Chapter 00059: A Different Voice
# A Different Voice
Chapter 59
Novel: 1979 Golden Age
Chapter 59: A Different Voice
The three of them went upstairs, entered the office, and closed the door behind them.
Fu Qi casually sat down on the sofa and asked, "Old Wang, how's the situation this year?"
"Same as usual. All the studios are being cautious, too concerned about costs, and afraid to take on big projects."
"Then why don't you rally all the film studios across the country and negotiate with China Film?" Shi Hui chimed in with a smile.
"The root of the problem isn't with China Film, it's with the state. What's the point of negotiating with them? China Film only gives 700,000 yuan per film, and production costs are getting higher and higher. All the studios are stuck at that 700,000 yuan line—how can they produce anything good?"
Wang Yang snorted and said, "I've been trying to communicate with them, but if they push me too far, I'll just write directly to the central government!"
Don't underestimate the influence of the Beijing Film Studio.
They have direct access to the highest levels of power.
When Wang Yang said he could write to the central government, he wasn't exaggerating.
He shook his head and said, "Let's not talk about that. How's your Shaolin Temple project going?"
"Not good."
Fu Qi looked troubled.
"We had already shot about a third of the film and sent the rough cut to Beijing. But Mr. Liao wasn't satisfied, the Japanese weren't satisfied, and we weren't satisfied either. So we're starting over from scratch."
"What?!"
Wang Yang was shocked.
"Such a big project, and you're starting over? Do you still have enough money?"
"I talked to the Japanese, and they're willing to add another 700,000 Hong Kong dollars. We can scrape together a few hundred thousand more ourselves, so it should be enough. I've asked director Zhang Xinyan to come back, and we're rewriting the script and recasting the roles... It's a mess, really."
Fu Qi let out a bitter laugh.
Mr. Liao, whose full name was Liao Chengzhi, was the son of Liao Zhongkai.
He was the director of the Overseas Chinese Affairs Office and the Hong Kong Affairs Office, overseeing all matters related to Hong Kong.
Earlier this year, he had met with leftist film companies in Hong Kong and specifically requested that they produce a martial arts film.
The leftist companies took on the task but had no money.
They found a Japanese monk named Sōdōshū, who had studied Shaolin kung fu in China and later established the Shaolin Temple Martial Arts Alliance in Japan, with over 100,000 disciples.
He was willing to buy the Japanese rights to the film and paid an advance of 550,000 Hong Kong dollars.
So the leftist companies wrote a script based on the story of the thirteen Shaolin monks saving the Tang emperor.
The tone was quite serious, and the protagonist wasn't the young monk Jue Yuan from the later version—there was no romantic subplot either.
They hired a director from Hong Kong and cast a group of actors from the Henan Peking Opera Troupe, with the lead role going to Wu Gang.
They shot part of the film, but when they reviewed the footage, it was too theatrical, lacking real martial arts action, the story was uninspiring, and the outdoor scenes were plagued by sandstorms, making the visuals poor...
Everyone was dissatisfied, so they had to reshoot.
"Mr. Liao made a pact with us to produce 36 new films of various genres within three years. We're doing our best, but it's like trying to cook without rice—we have no money and no people."
"..."
Wang Yang had been listening with a strange expression, thinking to himself: What a coincidence!
"Old Wang, do you have an idea?"
"I just read something yesterday—it's about Shaolin Temple."
"What a coincidence!"
Fu Qi was also surprised.
Wang Yang pulled out two small magazines from his desk drawer and said, "But this one is set in the late Ming dynasty, about Shaolin Temple resisting the imperial enforcers. It has a strong martial arts vibe and even includes a romantic subplot."
"That's a shame. Our rewritten script is still based on the thirteen monks saving the Tang emperor, and the costumes and props are already made, so we can't change it."
"You should still take a look. I think the romantic subplot is quite good, especially the ending."
At his suggestion, Fu Qi and Shi Hui each took a copy of Story Collection and skimmed through it.
They didn't read it in detail, just glanced over the main points.
Shi Hui read the second half, where the ending described the male protagonist deciding to become a monk for the sake of Shaolin Temple, while the female protagonist stood outside the temple hall, watching him.
Though they were separated by just a door, it was enough to sever their worldly ties.
The ending also included two lines of poetry: "How can one find a way to satisfy both the Buddha and the beloved? To neither betray the teachings nor the heart."
Shi Hui's eyes lit up, and she nudged Fu Qi.
"This ending is really good. We could use it!"
"Let me see!"
Fu Qi also read it and nodded.
"Our new script has a young monk as the protagonist, with a lot of comedic elements. We've been debating whether to add a romantic subplot, since it's about a monk—how do we make it work? But if we follow this idea, it could make sense."
"Can we find the author?" Shi Hui asked.
"He's right here at the Beijing Film Studio. He also wrote the script for Romance on Lushan Mountain, which you guys bought the rights to."
"Oh? What a coincidence!"
Shi Hui laughed.
"I really want to meet this comrade!"
"No rush. I'll have him come over during the discussion later. That kid's got a sharp mind."
Wang Yang had originally planned to study The Wooden Robe to see if it could be adapted into a film, but the Hong Kong comrades had a greater need, so he was willing to let it go.
