Chapter 231: Sweeping the World

Everyone closed their eyes, quietly enjoying this perhaps vain but truly practical and passionate experience. They all knew that to receive such applause in one’s lifetime, even just once, was a lifetime honor.

But they were different. As long as they performed well enough, they could get it ten times, a hundred times—provided they never gave up and gave their all. This was what Xiao Ran often talked about: dedication and seriousness. At this moment, they all began to understand Xiao Ran a bit better. They thought that perhaps even at his current status, he still acted in films precisely because of this kind of glory.

Maybe so. Xiao Ran himself wasn’t sure. He knew he truly loved movies. But he wasn’t certain whether he was really fascinated by the feeling of being admired by others, or by the power to control lives, joys, sorrows, and separations.

He thought it might be true. Even if he had trillions in wealth, what would that matter? All he could gain would be respect or admiration—not this feeling. He didn’t want to be trapped by money like a businessman; he wanted to control money, not let it control him.

Nothing could be better than this. Anyone would be happy for the applause and sense of achievement in those few seconds. Xiao Ran loved this feeling and also loved this kind of work. He knew it was a place to indulge his thoughts and unleash his imagination.

On this small screen, he could create a perfect and real world. Everyone knew it was fake, yet they were still obsessed with that illusion—this was the charm of movies, as well as the charm of creators…

This was another huge success for Xiao Ran, one no one could ignore. Shu Qi, a famous Hong Kong film critic and director, commented on it, noting in his article that Xiao Ran had once again created a new genre—race movies—and set standards for future racing films. “Legend of the Racing God” would become the pioneering work of this genre.

It was still Li Zhuotao who understood Xiao Ran’s creative intentions and techniques best. His articles were indeed full of praise, but not without criticism either. He believed Xiao Ran’s progress as a director wasn’t particularly significant, as the film relied not solely on Xiao Ran’s control but on the success of the entire team.

Typically, he could see Xiao Ran’s initial creative intent in the film, but this intent gradually faded as the production progressed, losing Xiao Ran’s original vision—a kind of inevitable failure.

Of course, he wasn’t completely criticizing the film or Xiao Ran. Most of his writing was praise. His views aligned with Fang Baoluo’s—both believed this film had created a new genre, one that might be even more significant historically than “Spy Change.” Just as “True Heroes” pioneered the hero film genre and “New Dragon Inn” pioneered the new style of wuxia films.

Most importantly, he identified two strengths in Xiao Ran in the film—perhaps better described as a summary. First, he believed Xiao Ran possessed directorial genius; the film was always filled with flashes of brilliance. The only flaw was that this sense of genius didn’t last until the end of the film. Second, he thought Xiao Ran was absolutely the best in Asia and even the world at controlling the rhythm and flow of a film—no other director could surpass him in this regard. In this film, Xiao Ran’s handling of flow reached an unparalleled level, as he believed the first three minutes and the car-chase scenes toward the end perfectly demonstrated this.

Regarding Li Zhuotao’s comments, Xiao Ran nodded in acknowledgment. He had a highly refined eye as a film enthusiast, capable of identifying his own shortcomings. As he said himself, every film has flaws; the key is whether the director can cover them up with strengths so well that they go unnoticed. Xiao Ran did an excellent job, even admitting himself to having done well in this aspect. Yet he was also well aware that his directing skills were still far from those of directors like Wu Yusen. Within his capabilities, he had “communicated” with every director who had strengths, but learning from their strengths didn’t mean he could become a better director. No matter how many strengths one had, they always belonged to others. If Xiao Ran couldn’t integrate them or develop his own unique style, he would never become a true master director. However, he already had a style now—fluidity, a kind of fluidity that came from over a decade of experience, even surpassing it.

Still, he was more aware of strengths within himself that hadn’t yet been discovered by others—business acumen. Indeed, it was business acumen. Xiao Ran himself had a profound understanding of commercial elements, coupled with experience gained over time. After directing several films, he took this aspect to its extreme in this particular film.

What are commercial elements? What is a director’s control over commercial aspects? *Léon: The Professional* can be regarded as a model. The film is essentially an art film, but it ends with a very standard yet brilliant action sequence—this is the manifestation of commercial control.

Never think that commercial factors are unimportant. Commercial elements are not just about the script or the overall production approach. They also stem from the director’s control, as he can precisely determine when to provide the audience with certain pleasures. Similarly, he knows how to choose the most appropriate moments to make the audience’s hearts race along with the film—this involves not only directorial skills but also a deep understanding of business operations. This is one of the main reasons why Xiao Ran’s films are always a box office success.

