Glory Film Company

Episode 44: The Power of Sound (Part 1)

Film sound is broadly categorized into three main components: dialogue, music, and sound effects (a combination of various created sounds). Sometimes, additional categories like background (BG) sounds and Foley (realistic, non-dialogue, non-musical sounds) are added, making a total of five specialized areas.

Given the vast amount of sound a film requires, many professionals are involved in the process. At the helm is the sound supervisor, responsible for coordinating all sound designers. For Ha Pilsung’s 300 Days After We Break Up, the sound supervisor was Jung Yeoul, a meticulous but outgoing woman in her 30s.

“Come on in!”

Even though they had arrived well before the agreed time, Jung Yeoul welcomed them warmly, showing no signs of irritation.

“You’ve probably been waiting, right? I delayed a bit to finalize the files. Just give me a moment, and I’ll play it for you.”

Her cheerful demeanor suggested she was either a seasoned professional or confident about the outcome—possibly both.

Finally, the sound design revealed itself.

Jiiing. Jiiing. Wiiiiing.
A delicate string resonance set the mood.

Within a few measures, Ha Pilsung and the editing director’s faces lit up.

“This is stunning,” the editing director murmured.

“It’s perfect for actress Kang Jooyeon. It almost feels like I can see her gaze,” Ha Pilsung added, his excitement evident.

Jung Yeoul, keeping an eye on their reactions, issued a crisp but clear instruction.
“Let’s try layering this under the dialogue here.”

As the music blended into the scene, the lingering, raw emotional tension in the protagonist’s voice seemed to melt away effortlessly. The subtle yet powerful score bridged a missing emotional gap in the female lead’s performance.

“Wow. This is it,” Ha Pilsung exclaimed.

The initial nervousness transformed into a strong sense of certainty as the melody line, which mirrored the female lead’s anxiety, swelled. New instruments joined in, enriching the soundscape. The music felt perfect for scenes of suppressed emotions exploding and secrets finally unraveling.

“This is incredible. This is exactly what I’ve been waiting for,” Ha Pilsung said.

“It’s amazing. Finally, I feel like we can breathe easy,” the editing director added.

“Haha, shall we finalize this, then? We were confident it would work, but we waited for the director’s approval,” Jung Yeoul said with a smile.

“Yes, thank you so much. Fantastic work,” Ha Pilsung replied.

The atmosphere grew lively and celebratory.

Youngkwang added his own words of thanks, but Jung Yeoul hesitated, her expression turning slightly awkward.

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, there’s something I need to ask for your understanding about,” she began hesitantly.

Youngkwang frowned slightly, sensing unease. Leaning in closer, he asked softly, “What is it?”

Jung Yeoul sighed and lowered her voice.
“Our Foley artist had an… incident. We’re trying to find a replacement of similar caliber, but it’s going to take some time. We can’t just hire anyone.”

“How long are we talking?”

“Hard to say. We’re checking around, but most skilled people are tied up in other projects. It’ll take some coordination.”

It was a tricky situation.

Foley artists are responsible for creating sounds other than actors’ voices and background music—footsteps in the snow, creaking doors, even the sound of a kiss. These sounds aren’t recorded on set but are crafted in post-production by the Foley team.

The film’s Foley artist had been assigned but was now dropping out due to some unspecified incident.

“What happened? Were they injured or dealing with health issues…?”

“No, nothing like that.” Jung Yeoul sighed again. “If it were something straightforward like that, I’d be able to explain. It’s personal, though, so I can’t go into detail. They’re not unwell, at least.”

Her expression was conflicted.

“Well, that’s a relief. Still, this is a big issue. If this drags on, the entire post-production schedule could be delayed.”

“We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” she said resolutely.

“I’ll ask around on my end, too. Let’s talk again soon.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

Despite his reassurances, Youngkwang had a sinking feeling that finding a suitable replacement would be difficult. Foley artists were few and far between, and those who had mastered their craft were even rarer. It would be easier to find a new music director than a top-tier Foley artist.

He sighed. Foley artists often learned through an apprentice system, and their numbers were limited. Replacing someone with comparable skill would not be easy.

When Ha Pilsung asked what was wrong, Youngkwang shook his head for now. The music had turned out beautifully, lifting everyone’s spirits. He didn’t want to dampen the mood with bad news just yet.

There was always the chance the issue could resolve itself in a few days.

It was hard for Youngkwang to calm his restless mind, even as he tried to think positively. That night, sleep eluded him entirely.

“This isn’t going to work,” he muttered as he glanced at the clock—midnight, 1:00 a.m., 2:30 a.m., 3:50 a.m. Time slipped away while he remained wide awake.

Then came the noises from upstairs, yet again.

Creeeeak… Grooooooan…

“…This is ridiculous.”

Frustrated, he threw on some clothes and stood up. This time, no matter what noise greeted him, he was determined to confront it head-on.

Ding-dong.

The strange sounds continued, as if the doorbell hadn’t registered.

Ding-dong. Ding-dong.

Finally, the door creaked open.

“Oh, who’s there?”

A man stood in the doorway, startled by the late-night visitor.

“I live downstairs. The noise upstairs every night is unbearable. I can’t sleep,” Youngkwang said firmly.

“You’re from downstairs?” The man stammered, visibly flustered.

“What does that mean?” Youngkwang’s brow furrowed in confusion.

The man waved his hands apologetically.
“You must have just moved in. The previous tenant worked nights, so I thought no one would notice the noise. I’m so sorry—I really didn’t know.”

