dkrc Chapter 8 The So-Called Rules
Chapter 8 The So-Called Rules
The male voice on the phone had a condescending politeness.
"Director Chen Yan? I'm Zhao Deli from Huayi Brothers' production department."
"Mr. Wang and Mr. Zhong Lei were very interested in your work screened at the Beijing Film Academy, and thought that your storytelling ability was outstanding."
Su Wan gripped the microphone tightly, her palms sweating so much that the plastic casing was slippery and almost impossible to hold.
Huayi Brothers.
These two words carried immense weight in the ears of Beijing Film Academy students in 2000, as heavy as a mountain.
Chen Yan took the phone from her and sat down on the edge of the sofa.
He pulled a crumpled red cigarette from his pocket, unlit it, and just held it between his fingers, inhaling its raw tobacco scent.
"Manager Zhao, you guys are really well-informed."
His tone was steady, without any fluctuation, and he showed none of the excitement or flattery that Zhao Deli had expected.
There was a pause on the other end of the phone, as if someone hadn't expected a student to speak in such a tone.
"Director Chen, the entertainment industry is only so big."
"Mr. Wang is a person who values talent, and he feels that Huayi Brothers needs fresh blood like you."
"If you're free tomorrow, we can sign a letter of intent directly, including the rights to 'Night Watch' and your personal directorial contract."
"Not tomorrow."
Chen Yan interrupted him directly.
Su Wan grabbed his arm anxiously, her nails almost digging into his flesh.
Chen Yan patted the back of her hand to reassure her, and continued speaking into the microphone.
"I have my graduation review tomorrow; this is a matter of principle."
"As for the copyright, I have no intention of selling it outright."
"I went to see this film because of Cannes."
Zhao Deli let out a soft laugh on the other end of the line, arrogance lurking in every word.
Cannes?
"Xiao Chen, it's a good thing for young people to have ambition."
"But without a company operating the service, the acceptance rate for private applications is less than one in a thousand."
"What you need now is a platform that will allow you to establish yourself in China."
"I can build the platform myself."
Chen Yan looked out the window and saw a dilapidated bicycle creaking past, the sound of its chain particularly jarring in the night.
"Forget about the letter of intent."
"If Huayi Brothers is truly sincere, we can discuss profit sharing or investment after I return from Cannes."
"I'm the kind of person who doesn't sign indentured servitude contracts."
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.
In 2000, for a student who hadn't even graduated to speak to Huayi Brothers in this way was nothing short of insane.
"Okay, Director Chen has a lot of personality."
Zhao Deli's voice turned cold.
"I hope your review goes well tomorrow."
"After all, if we can't even get the degree certificate, it will be difficult to explain this cooperation to President Wang."
Beep, beep, beep.
A busy signal sounded.
Chen Yan put down the receiver and let out a long breath.
Su Wan stared at him for a long time before she could find her voice.
"That's Huayi Brothers."
"Chen Yan, you were too stubborn just now. What if they really got angry?"
"They are businessmen, not philanthropists."
The more valuable you are, the more they will value you.
"If I were to rush over there now, I'd only be able to become Feng Xiaogang's deputy at best, and I might not even get ahead in ten years."
Chen Yan stood up and walked to the window.
"Su Wan, don't believe in the word 'potential,' it's just an empty promise."
What I want is a strength that can be so overwhelming that everyone has to acknowledge it.
"There's a whole class between potential and actual ability."
Su Wan looked at his back. The lamplight stretched his shadow long, making him seem both unfamiliar and reassuring.
Nine o'clock the next morning.
The large classroom of the Photography Department at Beijing Film Academy was packed with students.
In the first three rows, a group of judges sat upright.
Qi Feng sat in the middle, wearing a dark suit, with a serious expression.
The blackboard behind him read, "Final Review Meeting of the 2001 Photography Department Graduation Projects."
Yan Huaizhong, to his left, slowly stirred the tea leaves in his enamel cup with the lid.
"Let's begin."
The films by the previous students were incredibly dull, either imitating the Soviet Union or Tarkovsky. The cinematography was beautiful, but the stories were as dry as dried orange peels.
