Rebirth of Chinese Entertainment from the Oscars

March 25, 2001, Great Hall of the Los Angeles Temple.

The 4 p.m. sun scorched the media areas on both sides of the red carpet. Photographers' lenses crowded behind the railings, like a row of metal flamingos stretching their necks. One after another, limousines pulled up at the red carpet entrance, and the moment the doors opened, a white wave of flashes erupted. Julia Roberts' red backless dress burned like fire in the flashes; as Russell Crowe walked by with a female companion, the photographers' shutters clicked like machine gun fire; Steven Soderbergh was stopped midway down the red carpet by a reporter, pausing to answer questions about *Traffic*, speaking at the same speed as when he yells "Action!" on set.

Su Chen stood to the side of the red carpet entrance, waiting for You Benchang and Wu Yanshu. He was wearing a dark black peak lapel suit—not the one from Berlin, but a custom-made one in Los Angeles, made of domestic wool sent by his mother from Beijing, and altered over a whole week at an old tailor shop in Beverly Hills. He had changed his tie to a dark brown one, since a bright color wasn't needed today. As he bent down to adjust his cufflinks, he heard Wu Yanshu's voice from behind him.

"Old You, your collar's crooked. Don't move, I'll fix it for you."

Su Chen turned around. You Benchang was wearing a brand-new dark gray Zhongshan suit, the buttons at the collar fastened meticulously, but the collar was indeed slightly off to the left. Wu Yanshu was standing on tiptoe to straighten it for him, her fingers stiff from rheumatism, but her movements were still very light and steady—exactly the same as when she combed You Benchang's hair on set. She was wearing a dark green cheongsam, with a small silver ornament pinned to the edge of the stand-up collar, barely noticeable unless you looked closely—it was the brooch she wore on her collar during the last scene on set, a find from a flea market by the props team. She had worn it on the Cannes red carpet, and on the Golden Globe red carpet, and tonight she was wearing it again.

"Director Su," You Benchang said, turning to Su Chen after straightening his collar, his expression a mix of nervousness and solemnity. "This morning I stood in front of the mirror in the hotel for a long time. I didn't know what expression to wear as I walked down this red carpet. Then I realized—I'm not walking this red carpet on my own behalf. I'm walking this red carpet on behalf of Liu Jianguo. He's never had the chance to walk in the sunlight in his movies, and today I'm walking it for him."

Su Chen looked at him. The old man's eyes, which had been shining brightly for forty years, were particularly bright today, not because of the lights, but because of something quieter. He remembered what You Benchang had said on the stage in Cannes that night—"I've played Ji Gong, but no one has ever asked me to play the male lead in a movie." Now, this sixty-seven-year-old actor was about to walk the red carpet at the Oscars, not to attend the ceremony, but to receive the world's attention as a nominee for Best Actor.

"Teacher You," Su Chen said, "let's go."

They walked side by side down the red carpet. For the first few seconds, the flashes on either side maintained a polite rhythm, then—as if someone had flipped a switch—suddenly erupted into a blinding flash. Photographers recognized the duo: the young Chinese director who won the Palme d'Or, the 67-year-old veteran actor nominated for his first Oscar, and the seasoned actress in a dark green cheongsam. The cast of *Amour* had already amassed considerable recognition during the previous nomination luncheons and media interviews, but the scale of the Oscars red carpet was entirely different—live streams from over 150 countries worldwide were transmitting this moment to hundreds of millions of viewers. Shouts in English, French, and Spanish from at least three different directions rose and fell amidst the cacophony—"Director Su Chen! Look this way!" "Mr. You Benchang, could you stop for a moment?" "That's the *Amour* cast!"

Su Chen stopped and gestured for You Benchang and Wu Yanshu to stand in the center of the red carpet. The two elderly men stood side by side, their shadows repeatedly lengthened and shortened by the flashing lights. You Benchang maintained his upright posture, exactly as he had when playing Liu Jianguo on set—straight back, chin slightly tucked, lips pressed into a thin line. His left hand subtly gripped Wu Yanshu's right hand at his side, their hands quietly intertwined under the flashing lights. Wu Yanshu's left hand gently rested on the back of his; the dry skin marks left from being soaked in too much soapy water on set had mostly faded, but a small patch of skin slightly red from rheumatism was still faintly visible at the base of his thumb.

In the media area from China, a CCTV reporter was conducting a live broadcast, her voice rising slightly with excitement: "This is the red carpet of the Academy Awards. Our director Su Chen and the crew of his film 'Love' have just walked the red carpet. Director Su Chen is eighteen years old this year, making him the youngest director ever nominated for Best Foreign Language Film in Oscar history. Mr. You Benchang will be competing for the Oscar for Best Actor tonight—the first time a Chinese actor has received this nomination. We can see photographers on both sides of the red carpet constantly pressing their shutters. This is a historic moment for Chinese cinema." The host in the BJ studio chimed in, but the reporter's earpiece was clearly experiencing a signal delay; she continued repeating into the camera: "Yes, a historic moment."

At the end of the red carpet, an American reporter stopped Su Chen. Her first question was standard – what are your expectations for tonight? Su Chen's answer was also standard: a nomination is already a huge honor. But the second question was more interesting – "You're eighteen years old this year, and you've already won the Palme d'Or and the Golden Globe. If you win an Oscar tonight, what would you say?"

