IN DEFENSE OF MODERN CINEMA | chwe vernon.
“I don't think you've made your best movie yet.”
SYNOPSIS. You’d rather shotgun beers until you die of alcohol poisoning than direct one more shitty movie. Unfortunately, your pride won’t allow you to quit. Especially when Vernon, a godforsaken film critic, can’t stop telling you what he thinks. Whatever, like you’re listening anyway.
PAIRING. Vernon Chwe x reader
GENRE | TAGS. director reader, film critic Vernon, artist x critic, rivals to lovers (kind of), slow burn, arguing about art as a love language, idiots in love, reader has anger issues (lovingly), text messages, flaskbacks
WARNINGS. miscommunication, I know nothing about the film/movie industry, does this even count as romance, vulgar language (reader swears a lot), artistic insecurity, creative burn out
WORD COUNT. 8.62k
SIGNED YU. Every piece of art has two creators, the artist and the audience. Good news: I found out I can write a fic over eight thousand words. Bad news: it took over three months to do and I am flabbergasted. I don't think I truly understood the power of writer's block until now 😀 Please excuses any mistakes I missed. Anyways, thanks for stopping by and I’m glad you’re here.
“What’s up with these ratings?” your manager, Dayeon, asks.
A blaring red 5/10 stares at you as reviews from film critics and audiences denounce your latest film Fine Shyt as one of the worst films of this year.
“I dunno,” you say, picking at your nails, “Must not have resonated with the public.”
Dayeon shuts off the projector and pitches the bridge of his nose, “Well you better figure out what resonates with the public because projects aren’t just going to drop out of the sky anymore.”
You give a non-committal hum.
Dayeon sighs and collects his stuff, “Once is fine, twice is a different story.”
The door to the office shuts with a quiet click.
And you’re alone.
You sigh and scroll through some of the comments on social media.
@ wonwoosglasses: The cast was great! Wonwoo was so hot. But the script did not do him justice. ↳ @ babyshark93: Stop complaining about the script, it’s just because he can’t act lol The actors had no chemistry whatsoever ↳ @ 13heartstoppers: Shut up. No one asked for your opinion and actors can only do so much within a script
@ joy_fullee: I’m just waiting for it to come out on streaming, doesn't seem like a movie to see in theaters tbh ↳ @ sallysellseashells: Yeah, it’s only running for a week. Why bother? ↳ @ hungry-hippos: Type of movie to do the dishes too
@ apple314: The protagonist sucks
@ gemma.holten: I thought it was fine, you guys are just haters ↳ @ pumpkinspicelatte: And folks I present to you the American literary crisis
You drag your hands down your face. The comments weren’t wrong, in fact most of them were spot on. The project you picked up had been a romcom. The producers wanted to emulate the golden age of the late 90s and early 2000s capturing the push and pull of two people finding their place in the world beside each other. It seemed like a solid plan.
Until it wasn’t.
You lean back in your chair, twirling a pen around your fingers.
The producers lured you in with the promise of creating a movie to revive the romance comedy genre only to impose quick restrictions on what can and can’t make the cut. Under the sugar coating and bullshitting it basically boiled down to three things:
Make it easy enough to follow for second screen viewing. (Why don’t we just put fucking Subway Surfers in the corner of every movie while we’re at it?)
It’s going to end up on streaming services, so your budget is getting cut. (Great, absolutely wonderful)
Keep it open ended in case people want a sequel. (How to Make Straight Trash Even Worse: A Step By Step Guide)
Your grip tightens around the pen and you're sure you look murderous to anyone that catches a glance through the glass window.
After staring at the ceiling for far too long, you take a deep breath and you slowly rise from the chair. Your ass is sore from the cheap plastic material and you’ll be sure to complain about it next time you see Dayeon. Only a few people are still at the office this late as you trek through the building to the garage.
The sound of your car door slamming shut echoes through the empty space.
The ride to your apartment is silent with only the static of the radio accompanying you.
Once you get home, your shoes are thrown off at the door and your keys clatter on the kitchen island. The film festival awards that are strung across your fridge quiver as you yank open the freezer. It’s mostly empty, per usual.
You make yourself some random Trader Joe’s microwave meal.
The clatter of the plate on the microwave dish is loud and you stare directly into the window as it buzzes and hums with artificial life.
Maybe your next film should be a sci-fi thriller about a woman that dies of shame and radiation.
You laugh. Clenching your stomach when you can’t stop.
Goddamnit.
Now your name was on another shitty movie you didn’t even want to make.
@ holdmytears: I used to like this director, but honestly not my cup of tea anymore
@ movieholic18: I saw Paradigm at a film festival and it was SO GOOD, but now its all… eh ↳ @ fightingdemonsrn: Bro Paradigm was pure cinema
The microwave beeps. And you wipe your face, trying to rid yourself of any trace of tears.
The tikka masala is cold as you shovel in each bite.
Your phone lights up.
───────────────────────────────────────────── 143-257-8024 (Add number?) [11:41 PM] [link] [Cinema Weekly— We Killed Romance: The Tragedy of Fine Shyt by Vernon Chwe…] ─────────────────────────────────────────────
Vernon.
You stare at the notification until your phone times out. You don’t turn it back on as you drift off to a dreamless sleep, listening to the city below.
When morning comes, filling your kitchen with light, you stretch, cursing yourself for falling asleep on the counter.
Dayeon had sent you a text at four in the morning. Something about a meeting and scheduling. You don’t bother to read the rest of the message.
You don’t bother to open the article Vernon sent you either.
You already know exactly what each says.
─────────────────────────────────────────────
“You’ve been given a project,” Dayeon says, “So clear your calendar for the next several months.”
