Chapter 00231: The Eccentric Tsui Hark
# The Eccentric Tsui Hark
Chapter 231
Novel: 1979 Golden Age
Chapter 231: The Eccentric Tsui Hark
Late at night.
With a thin mustache and an uncommonly striking appearance, Tsui Hark—a man who looked every bit the eccentric wanderer of the martial world—was reading the script for Orphan.
Born in Vietnam to parents from Shanwei, Guangdong, he had lived through turbulent times before eventually making his way to Hong Kong to pursue filmmaking.
Like Ann Hui, he was part of the Hong Kong New Wave—bold, sharp, and unafraid to push boundaries.
His films were avant-garde, but unfortunately, they didn’t make money.
After three consecutive flops—The Butterfly Murders, We’re Going to Eat You, and Dangerous Encounter—1st Kind—no one was willing to invest in his projects anymore.
It was only through John Woo’s introduction that he joined Cinema City and reluctantly compromised with commercial demands, directing All the Wrong Clues for the Right Solution.
But deep down, his restless spirit refused to be tamed.
Among Hong Kong filmmakers, Tsui Hark was truly one-of-a-kind when it came to innovation.
Even if his later works declined in quality, his relentless pursuit of fresh ideas in every film was admirable.
"This development is brilliant!"
Tsui Hark suddenly slapped his thigh, having just reached the part where the little girl seduces the male lead.
Some might consider such a scene morally outrageous, but he couldn’t care less.
If possible, he’d even have the little girl seduce the female lead too.
"Master, have some sweet soup!"
Nansun Shi brought over two bowls of sweet soup.
Though she appeared modern and open-minded, she was actually quite traditional when it came to relationships.
She took excellent care of Tsui Hark, playfully calling him "Master"—a nickname that, while humorous, also reflected their dynamic.
Handing him a bowl, she asked, "How’s the script?"
"Fantastic. This kind of story is rare in Hong Kong—extremely bold."
"Isn’t it just a horror film?"
"No, no. It’s more of a psychological thriller with a touch of mystery. Right up my alley. Especially the character dynamics—an American couple, a Japanese adopted daughter, a local social worker, a British nun… The political undertones are even bolder than the premise itself."
Seeing him ramble excitedly, Nansun chuckled.
"Then it’s settled. Just treat it as a side gig and have fun with it."
"No, I’m not happy!"
Tsui Hark shook his head.
"Do you know what Raymond Wong and Karl Maka told me? They said I have to make this film, or the company’s finished. That mainlander has put them in a tight spot. Am I supposed to thank him for that? I’ve been forced into this!"
"But you just said the script was good?"
"I like the script. That doesn’t mean I’m happy about the situation!"
With a shake of his head, he continued flipping through the pages, lost in thought. The little girl is crucial.
I wonder if we can find the right actress.
And where do we get the American couple? Location scouting is important too…
---
Clearwater Bay Film Studio.
Early in the morning, Tsui Hark arrived in a small, unassuming car, wearing a cap and sunglasses.
He entered the main building quietly, where Chen Qi was already waiting.
"Director Tsui, it’s an honor to meet you."
"Mr. Chen."
Tsui Hark’s tone was neither warm nor cold—after all, he wasn’t happy about this arrangement.
Still, he was intrigued by Chen Qi.
When he first watched Tai Chi, he had felt a sense of kinship.
Chen Qi wasted no time and immediately briefed him on Orphan’s pre-production progress.
"We’ve shortlisted a few promising child actors. Since they’re on summer break, we’ll train them for a week—half-day sessions each day. Their parents will drop them off soon and pick them up by noon… Oh, and we’ll provide lunch."
"What about the American actors?"
"We’ll get them from Hollywood."
Tsui Hark raised an eyebrow.
"You’re really splurging this time."
"Hollywood has its own hierarchy. The A-listers live lavishly, but there are plenty of skilled yet unknown actors struggling to make ends meet. Orphan doesn’t need star power—just solid performances. Of course, if we can find someone cheap and slightly famous, that’d be ideal."
After their discussion, Tsui Hark had a clearer picture.
The groundwork was already well laid out—all that was left was casting.
He felt a twinge of displeasure. How could they skip the director in these preparations?
But then again, he was just a temporary hire.
If the final product turned out bad, it wouldn’t be his fault.
Before long, parents began arriving with their daughters—only five girls in total, including Anita Yuen, Athena Chu, and Chingmy Yau. Talk about a jackpot lineup.
