HopkinsCinemAddicts

Sundown: Evening (Day Five)

After the roughest day in production, we had another break day. As always, I reflected on what happened the previous day and found silver linings. The day wasn’t all bad; the morning scene was successful, which featured Johns Hopkins’ own Dr. Jamie Young as our “psychiatrist” character. Furthermore, I was determined not to let one bad day of shooting ruin my energy for the rest of the shoot. I was especially excited for our final days as we planned to shoot all the scenes that were part of the original shorter script. The scenes that started it all.

The break was primarily used to take photos of my actors for “family photo” production design in the final location of the shoot, the main character’s childhood home. Here, I also got to talk more with my main actors and understand how they truly felt about the project—they were having a good time! Taking a relaxed moment to connect with my actors was vital for me and them to understand each other better, director to actor, and person to person. After the break day and a few conversations with my cast and crew, my attitude toward the remaining portion of the shoot improved. In my reflections, I understood (and continue to understand) that my mistakes and regrets about the film were lessons to learn from going forward.

Our final location was held at my paternal grandmother’s Baltimore apartment. She graciously let us invade her space for nearly twelve hours at a time, four days straight. The first day was focused on shooting the very first scene in the film, the opening conversation between the main character and his mother. Watching everything come together—the production design, the performance—I felt that my original artistic vision was genuinely coming to fruition. Later that night, we wrapped on one of my main actors. Directing him (and others) was a great push outside my comfort zone in working with non-student actors and adapting to various acting experience levels. Most importantly, my experience taught me many lessons in how to do what a good director does best: know what they want and how to get it.

Aug. 24 - “Young Mikey” and his mother

We began our fifth shooting day a bit later to get closer to the time of day we needed. We primarily focused on external shots that day, prompting us to move quickly with the ever-changing light. This day brought an obvious issue to my attention; the period my entire film centers around (sunset, or more aptly, sundown) lasts for a very short time. There was confusion on my part about what the lighting conditions would be at certain times and how long those conditions would last. As a result, we had to postpone filming one scene for over an hour since the reflection of the light outside at the story-accurate time of day was too strong. My Script Supervisor, Devin Andrada, was not happy with me regarding the continuity; but again, these are lessons learned for the future. Despite the issues, this shot was where my crew (specifically my camera and lighting team!) got to show off their skills with the setup and execution. Also, while waiting to shoot this scene, we got the quintessential sundown shot (not really, it was pre-sundown, early evening, but close enough).

Aug. 25 - Crew setting up for the window shot

The most exciting part of the day was starting work with my “Creature” actor for our one-shot scene. Here, the main character’s mother gets caught by the Creature, which we wanted to be able to execute creatively through a one-shot. Going through the prep for this was a challenge: clearing space for movement, blocking, framing, sound, and more. However, with each dry run and each take, the work began to pay off. We did about four or five runs of this scene, each with unique elements that could work well in the final film. This was our last shot of the night, which ended with us squealing over a take that worked, a shared success amongst the entire crew. More than any day before, I felt what I had been working to feel throughout the previous shoot days: a genuine sense of accomplishment that was validated by others’ enthusiasm.

Aug. 26 - Checking the front door, featuring my Sound Mixer, NIls

This sense of accomplishment carried me into the second-to-last day of production. The entire day was dedicated to the scene where the main character first encounters the Creature. The scene that started it all. We were staring down the barrel of an 8-hour day without much time for breaks; if we weren’t shooting, we were rehearsing, setting up for the next shot, or breaking down the previous one. I expected to be more stressed this day than on any of the others. I had anticipated it for so long. However, I felt more level-headed that day than I had felt on all the other days. I loved moving from shot to shot, setup to setup, as seamlessly as we did. The day ended with another one-shot where the main character meets the Creature for the first time. After 8 hours of work, the most significant part of our film was complete. I returned home well past midnight but felt more accomplished than ever. After three months of intense preparation and six days of shooting later, 80% of my short film was under my belt.

By this time, there was just one day left in our schedule. Approaching the end of production after an entire summer’s worth of work and anticipation was a bittersweet denouement. While I was eager to stop harboring self-doubts, finally get some rest, and generally move on, I also knew I would miss this experience for everything that it was. Sundown was coming to an end, and it was almost time for us to say goodbye.

Sundown: Morning (Day One)

When I awoke on the first morning of production, time felt unreal. It was a Friday, but it felt like a Monday. Day One. The beginning of what I had worked so hard to pull together over the past three months. I stayed up late to ensure everything was in order—printing scripts, shooting schedules, call sheets, everything. Soon, it was time for action.

Aug. 19: Late-night printing scripts. V4 with edits.

On day one, our call time was 9:00am at the Film Centre. Once I arrived, I met with my other leading actor (the adult version of my first actor), convened with my crew, and set prep into motion. Watching everything come together—camera setup, production design, hair and makeup, last-minute rehearsals—I was moving through my disbelief that something I had worked on tirelessly was coming to life. Meeting my actors was the biggest example of this; I loved finally connecting with my cast in person, going over lines, and feeling the energy they would bring their characters. I was not as nervous as I thought I would be stepping into the director role. I had my worries, sure, but I felt a natural ease in addressing everyone on set and commanding attention (in a non-intimidating way), mainly because I was given space to do so by my cast and crew. They trusted me, which was all I could ask for.

Back to reality—we needed to shoot! We began the day about 30 minutes behind schedule after arriving a bit late, so we worked quickly to set up a “therapist office” in the faculty and staff kitchen area. Once it was “all systems go,” pressing the record button, once to roll, once more to cut, was a transition past the point of no return—the first take, evidence that the film now existed in some way. Of course, I was then super particular about redoing the shot multiple times to make it “perfect” (whatever that meant). Already behind schedule, I was encouraged by my crew (particularly my Assistant Director, Mia DeAngelo) to move on, so we did. This scene, which exists about halfway through the film, had many elements: dialogue, multiple angles of said dialogue, lighting challenges, and more. It was the perfect way to test set dynamics and my directing style for the rest of the production.

Aug. 19: Our first scene in the “therapist office.”