“Excuse me? Given?”
You're back in the dingy office space you sat in less than 24 hours ago, same plastic chairs and off yellow light you hate. However, instead of Dayeon yelling at you about ratings, he’s forcefully gifting you a project to lead.
“Yes, I’ve already accepted it on your behalf,” Dayeon states as he connects his laptop to the office projector.
“Dayeon, you can’t just do that,” you lean back in your seat, “I don’t even know what the project’s about.”
Dayeon doesn’t spare you a glance, “I don’t know what it is either.”
The lights flicker. “What.”
“Trust me. You’ll thank me later,” he says as he pulls up a slide show, “This isn’t your typical project, so we’ll start here.”
You physically recoil when Vernon’s face gets blown up on the wall of the projector.
What the fuck does he have to do with this?
Dayeon points to his face, “I assume you know Vernon Chwe correct?”
Like a vision from a film, you see it all again. Notebooks crammed with messy handwriting and stickfigure storyboarding. Scripts with red ink dyeing every margin. A boy in the corner of the university library, headphones blocking out the world as he stared out the window as if admiring a picture he could never save.
You grimace, “Unfortunately.”
“Don’t give me that face,” Dayeon points to his lips, “Smile.”
“Yes ma’am,” you mutter out with forced joy.
He glares at you when you flash him a fake smile, “As I was saying, Vernon Chwe is a renowned film critic and has served on panels for various festivals and awards such as the Llapis International Film Festival.”
“Yes, I know. Thank you for that very clear and precise breakdown of his career Dayeon,” you say with a roll of your eyes.
Dayeon looks like he wants to punch you into next Tuesday but you pay no mind and continue playing with the hair tie on your wrist, “He wants to produce a film and has extended an invitation for your help.”
You scoff, “What does he know about making movies? I don’t care, I don’t want to.”
“Stop whining and listen to me,” Dayeon says, clicking to the next slide, “As I said before this isn’t a typical project. He’s offering you a substantial budget and complete creative control.”
Call you petty, but the moment Vernon’s name came into play, you were sold. However, when the words “complete creative control” left Dayeon’s mouth you couldn’t help but let the idea excite you— just a little bit.
Still, drumming your finger on the table, you had to ask, “What’s the catch?”
Dayeon smiles, the first one you’ve seen in years, “No catch, just a challenge.”
“A what?”
“A challenge,” Dayeon closes his laptop, answering slowly, “Create something unforgettable.”
You kind of hate how much your heart flutters as the words sink in.
───────────────────────────────────────────── You [11:29 AM] What the fuck?
143-257-8024 (Add number?) [12:01 PM] she's alive
─────────────────────────────────────────────
Sol Cafe was a dingy hole in the wall coffee shop where some of your best ideas spawned. It was moody, with dim yellow lights and warehouse furniture. The window seat you had chosen overlooked a shady alleyway as graffiti decorated surrounding building walls. You inhale, taking in the bitter smell of freshly ground beans.
This had been your home once; during art school. Every day without fail, you’d sit in this booth with your friends and map out story boards and shots until the owners kicked you out.
Once upon a lifetime ago, when you actually enjoyed Vernon’s presence, the two of you convinced the sweet elderly lady to let you stay the night determined to finish your presentation analyzing the evolution of romantic comedies from 1980 onward through the lens of storytelling and stylistic choices. You had racked up about 100 hours of director interviews at that point and Vernon’s Letterboxd looked like it got hacked considering the 25+ new movies that were added in the past two weeks alone.
Despite it, you never wanted to leave.
Six years later, however, you're tapping your fingers against the beat up metal table as you obsessively check your phone.
Where the heck is Vernon?
He had told you to meet him here at 10 am, yet 15 minutes had passed and there was no Vernon in sight.
───────────────────────────────────────────── You [10:14 AM] Where are you? Read ─────────────────────────────────────────────
You click your phone off and decide that if he doesn’t arrive in the next 5, you’re leaving with or without the movie deal.
You sigh and rest your head in your palm as you gaze out the window. Outside, you spot an elderly man at the corner of the street. He has an easel set up across from what you assume to be a couple. He takes long strokes, forming a picture of them in his image.
It’s a classic caricature style from what you can tell, but something about an elderly man and a couple on the side of the street capturing a moment in time, no matter how distorted, made your finger twitch, itching to open your notes app.
The man drew one of the women’s eyes large like saucers while the other had her jawline sharpen like a triangle, but they both smiled when they saw the picture. Each one gave the glowing man a hug as they left a tip. You slowly rise from your seat.
You want to meet this artist.
A cough cuts you off mid motion.
Vernon is sitting in front of you in all his smug glory. He smiles, his gums showing as you slam back down in your seat.
“How long have you been here?”
“Two minutes,” he responds blankly, “You looked busy.”
You cross your arms and huff, “No shit Sherlock.”
He just stares in the direction you were lost in, “It’s been a while since I saw a caricature artist.”
“Yeah, yeah, cool artist,” you wave your hand back and forth, “Let’s cut to the chase. What’s your deal? A movie? Seriously?”
He doesn’t respond, still gazing out the window as if admiring a picture he could never save.
It pisses you off.
“Hey,” you snap your fingers in front of his face, “You gonna stay in la la land or come back down to reality?”
He blinks at your motion. He says slowly, “back in university, we went to a carnival after the filming of Paradigm. We had a caricature drawing done too… I wonder if I still have the print.”
You lean back into the booth throwing both hands on your thighs, “oh my god, I forgot how frustrating it is to work with you.”
His lips tug at a smile, “Some would say. But, I’d argue that Paradigm did well.”
“You barely contributed.”
