mijobooks Chapter 98 The Senior's "Guidance"
Chapter 98 The Senior's "Guidance"
The black Santana had just driven out of the alley behind the cinema when Su Wan called.
Her voice trembled in the static, losing its usual composure.
"Chen Yan, return to Beijing Film Academy immediately!"
Wu Gang instinctively stepped on the brakes, and the car stopped abruptly in the water.
"What's wrong?"
Chen Yan asked.
"The Beijing Youth Daily, Popular Cinema... all the mainstream media outlets published news flashes."
Su Wan's voice was choked with sobs, "He Ping, Zhang Yifei, and director Wang Fulin jointly issued a short review."
Chen Yan leaned back in his chair, his expression calm.
These names carried enough weight in the Chinese film industry in the year 2000 to overwhelm any newcomer.
"They said that 'Thunder' is using the suffering of the lower classes for commercial blackmail, and is speculative artistic garbage."
Su Wan read quickly on the other end, "Saying that you are willing to ruin the health of actors in exchange for the favor of international film festivals is a desecration of Chinese films."
"Also, the bulletin board at Beijing Film Academy is covered with petitions signed by many retired professors, demanding that the school take serious action against you, saying that you have corrupted the atmosphere of the academy."
After listening, Chen Yan only said three words.
"understood."
He hung up the phone and said to Wu Gang, "Go back to school and take the shortest route."
The Santana let out a low growl, turned around, and burst through the rain.
Half an hour later, the car stopped in front of the administration building of Beijing Film Academy.
Chen Yan got out of the car and went straight to the vice principal's office at the far east end of the third floor.
The door wasn't closed properly, and a strong smell of tobacco wafted out from the crack.
Yan Huaizhong sat behind his desk, with three newspapers spread out on it. Every word in the headlines on the front page felt like a slap in the face.
"sit."
Yan Huaizhong's voice was hoarse.
"Lu Haiming inside wants your life, and his friends outside want your reputation."
Chen Yan pulled out a chair and sat down without saying a word.
"He Ping and his gang are usually arrogant. For them to join forces to put down a student who hasn't even graduated yet, their backers must have gone to great lengths."
Yan Huaizhong tossed a business card out of the drawer.
Zhao Jianshe, Deputy Secretary-General of the China Film Critics Association.
"He Ping's classmate."
Yan Huaizhong said, "There are two things that this generation hates the most. One is that others say they don't understand art, and the other is that others have turned art into money before them."
"Your movie has both."
The door was suddenly pushed open, and Zhang Yuan rushed in, his eyes red-rimmed and a bruise on the corner of his mouth.
Su Wan followed behind him, holding a stack of movie schedules that had just been faxed over from the theaters.
"Old Chen!"
Zhang Yuan's voice trembled, "Those bastards blocked my way at the bulletin board, saying we were photographing rotten meat, soulless! They even attacked me!"
Su Wan slammed the film schedule on the table, and the papers scattered.
"Wanda, New Film Union... all major cinema chains have withdrawn their screenings for tomorrow morning. The reason given is that 'the film has significant artistic and moral controversies.'"
The air in the office was so oppressive that it was hard to breathe.
This is an elaborately woven net, from public opinion to academia to the market, designed to strangle Chen Yan.
Yan Huaizhong looked at Chen Yan and noticed that the young man had no expression on his face.
There was no anger, no panic.
"They want me to kneel down, admit my mistake, and then permanently label me a 'speculator'."
Chen Yan finally spoke, his voice eerily calm: "From now on, every film of mine will be scrutinized by them with a magnifying glass, and could be rejected at any time for 'value orientation issues'."
Yan Huaizhong sighed. This was an open conspiracy, almost impossible to solve.
Chen Yan stood up.
He took out the miniature brooch representing the Cannes short film Palme d'Or from his pocket, placed it on the table, and pushed it in front of Yan Huaizhong.
