Chapter 143
“The violence in Kingdom of Crime isn’t simply violence for its own sake. There’s desire and irony behind it. Director Song Jaehyun merely chose the noir genre as the vehicle to show that.”
After finishing the translation, Gil Boyoung let out a short breath.
A brief silence followed.
Then Jean Dumont smiled.
“Interesting.”
He studied me.
“You feel different from most producers I know.”
“Most of the producers I’ve met only seem to enjoy talking about numbers.”
Then he laughed and turned toward Monique.
“Ah, Monique, I’m not talking about you. Hahaha.”
“Oh, I won’t deny it either. Hohoho.”
Jean Dumont looked toward Carrière.
“Carrière.”
“Yes?”
“Are you going to Director Song Jaehyun’s gala screening too?”
“Of course.”
Carrière nodded.
“I told you. I like Director Song’s previous films too.”
Jean Dumont was quiet for a moment, as if organizing his thoughts.
Then he spoke again.
“You said the screening is in two days?”
“Yes.”
I answered quickly.
“The gala screening is at seven in the evening, two days from now.”
“Good.”
Jean Dumont smiled.
“Now I’m curious what kind of film a producer with your mindset chose to make.”
Wait.
Does that mean...
I blinked at him, unable to hide the expectation in my eyes.
Jean Dumont continued.
“All right. I’ll watch it at the gala screening.”
Yes!
My fist clenched before I even realized it.
“Thank you, Director!”
Alain and Monique smirked as I thanked him repeatedly.
“Isn’t it a little early to thank him?”
“Exactly.”
Monique laughed.
“You may actually regret asking him to watch it.”
Gil Boyoung looked between them in confusion.
“What do you mean?”
Alain chuckled.
“You two don’t seem to know.”
“Director Dumont may be a filmmaker, but he’s also a film critic famous for his brutal remarks.”
Gil Boyoung immediately sent me a worried glance.
But instead of being intimidated, I answered casually.
“No.”
“I’m certain Director Jean Dumont will be satisfied.”
Then I smiled.
“Actually, if Director Dumont were on the jury, I think he’d want to give it the Palme d’Or.”
I spoke with complete confidence.
“The Palme d’Or?”
Jean Dumont laughed.
“I do like that confidence of yours.”
“Yes, yes.”
He nodded approvingly.
“That’s how youth should be. Hahaha.”
Yes.
Because that’s exactly what you said yourself before my regression.
I thought that silently.
Then Gil Boyoung suddenly added,
“Ah, the meaning of Kibaek’s name is actually kind of similar to énergie.”
Everyone at the table laughed at her explanation.
Jean Dumont raised his wineglass.
“Then shall we have a toast?”
He smiled.
“To Kingdom of Crime.”
“To Kingdom of Crime!”
After lunch ended and we parted ways with Jean Dumont’s group, Gil Boyoung and I walked along the beach together for the first time in a while.
“You’re leaving before the closing ceremony?”
“Yeah.”
She nodded.
“Filming starts again in five days, so I don’t really have a choice.”
“Ah... it would’ve been nice if you could stay until the closing ceremony.”
Gil Boyoung smiled at my disappointment.
“Once this shoot ends, I’ll stop by Korea for a while before going back to Japan.”
“We can just meet again then.”
“But in Korea, you can’t comfortably walk around like this with your face uncovered.”
I remembered how Gil Boyoung always wore a mask and hat whenever she went outside in Korea.
“That’s true.”
She brushed her hair back as the sea breeze blew through it.
“One of the nice things about working in Japan and France is exactly that.”
She looked peaceful.
I carefully asked,
“Noona...”
“Are you still uncomfortable with the idea of working in Korea again?”
Gil Boyoung hesitated for a moment before answering slowly.
“I’m not sure.”
“Sometimes I miss Korea.”
“I miss working there too.”
“But when I start thinking about how people would react to me if I came back...”
She gave a faint smile.
“I’m still not confident.”
In fact, when Song Jaehyun had offered her a role in this film, Gil Boyoung had firmly refused.
She had been worried that her past scandal might somehow hurt the movie.
With the influence I had now, it wouldn’t have been difficult to push her into a film or drama regardless of public opinion.
But because I understood how she felt, I believed the best thing I could do was simply stay beside her and quietly support her.
Perhaps trying to change the somber mood, Gil Boyoung quickly changed the subject.
“Anyway, I really hope Director Song’s film does well.”
I looked at her.
“Yes.”
Then I smiled.
“It definitely will.”
Two days later, I greeted the morning after barely sleeping.
Today was the press screening.
In a way, it was the first battlefield that would decide this film’s international reputation and fate.
The press screening was scheduled for 8:30 a.m.
After quickly getting ready, Cha Seungjoon and I headed down to the hotel lobby.
Everyone else, including Director Song Jaehyun, was already there.
“Wow.”
Cha Seungjoon looked around at the exhausted faces.
“You all look like you didn’t sleep a single minute.”
Everyone looked tired from spending the night tossing and turning.
But their eyes were filled with anticipation, excitement, and tension.
We left the hotel and headed toward the Palais des Festivals, where the screening would be held.
