So This Is Chinese Cinema (1)

"I—I'm so nervous!" The next day, at the opening ceremony venue, Gong Xue wore a white dress she had bought in Hong Kong. Beads of nervous sweat dotted her forehead. She reached for a handkerchief to dab it away, patting herself left and right before remembering the dress had no pockets. "You're fine, you're fine. We did sixteen roadshow stops in Hong Kong—didn't that count as rehearsals? If all else fails, just picture the crowd as giant radishes!" "Brother Qi, I'm a little nervous too!" Li Lianjie chimed in. "What the hell are you nervous about? Nixon's patted your head before." "That was different! This is walking a red carpet. Wow, look how long it is..." Li Lianjie gestured exaggeratingly, while Li Wenhua stood beside them, frozen too stiff to speak. They were in the red-carpet staging area. Seeing their turn was up next, Chen Qi urged them, "Just remember: smile, wave, keep your chest out and chin up, exactly like we did in Hong Kong! Alright, let's go!" With a few strides, the quartet stepped onto the Berlin International Film Festival's red carpet. A vivid scarlet rug several meters wide stretched straight toward the entrance of the Zoo Palast cinema, flanked by barricades where reporters stood poised with telephoto lenses at the ready. "Director Li, you're walking same arm, same leg!" "Gong Xue, don't trip on your dress!" "Wave! Wave!" Like an anxious mother hen, Chen Qi guided the three rookies along. The journalists on either side didn't recognize them, but upon realizing they were from mainland China, they hurriedly raised their cameras to snap away—the mainland was an utter enigma to them. Dazzled by the flashing bulbs, the trio grew dizzy, but they made it through the walk without mishap. Chen Qi had walked plenty of red carpets in his previous life. As an investor and producer, he had often escorted low-tier starlets down the line, though he had never accompanied any true A-listers—not even someone of Fan Xiaopang's stature. In truth, red carpets weren't nearly as lofty as people imagined. Take Cannes, famous across China: anyone holding an opening ceremony ticket could walk it. Countless obscure starlets and trashy internet celebrities had strutted down that carpet, inviting ridicule at home and abroad and thoroughly tarnishing the prestige that Fan Xiaopang had single-handedly built up. "Phew!" "That scared the life out of me!" Gong Xue clutched her chest, feeling both shaken and thrilled. This trip abroad was truly opening her eyes. The four made their way into the main auditorium to watch the opening ceremony as non-competing guests. After a brief wait, Fu Chi and his party entered, followed by Fang Yurong and Fu Jingong. Because their film was an official competition entry, special seating had been arranged for them. The opening ceremony soon began. The festival director and jury members made their appearances, rattling off introductory speeches before screening the opening film. Li Wenhua, Gong Xue, and Li Lianjie sat in quiet misery, unable to understand a single word. After finally enduring the ceremony to the end, the group hurried out of the venue and headed straight for the film market—that was their real objective. *** Having no prior experience with international film festivals, the mainland had dispatched only Fang Yurong as an official chaperone. The festival covered room and board, but airfare had to come out of pocket, so costs were cut wherever possible. Fang Yurong lacked experience as well, and having to manage two separate films left her frazzled on day one. Her panic spiked after the opening ceremony when she found Chen Qi and the others missing. She searched everywhere before finally tracking them down in the film market. "Don't go wandering off!" she scolded, exasperated. "What if something happens to you?" "Our film isn't in competition, and sitting around twiddling our thumbs helps no one, so we came over to give Uncle Fu a hand," Chen Qi said with an easy smile. "Xiao Fang, it's fine. I'll keep them with me," Fu Chi chimed in, proving to be the ultimate wingman. "I have interpreters on my side anyway. Go ahead and look after *Return of the Swallows*." "That's so kind of you! I really can't be in two places at once... *Return of the Swallows* has a packed schedule, so I won't be able to keep an eye on them. Stay with General Manager Fu, and call me if anything comes up!" Fang Yurong hurried away. The moment she was out of sight, Chen Qi said, "Set up our booth!" And so, right beside *Wrong Turn*, another booth was erected, boldly displaying *Tai Chi*! The setup was rudimentary, consisting of nothing more than a large poster and a stack of pamphlets. Chen Qi nodded to Li Lianjie. Without a word, Li Lianjie stripped off his jacket, revealing the wushu uniform underneath. Stepping out in front of the booth, he launched into a sharp, cracking boxing routine. Even as he threw his punches, a twinge of gloom tugged at his mind. *Damn it, back home I performed for national leaders, Nixon, and Kissinger. Now that I'm overseas, I'm putting on a street show for just anyone?