"Please take good care of them!"
"Mom, I will get the part!"
"You can do it, Yin-Yin!"
Once the parents left, the training began immediately.
Though small, the studio had all the essentials—a cafeteria, makeup room, and rehearsal space.
Chen Qi led the girls into the rehearsal room while Tsui Hark observed silently from the sidelines.
The half-day session was divided into four parts.
The first covered basics—camera awareness, blocking, lighting, etc. Nothing too intense.
But from the second part onward, Chen Qi ramped up the difficulty, aiming to give them a crash course in acting.
"Remember this routine: the first lesson is theory, the next three are practical. You’ll have movement coaches, dialogue coaches, and me—I’ll teach you how to mimic."
"Teacher!"
Chingmy Yau suddenly raised her hand timidly.
"Um… shouldn’t we get the script first? We don’t even know what we’re acting in."
"You don’t need to know. Just follow my instructions. You only have seven days. Practice on your own time too. If you get cut, don’t cry about it."
"Alright, let’s begin!"
A sofa was placed in the room.
Chen Qi sat down and said, "I’ll demonstrate some actions and lines. Just copy me… Assume there’s someone sitting next to me, and I’m talking to them."
He paused, then tilted his head slightly as if addressing an invisible person, delivering the lines with deep affection:
"I love you, John."
"You’re a good father."
"You’re a handsome man."
After these three short lines, Chen Qi stood up.
"Got it?"
"Yes!"
"Yes!"
"Good. Yin-Yin, you try first."
Chen Qi scratched his head. Huh? Yin-Yin? Feels like I’ve heard that name before…
Athena Chu nervously stepped forward, stiffly sitting on the sofa.
With Chen Qi’s nod, she began mimicking him.
What seemed simple at first glance turned out much harder in practice—her delivery was shaky, and she stumbled over the lines.
"Too tense. Anita, your turn."
Anita Yuen, bold by nature, plopped onto the sofa and rattled off the lines in one go.
Chen Qi shook his head.
"Are you picking a fight? What about the expression? Didn’t you see how gentle I was?"
"Ah Zhen, you next."
Chingmy Yau’s attempt was even worse—she burst out laughing mid-performance.
The remaining two girls didn’t fare much better.
It was a disaster.
Chen Qi sighed and sat back down.
"Let me demonstrate again. Pay attention to every detail—my posture, my legs. Since you’re kids, you can tuck your legs up on the sofa, knees together, like this…"
"Ah, no, not like that!"
Tsui Hark, who had been silently watching, couldn’t take it anymore.
This was the seduction scene between the little girl and the male lead.
He stepped in.
"That’s not flirty enough. Cross your legs. You’ll be wearing slippers—let one foot dangle and swing it playfully…"
"That’s too suggestive. It needs to be subtler!" Chen Qi argued.
"Too much? Look, like this—"
Tsui Hark sat opposite Chen Qi—one curling up gracefully on the sofa, the other crossing his legs and dangling a shoe from his toes.
Both gazed at each other with exaggerated tenderness.
"Pfft—HAHAHA!"
"You two are hilarious!"
Anita Yuen burst into laughter like a tomboy.
Athena Chu covered her mouth, giggling.
She didn’t fully understand, but it looked fun.
Chingmy Yau blinked her big eyes, her bunny teeth peeking out.
Tsui Hark loved personally demonstrating scenes for actors, but he never expected to meet someone even more dramatic than himself.
After much debate, they finally settled on a pose for the girls to practice.
Chingmy Yau tried her best to mimic them, then asked, "Teacher, is this from the movie? What are we doing?"
"Uh…"
As Tsui Hark hesitated, Chen Qi answered without missing a beat:
"It’s a heartwarming family film. You’re expressing love for your father."
"Ohhh!"
The girls nodded in unison. That makes sense!
Tsui Hark stared at Chen Qi, momentarily stunned. This guy’s from the mainland?
Admittedly, he had his own biases about mainland filmmakers, but Chen Qi shattered all expectations.
His professionalism in certain areas was more Hollywood than Hollywood itself—like how he handled child actors.
It was an open secret in the industry: you didn’t need to explain the full story to kids.
Just have them mimic.
Tsui Hark had arrived resentful, feeling forced into this project under a pseudonym.
Yet, he genuinely loved the script, leaving him conflicted.
But now, some of that frustration had unwittingly faded.
(Got a date tonight, so that’s it for today…
Will make it up tomorrow!)
(End of Chapter)