Chapter 26: Playing the Lead Role

A few days later, Xu Ke indeed called to ask Xiao Ran to play the role of a revolutionary in “Dao Ma Dan.” This time, Xiao Ran didn’t refuse—it was certainly not a bad thing for him. According to Xu Ke, “You have a decent appearance; it would be a waste not to act!”
Xiao Ran merely smiled dismissively. He was well aware of New Art City’s habit of getting involved personally. Among the seven big bosses, except for Shi Nansheng, the other six had all acted in many films, even as leads. So, it wasn’t unusual for screenwriters to participate in acting.
The next day, Xu Ke called Xiao Ran to the company. Present were Ye Qianwen, Lin Qingxia, Zhong Chuhong, plus the male lead, Zhang Guoqiang. He was slightly stunned for a moment before understanding Xu Ke’s intention.
This was something that had to be done before filming—the director needed to let the actors know what they were doing, and the actors also needed to outline a general approach for their performances. Since Xiao Ran was now not only a screenwriter but also an actor, his participation was essential.
In fact, there wasn’t much room for creativity in his role as a revolutionary. Even if there had been, as a newcomer, he might have struggled to perform well. Of course, Xiao Ran wasn’t unwilling to imitate Wu Zhenyu’s neurotic acting style or that of other skilled actors, but it was obvious that a revolutionary being overly neurotic would be extremely funny.
After explaining what he needed the actors to do, Xu Ke asked the other four one by one before turning to Xiao Ran: “A Ran, what are your thoughts? Don’t mess up your debut!”
Mess it up? Xiao Ran laughed heartily. How could that happen? He had seen countless acting styles and techniques; imitating any of them would be easy. But imitation wasn’t the way forward, and this role wasn’t as “characterful” as he had imagined.
So, he simply gave his judgment in a straightforward manner: “I think this role requires tension and caution, but after thinking it over, acting that way would be too rigid!”
These words clearly surprised the others. Xu Ke, unable to hide his astonishment, asked, “So what do you mean now?”
“I think tension doesn’t need to be excessive. What’s important is a…” Xiao Ran ran out of words and after some thought continued, “A very carefree attitude!”
Xu Ke pondered for a while before finally deciding, “No, that conflicts with my idea. Let’s stick to the original plan!”
Xiao Ran wasn’t disappointed. This wasn’t a romance film after all. Though it had a light tone, it carried a profound sense of patriotism. If he acted like a playboy, that would be terrible!
A few days later, a group of actors and crew members arrived at Shaw Brothers’ studio. It surprised Xiao Ran greatly that New Art City had connections with Shaw Brothers. After thinking about it, he realized why Du Qifeng could be borrowed to direct—the reason became clear.

After praying to the gods and getting everyone acquainted, Xu Ke distributed the script to the lead actors. Since it was the shooting day, all the actors were present, which made things much easier. As for Xiao Ran, who served both as a lead actor and screenwriter, he actually found it quite leisurely. The only thing that disappointed him was that the original screenwriter, the talented Du Guowei, had been replaced by him.

Looking around the familiar set, Xiao Ran found it utterly absurd. He had only been a bystander and never expected to have the chance to be part of it. But upon reflection, this might be his opportunity.

Xiao Ran wasn’t particularly interested in acting; rather than calling it an interest, it was more like fulfilling a dream from his youth. Of course, since he had this chance now, he had no reason to pass it up. In his mind, since he had started acting, he must win an award to take home.

The makeup artist finished applying makeup to Xiao Ran, and after he put on his costume, he looked like a proper revolutionary. Of course, Xiao Ran knew well who he really was. The so-called makeup room was more like a makeshift tent covered with a cloth. Outside, he saw Ye Qianwen, Zhong Chuhong, and Lin Qingxia, all fully made up as well.

No one could deny that the three of them together looked like fairies descended from heaven, stunning to behold. Xiao Ran knew that many stars looked different after removing their makeup, but he had to admit that such things only happened in the late 1990s. Before that, actors emphasized authenticity over superficial packaging.

The cast was already complete that day, and to fit the schedule, they skipped part of the plot and shot scenes involving the three women directly. Xiao Ran wasn’t surprised by this; if the producer couldn’t even arrange the shooting schedule properly, he certainly didn’t deserve his salary.

It’s worth mentioning here that the director, lead actors, screenwriters, and other key creators generally received salaries, while those less important were paid daily or hourly. This is why in the early 1990s, filmmakers seemed to work multiple shifts a day like crazy. In their words, it wasn’t work—it was making money.

Xiao Ran also noticed reporters outside with cameras, taking pictures of the three beautiful lead actresses. Sadly, no one paid any attention to him, the serious lead actor, which made him complain about the unchanging trend that women were more favored than men.

The first scene was an indoor one, and Xiao Ran wasn’t involved. Yet, the scene he saw outside the camera range was enough to make his mouth water. He witnessed a breathtaking sight—three stunningly beautiful women in gorgeous dresses, drinking and laughing by the fireplace, their fair skin peeking through the fabric, utterly mesmerizing.