After filming this scene, we had a much-needed lunch break while moving locations to shoot the last scene of the day and the movie’s final scene. This scene posed some challenges, considering how crucial it was to look and feel right. Even after messing around with lighting setup, character action, and camera framing, I’m not sure that the scene ended up where it needed to be. The instance of this feeling was, I soon learned, the first of many. Nonetheless, we wrapped in the early evening, saying goodbye to our supporting actress and moving equipment to our following shooting location before dispersing to our homes for the evening. The first night back set a dangerous precedent for production: wake up around 8am, go to set for no less than 8 hours, come home to work on production documents, and attempt sleep at 2am. This was my night, every night, without fail.

On day two, we were at my Assistant Camera’s house to shoot with my main actor at his “adult apartment.” We got to have fun shooting “nighttime” scenes in broad daylight, dirtying up a bedroom, and hiding our sound mixer in the shower for a bathroom scene. I originally planned to be in the space for two days, but I figured we could achieve everything in one very long day. However, we ran over schedule. I had to decide whether to keep people past wrap time for an hour or more or make sacrifices. Ultimately, I cut a relatively insignificant scene from the film, allowing us to finish on time.

Aug. 20: Day two, location two; bathroom of “adult apartment.”

With the extra day in our schedule, I held a production meeting with my crew to discuss plans for one of the most crucial scenes in the film: the climax, Scene 20. How painfully ironic that the climax of my film was the height of my experience on set-- for all the wrong reasons. First and foremost, this was the busiest day on set. Nearly all my cast and crew were present, totaling about 21 people on set throughout the day reporting to me. Second, this scene essentially functions as a set piece, requiring a lot of blocking and equipment prep beforehand. Even after 2 hours of rehearsal and my crew put in their best efforts to creatively light and shoot the scene, I came away from it feeling utterly defeated. I felt a painful shame as most of my cast and crew watched me fail to extract the performance I wanted. The imposter syndrome I had worked hard to stave off in the middle of the summer rushed back in the worst way.

Aug. 21: A camera/dolly blocking diagram for Scene 20.

Half of the film had been shot at this point, and I was disappointed with the most significant part of it. This was the culmination of my biggest failure in approaching Sundown: inadequate preparation. Even then, I’m not convinced that the failure wasn’t due in part to an unclear story, reflecting deeper insecurities about my project. Returning home, I felt a greater shame as I returned to my destructive routine of finalizing production documents the night before we shot. I spiraled into an identity crisis, ending my night seriously reevaluating my future in the film industry. This was my lowest point during production. However, I had no choice but to continue. As long as my cast and crew still trusted me to direct, I knew I had the support I needed to see the project through thick and thin. It was all I needed.

The Mountain in the Sea: Park Chan-wook’s Decision to Leave (2022)

Numerous flashlights are detecting different directions from the bottom of a mountain. Then, it cuts to an ariel wide shot of an old man’s dead body in the middle of the frame. He lies upside down on a giant rock, like a floating dead fish in the ocean; none of his belongings are around him; even though he only takes a small portion of the frame, his red hiking outfit makes him eye-catching among the police officers and forensics in uniforms. The unnaturalness of his death and this unpleasing ariel shot of a body open Park Chan-wook’s film, Decision to Leave (2022), which is about love and death in relation to mountains and sea.

 

The dead man is the main character Seo-rae’s husband, and detective Hae-jun is investigating the case. As a physically attractive young Chinese woman who moved to Korea because of the murder of her mother, Seo-rae undoubtedly becomes the primary suspect, and she is the murderer of her husband indeed. When Hae-jun questions her in the interrogation room, the camera catches them from the side. Their bodies and reflections in the mirror equally split the screen, and their heights match almost perfectly. Albeit it is the first encounter between a detective and a suspect, a man and a woman, their power dynamic is stable and balanced. Before Seo-rae speaks, the focus is on both of their bodies, blurring their reflections in the mirror. Once she quotes the Chinese philosopher Confucius’s saying that “the benevolent likes the mountain, and the wise likes the water. I’m not the benevolent. I like the sea,” the focus is on Seo-rae’s body and Hae-jun’s reflection in the mirror, forming a perfect symmetrical mix of reality and duality. The cinematography suggests Hae-jun’s hidden desire for risk, death, and danger is projected in the mirror, while Seo-rae explicitly displays her dangerousness to seduce him. Seo-rae’s honesty about her wisdom and brutality instead of pretending to be an innocent and benevolent woman through her quote also draws Hae-jun’s attention. Then, the camera racks focus on Seo-rae’s reflection in the mirror and Hae-jun’s body in reality. The change in focus seems like separating them, but indeed suggesting their hidden link is like how the water reflects the mountain and projects a distorted image. In the confined interrogation room, their dualities are like twins, echoing their similarities and building this fated but unjustified love.

 

Seo-rae’s hate for mountains is also because of its connection to death. Seo-rae’s mother insisted on having her bone ashes sprayed from a mountain before Seo-rae killed her husband from the mountain. And even though Hae-jun has already discovered the truth, he still risks meeting her at a mountain cliff. Like the flashlights detecting Seo-rae’s husband’s body at the beginning, Seo-rae wears a head flashlight and adjusts the light directly targeting Hae-jun. In the dark, Seo-rae’s head flashlight is the only light source on the screen, examining the surroundings and Hae-jun, like the predator locating its prey. Then, Seo-rae turns the light to the cliff, directing Hae-jun to walk to the cliff's edge to spray her mother’s bone ash. The scene is silent except for Seo-rae’s footsteps and Hae-jun’s accelerating breaths. A hand-held camera approaches Hae-jun from the back, shaking, tilting, speeding up, and cuts to a shot facing Hae-jun with the sound of two bodies crashing together. The cinematography makes it doubtless to suspect Seo-rae pushing Hae-jun off the cliff, but it turns out to be a back hug. Hae-jun’s reaction of closing his eyes, pausing his action, and breathing heavily when Seo-rae approaches demonstrate the twist from Seo-rae’s evilness to love is also unexpected to him. The reversed behaviors of a detective and a suspect present their vulnerabilities in love. The mountain of death becomes where Seo-rae’s mother’s body returns, and Seo-rae’s love settles.

