Going High-Profile

Orphan was a 2009 film that enjoyed high critical acclaim and grossed over seventy million US dollars. It later spawned a sequel, and that sequel was absolute trash. Chen Qi picked this film because he found its character framework fascinating—and ripe for radical modification. In the original version, the little girl was written as Russian, a classic Hollywood formula where the villain was always either a Nazi remnant or a Russian. Right now, it was the early 1980s. Hollywood wasn't quite as rigid yet, and the climate in the United States was complicated. The 1970s had plunged the country into oil crises and stagflation. Reagan had taken office, survived an assassination attempt earlier that year, and pushed through a series of new policies. While those measures would ultimately bring about an economic recovery, their early stages brought recession and rising unemployment. Meanwhile, Japan was surging at breakneck speed. Its manufactured goods were conquering the American market, driving domestic workers to virulent anti-Japanese fury—the kind where they smashed Japanese cars right on the street. Well... During this era, poking fun at, mocking, and insulting the Japanese and their products was Hollywood's version of political correctness. And so, under Chen Qi's pen, the story of Orphan transformed into this: The male and female leads were Americans working in the garment trade in Hong Kong. They had a pair of lovely children, lived comfortably, sent their kids to an international school, and went to a church-run orphanage to adopt in an attempt to escape the grief of losing their third child in infancy. Chen Qi added another character: a Chinese volunteer at the orphanage who helped the mother uncover the truth. And who was the little girl, exactly? Ha! She was a thirty-three-year-old of Japanese descent who suffered from a hormonal disorder and harbored severe violent tendencies! Put bluntly, it was a movie where a Japanese person feigned weakness and slaughtered Americans like a maniac, only to be taken down by the Americans with the assistance of a Chinese bystander. Now that was political correctness—a custom-made treat for North America! At that moment, the two of them were poring over the project. Chen Qi asked, "Uncle, do you have a suitable director in mind?" "No. I considered Mou Dunfei, but his style leans toward gore and brutality. Orphan calls for suspense, psychological thriller, and atmospheric buildup. I worry he won't handle it well." "What about hiring someone else?" "We don't dare take chances on an unknown, and established names don't dare come near us for fear of being linked to our studio," Fu Chi sighed. "..." Chen Qi thought it over and said, "Then let's shelve that for now. We can look into it further before deciding. I don't know much about Hong Kong directors anyway." After some discussion, they agreed to officially kick off auditions for child actors the following day. Fu Chi was a capable operator who understood the power of publicity. He had already leaked word ahead of time and deliberately arranged for several reporters to visit today. This aligned perfectly with Chen Qi's own mindset. He hadn't come to Hong Kong to skulk around in shadows and keep a low profile. What he wanted was to make a massive racket and march entirely to his own beat! *** Golden Harvest. Inside an executive office, Jackie Chan said with an aggrieved look, "Mr. Chow, please don't send me back to Hollywood anymore. We really don't click at all. I have no idea what they're trying to do, and they don't respect my ideas. I'd rather come back and shoot films in Hong Kong!" "Ah-Long, back when you were full of ambition, you wanted to conquer America and become the next Bruce Lee. Why give up so fast?" Fifty-four-year-old Raymond Chow leaned back in his wide armchair, a cigar resting between his fingers. "You don't need to worry. As long as you want to make movies, we will back you all the way!" "Forget it. I think Hong Kong is my true turf after all." "All right, all right. Ah-Long, if you want to come back, then come back. You can direct a picture yourself and shoot whatever you please!" Leonard Ho chimed in. The two coaxed Jackie Chan until he left, then traded a glance and chuckled in unison. Jackie Chan had shot to fame overnight across Hong Kong on the back of Snake in the Eagle's Shadow and Drunken Master, and it was only natural for his head to swell. Raymond Chow had sent him to Hollywood partly to test the waters, and partly to knock him down a peg or two. He had filmed two pictures there: The Big Brawl and The Cannonball Run. The Big Brawl had at least granted him the leading role. In The Cannonball Run, two of Hong Kong's top aces—Jackie Chan and Michael Hui—had been reduced to trivial cameos. Both films had performed reasonably