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

Liu Yuehua handed the script to the two of them.

The script cover features two eye-catching, even cheap-looking, large characters: "Flying Man".

Liu Yuehua would occasionally glance at the expressions of his two elders in the rearview mirror.

"Yuehua," Feng Gong said, taking off his reading glasses, his tone revealing a hint of unconcealed disappointment.

"You just told me you wanted to pursue some serious art again and aim for the three gold medals."

"What you've produced is still one of those poorly made 90s comedies?"

"This 'Flying Man' movie, just from its name, you can tell it's a cheap, money-grabbing film."

Niu Qun shook his head repeatedly, "Yeah, Yuehua, even if we don't have much money now, we can't just make this kind of thing to fool the audience, can we?"

"If we show this script out here, won't those guys surnamed Lu laugh their heads off?"

Liu Yuehua smiled mysteriously after hearing this.

"Uncle, Master, let me ask you a practical question: In the eyes of Old Man Lu and his so-called high art circles, the Beijing circle, what are you two?"

The back row fell silent instantly.

Feng Gong's expression stiffened for a moment, then he gave a self-deprecating bitter laugh.

"What is he? Just some lowlife who makes fun of others."

"We've stood on that stage for half our lives, appeared on the Spring Festival Gala for over a decade, and people all over the country know us."

"But in the eyes of those people who make movies and plays, we're just actors who talk a good game. How dare we sit at the table and talk about art with them?"

"That's right." Liu Yuehua gently patted the steering wheel.

"There's a disgusting hierarchy of contempt in the domestic film and television industry: stage actors look down on movie actors, movie actors look down on TV drama actors, and they all look down on sketch comedy and crosstalk performers." (At this time, variety shows weren't very popular yet.)

Liu Yuehua's eyes changed.

"So the movie I'm showing you today, 'The Flying Man,' isn't a comedy at all. You'll see when you flip through the pages."

"The above is actually background information. I want you to perform in the highest hall of Chinese drama, Cao Yu's 'Thunderstorm'."

"Performing in 'Thunderstorm'?"

Niu Qun was so startled he almost jumped out of the back seat.

"Yuehua, are you crazy? You want two crosstalk comedians to perform 'Thunderstorm'?"

"Aren't we just asking for trouble? Don't we have any face left?"

Feng Gong waved his hand repeatedly.

"No, no, this is too big of a leap."

"If we were to film a proper stage play, how could we, without any formal theatrical training, possibly adapt?"

"Who told you to act properly?"

Liu Yuehua chuckled irritably and began his script analysis.

"I want you to act out the process of rehearsing 'Thunderstorm,' and you, Master, are to play a washed-up comedian who is driven mad by rehearsing 'Thunderstorm.'"

"Master, you play the absolute male lead in this play."

"The character is set up as a washed-up actor who became famous all over the country in the early 90s with a cheap and vulgar comedy martial arts film called 'Flying Man'. Everyone in the country knows you."

"But wherever you go, people only see you as that knight-errant dressed in the dark."

Liu Yuehua recounted the story in detail.

"To prove that you are a truly profound artist, you mortgaged all your assets and insisted on directing and starring in your own version of 'Thunderstorm' in the theater. You wanted to play Zhou Puyuan yourself and even rewrite the ending of the script."

"But everyone is waiting to see you fail, and your own mental state is on the verge of collapse."

"In this script, the flying man you once played will become a hallucination that only you can hear and see."

"He wore the costume of a martial arts master and followed you around like a ghost every day, mocking you for playing such a load of rubbish as Cao Yu. He said you were just a clown, that you didn't understand art at all, and that the audience only liked to watch you do somersaults."

It was a terrifying internal struggle; Feng Gong's hand holding the script began to tremble.

He acted in comedies his whole life, and he understood all too well the despair of being trapped by a comedic image, yearning to be respected as a master, but ultimately being laughed at by the audience.

It may seem like they're acting, but in reality, Liu Yuehua is dissecting the deepest psychological crisis of this group of comedians.

"And what about me, Yuehua? What am I doing in this play?"

Niu Qun was getting a little anxious; he had been completely drawn into this dramatic and suspenseful premise.

"Uncle, you played his old partner and were also the producer of this play, 'Thunderstorm'."

"You are an absolute realist steward, spending every day backstage at the theater like a firefighter, soothing the master who is on the verge of a mental breakdown and dealing with the harsh investors."

"You are the kite string that holds this madman, who is about to fly away, firmly back to the ground."

Niu Qun slapped his thigh.

"Isn't this exactly how we used to be when we filmed shows? He was in charge of letting his imagination run wild, and I was in charge of cleaning up his messes."

"Yuehua, what about the other supporting actors? This show can't be carried by just the two of us." Liu Yuehua smiled; this was exactly what he was waiting for.

"For supporting roles, we need to find acquaintances in our industry, the kind who completely overturn their image," Liu Yuehua began reciting the list of roles.

"Should we ask Song Dandan to play the supporting actress, Lu Shiping, that tragic mother who has only ever acted in sketches her whole life and dreams of playing a serious role in 'Thunderstorm'?"

"Let her cry while removing her makeup in front of the mirror in the dressing room, and say this line. I've played Baiyun and Heitu my whole life, and the audience will treat my tears as a joke."

Feng Gong and Niu Qun gasped in shock.

These lines are so venomous, they're practically dripping with blood.

If Song Dandan heard this, she would definitely break down on the spot.

The two looked at the script again and asked a question.

"And what about this daughter?"

"The daughter in the play is a rebellious teenager." Liu Yuehua's mind flashed between the two faces.

"Actually, I want to choose Sisi. Imagine her wearing smoky makeup, pierced ears, earrings, ripped jeans, and dyed blonde hair, smoking on the rooftop."

"We'll tear off your hypocritical fig leaf without mercy, point our fingers at you and curse you. You put on this lousy play for no reason at all; you're just a pathetic wretch who can't live without applause."

The imagery was so vivid that Feng Gong could already imagine the suffocating feeling of having his self-esteem pierced by a sharp gaze.

However, Liu Xiaoli recently received a call saying that a company in Shanghai wanted to film a period drama and planned to invite Qianqian to participate. If there was a scheduling conflict, they would find someone else.

The two continued flipping through the script.

"And what about this scene-stealing second male lead? He should be a domineering actor, and he also needs to have a role in 'Thunderstorm.' It's hard to guess. Who would be the most suitable candidate?"

"The best choice is the second male lead; let him play the eldest son, Zhou Ping," Liu Yuehua pointed out the final candidate.

"I'm going to invite Jiang Wen."

"Jiang Wen?" the two elders asked in unison.