Chapter 137: Making It to Cannes

“This scene needs to be filmed in one go…” Xiao Ran handed Huang Yongheng the camera placement diagram he had prepared earlier. Since this scene was crucial, Huang Yongheng would be in charge of directing it himself.
Huang Yongheng glanced at the diagram, closed his eyes to visualize it, and immediately agreed to Xiao Ran’s plan. “This is the best approach. The camera movements need to convey a sense of stability!”
For this scene, after designing everything, Xiao Ran handed control to the assistant director while he went to the performance area. When the signal to start was given, Xiao Ran’s eyes filled with anger as he handed the disk to Fa Ge. Fa Ge froze for a moment, inserted the disk into the computer, and after reading the materials, his expression changed instantly.
The assistant director called “cut,” and the scene was over. Soon, the final scene in the United States was filmed. This scene involved a large number of extras, two helicopters, and several searchlights.
Xiao Ran had been pondering how to handle such a large-scale scene. Hong Kong films always seemed to lack the confidence to create grand productions. Even those that resembled Hollywood-style blockbusters only had a semblance of grandeur; perhaps only “Hot Hand” could barely compare in terms of scale.
His initial idea was to use clearly defined shots to convey contrast, but he quickly dismissed it as it lacked depth. After careful consideration, Xiao Ran decided to take a risk by using supplementary shots combined with straight shots and wide shots to capture the atmosphere of such a large scene.
Depth, layering, and a sense of pressure—these were Xiao Ran’s requirements for the cameraman and art director. Watching the scene, Daisy was stunned. She felt the film already reached the level of a Hollywood B-movie, at least in terms of scale.
Although Daisy hated the cold-blooded character she was playing, she still had to maintain a stern expression in front of the camera. Soon, Xiao Ran stopped filming in front of hundreds of extras because Daisy’s performance still lacked intensity.
Walking over to Daisy, who didn’t understand what was happening, Xiao Ran pondered for a moment. He had been thinking about her performance issues. Her acting wasn’t fundamentally wrong; the problem was that it was too conventional—anyone else acting the role would likely deliver a similar performance.
Xiao Ran didn’t want that outcome. After reviewing his observations from earlier days, he gave her some earnest advice: “Daisy, your performance shouldn’t be like this. I think you could try some rebellious acting methods…”
Daisy shook her head, not understanding what he meant by “rebellious.” Xiao Ran felt frustrated. If it were Fa Ge, he would surely understand immediately. But why was this foreigner so stubborn? Fortunately, he quickly thought of another approach: “Okay, let me explain. When you should laugh, try to keep a serious expression. And when you need to be serious, make your expression more relaxed, but keep your gaze stricter!”

