Director Jo In-hoo asked,
“So, have you done some studying on cult films?”
“I’ve done as much as I could with the time I had. While I can’t claim to have mastered the theory, I’ve watched a lot of films.”
“Same here. I’m no expert on cult films either. Just as commercial films differ from art films, art films differ from cult films.”
A modest statement.
While the gap between commercial films and cult films is enormous,
the gap between art films and cult films is relatively small.
I wasn’t in a position to challenge his knowledge.
So I decided to proceed slowly and explain.
“I don’t believe That House can become a hardcore cult film. Its foundation as a thriller doesn’t change. However, it does need ‘cult elements’ or a ‘cult-like atmosphere.’”
“Hm… We’ll have to skillfully blend in some ‘cult elements’ while following the conventions of traditional thriller films for the rest.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m aiming for. NU isn’t a minor publisher. While it pursues a minor aesthetic, its scale and distribution system already place it among the major publishers. This applies to its audience as well.”
It was something I had explained to Writer Kim Mi-so before.
A majority striving to emulate a minority.
The film needs to satisfy that contradictory desire.
Their preferences are already somewhat “mainstream.”
If we were to create a fully cult film, they might storm out of the theater like Kim Mi-so did.
“That’s quite strategic.”
Director Jo remarked.
I let out a tense sigh.
“I’m hoping it becomes a well-crafted strategy, Director. And I hope it results in a well-made film.”
“Then let’s clarify what we mean by ‘cult.’ What is your definition of it?”
He smiled as he asked, as if looking at a novice filmmaker for the first time.
That expression… it resembled Professor Jo In-chang.
Well, I was a novice.
But when it came to That House, I needed to present my opinion clearly.
“Cult is fundamentally a relative concept. What is mainstream to one person can be niche to another. However, when it comes to ‘cult films,’ they are relatively distinguishable.”
“How so?”
“It’s in the intent of the writer and the director. The intention to create a cult film inevitably manifests in the work—whether through imagery, sound, montage, or mise-en-scène….”
He stared at me intently.
Perhaps what I was saying sounded naive, like a frog in a well.
But from the cult films I had watched over the past week,
one commonality stood out—a strong sense of self-awareness from the creators.
“In that case… at what point should That House aim for cultification?”
“Montage.”
I answered with conviction.
In film, montage refers to the connection between scenes.
For instance, take Scene A and Scene B.
If you arrange and connect them in the order A—B,
a new meaning, C, emerges from that connection.
In other words, C is the meaning born from the A—B montage.
Director Jo was pleased with my answer.
“I agree. Montage is key. That House is a full-length novel, so the connections between scenes must be tightly knit.”
But I had more to add.
An opinion Director Jo might disagree with.
“I don’t want to use traditional montage techniques.”
His eyebrows twitched.
“Then what kind of technique…?”
“I want to show a ‘twisted montage.’”
“A ‘twisted montage’?”
“Yes. I want to deliberately distort the connections between scenes. I’d like the transitions between adjacent scenes to feel disjointed, uncomfortable, and strange. However, the scene far in front and the scene far behind should connect aesthetically.”
The connection between A and B should feel alien.
The connection between A and Z is aesthetically beautiful.
That was the montage I envisioned for That House.
"Why are you trying to create such a montage?"
Director Jo In-hoo asked.
I answered calmly.
"Every form of art must align with its content. A form that is disconnected from its content is merely an act of the artist showing off."
"I agree with that."
"The content of That House is… overall, a narrative of failure. The girl Suji fails at every experiment. After learning the family secret, she runs away. The arrest of her older brother Yang may not even be her own doing, but rather a coincidental revenge facilitated by the social position of the police."
Suji’s arrest of her older brother Yang.
From a distance, it appears to be a class reversal.
But for her personally… it’s actually closer to a coincidence.
What if Yang hadn’t been a murderer?
What if she hadn’t been a police officer?
She would have just kept running away.
"Therefore, the montage in the first half of the film, which depicts this narrative of failure, should feel uncomfortable and meaningless. That’s why I want the scenes to connect in a strange way. It should feel somewhat nonsensical. But when she meets Yang and interrogates him… everything should change."
If the interrogation scene is Z,
Z should connect to A, B, C, D… all the other scenes.
Then a new montage would emerge, such as A—Z, B—Z, C—Z, D—Z...
"The interrogation scene must become the solution to all the previous scenes. As a result, the first half will form a new montage. Then the sense of dissonance will disappear, and the narrative will come together."
Director Jo In-hoo was silent.
He just blinked, staring at me.
And after a long pause, he spoke.
"...Beautiful."
"But I think it can only be realized if you help, Director."
It wasn’t flattery.
It was my honest feeling.
I could talk theory all day,
But making it happen is another issue.
Director Jo In-hoo fell into deep thought.
For someone who had just called it "beautiful," he seemed to have a lot on his mind.
"It's not impossible. It's a concept that fits well with the script of That House. But…"
"But?"
