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

The beginning was very boring.

The four surveillance cameras showed only stark white lights, Huang Bo scratching himself, and Wang Baoqiang patrolling aimlessly. There was no background music, only the dull sound of footsteps, yawns, and the occasional sound of dripping water.

Gopel didn't care; you can't tell anything from the beginning.

As a patient and meticulous art critic, I'm willing to read it a little longer.

Meanwhile, the real film critics and real audience members sitting in the center of the room began to feel extremely uncomfortable.

Some people were looking at their watches, some were yawning, and some were even making impatient clicking sounds.

Goebel gave a disdainful sneer.

He took out a pen, ready to write "garbage" in his notebook, and then lead the audience away in protest.

Xia, who was secretly watching Gopel's movements, became anxious: "Oh no, that old man is about to stand up." Huang Bo, who was next to her, was also a little nervous.

Niu Yuehua said calmly, "Don't rush, let the dust settle."

Just as the screening was about to reach the 5-minute mark, and Gopper was already preparing to get up, Niu Yuehua went into overdrive.

The spell transformed into invisible sound waves that swept through the entire hall.

At the very second the spell took effect, dozens of German underground actors, for the sake of that 50 yuan, let out a series of hissing gasps.

Meanwhile, within the enclosed space, and under the influence of the magical resonance, the rising and falling gasps of astonishment instantly captivated the hearts of all the real viewers.

Goper had just lifted half of his buttocks when he was abruptly pushed back down by the strange atmosphere of the group.

He looked around suspiciously. What was going on? What had they figured out?

A while later, the second group of artists were very dedicated. In order to get another 50 yuan in prize money, some of them even actually smeared raw onion juice on their eyelids.

A bearded extra, looking at Huang Bo's distorted face on the screen, thought about the rent he couldn't pay next month and his own elusive dream of becoming an actor.

Under the stimulation of onions and the effect of magic.

He suddenly covered his face and burst into a mournful cry as if his entire family had died.

"Oh my God!"

With the blessing of magic, that cry became a virus that infected everyone present.

Those genuine European film critics who initially found it boring and were pretending to be cultured had their defenses crumble instantly under the influence of the pretentious mentality that "if everyone else is moved to tears and I don't, wouldn't I seem uncultured and unable to understand high art?"

The theater was immediately filled with sobs.

At the end, all four surveillance cameras went black.

In the final scene that fills the entire screen, the clothes of the two low-level security guards are lying on the ground; they have resigned and disappeared.

On the big screen, Mr. Wang, who plays a coal mine owner, is dressed in an expensive suit, wearing a gold watch, and walks into the monitoring room with a large belly.

After discovering the history of the first two security guards dancing in the surveillance footage, he casually and disdainfully uttered the only line of dialogue in the entire performance to the new security guard next to him:

"You can't dance, can you?"

The moment that line was uttered, the entire audience felt as if they had been struck by lightning.

Those European judges, who were immersed in the tragic narratives of the lower classes, were instantly struck by the arrogance of capital and the class differences implied in the lines, which pierced their souls.

Their humanistic concern made them instantly realize the underlying narrative of this short film.

As soon as Mr. Wang finished speaking, the screen went black. The third wave of youths sprang to their feet like springs, leading the applause and shouting themselves hoarse in German.

"Genius", "Perfect", "Masterpiece", "Kubrick reborn".

Within seconds, hundreds of real audience members, judges, and reporters, caught up in the atmosphere, spontaneously stood up, and the applause was so thunderous it almost lifted the roof off.

Mr. Wang looked at the European whites who were applauding wildly because of his line, and excitedly spread his upper body wide.

He gripped Niu Yuehua's arm tightly, tears streaming down his face.

"Brother Yuehua, I've never been so exposed in my life."

"Are these foreigners really applauding me? Am I an artist now?"

Niu Yuehua patted his hand reassuringly and whispered in the same tone as Marlon Brando.

"Mr. Wang, your current image is worth at least 200 million yuan in advertising in China."

Zhang Ziyi, who originally planned to give Niu Yuehua a good critique after watching the short film, seemed out of place amidst the enthusiastic applause from the audience.

She stared blankly at the black curtain in front of her, then looked at the freshman who hadn't even stood up and was sitting firmly like Mount Tai.

Her understanding was completely shattered.

She believed in the training of Zhang Yimou and Li An, the industrialization of Hollywood, and the polishing of scripts.

But this hoodlum managed to win over Europe's most arrogant judges with just 15 minutes of surveillance footage and a single line from a coal mine owner's dialogue. She was a little bewildered.

When did white people become so easy to talk to?

In the years since she became famous, she has seen countless white people from the United States to Europe who appear well-dressed on the surface but actually look down on people of Asian descent.

She had always thought that people of Asian descent would never have the chance to stand on stage in the international entertainment industry.

How did this freshman in front of me manage to do that?

Zhang Ziyi's eyes revealed disbelief, a collapsed worldview, and even a hint of indescribable fear.

Amidst the frenzy of the crowd, besides Niu Yuehua, there was one other person who remained seated, coldly observing everything.

These idiots.

Goppel slowly stood up, without clapping, and walked across the aisle to Niu Yuehua. The translator, Xia, was so frightened that she hid behind President Wang.

Gopper adjusted his glasses and said in cold, rational German, "A brilliant psychological trick. Young man, I know you used some tactics to drive those poor bastards crazy at the crucial moment."

"This did trigger a herd mentality, but this isn't a movie; it's a cheap visual scam. This mob won't amount to anything."

Mr. Wang's face turned deathly pale instantly; he had been found out!

Good heavens! If this old man's story gets published in the newspapers, we'll be kicked out of the Berlin Film Festival tomorrow, and we might even embarrass the country.

Gopper shook the notebook in his hand. "This mass hysteria can only last for a few hours. Tomorrow, Berlin Voice will work with the organizing committee to randomly distribute 5000 real audience questionnaires at the main venue."

"Once we leave this dark screening room, bring on whatever tricks you have up your sleeve to manipulate human nature!"

"I want the cold, hard data to tell all of Europe that what you call the Emperor's New Clothes is actually a stinking swamp of mud."

After saying that, Gopper turned and left like a paladin.

Seeing the old man walk away stubbornly without looking back, Mr. Wang panicked.

"My goodness, what kind of survey is this old scoundrel trying to conduct?"

"Won't our plan to hire extras be exposed then?"

"5000 questionnaires to be distributed randomly, how much should I pay to book the entire venue to cover all 5000 questionnaires?"

Niu Yuehua smiled and patted President Wang's hand as if coaxing his son.

"Mr. Wang, don't worry. Buying votes is something only incompetent capitalist politicians would do; it's idiotic vote-buying."

Niu Yuehua turned to Xia and asked, "Could you find out who's in charge of printing the questionnaires tonight? And where are they?"

Then Niu Yuehua turned around and continued to wave and nod to the audience, smiling and greeting them, without showing any sign of panic.

When it comes to filling out forms, I want to show these stubborn German artsy youths that even real data can be manipulated.