Chapter 244: Xiao Ran’s Works

Why make such a film? Xiao Ran found it hard to explain. As a commercial director without any standout features, he was undoubtedly the most successful. Yet few directors embark on their own path without going through trials and errors. Films like Galaxy Images’ “Only One Can Survive” and “The Birth of a Word” fell into this category, as did Eddy’s “The Bland Detective”—all experimental works as they explored paths suited to them. Shadow provided these renowned directors with a way to hone their skills.
What was that method? Simple—make more films! Xiao Ran understood well that one of the main reasons why Hong Kong directors and actors were more flexible than those in Hollywood was their extensive experience. Hong Kong filmmakers could produce several films a year, or even more, whereas Hollywood actors couldn’t. This was an unbeatable advantage, giving them ample opportunities to refine their skills.
Now, with Xiao Ran’s presence, the film production cycle had lengthened, and the advantages and unique traits of Hong Kong filmmakers were gradually fading. Xiao Ran didn’t want this, so experimental films became a genre for these directors to practice and improve themselves. Usually, such films were not large-scale productions. However, if Xu Ke insisted on spending 100 to 200 million to experiment, it wasn’t entirely impossible.
Many of these experimental films might not even be released, as many commercial directors had failed in this area. Even if released, they were unlikely to be shown in mainstream theaters, unless they were as successful as “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon,” which expanded its screening venues gradually due to its success in art-house theaters.
In short, experimental films were essentially a way to spend money to help directors hone their skills. Before Xiao Ran, few major directors were willing to make experimental films, as it was considered work for newcomers. It was Xiao Ran who started this trend of self-improvement.
While “Jurassic Park” was popular locally and had just premiered in Asia and Europe, Xiao Ran’s new film quietly began production. The first half mainly set the stage for the second half, making it relatively easy to shoot. The only difficulty was that Liu Weiqiang found it hard to keep his handheld camera from shaking while moving.
The main issue in the early stages was stabilizing the camera to simulate the field of vision. Eventually, two smaller cameras were urgently brought in, and with the technical staff’s adjustments, Liu Weiqiang managed to stabilize the footage.
However, what troubled Liu Weiqiang was how exhausting such work was. There was no choice—since he was skilled with handheld cameras, he had to operate them personally, whether running or otherwise. There was a scene where he had to run hundreds of meters, which was extremely painful.
After running for a while, he was so focused on the camera that he almost collided with a street lamp post. What followed was even funnier—he had to run while controlling the camera to look back, forcing the crew to move quickly.

The first half was Liu Weiqiang’s forte, while Huang Yongheng took charge of directing the second half. By that point, Xiao Ran no longer needed dramatic jumps or manual camera control; in a sense, the shots were more akin to stillness. Filming the first half wasn’t smooth either—right from the start, the performances of the two supporting actors displeased Xiao Ran. It was a scene where they robbed a bank, the beginning of the film, and their movements to grab the guns didn’t meet his expectations. Xiao Ran stopped filming, went into the performance area, took the prop guns from Liu Qingyun, and instructed them, “When you shoot, never blink. Your characters aren’t tough types—they each have their own style and characteristics. Qingyun, you need to act more cynical. Zhenyu, aside from being neurotic, try to be more elegant—just control your emotions!” Before he finished speaking, Xiao Ran raised the gun barrel and pointed it at his own eyes, signaling them to look at him. Then he showed a faint mocking smile, as if mocking everything, stepped forward a few steps, and placed the gun on the counter. The extras started screaming and running as written in the script. Xiao Ran’s eyes suddenly widened, and he raised his gun and shot at one of them! Liu Qingyun and Wu Zhenyu exchanged a glance—shoot without blinking and keep eyes wide open? That was strange. Of course, they had no idea that Xiao Ran had learned this trick from Eason Chan’s “The Big Event,” where Eason also ordered actors like Ren Xianqi not to blink. Anyway, they clearly realized that Xiao Ran was giving instructions to Liu Qingyun. Liu Qingyun, being an experienced actor, meditated for a moment and then gave Xiao Ran a gesture. The subsequent scene went much more smoothly. With Xiao Ran’s guidance, Liu Qingyun and Wu Zhenyu’s performances became increasingly fluid. However, the long take Xiao Ran arranged in this scene caused some trouble. In fact, there were quite a few long takes throughout the film. Since only one camera was used, it was difficult to cover all angles, so careful rehearsal was often necessary before shooting. Like this scene, where two thieves shot at the police and tried to escape. After discussing it with Huang Yongheng, they decided on the camera position. They even drew a layout showing the sequence and direction of the camera movements to facilitate filming. Liu Weiqiang was very troubled because he was playing two roles—both the protagonist and the cameraman—which was extremely difficult. Acting alone was already tough, but he also had to run and dodge, which was truly agonizing. In this scene, his troubles weren’t severe; he was just tired. He had to escape from the bank entrance, and from there, a long take began—no actor in frame was allowed to make a mistake. After several rehearsals and failed attempts at filming, Xiao Ran scolded the actors harshly before they finally managed to shoot the scene successfully. Next came the chase and escape, and then the second half. Actually, the second half was much easier to film—it was set in a large, abandoned house where the two supporting actors fought, with the camera capturing it all.

The filming of the movie was completed in just one week. Four of those days were spent on the bank scene, while shooting the second half took Xiao Ran only one day. Completing a movie in a week—aren’t you scared? But Xiao Ran didn’t see any problem in it; “Gunfire” was only filmed in two weeks. Even Hollywood, known for its long production cycles, has managed to finish films quickly—“Million Dollar Baby” took only 38 days.

Once post-production was done, Xiao Ran felt completely relaxed, even experiencing a sense of lightness. He knew it wasn’t pride or arrogance, but rather a very relaxed happiness, as if his body and mind had been emptied.

