Reborn in the Chinese Entertainment Industry: You're a Director, But You're a Casanova?

The lighting in the directing department exam room was a bit of a disaster; three beams of cold white light shone on the chairs, making the surroundings seem very dark.

This might be a lighting lesson planned ahead of schedule.

Niu Yuehua walked over without paying attention; unlike the candidates before him, he wasn't so nervous that his palms were sweating.

He casually placed his hands on the chair and leaned back.

In the middle, in the position of the chief examiner, sat a thin, middle-aged man.

Tian Zhuangzhuang is the elder brother of the fifth generation of Chinese film directors.

As Lao Tian flipped through the documents, he sensed that this kid wasn't as reserved as the previous students, but he also didn't seem to have much respect for them.

On the right is Professor Xie, who is wearing glasses and is also a long-time friend of the Niu and Feng families.

"Your name is Niu Yuehua, right?" Tian Zhuangzhuang looked up and said without any politeness.

"Your family background is quite impressive. Your uncle is a crosstalk performer, and your master is also a crosstalk performer."

"What? You think the traditional comedy theaters aren't enough for you to cause trouble? You've come to the Beijing Film Academy to wreak havoc?"

Professor Xie, who was standing nearby, tried to smooth things over.

"Old Tian, ​​this kid from the Niu family grew up in the garden. He's quick-witted and knows his stuff."

Tian Zhuangzhuang didn't take the opportunity to back down, and stared at Niu Yuehua as he spoke.

"I don't care who's in your family, we're here to see real skills." Tian Zhuangzhuang was stubborn and asked directly.

"A student studying traditional Chinese performing arts wants to become a director? Fine, then tell me, what's the future of Chinese cinema for the next 10 years?"

This question is actually a trap.

The students who had been taught to spout platitudes in the training course, talking about the New Wave and humanistic concerns, were all thoroughly scolded by Lao Tian and kicked out.

The room fell silent.

Niu Yuehua looked at Tianzhuangzhuang, and his mind started calculating.

He understood that these old men had been aloof their whole lives, and were about to be squeezed out by commercial blockbusters. If you tried to talk to them about profound art, they would think you were hypocritical.

But if you really try to talk about the impact of the wave of commercial films that will be released at the end of the year, you certainly won't be able to convince these old men who are at a turning point in history.

We need to find a way to use the most mundane logic to break down their most high-minded pride.

Niu Yuehua shifted to a more comfortable position and began to speak.

"Director Tian, ​​Professor Xie, if you ask me, if we keep going down the old path, we'll just be waiting to die."

Old Tian raised an eyebrow, and Professor Xie stopped drinking water.

They knew that Zhang Yimou's blockbuster was going to be released at the end of the year, but they really couldn't think of any way out for Chinese films.

Niu Yuehua said slowly.

"Movies may sound mysterious and sophisticated, but they're really no different from eating everyday stir-fries."

"You gentlemen are truly knowledgeable and passionate, and you want to prepare a Manchu Han Imperial Feast, a national banquet, for the people."

"But look outside, people are freezing to death after work in the dead of winter, with only a few dozen yuan in their pockets."

When people go to a restaurant, they want a bowl of hot soup to warm them up and a bite of braised pork to satisfy their cravings.

"But you lot insisted on sitting people down in chairs and talking for 30 minutes about the history of meat, then 20 minutes about the humanistic aspects of soy sauce. People were too lazy to listen and found it annoying. You even complained that wild boars couldn't eat fine bran."

Tian Zhuangzhuang's face changed, and the cigarette he was holding almost burned his fingers.

"So, there's only one way to survive in the future. We have to treat filmmaking like a service industry, serving people and forget about art or anything like that. Let's feed people first," Niu Yuehua continued.

"What are the audience buying when they buy tickets to enter your little dark room? They're buying emotional value."

"In the first 15 minutes, you need to deliver a crisp, laugh-out-loud moment, like a refreshing appetizer before a meal."

"After 40 minutes, you have to be ruthless, push the good guy to the brink, and suppress your emotions to the extreme. That's the real challenge."

"When you finally get to the end, you have to make them cry and curse, or slap their thighs and shout with satisfaction. It's like the last bowl of soup filling the gap."

"Joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness—these are all things that ordinary people want to see."

"If you can explain this emotional value to the people and make them feel comfortable, they will be satisfied."

"Once we've made enough money, the market will have been cultivated."

"Then you add your humanistic care and artistic value to the dish, and they will be willing to take a bite."

"If Chinese films want to survive, they must first lower their heads and see what the people really want to eat."

The room fell silent again for a long time.

After a while, Professor Xie shook his head.

"You're too shrewd, kid. You've picked up your master's down-to-earth ways, but haven't learned any of the decorum of us cultured people?"

Sitting in the middle, Tian Zhuangzhuang's emotions were fluctuating wildly.

The old man had spent his entire career making art films, enduring countless grievances. Now, he stared intently at the young man before him. A flicker of anger, as if his veil of shame had been ripped away, and a look of awe, as if the clouds had parted to reveal the clear sky, flashed in his eyes.

That's so tacky, so damn tacky.

However, this crude restaurant theory accurately describes Chinese cinema at this turning point.

A sudden surge of shock emanated from Tian Zhuangzhuang. Niu Yuehua smiled slightly, and the Demon Seed silently began to operate, accepting the aura with a smile.

Tian Zhuangzhuang slammed his left hand on the table, grabbed a red pen with his right hand, and scribbled a couple of lines on the paper.

"You're fucking arrogant, you reek of money," Tian Zhuangzhuang cursed.

"But he's a straightforward person. Get out and prepare for the second round of testing."

Niu Yuehua stood up with a smile and then cupped his hands in a respectful gesture.

"Alright, thank you all for your hard work, see you next time."

……

Separated by a wall was the examination room for the performing arts department, where the chief examiner, Teacher Cui, frowned and hesitated to put down his pen.

In the middle of the exam room, 15-year-old Liu Yifei stood alone. Her exam question was "The Moment of Receiving Devastating News," as she received a phone call informing her that her father had been in a car accident.

The girl has such a great natural beauty; even just standing there, she exudes an inexplicable ethereal charm.

Teacher Cui originally planned to select her directly for the next round, after all, she had selected Huang Xiaoming, that blockhead, to enter the school before, but she always felt that something was missing.

At this moment, Liu Yifei remembered Liu Xiaoli's instructions and began to prepare her emotions.

Her eyes reddened, and after a while, tears welled up in her eyes, making her look as beautiful as a painting.

The assistant examiner next to him nodded. Indeed, she was quite good-looking.

But Teacher Cui sighed. It was beautiful, but too fake. It was just a delicate piece of wood, like Huang Xiaoming. Oh well, I'll give it a passing grade.

Standing outside the corridor door, Liu Xiaoli saw Teacher Cui frowning and shaking her head through the window, and suddenly felt a little flustered.

That's it, the teacher isn't buying it.

Isn't it said that you can pass the Beijing Film Academy audition as long as you're good-looking?

In the examination room, Liu Yifei also noticed the examiner's disappointment. She suddenly panicked and her tears fell even more fiercely.

Just as her mind went blank and she was about to resign herself to her fate, she suddenly remembered what the older boy in the corridor had said.

"Try to smile, even if it's a forced smile."

Never mind, let's try anything, even if it's a hopeless case.

Liu Yifei wiped away her tears, putting the tragic beauty that Liu Xiaoli had taught her out of her mind.

She forced herself to recall the time when she was bullied and locked in the bathroom in the United States, the despair of being unable to call out to anyone.

Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she forced a dry, neurotic smile.

Strong smile.

"Great, that's wonderful!" Teacher Cui clapped with a smile.

"That's amazing! It's incredibly inspired. Who taught you that? Or did you come up with it yourself?"

"Not bad, you are the most well-mannered person among this group."

Liu Xiaoli overheard these words through the crack in the door, and a wave of fear washed over her, causing her to break out in a cold sweat.

The blond-haired guy I just saw in the hallway, who looked like a street urchin, casually chatted with me, and somehow managed to pull Sisi back from the brink of failing her exams.

If Sisi hadn't listened to him... she didn't dare to think any further.