"I want to say thank you," Su Chen said, then turned to You Benchang and Wu Yanshu, "but not to the judges. To my two lead actors. They've already received something more important than any trophy—the audience remembers their characters."

As Su Chen entered the grand auditorium, he slowed his pace. Unlike the opulent Lumière Hall or the lavish banquets at the Beverly Hilton, the Oscars auditorium possessed a more somber solemnity. The dome lights were dimmed to a warm amber hue, and enormous Oscar statuettes hung on either side of the stage. The red velvet seats in the audience were being gradually filled. The air was thick with the scent of flowers and hairspray, mixed with a tension unique to the Oscars, a tension compressed by the expectations of so many.

Su Chen's seat was arranged near the front of the "Love" crew's section, in the same row as You Benchang, Wu Yanshu, and Margaret from Sony Classics. After sitting down, he habitually glanced at the seating arrangement—the foreign language film nominees sat in the middle, the Best Actor nominees and their crews were scattered throughout various areas, Soderbergh and his team sat in the front row on the left, Russell Crowe on the right. Tom Hanks was also there, and Steven Spielberg sat further forward, whispering with the producer next to him. In his previous life in 2024, he had sat in the Oscar nominees' section, but that was in a corner seat at the very back of the aisle, and no one had noticed him. Today was different. He sat right in the center of the foreign language film nominees' section, surrounded by people he knew or didn't know, but who all knew his name.

The lights dimmed. The opening performance music surged in from all directions. Su Chen placed his hands on his knees, his fingers interlaced. He glanced at You Benchang—the old man sat upright, his eyes fixed straight ahead, his expression exactly the same as before filming the last scene: calm, restrained, but something burning in his eyes. Wu Yanshu's hands rested quietly on the armrests, the high collar of her cheongsam gleaming softly under the lights.

Best Art Direction, Best Costume Design, and Best Sound Editing were awarded in turn. *Gladiator* began to show its leading position, winning both Best Sound and Best Costume Design in the technical categories. Best Documentary Short Film went to *The Kindness of Strangers*, an American documentary about the rescue of Jewish children during World War II, while Best Animated Short Film went to *Father and Daughter* from the Netherlands.

The nominees for Best Original Score began to be announced. Su Chen straightened his back slightly in his seat. Five clips of the nominees flashed across the screen—Hans Zimmer for *Gladiator*, Tan Dun for *Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon*, Juno, John Williams for *The Patriot*, and Rachel Portman for *Chocolat*. The presenter opened the envelope and read out the winner's name—Tan Dun, *Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon*. This was the first award won by a Chinese filmmaker that evening. As Tan Dun walked onto the stage, he waved to Ang Lee, who was sitting in the audience, and briefly thanked the jury and the film crew in English. As applause erupted, Su Chen noticed Ang Lee, sitting not far away, slightly bow his head, a quiet smile on his face.

Best Original Screenplay. Su Chen felt Emma Stone, sitting not far behind him, suddenly stiffen—she was there as a presenter that evening, but her fingers were gripping the armrest tightly. The five nominees flashed by one by one—fourth was *Juno*. The presenter opened the envelope and read out the name *Almost Perfect*. *Juno* didn't win Best Original Screenplay. Emma loosened her grip, let out a soft breath, and then turned to look at Su Chen. Su Chen nodded slightly to her—a nod that meant "as expected." He knew *Juno*'s script was strong, but in the context of the Oscars, a three-million-dollar budget, a first-time nomination, an independent comedy by a young screenwriter, needed more than just quality to beat a work by a veteran screenwriter; it also needed time. The nomination itself was valuable enough—it etched Diablo Coty's name into Oscar history and made Hollywood producers realize that this young female screenwriter deserved attention.

The Best Foreign Language Film award was presented towards the end of the ceremony, before the Best Actor and Actress awards. This indicates that the Academy Awards committee considered it one of the highlights of the evening.

Su Chen saw the award presenters—a gray-haired French actress and a tall American actor standing side by side on stage, their height difference creating a striking contrast. The French actress gave a brief speech in accented English: "Film is a universal language. It can transcend borders and cultures, allowing someone who has never left their homeland to understand the feelings of someone living on the other side of the world. Tonight, we have selected one film from five outstanding films from different countries that best represents this spirit."

Clips from the five nominated films were played in sequence. In an excerpt from Italy's *Malèna*, Monica Bellucci walks along the cobblestone streets of a Sicilian town, men's eyes following her. In a clip from France's *Taste of Others*, several middle-class people argue about the boundaries between art and commerce in a restaurant. In a clip from Denmark's *Dancer in the Dark*, Björk closes her eyes amidst the machine tools in a factory, imagining herself on stage. In a clip from Spain's *All About My Mother*, a mother weeps silently in a hospital corridor.

The final scene. On the screen appears Liu Jianguo pushing a wheelchair—a silhouette Su Chen had filmed all afternoon from a fixed camera position. The scene is quiet, without background music, only the soft thud of the wheelchair rolling across the concrete. Then, Wang Xiulan's hand appears, a hand that had been soaking in soapy water for ten years, trembling slightly on the wheelchair. The image freezes on the moment she raises her eyes—a gaze as calm as still water, as if looking at a person, or perhaps at a person's entire life.