After the film was released in the United States, renowned critic Roger Ebert pointed out its strengths incisively: “It’s a film that makes everyone’s heart burn—proof of the best teamwork.”

The film was released within ten days in Asia, as well as in Europe and North America. It won countless honors and profits for Phantom, without exaggeration. As a result, all those behind the scenes who worked on this film were regarded as top talents, especially those in sound design, who were hailed as masters. Naturally, Hsiang Pao was promoted to become Hong Kong’s finest sound designer as a result.

In fact, before directing this film, Hsiao Yan had thought deeply about it. He now understood why it takes so long for a Hollywood movie to go from preparation to release. Before shooting began, he needed to determine whether the film could be a success in the West.

On this point, the planning department offered targeted suggestions. First, regarding the music, to appeal to Western young audiences, the soundtrack could be made more Westernized. Hsiao Yan even considered using some black music to cater to Black audiences.

As for costumes and styling, the planning department suggested aiming for an Eastern look while avoiding anything that might seem strange to Westerners. In short, the key was fashion and innovation—meeting these two criteria was sufficient.

For the scenery, the film also chose beautiful landscapes as backgrounds. Otherwise, why would the producers go to the trouble of moving maple trees? In short, this film catered to Eastern audiences while also giving Western audiences a sense of familiarity, which is the foundation of box office success.

However, not every director can blend these seemingly incompatible elements, nor do they all understand them. That’s why Hsiao Yan had the directors under Phantom trained in the planning department—to develop such keen control skills.

It’s simple to say, but complex to implement. As long as Western audiences don’t encounter anything unreasonable, the planning department has professional screenwriters to handle that. For example, the idea of Wu Yushen having an endless supply of bullets would seem unreasonable to Westerners. Wu Yushen doesn’t necessarily have to change it, but if the film is aimed at Western audiences, it must be adjusted accordingly.

Hsiao Yan also saw this work as an example for other directors and industry professionals, showing them through practical actions how to turn limitations into advantages. Of course, Hsiao Yan believed such adaptation shouldn’t last too long, and he also tried to give other directors opportunities to create works with a local flavor. Otherwise, it might undermine the talent and uniqueness of filmmakers.

Moreover, no matter how they are made, Hong Kong films always retain a certain local flavor. As long as Western audiences can accept Hong Kong films, they are essentially accepting this local style, which will solidify its position over time. By then, it won’t be up to Western audiences to choose.

Undoubtedly, Hsiao Yan’s new film achieved tremendous success in both box office earnings and critical acclaim—a success so great it’s almost enviable. The local box office once again exceeded 50 million, reaching 6 million, and rightfully became the second-highest-grossing film in history, though still behind the consistently dominant “As Time Goes By.”

Of course, it’s difficult to break this box office record, mainly because the local market has already reached its usual peak. In overseas markets, Hong Kong films are far from reaching their peak, with plenty of room for growth. In Japan, the box office exceeded $100 million, reaching 800 million Hong Kong dollars. In Taiwan, it surpassed the record set by “Spy Change.” In South Korea, thanks to its stylish appeal, the box office was also high, reaching over 200 million Hong Kong dollars, making it the highest-grossing film in South Korean history. Even in the Chinese mainland, the box office—estimated at 200 million Hong Kong dollars (based on the figure of 2.4 billion yuan in 1990)—was extremely high. The total box office across Asia reached 1.7 billion Hong Kong dollars, setting another record. In Europe, the film’s box office performance was slightly better than that of “Ghost” at 600 million Hong Kong dollars. In North America, it far exceeded Xiao Ran’s estimate of $60 million, reaching $130 million—surpassing “The Terminator’s” $80 million and ranking third among the top 10 films of the year in the U.S., just above “The Silence of the Lambs.” The global box office reached an unprecedented 3.35 billion Hong Kong dollars, slightly over $400 million. This record-breaking figure surpassed almost all Hollywood blockbusters, making it the second-highest-grossing film of the year globally, only behind “Robin Hood.” It’s an astonishing figure even Xiao Ran hadn’t imagined. Yet, upon reflection, he understood it. In recent years, more and more high-quality films have been released in mainstream U.S. theaters, and since this is a film that relies heavily on visuals, language isn’t a major barrier. Just as future Hollywood English-language films are achieving huge success in non-English-speaking regions, this isn’t unimaginable—people’s tastes aren’t entirely different, at least when it comes to genres like action movies. Surprised yet amused by these results, Xiao Ran realized that Hong Kong films’ position in North America had become firmly established. Over the past three years, at least one Hong Kong film has made it onto the global box office charts each year. Initially, Xiao Ran was worried that other film companies might become complacent due to Hong Kong films’ current success and start producing shoddy works. But it seems all companies are staying calm, even Lei Kaitai has begun investing more rationally. Films that don’t meet certain standards simply can’t be shown in theaters; the only option is to sell audiovisual rights for huge profits. As a result, the number of films able to have their premiere in Hong Kong is slightly lower than in the previous two years. Subsequently, “Spy Change 2” was released in the U.S. Actually, the film didn’t contain much criticism of the U.S., but with some clever manipulation by Xiao Ran, the American villains in the film were turned into scheming agents within the CIA. This basically followed the pattern of Hollywood blockbusters, though the focus of the film was different. Thus, the film was successfully released in the U.S. The Chinese mainland government expressed great interest in “Spy Change 2” through Guan Xin, as the film could indirectly influence some foreign countries’ views of China.

