Open Your Dog Eyes and Look

"All right, all right, this arguing is getting us nowhere!" Nursing a throbbing headache, the supervisory official intervened. "Stop squabbling. Let's stick to the facts and reason it out. Unless there's a new perspective or fresh evidence, we'll—" "I have something to say!" Chen Qi raised a hand, looked toward the pair from China Film, and asked, "I'm very curious about something. Leaving the distant past aside, ever since domestic film production resumed in 1976, you at China Film have held a total monopoly over domestic and overseas distribution. You keep hurling accusations at us, but have you ever exported any films yourselves?" "Of course we have!" "Which ones?" "This meeting was called to investigate your misconduct, not for you to interrogate us!" "..." Chen Qi turned his gaze to the official. "If I bear any responsibility, I'll shoulder it without complaint. But right now, no formal judgment has been reached, yet they are already treating me like a criminal. Does that seem right to you? The question I asked is directly related to this matter. Wouldn't getting a clear picture of the actual industry help you make a better judgment?" "There's sense in that," the official agreed. "Go on and tell him. Everyone here would like to hear it." The official's attitude had softened, thanks in no small part to the article in China Youth Daily. Even he had been taken aback—seventeen million for Tai Chi in Hong Kong! With the instincts of a seasoned cadre, he sensed this case might take an unexpected turn. "Fine, I'll give a brief overview," Song Linming said reluctantly. "We have established ties with sixty-three countries and regions, which means China Film has that many avenues for overseas distribution. These fall into non-commercial and commercial channels. "The former provides materials to Chinese embassies, foreign aid departments, friendly organizations, and so forth, sending out an average of one hundred and thirty programs a year. The latter connects with foreign distributors to license copyright, selling one hundred and sixty-two films annually." "Does that total of one hundred and sixty-two include short films, educational films, and documentaries?" Chen Qi hit right where it hurt. Seeing Song Linming refuse to answer, he pressed on, "And how much money did you actually make from all those exports?" "That has nothing to do with you! Stop trying to deflect attention with these irrelevant questions. Your errors are plain for everyone to see!" "If you won't say it, I will!" Chen Qi had come fully prepared for this moment. He pulled out a journal and said, "This issue of Film Newsletter is an internal trade publication, not distributed to the general public. I found it in the reference room at Beijing Film Studio. There's an article inside titled 'Institutional Reform and Overseas Publicity' that cites a set of figures. Allow me to read it to everyone..." He cleared his throat and read aloud, "'Since the advent of Reform and Opening-up, domestic cinema has stepped onto the world stage at a faster pace and achieved certain results. In reality, however, the overseas market and influence of Chinese films remain extremely limited, and exports operate at a substantial deficit. "'From 1978 to 1980, domestic films generated an average annual foreign exchange revenue of 696,000 US dollars and 73,000 clearing dollars, equivalent to approximately 1.307 million yuan. However, annual expenditures totaled 4.66 million yuan. Netting revenue against expenditure leaves an annual loss of 3.553 million yuan.' "General Manager Song, are these figures correct?" "You don't understand the first thing about it!" Song Linming refused to confirm the numbers. Stung where it hurt most, he raised his voice. "Overseas distribution isn't that simple! Whether it's Japan or Europe, distribution networks in foreign countries are deeply entrenched and tightly controlled. They're all private enterprises. Getting a release in their theaters is extraordinarily difficult!" "Is it the same in the United States? Sino-American relations are cordial right now, aren't they?" "The United States is the hardest of all! Isn't Japanese cinema famous? Akira Kurosawa's Rashomon won an Academy Award, yet Japanese films still rarely get theatrical releases in America. To put it bluntly, it's state-level protectionism!" Chen Qi didn't argue. He merely sat there with a faint, amused smile, staring right at him. That calm demeanor gave Song Linming a sinking feeling, like a primal alarm ringing in the depths of his soul. Scrambling