Glory Film Company

Episode 13: A Glimmer of Possibility

“Have you heard of the film Men Met at a Funeral?”
Youngkwang was the one to break the silence, casually introducing the film.

“Hmm? The title’s… ambiguous. Erotic or not? It wasn’t a theatrical release, was it?”

“It’s hard to find erotic theaters nowadays,” Youngkwang replied.

“Who’s the director?”

“It’s directed by Ha Pilsung, who’s somewhat well-known in that circle.”

“Never heard of him. Have you?”

“Nope, I haven’t either.”

“What about his filmography? Surely, he’s had at least one hit if he’s made several films.”

“That’s not the point here,” Youngkwang said, calming the group.

“The concept and characters are well-defined, giving it enough value as a source material. Of course, it’ll need proper adaptation. The genre also needs to shift from erotic to melodrama. I’m thinking a high-concept romantic comedy—something with a clear storyline and universal appeal.”

The seriousness of his response left the three blinking in surprise.

“So, you’re planning to meet the original creator? They’re open to a meeting?” Lee Deokjae sighed lightly as he asked.

“Yes. I have a meeting scheduled for this evening,” Youngkwang replied, smoothly outlining his plans. He needed to prepare them, as today could mark the first step toward packaging the project.

“Fine. If dinner’s involved, use the company card. You know the limits, right?”

“Yes, I’ll handle it.”

“Where’s the meeting?”

“The director is on set today, so I’m visiting the filming site.”

“What? The set?”

Lee Deokjae raised an eyebrow. Visiting the chaotic set of a low-budget film to discuss a project? And the director agreed to it?

“Sounds like you’ve got a good rapport,” he commented.

“Film sets are usually the same—tight-knit and lively.”

“Even so, they’re not usually welcoming to outsiders, especially for an erotic film. Wouldn’t the actors be sensitive about it?”

Their teasing looks hinted at suspicion that curiosity about erotic films, rather than professionalism, was driving Youngkwang’s visit.

Meeting their gazes directly, Youngkwang replied calmly, “There are things I need to confirm on-site.”

“…Confirm?”

“I want to see if I can bring Ha Pilsung onboard. I’m also curious about his team.”

“Ha. An erotic film director and his crew?”

The previously good-natured Lee Deokjae’s expression hardened, his brows furrowing.

An unknown director with a career in erotic films for a commercial project? And trusting him to deliver a polished script, attach capable actors, and secure investment? It sounded more like reckless ambition than courage.

Was this open-minded approach a sign of Youngkwang’s inexperience or his flexibility?

“What’s this film about, anyway? You’ve got five minutes to explain,” Deokjae said, leaning back and crossing his arms. He believed in the value of learning from experience but also saw it as his duty to prevent unnecessary mistakes.

“There’s this woman—charismatic, popular, always in the spotlight. Wherever she goes, there’s a buzz of romance, and confessions of love are an everyday occurrence,” Youngkwang began, his tone relaxed.

“Her backstory isn’t fully fleshed out, but the premise is that an incident transformed her into a femme fatale. In the film, she manipulates the men who fall for her, weighing her options, and skillfully keeping them on the hook. The story takes a turn when her father dies in a car accident.”

The thinly constructed character, the lack of coherence in the setup, the contrived developments—it sounded like a recipe for a poorly received film. The expressions of the three listeners were already turning sour.

But Youngkwang knew the value of the story lay elsewhere.

“She’s seeing five different men, and one by one, they show up at her father’s funeral. She’s in a constant state of panic, worrying they might run into each other. She hopes they’ll just pay their respects and leave, but chaos ensues. Gradually, her secrets unravel. The funeral itself becomes a secondary concern.”

Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday.

The woman, who had been meeting a different man each day of the week, is thrown into chaos when five men—each having learned of her father’s passing through separate channels—arrive at her rural home for the funeral.

From this moment, the story rapidly builds toward its climax:

A man who insists on staying by her side until the funeral ends.
A man who drunkenly weeps and constantly slips up, drawing attention.
A man who proposes, claiming she should trust only him.
A man who, even during the mourning period, unabashedly seeks her affection.
A man who investigates her true nature, trying to win over her family and relatives.

These five men awkwardly collide during the funeral proceedings and eventually uncover each other’s identities. On the dawn of the final day, just before the funeral procession, a chaotic brawl erupts among them.

Amidst the frenzy, emotions run high, and simmering tensions create a charged atmosphere. The audience is left wondering why the director chose to use the death of her father as a narrative device. The absurdity is disorienting yet strangely compelling, making it impossible to look away.

“Wow. That’s wild,” said Choi Suhyeon, putting down her chopsticks.
“The funeral setting is shocking, absolutely shocking,” added Lee Deokjae.
“…So it’s an erotic movie that takes place at a funeral. Isn’t that crossing the line into depravity?”

All three—Choi Suhyeon, Lee Deokjae, and Jang Hyunmin—paused their busy eating to shake their heads at the over-the-top premise. Yet, they couldn’t help but wonder how Youngkwang planned to adapt it into a romantic comedy and even meet with the director about securing the rights.

“The direction is solid,” Youngkwang began, addressing their skepticism. “The immersion is incredible. If we adjust the setting and context but retain the core, this movie’s essence—how secrets the protagonist was so confident in keeping hidden unravel explosively—could create a great story. The dialogue from the original is sharp and memorable, and it could translate perfectly into the adapted script.”

What first drew Youngkwang to the project was its unusual premise and storyline, which didn’t feel like a typical erotic film. Its sharp dialogue, whimsical tone, and occasional bursts of well-placed comedy added to its charm.