“Well, my name is in the credits.”
You roll your eyes, “Please, just because your name is on the film doesn’t mean you put effort into it.”
“Right…” he pauses, staring down at the coffee in his hands you don’t remember being there minutes ago.
“I’m assuming this is coming from experience.”
Your eyes shoot up to meet Vernon’s unwavering stare, it looks like the light in them died years ago.
You're no doctor, but you swear a vein in your forehead pops.
Oh.
If that’s how he wants to fucking play, you can bury the bar down to hell.
“Says the guy that didn’t even make it in the industry.”
He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to fill in the blank.
You don’t.
“I’m a film critic,” he sighs out.
You lean forward, “Exactly Vernon. You don’t make shit.”
It’s barely noticeable, but his jaw ticks and his lips press in a thin line. Maybe it’s disturbing how such a small and, frankly, sad gesture makes you so happy.
You relax back into your seat. Vernon doesn’t say anything, gaze fixating on a point behind you.
You’ll count your victories when you can.
The bell to the cafe jingles as the door opens and the couple that was with the caricature artist before walks through.
“I want to.”
Your eyes snap back to Vernon.
He said it with such conviction that it feels as if he can see into your very soul.
He’s staring at you.
And you hate how small it makes you feel.
“I want to make this movie,” he pauses, “and I want it to be with you.”
At this point he’s not asking anymore, just telling you.
You glare, but if he feels it he pays no attention to it, “I don’t think you’ve made your best movie yet.”
You scoff, “Who are you to judge?”
He deadpans.
You roll your eyes and grit your teeth in response, “Whatever.”
His eyes catch light as he looks out the window to the caricature artist cleaning up. He chuckles, “I guess you're on board then.”
“I never said that.”
“Good,” he smiles and looks at you, “I knew you would.”
An unpleasant feeling creeps its way up your spine. You immediately gather your things and slide out of the booth, shoving all the trash towards him, “Lunatic.”
He hums, swirling the last of his drink, “Right.”
As you storm out of the cafe he calls out one last remark, “See you soon.”
You slam the door shut.
───────────────────────────────────────────── You [11:02 AM] 🖕
143-257-8024 (Add number?) [11:02 AM] “👍” to a message
─────────────────────────────────────────────
[1 year and 6 months until release]
“Shut up, I have everything under control.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
You and Vernon are currently knee deep in clothing designs, scripts, empty coffee cups, story boards, and whatever other shit you decided to just throw on your office floor.
You bite your lip as you examine a foot tall stack of… well, you're not entirely sure. “It’s organized chaos.”
“Right…” Vernon pulls a face as he flips through a notebook that vacillates between casting ideas, blocking recommendations, and scribbled out scripts…and is that storyboard? “Organized chaos.”
“Why are you even here?” you ask, moving onto another pile.
“Because you asked for help?” He flips the page of the notebook, “The Golden Gate Bridge?”
You let out a heavy sigh, not looking up from your precious pile (which you’ve now identified as your inspiration pile), "Architecture is art too, duh.”
Vernon just blinks, “I thought you were going to use the idea about the painter.”
“Well yes,” you say, “but, art inspires art. Why do we keep paintings of things that exist in real life?”
“Am I supposed to answer or is that a rhetorical question?”
You shrug, “I don’t know? Both?”
He hums, closing the notebook.
You sigh, “I think it’s a perspective thing. A painting and the source material manifest into two separate things because one is a reflection of the artist's perspective.”
“But isn’t that basically criticism?”
You pause, handing over a picture of the Nine Muses. You slowly turn towards him, glaring at him with a scandalized look as he grabs the picture. “Excuse me? What?”
He looks up at you blankly, “Well, the bridge inspires the artist. The artist interprets what the bridge looks like to them. Isn’t that just criticism?”
You choke on your words, “You and I have very different ideas of what criticism is because what the fuck.”
“What do you think criticism is?” he asks, catching another notebook you threw his way.
Your hand brushes against a crumpled up college-ruled paper with a crayon drawing of goldfish scribbled on it. It had been a gift from your younger sister when she was four.
Your shoulders slump down as you let out a breath, “To me…criticism has always been weird. I get that feedback is necessary for any craft, but like, we create to create. It’s not like there’s an objective truth to art.”
He hums thoughtfully as his eyes scan over the crayon drawing, “But is it really art without an audience to interpret it?”
You pause, looking at Vernon as he turns the page of the book. The question lingers in the air a beat too long as it dies with the silence. You swallow and mutter out a quick, “I don’t know.”
“Then I guess,” he snaps the notebook shut and glances up to you, “that’s what this film is going to answer.”
You smile, “Something like that.”
───────────────────────────────────────────── 143-257-8024 (Add number?) [8:28 PM] found the caricature art [see image attached]
You [12:02 AM] Congrats, want a gold star?
143-257-8024 (Add number?) [3:14 AM] yes
─────────────────────────────────────────────
[1 year and 3 months until release]
“Remind me again, what your ‘grand vision’ is?" Vernon asks, swiveling on your office chair, grabbing your half finished coffee from your desk.
You sigh, pushing yourself off the floor to stand in front of a white board with scribbles that no longer look like human language.
“Basically,” you start, “it’s a coming of age story disguised as a romance between a painter and a gallery curator.”
“Unusual…” he takes a sip of your coffee, “I like it.”
You roll your eyes, “Something fresh for this oversaturated genre.”
Vernon gives you a look.
“Whatever,” you turn your attention back to the board, “Anyway, it follows a simple plot. The painter is looking to break into the art industry and finds out her childhood friend is a gallery curator. With high hopes she contacts him and brings her portfolio. Unfortunately, he rejects her pieces and she falls into an obsession creating painting after painting trying to find the missing element he keeps explaining.”
