The Old Revolutionary Throws Dignity to the Wind

"That... what president was it?" "Mr. Hadeln!" "Right. Did Festival Director Hadeln really take the initiative to invite us?" "Every word I said is true. Look, here is my letter of authorization!" Fang Yurong pulled out her authorization letter. It was written entirely in German; the Film Bureau leader couldn't read a word of it, but found it grand and impressive nonetheless. She continued, "The Berlin International Film Festival's main venue is called Zoo Palast, and a row of national flags hangs outside the entrance. Whenever a country has a film selected for the competition, its national flag earns the right to fly high above Zoo Palast. Mr. Hadeln said that now that China is opening up, we ought to engage more with the world. He earnestly hopes to see our Five-Star Red Flag flying over Zoo Palast!" Fang Yurong wasn't telling the whole truth. She could hardly admit that the Berlin festival had offended the Soviet Union and desperately needed to court China; all she had to do was convince the leadership that this was a matter of momentous significance. Sure enough, the leader's face lit up with pride, and he smiled. "Good, wonderful! It's rare for a foreign friend to hold our film industry in such high regard. We will definitely support you in this. First, tell me: how does the process work?" "They divide films into competition and exhibition," she explained. "Competition entries draw the greatest attention and can contend for the various awards. Exhibition simply means screening the film without competing for prizes, because they have a film market where distributors from different countries go to select titles. As the sole selector, my job is to choose films to submit for the competition. Naturally, I will report back to you first and proceed only with your approval." "I object!" Wang Yang burst in with a bang, shouting at the top of his lungs. Fang Yurong looked as if she had seen a ghost. "Old Director Wang, why are you still here?" *Good grief!* The bureau leader's headache only worsened. Just a moment ago, the man had been pounding the desk for half an hour, demanding distribution rights. How could that ever happen? After much cajoling and coaxing, he had finally managed to usher Wang Yang out, only for the old man to wheel back around for a surprise counterattack—and overhear their conversation. "I object!" Wang Yang strode forward, pointing a finger at Fang Yurong. "She's an employee of China Film! How can she be some film selector? That goes against regulations!" "Those two things don't conflict at all. How does it go against regulations?" Fang Yurong was no pushover either. "Hmph! Holding both positions means you're under suspicion of abusing your authority for personal gain!" What did Wang Yang have to fear? He pulled out a chair and sat down casually. "You're in charge of China Film's imports and exports, right? If you want to export a film, you could easily send it to the festival first to give it a golden veneer. That benefits your China Film, but it's unfair to other pictures, because another film might be far better suited for the festival. Can you guarantee that won't happen?" "I guarantee I will remain objective and fair. Besides, the final say isn't even mine—it takes the leadership's approval before anything can be sent abroad! Isn't that right, Chief?" Fang Yurong asked. "Uh..." The leader was put on the spot. *Don't drag me into this!* Wang Yang kept up the pressure. "I'd bet good money that she'll pick a film from Shanghai Film Studio. She's a Shanghainese herself! If that isn't using public office for personal gain, what is?" "You... don't go throwing false accusations around just because of your seniority! I haven't even started the work yet!" Fang Yurong fumed with indignation. The leader chimed in, "Is there a deadline?" "Submissions for competition entries close in November!" "Ha, look at that!" Wang Yang said. "With so little time, where else could she possibly go to pick a film? She'll definitely head straight to Shanghai Film Studio! If you want to refute me, come to Beijing Film Studio. Then I'll believe you're fair and impartial." "Old Wang, how many times do I have to tell you!" The leader rubbed his temples, his head throbbing. "Yours is a martial arts film! Who on earth sends a martial arts film overseas? It'd be an embarrassment!" "I don't care about that. Her dual role definitely violates regulations. If you want her selecting films, you have to bring ours along!" "The festival head personally authorized her. If we strip her of that behind closed doors, what kind of impression does that make? This is precisely when China needs to establish contact with the outside world. If this blows up into a major incident, will you take responsibility?" "Regardless, I'm laying down the law: if any of you want to go abroad, you have to take us with you, or none of you are going!" Wang Yang slammed the desk, turned on his heel, and walked out. The moment he stepped outside, a grin broke across his face. He had been racking his brains over how to get to Europe, and Fang Yurong had practically delivered the opportunity right to his doorstep. From now on, he would come by to kick up a fuss every few days. He had no fear