"It will be very difficult. The meaning derived through the montage and the connections in a film… is not something visible. It's something the audience feels."
"...I’m prepared for it."
"Let me put it this way. If you make a thriller that stays true to the story of That House, you’ll create a well-made film. I guarantee it."
I nodded.
He continued, with a serious expression.
"But if you pursue the direction you mentioned, with a cult-like character, it’s a gamble. We might think it’s well made, but the audience might not understand it. Or, even before that, there may not be a production company willing to take the script."
He, too, was prepared for that.
But the term "gamble"...
Isn't it somewhat appealing?
If it goes well… it means a great success.
"I’ll take the gamble."
"...I knew you would."
He smiled quietly and gazed out the window.
The buildings stuck up against the blue sky.
With his eyes slightly squinted, what future was he envisioning?
"...Alright. Let’s do it."
Director Jo In-hoo gave me a task.
He asked me to come up with the overall structure of That House.
"How should the structure be...?"
"However you're comfortable. Just make it something I can recognize."
I didn’t quite get the sense of it.
I didn’t expect such a vague assignment.
But I knew.
This wasn’t the time to complain.
"Alright, understood."
"You’re straightforward, I like that. I’m looking forward to it, too."
He stood up from his seat.
I followed him and stood as well.
Director Jo In-hoo extended his hand toward me.
"Let’s do our best."
I gripped his hand firmly.
"Please guide me well."
Come to think of it, I think I said something similar to Professor Jo In-chang before.
Life is truly mysterious and fascinating.
Seattle, USA.
In the office of film director Jonathan Lansmaier.
Jonathan arrived late at his office.
He yawned and took off his coat, hanging it on a coat rack.
A staff member who had just entered looked at him with concern and said,
“Are you okay? You seem really tired lately.”
“I’m perfectly fine. It’s just that I’ve been watching movies all night.”
He pointed at his bloodshot eyes, as if to prove it.
The staff member smiled, seeming relieved, and left.
“Sigh... If I didn’t have work, my days and nights would be completely reversed.”
Although he had a conscience, so he came into the office every day
when he wasn’t making movies, he was a very lazy person.
His daily routine was basically eating and watching movies.
Right now, he was hesitating in front of the sofa.
‘...I just want to lie down.’
As Jonathan was eyeing the sofa, he noticed something under it.
“What’s this?”
He bent down and picked it up.
A thin blue envelope?
‘A letter? Did it fall while cleaning?’
The envelope bore the logo of Noodle Publishing.
He casually tossed the letter onto the desk.
“I’m not going to look at those publishers’ book promotions.”
And then, he finally collapsed onto the sofa.
“…I’m so sleepy.”
Knock, knock.
At the sound of the knock, Jonathan jumped up quickly.
No matter how much it was a subordinate, it would be embarrassing to be found sprawled out on the sofa like that.
Of course, he had been caught in that position dozens of times already.
The door opened with a click, and the staff member asked,
“Would you like some coffee?”
“I’m fine. Not tired at all. Just going to read this letter.”
He quickly grabbed the letter again.
The staff member left the office with a look that seemed to say “What’s going on?”
Jonathan, almost instinctively, tore open the letter.
He had assumed it was a standard business letter, but the contents were something he hadn’t expected.
— Hello, Director Jonathan. My name is Chris, and I work at Noodle Publishing. I’m African American and a fan of your work. I’m sending you this letter because...
The gist of the letter was this.
There is a novel among Noodle’s new releases that would be perfect for a film adaptation.
However, due to certain reasons, they’ve been unable to find the right director.
Chris was hoping Jonathan would take a look at the book.
Jonathan rubbed his rough jaw.
He received dozens of letters like this every year.
But this one was a little different.
It was the last sentence Chris added that made it stand out.
— The reason I’m sending you this book is that, as a staff member at Noodle and as a Black person living in American society, I believe you’ll understand what I mean when you read the book.
That sentence piqued Jonathan’s interest.
Jonathan examined the letter, even the envelope.
“So what’s the book, then?”
Jonathan smiled wryly in disbelief.
He quickly stood up.
A novel that a Black person living in American society could relate to?
Even if he hadn’t read it, he should at least know the title.
He remembered the gift box his staff had organized recently.
No matter how much he searched, there were no books in it.
‘Then it must be in the business gift box.’
Jonathan stepped out of the office.
He grabbed a random staff member and asked,
“Where’s the business gift box?”
“Um... It should be by the window over there.”
Jonathan went to the window and started rummaging through the gift box.
The staff had carelessly tossed things around.
Maybe someone else had already taken the book.
After searching through the box for a while, Jonathan muttered,
“It’s not here. Well... maybe it’s not meant to be.”
Just as he thought this, his fingers brushed against something hard and angular.
He struggled to pull it out.
It felt like pulling a buried treasure chest from deep underground.
He pulled out a novel.
Jonathan finally read the title aloud.
“That... House...?”