“Right.”
“She keeps getting rejected and ends up going to fourteen other galleries, not to submit art, but to observe the pieces that do make it onto the walls. She’ll encounter a piece at one of them that makes her realize what she wants to say with her art.”
Vernon stops swiveling and leans forward, “Does it end with her painting a piece that finally gets accepted by the curator?”
“Give or take,” you shrug, “The details will add nuance, but that’s pretty much the gist.”
He leans back into the chair, “Eh…”
You deadpan, “What.”
“In my opinion, it can have a stronger resolution,” Vernon gets up from his slouched position and walks over to the white board with a red marker in hand, “One, it’s predictable. Two, it feels too much like the curator is winning.”
“It’s not a battle,” you say, judgment written over your face, “Art doesn’t have winners.”
“Exactly my point,” he circles the falling action and taps the marker to it, “right here, is where the painter loses and the curator wins.”
You drag yourself to stand next to him and stare at the plot point.
“Her art shouldn’t become full by fulfilling the expectation of the curator,” he adds, “that diminishes her artistic vision.”
A solid five minutes pass as both of you drill holes into the story board. Your mind wanders back to the photo Vernon sent you of the caricature art he found. The artist seemed to like his smile as his gums and teeth were drawn huge. You remember making him hold it up next to his face and giving the same smile to compare. It looked like a fun house mirror…
You slap his shoulder with a gasp and he lets out a quiet “ow” as he rubs the spot you hit looking at you confused.
“What if…what if the painter makes the curator paint something with her?” Your eyes gleam as you uncap the blue whiteboard marker in your hand, “Like they have the same model or painting the same thing. Then when it’s displayed in the gallery the pieces are facing each with a mirror frame in between?”
“Oh and it’s like a reflection that…” Vernon grabs your hand and smiles, his gums showing through, “Now we’re talking.”
You and him spent the next four hours scribbling ideas on the white board. Blue words barely passing for cursive covered the entire board with notes of red underlining, circling, starring, and commenting on the important parts.
───────────────────────────────────────────── 143-257-8024 (Add number?) [10:43 PM] [link] [Location: 8 Star Gallery, 17135 Sky Boulevard S, New York, NY,…]
You [11:06 PM] Do you realize how expensive filming there is going to be?
143-257-8024 (Add number?) [11:18 PM] [Apple Pay] [$10,000 Request]
─────────────────────────────────────────────
[1 year until release]
“So what do you think of the final script?” you ask after absolutely destroying the milkshake in front of you.
You had the bright idea of meeting Vernon at 3 in the morning in some obscene 24 hour diner to go over the final version of the script one more time.
Was it necessary?
Probably not.
But it was 3am on Valentine's Day and this specific diner offered complimentary milkshakes for anyone on a date. And for two broke university students, it was basically free food. It somehow developed into a tradition where the two of you would come at an ungodly hour in the morning just because you could.
He thoughtfully looked over the last page before reaching for your unfinished fries, “I mean I read it two weeks ago. But yeah, it’s solid.”
“Good, because we’ve already submitted it to the casting director and a team is location hunting as we speak.”
He lets out a laugh and hands you back the thick stack of papers barely staying together by the biggest staple you own.
You finish your milkshake before Vernon says anything else.
“Why is her name Calliope?”
“Why is your name Vernon?”
He gives you an unimpressed look.
You laugh, then take a piece of pepperoni for his slice of pizza, “She’s a painter and you know, Calliope is a muse. The ones that inspired the Greeks or whatever.”
Vernon taps the table thoughtfully, “You should change Edmund’s name to Ethan.”
“What? Why?” you ask, wiping the grease off your fingers.
“It means long-lived.”
“Long-lived? Oh, because he’s a…” you pout as the realization washes over you, “I hate your annoying ass brain sometimes.”
“All the time.”
“You said it, not me!”
───────────────────────────────────────────── You [6:30 AM] Happy birthday old man
Bonon [8:29 AM] thanks
You [9:41 AM] Love the enthusiasm
Bonon [11:03 AM] THANKS SO MUCH
─────────────────────────────────────────────
[8 months until release]
“Told you it’d be worth the money.”
You shrug, gliding your hands along the smooth white walls, “You're handling the budget.”
His face contorts, “Don’t remind me.”
You laugh as you and Vernon continue touring around 8 Star Gallery. The owner, a famous art curator under the alias The8, had given you a discount for using his space for filming in exchange for “product placement”.
The design was modern and minimal with a monochrome color palette that allowed the bright hues of the artwork to pop. It fit Ethan’s character perfectly.
Vernon grabbing your wrist brought you back down to reality.
“Look,” he points at a lone painting on the wall, “Seems like they forgot to take everything down.”
You hum in agreement, leaning in to get a better look. It was a gorgeous oil painting of the view of Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower. It was divided into abstract sections, each representing a different time of day.
“Kim Mingyu,” you murmur out, “Sounds familiar.”
Vernon tilts his head back as if thinking, “Wasn’t he the artist that got criticized by the media for switching from his signature still lifes for more abstract concepts?”
“Uh,” you furrow your brows, “Maybe? It feels right.”
“It was a big deal apparently,” Vernon ghosts his fingers over the canvas.
You snort, “Why? Because he wanted to try something new?”
“Yeah,” he says blankly, “A lot of collectors wanted an original still life and his sales plummeted when he stopped.”
You roll your eyes, “Is everyone in the art world such pricks? Let him create what he wants to create. No one’s forcing them to like it.”
Vernon doesn’t respond, he just examines the painting as if looking at a precious artifact. You stare at him for a moment before leaning against his shoulder to try and see what he’s seeing.
