Mu-young Kwon Hyun-sang is a fourth-year film student and a convenience store clerk who masks his insecurities with a sharp, know-it-all persona. He spends his days dissecting others’ work and airing relentless critiques about the state of Korean cinema, always ready with a citation or an argument about why something misses the mark. When a famous indie director visits his university, the atmosphere shifts: his classmates are buoyed by excitement, while Mu-young remains cool and unimpressed, convinced that real originality isn’t served by the kinds of accolades the director has earned. During a lively Q&A, Mu-young rails against the director’s latest project, labeling it a mere commercial play for attention, only to have the director respond with a pointed counterpunch that changes everything. In a surprising twist, the director awards him a $5,000 production grant and dares him to prove that he can actually complete a film—something Mu-young has long avoided by hiding behind theory.
With an unfinished screenplay collecting dust in a drawer, Mu-young is suddenly forced to step into the real world of filmmaking. He scrambles to assemble a cast and crew, recruiting people with varying levels of experience and a willingness to take a chance on a first real project. He casts Ah-young Park Hee-von, the girl he loves, in the lead role, hoping to turn his dream into something tangible and emotionally resonant. The project he envisions is bold and melodramatic—a zombie tale that he imagines as a sweeping, heartfelt piece about love and survival in dire times. But as the camera starts rolling, it becomes clear that Mu-young’s plans hinge on ideal conditions that simply aren’t present: the impatience that fuels his ambition, the high expectations he holds for every shot, and the practical demands of bringing a movie to life begin to collide in chaotic, often comic, ways.
What follows is a mounting sequence of challenges that threaten to derail the entire endeavor. Casting decisions grow contentious as personalities clash, and the process of securing locations and funding proves more labyrinthine than Mu-young anticipated. The crew experiences delays, miscommunications, and a cascade of little disasters that push everyone to their limits. The production becomes less a smooth march toward a finished film and more a marathon through a maze of paperwork, schedules, and last-minute changes. Throughout this grind, Mu-young is forced to confront the mismatch between his theoretical knowledge and the messy, unpredictable reality of making cinema. Relationships—especially with Ah-young and those who have joined the project—are tested as stress and fatigue creep in, revealing the stubbornness and vulnerability behind creative dreams.
As the days wear on, the line between passion and pressure blurs. Mu-young discovers that directing is less about projecting a flawless vision and more about coordinating people, bargaining for resources, and adapting when plans collapse. The process exposes how fragile art can be when built on shaky foundations, yet it also uncovers moments of genuine connection, ingenuity, and resilience among a crew doing their best to salvage something meaningful from a flawed endeavor. The experience ultimately nudges Mu-young to reassess what it means to tell a story on screen and to recognize that the romance of filmmaking—much like love—requires patience, compromise, and humility. In the end, the project stands as a testament not to perfect execution, but to the stubborn, hopeful effort of turning a notion into something tangible and imperfectly human.