Qi Feng was very impatient and gave scores that hovered around the passing mark.
Until Chen Yan took the stage.
He was still wearing that faded dark blue jacket, and carrying a heavy film canister in his hand.
When he handed the tape to the projectionist, the entire audience fell silent instantly.
The screen from "The Night Watch" lights up again.
This version underwent minor adjustments by Chen Yan overnight.
The convenience store lights are no longer pure white, but a sickly, pale green light.
The protagonist Deng Chuan's numb face flickered on and off on the screen, and in close-up shots, even the bloodshot eyes were clearly visible.
When the film ended, no one in the audience uttered a sound.
Qi Feng slammed his pen down on the table. He didn't look at Chen Yan, but instead glanced around at his colleagues.
"I still hold the same view as yesterday!"
Qi Feng's voice rang out in the silence.
"This isn't an aesthetic disagreement; it's a matter of attitude!"
"Chen Yan, you're a photography student; your assignments should reflect the essence of photography!"
"But what did I see?"
"Shaky, out of focus, illogical jump cuts!"
He turned and stared intently at Chen Yan.
"Tell me, why did you handhold that upward-angled shot of the shelf at the third minute?"
Why deliberately overexpose?
"This is a technical error!"
"It's a taboo explicitly prohibited in the very first chapter of the textbook!"
The students in the audience were discussing it animatedly, and Qi Feng had indeed grasped the fatal flaw of traditional photography theory.
Chen Yan walked off the stage without saying a word and went straight to the projector.
"Zhang Yuan, rewind."
The film reel hissed as it reversed, the image freezing on the frame Qi Feng had mentioned.
The stark white light cut through the twisted shelves, chillingly bright.
"Teacher Qi, you said this was a technical error."
Chen Yan stood beside the screen, the light and shadow dividing his face into two halves, one bright and one dark.
"But in my opinion, this is called visual psychologization."
"The protagonist was on the verge of a mental breakdown at the time. If I had used the golden ratio composition and standard lighting, I would have been filming surveillance footage, not a person's soul!"
He took a step forward, his fingers tracing the pale halo of light.
"This overexposure is his sensory overload at that moment!"
"The hand-shaking motion is to create the same physiological unease in the audience!"
"Movies aren't meant to be watched comfortably!"
"nonsense!"
Qi Feng suddenly stood up, the chair behind him making a screeching sound.
"You haven't even learned to walk yet, and you're already trying to run?"
"Your so-called style is nothing but a fig leaf to cover up your lack of solid fundamentals!"
"Basic skills?"
Chen Yan suddenly pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, which contained his notes on the footage he had copied last night.
"This set of shots has forty-two cut points, each of which is timed to the second half of the actor's breath."
"The camera position was shifted from 45 degrees to 12 degrees to simulate subconscious spying."
"Teacher Qi, do you think this is what you call a lack of solid fundamentals?"
Chen Yan's gaze pierced directly at Qi Feng.
"The fourth shot from the left in the second row, I used a 50mm prime lens with three shutter speed settings to create visual persistence."
"In which chapter of the textbook can you find the corresponding error explanation?"
"It's not in the textbook!"
"Because the people who write textbooks can't produce something like this!"
Qi Feng's face instantly turned a deep liver color.
He never expected that a student could break down camera language to this extent.
The teachers around him passed the notebook around for a look. Yan Huaizhong took it, squinted at it for a long time, and then glanced at the lingering medicine stains on Chen Yan's fingertips.
"Director Qi, please sit down."
Yan Huaizhong finally spoke, putting down his teacup.
"What we teach students is a ruler, not for them to follow the textbook like a mold."
"If everyone were the same, we'd be producing film workers, not directors."
He stood up, walked to the front of the stage, and reached out to touch the hot projector.
"Chen Yan, your ambition cannot be contained in this roll of film."
"Teacher Qi said you were exaggerated, I said you're like a scalpel."
Yan Huaizhong turned his head, and his voice echoed throughout the classroom.
"He used his camera to dissect life, and regardless of whether what he cut out was beautiful or not, at least he drew blood."