As the staff come by moments later to gently remove the painting from the wall, you look back at Vernon, his narrowed eyes, the quirk of a smile at the edge of his lips, and the flare of his nose.
You have a sneaking suspicion you didn’t come to the same conclusion.
───────────────────────────────────────────── You [12:37 PM] Dragon [see image attached]
Bonon [12:59 PM] actually thats a wyvern a dragon has four legs and two wings while a wyvern has two legs and two wings that are like their forearms so technically all wyverns are dragons but not all dragons are wyverns i wonder if wyverns experience discrimination
You [1:01 PM] … I was literally just going to ask if you like seven year old me’s drawing And if you think it deserves to be in a gallery
Bonon [1:02 PM] oh well i don’t know if minghao would put it in his but i’d put it mine
You [1:02 PM] Wait, that actually sweet
Bonon [1:03 PPM] yeah its a cute wyvern
You [1:03 PM] Please shut up
─────────────────────────────────────────────
[4 months until release]
“I’m so glad filming is done,” you say, lying down in the middle of the art gallery.
Vernon chuckles beside you, sitting cross-legged, "Stressful?"
You groan, rolling over to sit up properly, “I never want to direct another movie ever again.”
He shakes his head, “You’re so dramatic. It was only 7 weeks of filming including the fact that we had to fly to New York.”
“Even if it was the cleanest and fastest filming I’ve ever done, I don’t have to enjoy it,” you snort.
“Are you sure you want to be a director?”
You laugh, “Yeah, maybe we should switch.” Your laughter dies down as you bring your knees to your chest, “I bet you would make great movies.”
Vernon leans back on his hand, his voice shifting with the mood, “I don’t think I could.”
A silence settled as you picked at your fingernails. You don’t know what compelled you to ask, but you ask anyway, “Why are you a film critic?”
He tenses slightly, but it doesn’t escape your eye, “Well… I guess I just like talking about movies more than making them.”
You hum in response, “Do you send every director their review or am I just special?”
“You’re just special,” he looks up at the ceiling, “I could rant about your movies for hours.”
You stiffen, “What? Why?”
He looks down at his shoes as if embarrassed, “I guess… I find everything interesting. I want to know why you used a certain cut or approved of a piece of dialogue.”
He looked so gentle, saying such mean things. Your hands clench into fists,“Why? Because it’s questionable?”
He leans his head to the side thoughtfully, “I mean… yeah sometimes.”
You scoff, “It’s not like I’m trying to make movies for other people. I just do what feels right.”
“Sure,” he says, “but people are still going to watch it regardless of intention.”
“And you want to understand that intention?”
He smiles, “Yeah. I do. Because sometimes it doesn’t feel like a decision you would make.”
“No,” you sigh, burying your face into your knees, “They are all my decisions.”
“Really…” He trails off and you can hear the tinge of disappointment lingering in what he refused to say next.
You push yourself off the floor.
“If you think my movies are crap, then why the fuck are we doing this?” You turn to him, eyes hardening.
He rushes to get up from the floor, “I’ve never said your movies are crap.”
You scoff, “Right, and that’s why you send me your fancy ass Cinema Weekly shit every single fucking film and nobody else!”
“You don’t read them?” His eyes are wide and his mouth hangs slightly ajar.
You ignore it, “You literally called my last movie the death of romantic comedies, what’s there to read!”
“Oh my god,” he drags his hands over his face then clicks his tongue, “you realize I sent those articles to you because I want you to read them. I don’t just write crap about your movie and send it to you. I’m not an asshole!”
You throw your hands in the air, “Might as well be!”
“So I titled the article that way, doesn’t mean everything I said about it is horrible,” he takes a step towards you, “The quality just wasn’t there because—”
“I know Vernon! Trust me I know! The quality is shit, the writing is shit, the cuts are shit, it’s all shit!” You scream the last part, releasing something deep and raw from the bottom of the abyss.
Vernon hesitates before a hardness overcomes his face again,“You’re not listening. I’m saying that I know you can do better.”
“And I’m hearing you crystal fucking clear. You just don’t understand. There are budget restrictions, script limitations, and producer requirements that I need to fulfill if I so much as want to see a trailer released!”
“Yeah, but–”
“I’m doing my best!”
The sound rings around the empty set, accompanied only by your quivering breaths. Vernon doesn’t say anything, but his fists clench and he stares at his shoes refusing to look you in the eye.
“This is my fucking best Vernon.” The words were a whisper, a soft plea as they held back a flood.
His head snaps up, searching your eyes. Maybe there’s nothing there because mutters, “No it’s not… It can’t be.”
You grit your teeth, “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
You glare at him, burning a hole into his face as if daring him to say anything.
He opens and closes his mouth as if debating his next words carefully, finally, he says, “I don’t… but I want to believe it.”
His voice was small, almost childlike as it trembled.
You’ve never heard his voice unsteady before.
The room shrinks as the two of you become the center of the stage.
You lick your lips, “You should have believed in yourself too. Maybe then you’d understand.”
With those final words, you turn your back on him, storming out the door, slamming it shut with a loud thud.
Vernon’s hands curl into fists as he stares at the door, as if sneering at a picture he wishes he could erase.
───────────────────────────────────────────── You [1:43 AM] I’m sorry You have deleted a message
─────────────────────────────────────────────
[3 months until release]
Shit.
You’re a horrible person. Scum of the Earth dipshit. Genuine flaming pile of trash.
But your pride refuses to let up, refuses to let you talk to him.
Shit.
You’re currently working with one of the editors in post production, leaning over her seat as you work through a shot, but nothing looks or feels right anymore.