 

However, Seo-rae suicides in the end as she can’t break up with Hae-jun nor make Hea-jun cover her crime. She stands in a sand hole with only her head above the ground, drinking a bottle of alcohol. Behind her is a pile of sand, forming the shape of a mountain. The camera pushes back, revealing the ebb that fills up the hole with the sand that buries her. We can only hear the wave hitting the sand, meshing the sea and the mountain, gradually wiping away the trace of her existence.

 

A mountain is formed by sand and rock that build up together in a tangible way, while the sea is a flow of water that takes away the remnants and hides the dirt that is not displayed above the ground. As a murderer, Seo-rae is unpredictable and mysterious as the sea; but after discovering her love for Hae-jun, the mountain builds up more emotions. Unlike her husband’s striking death from the mountain, Seo-rae kills herself unnoticeably in the sea. She makes herself a part of the mountain buried in the sea, accepting the inseparable nature of the mountain and sea, just like acknowledging the co-existence of love and death in her life. Seo-rae makes the decision to leave by returning to the mountain in the sea and letting her wise to build her benevolent back.

 

Humans are Grey: Park Hoon-jung's New World

Imagine yourself being the closest person to one of the potential successors of the chairman in the largest prorate crime syndicate. When the chairman accidentally dies, your superior fully trusts you to oversee the gang when he is absent for other businesses; however, the policeman threatens you to share internal information about the gangsters. Whose side would you choose?

But what if you are actually an undercover policeman?

The film New World (2013, dir. Park Hoon-jung) presents this dilemma of loyalty that the protagonist, Lee Ja-sung, faces in the eighth year of his undercover in the Goldmoon International crime syndicate. Ja-sung thrives in the gang and expects the police chief Kang to end his mission, but Kang rejects and threatens him with his pregnant wife and his true identity, leading to Ja-sung’s betrayal – killing Kang and becoming the new chairman of the crime syndicate. While the film is not about the battle between justice and crime, but the discovery of loyalty in the grey area that is shifting between black and white.

Ja-sung’s loyalty to his job as an undercover is unquestionable before his betrayal. Killing people for Jung and conducting crimes are both physically and mentally challenging. He has to risk his life every day dealing with the gangsters, doing things that violate all his moral standards as a policeman. More importantly, he has to hide his identity from everyone he knows in the crime syndicate. Although Ja-sung makes such sacrifices, Kang uses Ja-sung’s wife and plants other undercovers in Goldmoon to watch Ja-sung's every action. Not to mention that whenever the police department gains information from him during his go-game lessons, they only ask him questions without sharing any plans from the police side. This forms a great metaphor that Ja-sung seems to be one of the players in this game; however, he is nothing but an insignificant chessman in the battle between the black and white. Ja-sung is isolated from both sides of his world to complete his mission as an undercover, which requires tremendous faith to sustain a torn life like this for eight years. Albeit it is understandable from the police’s perspective to secure their plan, they forget that before Ja-sung becomes a policeman or a gangster, he is a human who needs emotional support instead of a negligible chessman doomed to be either black or white. The audience would not blame Ja-sung for betraying the law because it is the police department that ignores and exploits his loyalty first.

Ja-sung’s loyalty to his superior, Jung Chung, is more complicated. Getting Jung’s trust is the most important part of his mission, so he has to act his loyalty from the moment he meets Jung deliberately. Whenever they meet Jung’s opponent in Goldmoon, Lee Joong-gu, Ja-sung never bows as other members do to show his disrespect. It seems like an insignificant action, but it requires a strong determination that Ja-sung will never be against Jung’s side in the gang because he is purposefully building a boundary and provoking Jung’s opponent. But not every action can be faked. When Joong-gu tries to scare Jung by almost hitting Jung with a car, Ja-sung stands in front of Jung to protect him without hesitation. Within the second that a car is rushing towards you, it is not the brain that evaluates the situation and makes an action, but your instinct instead, and nobody’s subconscious is born protecting others first. As time passes, his acted loyalty becomes a reality.

But why? Why would an undercover, who is supposed to hate all the dirt and crime, have such a strong attachment to a gangster? The reason might be indeed simple – loyalty is two-sided. Unlike Kang’s constant suspicion, Jung always calls Ja-sung “brother,” and he never uses violence nor threatens Ja-sung. They build a bromance over the eight years of fighting against the brutality in the criminal world with each other. Living in a grey area with dividing sides, Ja-sung feels warmth, connection, and company in this dark environment with Jung. And when the world of justice treats him as an opponent, he is being pushed closer to the black side.

It might also be how everyone in Goldmoon prioritizes their internal bonds taught Ja-sung what loyalty is and made him become part of them. When Kang tries to bribe Jung to leak evidence to arrest his opponent Joong-gu, Jung immediately rejects and despises this external source’s intervention. There is no actual benefit to Jung by not accepting Kang’s offer, but it is against what he values the most – the brotherhood code. It is more ironic that what Kang uses to trade with Jung is a list of undercovers that will doubtlessly be killed by Jung once revealed.

As we are all human beings instead of chessmen that could be either black or white, we constantly shift in the spectrum of different shades of grey. After Jung’s death, he kills everyone who used to stand in Jung’s way to continue the code of brotherhood and takes Jung's position. Although he betrayed Jung as an undercover in the past and betrays his job as a policeman, he finishes his journey of discovering his need for emotional connections as a human and starts to be loyal to himself.

Sundown: August Whirlwinds

Once the first week of August hit, I was on 100. The work necessary to push us to the next stage included finalizing the cast, holding rehearsals, gathering production design materials, confirming locations, scheduling equipment rentals, and much, much more. Days felt like months leading up to the first day of production, given how much needed to be accomplished in the final days before we shot.

In the second week of August, I went shopping with my Production Designer, Elaine Lu Qu. In prepping for our trip, we went through each scene of the film and pulled out necessary props, costume pieces, and other set dressing elements. We went to Savers (thrift store), Walmart, and Home Depot for items like picture frames for family photos, sticker paper for custom prescription pills, and a wooden dowel for a melee weapon (that we never ended up using). Outside of our shopping trip, I worked on sourcing a prop gun for my Adult Mikey character. Luckily, Brian Song referred me to a local prop armament store that was extremely helpful in delivering a safe, affordable handgun on time.