From what the man explained, it seemed the previous tenant was often out at night, and he had assumed the same was true for the new resident. The noise didn’t carry upstairs, and the neighboring unit had been vacant for two weeks.

Hearing that it wasn’t intentional softened Youngkwang’s initial anger.

“Still, what kind of noise is it?” he asked.

The sounds weren’t ordinary—no footsteps, music, or TV dialogue. Initially, he thought it might be a loud movie or drama, but the repetitive and strange quality of the noises didn’t match. Nor did it sound like audio from a speaker; it seemed to emanate from somewhere in the apartment itself.

“Uh, well…”

The man shifted uncomfortably, revealing a glimpse of the chaotic mess behind him.

Inside the apartment, an assortment of bizarre items came into view: balloons, rubber gloves, cans, peculiar toys, various plastic sheets in different colors and thicknesses, wooden sticks, odd rods, scraps of fabric, shoes, rubber wheels, and small instruments. The sheer randomness made it impossible to draw any logical connections.

Wait a minute… Could it be…?

A realization struck Youngkwang like lightning. Anyone who cherished such an assortment of items likely fell into one of two categories: a hoarder or someone working in sound design.

“Do you work in sound by any chance?”

“What? Uh, yes.” The man blinked, surprised by the sudden question.

“How did you know?”

Of course.

With his heart pounding, Youngkwang pressed on.
“Are you in broadcasting? Film? Which field?”

“Well, I work wherever they call me,” the man replied casually. “Why do you ask?”

Youngkwang’s fingers reached into his jacket pocket, retrieving a business card he had tucked away.

“Actually, I work in film production,” he said, handing the card over.

“Oh, a producer?” The man glanced at the card with mild curiosity.

“Yes. …You’re a Foley artist, aren’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m curious—could you tell me about some of the projects you’ve worked on?”

It was a peculiar time and place to strike up a conversation—4 a.m. in a hallway—but Youngkwang’s desperation outweighed the oddity. Fortunately, the man seemed to be a night owl.

“Well, I’m currently working on an independent film,” he answered, blinking sleepily.

He looked to be in his early thirties. It was hard to gauge his experience or skill as a Foley artist from the random assortment of props cluttering his apartment.

But…

I can feel it. He’s the real deal, 

The sounds that had kept Youngkwang awake for nights were all incredibly lifelike. He recalled the night he’d stormed upstairs, thinking he was hearing the romantic “happy time” of a couple in love. If even those sounds had been created by this man…

This guy is the real deal.

“Did you happen to be working last Friday night?” Youngkwang asked, recalling the specific day.

“Oh, last Friday? Let me check…”

The man flipped through a well-worn notebook he held, its pages heavily scribbled with notes and sketches. His face turned bright red.

“Ah, yes. That night I was prepping for a romance drama. The scene was… well, it had some intensity. Oh no, you must’ve heard all of it.”

“Well, I’m a light sleeper. By the way, that notebook…?”

Youngkwang’s eyes fixed on the notebook. The worn pages were filled with precise, detailed notes and sketches—clearly, this was a treasure trove of sound-making expertise.

This person isn’t just competent—he might be exceptional.

Swallowing hard, Youngkwang decided to get straight to the point.

“To be honest, the Foley artist we hired for our project had to step down due to unforeseen circumstances, which means the entire schedule might face delays. We urgently need someone skilled to fill the gap.”

“What?”

“Would it be possible to show me your portfolio or some sample sounds?”

“…This is such a strange coincidence,” the man said, laughing in disbelief.

“Maybe it’s fate?” Youngkwang pressed, unwilling to let the opportunity slip.

“What if this doesn’t work out? We live in the same building—it could get awkward if things go south.”

“Well, we’re unlikely to run into each other anyway.”

“Fair enough.”

The man nodded and went into his room, rummaging through a drawer before returning with a slightly crumpled business card.

“I’m Do Junyoung,” he said, handing it over.

Do Junyoung – Foley Artist

The card was simple, listing only his name, phone number, and email address.

“Thank you,” said Youngkwang as he took the card.

Junyoung hesitated for a moment before adding, “Even if you’re interested in hiring me, I can only take on projects that’ll be done within four months.”

“Four months?”

“Yes. If my portfolio works for you, I can only commit to something that wraps up in that timeframe.”

Curious, Youngkwang asked, “Do you have other plans?”

Junyoung chuckled lightly. “I’m planning to finally leave this suffocating country for a while.”

“Ah.”

Guessing it might be a long trip abroad, Youngkwang nodded understandingly. “That’s fine. Four months should be enough for this project.”

Junyoung’s expression relaxed. “Should I email my portfolio to the address on your card?”

“Yes, please. That would be great.”

“I’ll include a few links so you can see videos I’ve worked on.”

“That would be very helpful.”

Junyoung nodded again, but before he could say anything else, the flickering sensor light in the hallway finally gave up, plunging them into darkness.

An awkward silence followed.

“Can you send it right away? I’ll check it and get back to you this afternoon,” said Youngkwang.

“Sure, but I’ll probably be asleep this afternoon. Can I reply in the evening?”

“That works. I’ll call you then.”

Back in his apartment, Youngkwang barely had time to take off his shoes before his phone buzzed with an email notification.

“Efficient guy.”

Smiling, Youngkwang immediately opened his laptop and began clicking through the attached files and links.

Every sound file Junyoung had included left him astonished. The precision, creativity, and depth of the work spoke volumes about his skill.

“This isn’t a setback—it’s a stroke of luck.”

A confident smile spread across Youngkwang’s face.