Especially with him standing there.
“Can we up the saturation on this shot? Something’s throwing me off.”
Your editor, Lana, plays around with the saturation and contrast showing you three different versions of the same shot. You groan in frustration, “I’m sorry… I don’t like it.”
She opens her mouth as if to suggest something before Vernon pipes up from his corner, “I don’t think saturation is the problem, I think it needs more blue tones to match the emotional pacing.”
Lana automatically begins playing with the blue tones, “Hey, wait, I think this is working—”
You grab her shoulder, cutting her off. Through gritted teeth, not even turning to him, you say, “Vernon… Please leave, I’m trying to work with Lana here and you’re throwing me off.”
“I thought we were working on this together.”
You ignore the bitterness that seeps through his voice.
“Well,” you grip the back of Lana’s chair hard enough for her to notice, she looks up at you and you give her a wobbly smile, “Not today.”
He scoffs, “You said that yesterday too.”
Lana glances between you two as you stay steadfast in gluing your eyes to the monitor. She sighs and looks over her shoulder, “Hey Vernon, I’ll finish up this shot with the director and then I can run it by you later.”
You can feel his eyes burning into the back of your head as he mutters out a quiet “fine”. You don’t relax until you hear the door slam shut.
Slowly, Lana turns to you, “Is something going on?”
“He’s just making useless suggestions.”
Lana gives you a look, “I don’t know, seemed pretty helpful to me.”
You take a sharp inhale, leaning away from the screen, “I don’t want him to win.”
She just smiles, patting your shoulder and turning back to her setup, “Who was it that said art had no winners?”
She doesn’t notice, but you bite the inside of your cheek until you can taste metal.
───────────────────────────────────────────── 143-257-8024 (Add number?) [3:29 AM] why are you ignoring me 143-257-8024 has deleted a message
─────────────────────────────────────────────
[2 months until release]
Everything’s going downhill and you don’t know if you have the will to try and stop it anymore. Editing, which is normally your forte, is eating you alive. You and Vernon aren’t allowed to be in the same studio anymore, not after you grabbed him by the shirt and he cussed you out.
You stare at the ceiling of your apartment as you wait for your Trader Joe’s dumplings to boil.
The film doesn’t even look like a film anymore. It’s more like a Frankenstein monstrosity of two different editing styles competing with each other.
You slump over the cold kitchen counter and robotically stuffing your mouth, not even tasting the dumplings.
Your phone dings, but you hesitate for a moment.
What if it’s Vernon?
You reach for your phone and can’t tell if you’re relieved or disappointed it’s Dayeon.
───────────────────────────────────────────── Dayeon (Manager) [9:37 PM] By some miracle, the ratings of Fine Shyt went up, two years later at that [Link] [tiktok.com/reel/…]
─────────────────────────────────────────────
Curiously, you tap on the link, taking you to some influencers page.
“So, I know I told you guys years ago that I wasn’t going to be watching or reviewing the film Fine Shyt, but after reading an article by Vernon Chwe, hopefully I’m pronouncing that correctly, I decided to give it a shot. So today’s episode of 365 films in 365 days is about Fine Shyt…”
Your hands turn numb as you hover over the comment section.
@ summersue29: OMG same, wasn’t going to watch it but my friend who follows Cinema Weekly said I had too ↳ @ sundaymornin: lol I’m that friend ↳ @ ilikepizza: I actually understood the movie better
@ trianglekimbap: I agree, it was a lot more nuanced than people gave it credit for ↳ @ sunkissed: Pacing still sucked, but yeah, much more enjoyable ↳ @ nightmarefuel: I still hated it
@ harper_lee: I always thought it was good, glad to see Fine Shyt getting the recognition it deserves
The influencer’s voice rings out once again, “I know that this director and Vernon are coming out with a new movie in the next few months, so I’ll definitely be checking it out when it’s released! That’s all for today, stay tuned as I marathon through your favorite movies.”
The video had over 10M views.
As if compelled by a demonic force, you scroll up to your conversation with Vernon.
You hesitate.
Then click on the review link.
─────────────────────────────────────────────
Cinema Weekly— We Killed Romance: The Tragedy of Fine Shyt by Vernon Chwe
Frankly, Fine Shyt was a disappointing film. Albeit harsh, I can only describe the film as cheap, both in character depth and plot.
─────────────────────────────────────────────
You cringe and are tempted to shut your phone off right then and there, but you force yourself to continue.
─────────────────────────────────────────────While there was a clear thematic throughline, the delivery suffers heavily as a result of the poor execution. Fine Shyt seems to ask the audience whether or not we should capitalize on pretty privilege and use it to our advantage at the expense of our merit.
─────────────────────────────────────────────
Holy shit. He hit the nail on the head.
─────────────────────────────────────────────
Although an admirable throughline, the lack of character depth in both Chase and Hailey’s motivations and beliefs undermine that message by creating a shallow imitation of complex conflict. Neither one seems to understand their own argument making their grand declarations feel hollow.
Chase, the one receiving a classic 90s make over, is conflicted over two opposing versions of his identity. This concept is the perfect set up for a rich psychological reflection and being torn between ideals, yet the film doesn’t get the chance to explore it as the plot moves rapidly towards the outcomes of this transformation highlighting the character’s new attractive features instead of his shifting perspective.
…
Despite my reservations about the film, I can tell it has heart hidden underneath. Moments, although few and far in between, that built a connection bridging the audience to Chase and Hailey through conscious decisions that were beautifully executed by the director. With the evidence of those sparse scenes, I have faith in this director, to create a film where we can truly feel that heart.
