Aura of a Genius Actor

༺ Phantom’s Gaze ༻

“The camera as… a corps?”

The unusual comment caught the attention of the surrounding dancers.

“When I watch ballet dancers, the angle at which they raise their limbs and the speed of their spins all align perfectly even when they’re not looking at each other. How do they synchronize so well?”

“Well… when you focus, you can feel it…”

“Even without looking?”

“Yes. In the early stages of practice, we synchronize by looking at each other, but later on, it’s more about sensing the energy around us…”

The ballerinas who were listening nodded in agreement.

“If you can remember the movements of dozens in a group dance and feel their energy, then it shouldn’t be too hard for you to be conscious of the marks or camera positions. It’s just that you haven’t gotten used to it yet.

If you’re nervous, don’t think of the camera as the audience, but consider it part of the corps that builds this scene together. Maybe that will help ease the tension?”

The depth of understanding and respect for ballet was evident in Yoomyeong’s calm explanation.

The ballerinas, who were tense in this unfamiliar environment, felt ‘accepted’ by his warm advice.

“I didn’t really know until I tried studying it, but ballet is such a fascinating and beautiful art. It’s a shame that it has a limited fan base. Everyone, please relax and show the beauty of ballet to as many people as possible.”

Seeing the tension easing from their faces upon his words, the assistant director said to the director,

“Is he really twenty-four years old? Doing acting like that at that age is impressive, but how does he control the surroundings so well?”

“I’ve seen many prodigies come and go in the film industry, but he’s one of a kind. It’s not just a flash of brilliance; there’s depth to him. It’s amazing every time I see it.”

“I feel the same way. I’m looking forward to his scenes.”

“Don’t just stand there with your mouth open. The director’s role is to expect more from a talented actor and bring out even higher quality.”

“Is that so…?”

The afternoon shoot went much smoother.

Everyone’s faces were noticeably more relaxed than in the morning.

In particular, Seryeon’s expression became very natural. Instead of trying to act out Hwaran, the advice to simply express Seryeon’s emotions proved immensely helpful.

And so, cut by cut, the scenes were completed one by one.

Finally, the day to film ‘Behind the Stage’ came.

*

“Wow… look at how the set turned out.”

“It looks amazing…”

It was a set that replicated the backstage of a grand theater.

Dim lighting. Stage tools were piled here and there, costumes which were hung carelessly, and props that gave off an eerie feeling.

To depict a scene where ‘moonlight’ seeped in, a high ceiling with small windows had been constructed.

True to a space where reality and unreality intersected, pointy red ballet shoes resembling blood and purple tutus were strategically placed throughout the set.

Phantom didn’t appear on the bright practice stage or where people’s gazes could reach.

The blind spots of the theater were his main areas of activity.

Under the moonlight’s glow, he appeared only in the shadows behind the stage, in front of a ballet dancer who, despite her talent, had been consumed by overwhelming ambition and had fallen into despair.

“We’ll start with a long take first. Please clap the slate.”

“Eight, three, one—”

Clap—

Scene 8, Cut 3, Take 1.

The encounter between Hwaran and the Phantom.

Hwaran, trapped in the practice room at night and panicked, searches for a way out and ends up in the backstage connected to the stage. In the eerie backstage at night, she screams, and a beam of moonlight falls beneath her feet. Then, the Phantom appears.

“Ready — Action!”

The Phantom, with half of his face covered by a mask and wearing a tunic as white as moonlight, extends his hand to Hwaran, who was sitting down hesitantly.

“Ah, you’re one of the children performing the Swan Dance. What was your name again?”

“Yoon… Hwaran.”

His voice was sweet, almost song-like.

Although backed by the moonlight, there wasn’t a single shadow on his face, thanks to the front lighting.

However, in harmony with that mysterious ambiance, his face seemed to give off a light of its own.

“After Swan Lake, the next performance will be Giselle.”

Even before the viewers could sense the ominous hint at the end of his kindly spoken words…

Ding—

The clock struck twelve, and the music, initially at a very low volume, gradually increased.

As the staff silenced even their breathing for the live recording, all eyes were on Yoomyeong as he began to dance.

“Ah…”

The ballerinas who were watching held back their gasps.

It was Albrecht from Giselle.

Of course, he couldn’t execute the vibrant jumps or the dazzling pas (steps) like the professional ballerinas.

However, the movements of the upper body, where expression was relatively more critical than technique… were astonishingly beautiful. It was hard to believe he wasn’t a major in the field.

Ra— Raa—

As the music crescendoed, a series of pirouettes followed.

Watching this, the male dancer responsible for Yoomyeong’s stand-in doubted his eyes.

