A film is a work of dream. Dreams do not wait for celebrities, starcasts and hefty budgets. At least, not when filmmakers begin. When they learn to fly, dreams and passion are what make it possible.

Many will be lost along the way; many will give up. Cinema is an expensive art. Not every dreamer can afford it.

Industries are also known as dreamcrushers. On that count, it is hard to tell from afar how many dreams were crushed by the Korean industry. All we know is just so many of them blossomed—to the point that now one life is too short to finish watching all the Korean films.

“One Last Order” (2019) is a final project from Seoul’s Hanyang University. The director, Gustavo Kawashita, is mostly a vlogger and YouTuber. And he is not Korean himself. His homeland is Brazil.

There are just so many things that make this short film special. It is his only film to date, it is a queer film, shot in a notoriously homophobic country like South Korea and with mostly a Korean cast. The list goes on. But what tops them is it is also one of those rare films made by an immigrant, queer student who had the audacity to turn the country into his refuge.

He didn’t choose Brazil as his primary backdrop. Every queer, LGBTQ person dying to flee their homophobic homeland knows this has been a long journey. No explanations are ever needed. And that alone is enough to inspire the wanna-be queer filmmakers from all over the world.

We already know Kawashita made it; he escaped Bolsonaro’s regime.

Searching Soulmate

“One Last Order” is a story of a brewing romance, and it takes place at a cafe.

The cafe is its entire universe. The protagonist loves Americano. He is a frequent visitor. And he finds some mysterious poems in the cafe.

Everything that happens next simply turned it into a gay crush on YouTube. Most of the reviews are in the comment section. It never participated in any film festivals, though it’s more than good enough to claim prizes. Some of the comments talk about how the protagonist never dismisses the probability of finding a male lover in the cafe, although he approaches the women first.

In the script, he is tasked with solving a riddle. He never manages to do it, though—until someone else points out the obvious answer. And all this looks like a mimicry of life itself.

The cafe also made the very picturesque lighting possible. It hints towards the budget shortage. If the camera left the cafe, the cost would probably skyrocket. And it would never turn into the candlelight gay romance story it is now.

It achieved just too many things within all its limitations. The protagonist too finds his soulmate when he places an order after the cafe’s working hour is over. This was the last and final scene. And this is when every gay viewer’s heart could rest, finally, in love.

A Student Project

Everyone who ever studied in a film school knows that nobody likes a student project. It is just not everyone’s cup of tea. Very few student films survive and go on to make a mark. Gustavo Kawashita is one of those very few lucky students who made it.

There is no star cast in the film. It was made as a home assignment. Except for Angelica Moreno, all the actors are Korean. She is also from Brazil and still speaks Korean very fluently.

Kyungseon Yoo plays the protagonist, Jongin. While he is arguably handsome, the actor who plays his opposite isn’t. Minki Shim plays Kyungsoo, the barista in love. In many ways, this is also a breakaway from the Korean beauty standard and the norms of BLs. It defies something queer people call ‘cute face privilege’.

Representation of queer love on screen is what keeps the entire queer fantasy industry running. Choosing Shim as Kyungsoo gave the film a realistic touch. On that count as well, it scores hugely—compared to the mainstream, commercial BL industry.

Altogether, it is a life-saviour package for both queers and future filmmakers. Who doesn’t know, if you aren’t blessed with a film star in your family, the only film you will probably ever make is your student project?

It is a Fanflick

Kawashita took the liberty to name his characters exactly as he wishes. They are named after the Kaiso ship of the K-pop group EXO’s fandom. The original band members, Doh Kyung-soo and Kim Jongin, have dominated many queer charts together—not so far behind BTS.

In that sense, it reflects the queer culture of real queer students who look up to their idols to find inspiration. There are so many arguments against shippers; many call it rude and often a violation of privacy. But the truth is, this is how a young queer’s heart beats.

Kawashita did not shy away from that reality. Enough Korean names were at his disposal. He named his characters after his own fantasy.

The K-pop industry is largely silent about fanfics, fan arts and fan movies. They serve as a free marketing strategy, and nobody minds. For the student director, however, it is an act of bravery. And Kawashita did not nudge.

And It is a Success!

Right now, “One Last Order” has 993 thousand views on YouTube. This is almost a million. This is enough to make the cheeks of many K-pop agencies turn red in jealousy.

It wouldn’t matter much if it received only a few thousand, or even hundreds of views. Most student projects never hit the milestone of a hundred. Kawashita’s film is one the world has found out. It was celebrated and cherished by the queer community.

Most Korean BLs to this day have sketchy plotlines and limited, shorter run time compared to the mainstream Korean heterosexual romance dramas. The underfunding is very evidently an issue of structural discrimination. Big agencies don’t fund BL in Korea, and BTS too has to toe the line very strictly.

Of course, Thai and Chinese BLs are a different story. But in Korea, every agency sells the boyish charm of their idols and grooms and tailors them for the queer eye. Yet they are never served. No matter how wild the imagination gets in the fandoms and how many millions and billions of dollars it makes.

In contrast, a tiny little gay film on YouTube that was never released on any other OTT platform hit the milestone of nearly a million solely through the art of filmmaking—and without the usual defects of the poorly made average Korean BLs. And it was made by an immigrant.

All this undeniably and already makes it a part of the Korean queer cultural memory.