ZZZ—
With a brief static noise, the movie started on the screen. The madman had given me a film to watch one day when I was bored in the hospital. I had a suspicion that it was the provisional edit of PD Jung's movie. Although I should have played it right away, it took an additional 30 minutes, filled with an unfamiliar tension, to carefully press the play button.
The film unfolds with the protagonist starting his day at work. He works as a VJ for a local cable TV station and is fortunate enough to be approached by a producer to create a documentary, the culmination of his hard work. His concept is simple: ask one question and interview a diverse range of people. The question:
'What are you living for?'
To make the documentary distinctive, he doesn't choose ordinary subjects but individuals with peculiarities. A lesbian, a man who enjoys wearing women's clothes, an actor who gets nervous in front of the camera, an office worker who wants to die, and more.
As he edits each interview, the narratives of his past and present intertwine. A challenging childhood, the need to navigate life independently, but a passion for something he loves sustains him. Capturing the world through a camera encapsulates all his dreams.
Yet, the more he pursues his passion, the more he realizes his lack of talent. Recognizing the abundance of geniuses in the world, he grapples with the notion that mere passion and hard work may not bridge the gap with innate talent. Should he stop his journey here, or persist?
This documentary becomes a pivotal moment for him. He gives it his all, capturing what he truly desires. However, as quitting time approaches, he receives a call. Answering the phone in silence, when he hangs up with a serious expression, the producer enters, irritated.
In the producer's hand is the film the protagonist created. The PD remarks, 'Who would watch this mundane content with such a commonplace concept?'. All the protagonist can think is that the month-long effort put into the one-hour documentary has gone to waste. As he arrived home, the camera followed him like a puppy, only focusing on his legs.
After undressing, entering the bathroom, and spending an extended time in front of the mirror, he eventually stops at his desk. There, he re-watches the documentary he edited. The camera slowly scans the room, intermittently revealing the faces of interviewees who had appeared earlier in the film.
In the initial interview with the lesbian, a photograph on the table catches attention. It's an image of a young father with another man, hands clasped together, suggesting more than ordinary intimacy. When the actor, who trembles in front of the camera, flashes on screen, the camera shifts to a bottle of pills next to his father's photo. The name indicating it was a psychoactive medication and the post-it note attached to it revealed,
'I am not afraid of the camera.'
He considered it his favorite camera, but at some point, he began to feel fear, realizing that he couldn't operate the camera unless he took the medication. Subsequently, the camera quietly followed the evidence that various other interviewees ultimately symbolized himself. Scenes signifying the passage of time appeared, and suddenly, only two interviews remained in the documentary.
When a man who enjoyed wearing women's clothing appeared, the camera illuminated the protagonist's face. Red lipstick and blue eyeshadow. Meticulous makeup revealed that it wasn't his first attempt. Then, the final interviewee appeared, a friend of the protagonist and a company employee who wanted to die. What he said in the interview was repeated once more.
'I think life only requires a reason for those who want it.'
The camera then glides across the protagonist's limp wrist, revealing an old self-inflicted scar. The narrative shifts to a phone call the protagonist received upon returning home from work, delivering news of a friend's death. And I appeared.