He had seen this scene on screen before, in the scene where the three women drank at the general’s mansion. But seeing it on screen was nothing compared to seeing it in person. That breathtaking image was deeply etched in his mind; he could hardly forget the stunning beauty it brought him.

As he stared intently at the scene, he suddenly saw Lin Qingxia burst into laughter—her smile was as beautiful as a peony in bloom, leaving Xiao Ran’s heart utterly captivated. Yet he soon felt embarrassed when Lin Qingxia said with a giggle, “A Ran, the way you’re staring at us is scary, but also funny!” Before she could finish speaking, the others in the room turned to stare at him, their eyes filled with sympathy and understanding. It seemed they had all been mesmerized before, but with more experience, they didn’t make such fools of themselves anymore. Xu Ke’s stern expression also melted like ice, and he quickly called out with a smile, “CUT! A Ran, don’t tease them! Try again!” Xiao Ran felt utterly wronged—he had never teased those three beauties; instead, it was they who teased him. Shrugging helplessly, he walked over to the moving track and looked toward the performance area. This time it went through without any NGs. However, Xu Ke clearly wasn’t easily satisfied, and several more takes were needed before the scene was completed. The next scene featured Xiao Ran—first, the crew moved the camera equipment to another set, and the photographers set up their gear. Xiao Ran noticed that the main light from the previous set was gone. Approaching Xu Ke, he heard Xu Ke saying to the art director Wei Qixin, “I think this scene should have a subtle comedic effect, along with a unique sense of ambiguity. So, go coordinate that!” The art director’s main task was to handle set design and coordinate the overall visual style of photography and lighting—a very important role in film production. There were three art directors on this film, all highly skilled, otherwise Xu Ke wouldn’t have chosen them. Xu Ke then repeated his ideas to the cinematographer Pan Hengsheng. Pan Hengsheng and Wei Qixin discussed briefly before giving instructions to the rest of the crew. In no time, equipment like condensers and reflectors was in place. Xu Ke picked up the megaphone and loudly asked the crew, “Camera, lighting, actors… are you all ready?” With each item he mentioned, someone replied that they were ready. Xiao Ran, however, was quite excited, his face turning slightly red—this was his first time acting. No, actually, it was his first time participating in a film shoot. Speaking of acting, everyone is acting in life. “OK! Everyone not involved, leave the performance area. Actors, take your positions. A Ran, come in quickly!” Xu Ke shouted several times through the megaphone. Once everyone was ready, he yelled, “ACTION!” Xiao Ran, Ye Qianwen, and the others climbed in through the window. Three women and two men squeezed onto one bed, each looking drowsy. The scene wasn’t long—just one minute. Yet it took half an hour to shoot this one-minute scene.

In Xiao Ran’s first scene, Xu Ke clearly didn’t expect him to succeed on the first try. Indeed, Xiao Ran performed extremely poorly—far from showing any nervousness at being forced by the three women to sleep in the same bed, he instead appeared lost in his own thoughts. It was hard to blame him; the damned bed was so narrow, and the delicate scents from the three beauties made him feel as if he were surrounded by flowers. As a result, Xiao Ran quickly showed an inappropriate expression, but fortunately, Xu Ke understood that it’s normal for the first time and didn’t get angry. Although Xiao Ran didn’t blush, he was still ashamed of his lack of composure. Lin Qingxia smiled meaningfully and said, “A Ran, you need to master this mindset. But don’t worry—I was just as bad my first time acting!” “That’s right, it’s always like this on the first try,” Ye Qianwen added, also smiling to comfort Xiao Ran. “Acting isn’t difficult at all. If you give it your best, you’ll definitely do well!” With their guidance, Xiao Ran quickly overcame his nervousness and began to get into character. Though he had never learned acting, having seen so many outstanding performances by award-winning actors, he thought it would be shameful if he couldn’t even handle this. Xiao Ran agreed that Lin Qingxia and the others were right—acting wasn’t difficult; the real challenge was doing it well. Even more difficult was bringing out one’s own style, like Wu Zhenyu and Liu Qingyun.
*****
Novel name: Wei Jiahui
Real name: Wei Jiahui
Occupation: Director, screenwriter, producer
Wei Jiahui is the mentor of You Naihai and You Dazhi. His TV series “Unforgiving Love” is a classic textbook for Hong Kong screenwriters. He is truly the greatest screenwriter in Hong Kong, nicknamed “Wei Zu,” meaning the patriarch of screenwriters. With his guidance, even the worst actors can become top-tier screenwriters. He is also a highly distinctive and stylish director, an indispensable behind-the-scenes leader at Galaxy Pictures.
Works: Film director of “The Birth of a Word,” “Peace Hotel,” “Big Boss.” TV works: “Unforgiving Love,” “The Great Era,” and countless other classics.