Best Director in Literature Department of Huayu

Chapter 116 The important thing is that you yourself have to believe.

The concept of "Beijing Film Academy Twin Stars" spread instantly across major portal websites as soon as it was proposed.

Netizens on the internet were furiously typing away, becoming the most enthusiastic onlookers: "Amazing! This summer's movie season is truly a battle of the gods, and the key is that these two gods are even from the same temple!"

"With a focus on high-tech and cutting-edge technologies and a secondary focus on lower-tier markets, Nortel is aiming for the sky."

"Directing majors are crying in the bathroom; the era of literature and cinematography departments jointly dominating the film industry has arrived!"

However, amidst the overwhelming noise and praise, a short crew communication message, without any accompanying pictures, was quietly posted in the most inconspicuous corner.

"The Door, a psychological thriller co-produced by China Film Group and Rongxinda, and directed by fifth-generation director Li Shaohong, has officially wrapped up filming in Chongqing. The main cast, including Chen Kun and Yang Mi, returned to Beijing overnight."

Aside from the fans who follow this story, no one else would even bother to click on it these days.

But for Yang Mi, who had just returned to Yanjing with her suitcase, this text message meant that she had barely crawled back to the human world from hellish torment.

"Thud—" The suitcase was carelessly kicked into a corner of the entryway.

Yang Mi didn't even bother to change her shoes, and simply threw herself onto the leather sofa in the living room.

She was so tired that she put her arm over her forehead and gasped for breath.

During the two-plus months of filming "The Door" in Chongqing, director Li Shaohong's pursuit of detail and character states bordered on obsessive.

To portray the neuroticism and horror of the character Wen Xin, who is struggling on the verge of schizophrenia, Yang Mi spent almost every day being criticized, reshot, and scolded.

"You rely too much on technique when filming, Yang Mi."

"You weren't putting your heart into it at all. You were just using those outdated experiences you accumulated as a child star and playing supporting roles, like a wound-up machine simply following the director's instructions. Your crying, your laughing, it was all fake!"

Li Shaohong's evaluation is still like a steel needle, firmly stuck in Yang Mi's mind.

Yang Mi gave a self-deprecating smile and somewhat laboriously pulled her phone out of her pocket.

She originally just wanted to go online to check the latest developments of "The Return of the Condor Heroes" out of habit, or browse through fan forums to find some false comfort.

However, as the webpage slowly refreshed under the weak 2G network signal, the brightly lit name of Lin Ruiyang on the screen caught her eye.

"Hollywood Surprise Machine! Lin Ruiyang's New Film Earns $3450 Million in its North American Opening Week!"

"Beijing Film Academy's Department of Literature is making great strides towards international recognition; Lin Ruiyang alone has raised the ceiling for the domestic entertainment industry!"

Looking at the string of glaring numbers and countless praises, an indescribable sense of powerlessness and a huge sense of disparity completely overwhelmed Yang Mi.

She scrolled to the very end before tossing her phone aside. After a while, she suddenly asked, "Am I really that bad?"

""

No one answered her question, which was like talking to thin air, but she had an answer in her heart. At least in the last few months, she had been hit pretty hard.

Yang Mi's thoughts uncontrollably drifted back to that nightmarish spring; all the disillusionment began on March 14, 2006.

day.

That day, Zhang Jizhong's version of "The Return of the Condor Heroes" officially premiered on CCTV's prime time slot. Amidst the barrage of news from major newspapers and entertainment programs, most viewers across the country sat in front of their television sets.

Yang Mi originally had high hopes for this drama. She thought that this role would become the biggest milestone in her acting career and the ladder for her to completely rise to the top of the traffic stars.

But when the story reached episode 34, all the beautiful dreams shattered into pieces within three hours.

Guo Xiang did indeed become famous, but along with the character, her famous crying scene also became a sensation.

In that meticulously planned climax scene at Broken Heart Cliff, when Guo Xiang watched helplessly as Yang Guo jumped into the abyss for Xiaolongnu, Yang Mi delivered her most pivotal and climactic performance in the entire series.

It started as just netizens joking around, but it gradually evolved into a professional discussion, and later even the media got involved.

"His facial expression and emotions were completely disconnected!"

"Was she crying? I felt like she was gagging with her mouth wide open, and her eyes were completely empty."

"Guo Xiang's charm was completely killed by this crying scene."

Within just three hours, the "The Return of the Condor Heroes" and "Yang Mi Bar" forums were completely overrun by countless posts questioning and mocking the characters. People even broke down the crying scene into more than thirty shots, capturing each frame to create various funny and absurd memes, which were then displayed at the top of the forum's trending topics list.

At that time, Yang Mi still carried a hint of girlish pride and unwillingness to admit defeat.

After secretly crying on set, she gritted her teeth and told herself: This is just that netizens don't understand art, they are deliberately making things difficult for me, and they are following the trend to criticize me.

