Chapter 224: Imbalance Between Action and Drama

What troubled Xiao Ran happened again—not Wang Jiawei spending 20 million from Hongguo and then another 30 million on “The Legend of Ah Fei” to finish it, but rather the crew of “Spy Change 2”. As the producer of “Spy Change 2”, it was only natural for him to check in frequently. But one day, he found that the director didn’t know how to handle many aspects, or rather, his approach was too gentle.
Of course it was too gentle. The protagonist of “Spy Change” was a very tough character, and a gentle approach would surely make the film weak. This wasn’t what Xiao Ran wanted, so at the set, he had no choice but to guide the new director reluctantly. In fact, this new director wasn’t entirely new either—he had directed three films before, all small-budget productions of over 10 million, and he was quite skilled in action scenes. But when it came to drama…
Most of the exterior shots for this film were taken on the mainland, and they were currently shooting local scenes before heading there. This scene involved a Chinese agent entrusting someone with his child. The action scenes had been filmed brilliantly, but the drama part was truly uncontrollable. This director shared a similar flaw with Chen Musheng—Chen Musheng couldn’t balance drama and action, while this director went even further, failing to handle even scenes that would be emotionally intense if filmed with normal techniques.
This made Xiao Ran feel like vomiting. What was emphasized was the need for mastery in both action and drama. For a director, achieving this was a sign of genius. But there was no need to be so sensitive to drama to the point where even the lead actor, Fa Ge, felt frustrated.
After watching just a few scenes of the director arranging the camera positions, Xiao Ran realized this guy was really bad at drama. Not only that—he treated drama scenes as action scenes, and quite intense ones at that. This could be seen from the fact that this director, Liang Jun, always preferred to keep the camera in motion.
It’s over! That was Xiao Ran’s reaction. He thought he definitely had to find a director skilled in drama to assist Liang Jun, and he needed to do it before the crew went to the mainland. As for this scene, Xiao Ran would have to step in himself.
It had to be admitted that Xiao Ran was becoming increasingly capable as a director. After just a brief thought, he came up with a solution. He called over the cinematographer Huang Tailue, art director Zhang Shuping, sound engineer, composer, as well as Fa Ge and the middle-aged actor playing the agent.
After pondering for a moment, he glanced at Liang Jun and called him over too, then instructed Huang Tailue, “In a moment, have two cameras in motion, one of them handheld. I want shots that are cold, sad, yet subtle…”
Huang Tailue waved his hand, and Liu Weiqiang rushed over eagerly, asking in confusion, “Grandmaster, what’s the matter?”
Xiao Ran couldn’t help but find it amusing. Liu Weiqiang was practically Huang Tailue’s grandnephew-level disciple. He had been very successful as a cinematographer for “Mong Kok Carmen” last time, and given his status, he shouldn’t have been working as a cameraman for Huang Tailue.

But Huang Tailuo was his master, and Leung Jun really needed at least one expert in handheld camerawork. Liu Weiqiang’s talent for handheld camerawork, as shown in “Carmen in Mong Kok,” had already been recognized, so this future renowned commercial director was brought in.

Xiao Ran had great admiration for Huang Tailuo. If Duke Feng could only reach his best level when working with Wang Jiawei, then this man could perform exceptionally well even with just a good director, and could even indirectly influence the director. Huang Tailuo had won as many Golden Horse Awards as Duke Feng, and all his disciples and grand-disciples were outstanding—truly master-level figures. His interesting hobby was making cameo appearances in films; for example, he and his disciple appeared as the four killed bosses in “Infernal Affairs 2.”

Originally, it should have been the original cast, but unfortunately, Huang Yongheng was busy shooting another movie, so they had no choice but to turn to Huang Tailuo and the others. When the film was released, Xiao Ran finally admired Leung Jun’s control beyond the dramatic scenes—he was able to maintain a style very similar to the first part through his own control and understanding, even with greater intensity, though lacking a bit of classicity.

Xiao Ran’s understanding was simple: the focus of this scene wasn’t just on the agent but also on showing concern for the character, along with interaction and influence. Therefore, it required not only low-angle close-ups but also high-angle shots. To balance it, both types of shots needed to be combined.