Bang! A gunshot was fired, and the sound engineer captured this artificial sound effect perfectly. Fa Ge’s expression twitched slightly before he was stunned with a taser by someone. Xiao Ran secretly admired Fa Ge’s acting skills and immediately shouted, “Cut!”
After shooting this scene, everyone was extremely tired. Even Fa Ge, a veteran actor used to handling many shoots, could barely hold on due to Xiao Ran’s strict demands, which often led to re-shoots. It wasn’t Xiao Ran’s fault—many action movies fail because of insufficient care and attention in production, and he definitely didn’t want to make the same mistake again.
Before leaving, Xiao Ran met Fang Xiaoqiang. The guy was now traveling around the U.S. with several assistants, complaining nonstop as soon as he saw Xiao Ran. The good news, however, was that Dell had secured 25% control stake and was preparing for an IPO. Cisco, on the other hand, only had 8%, still falling short of the target.
The outdoor shooting in the U.S. was completed. With satisfaction, Xiao Ran, along with the crew members and some American actors, went to the airport to board the plane when they saw a familiar woman rushing over with her suitcase in hand.
It was Daisy. She approached Yu Jiayu and Xiao Ran. At just 22 years old, she felt a bit embarrassed seeing everyone staring at her. “I’ve broken my contract with my agent and plan to follow you to Hong Kong for my career. I still owe you two acting roles!”
Xiao Ran couldn’t help but laugh. Daisy was quite interesting. He hadn’t planned to use her anymore, but now he might consider giving her another chance. Aside from Daisy, this trip to the U.S. yielded little else. The staff from the distribution department’s attempts to talk to major distributors ended with them being refused even a meeting, showing how European and American film companies dismissed Chinese-language movies.
For Xiao Ran, this wasn’t a problem. A $25 million investment didn’t have to be recouped only by releasing the film in Hollywood; releasing it in Taiwan or Hong Kong would be enough to cover the costs. In short, it didn’t matter if there was one more or one less.
After seeing Xiao Ran, Wei Dongling immediately smiled cheerfully and said, “Three news—two good, one bad! Which do you want to hear?”
“Whatever, I’m almost going crazy,” Xiao Ran said indifferently, pushing Wei Dongling aside and grabbing a leather chair to sit down. Being a director wasn’t easy, especially for original films, which could make one seem years younger.
On-set operations were just technical tasks, but planning and organizing the entire film was a real headache, much like writing. When creating, one had to imagine how scenes would change and arrange them for the best effect. Writers only needed to control words, while directors had to control everything, which was even more difficult.
Initially, Xiao Ran’s three films were successful and not too hard to direct mainly because he already had those scenes in his mind. His main task at that time was simply to reorganize the scenes in his mind.

But for current filming, he has to rely entirely on himself to figure things out. His mind is constantly occupied with how to shoot the next scene and what methods will yield the best results; countless comparisons are driving him crazy. Now, he admires those directors who produce high-quality work in large quantities even more than anyone else, as he believes it would be extremely difficult for him to direct more than three films in a year.
“The good news is that we’ve taken control of 31% of Leo Company. Another good news is that three of our films have made it to the Cannes Film Festival!” Wei Dongling wasn’t tired at all like Xiao Ran; ignoring our feelings, he kept talking nonstop.
Making it to Cannes? That was indeed good news! Xiao Ran wanted to laugh out loud. The reason he gave up the Berlin Film Festival in February was that it was highly political. Films related to politics had a better chance of success.
Energetic enough to rival famous emperors in history, Xiao Ran almost jumped up and asked, “Which three films? Which competition section?”
“Wang Jiawei’s ‘Carmen in Mong Kok’ has made it to the Director’s Fortnight, while a short film by one of our new directors has been selected for the Short Film section,” Wei Dongling said with a smirk, glancing at Xiao Ran, who seemed distracted. “Don’t you want to know if yours has been selected?”
Xiao Ran chuckled. How could he not be eager for that? But he was always patient. If Wei Dongling wanted to tease him, he wouldn’t necessarily give in. Wei Dongling looked at Xiao Ran helplessly, truly impressed by his patience. “Your film ‘Dark Flowers’ will officially compete for the Palme d’Or. Congratulations!”
Hearing this good news, Xiao Ran closed his eyes slightly and took a deep breath. Cannes was the world’s biggest film festival, and just being able to compete officially was a testament to strength. Thinking of this, he laughed heartily. “Don’t congratulate me—congratulate us!”
Wei Dongling was stunned but immediately understood what Xiao Ran meant. This was an excellent opportunity. Every film that competed officially at Cannes was bought by producers from around the world, making it a great chance to boost the company’s reputation. Realizing this, he also couldn’t help but laugh. He used to think Xiao Ran was competing to prove himself or win honors. But now, he thought he understood Xiao Ran’s motives.
Just then, Liang Jiabao arrived. His sly smile was really amusing. As soon as he sat down, he couldn’t wait to say, “Brother Ran, your company has three works in Cannes. Don’t dodge this time.”
Xiao Ran tilted his head slightly in agreement. He needed the media to promote him and strengthen Phantom Company’s brand image. Sometimes he really admired Liang Jiabao’s ability to spot news. It started with Liang Jiabao persistently chasing this story about him, and through repeated detailed reports, Liang Jiabao gradually became the most famous journalist in Hong Kong.
Xiao Ran wondered what else Liang Jiabao wanted to dig out of him. Liang Jiabao then began asking questions, “Brother Ran, your company has three works competing in both the main competition and other sections. Aren’t you happy about that?”

