Chapter 41: First Time with Actors Who Can’t Act? (1)
Two Hours Earlier
Kim Si-woo arrived at the broadcast station for the audition and entered a large, unused meeting room with Kim Jin-man. Collapsing into a chair marked with his name, Si-woo looked visibly drained. Noticing his pallor, Jin-man asked,
“Writer-nim, everything okay? You look unwell.”
“Yeah… just recovering from last night’s 3-million-viewer celebration,” Si-woo replied.
Unaware of Park Woong-deok and the ‘Don’t Forget’ lighting and sound directors’ heavy drinking, Jin-man assumed Si-woo was just bad with alcohol.
“Want me to grab a hangover cure?”
“No, thanks. I’ve already downed five bottles since yesterday,” Si-woo said.
“Haha…” Jin-man laughed awkwardly.
Two more PDs from Drama Team 2 arrived, filling the judging panel.
“Ready to start, Writer-nim?” Jin-man asked.
“I’m good,” Si-woo nodded.
“Alright, bring them in one by one,”
Jin-man instructed an AD, who stepped out to fetch the actors.
The first role was Choi Sung-yong, a male student who abandoned soccer. The script included scenes requiring actual ball-handling, so Si-woo had chosen idols skilled at soccer and rookie actors with athletic backgrounds.
“Greetings! I’m rookie actor Kim Dong-hyun!”
The candidate’s voice boomed, exuding an athlete’s energy.
“Go ahead and show us your prepared scene,” Jin-man said.
“Y-yes!”
Kim Dong-hyun replied, visibly nervous.
“I… the reason I gave up soccer is!”
He stumbled over his lines from the start.
Si-woo and the PDs covered their eyes, wincing. A bad feeling crept over Si-woo.
‘Please tell me they’re not all like this…’
After finishing, Kim Dong-hyun glanced anxiously at the panel.
“Thank you for your performance. We’ll contact your agency with results,” Jin-man said.
“Thank you!”
The actor bowed 90 degrees and left.
The room filled with sighs.
“Come on, plenty more to go. Let’s stay sharp, Writer-nim.”
Jin-man encouraged, but as the auditions continued, everyone’s expressions darkened, including Jin-man’s.
“PD-nim, can we take a break?” Si-woo finally asked.
“Sure. Twenty minutes?” Jin-man suggested.
“Ten’s enough,” Si-woo replied.
“Ten minutes it is, then.”
Si-woo stepped out to a quiet corner and made a call.
“Hello?”
— “What’s up? You calling me first?”
“I just realized I’ve been working with too many talented people,” Si-woo said.
— “Just figuring that out now? Haha. What’s the issue?”
The call was to Sim Ji-young, the best actor Si-woo knew. He explained his struggle: the actors’ live auditions were far worse than their online clips.
— “Well, someone like Kim Ji-hyun is a rare case. Most actors, especially rookies, choke under audition pressure. From what you said, these are inexperienced folks. It’s obvious.”
“They looked fine in videos…” Si-woo said.
— “Videos are edited, showing their best takes with less pressure. Of course they looked good.”
“So what do I do? Their images fit, but the acting… it’s rough. Really rough.”
— “Two options: swap the actors or train them. That’s the rookie advantage—you never know when they’ll grow.”
Having worked with top-tier actors, Si-woo’s standards were sky-high, making the rookies’ performances jarring. He sighed heavily.
— “Just compromise,”
Ji-young advised.
— “No actor checks every box, and the perfect ones cost a fortune.”
“Got it. I’ll try,” Si-woo said.
— “Good. Call if you need me. Oh, and we’re about to hit 4 million!”
Click.
Si-woo hung up at the mention of 4 million viewers, muttering,
“Compromise… compromise…”
Returning to the meeting room with a resolved glint in his eyes, he said,
“Let’s resume.”
The auditions for the first, second, and up to the fifth role were dismal. Si-woo felt a twinge of guilt. Even as the “boss,” this was excessive—his picks were too bad. Even Jin-man, who’d been encouraging earlier, stayed silent.