Aug. 11 - PD shopping at Savers with Elaine, looking for books to fill a therapist's office.

The last five days were the most crucial in pulling everything together. Once I moved back to the city on the 14th, nearly everything that was not Sundown-related was evicted from my consciousness. In between unpacking and various store runs, nearly every moment of that week was spent prepping like mad. The first night in my apartment was spent rushing back from Target to direct a two-hour Zoom rehearsal with nearly all my actors, one of the last before we moved to shoot starting the 19th. We went over some near-final script changes, mainly just small edits to the dialogue, including changes to phrasing and clarifying how lines should be delivered.

In this rehearsal and in prior ones, seeing and hearing the story that I wrote come to life through early performances were surrealistic moments. I always emphasize how Sundown is not just “my” film— it carries with it the creative input of nearly everyone in my cast and on my crew. Watching my actors perform my story, turning it into our story, was when this sentiment felt real. Despite how exhausted I was on a personal and creative level, I always felt a budding sense of accomplishment after each rehearsal. That night, I prepared for what I knew would be another long day of preparation.

The next day, I went to my grandmother’s apartment with my mother and my brother to prep and dress the space before we shot there later the next week. Her space is small, so I wanted to be sure things were set up before I invited my cast and crew in for four days. More importantly, prep involved us getting rid of a China closet that was partially blocking the hallway I wanted to film in. Prepping her space was an all-day affair, but the next day promised some respite.

Aug. 15 - Goodbye China closet, you won't be missed.

Later that week, I went with my Key Hair and Makeup Artist, Abby Cloud, to go cosmetics shopping at CVS. I had sent out a survey to my cast, and most of my actors had their own makeup, but we bought more just in case. In the last few days before the shoot, I returned home to bring a wagon full of props and craft service snacks to my apartment. At that point, my bedroom became a storage closet for my film instead of being a functional living space, but I convinced myself that I didn’t mind.

Aug. 17 - Abby Cloud with me at CVS looking for foundation for our actors.

At this point, all our prep led to the final day before we shot, the end of the beginning. That morning, I met with Adam Rodgers to get some last-minute notes on my script (per a suggestion from Studio North). I was so, so very anxious going into our meeting. All of me felt terrible for burdening Adam last minute with a request for notes, but the meeting went better than I thought it would. With that done, I went later in the day to hold an officially unofficial prep day. I had also originally planned to spread equipment pick-up and prep over two days, but due to actor availability, I had to condense the two into one day. Luckily, my camera and lighting crew were flexible enough to be able to accommodate the change. Isabel, Christian, Elaine, and Chime accompanied me throughout the day while we picked up equipment, tested everything out, and visited all our filming locations for the week. Trusting in their expertise, we ended the day by leaving my grandmother’s house (which felt like two of my worlds colliding in ways I never thought they would).

Aug. 18 - Isabel testing out a fisheye lens (Hi Chime!); sad we never used it.

With cast, crew, locations, equipment, craft services, and more all set, there was one thing left to get in order: me. During the final week before filming, I had a one-track mind, a singular train of thought that never stopped to consider proper mental and physical health. While preparations were productive, they also came with mountains of stress. At this time, I realized I still didn’t know how to delegate tasks, especially those that seemed too cumbersome or burdening properly. I also tend to do most things myself out of fear of pushing my disorganization onto others, which led to me taking on many producer-specific roles. Sourcing snacks for craft services, making the shot list and shooting schedule, and creating call sheets every day was all too much, which I learned by the end of the shoot. I ended the last prep day with a mix of anxiety, excitement, sleep deprivation, and the hopes that everything for Sundown would go according to plan come sunrise.

The Price of Money: Boon Joon-ho's Barking Dogs Never Bite

A quote says, “there are some things that money can’t buy, like manners, morals, and integrity.” But will the opposite work? Can we “buy” money by giving up morals?

Boon Joon-ho’s film Barking Dogs Never Bite (2000) explores this possibility by telling the story of an aspiring college professor, Ko Yun-ju, who struggles with his career and life. The film’s first shot is Yun-ju appreciating the nature view that his cheap apartment faces. He is unemployed because he despises the behavior of bribing the dean with $100,000 to get the professor’s position. Nevertheless, as a man with ambition and is desperate to prove himself in the society, this shortcut is undoubtedly appealing. When Yun-ju is torn between borrowing money to bribe the dean and keeping his meritoriousness, the barking dog that disturbs him whenever he thinks about his career path becomes the only issue he can control himself. Hence, he kills the dog – which does no harm but bark – to demonstrate that there is something in his life that he can make an immediate decision about and take action to achieve his goal. This is the first time Yun-ju gives up his morals to escape his incapability to fight the corrupted world. Yun-ju carries the vicious cycle of determining others’ life and death, just as what he experienced in the society.

Yun-ju eventually bribes the dean and gets his dream job. He gives up his morals and obtains the position. The film ends with him fading into darkness when his student covers the view of nature outside the window with the curtains before class. The nature outside becomes a luxury that Yun-ju can’t afford anymore as he used to have every day. Yun-ju shows that you can buy money with morals, but your freedom is an additional inevitable price. It is also ironic that the position Yun-ju commits in this dirty transaction is a college professor, who is supposed to represent and enforce social order and justice.

However, if we consider Yun-ju’s life from a realistic perspective, he has a job that can make more money to provide a higher living standard for his family. He won’t be ordered by his wife anymore but have her respect instead. More importantly, his social status as a college professor will also satisfy society’s expectations on males and solve his anxiety as a home husband. Isn’t this a win?

The film also presents the tradeoff between human’s desire for money and morality with other characters. Hyun-nam, the bookkeeper and custodian of the apartment that Yun-ju lives in, experiences the opposite situation. Although she has a stable job, she is unsatisfied with her life as she dreams about getting famous by being on television. Therefore, the story of the missing dogs excites her with the possibility of being a hero in the neighborhood. Hyun-nam’s dissatisfaction with her ordinary career leads to her desire for surprise and freedom in life. She represents the impossibility of people buying emotional achievements with money and shows the jejune lifestyle that people without money dream of. Eventually, she loses her job as she is not focusing on her work. When Yun-ju loses joy after he sacrifices his freedom for the job, Hyun-nam can go hiking with her friend, which she dreamed about when she was working. But again, if we take a step back, Hyun-nam’s freedom is only temporary. She cannot sustain her life without a job and has to give her freedom back in exchange for the money.