The review panel only discussed the matter for five minutes.
Grand Prize!
The Beijing Film Academy's Photography Department won its first Special Prize in five years!
Meeting adjourned.
Yan Huaizhong waved his hand.
"Chen Yan, you stay."
As the crowd dispersed, Qi Feng stopped beside Chen Yan, lowered his voice, and spoke in a cold and lingering tone.
"Winning an award doesn't mean you can leave this school."
"Applications for Cannes must be stamped by the department."
"Without that stamp, the tape in your hand is just a waste of paper."
After saying that, he left without looking back.
"Qi Feng is petty, but what he said is true."
Yan Huaizhong handed Chen Yan a Daqianmen cigarette.
"The rules are there."
"You can't go to Cannes with just this tape."
Chen Yan took the cigarette and twirled it in his hand.
"Mr. Yan, they will take the initiative to stamp this seal for me."
Give me three days.
2 PM, Yanjing Central Hospital.
Su Wan sat on the bench outside the laboratory, clutching a report tightly in her hand. The corner of the paper was crumpled to shreds, and her shoulders twitched slightly.
Chen Yan's heart sank, and the sense of despair he felt in his past life instantly surged into his mind.
He moved quietly and sat down beside her.
"Are you out?"
Su Wan turned to look at him, her face covered in tears, her voice hoarse.
"The doctor said it's in the early stages."
"Xiao Yan, thank goodness for you, thank goodness you insisted on bringing him along."
"If we had waited another three months, the cancer cells might have spread."
Chen Yan took the thin piece of paper, stared at the diagnosis, and finally felt a huge weight lifted from his heart.
"Where's Uncle Su?"
"We'll discuss the surgical plan inside."
"The doctor said the success rate is very high, but the fees have to be paid in full upfront."
Su Wan leaned on his shoulder, her hand gripping his clothes tightly.
"It costs forty thousand."
"My mom said she'd put our old house up for sale, but it'll take at least half a month."
forty thousand.
In this day and age, this is a huge sum of money that could crush an ordinary family.
Chen Yan felt his pockets; all he had left was the money he'd saved from yesterday.
"I'll figure out a way to get the money."
He pulled Su Wan into his arms, his voice steady and calm.
"What can you do...?"
Chen Yan did not explain.
A name popped into his mind.
A hidden tycoon who was not yet famous at this time, but controlled a large number of overseas art cinemas and urgently needed a work to open up the domestic market.
Dusk, back street of Beijing Film Academy, Sculpting Time Cafe.
Chen Yan ordered the cheapest black coffee and sat down by the window.
He was waiting for a Frenchman named Pierre.
His memories from his past life told him that this person was currently in Beijing, selecting films for the Cannes Directors' Fortnight section.
After waiting for nearly two hours, a middle-aged foreigner wearing a tan suede jacket and with a neatly trimmed beard pushed open the door and entered.
Chen Yan did not move.
He took the master tape of "The Night Watchman" out of his bag and placed it on the table. He then opened a copy of "Cahiers du Cinéma" written entirely in English and began sketching storyboards quickly in the blank spaces.
After Pierre placed his order, his gaze swept around the store before finally settling on Chen Yan's table.
More accurately, it stopped at the set of sketches he had drawn.
"Intéressant".
The foreigner spoke in broken Chinese.
"interesting."
"Did you draw this?"
Chen Yan looked up, moved halfway, and gestured for him to move aside.
"This is the sketch that the review panel criticized as having a technical flaw today."
When he spoke, his tone was so steady that there was no hint of impatience.
"Sir, do you also think that being out of focus is a mistake?"
Pierre's eyes lit up, and he sat down, took off his glasses, and looked closer.
"No, blurring the focus is the breathing of emotions."
"Only those who do not understand the soul would pursue absolute clarity."
His gaze fell on the videotape on the table.
"May I see your mistake?"
Chen Yan pushed the belt over.
"After reading it, you will see more than just a person's soul."
Pierre raised an eyebrow, showing interest.
Chen Yan looked at him and spoke slowly and deliberately.
"You will also see the stepping stone for Chinese-language films in the next twenty years."