─────────────────────────────────────────────
You just stare at your phone, letting the words wash over you as you try to comprehend… just everything.
Fuck.
Fuck him.
Fuck you.
Fuck the movie industry.
Fuck critics.
Fuck—you can’t believe it.
───────────────────────────────────────────── You [2:26 AM] [Location Sharing] [Pin Drop: Space Diner, 42516 Ruby Street N, Los Angeles, CA,...] Read
─────────────────────────────────────────────
He arrives quicker than you expected (especially considering the fact that you didn’t expect him to come at all).
Wordlessly, he slips into the metal seat across from you. He doesn’t say anything.
He’s waiting for you to say something first.
Man, you hate him sometimes.
You fidget with your hands under the table, “Uh, I didn’t think you’d come.”
He raises his eyebrows, “Usually, when someone sends you their location with no context it’s because it’s an emergency.”
“Oh.”
The door bell rings as an employee walks through, filling the empty space with rushed foot steps.
You swallow the lump in your throat.
“I– um,” you shudder out, “I don’t really know what to say. I guess—”
“Excuse me,” a waiter materializes out of thin air beside you and it releases you from your stupor, “I’m Joshua and I’ll be your server this fine morning. Can I get you started on any drinks or do you need a second?”
“Uh,” you glance at Vernon.
He responds blankly, “I’ll just have water.”
The server jots it down as Vernon says a small “thank you”.
“And you miss?”
“Could I have the signature milkshake?” you ask, then add on, “Thank you.”
“No problem,” the server looks back up at you two, “Will that be all?”
“Yeah–”
“Actually,” Vernon cuts you off, “could we get a second straw for that milkshake?”
You turn towards him trying really hard to suppress a smile. It seems like you failed because when he looks back at you, he smiles too.
“Got it,” Joshua notes before disappearing behind the counter.
You and Vernon stare at each other for a solid three seconds before bursting out into laughter. The sound blankets the diner in a warm haze as you finally take note of the old 90’s music playing in the background.
“I don’t know why I’m laughing,” you say between gasps.
Vernon takes six deep inhales and exhales, trying to regulate his breathing, but when your eyes lock all his work goes to waste.
You don’t know how long it took you to calm down. But Joshua had come back around with your water and milkshake.
Two straws too.
You move at the same time. You dive in to grab both straws while Vernon moves to steal the glass. Neither of you say anything, silently daring the other person to surrender first.
“It was very considerate of you to get me two straws,” you say with a lilt in your voice, “If you give me my drink back, maybe I’ll be nice and let you have some.”
“Right,” he pulls the drink closer to him, “Considerate.”
You lift an eyebrow and he gets the message.
“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.”
In an unfortunate turn of events, Vernon’s paper beats your rock. He reaches out, palm up, as you reluctantly hand over the straws. He unwraps them one at a time, dropping them in the glass and then takes a long sip from both.
“Gross,” you comment with fake disgust.
He passes back the drink to you as you do the same, “Sure, gross.”
You tear your gaze away from him and take the liberty to look around the diner. The bright teals, reds, and yellows popping with life in the middle of the night. The saturation was overkill in your opinion, but it fit the vibe.
Vernon coughs.
Right, you were here for a reason.
Slowly, you sink your hand into your bag pulling out your laptop.
“I want to talk about a film.”
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about Art with me,” he says, taking your milkshake back.
You shake your head as you boot up your computer, “Not Art.” It takes a few seconds as you open up the file.
“Paradigm.”
His hand stills on the glass.
You take a deep breath before, looking him in the eye, “I want to watch Paradigm and uh… well, review it. Together.”
He doesn’t say anything for a while, making you a little antsy. Eventually he simply states, “Okay.”
You didn’t realize how tense you were until your shoulders relaxed, “Yeah, okay, let’s do it.”
You hit play.
The screen fades into a familiar setting, the main library at your university’s campus. The shot zoomed in on a boy sitting by the window, headphones in. He simply stared out, looking at the people rushing to classes or meeting with friends, taking in the scene around him.
He must have zoned out because he didn’t realize someone had been right outside until she tapped on the glass.
She smiled when she caught his attention. She held up a camera and gave it a little shake before gesturing to the library exit. He looked at the exit then looked back at her. He paused for only a second before sliding his headphones off and rushing out the door.
“How uninspired,” you mutter.
Vernon smiles, “I doubt many people met the same way we did.”
You just make some more grumbling noises before tuning back in.
Paradigm was filmed in a static 1980’s retro style with muted, but full colors. It was a short film, under 15 minutes, that spanned the characters’ entire university experience. Although both Ellie and Dylan met their freshman year, their lives could not have been more different.
Ellie was a photography student while Dylan was a STEM major. Ellie liked adventure and took risks no matter the odds while Dylan preferred routine and planning ahead.
Paradigm follows the two as different parallels to university life and how each is not better or worse than the other.
That there is no paradigm to life.
You watch the entire thing in one run. Vernon stays mostly silent, but you can’t say the same about yourself. As hard as you try, you can’t quite quell the mortification that rises every time you see a sloppy cut or transition.
If you could back and shake yourself by the collar you would.
When the film ends, you look at Vernon expecting… well, really anything. But he simply reaches over and presses down on the replay button.
You cringe.
How you hate him.
“I don’t think we need to watch that again,” you say, trying to close the laptop.
“But it’s good,” he says, moving it out of reach.
“No it’s really not,” you lunge over the table, but he’s quicker in keeping it away.
For a solid three minutes you and Vernon are caught in a stalemate as you fight over your laptop. Eventually you give up with a huff, falling back into your seat.
Once he was able to safely place the device on the table, he scrolled to the end, where you edited in the nominations and awards, “It won three awards.”