that they wouldn't eventually cave. Inside the office, the bureau leader pulled a long face. "Xiao Fang, go ahead and make your selections first, then bring them to me to decide. We'll handle Old Wang internally." "All right!" Fang Yurong took her leave as well. In truth, her conscience was far from clear, because she genuinely had intended to pick a film from Shanghai Film Studio. Historically, she had chosen a Shanghai Film Studio production titled *Return of the Swallows*, marking the mainland's first time participating in the main competition of Europe's Big Three festivals. "..." In his office, the leader pondered the matter. He understood what Wang Yang was after, but how could a martial arts film possibly go to an international film festival? Films sent to festivals had to be politically correct, ideologically meaningful, and reflective of Chinese values—on this point, he and Fang Yurong were in complete agreement. Yet if he refused, that old codger Wang Yang would only come back to make more scenes. When an old revolutionary threw dignity to the wind, nobody could withstand it. *Just now Xiao Fang mentioned competition and exhibition. A martial arts film definitely can't enter the competition, but what about the exhibition?* The leader weighed it over and decided to convene a meeting to look into it. *** "Really?" "There's a selector for the Berlin Film Festival?" When Wang Yang returned and called Chen Qi over to tell him, Chen Qi was overjoyed as well. "She claims to be the only one on the mainland, cocky as can be. I gave her a piece of my mind, and she's got quite a temper too. I told them straight out: they have to take us abroad, or nobody's going. Her position goes against regulations in the first place—how can a China Film employee act as a film selector? That's being both the referee and a player!" "Do you think it'll actually work?" "That Xiao Fang was talking about entering the competition versus the exhibition. The Film Bureau will definitely play their usual game of compromise, telling both sides to yield a step, so we might end up going for the exhibition." "The exhibition works too! As long as we can get out there, that's enough!" Chen Qi couldn't help but sigh at how exhausting it was. How low had his standards dropped? Just being able to get abroad was enough. There were simply too many restrictions on the mainland in these years, forcing him to find every conceivable detour or exploit every loophole. Chen Qi had never viewed any specific person as an enemy or a villain. What he had always been up against were the natural obstacles and difficulties forged by the era itself: mainland policies, those bastards in Hong Kong and Taiwan, international prejudices... The two schemed a while longer. Having done everything they currently could, all that remained was to wait for word. *** Hong Kong. Hong Kong cinema took a massive leap forward this year. Jackie Chan's *The Young Master* became the first film since the port's founding to break the ten-million-dollar mark at the box office, ushering the industry into its golden era. In 1982, things grew even more astounding: local Hong Kong productions swept the entire top ten, while *Raiders of the Lost Ark*, a massive hit across North America, took in only a little over eight million—Hollywood simply stood no chance. This state of affairs persisted all the way until 1993, when *Jurassic Park* set an all-time record with a box office haul of over sixty million. Only then did Hong Kong's workshop-style operations realize what a true film industry looked like, and from that point onward, Hong Kong cinema began its long decline. This year, Shaw Brothers was aging and losing its vigor, Golden Harvest was at the height of its power, Cinema City had just been established, and a multitude of companies large and small were rising up like rival warlords contending for dominance. Amidst this chaotic scramble, the left-wing faction stood aloof from the world, living in undisturbed peace. Nobody paid them any mind, and they bothered no one else. The scripts for *Wrong Turn* and *The Descent* had been brought back in July, and that very month they decided to begin shooting the first of the two. Production took place in August, wrapped in September, and post-production was completed in October—they had never moved at such breakneck speed before. For one thing, the material Chen Qi provided was so complete that they could shoot straight from the page. For another, *Wrong Turn* really had almost no plot to speak of. Aside from relentless hacking and slashing, it was just more hacking and slashing; the most grueling part had actually been the mutant cannibals' makeup. Although the left-wing faction had waned in influence, its industry chain remained complete, spanning production, distribution, a cinema circuit, soundstages, actor training classes, dormitories, and more—essentially functioning as a state-owned enterprise. Its theater chain was called the Southern Circuit, consisting of just eight cinemas. The numbers were modest, but at least it was independent and self-reliant. On this day, every theater in the Southern Circuit put up posters for *Wrong Turn*—the gruesome, flesh-mangled sort—with a prominent advisory: "Not for the Faint of Heart!"