Chapter 150: Extremely Strange

Staring at the screen and listening to the low gunshots coming from the speakers, Xiao Ran gradually felt that he had grasped something—a style entirely his own. He closed his eyes briefly to think, then watched the film more carefully.
Suddenly, he had an epiphany and finally understood one of his strengths as a director: atmosphere. It was the atmosphere of the film. He realized he had gone even further than the original version of “Dark Flowers.” His rendering of the film’s atmosphere was even darker and more thorough than the original.
It felt as though just the visuals were enough to convey the film’s tone and evoke emotions. Xiao Ran couldn’t help but feel overjoyed—this was exactly what he wanted. After directing several films and drawing on his own insights, he had finally developed his first distinct style through practice.
In fact, Xiao Ran’s directing skills were highly comprehensive. He had learned the strengths of every renowned director from their works. For example, Chen Musheng was excellent at controlling rhythm, Du Qifeng excelled in visual storytelling, and Xu Ke was known for his unpredictable twists. His close study of these styles gave him a well-rounded set of skills, but it also made it difficult for him to develop his own unique style.
Now, having achieved success through his own efforts, how could he not be happy? A renowned director can afford failure, but they must never lose their style. One might have nothing else, but they must have a distinct identity.
In terms of fame, Xiao Ran was undoubtedly the most well-known director in Hong Kong—after all, he had won the Cannes Best Director award. Locally, he had become one of the most famous directors in Hong Kong thanks to “Dark Flowers.” People thought his directing skills were outstanding, but Xiao Ran knew clearly that he was merely imitating others. So far, only “Spy Change” was his original work.
His skills were far from matching his fame. Whether to fulfill his dream of becoming a director or for other reasons, Xiao Ran needed to develop skills that were truly his own, rather than plagiarizing others’. To become a renowned director, one must have a style. That’s why he, who was usually so calm, was so excited—because he knew he had successfully taken the first step.
The film was coming to an end. Brother Fa, who hadn’t been able to watch the full movie, began to breathe rapidly, as he had completely immersed himself in this bizarre struggle and couldn’t pull himself away.
Xiao Ran’s heart was in his throat—this was tied to his dream, so how could he not be nervous? Perhaps every director and filmmaker at the preview was equally nervous, not only because they feared criticism but also because the suspense was right in front of them. Xiao Ran even wondered if preview screenings might easily cause heart attacks among directors, which was why they were canceled.
The scene currently being shown, where Feng Feier was killed, was quite difficult to shoot, and editing it was even more troublesome. It required combining many separately shot shots to create this coherent and extremely brutal sequence.

Some women even closed their eyes tightly while watching this scene; the highly dramatic gunfight that followed wasn’t actually the focus. Though this masculine and heroic gunfight scene was filmed very well, Xiao Ran always considered it a flaw that indirectly damaged the film’s atmosphere.

However, when he decided not to shoot this scene, he quickly realized something very important. As he had said to Xu Ke before, the film couldn’t be too gloomy—it needed a way to release tension. From this perspective, Xiao Ran finally understood how difficult it must have been for Director You Zhi to create the original version; without this scene, the plot couldn’t reach its climax.

There was no hope of creating a climax at the end either, because everyone knew the ending was purely a anti-climax, an extremely unexpected one. Critics might appreciate it, but audiences might not. So, Xiao Ran reluctantly added this scene.

This gunfight scene, cold on the surface yet tinged with passion, clearly ignited the audience’s enthusiasm; everyone sat upright, as if eager to rush onto the screen and fire their own shots. Xiao Ran smirked, knowing the gunfight would end in a way no one could predict.

On the rooftop, the composed Fa Ge and the gloomy Su Renyao clashed once again. Su Renyao fell off the roof, his head severed. This brutal scene, devoid of any bloodshed, still allowed everyone to vividly experience the violence and cruelty. The audience screamed to vent their fear, as if that could counteract the violent atmosphere from the screen.

