LakshmiSouth Korean actor Lee Dong-hwi burst onto the film scene in 2012 with Run to the South, but it was his standout performance in the beloved TV series Reply 1988 (2015–2016) that truly put him on the map. He then showcased his versatility in blockbuster action-comedies like Veteran (2015) and Extreme Job (2019)—the latter becoming the second highest-grossing film in South Korean history. Continuing his momentum, Lee appeared in the 2024 sequel, The Roundup: Punishment. Beyond acting, he’s also a member of the popular South Korean supergroup MSG Wannabe. At the NYAFF 2025, Lee Dong-hwi presents Method Acting in a dual capacity—both as its producer and leading actor—demonstrating the breadth of his artistic capabilities.
Lee Ki-hyuk is a versatile South Korean talent—actor, model, and director—known for standout roles in dramas such as Your Honor, Wok of Love, and Sweet Home. On the big screen, he has appeared in A Better Tomorrow, Temptation of Wolves, and Glass Garden. His directorial voice first emerged in the 2020 short film Method Acting, which was selected for both the Mise-en-scène Short Film Festival and the Bucheon International Fantastic Film Festival. Building on that success, Method Acting (2024) marks his feature directorial debut, making its international premiere at NYAFF 2025 and opening an exciting new chapter in his creative journey.
In this offbeat meta-comedy, Lee Dong-hwi plays a satirical version of himself—a washed-up actor desperate to shed a lingering comic image. When he’s cast as an anorexic king in a historical drama, he throws himself into the role—literally starving for credibility. But as mishaps mount and his own brother upstages him on set, reality blurs with performance. Method Acting is a sharp, soulful blend of parody and pathos, capturing an actor’s hilarious and heartbreaking descent into self-doubt.
One Lash Shot sat down with director Lee Ki-hyuk and actor Lee Dong-hwi to discuss their experience making a film that delves into the craft of acting and the extreme lengths performers may go to in pursuit of authenticity.
Ki-hyuk, what inspired you to expand your 30-minute short film Method Acting into a full-length feature?
Ki-hyuk: So, in the short film, Dong-hwi also played the lead, but that was due to time constraints. We were primarily focused on the on-set experience that his character goes through. The story was limited in scope, but once we decided to expand it into a feature film, we wanted to approach the character differently. In the short film, there was a bit more artifice in Dong-hwi’s character, and we aimed to shift away from that. We wanted him to portray the character with more honesty and authenticity, which is the direction we ultimately took.
Additionally, the feature reflects my own perspective, as I’m also the youngest child in my family. That experience shaped the film in many ways—for example, my perspective on my older brother is woven into the story.
How did the casting come together for the 2020 version of the project? What led to the decision for the two of you to work together at that time?
Ki-hyuk: We’ve actually been friends for over 20 years. Before Method Acting, we had worked together on another short film called Immigration back in 2019. Through that project, I was able to showcase a side of Dong-hwi’s talent that viewers might not have been familiar with. That experience made me think it would be really interesting to explore different facets of him as an actor, which eventually led us to collaborate on Method Acting. Every time I work with him, we seem to achieve good results—so I’m really happy about that.
Dong-hwi, how did you prepare for portraying a character who shares your own name in this film?
Dong-hwi: I think it started by tapping into an exaggerated version of characters that many viewers—especially Korean audiences—are already familiar with. At the same time, I wanted the film to feel almost documentary-like, where the viewer is constantly questioning: “Is this real or not? Is this really happening?”By creating that sense of ambiguity, I hoped we would arrive at a place where you realize that, yes, we all live different lives—but the emotions we experience as human beings are actually quite universal.
When approaching this character—essentially a version of myself—I was very intentional about drawing a line between the parts of me that audiences already know and the parts that are unfamiliar to them. I wanted to present both sides in a very deliberate way. Ultimately, what I really hoped to achieve was for viewers to connect with Dong-hwi not just as an actor, but as a person. Because what he goes through in the film is something that I believe every human being experiences at some point in their lives.
Was there ever a point where the character’s psychological depth blurred with your own identity? How did you navigate that?
Dong-hwi: I think the most difficult part, emotionally, was one particular moment—when Dong-hwi’s mother becomes ill and the siblings experience a kind of epiphany or reawakening. These are the kinds of situations you hope never happen in real life. In the past, I’ve approached scenes like that through the lens of a completely different character. But in this film, I was portraying a version of myself—I even share the character’s name—so I experienced it on a much more personal level. That made it psychologically taxing and, honestly, quite burdensome.
I think it was emotionally challenging not just for me, but also for the actress who played my mother. She struggled with that scene too. It touches something very raw because you’re dealing with something we all fear deeply but rarely speak about. And I think, through this film, it was the first time I truly experienced that kind of emotional weight as myself, rather than through a character.
What was the most emotionally taxing scene for you to film? Dong-hwi, would it be the scene you just described from your perspective?
Dong-hwi:Yes, I would definitely say so. The scenes I filmed with the actress who plays my mother—especially the ones where I learn about her illness—were the most emotionally difficult for me.
Ki-hyuk: For me, I’d say it was the scene after Dong-hwi’s mother passes away. You might remember that long take where he’s in the king’s robe, delivering an impassioned speech. That scene was technically challenging—it was a continuous five-minute take, so we had to shoot without any interruptions.
There’s always a lot of pressure in those situations, both for the actor and for the DP, because there are no resets. On top of that, the weather wasn’t cooperating—we were losing sunlight fast and only had time for about two takes. Dong-hwi also had to project his voice intensely throughout the scene, so I was a bit concerned. But in the very first take, he gave such a powerful performance that I felt relieved. The second take was just as strong. In fact, the hardest part was editing between the two because they were both so good. That scene remains one of the moments I’m most proud of in the final cut.
In Korea, is it common for actors to fast during shooting to such an extent that it affects their health, potentially leading to conditions like anorexia?
Dong-hwi: I wouldn’t say it’s an official or standard practice in Korea, but based on what I’ve heard from different sets and other actors, there are times when characters have to appear extremely disheveled or in very dire situations—like not having eaten for several days. As they approach those scenes, some actors will voluntarily skip a few meals to better reflect that state.
Now, I’m not sure if that’s necessarily the best way to portray that kind of desperation, and personally, I don’t believe you have to go that far to be a good actor. But I think when actors are deeply immersed in their roles—when they really get into the mindset of their character—those physical changes sometimes just happen naturally. It’s not something people go around bragging about or openly discuss, but it does occur implicitly, and that kind of authenticity can definitely come through on camera.
If you had to sum up the main theme of the film in just one word, what would it be?
Dong-hwi: I would say my word is empathy. At its core, this is a story anyone can connect with. It’s about a dreamer—someone who’s told they can’t do it, that they’ll never succeed. I think that’s a universal feeling. We’ve all been in situations where we had a dream, but had to push past the naysayers to pursue it. If you can relate to that struggle, if you can empathize with it, then I think that’s one of the most meaningful messages this film offers. So yes, I’d choose the word empathy.
Ki-hyuk: For me, the word would be stage. I’ve always felt that people live their lives performing on the stage called life. As human beings, we have our true selves, the versions others perceive, our public “onstage” personas, and our private “backstage” selves. I tried to reflect that duality in all the characters in this film. Dong-hwi’s character, in particular, embodies the tension and debate between these different versions of the self. Just as the backstage of a theater is very different from what you see under the spotlight, I wanted to explore those contrasts throughout the film. So, if I had to sum it up in one word, it would be stage.
Lakshmi
