Chapter 17: Baek Geonwoo vs. Moon Taeseok
"I remember Director Baek working on this story before graduation. Even then, the atmosphere and subject matter were good."
On the surface, it sounded like praise.
But Geonwoo understood.
Moon Taeseok was framing Before the Light Reaches, in front of the entire audience, as a script Geonwoo had been working on since he was a student.
"However, the film I watched today was very different from the script I remember. The direction of the incident, the character Minjae, and even the way the neighborhood is viewed have all become much deeper."
Moon Taeseok adjusted the microphone slightly.
"My first question is this. What made you rewrite the story so extensively?"
The theater fell silent.
The question sounded polite.
But Geonwoo could hear what was hidden beneath it.
Why did it suddenly change?
Were you always capable of writing like this?
Is this really your film?
Geonwoo didn't answer immediately.
He looked down at the microphone for a moment.
Then he slowly spoke.
"The original script was lacking."
Moon Taeseok's eyebrows moved almost imperceptibly.
Geonwoo continued.
"Back then, I thought I understood the story well. I thought it was simply a story where Seoyoon dies, Seorin pursues the truth, and Minjae collapses under his guilt."
Geonwoo glanced at Dogyeom.
The boy was watching him while holding the microphone in both hands.
"But when I looked at it again, I realized that wasn't the story."
He faced the audience.
"Seoyoon wasn't merely the starting point of the incident. He was the child this movie had to hold onto until the very end."
"The camcorder wasn't simply a clue either. It was the way Seoyoon tried to hold onto the world around him."
Geonwoo looked across the audience.
"So I rewrote it. I believed that if I couldn't admit what was lacking, I could never fix it."
A short silence followed.
Moon Taeseok maintained his smile and nodded.
"That's a good answer."
Yet even after saying that, he didn't lower the microphone.
"Then I'll ask a second question."
He continued.
"This film shows the director's attachment to many of its scenes. That attachment can be a strength for someone making their first feature, but sometimes it can also weigh down the film."
Geonwoo stared at him.
"Especially the funeral sequence and the final alley scene. I could feel the director's attachment to those scenes. What standards did you use to cut those scenes down during editing?"
The question was gentle.
But without saying it directly, Moon Taeseok's meaning was clear.
First-time director.
Attachment.
Weight.
New directors can't let go of the scenes they love.
Weren't you the same?
Geonwoo adjusted his microphone.
"You're right. I was attached to them."
He didn't dodge the question.
"The filming was difficult, and the actors gave excellent performances. I wanted to give more weight to the funeral scene and the final alley scene too."
Moon Taeseok kept smiling.
"But during editing, the first thing I tried to throw away was that attachment."
Moon Taeseok's fingers stopped against the armrest.
"That was also one reason I prepared such detailed storyboards. I didn't want to be swayed by scenes that simply looked good on set."
Geonwoo looked at the audience.
"If I decided before filming what role each scene had to serve in the movie, then I would also have a standard for what to remove in the editing room."
He continued.
"Even if the actors had worked hard on a shot, I removed it if the film didn't need it. And even if a shot hadn't seemed special on set, I kept it if the emotion survived on screen."
"The audience doesn't see how hard I worked. They only see what's left on the screen."
Someone in the front row began to clap.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Soon several more people joined.
The applause wasn't long.
Moon Taeseok still didn't lower his microphone.
"One last question."
He continued.
"This film leaves us with what the people who survived chose to ignore, rather than the satisfaction of exposing the culprit."
He paused.
"That choice was impressive. But from another angle, it could also look like you deliberately avoided giving the audience a clear answer."
His eyes remained fixed on Geonwoo.
"Do you believe this ending is not an act of avoidance?"
Hyunsoo stopped breathing.
The smile disappeared from Taejun's face.
Yura lowered the hand holding her microphone.
Geonwoo answered calmly.
"I think it can certainly be seen that way."
Moon Taeseok's gaze stopped.
Geonwoo continued.
"It would have been possible to expose the culprit, punish them, and let Seorin receive her answer. The original script was closer to that kind of ending."
The theater was completely silent.
"But if I ended it that way, too many people would be allowed to feel comfortable."
Geonwoo slowly swept his gaze toward the back rows.
"'Minjae was bad. There was a culprit. The case is over.' If everything ended there, then the neighborhood where Seoyoon lived wouldn't have to take responsibility for anything."
Dogyeom's mother gripped her handkerchief and couldn't move.
Geonwoo lifted the microphone again.
"I don't believe this movie avoided the answer. I wanted to avoid putting all the blame onto a single person."
"What killed Seoyoon wasn't only one person's malice. It was all the time people spent knowing something was wrong and pretending they didn't."
The theater became completely silent.
"So what I wanted to leave behind at the end wasn't the face of the culprit. It was the moment when the people who remained could no longer avoid their own place in what happened."
Moon Taeseok didn't speak immediately.
He was smiling.
But the edge of the pamphlet in his hand had been slightly crushed.
The moderator glanced between them before lifting the microphone.
"Thank you for the excellent question and answer. Perhaps because you were teacher and student, the exchange had a different weight to it."
Only then did applause break out.
Hyunsoo finally let out a long breath.
Taejun muttered quietly without bringing the microphone to his lips,
"Wow. He blocked all three attacks."
Yura looked at Geonwoo and quietly applauded.
Dogyeom didn't fully understand everything that had happened.
But he understood one thing.
Geonwoo hadn't been pushed back.
A little later, when the moderator asked for a final greeting, Geonwoo looked toward the audience.
"Thank you for all your questions today. It was meaningful to hear which scenes stayed in your memories."
He glanced at Dogyeom.
"Even after the movie ends, I hope the child named Seoyoon stays with you for a little while longer."
Dogyeom lowered his head.
Applause filled the theater again.
The moment they came down from the stage, Hyunsoo approached first.
"Hyung."
"What?"
Hyunsoo stared at him for a moment.
"I seriously thought my heart was going to stop because of Professor Moon's questions."
Taejun immediately joined in.
"Me too. Those weren't questions. They were knives."
Yura calmly said,
"But your answers were all good."
Dogyeom looked up at Geonwoo.
"Director."
"Yeah?"
"Were they difficult questions?"
Geonwoo smiled at him.
"A little."
Dogyeom nodded seriously.
"I think you answered them well."
Taejun burst out laughing.
"If Dogyeom approves, then it's settled."
Geonwoo looked toward the back of the theater one more time.
Moon Taeseok was already standing.
Several audience members greeted him.
He nodded politely with the same gentle expression.
Then he folded his pamphlet and walked out.
That evening, the team gathered at a small barbecue restaurant near the festival.
It wasn't a large place.
They pushed two round tables together, and the walls were covered in old autographs.
Meat sizzled on the grill.
Taejun lightly tapped Hyunsoo's hand with his chopsticks.