Fa Ge’s character passed by Zhang Wenle. Just as everyone thought Fa Ge was about to escape, Zhang Wenle shot him in the back of the head. Fa Ge fell down swiftly, and the wide shot was handled with great tension.

Xiao Ran smirked again—he had finally outwitted all the audiences. The now-profoundly meaningful narration echoed through the cinema: “An old man who hadn’t returned to Macau in over a decade…”

Silence, an extremely awkward silence—only the sounds from the screen could be heard. Xiao Ran’s heart sank; he hadn’t expected he really couldn’t accept this film—it seemed truly ahead of its time.

Finally, the audience reacted, but sadly, it was with curses: “Damn it, what kind of movie is this? I can’t even understand it!”

Xiao Ran smiled bitterly; it had happened after all. He had always wondered if he would be criticized at the preview screening, and now that day had come, so quickly. Seeing Xiao Ran’s expression, Fa Ge patted his shoulder and said softly, “A Ran, don’t be discouraged. This film is great; they just don’t know how to appreciate it.”

Just as Xiao Ran thought he had lost, he didn’t notice that countless audience members below were deep in thought. They were reflecting on the entire film, on its plot. Soon, they realized that the film’s storyline was unprecedentedly perfect among action movies they had seen, and they knew what to do.

Applause arose, not very loud, but it brought a glimmer of confidence to the disheartened Xiao Ran. He raised his head in surprise to look at the audience below—several were standing and clapping, but most were still thinking, with only a small portion leaving the cinema.

In fact, he had underestimated the audience’s receptiveness. Besides its bizarre style, the film was also highly entertaining. On the contrary, the Hong Kong audience’s ability to appreciate such films was much higher back then than it is twenty years later; otherwise, the original version of “Dark Flowers” wouldn’t have become popular in the mainland until the 21st century.

Film critics Li Zhuotao, Lie Fu, and Luo Ka approached Xiao Ran, looking at him strangely, as if deep in thought. After a long while, they finally snapped out of it and said, “Director Xiao, your film… it’s very strange, too strange!”

“Too strange!” Well put! Xiao Ran smiled helplessly, glanced around at this bizarre theater, and finally left with Fa Ge. Fa Ge didn’t leave right away but said to Xiao Ran, “Let’s go get some late-night food.”

Xiao Ran nodded. After today’s events, he really wanted to give up on guiding Hong Kong cinema in the right direction. Wearing sunglasses, he found a seat at a deserted food stall, ordered some food, and then Fa Ge comforted him, “Actually, you did very well. It’s just that they don’t know how to appreciate it. Don’t be sad!”

Xiao Ran shook his head slightly. He wasn’t worried about this matter. Even if the film failed, it wouldn’t be a big deal. The real issue was that he seemed unable to control the trend of Hong Kong cinema. To solve this problem, he needed to take control of the Film Association.

“By the way, when do you plan to resolve things with Fang Ruohai?” Fa Ge suddenly realized it wasn’t the right time to discuss this and quickly changed the subject. “Even I can see now that if you want to achieve more, you must get rid of this obstacle!”

“It’s no problem. He can’t threaten me!” Xiao Ran smiled. Right now, his financial strength was on par with Fang Ruohai’s, making it difficult to compete. But that didn’t mean he was helpless—he just didn’t want to act yet.

As long as he could win this summer battle, he could almost get rid of Hailue Group. There were two ways: force them to leave or take direct control. The first required time, while the second needed financial resources—both of which Xiao Ran needed.

With this thought, his earlier frustration gradually dissipated. Fang Ruohai thought he had done a great job, but Xiao Ran knew he was wrong, utterly wrong. Without the support of Cathay-Keris and Deppa, Fang Ruohai had no chance of standing firm in Hong Kong’s film industry.

Fang Ruohai thought that lying big enough could buy him half a year to gain a foothold. That was absolutely impossible. Cathay-Keris was already realizing that Fang Ruohai’s promises couldn’t be fulfilled. By then, if Shadow Group joined forces with Cathay-Keris and Deppa, no one in Hong Kong would dare take on Hailue Group’s projects, no matter how high the pay.