"In their eyes, this thing is the ladder to heaven they've climbed their whole lives. One of my students got it and even made money from it, which is like taking apart their ladder to use as firewood."
He turned to Su Wan.
"Go pick up Lin Qingqiu and tell her to change into some clean clothes."
Chen Yan buttoned up his coat as he walked out.
"Notify all media in Beijing that I will be hosting an internal screening of 'Thunder' at the Beijing Film Academy Auditorium at 8:00 AM tomorrow."
"The school won't approve it!"
Yan Huaizhong stood up. "Those old professors will cause trouble!"
"I don't need the school's approval."
Chen Yan walked to the door and stopped. "Have Zhang Yuan go and 'borrow' the key to the projection room."
He turned his head to the side, the office light casting a deep shadow on his face.
"As for those seniors..."
"I asked them to sit in the front row so they could have a good look."
---
The rain stopped at six o'clock the next morning.
At the entrance of the Beijing Film Academy's auditorium, several elderly men dressed in Zhongshan suits were already waiting. Leading them was Liang Huai, a highly respected professor from the Department of Photography.
He pounded the ground with his cane, making a dull thud.
"Nonsense! This is utterly lawless! Where is Chen Yanren?"
The heavy wooden doors of the auditorium were pushed open.
Chen Yan, wearing a dark gray woolen coat, walked down the steps and stopped in front of Liang Huai.
"Good morning, Professor Liang."
Liang Huai's cane almost touched Chen Yan's nose: "Who gave you permission to screen this without authorization? Your work must undergo a second review by the academic committee!"
"This is my private screening."
Chen Yan pointed to the dozen or so media reporters who had arrived, "If the school wants to shut it down, tomorrow's front page will be 'Beijing Film Academy kills Golden Palm Director.' The school's reputation is based on its works, not its words."
He stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.
"Please come in, seniors. Let's see what this 'commercial extortion' you're talking about really looks like."
It was exactly 8:00 AM.
The auditorium was packed, with the first three rows filled with elderly scholars with white hair and gloomy-faced representatives from the Directors Guild.
The lights went out.
The screen lights up.
For the first twenty minutes after the movie started, the entire auditorium was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
There was no rousing background music, only the ear-piercing sound of the female protagonist's fingernails scraping against the concrete floor as she crawled through the ruins, and her suppressed breathing.
Two hours later, when the final image froze on Lin Qingqiu's face, covered in mud but with a stubborn look in his eyes, the entire audience fell into a deathly silence.
Liang Huai gripped the armrest of the seat, his fingernails scratching deep grooves into the leather.
Chen Yan emerged from the shadows of the side curtain without taking a microphone.
"Professor Liang, is this play pure enough?"
His voice echoed in the empty auditorium.
Liang Huai suddenly stood up, his lips trembling. The veteran directors beside him all lowered their heads, not daring to look at him.
"This isn't a movie..." Liang Huai finally managed to squeeze out, "This is using human lives to create a spectacle! It's murder!"
"Well said."
Chen Yan nodded and turned to face all the reporters below the stage.
"I have something to show you."
He pulled a fax paper from his pocket and held it high.
"As of 3 a.m. today, the average occupancy rate of all midnight screenings of 'Thunder' in Beijing was 98 percent."
He released his grip, and the paper floated down.
"You can continue to write articles to criticize me."
Chen Yan's gaze swept over the ashen faces in the front row.
"But before you come up with another, more sophisticated term to criticize me, you'd better take a look at this week's box office curve."
He didn't say another word, turned around and strode off the stage.
Wu Gang's Santana was already running and waiting at the back door.
Su Wan quickly followed, her face filled with barely suppressed excitement.
"Where to? Back to the studio for a celebration party?"
Chen Yan opened the car door and sat in the passenger seat.
The sun finally broke through the clouds, its light dazzling.
"To the train station."
His voice was soft, yet carried an undeniable chill.
"Since they're talking to me about art in Beijing, I'll go to Tianjin and talk to Lu Haiming about fate."