The homeless, who eats the dogs in the neighborhood, is another character Boon shows the conflicting costs and benefits of life. For the homeless, ethics is a luxury idea to consider. All that matters is being able to survive. By eating the dogs and secretly living in the apartment’s basement, which the vast majority find immoral, the homeless can have a great meal with meat and a safe place to live. Food and housing are the top priorities that people would buy when they have money. But when money is a scarcity, freedom, danger, and dignity are nothing but his only asset to trade for a higher quality of life. Although he ends up being caught, he explicitly says he is excited about his life in jail as he won’t worry about food and house anymore. The homeless carries the fundamental concern about which way to trade money and freedom is more beneficial and pushes the audience to think if keeping a moral standard is indeed helpful in a desperate life.

Boon made the film when he was 30, and this is his first feature film. The conflicting and torn perspective towards using unjustified ways to achieve one’s goals is also a display of Boon’s struggle with exploring justice in the world at that age. Boon shows compassion when criticizing the characters’ decisions, leaving it to us to judge if they have made a better deal between money and freedom.

When the world is dark, should we light up a fire, or should we just close our eyes and sink into part of the darkness? And when the immoral darkness is monetarily beneficial, should we accept it? Are we making the social codes and moral standards the lights or another unseen trap in the darkness?

Sundown: Quiet Before the Storm (July)

Nowhere to go but up.

Coming off the tails of June, I dove into the rest of the necessary preparation work for Sundown. I knew I had to be efficient and purposeful with how I spent the remaining days of my summer before we shot, and time was fading fast. Much of what was left to do should have been started, if not completed, the month prior. This included— but was in no way limited to— creating a shot list, another round of script revisions, figuring out funding, holding preliminary conversations with my camera and lighting team, and above all else, casting.

In keeping with the theme of “things-that-should-have-been-done-in-June-but-weren’t,” I worked with John and Aarushi to set up casting through Backstage as quickly as we could. For Sundown (V3), I was able to get the number of characters reduced from 11 characters to 6, which I still thought was a bit much for the caliber of my production. Furthermore, with the story I wanted to tell, I had no idea how difficult (or easy?) it would be to find a talented, available, predominantly Black cast for an unpaid student short film in just a month. There was only one way to know, and we moved to find our answer when we launched on July 6.

July 2022 - A snippet of the Backstage casting page.

We actually received our first submission for one of our leads, “Adult Mikey,” the same day we launched our listing. It took me a few days to figure out how Backstage’s notification system worked, so I ultimately didn’t see it until a few days later. But still, so exciting! This eased my doubts about the feasibility of the task of casting I laid out for myself However, my enthusiasm was undercut by the issue of needing the applicants to fit the creative and logistical needs of Sundown. Over the next four or five weeks that the casting page would be open, we sifted through 18 total applications, of which we casted 3 out of our 6 roles. In late July, we posted an open call to our Instagram which procured our fourth role of the “Therapist.” We held 6 callback virtual auditions throughout the month, making sure to ask questions about experience, logistics, and other pertinent information necessary should they be on set. The other two cast members came from personal connections: one family member of mine, and a Hopkins professor (reveal to come in a future entry!).

July 2022 - Redacted audition notes about a few of the actors that came through Backstage.

Casting non-Hopkins students, and really, casting anyone in the far periphery of my immediate circle was a huge source of anxiety for me. Learning how to communicate with working actors, moving through the audition process, ultimately rejecting applicants— it was a daunting prospect for someone who is very sensitive about nearly every one of my interpersonal interactions. Am I making this actor uncomfortable? Am I being too incessant with my emails and messages? Does my actor secretly hate me? These were feelings that would ebb and flow over the next few weeks and into August as I prepared to execute the role and responsibilities of a director. Regardless, I trusted in the process (and myself) and moved forward. By early August, we had cast (and confirmed availability) with all six of our actors.

The next pertinent thing to accomplish was establishing a plan of action for camera and lighting. I only worked on the script revisions for the next version (V4) later in the month, but I wanted to create a storyboard for parts of the story that I knew would stay the same. I met twice with my Director of Photography, Sophia Lin, and my 1st Assistant Camera, Isabel Salas, trudging through the script for hours to draft a storyboard. It was important that I rope them in for this process since I wanted their vision and creative expertise to inform the visual language of the film. Collectively, we came up with a few ideas for shots that I was very excited to execute in the coming weeks. I sent the storyboard to my grip and electric team (Chime Nwogu and Christian Reidy, respectively) to get them thinking about any equipment necessary to pull off certain shots. Towards the end of the month, I implemented the last round of script revisions to create a near-final version of the script, which included some much-needed edits. After talking with my camera and lighting crew, initiating casting, and generally spending more time on the project as compared to June, I felt much better about the possibility of Sundown.

July 2022 - Working on script revisions and the storyboard while on a plane back home from Indiana.

There was still one last thing to do: figure out crowdfunding. The issue of creating a “compelling, well-written, unbelievably beautiful promo video” still stood. Looking at the time and resources I had, I made the decision to postpone the fundraising launch until post-production. This meant that I needed to secure more private funding, which I was thankfully able to do without much issue. With the main elements of pre-production set into motion, we were on our way to be prepared for our August 19 start date.

July ended on a much better note than June as my confidence in the project—and myself— had been somewhat restored. Despite being constantly ping-ponged between work and my internship, I wanted to put my all into Sundown for the rest of the time I had left. This month presented personal and technical challenges as I explored uncharted territories with casting, budgeting, and general preparation for a short film. I knew that I was in for more challenges and surprises (both pleasant and less-than-so) in the weeks to come. Nonetheless, I had full faith in my cast and crew and we moved forward into August with a plan of action and the will to make it happen.

What Does the Helper Need? Park Chan-Wook’s Lady Vengeance

Why do we help others?