Of course, he'd have to ask Chen Qi first—after all, he was the author.
…………
"Why am I being called to a meeting out of the blue?"
Chen Qi had been planning to visit the China Bookstore when Liang Xiaosheng suddenly called him over for a meeting.
Liang Xiaosheng whispered, "The Hong Kong comrades are here. It's an internal discussion, and only the studio's top creative talents are attending. The fact that you're being called means the director values you. Look around the room—you're the only outsider here."
"Outsider? I'm just a tea seller!"
The two of them entered the meeting room, which wasn't too crowded—only about forty people, all key members of the four major creative teams.
When Chen Qi walked in, everyone was surprised.
"Old Wang, what's going on?"
"Fu Qi liked one of his ideas and wanted to discuss it, so I figured I'd just bring him to the meeting."
"I know you value talent, but you still have to follow the rules. This is an internal discussion—what if word gets out?"
The one questioning was a deputy director named Sun Wenjin.
Wang Yang knew he was in the wrong and chuckled awkwardly.
"It won't happen again! It won't happen again!"
Chen Qi, under the scrutiny of everyone's eyes, found a corner to sit in.
He understood: he was just an outsider staying at the guesthouse.
It was fine to receive good treatment, but if he really stepped into the inner circle... well, which workplace didn't have its share of drama?
"Let's settle down!"
Once everyone was present, Wang Yang took charge of the meeting.
"First, let's welcome our Hong Kong comrades, Fu Qi and Shi Hui. Despite their busy schedules, they've come to the Beijing Film Studio, and I shamelessly invited them to hold an internal discussion. Today, they'll share the current state of Hong Kong cinema, which will be a great help for us to understand the film industry outside..."
"Clap clap clap!"
Applause broke out.
Fu Qi raised his hand to quiet everyone.
Born in Shenyang and raised in Shanghai, he spoke with a slight accent.
"The last time I was here was over a decade ago. In the blink of an eye, I'm already in my fifties. It's quite emotional. Director Wang asked me to talk about Hong Kong cinema, so I'll start from over a decade ago. As you all know, our leftist companies and the Taiwanese companies have been battling it out in Hong Kong. Back then, we had the upper hand in every aspect, crushing them and occupying a third of the Hong Kong market. We had big directors, big actors, big screenwriters, and big cinematographers—we lacked nothing. We even had a theater chain with eight cinemas. I still remember the craze when Third Sister Liu was released in Hong Kong... But times have changed. After the turmoil, we opened our eyes to find that Hong Kong cinema had fully entered the commercial era, where everything was based on box office performance. But that didn't mean the struggle was over—our fight continues. Taiwan has set up an organization called the Free China Association, specifically to lure Hong Kong filmmakers and suppress us. Taiwan is the biggest market for Hong Kong films. For a movie to be released there, the director and actors must join the Free China Association and become members—it's like a pledge of allegiance. There are even those who flatter and bribe openly, just to get their films favored! Earlier this year, Hong Kong's TVB collaborated with Guangdong to produce a Spring Festival celebration program, with 29 performers participating. Before coming to Guangzhou, they had to report to the Free China Association and submit a letter of repentance, saying something like: 'We have contracts with TVB and can't refuse the company's assignments. Please forgive us...'"
Fu Qi's voice trailed off, and Shi Hui reached out to gently pat his hand.
"Being blacklisted by Taiwan means the end of an acting career, so those performers don't dare to side with us. I'll be honest—the leftist camp is in a tough spot, relying on a few veterans to keep things going. Many comrades can't hold on and choose to leave. In the past two years, our three companies have produced five films, none of which did well at the box office. Hong Kong cinema has developed so rapidly, and we've had a long gap, so we've fallen behind. Coming to this cultural conference, the central government's stance has given us confidence. With the motherland behind us, we believe we can restore our former glory. We won't belittle ourselves, nor will we aim too high. Right now, the most important thing is to increase production and create a few influential works to regain our footing in Hong Kong..."
"..."
His words were sincere and full of substance.
The meeting room fell silent.
Everyone was both shocked and sympathetic.
The Hong Kong comrades had it even harder—they had to deal with the British Hong Kong government, the rightists, and restrictions from the mainland, often caught between a rock and a hard place.
After Fu Qi finished, Shi Hui also spoke.
Wang Yang smiled and said, "Feel free to ask any questions. I managed to drag them here, so don't let them off easy!"
"Haha!"
Everyone laughed.
An old director was the first to speak up.
"Are you still making films with realistic themes?"
"Of course! Realistic themes are our foundation, but the audience for them is shrinking."
"What do you think of this year's new films from the mainland?"
"They're all very good. I can feel the vibrant energy in them. I watched Look at This Family, and I was surprised it was a comedy. I hope to see more films like that."
"Will you make films about life in the mainland?"
"It's difficult. The British Hong Kong government wouldn't allow them to be released. To put it simply, mainland films or films about mainland themes have to go through strict censorship. They scrutinize every frame—for example, images of Chairman Mao can't appear, his name can't be mentioned, and even lyrics in songs can't reference him..."
Fu Qi and Shi Hui patiently answered questions about art, technique, and censorship.
Then, suddenly, a voice broke through the otherwise harmonious discussion: "What was this year's box office champion in Hong Kong?"
(End of Chapter)