“The Spy’s Betrayal 2” did not perform as well at the box office as the first installment, falling short by even 400 million. Its action sequences were more intense than those in the first film, but its overall quality was inferior. More importantly, there was a disconnect between the emotional and action elements, and its reception was clearly worse than that of the first part, suggesting that Liu Mei and Leung Jun still lack sufficient chemistry.

Undoubtedly, the summer belongs to “The Spy’s Betrayal 2” and “The Legend of the Racing God.” Interestingly, both are sequels, which means Phantom can use them to continue making money. In Xiao Ran’s view, there are only three films in the “Spy” series, while “The Legend of the Racing God” could have at least three more installments—real money makers.

However, Xiao Ran doesn’t want to rush into making sequels just to make money like they did with “Infernal Affairs” once it became popular; still, too much time should not pass either. There’s an unwritten rule in Hollywood: if the original cast cannot be found within five years, the sequel isn’t necessary, as it’s unlikely to be profitable.

Of course, “Star Wars” and “The Terminator” are complete exceptions—uncomparable. But at least Xiao Ran believes that even if “The God of Gambling” were made again in ten years, it would still achieve strong box office results. Exaggerating a bit, Phantom already has quite a few brand franchises under its control, and earning money from these alone would be sufficient.

With so many films achieving box office success, Xiao Ran feels as though he’s moving in the direction of Spielberg—though this isn’t necessarily a good thing. What he really wants to do is find his own identity and create a highly distinctive film, a personal work like “PTU” that truly showcases the director’s style.

Ironically, “The Story of Ah Fei,” which cost 2,000 in Hong Kong dollars and another 40 million from Phantom, was finally released. This film, featuring a large cast of stars, spent over 10 million just on their salaries. Its box office performance in Hong Kong wasn’t completely disastrous, barely breaking through the 10 million mark thanks to the stars’ appeal.

This surprised Xiao Ran greatly; he had thought the film’s box office would top out at 5 million. But considering that Liu Hua and others didn’t have much box office appeal when they starred in it back then, while now they are top-tier stars in Hong Kong cinema, it’s understandable.

The only good news was that the film’s overseas box office barely covered some of the costs. In terms of investment, excluding revenues from theaters and other sources that shouldn’t be counted as investment, Phantom lost 10 million in this deal—without even accounting for the 20 million invested by Mo Huaien. This shows that it’s true that the film’s poor box office performance angered investor Deng Guangrong to the point of vomiting blood.

But Xiao Ran doesn’t care about that. The film has won many awards for Phantom overseas. Wang Jiawei’s mission is to win awards—this is how Xiao Ran has assigned him. After the mini-stock crash triggered by the Gulf Crisis, Wei Jiahui came up with this theme on his own, without even needing Xiao Ran’s reminder, and quickly started producing “The Great Era,” known as the king of Hong Kong dramas.

This series would become ATV’s most powerful weapon in competing with television stations in other countries. To this end, ATV assigned the dubbing of this series to Siwei, aiming for perfection. After Xiao Ran set an example by making a guest appearance in the series, nearly half of Hong Kong’s top stars took time out of their schedules to make guest appearances as well, striving to establish this series as the ultimate classic of Hong Kong dramas.

When Wei Jiahui began writing this series, Xiao Ran reminded him to leave room for sequels to facilitate future production, and indeed the subsequent sequels were much more coherent than the original. Most interestingly, among Wei Jiahui’s team, Xiao Ran spotted scriptwriters from Galaxy Image such as Situ Jinyuan.

Needless to say, Xiao Ran naturally found ways to bring them in. After all, wouldn’t Situ and the others be among Hong Kong’s top scriptwriters in another decade? It’s just that their achievements were all credited to Ah Du alone, which is why they remain unknown.