To feel happy? To feel needed? To fulfill a certain responsibility? To ease guilt? Or out of self-interest?

These are questions explored in Park Chan-Wook’s 2005 Lady Vengeance.

The main character, Geum-ja has been imprisoned for 13 years after a wrongful conviction for the murder of a 6 year-old-boy. In fact, she was manipulated into a confession by the villainous Mr. Baek, who kidnapped and threatened her infant daughter. Baek has kidnapped many children from many families for ransom, and Geum-ja helped him kidnapping the boy so that Baek would help her and her daughter without knowing that Baek will ultimately murder the boy.

The direct translation of the title is actually “The Kind-hearted Geum-ja,” and indeed Geum-ja acts like an angel in prison and helps almost everyone selflessly. But Geum-ja kindness is not without reason. Everyone she helps is essential to her revenge, and her kindness in prison is what convinced other prisoners to help her.

In fact, Geum-ja doesn’t hide her dark side. Once she is released, she even purposefully reveals herself as evil. Korean has a tradition of giving the released prisoner a piece of tofu as a symbol of starting a new life that is pure and innocent as the color of the tofu. However, Geum-ja throws away the tofu in front of a group of people when she is released, ignoring, and even confronting this suggestion of guiltlessness. She also starts putting on blood-red eye shadow and wearing all-black outfits. Most importantly, the angel who used to smile at all criminals never smiles again once she gets out of prison. She is desperate to show everyone, and herself, that all her kindness is out of purpose, and now it is her time to achieve that only goal. Geum-ja completely wipes away her innocence and even loathes her past kindness. Because only doing so can this young and attractive woman be determined to fight a murderer. Geum-ja must hide any compassion she has to convince herself that she is stronger and more brutal than Baek to conduct her revenge. As human beings are conflicting figures, the best way to disguise our intentions is to present the opposite side, just as the revenge-motivated angel in prison and the desperate evil outside that Geum-ja shows.

Her conflicting mentality is also shown by how she separates herself from the rest of the people involved in her plan. She makes her revenge like a ritual event where she is the goddess who controls everything without being an actual part of it. Geum-ja gathers all the families of Baek’s victims and asks them to kill Baek together. In contrast, she doesn’t even touch Baek during the entire murder process. More dramatically, Geum-ja provides identical raincoats for all the victims’ families to prevent getting blood on their bodies. With all the families sitting together in the raincoats, it looks like a uniform that unifies them and creates the bond of their shared crime. She then takes a group picture with all the families in the raincoat, with blood on their bodies, and brings everyone to a celebration with her hand-made black cake to keep enforcing the bond between the families. Again, she doesn’t eat that cake, but makes herself a white one in the same shape of the tofu and throws her face into the cake at the end. As if immersing herself in that cake can wash her soul and cleans her guilt, and she can cover her darkness displaying outside. It is Geum-ja’s revenge, but she makes it seem like she is helping the families to avenge instead of for her personal hatred. Through this, Geum-ja can get herself out of the cycle of revenge and eliminate her guilt.

Geum-ja is not the only one who “fakes” kindness. The priest, who encourages Geum-ja the entire time she is in prison and gives the tofu to Geum-ja, is indeed following Baek’s order to keep an eye on Geum-ja in case she avenges. Typically, we judge the priest’s betrayal behavior immediately as he pretends to be a “good person.” But here, the priest is doing the same thing as Geum-ja, the protagonist whom we are directed to support, and it becomes a moral dilemma that we can’t tell who is doing the “right thing” or if there really is anyone who is doing the right thing.

To me, the film is definitely not portraying Geum-ja as an innocent figure, nor making anyone in her an absolute demon. Geum-ja conducted the kidnap in exchange of receiving help from Baek when she was pregnant, and she also murdered someone to help a prisoner whom she knows that she will need her help to revenge. She selfishly helps people but kills Baek morally. The conflicting behaviors we see from her are just an unspoken consensus that people all act for self-benefits, whether we are being conscious about it or not. This invisible cost-benefit analysis leads to whether we display ourselves as a kind-hearted evil or a brutal victim.

If there is no pure angel nor ultimate devil, what does the helper actually want?

To feel the kindness in their heart, or plan to receive help in the future?

 

Sundown: Late May and the Chronicles of June

Pre-production for Sundown began in late May, a few weeks after the Spring semester ended. Looking ahead towards the summer, I had an internship, a part-time job, and a production for a short film lined up, so I knew I had to be efficient with my time. Before I left campus for the summer, I was able to get a head start on location scouting, visiting my then-Script Supervisor, Isabel Salas’ apartment. I learned a few things about location scouting, such as needing to note the location and quantity of outlets and windows, among other things. Isabel graciously allowed me to use their apartment during production, which was one of three locations successfully secured.

Once I got back home, I moved to build a concrete schedule for the entire summer. I held my first production meeting with my producer, John D’cruz on May 25. That same day, I got a fun little curveball thrown my way when my previous Assistant Camera emailed me notifying me that she would be transferring to Columbia in the Fall (now Harvard). Isabel then became my AC and everything was fine again. Before the month ended, I wanted a clear plan on how the rest of the summer was supposed to go. We began with creating a timeline that marked a plan for script revisions, crowdfunding, marketing, location scouting, casting, and ultimately, shooting.

However, plans are made to be changed, right?

Sticking to the plan was going well, that is, until we hit June. Before things went south, I was able to scratch a few things off the list, like sending in my second revision to Studio North, having pared the script down to a more manageable 13 pages. The much-needed Sundown (V3) finally existed and ultimately became the script I worked from for the rest of summer. That same day, I visited my grandmother’s apartment in Baltimore to location scout. Thankfully, she agreed to us using her apartment, so that was two out of three locations secured. I figured the rest of the locations could be created within the walls of the Film Centre (I was right, and this is what we did).

June 2022 - Location scouting, specifically, my main character's childhood home. The china closet needed to go (and it did!)

But back to plans changing and June being problematic. June was slated to be the heaviest month in terms of pre-production. The first task was to draft a script for and shoot the promotional video for the Seed and Spark crowdfunding platform. All I needed to do was create a compelling, well-written, unbelievably beautiful promo video and convince everyone I knew to donate to our project. Easy, right? Well, it could have been, but I became so paralyzed by my fear of failure that I fell down the rabbit hole of self-sabotage. The plan I had for my promo video quickly fell to bits.