“Good thing we didn’t cast without seeing them…” Si-woo muttered.
“Right. Should we just void this audition?” Jin-man asked.
Instead of answering, Si-woo slid three sheets of paper forward.
“These three. I’ll take them.”
“What?” Kim Jin-man asked, stunned.
Si-woo knew full well that casting more experienced actors would boost the drama’s chances of success. Yet, he stuck with his three picks out of pride and accountability for his words. Backing down now would validate the AD’s jab that he was just riding on actors’ coattails. Si-woo refused to be that kind of writer.
“Three actors?”
Jin-man repeated, floored by the number.
“Yes,” Si-woo confirmed.
“You saw their performances, right?”
“Yup. The worst of the bunch,” Si-woo admitted.
“And you still want to cast them?”
“Yes.”
“Alright… but if this goes south, please put in a good word with the Chief,”
Jin-man said, assuming Si-woo saw potential he’d missed.
‘He’s a genius writer, after all.’
Si-woo’s decision wasn’t just about pride. He chose Choi Sung-yong (the ex-soccer player), Oh Soo-ji (the aspiring actor), and Lee Cheol-min (the dreamless student) for specific reasons. “For Kim Jong-ho (the aspiring doctor) and Ko Sung-sik (the aspiring photographer), acting skills are critical, so I’d appreciate it If you could find those two, PD-nim. I think I can handle the other three. This is my first time pushing for casting, and I got overconfident. Sorry.”
Si-woo owned his mistake, apologizing for forcing his picks. The PDs, visibly relieved, perked up. Despite being a rookie with two films—one a 10-million-viewer hit and the other soaring—his scripts proved he wasn’t just carried by actors. They knew his current script, with the right talent, was a surefire hit. His humility boosted their confidence.
“Of course, we’ll find them. We’ll send you a list of actors within budget. Let us know who you like.” Jin-man said.
“Thank you.” Si-woo said, bowing.
Jin-man, however, quickly gathered the PDs with a stern look.
“Alright, listen up. We agree Writer-nim’s picks were decent, right?”
“Yes…” they nodded.
“He apologized first, so we’ll trust him with these three. Our job is to fill the other two roles and secure supporting actors. We’ve got work to do.”
“Yes!” the PDs replied in unison.
“Back to your desks.”
Jin-man ordered. Alone with Si-woo, he hesitated. The PDs’ eager acceptance of Si-woo’s apology wasn’t ideal.
‘Idiots… they don’t even know what he’s thinking, just eating up his apology.’
Accepting it too readily could sour Si-woo’s mood, especially if his contrition wasn’t genuine.
“Writer-nim, you sure about this? You don’t have to push yourself…”
Jin-man said cautiously. While he’d backed Si-woo publicly, he privately worried. The actors’ skills were barely above amateur—hardly “actors” by industry standards.
“I know I went overboard, but their visuals fit, right?” Si-woo said.
“Well… yeah,” Jin-man admitted.
“We’ll drop some teasers with their faces for buzz. If it doesn’t work, I’ll leverage my name for promotion. My movie’s hot right now, so one free ride won’t hurt.”
Jin-man realized Si-woo’s commitment ran deeper than most famous writers, who’d minimize risk to dodge blame. Si-woo was ready to stake his reputation, even if it meant taking heat if the drama flopped. Jin-man respected that.
As things settled, Si-woo sent Jin-man a file.
Buzz.
“This details each character’s image, more specific than the script. It should help with casting,” Si-woo said.
“Thanks. And sorry about earlier. Our PDs aren’t used to writers apologizing, so please bear with them,” Jin-man said.
“It’s fine. I was overconfident. Everyone’s just trying to make a good drama.”
Si-woo reassured, calming Jin-man before heading home.
***
Three days later, at a café near Si-woo’s house, the three actors sat before him, confused.
“Uh… Writer-nim? Why are we here?” one asked.
Si-woo grinned, his tone like a slick salesman.
“Don’t you want to act well?”
Unlike a shady peddler, though, his “product” was the real deal—a genuine chance to shine.