As he turned halfway, his gaze was initially directed towards the camera, but in a split second, he whipped his head around to look at the camera again before his body had fully turned.

He had mastered the excellent eye control required to maintain balance during multiple spins.

It wasn’t just for one spin, but two, three…

His body maintained a remarkably stable balance until the end of the pirouette.

How could a novice, who had only been learning ballet for three months, do this…?

As the turn ended and the Phantom’s first dance concluded, he continued to smile down at Hwaran with a dazzlingly bright face.

Stumbling over her words, Hwaran asked.

“Are you… the angel of ballet?”

“Hmm…? If that’s what you believe, then maybe. Would you like to dance with me?”

Hwaran, with a mesmerized expression, takes the hand he extended. The close-up of their hands was the editing point.

“Cut — Okay!”

It was Day 4 of the shoot.

That was the first one-take-okay sign called out by Director Ki.

At that, every gaze broke the silence, sending applause and cheers.

*

“The VFX team’s workload will reduce significantly, won’t it?”

“Seems so.”

The assistant director clicked his tongue as he monitored the scene.

For the visual effects technique called Head Replacement (where an actor’s face is superimposed onto a body double), the angle of the face was crucial.

Especially in dynamic situations like dancing, seamlessly combining an actor’s face with the body of a dancing double was no simple task.

However, what if the actor could act while dancing?

Even if it was just the upper body, anything from a waist shot upwards could be retained if the ballet movements were replicated this accurately. The difficulty of compositing would be greatly reduced even in full shots.

“Are you sure he wasn’t originally a ballet dancer?”

“Not at all. During the casting, it was hard to believe it was his first time given how he executed ballet movements, but he couldn’t do spins back then. While Seryeon did put a lot of effort into teaching him, following this closely as a beginner with only three months of experience is said to be almost impossible. They said he must have an extraordinary physical sense.”

“The dancing is one thing, but the acting before and after it…”

“Exactly. How can a theater actor who is standing in front of the camera for the first time deliver such a natural performance?”

Theater acting and film acting differed.

In film acting, the actor was an ‘observed object’.

Meanwhile, theater acting involves the actor ‘expressing’ themselves fully to the audience.

However, the premise in films was that the audience was ‘observing’ the life of a character living naturally through the camera.

Given that this observation meticulously captured details down to a pore or a furrowed brow, directly transplanting theatrical acting might come off as exaggerated to the audience.

But that actor, seemingly oblivious to such differences, delivered a performance that seamlessly adhered to the camera’s presence.

Cinematographer Choi walked over to the monitor.

“Wow. What in the world is he?”

Even he, who had consistently used honorifics and addressed the director formally on set, momentarily forgot his manners and asked the director with a bewildered expression.

Director Ki just looked back at the two people and shrugged his shoulders.

“Just look at that.”

*

Mid-April. The filming was progressing well.

Except for the ongoing, unresolved debates every time the lead actress and actor met.

“Sister, Phantom is also obsessed with Hwaran.”

“He’s the god of ballet. What could a perfect being possibly be obsessed with?”

“Only Hwaran regards him as a god. When the Phantom starts guiding another ballerina, leaving Hwaran aside, there’s clearly an emotion stemming from his awareness of Hwaran.”

“He’s just looking for his next disciple. Hwaran disappointed him.”

“Isn’t even the emotion of disappointment rooted in discomfort?”

Director Ki discreetly chimed in.

“Well… While this film is mainly from Hwaran’s perspective, adding a more human side to Phantom might enrich the story.”

“Ugh… Fine.”

Seryeon adjusted her posture.

“I’ll put aside my biases and listen, so try to convince me. If you can’t convince me this time, we’ll stick to the original screenplay, okay?”

At her words, Yoomyeong flashed a sly smile.

“Deal. Now, sister, watch.”

Yoomyeong stood up and positioned himself in front of her.

“This is Scene 87, right after Hwaran witnesses Phantom instructing another ballerina. Originally here, Phantom is nonchalant, while Hwaran, out of jealousy, becomes restless and eventually speaks out, right?”

“Yes.”

“During the lesson, let’s add subtle glances from Phantom without Hwaran noticing.”

Yoomyeong demonstrated. He placed Director Ki in Hwaran’s position.

Phantom teaches emotionlessly, only casting subtle, fleeting glances when Hwaran is turned away. A gradual tension built up.

“And when they argue, it remains as is. He appears cold and firm, a figure of absolute authority, making her angry and aggrieved.”

Hwaran nodded in agreement.

“Afterwards, Phantom rebukes her, telling her not to speak nonsense, and they practice the pas de deux. Director, can you capture this?”

Just then, Cinematographer Choi, who had been lingering around after finishing his lunch, cheekily chimed in, “I’ll shoot it.” He excitedly returned with a sub-camera.