Ideally, I would have cast a friend, shot footage that emulated the story, recorded a talking-head video talking about the film, edited it together, and moved on. However, being away from Baltimore (and everyone else I knew also being away from Baltimore) made it harder for my idea to become reality. Or, should I say, I thought it would make it harder. After watching so many other Seed & Spark videos, I convinced myself that there was no way I could create anything good in time and failed to do what was necessary to create a quality video.

May 2022 - Me attempting to shoot footage for the promo video. Not what I had in mind, and it was ultimately scrapped.

Issues with the video provoked more doubts about my project in general. Even writing the script for the video, I ran into challenges discussed elements of the story I still wasn’t sure of. I usually avoid moving forward on projects when all the details crystal clear; I couldn’t afford to do that with Sundown. The timeline I created forced me to keep moving—for better or for worse. This is when my self-doubt and inevitable burnout started to peak. Working 6/7 days per week and planning Sundown at the same time was emotionally draining. I asked myself “is this really going to happen?” nearly every day. My early summer burnout, mixed with a fear of failure and a splash of inexperience created a perfect self-sabotage cocktail. There’s a universe that exists where June 2022 was super productive and fulfilling for me. This isn’t that universe.

Pulling myself back to reality, I knew Sundown had to happen. Yes, because I made a commitment to Studio North, but mostly because I made a commitment to myself. I learned that had to lean on my crew members for external support since my well of internal motivation was running dry. John became my right-hand man and my biggest source of support in the early stages of the project. Aarushi Krishnan joined us as a co-producer early in the month, which I was extremely grateful for.

June 2022 - Aarushi joins 'Sundown' and I had more shoulders to cry on :)

June wasn’t a complete bust. We did set up the Seed & Spark project page without the video, highlighting the story, the crew, and some incentives for donation. June 6, we posted our first post to the Sundown Instagram, created by Nikki Ucheya, which received such positive feedback.

May/June 2022 - Our first marketing meeting and our first Instagram post. I was so overwhelmed with love.

June forced me to confront my deep-set insecurities about Sundown and about my abilities as a filmmaker in general. I am endlessly thankful for everyone I worked with in the early stages of Sundown. I (and my project) survived June, but the month was a lesson in knowing when to reach out for support. The month ended with us moving closer to casting, final script revisions, and of course, shooting. July threatened its own challenges, but after hitting the rock bottom in June, I had nowhere to go but up.

Can we manipulate who we actually hate, and who we truly love?

Oldboy (2003), is a South Korean neo-noir film directed by Park Chan-wook. The film starts with the main character, Oh Dae-su, being kidnapped on his daughter’s birthday and locked in a sealed hotel room for 15 years. It is undoubtedly that the story develops with Oh’s avenge of the person who kidnapped him, but the film is indeed more about love.  

While the film is shot from Oh’s perspective, I would like to interpret the love and hatred of the antagonist, Lee woo-jin’s view. Lee fell in love with his sister, and Oh accidentally saw their incest in their high school. After Oh told the story to his friends, rumors spread out in their neighborhood and eventually led to Lee’s sister’s suicide. As bystanders, we recognize his sister’s death as the tragedy of the judgment from society towards incest. However, for Lee, Oh is the only specific person he could possibly blame, especially deep inside his mind, he knows that his cowardess and weakness to protect the forbidden love is another determinant of his sister’s suicide. Lee’s sister’s photos are all over Lee’s wall in his penthouse, but outside his house, he almost never committed his love for her to anyone. Lee’s sister is his most valuable treasure but his deepest secret. The beginning of Lee’s hatred of Oh is the only solution that Lee could think of to make justice for his existence after his sister’s death. Lee can’t manipulate the world to accept their love, but at least he can manipulate Oh.

Therefore, Lee uses hypnosis to set Oh to fall in love with his daughter, Mi-do, after he is set free from the cell. For Lee, letting Oh experience incest is the best way to revenge and torture him. Nevertheless, at the climax of the film, when Lee reveals that Mi-do is Oh’s daughter, Lee doesn’t gain the excitement he has been expecting for 15 years. To prevent Lee from telling Mi-do the truth, Oh knees down and licks Lee’s shoes, begging him like a dog. Eventually, Oh uses the scissors to cut his tongue, using this extreme way to punish himself for saying Lee’s incest, even though it was supposed to be the moment that Oh avenges Lee for the 15 years of torture he had been through. Both of them know that Lee has complete control over Oh, but Oh’s desperate reaction to keep the secret convinces Lee of his love for Mi-do and also arouses Lee’s compunction for letting his sister suicided. His hatred becomes the respect he has for the man who is now experiencing the same torn for loving his blood family, and Oh’s valor to protect Mi-do is what Lee wished he could have had. While in terms of the mise-en-scene, the intense violence and distorting bloodiness in this sequence were disturbing to watch at first, while it also functions as a way to contradict the dirty world and pure love. No matter how much blood they get, there is a place in their heart that needs to be kept absolutely clean.

The love between the immediate blood family in the film is controversial, and we never know if the love between Oh and Mi-do is because of manipulation or not. But if we think about this, the concept of “incest” is also the product of social restraint, a cage that human beings build for ourselves. And when this uncontrollable feeling appears as how it is, shall we embrace it, forget it, or destroy it? Should we manipulate our minds and fight against the world to protect the purity of our love, like how Oh chooses to get hypnotized again and forget that Mi-do is his daughter? Or should we give up on our lives like Lee and his sister and try reaching another world where there are no interruptions from outside?

Instead of searching for the answer to who we love, it might be easier to just accept the feelings we have and do our best to protect this uncontrollable feeling that almost every human being has.

Sundown: A New Dawn (Beginnings)

Where do I begin talking about this project? Almost a year after its conception, I sit here reflecting on the journey of bringing my “coming of age thriller,” Sundown, to life. I’ll begin at the very beginning, eleven months ago when I wrote the pitch for my script.