to defend China Film, Song Linming hurried on, "Last year, we organized a delegation to visit the United States. When I returned, I submitted a report—which you saw, comrade leader. This is the plain truth. "We cannot rush blindly into this or try to get fat off a single mouthful. Our approach must be to lead with volume, letting more foreigners see domestic films through cultural exchanges and film weeks. And now, of course, we have an additional avenue: attending film festivals." "Well said. I've learned a lot." Chen Qi nodded, smiling. "China Youth Daily just reported that Tai Chi took seventeen million at the Hong Kong box office. In your estimation, how much could a film like Tai Chi fetch overseas?" "I have no obligation to answer you!" Fang Yurong snapped. "Don't you think I've made a mistake? Fine, then. If Tai Chi were handed over to you, how much could you sell it for? "You both have higher seniority than me, far more experience, and greater ability. I am genuinely asking for your guidance. In the current environment, how would you handle a film that just topped the Hong Kong box office, and how much do you think it could sell for abroad? "The leader has instructed us not to fight today. If the two of you can convince us with your reasoning, I'll drop to my knees, admit my fault, and accept whatever punishment you see fit!" "That's right, name any figure you like!" Wang Yang chimed in. "..." Song Linming and Fang Yurong found themselves backed into a corner. They exchanged a glance before Fang Yurong spoke. "Being a hit in Hong Kong doesn't guarantee success in the West. But if it did well in Hong Kong, it must have its merits... If it were up to us, we could definitely sell it for at least three hundred thousand US dollars!" Over the past few years, they had exported an average of one hundred and sixty-two features and shorts annually, pulling in a total of 769,000 US dollars a year—an average of just 4,750 dollars per film. Daring to propose three hundred thousand was already shooting for the moon. "Hahahahaha!" Wang Yang couldn't contain himself. He burst into boisterous laughter, his eyebrows and beard trembling. Casting all dignity aside, the old director clutched his stomach and nearly slid beneath the table. After days of suffocating frustration, he was venting it all in one glorious release. Chen Qi chuckled too. He laughed while shaking his head, then slammed his palm onto the table, rose to his feet, and hurled a thick stack of papers straight across, smacking Fang Yurong right in the face. Covered in sheets of paper, Fang Yurong sprang up, furious. "What do you think you're doing?! Not only are you in the wrong, but you're utterly devoid of manners! What kind of place do you think this is? Who gave you the right to act like a savage here?!" "No matter what I do, I'm a hundred times better than useless deadweights like you who collect a salary and accomplish nothing! You're pieces of trash who try to drag everyone else down into the gutter with you! Just because you're incompetent, you assume everyone else is too! An ape would evolve faster than your brains work!" Chen Qi pointed straight at her nose and roared, "Open your dog eyes and take a good look at how much we actually sold it for!" "You—!" Fang Yurong was about to shriek back when a sharp intake of breath cut her short. Beside her, Song Linming had picked up the papers. He scanned the first page, and his face instantly drained of color. Frozen in sheer shock and disbelief, he looked at Chen Qi. His tongue twitched, unable to form a coherent sentence. He could only wheeze out a few rasping syllables like a broken bellows. "You... you... this is fake... how could... millions..." "Millions?!" The presiding official lost his voice in astonishment. He shot to his feet, a sudden rush of heat surging to his head, flushing his face crimson. In his position, he understood the gravity of that word better than anyone. Casting all decorum aside, he bumped past the table, brushed past several people, and snatched the documents from their hands. There before his eyes lay undeniable proofs and agreements, along with an attached sales roster: "20th Century Fox, United States—rights for North America, Western Europe, and Australia: 3,000,000 USD!" "Japan exclusive rights: 1,000,000 USD!" "South Korea exclusive rights: 300,000 USD!" "Singapore and Malaysia exclusive rights: 150,000 USD!" "Burma, Thailand, the Philippines, Poland, Colombia... more than twenty countries in total: 350,000 USD!" "Total overseas licensing sales for Tai Chi: 4,800,000 USD!"