* "Oh! Kung fu!" "Bruce Lee?" The film market occupied a massive exhibition hall lined with rows of booths. In an era without modern multimedia technology, promotions relied entirely on posters and printed pamphlets. Filmmakers and distributors from around the globe congregated here, all hoping to land a lucrative hidden gem. Li Lianjie's demonstration was like a glowing firefly in the dark—flashy and impossible to miss. It quickly drew a crowd of curious onlookers. Seizing the opportunity, Chen Qi began distributing brochures, pitching in fluent American English: "An action film from China, even better than Bruce Lee! Tomorrow at three in the afternoon!" Gong Xue's English was limited, but she did her part by handing out pamphlets with a warm smile. "Tomorrow at three in the afternoon. Thank you for your support!" "Tomorrow at three in the afternoon! Thank you for your support!" "Let me have one!" All at once, a tall, burly, corpulent white man stepped up to the booth, watching Li Lianjie with keen interest. "Splendid form! I've been to Berlin twice now, and this is the first time I've seen Chinese exhibitors." "There's a first time for everything," Chen Qi replied with a smile. "You're welcome to come check out our film. It won't disappoint." "Certainly! Let me introduce myself—Harvey Weinstein, American." "You can call me Chen." Chen Qi smiled and shook his hand, then let out a quiet scoff as he watched the man walk away. He hadn't expected this old bastard to show up. He was probably just starting out in the business, wasn't he? Harvey Weinstein had founded Miramax in 1979, specializing in scouring overseas markets for films, buying out their rights on the cheap, and distributing them in the United States. He was exceptionally adept at lobbying and PR, shepherding films to over three hundred Oscar nominations and taking home more than seventy golden statuettes. His casting couch had hosted more Hollywood actresses than anyone else's; female leads in the films he handled rarely escaped his clutches. If they agreed, so be it; if they refused, he forced himself on them. Paralyzed by fear of his immense clout, the actresses seldom dared speak out. Calling him an old pervert hardly did it justice—he was a rapist, plain and simple. During Hollywood's reckoning decades later, he would be sentenced to dozens of years behind bars. Weinstein had a penchant for acquiring Chinese-language films; *Hero*, *Shaolin Soccer*, *The Promise*, and many others would be released in the United States under his banner. At this stage, however, he was merely a newcomer who carried no weight at major film festivals. By the end of their first day exhibiting, numerous industry figures had expressed interest in *Tai Chi*. Chen Qi collected a thick stack of business cards, including those of acquisitions executives from giants like Warner Bros. and 20th Century Fox. *** While *Tai Chi* was making its quiet move, *Return of the Swallows* finally made its official debut. Festival Director Hadeln took the film very seriously indeed, accompanying them through almost every event. He had arranged for *Return of the Swallows* to be screened at the Zoo Palast and invited a substantial contingent of press. "Director Fu, how are you feeling?" "Well, to be honest, I never imagined in my entire life that a film of mine would be screened at a venue like this." Up on the screening hall's balcony, Fu Jingong was beside himself with emotion. He was a quintessential veteran director bred by the domestic system—the exact type favored by the Film Bureau: steady, conventional, ideologically sound... There was nothing wrong with that, except it was a bit behind the times. After Fang Yurong translated the sentiment, Hadeln smiled and said, "This is a fine beginning. Whether your film wins an award or not, the Chinese flag now flies over the Zoo Palast, and that carries profound significance." "Yes, indeed!" Fu Jingong nodded repeatedly, his face beaming with pride. He had come here with the mindset of bringing honor to his country, much like an athlete attending the Olympic Games for the first time. As the first Chinese film ever to compete for the Golden Bear, it drew intense scrutiny from the Western press. Reporters occupied the front and middle rows of the auditorium, while general ticket-buyers filled the seats behind them. Philip and Mateo were close friends and avid cinephiles who had bought tickets specifically after hearing that a Chinese film was in competition. "Hey man, did you understand the synopsis for this film?" "Sounds like a story about a couple separating, reuniting, and separating again... I guess it's a romance?" "Whoa, what's a Chinese romance like? Like Soviet movies? I heard they've become quite open." "So will we see any pubic hair?" "I doubt it. If there were pubic hair, the festival would definitely ban it." Amid their whispers, *Return of the Swallows* began.