Huang Tailuo and Liu Weiqiang quickly understood Xiao Ran’s intention and prepared accordingly. Left alone, Xiao Ran thought for a moment before saying to Lin Daoyun, “This scene needs music, not a song. You can use a Scottish flute or erhu to convey this sense of sorrow, but don’t overlook the protagonist’s psychological changes—include some subtle variations as well!”

Lin Daoyun was after all Xiao Ran’s long-time team member and immediately understood his meaning. However, he was puzzled as to how Xiao Ran knew that a Scottish flute was suitable for a sorrowful atmosphere—he had originally planned to use that instrument anyway, which made him admire Xiao Ran even more.

Xiao Ran noticed this look and secretly chuckled. He had drawn inspiration from “Braveheart.” Actually, it couldn’t really be called stealing techniques—it was more like inspiration. Any instrument, used properly, could successfully set the mood or convey the theme. The most typical example was “PTU,” where the music during the upstairs scene perfectly expressed camaraderie in a seamless manner.

Thinking of this, Xiao Ran felt resentful. He really didn’t know when Zhong Zhirong would make his debut. If he could get Zhong Zhirong, it would be like having one of the best composers in Chinese cinema. Zhong Zhirong was best at composing music for highly distinctive personal works, while Huang Zhan excelled in classical styles, creating something grand and majestic. Hu Dawei was also one of the four most famous composers of his era.

“Go prepare to isolate natural sounds. I want to capture every sound from this scene without missing anything. During post-production, I need to say: ‘Regarding the set and colors, can we add a touch of brightness subtly? I want to convey that the protagonist has basically completed his mental transformation!’”

“Darkness hides brightness!” Zhang Shuping immediately understood Xiao Ran’s meaning—it was about conveying messages through elements like color and light in the visuals. “I think there’s no problem. I’ll go prepare right away!”
In no time, all the preparations were done. Only then did Xiao Ran instruct the middle-aged actor, “You must perform well later. There’s no need to look overly sad, but you still need to convey a sense of exhaustion. Also, I want a hint of concern for family members—eye expression is crucial!”
This middle-aged actor was one of the first graduates from the acting training class and was also a well-known supporting actor in Hong Kong. His price was only slightly lower than Wu Zhenyu’s. Xiao Ran believed he could handle it, as this scene wasn’t particularly difficult to act—what really mattered was Fa Ge.
Staring at the dependable Fa Ge, Xiao Ran thought for a moment about the filming approach before saying to him, “Fa Ge, your performance doesn’t need to be too cold. Show a bit of excitement, but keep it hidden. Basically, no facial expressions—focus on eye contact, but don’t overdo it or seem forced.”
“You always have so many demands. I really fear you! Working with you is like seeking trouble!” Fa Ge pretended to exclaim loudly, immediately drawing agreement from the crew members, who all shouted, “That’s right, Director Xiao! You always try to squeeze every last bit out of us. Working with you is really exhausting!”
Xiao Ran chuckled and glanced around. The crew members were mostly from the first episode’s team—old hands he was very familiar with, so he didn’t hesitate in speaking freely. “Stop acting. If I wanted to shoot carelessly, I’d be afraid you wouldn’t agree. Who among you isn’t eager to show off?”
At that, Xiao Ran couldn’t help but laugh—it was quite amusing. He had only been here for five years, yet he had already changed the previous sloppy work style. Every member of the crew worked and created with seriousness, especially the team he personally led, with each member gradually becoming a top figure in their field.
It seemed even Lei Kaitai had privately offered Xiao Ran 40 million in exchange for his team. Of course, Xiao Ran refused outright, as they weren’t signed to Shadow Company but were available whenever called. Whenever another company offered them work, they would first ask Shadow Company, “Does the company have any projects for us? Has President Xiao assigned any work?” Only if not would they accept work from other companies.
This was beneficial because when this team took on projects for other companies, it gradually influenced the entire industry to become more serious. As a result, the current atmosphere, which pleased Xiao Ran, had emerged—truly, he couldn’t help but thank this old team.
However, they were now very accomplished. For example, the lighting technician Dou Wenbao was known as the “King of Lighting” in the industry. This time, Huang Tailue had intended to bring his own lighting technician, but upon hearing it would be Dou Wenbao, he immediately abandoned that idea. As for Lin Daoyun, if not for his limited number of works, he would surely be as renowned as music composers like Hu Dawei.