But she didn't expect that an even more devastating blow would strike on March 21.

On that day, a long professional film review written by a professor from one of China's top drama academies went viral online.

The article, without using any online profanity, shamefully deconstructed her crying scene in episode 34 frame by frame: "—Actress Yang Mi, in this scene that should have been a devastating tragedy, displayed an extremely pathetic, technical performance. Her tears and screams were not driven by inner emotion, but rather like a precisely crafted puppet—this kind of performance not only failed to move the audience, but also exposed a kind of contrived and unrealistic feeling due to the excessive display of technique."

This article completely ignited the discussion about her personal acting skills into a major industry-wide debate about the overload of technically-driven performances among young actors in the film and television industry.

During that time, Yang Mi felt like a prisoner standing naked under a spotlight.

On the newly emerging Douban community, almost every day, artsy young people and self-proclaimed professional film critics write lengthy articles of tens of thousands of words, using the harshest language to criticize her performance.

Even Southern Weekly, a major print media outlet known for its seriousness and depth, published a special article in its April culture section discussing the living conditions of young actors in the entertainment industry.

In the article titled "Empty Techniques and a Lost Screen," it's clear to anyone with a discerning eye that the condescending criticism is directed at her: "Over-reliance on experience and standardized templates, formatting crying and laughing scenes. This shortcut-seeking approach, which relies excessively on technique, completely exposes the actor's inner emptiness and lack of life experience. Without sincere performances, one can only become a fast-moving commodity in the world of fame and fortune, unable to bear the weight of the big screen."

The company was in a hurry, the agent was worried, and she herself was trapped in a near-hysterical self-justification trap.

In an effort to salvage her reputation and prove she wasn't a "soulless puppet," Yang Mi made a move at the Beijing premiere and cast meet-and-greet on April 5th that she still finds somewhat childish, yet incredibly decisive.

Facing dozens of discerning reporters from various media outlets, she took a deep breath and then pulled out a notebook filled with dense writing from her bag.

"This is a classification table of 37 ways of crying that I recorded myself. From the loud wailing of losing a loved one, to the suppressed tears of workplace grievances, to the silent despair of witnessing the departure of a loved one... I have practiced each of these ways of crying, the corresponding facial muscle control and breathing frequency, hundreds and thousands of times in front of the mirror. It's not that I'm not dedicated; I just want to perform the role well in a more scientific and professional way."

She was just too young back then and didn't understand how cruel the logic of capital and media opinion could be.

This chart categorizing 37 ways of crying, which embodies her countless efforts and sweat, not only failed to help her turn the tide, but instead became the most compelling evidence in the hands of the media and film critics.

The next day, entertainment headlines were filled with mockery: "Yang Mi reveals 37 ways to cry, finally getting her formulaic performance officially certified!"

"Acting or solving math problems? Watch how young actors turn their talent into tables!"

"Look, she herself admitted that her performance was calculated using tables and formulas. Isn't that just soulless craftsmanship?"

Struggling out of the mire of memories, Yang Mi breathed a sigh of relief. That notebook, which she once regarded as a testament to her growth, had long since been tucked away in some dusty corner.

The past few months have been like a long and absurd nightmare, transforming her from a young girl who believed that as long as she worked hard, she would definitely succeed into a completely different person.

Just then, the phone she had tossed aside suddenly rang. Yang Mi picked it up and saw it was her agent, Zeng Jia. After staring at the caller ID for a couple of seconds, she finally answered.

"Feed." A familiar voice came from the other end of the phone.

"Back in Yanjing?"

"Um."

"Have you rested?"

"Just got home."

Zeng Jia paused for a moment, then said, "Then you shouldn't rest for now."

Yang Mi immediately closed her eyes; sure enough, she knew it.

The next second, Zeng Jia said, "The company just notified us that filming for 'Why Bother Meeting If We've Never Met Before' is about to begin."

""

"So fast?" Yang Mi had a million reasons to refuse.

"This was a pre-arranged time."

Zeng Jia's tone was also somewhat helpless: "I took on this role after finishing filming 'The Door,' leaving me with less than half a month in between."

"The director is already urging us to finish."

Yang Mi immediately sat up and rubbed her throbbing temples.

She felt a sense of absurdity about everything happening before her eyes. Just moments ago, she had been doubting whether she was suited for acting.

As a result, the next film is already scheduled. The entertainment industry never stops because of someone's confusion, especially someone who doesn't even have the right to be confused.

The voice continued from the phone: "There's one more thing."

"What?"

"Try to spend less time online these days."

Yang Mi didn't say anything, but Zeng Jia clearly knew that she had been paying attention all along.

"The matter with The Return of the Condor Heroes is over. No one is watching you every day now. As long as your later works can make a comeback, that's fine."

Yang Mi gave a self-deprecating laugh: "Sis, do you even believe that yourself?"

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone, then a sigh came through: "Whether I believe it or not is not important; what's important is that you believe it yourself."