do either. What does that make me? Incompetent? Hopeless?”

Looking at Director Chae-sung, I was inwardly stunned.

This person was quite the… excavator, digging deep underground [metaphor for overthinking].

I gently tugged on Director Chae-sung’s sleeve.

“It’s just a time difference issue.”

“I know.”

Director Chae-sung stared at the character chart in his hand.

“If I leave it to the actors’ interpretations, it won’t fit the direction the story is going. But if I push forward with my interpretation, the characters become like dolls.”

I nodded at that.

“And there’s not enough time to have individual character meetings with the actors.”

Hearing that, I cautiously asked,

“This is a cliché, but how about trusting the actors a bit more? Instead of being suppressed or suppressing them.”

At my words, Director Chae-sung asked back,

“You’re saying I should give them more freedom?”

“Yes. Specifically, accept ad-libs and don’t cut emotional scenes short, but let them run longer.”

“Right…. If we do that, the veteran actors with more experience might have a solution, right?”

Hearing that, I paused to consider.

The sound of waves crashing against the island felt threatening.

“How about trying it with the rookie actors first?”

Director Chae-sung looked at me, slightly surprised.

“That’s how freedom is… It comes out more easily when the surrounding framework isn’t too thick. Rookie actors will have less established character images in their minds than veteran actors.”

This wasn’t meant to belittle the rookie actors’ abilities.

It was simply a matter of the difference in experience.

“If you ask them to find a new version of the character right now, one that’s neither the previous version nor the current version, it might be less of a burden for the rookie actors. After all, it’s their first time.”

The character chart that Director Chae-sung was holding fluttered in the wind as if it would fly away.

I paused for a moment, choosing my next words.

“Veteran actors know as much about the characters as the director does. Maybe even more. The character’s presence becomes so clear within them that they can’t easily find a different direction to express it. But rookies can do it, even if their technique is lacking.”

It was a story born from my own long experience.

Director Chae-sung listened to my story and looked at the character chart.

“That’s a pretty convincing story….”

I smiled at Director Chae-sung.

But even I couldn’t be sure.

If this method didn’t work, we might really have to call off the rest of today’s filming.

Director Chae-sung scanned the names written on the character chart one by one.

He was searching for a candidate who could turn the atmosphere around with him.

* * *

A short while later, back in front of the cameras.

“Have you heard that the hardest thing is to live an ordinary life? I hate that saying more than anything in the world.”

Everyone held their breath as the young actress gave a passionate performance.

“I’m someone who dies because I’m too ordinary. My suicide has no special circumstances. Oh Soo-saeng [common Korean name], convenience store worker, student loan, living expenses loan, parents battling cancer, long-term relationship failure.”

The actress, Kim Eun-seo, continued her performance without color, her eyes seemingly devoid of light.

The cold sea breeze filled the gaps between Kim Eun-seo’s lines.

I watched Kim Eun-seo from behind the camera, feeling like my breath was being taken away.

The feeling I had when I watched Seon Yu-seok a few days ago resurfaced.

Perhaps even more so….

Seon Yu-seok, who was sitting next to Kim Eun-seo in front of the camera, chuckled.

“A sucker’s life.”

“That’s right, that’s it! Even being too ordinary can be a reason for suicide. Why? Because I’m a sucker.”

Kim Eun-seo’s voice grew louder.

Suddenly, Kim Eun-seo looked at the waves and burst into laughter as if she was watching a funny TV show.

“But everyone else lives like this. Which means everyone’s a sucker. But I can’t do it anymore. Because I’m the weakest sucker of all.”

Seon Yu-seok didn’t seem interested in what Kim Eun-seo was saying and put a cigarette in his mouth.

It was a swaggering attitude that I had never seen from Seon Yu-seok before.

That rebelliousness suited him surprisingly well.

But suddenly, Kim Eun-seo snatched the cigarette from Seon Yu-seok and threw it away, as if angry.

A look of bewilderment flashed across the faces of the crew.

It was an action that wasn’t in the script.

Seon Yu-seok looked at Kim Eun-seo as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Are you crazy?!”

“Do you think I’m a joke too? Is it funny when someone’s talking?”

Kim Min-kyung, played by Kim Eun-seo, vented her anger on someone else.

She was freely revealing the inferiority complex that she had never shown to a complete stranger.

For the reason that they weren’t listening to her story.

There was no calculation visible in the action that Kim Eun-seo was attempting right now.

In a moment that wasn’t even 0.1 seconds, Kim Eun-seo’s instinct led her to a new realm of emotion.

Then, Seon Yu-seok also jumped up as if he was angry and spat out a string of curses.

“Fucking hell, now that I’m about to die, some crazy bitch is for real.”

Both of them easily surpassed common sense, etiquette, and the tacitly understood conventions of life outside the island.

Like people who were really about to die.

Like their last struggles before death.

Was it because of the sudden cold wind? Goosebumps rose on my arms.

Kim Eun-seo didn’t even bother to fix her hair, which was flying in the strong wind, and walked out of the camera’s view.

“…Cut.”

Silence hung in the air.

Director Chae-sung’s face, which had been looking at the monitor, was stiff.

The expressions of the seniors who had been watching their juniors’ performances, and the actors who were seeing these actors for the first time today, were also quite serious.

Kim Eun-seo looked around, her eyes wide.

Then, her eyes met mine.

Looking into those eyes, the words I had heard that day came to mind.

‘I’m tired of being told I’m pretty. No, now it scares me. It makes me feel like I’m nothing special except for my face.’

‘I’ll work hard, practice like crazy so that people don’t call me a bad actor. I’ll build a filmography that I want, not just roles that need a pretty face.’

‘Then, see you later, on the field.’

The last promise didn’t take long.

I slowly clapped.

I smiled at Kim Eun-seo.

As I clapped, people quickly followed suit.

Director Chae-sung also stood up and finally smiled, looking a little relieved.

“Eun-seo, Yu-seok. That’s okay.”

Kim Eun-seo looked at Director Chae-sung, surprised.

“The Min-kyung I wanted, and the Min-kyung from the previous version. I think the Min-kyung in between is being created now. And Yu-seok’s Yoon-woo too. Thank you.”

The two rookie actors looked dazed and bowed to the director.

“What are those actors, are they crazy?”

“Where did you find those rookies?”

The staff prepared for the next scene under the assistant director’s direction, and I could hear them whispering.

“Sena brought them. They’re from the same Seowon University.”

I Will Live As An Actress In This Life.