“Interested? It’s the latest masterpiece from Director Xiao Ran—don’t miss it!” Xiao Ran waved several movie tickets in front of Wei Dongling’s face arrogantly. “Do you want them? Each ticket costs 10,000 dollars!”

“Go rob a bank instead of making movies!” Wei Dongling glared and reached for the tickets, but Xiao Ran skillfully dodged him. Both had been taught by the same master and were too busy to practice, so they were roughly equal in skill.

Xiao Ran glanced at Wei Dongling disdainfully. “Don’t think those tickets are easy to get. They’re only available at those eight art houses. And the tickets for the preview screenings have already gone up to over 700 yuan outside. Don’t regret it if you don’t get them!”

It was true. At first, people didn’t take it seriously, but once they learned the producer and director were both Xiao Ran, the tickets became highly sought after. Since Shadow had negotiated with other companies, they decided to keep the preview screenings, but they would only be shown in one theater or screening room per day for three days, to avoid turning them into premieres.

So, tickets for preview screenings were extremely hard to come by, and even tickets for popular movies were driven up by scalpers. The most typical example was “Jurassic Park”—its tickets went from 20 yuan to over 800 yuan.

“Fine, if you don’t give them to me, you better prepare to give me a Boeing this year!” Wei Dongling started cackling. Xiao Ran had been bullying the richest man in China and Hong Kong for years, with this kid finding excuses to extort him every year.

Giving him a Boeing plane! How could this kid even think of that? Frustrated, Xiao Ran thought he had only changed his car last year, while Wei Dongling had extorted at least five cars in total. Spitting angrily, Xiao Ran gave in. “You kid already has a fortune of nearly 10 billion, yet you still extort me like this. I really admire you!”

“I want to collect all brands and models!” Wei Dongling’s strange statement made Xiao Ran shiver. Collecting all car models in the world—what an ambitious goal. But then Xiao Ran realized Wei Dongling hadn’t paid for a car himself in at least two years, and during those two years, his family had acquired three more cars.

Seeing Xiao Ran’s fierce look, Wei Dongling quickly changed the subject. “Let’s get back to business. Huang Qun called just now to congratulate us on the huge success of ‘Jurassic Park’! From his tone, it seems many people high up have seen it. I guess the pressure is pretty heavy now!”

Xiao Ran narrowed his eyes; Huang Qun’s meaning was quite clear. Everyone upstairs doubted whether mainland movies could produce such films, at least that was the opinion within their ranks. That was good—he needed to let them know that without Hong Kong movies, mainland movies meant nothing.

“Also, the Shenzhen Phantom Cinema has been completed. They asked if we want to attend the ribbon-cutting ceremony,” Wei Dongling said as he took a bottle of wine from the bar and poured it into a glass, then handed Xiao Ran a highball glass filled with purified water. “I’m thinking about building a cinema in the area near Beijing. That way, it might give them a good indication of our commitment to domestic movies.”

Unconsciously, Xiao Ran began swaying the liquid in his glass just like Wei Dongling. The Shenzhen Cinema was merely a continuation of Hong Kong movies, but building one in the north would subtly signal their determination to get government support for domestic films.

“We won’t go to the ribbon-cutting. Have Lan Hua from the distribution department go instead!” Xiao Ran glared at Wei Dongling. Having to ask him about something as trivial as a ribbon-cutting ceremony was simply mocking him. “As for a cinema in the north, we can build one. It needs to be comprehensive and large enough, turning into a comprehensive film and television center that could even become a tourist attraction in the future!”

“I think the same. Another point: maybe we should just equip the theater all at once!” Wei Dongling clearly had different ideas about investing in mainland theaters. “If we follow your slow approach, other companies will likely take over the market. By doing it all at once, we can make a strong first impression—that’s very important!”

After some thought, Xiao Ran nodded in agreement. Suddenly, he remembered something: “How’s real estate in the mainland going? Have we received the local real estate report?”

Entering the mainland real estate market was only natural. But Xiao Ran was more concerned about Hong Kong’s real estate situation. Since Peng Dingkang took office, he had been carefully planning to drive up real estate prices through various government measures. Real estate prices in 1989 had risen by 70% by 1993. If not for Phantom’s efforts to curb price inflation, they would likely have doubled.

Wei Dongling flipped through some documents on the table and handed them to Xiao Ran. After glancing through them, Xiao Ran was shocked by the figures. The results were clearly stated in bold letters: If the current upward trend continued, Hong Kong’s real estate market would reach its peak in three years!

What would come after the peak? Naturally, decline—just like how Hong Kong movies reached their peak in 1993 only to plummet the following year. Wei Dongling sighed. Xiao Ran had explained to him what the Hong Kong-British government wanted to achieve, so he understood Phantom’s difficulties well.

If Phantom tried to suppress the real estate boom on its own, failure was inevitable. The only solution was the method Xiao Ran had discussed with Wei Dongling earlier—redirecting this boom to other areas.

Where is suitable? Naturally, it’s the mainland, because what happened in 1989 didn’t occur there. Hong Kong people aren’t as fearful of the mainland as once thought. It was precisely because Meiyin invested large sums of money in the mainland and recovered them quickly that it indirectly curbed the surge in local real estate prices.
“The most troublesome part is…” Wei Dongling smiled bitterly. What followed was indeed not easy to handle: “The Hong Kong-British government wants to raise salaries across the board again—inflation! There’s nothing we can do to counter that!”
Xiao Ran also couldn’t help but sigh deeply. If the financial crisis was still coming, he could only wait. He had no way to stop the government from raising salaries; at most, he could hire some renowned economists to write in well-known financial and economic magazines about how terrible it would be.