well at the box office, but their critical reception was terrible. In particular, Jackie Chan had come to realize that he couldn't hack it in Hollywood right now, so he had returned to build his career on solid ground. "What are Shaw Brothers and Cinema City up to?" Raymond Chow asked. "A fellow named Wong Jing popped up at Shaw Brothers. He's a versatile writer-director, and several of his films have done well at the box office. But Shaw Brothers is past its prime. The studio system is bound to be phased out sooner or later, and one man can't turn the tide alone. Over at Cinema City, I hear they've brought in Sam Hui and are shooting a major blockbuster." "Sam Hui... Cinema City's seven-member creative group is extraordinary. We can't afford to underestimate them!" Raymond Chow took the threat seriously. Leonard Ho hesitated for a moment, then passed over a newspaper. "The leftists are stirring too. Someone came down from the mainland—the one behind Tai Chi. He's been shockingly outspoken." "Oh?" Raymond Chow took the copy of Wen Wei Po and saw a prominent feature interview. The subject was none other than Chen Qi, who had gained considerable fame in Hong Kong through Tai Chi. "The mainland's environment is opening up, so it's only natural to strengthen cinematic collaboration between both regions. I came this time to co-produce a film with Great Wall... No, not a kung fu flick. It's a thriller, and its primary market isn't Hong Kong; we intend to export it to the United States." "Well, I tend to speak my mind. If I offend anyone, please pardon me in advance. I don't know much about the Hong Kong industry, but from what I see right now, our local peers seem to have almost no drive. They spend all their time brawling tooth and nail over this tiny three-quarter-acre plot of a market, utterly lacking vision and scope. "True, Hong Kong cinema is booming, but any industry's ceiling ultimately depends on its fundamental scale. Hong Kong has a population of 5.18 million. That's the bedrock right there. Even if every single resident went to the theater, that would still only amount to 5.18 million moviegoers. How high can the market capacity truly go? And the easier money is to make in this business, the more people crowd in to grab a slice of the pie. In the end, it will just devolve into shoddy, rushed productions chasing quick cash. Without carefully building an industrial supply chain, the industry is doomed to slide downhill. "My view? My view is to expand outward. Hong Kong has the talent, creativity, and technical craft. It is fully equipped to venture overseas and take its shot. "Unfortunately, very few do, and those who try aren't going about it soundly. I hear Shaw Brothers invested in a picture called Blade Runner—thirty million US dollars? Wow. All I can say is their courage is commendable, but they're bound to lose their shirts and end up stripped to the bone. "Golden Harvest certainly has ambition, sending Jackie Chan overseas. Unfortunately, they didn't know their place. America is white people's territory. Bruce Lee was an exception—how could they possibly allow a second Oriental to headline a picture? I paid attention to The Cannonball Run: having Hong Kong's biggest star play a sidekick in Hollywood, merely acting the clown. I can't fathom what they were thinking. "Cinema City is even less enterprising. They just rip off Hollywood, lifting foreign genre pictures, giving them a coat of paint, and passing them off as their own. Besides, Cinema City is riddled with internal friction, an unstable foundation, and uneven profit sharing. Within three to five years, they're bound to collapse. "If you want to go abroad, you either make a purely Western film or blend East and West. There is no third path. Inherent cultural barriers cannot be broken unless you hold the dominant voice. "Speaking of which, my collaboration with Great Wall counts as a blend of East and West..." "Insolent whelp, spouting pure nonsense!" Raymond Chow had weathered too many storms to lose his temper, but he found the whole thing bizarre. "Who does he think he is? Just because he struck lucky with one hit, he dares to run his mouth like this?" "I hear he's only twenty-one. When youngsters taste success, it's inevitable that their heads get in the clouds. We can just ignore him. Whatever the leftists shoot has nothing to do with us anyway," Leonard Ho remarked. *** Meanwhile, the entire Hong Kong film industry saw the interview. A few months ago, Chen Qi had come to Hong Kong and lectured a roomful of senior figures. Now he had escalated to wagging his finger at all the industry moguls. Setting aside what everyone privately thought, they all felt this fellow completely shattered their stereotype of mainlanders: Foul-mouthed, grandstanding, devoid of respect, and thoroughly insufferable!