It wasn’t even eight in the morning yet, but the steps in front of the Palais were already crowded with people waiting for screenings from other sections.
Inside, long lines stretched down the corridors, with separate guidance for media and industry personnel.
“We’re over there.”
Our local coordinator Kim Jihoon pointed us toward a separate entrance line leading to the press screening theater.
Journalists wearing PRESS badges were already waiting in line.
Some had even spread things out on the floor and were sitting while they waited.
We slowly walked past the waiting journalists and headed toward the theater.
Then an English conversation beside me caught my attention.
“That’s the Korean Competition film, right? Kingdom of Crime. Pretty direct title.”
“Yeah. I watched the trailer. The visuals looked good.”
“Out of the Asian selections, it’s the one I’m looking forward to most.”
“Did you read the synopsis? It sounds less like a story about power struggles and more like one man reflecting on himself.”
“More psychological than action-heavy. Crime noir focused on the character’s inner world, maybe.”
“Well, Cannes does like that kind of story.”
“But the standard for Korean films has gotten so high lately that the expectations themselves might end up hurting it.”
Film Team Leader Ju Hanyoung quietly translated their conversation for us as we walked.
Woo Jungin let out a small breath of relief.
“Fortunately, it sounds like the journalists are pretty excited about it overall.”
But Song Jaehyun’s expression somehow became even more rigid.
“The higher the expectations, the greater the disappointment.”
He swallowed.
“What if they watch it and hate it?”
“Oh, come on.”
Cha Seungjoon tried to cheer him up.
“Why are you worrying about that already?”
But even his reassurance did little to loosen Song Jaehyun’s expression.
Han Taesung watched him.
“Director Song must be extremely nervous.”
Baek Seonghan looked at Song Jaehyun with concern.
“Yeah. He seems more nervous than usual.”
When we reached the theater entrance, the Cannes staff member responsible for the Competition greeted us warmly.
“As you probably saw on the way here, we have an extraordinary number of journalists today.”
They continued with exaggerated gestures and an excited expression.
“That means there’s a great deal of interest in this film from the press and the industry.”
“Once the screening ends, you’ll move to the press room on the first floor.”
“You’ll have a brief photocall there, followed immediately by the press conference.”
As we listened to the explanation, the journalists finally began entering the theater.
They moved quickly, trying to secure good seats.
Only after the journalists had entered were we allowed inside.
Song Jaehyun said he was too nervous to watch the film with the press and would wait outside.
We had already seen the completed film countless times during post-production, so there was no real need for us to watch it again.
Even so, Han Taesung, Ju Hanyoung, and I decided to stay inside so we could observe the journalists’ reactions.
We took seats in the very back row.
A short while later, the theater lights went completely dark.
As soon as the film began, the journalists quickly focused on the screen.
In the darkness, I watched their faces one by one in the pale glow coming from the screen.
Most of them sat completely still, absorbed in the movie.
At certain scenes, however, quiet exclamations of admiration escaped here and there.
Whenever that happened, Han Taesung and I subtly exchanged glances.
The film was working.
And then came the final scene.
The protagonist crossing the snowy field.
The camera held for nearly seven full minutes as his body was slowly covered by the falling snow until he disappeared into white.
During that long take, the theater became so silent that it felt as if time itself had stopped.
No one looked away from the screen.
At last, the end credits began to roll.
The theater lights came back on.
Almost as though they had planned it, the journalists immediately looked away from the screen and opened their laptops and phones.
As if terrified of losing the emotions they had just felt, their fingers began racing over keyboards.
Tap.
Tap-tap-tap.
Tap-tap.
Soon the theater was filled with a completely different kind of sound.
I could hear journalists talking near the front.
“Wow, wasn’t that ending overwhelming?”
“Seriously. I should’ve timed it.”
“Six minutes? Maybe seven?”
“Okay. I’ll finish the rest in the press room.”
My English wasn’t particularly good.
But I didn’t need to understand every word to know how excited they were.
“Looks like it worked, doesn’t it?”
I did my best to suppress my own excitement as I looked at Han Taesung.
He smiled and simply nodded.
The entire theater was filled with the sound of typing.
Every single keystroke felt like a flare being fired out toward the rest of the world.
“But it’s too early to relax.”
Han Taesung stood.
“No.”
“This is where it really begins.”
He looked toward the exit.
“Shall we get moving too?”
We left the theater and stepped into the corridor.
Journalists were scattered everywhere.
Some leaned against the walls with laptops balanced on their knees, typing furiously.
Others sat on the stairs, recording voice notes into their smartphones.
Some were already sprinting toward the lobby.
Then I heard someone speaking rapidly in English over the phone.
“Yes, it just ended.”
“My first impression... powerful.”
“I have to get to the press conference, so I don’t have time to explain everything.”
“I’ll send you the first draft right away, so publish the article first.”
“Wait.”
“The Wi-Fi here is slow, so the upload might take a while.”
“Then just publish the headline first.”
“If you don’t, we’ll lose all the clicks.”
The journalist paused to catch their breath.
Then they continued.
“Yes, write this down.”
“Kingdom of Crime Opens a New Paradigm for Crime Noir!”