Everyone was happy to work with Xiao Ran, not only because he could bring them fame but also because working with him allowed them to learn a lot and grow rapidly. Many in the industry found him incredible, as if he knew everything, not realizing that Xiao Ran simply had the advantage of extensive experience.

Joking aside, everyone continued working without pause, well aware of Xiao Ran’s style. Liang Jun, standing nearby, was deeply impressed by how quickly Xiao Ran got everything organized. His admiration wasn’t for the organization itself but for Xiao Ran’s ability to quickly outline what he wanted.

“Are all departments ready?” Xiao Ran raised his head and scanned the area solemnly. The sound recorder and Zhang Shuping replied with “OK” several times. Seeing everything was ready, he then shouted into the microphone, “ACTION!”

As the script reader announced which scene and shot to start, the cameras began working. Fa Ge gently supported the middle-aged actor, who was surrounded by corpses. After exchanging a few lines, Fa Ge moved the actor to a rock, where the two talked face to face. The camera moved around them along its tracks, while Liu Weiqiang kept shooting from both sides, bending down constantly.

After shooting for a while, Fa Ge stood up and stepped forward. Xiao Ran couldn’t help but marvel—after his breakthrough in “The God of Gamblers,” Fa Ge could now be considered the best actor in Asia. His body language and walking posture matched the scene perfectly, showcasing a truly holistic form of performance that could be considered the pinnacle of traditional acting.

Finally, the scene was shot. Xiao Ran let out a sigh. Whether this scene would work well would depend on the final editing. After saying “CUT,” he turned to Zhang Yaozong and smiled, “Lao Zhang, how do you think this scene should be edited?”

“Don’t get it wrong—I’m only in charge of directing. The real editor is him!” Zhang Yaozong pointed to the young man beside him with a sly smile. Xiao Ran realized he had been tricked—it was Zhang Yaozong’s apprentice. Zhang Yaozong laughed heartily, “But I really admire you for giving me such a tough challenge right from the start. Since we’re old partners, I’ll give you this favor. I think the key to this scene is…”

“The shots of him leaving…” Xiao Ran and Zhang Yaozong said at the same time, exchanging a look full of mutual respect. As expected, Zhang Yaozong was the most in sync editor with Xiao Ran. He quickly instructed his apprentice, “You need to understand the director’s intent for these shots. Did you notice anything special about the way Fa Ge left?”

The young man hesitated for a moment before cautiously looking at his master and saying, “It seems the angle when he left was straight! And the camera shot was also straight… I get it!”

“Your apprentice? Impressive—has a bright future!” Xiao Ran nodded in approval. The young man was good—although he realized it only with their hint, he was quite talented. He then said to Zhang Yaozong, “Lao Zhang, teach him more. He has a great future ahead!”

Xiao Ran clearly had the right to speak in such a senior tone, and the young man showed joy at being praised by him. Zhang Yaozong looked up and sighed, “The waves behind drive on those before; those before die on the shore. It’s not easy for anyone!”
“Who said that?” Xiao Ran laughed heartily. There were many filmmakers with such thoughts, no wonder many of their unique skills had been lost. “The pay these days is so high that making one movie a year is enough to cover your expenses. Moreover, I believe competition leads to progress. If you don’t progress, you won’t be able to keep up with me in the future!”
The young man couldn’t stop sneering, while Zhang Yaozong could only force a bitter smile. There was a significant age gap between him and Xiao Ran—how could he possibly keep up? When the filming for the day was almost done, Xiao Ran went over to Liang Jun and said, “Ajun, you’re not good at emotional scenes. I’ll find you a partner—long-term. Choose one you like!”
“Me? I don’t know!” Liang Jun felt a bit embarrassed. Indeed, there were quite a few actors who were strong in emotional scenes, making it hard for him to choose. After thinking for a moment, Xiao Ran decided it was better for him to pick one himself.