 

October 2021 - Early October, when all 'Sundown' meant was the time of day. Little did I know what a turbulent semester this would be, so this is a moment of blissful ignorance, enjoying Hoptoberfest.

 

Fall 2021, the start of my sophomore year, I took Introduction to Screenwriting where I spent most of the term revising a script I grew to dislike by the end of the course. However, our final assignment was to write a new three-to-five-page script. In thinking about what to write, I searched for themes that attracted me. I thought back to a few months prior when I created a pitch for a five-page, no-dialogue film for Studio North’s production committee. In October, the committee was preparing to choose a short film to produce that semester, and I had yet to think of anything to pitch.

Around that time, my Intro class read the first few pages of Jordan Peele’s Us (2019) and I then decided to watch the full movie on Halloween. I resonated with the underlying theme of childhood trauma executed with a predominantly Black cast. Additionally, I thought about what kind of story works well with highly visual, extremely short formats. I needed a compelling exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, resolution— all within five pages. With these elements put together, I settled on a thriller about a kid from Baltimore who experiences childhood trauma after he disobeys his mother one night. Intro Sundown.

 

October 2021 - Initial (and very messy) notes about the story in preparation for Studio North's production committee pitch session. Note the 4:21am edit time.

Writing the origin of the trauma and attempting to inject a semblance of Peele-esque cultural significance into my story, I thought about the phenomenon of “sundown towns” in America. The title alludes to the existence of towns and neighborhoods in the United States that implemented de facto segregation, using signage to usher people of color out of the town after sunset. While the story grew to abandon the idea of racial-based trauma, I enjoyed using “sundown” as a foundation to explore a story about a Black teenager who endures a unique trauma after staying out past sunset. This is where my main character, Mikey, comes in, and where the story of Sundown falls into place.

October-December 2021 - Cover slide for my 'Sundown' pitch deck. Excerpt from an early draft of 'Sundown.' So many lines to be cut in future revisions.

Though the production committee did not vote for my pitch, I decided to revisit Sundown for my final Intro assignment. I had only created a pitch for the committee, so I moved to write my first draft of Sundown in December. While writing the first draft, I had the idea to incorporate a time jump at the end. After Mikey disobeys his mother and gets caught by a “creature” after sundown, we see him ten years later, severely impacted by his childhood trauma. Though this pushed me slightly over the page limit, I was adamant that the reader (and eventually, the audience) should see the lasting impacts of Mikey’s childhood trauma on his mental health. Feeling confident in this addition, and tired after a long week of finals, I submitted Sundown the night of December 21.

December 2021 - The night I submitted 'Sundown' for my Intro to Screenwriting course; I made a last-minute solo trip to the last night of Christmas Village downtown. My COVID-conscious gloved hand holding a bratwurst. So cold, but so worth it.

After a tumultuous semester, I felt like Sundown was the victory I desperately needed, especially after weeks of working on other writing I had little passion for. In a way, I felt that the turmoil of my personal life catalyzed my decision to write about such a dark premise. I struggled with excess demands of my time, a less-than-comfortable living space, and the regular stress and sadness that comes with being a college student trying to do it all. Thankfully, I was able to channel my feelings into something productive: a story that I wanted to take further than a final assignment in an introductory screenwriting class. 

Our professor, Titus Burrell, encouraged all the Intro students to submit their pieces to the Baltimore Screenwriter’s Competition for the 2022 cycle. I knew I didn’t want to submit my main Intro piece, which I had grown to dislike for various reasons. After a bit of thought, and some (read: a lot of) external pressure from an impending January 21 deadline, I made yet another revision of Sundown, bumping it out from six pages to fifteen pages. With high hope (but low expectations), I submitted Sundown on the final day of the competition, emailing the Baltimore Office of Promotion & The Arts at 8:00am and running downtown to drop off my script at 3:00pm since it was too late for snail mail. It would be another four months before I heard anything from the competition (spoiler: I only made it to the second round, which I am still proud of nonetheless!).

January 2022 - Flyer for the Baltimore Screenwriter's competition.

January 2022 - Results from the Screenwriter's Competition. Baby steps (or something like that)!

In the meantime, another opportunity presented itself: the Studio North 2022-2023 grant cycle. The Studio North grant was something I learned about as a freshman, and I always had prospects of applying to it—during my junior year. I had a lot of trepidation about applying to the grant this year, mainly due to my (perceived) lack of experience and absence of an idea to produce. At this point in time, it’s early April, and I had not thought about Sundown in months during the new semester. Contemplating the possibility of applying for the Studio North grant, I eventually found my way back to Sundown and ultimately wrote another revision for the application. Despite my many anxieties, I took a leap of faith and applied to the grant cycle in early May (after much encouragement from Film and Media friends and faculty). In the face of all my self-doubt, I was one of two students to win this year’s production grant— news I celebrated through more end-of-semester stress and a nagging cold.

May 2022 - The Studio North premiere for the 2020-2021 and 2021-2022 grant cycle films (left to right: Abena Ababio, Ruby Baden, Mary Yan, Ellie Rha, and Brian Song), the day before I pitched 'Sundown,' and two days before I was awarded one of two grants for the 2022-2023 cycle.

This news was as much to my excitement as it was to my chagrin: now, I had to somehow produce a short film. My self-doubts began to creep back in as I looked towards the next year with less-than-positive prospects. However, by this time, I had received coverage notes from the Screenwriter’s Competition, along with pitch notes from the Studio North executive board. Both sets of comments sent me well on my way to beginning a third revision, which I aimed to complete in early June, giving myself approximately one month. Looking at the summer ahead of me, I began to set things in motion to fundraise, cast, and ultimately film Sundown at the end of the summer. With a fast-approaching production timeline and a lot of work to do, I knew I would be dedicated to Sundown as if it were a full-time job. I had much to think about, such as where and how I’ll cast, logistics, budget, art direction, and much, much more. More than anything, I knew I had to trust myself if any of this was going to work, which was the hardest part. Taking yet another leap of faith, I took the first step towards a summer of preparation for my first short film. 

May 2022 - Back home, on a long walk I used to think through my plan for the rest of the summer. I couldn't possibly anticipate the kind of summer I was about to have, but I had my moment of peace before the craziness began.