Furthermore, the film’s distinct low-budget style gave off the impression that the director thrived under constraints. It felt as though there might be more to uncover beneath the surface.

“What kind of dialogue are we talking about?” asked Lee Deokjae.

“It’s good enough to forgive moments of bad acting,” replied Youngkwang.

“Is it about emotion, philosophy?”

“Moments of relatable truths that make you laugh or nod in agreement.”

“So you really think it could be turned into a high-concept romantic comedy?”

“Definitely. And…”

“And?”

“It’s incredibly cost-efficient.”

“Cost-efficient?”

“The film makes clever use of its budget. A director like that could be an asset to My Way Pictures,” Youngkwang said.

Though still unconvinced, Lee Deokjae sighed and patted Youngkwang on the shoulder. “Alright, go meet them. Whether this is something worthwhile or a wild goose chase, you’ll figure it out. Call if anything comes up, even if it’s late.”

That afternoon, at 4 PM, Youngkwang arrived at an isolated village in Paju, Gyeonggi Province. Known for its many film sets, the location turned out to be in the middle of nowhere.

He wondered if they had rented a makeshift set—perhaps an old pension, a community center, or even an abandoned house.

As he approached, he overheard a man’s voice:

“So, Gyeongsu’s feelings in this scene… he’s confused. His body feels young, but he knows he’s actually in his seventies.”

Despite being unable to reach the assistant director by phone and the locals claiming to know nothing about a film crew, Youngkwang spotted a group of people gathered in front of a run-down building.

A man, unmistakably Ha Pilsung, was deep in discussion with the actors, adjusting the script.

The location—a weathered structure that could have been a container house or a makeshift store—blended the lines between a home and a business. The neglected, shabby exterior was surrounded by a handful of people, presumably the crew.

For a low-budget film with a production cost around 20 million won, squeezing out a 90-minute feature in four or five days, Ha Pilsung likely had his hands full. 

Youngkwang carefully approached the set, mindful not to disrupt the work in progress.

“So, as the camera pans up from below, Gyeongsu also looks down at his body in sync. The beer belly’s gone? His once-flabby body now has solid abs, and his arms are bulging with veins. What’s this? Is this a dream? He’s confused but also amazed, brimming with confidence, yet guilty at the same time. Do you get it?”

As the actor nodded repeatedly, answering with a series of “Yes, yes,” Director Ha Pilsung entered the house to check the scene’s layout.

“What’s going on with the lights? Why’s the color off? This is driving me nuts.”

From the way Ha directed the actors and inspected the location, it seemed like this was the first day of shooting.

“Should we remove the existing light fixtures? But the lighting we brought is a bit weak since it was adjusted for the current interior setup.”

“Let me think. This isn’t Christmas, for crying out loud. Damn it. You said this place used to be a chicken shop, right? It wasn’t like this back then?”

“Yeah… but it seems the lighting changed after we removed the fixtures and furniture. It didn’t look like this during the location scout.”

Youngkwang quietly observed as Ha Pilsung finished directing the scene and checking the setup.

A film set is always a race against time, since time equals money. That’s why productions rely on established systems and experienced staff to minimize delays and costs. However, unavoidable delays often occur when unexpected problems arise on set.

In this case, the main issue was the discrepancy between the scouting conditions and the current state of the location.

“Have the assistant go buy some lightbulbs, but before that, let’s shoot scenes 38 and 40 using this setup,” Ha said.

“Huh?”

“The scenes where Gyeongsu is supposed to be in a drugged haze—this lighting might actually work for those.”

Ha managed the situation with remarkable flexibility. He didn’t act fussy or frustrated, and his calm demeanor suggested that such issues were no big deal to him.

“Swift and decisive,” Youngkwang thought.

He noticed the positioning and variety of cameras on set, which seemed unusually well-planned.

There were six cameras, including mounted ones, each strategically placed. Instead of taking the usual approach of shooting master shots, two-shots, and close-ups in sequence, Ha was clearly using multiple cameras to save time. Though it required more equipment, this method drastically cut down the schedule, which in turn reduced overall costs.

“This is more impressive than I expected,” Youngkwang thought, nodding to himself.

The camera placements and their purposeful roles suggested a level of field expertise. Ha didn’t shy away from sparring with the cinematographer over angles and lighting, and his commanding presence kept everything moving efficiently.

Moreover, the set wasn’t overly rigid. Space was left open for the actors to move naturally, with the cameras adjusting to them rather than forcing the performers to conform to the equipment. This setup indicated a production centered around the actors—a rare sight in lower-budget films.

The more Youngkwang observed, the more impressed he became.

Having directed over ten erotic films, Ha Pilsung naturally carried the charisma of a seasoned filmmaker. However, his grasp of the set dynamics hinted at a deeper reservoir of skill, likely honed by the demanding pace of his past projects.

“What could he achieve with more time, better actors, and a proper budget?”

The thought of a collaboration between My Way Pictures and Ha Pilsung filled Youngkwang with excitement.

“Cut! Okay! That’s it for today!”

What?

About three hours had passed when Ha’s booming voice echoed across the set. Despite the bright summer sun still shining overhead, he declared the end of the day’s shooting.

“Wait, really? That’s a wrap?”

The actors looked uneasy as they questioned him.

“Director Ha, I think we could go for one more take,” suggested the cinematographer and lighting technician.

“No, no. It’s fine. We got what we needed. Don’t worry about it. Now, let’s go grab a drink!”

With a face that suggested he’d been waiting all day for this moment, Ha Pilsung leapt out of his chair and strode off the set without a backward glance.

“What the…? Is this guy insane?”