The pas de deux of the two.

Having practiced daily for two months, the dance flowed effortlessly.

Once the dance ended, they huddled close and played back the recorded file on the spot.

“Ah… Phantom’s gaze.”

Unlike social dances, ballet, being a performance dance, often focuses its gaze on the audience. Seryeon also mostly looked in the camera’s direction, making eye contact with her partner only when necessary.

But at that time, the Phantom’s gaze…

It looked down at her with a poignant intensity.

As a pirouette turned her back in, his expression turned cold again the moment their eyes met. However, as the pirouette spun her away, Phantom’s persistent gaze immediately followed her.

In that expression, there was a myriad of dramas…

Even Seryeon became curious about the rest of Phantom’s untold story.

“What do you think? Hwaran can continue believing, as she has, that Phantom is a perfect being. It’s just an additional subplot for Phantom.”

She had been confident she wouldn’t be persuaded, but…

In the end, she nodded in agreement.

*

“Practice is over!”

Exhausted, Yoomyeong laid sprawled on the studio floor, while Seryeon entered the attached shower room, saying she would rinse off.

Even after the shooting had started, the two would visit the studio to practice ballet and their acting whenever they found the time.

Just when Yoomyeong was so tired that he was about to drift off to sleep…

Vrrr— Vrrr—

His phone, set to vibrate, buzzed noisily on the floor.

It was a text from the cinematographer.

[If you’re done practicing, come over. The director and I are having drinks at Samsong Fried Chicken up front.]

The somewhat pompous Director Ki and the laid-back Cinematographer Choi were an oddly fitting duo. With a smirk, Yoomyeong brushed his hair back and relayed the message to Seryeon as she came out.

“The director and the cinematographer are having chicken and beer. They’re asking us to join. What do you think?”

“Ah~ Beer! If I drink it now, I can die peacefully. Let’s go!”

She enthusiastically raised both hands in welcome, and the two left the studio.

It was mid-April.

On a clear spring night, cherry blossoms in full bloom gently swayed in the wind, as if waving.

They quickly crossed a few alleys and arrived in front of the chicken restaurant.

“Over here—”

A hand swiftly rose above the inner partition.

Though the hand greeted them warmly, by the time they reached the table, the two people were engrossed in a discussion about filming and didn’t even look up.

“Two 500cc beers, please.”

After Yoomyeong and Seryeon ordered their beers, they joined the ongoing conversation.

“Phantom’s emotional development has become a subplot, but the starting point of those emotions isn’t clear.”

“As Yoomyeong mentioned, I think it’s understandable without any explanation why the Phantom, who lurks in the corner of the theater and only thinks about ballet, is obsessed with Hwaran.”

“That’s how we, who know the story, see it. But from a viewer’s perspective, it might not be so obvious. There should be a visual hint.”

“Well…”

“Moreover, Phantom must have taught numerous ballerinas over time. There should be a reason why he’s particularly fixated on Yoon Hwaran.”

“True… We need something to signify her ‘uniqueness’. There should be a scene that justifies that.”

Upon hearing that, Yoomyeong thought of the cherry blossoms he’d seen that had been in full bloom on their way here.

“What about the outside?”

“The outside?”

“One of the things that confines Phantom is not just the darkness, the night, or the moonlight, but also the ‘interior’ of the theater. What if Hwaran leads him outside for the first time?”

Ah—

Director Ki’s expression lit up with realization.

He fervently scribbled on the back of a storyboard that was next to him.

“Let’s see… between scenes 38 and 39 would be perfect. Let’s make it 38.5…

After the lesson, Hwaran suddenly grabs the hand of the Phantom, who is trying to disappear. ‘Don’t you feel suffocated staying inside all the time? Let’s take a walk together!’ While other students had only seen him as a frightening and intimidating figure… Phantom was taken aback by Hwaran’s playful demeanor. After hesitating, he steps outside, touching the ground outside for the first time.

Hwaran’s laughter bursts like a budding flower, and he’s introduced to the unfamiliar fresh air.”

With the momentum of the pen racing across the blank paper, Yoomyeong interjected enthusiastically.

“If we set it against a backdrop of nighttime cherry blossoms, wouldn’t it add more atmosphere? The practice room and the theater are both filled with rigid, square backgrounds, so having one scene in a dreamlike and surreal atmosphere would be a nice contrast.”

“Oh— Great idea! A pas de deux beneath the cherry blossoms!”

What stopped Director Ki’s fervently writing pen was…

“Let’s go film it now! Today is the peak of the cherry blossom season!”

The even more excited voice of Director Choi, his cheeks flushed from several glasses of beer.

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