“Of course I’m happy!” Xiao Ran couldn’t help but laugh heartily. jokingly, Hong Kong movies have always put commerce first. When it comes to winning international awards, it would have been nearly impossible without Wang Jiawei. Now, his company has three films at Cannes at once—not only would he be happy, but the whole of Hong Kong would be surprised.

“But I think this is quite normal!” Xiao Ran shrugged and said to Liang Jiabao, who looked astonished, “Shadow Company promotes many newcomers every year. Didn’t Wang Jiawei, who was ignored before, also get promoted? There are plenty of talented people in China. The key is whether we have a sound system to discover them.”

“You mean… Shadow Company already has such a promotion system?” Liang Jiabao was shocked. Others might not realize it, but he knew that in the film industry, connections matter more than ability.

Few companies dare to take the risk of promoting newcomers, as promotion means a high risk of failure, let alone having a formal system for it. This is why Hong Kong movies always feature the same few filmmakers—it’s not that they lack talented people, but rather those talents are often overlooked.

The most typical example is Lan Naicai, a master of special effects. He wasn’t very suitable as a director. After several failures, no one noticed his expertise in special effects, leading to this master-level talent leaving the film industry.

Wei Dongling smiled. It was only now that he realized how far-sighted Xiao Ran was. Of course, this was somewhat exaggerated, but he was sure Xiao Ran really went all out to give newcomers opportunities. For example, this year, Xiao Ran planned to invest 100 million in newcomers. Who else in Hong Kong had such courage?

This brings us back to Shadow Company’s system for promoting newcomers. Although it’s far from perfect, there’s at least a small department within the production team dedicated to this purpose. Every newcomer to Shadow Company gets three chances—either to achieve good box office results or high artistic value. If neither is achieved after using all three shooting opportunities, the company will terminate the contract.

Through Wei Dongling’s explanation, Liang Jiabao quickly understood Shadow Company’s series of systems for promoting newcomers. Hearing the figure of 100 million left him dizzy, and even his assistant, who was taking photos,’s hand trembled, almost dropping the camera.

When Liang Jiabao learned that Shadow Company aimed to support not only local filmmakers but also those from around the world, he sensed a hint of conspiracy—or perhaps ambition! He repeated this thought to himself, feeling it was entirely logical, as if it would be strange if Xiao Ran didn’t do this.

However, when Liang Jiabao glanced at Xiao Ran, who was drinking water nearby, he remembered that Xiao Ran was only just over 25. He was shocked. Looking at Xiao Ran again, he couldn’t see any signs of being in his twenties—the neatly trimmed mustache and wise eyes completely masked his youthful appearance.

The next day, all newspapers in Hong Kong that published entertainment editions carried the news that Phantom Company had three films competing at Cannes. Leung Ka-bau’s interview with Siu Yan undoubtedly outshone those of others, resulting in the Wen Wei Po selling out instantly that day. While Fong Ruohai was angered by Siu Yan’s another success, Deppa already showed signs of retreating. When it came to producing art films, Deppa in Hong Kong was definitely among the best, but now they had been surpassed by Phantom Company in their strongest area—how could Pan Disheng not feel fearful? It’s hard to say that every citizen in Hong Kong paid close attention to this news, but it was definitely the hottest story in the short term. Columnists from major newspapers like Ming Pao and professional film critics successively offered their comments, generally speaking of the progress of Hong Kong cinema. Siu Yan merely scoffed at this; Hong Kong’s film industry now resembled mainland cinema twenty years later, always seeking recognition from others. However, Hong Kongers weren’t as fanatical or anxious, as they were largely proud of their local films, with awards being merely an additional honor. On May 9th, Siu Yan and his team set off for Cannes, France…
*****
Highly recommended: Someone’s “The Legend of the Gambling God,” http://www.feiku.com/showbook.asp?bl_id=42993