“It shouldn’t have,” you say slumping over your milkshake, “I wish I could redo the entire thing.”
“Why?”
“Well, for starters,” you sit up straighter, “I don’t know what we were thinking by using a lower quality camera. Yeah, I get that it was supposed to feel ‘nostalgic’ or whatever, but it was seriously messing with the finer details we wanted to highlight on the set. Same goes for the color grading. Not a fan of bright but kind of muted look we had going on. It just made it look like we ran out of ink. Also—”
And you ranted. You hadn’t realized you rant for fifteen minutes straight. Until Vernon started laughing out of nowhere.
“Why are you laughing?” you ask as you nudge his leg under the table.
“If I transcribed everything you said, I bet I could submit it as a piece under my name.”
Your hand stills on the glass.
Vernon takes the opportunity to steal it from you as he finishes off whatever was remaining in one long slurp.
You feel your eyebrows furrow as your jaw goes slightly slack.
Vernon makes eye contact with Joshua as the waiter makes his way over with the bill.
You blink slowly as you stare at the checked floor tiles.
Vernon pays, then shoves your laptop into your bag before slinging it over his shoulder.
You make eye contact with him, you face conveying every ounce of distress.
Vernon laughs, taking your hand and guiding you out into the cool morning air toward your car.
You stand by your car for a couple of seconds, completely zoned out.
Vernon waves a hand in front of your face.
You finally unfreeze, then immediately cringe, “No.”
Vernon laughs, “I know. My job sucks.”
───────────────────────────────────────────── You [6:09 AM] Hi
Bonon [6:11 AM] hi
─────────────────────────────────────────────
[1 month until release]
“Lana, I’m so sorry, I know we planned for a fade, but I’m not feeling it anymore,” you bite your nail leaning over Lana’s chair once again as you go over the final edits of the movie.
Lana sighs, “We’ve gone through pretty much every transition possible, I think it looks fine.”
“I know but,” you cut yourself off. Something just doesn’t feel right, “Vernon?”
He had been quiet in the corner of the room, scrolling on his phone before looking up when you called his name.
You nod your head towards the screen.
He pockets his phone and walks over the monitor. He places a hand on your shoulder before leaning over, “Yeah?”
“Look,” you say as Lana plays the clip again.
Vernon hums to himself, thinking for a moment, “Honestly, I think you’re over thinking it. It looks good to me, but if you want to change it, maybe try a hard cut.”
“Can we try that Lana?”
Lana clicks around and then plays the two clips again.
You and Vernon look at each other.
“No.”
He shakes his head in agreement.
Lana drags her hands down her face.
───────────────────────────────────────────── Bonon [5:37 PM] would you rather always leave a restaurant still hungry or always forget to turn the lights off
You [5:48 PM] What the fuck? Those aren’t even remotely related
Bonon [5:49 PM] Hi this is Seungkwan Please answer I need to win an argument
You [5:49 PM] Restaurant still hungry ig
Bonon [5:50 PM] no
─────────────────────────────────────────────
[Premier]
Flashing lights flood the red carpet as people crowd towards the actors making their way down.
“Jeonghan!” a reporter calls out to the actor, “Do you have a second for a quick interview?”
Dressed to the nines, the actor breaks from his cast members and walks over the reporter.
“Maybe one or two questions,” he winks, “just for you.”
The reporter laughs, “Thank you. Now, you play the character of Ethan Sterling, the famous art curator. Tell us something you and him have in common.”
Jeonghan takes a thoughtful second before responding, “Well, Ethan is an elusive character who, without spoiling too much, wants to display the pinnacle of the art world. He has a passion and drive that I admire.”
“So is that what you relate to most? His ambition?”
Jeonghan chuckles, “Haha, no. I’m just inspired by him to do the best I can do as an actor.”
─────────────────────────────────────────────
[1 week after release]
───────────────────────────────────────────── Bonon [9:41 PM] [link] [Cinema Weekly— The Curator, the Creator, and the Muse: In the Defense of Art by Vernon Chew…]
─────────────────────────────────────────────
You glance up from your phone to Vernon sitting across the table at the dimly lit Sol Cafe. You raise an eyebrow tilting your phone towards him, “I’m literally next to you.”
He doesn’t even look up from his laptop, “I know”
You scoff, “Why don’t you just say it to my face?”
He hums, looking up to gaze at you as if admiring a picture he already committed to memory.
“Because I want you to read it.”
You groan, stealing the rest of his latte, “You’re such a sap.”
He just laughs, his gummy smile making you smile back.
─────────────────────────────────────────────
Cinema Weekly— The Curator, the Creator, and the Muse: In the Defense of Art by Vernon Chew
Art was not the polished movie I had come to expect. Yet it delivered exactly what it had promised us. Through the eyes of both Ethan and Calliope, we as an audience are introduced to the perspectives of the art world in an atypical fashion. Each protagonist holds strong beliefs that are prominent within the first ten minutes of viewing, creating a strong clash of ideals that question the purpose of art to society as well as to the artist themselves. The narrative is captivating as the story is unafraid to challenge its own preconceived notions regarding the role of a curator or critic.
While the structure of the film itself follows linear chronology, the ending is ambiguous. A creative choice that lets the audience sit with themselves and has become somewhat of a signature of this particular director as a nod to their first film Paradigm.
The use of Ethan intrigued me…
…
This film is not the greatest I’ve ever encountered, in fact, I don’t think it’s the greatest film I’ve seen this year; but, Art invites its viewers to feel and to question, which I believe is the greatest thing a film can do.
───────────────────────────────────────────── You [10:56 PM] 6/10 Could have cut the fifth paragraph