The next day, film reviews of “Dark Flowers” appeared in various newspapers. When An Yuxuan handed these papers to Xiao Ran, he gave her a dismissive glance. He thought there surely wouldn’t be any positive comments in them, but when he flipped through them, they weren’t as bad as he had imagined.

The reviewers from different newspapers gave fair and interesting assessments, with hardly any criticism of the film. For example, Li Zhuotao’s review focused on how strange the film was and astutely suggested it might be Xiao Ran’s experimental work—a highly unconventional and highly personal piece. Luo Ka’s article said that Xiao Ran was very ambitious from scriptwriting to directing, trying to set up a trap for the audience. Le Fu, on the other hand, was the most balanced; he said one might not like the film, but it certainly couldn’t be called a flop.

After that, Xiao Ran realized the film’s theme had failed. Determined, he redid the editing, weakening the elements related to national sentiment. As a result, the film became smoother and truly a classic action movie.

Three days later, the film premiered in theaters. At Xiao Ran’s invitation, many celebrities attended, such as Wan Ziliang, who had just joined TVB. The opening-day box office was surprisingly good, reaching 2.1 million. The box office from the previous week (excluding preview shows) had barely crossed 10 million, but it gradually increased. By the third week, it reached 20 million, then rose steadily, breaking the 30-million mark by the fifth week. After that, the number of theaters showing the film gradually decreased. The final box office figure surprised even Xiao Ran himself—37 million.

Based on surveys by the marketing department and feedback from “Shadow Friends,” they released a report before the final figures were known. Twenty percent of viewers went to see the film because of its Cannes association, another 20% because of Xiao Ran and “Shadow” brand, 40% because of Stephen Chow, and the rest simply went out of boredom.

Another detailed report showed that 40% of viewers went to the film due to promotional efforts, highlighting the effectiveness of marketing. Interestingly, 35% of viewers had watched the film twice, with one person even watching it five times.

Of course, Xiao Ran still had no idea whether the film’s box office performance was good or bad. But he knew for sure that the mixed reviews would surely attract many viewers to the theaters.

The performance reports for the first half of the year were also released. The production department had made twelve films, three of which hadn’t been released yet. Among these twelve films, eleven had grossed over 10 million, meeting Xiao Ran’s minimum standard. Four had grossed over 20 million, not including Xiao Ran’s “Dark Flowers.” Only one film had reached 30 million—a comedy directed by a new filmmaker. Yet this figure shouldn’t be underestimated, as four of these twelve films were debut works by new directors, and such results were quite impressive.

In terms of distribution, eleven films from other companies were released in the first half of the year, generating profits of 80 million. For the films from their own company, except for three of poor quality that were not distributed widely, the rest were distributed throughout Southeast Asia, resulting in total profits of 340 million from screenings and distribution.

Compared to the other four major companies, Myth Shadow didn’t truly lose except in the New Year market. In terms of box office revenue, number of releases, and even profits, Myth Shadow was on par with Golden Harvest. Hailuo Group and Deppa were in a different tier, while Tianluo Company might be in the third tier due to lack of support.

At the beginning of July, Xiao Ran flew to Taiwan, accompanied by his secretary An Yuxuan, Yang Guang, Monkey, and Lin Yongmai. Lin Yongmai had been forced by Xiao Ran to attend night school to learn about management and other aspects. Though reluctant, he accepted his fate and obeyed. Of course, Xiao Ran had no intention of using Lin Yongmai as a pawn; with such filial piety and a strong character, it would be a waste not to nurture him. Fortunately, Lin Yongmai wasn’t very slow to learn and quickly grasped the basics, so Xiao Ran took him along in hopes he could learn something.

Taiwan has three major distributors, one of whom is Lin Guiyun, all of whom are competitors of Xiao Ran. Xiao Ran still feels somewhat regretful about Lin Guiyun. They could have become friends, but since Myth Shadow decided to shift to distribution, conflict with Lin Guiyun was inevitable.