Unscrupulous Sponsorship

The Hong Kong Arts Centre was built in 1977, sixteen floors high. Inside were a cinema, a concert hall, exhibition halls, restaurants, and more. It was a comprehensive cultural complex, and the Shouson Theatre was one part of it. Fu Chi had said the theatre was very small. When Chen Qi saw it for himself, he felt it would do. There were two levels of audience seating and more than four hundred seats. The layout was good and did not feel cramped, and the stage up front met the standard. It counted as "small, yet refined." The first nine Hong Kong Film Awards had no fixed venue. Only from the tenth edition onward did they move into a grand theatre with more than a thousand seats. "Mr. Chen!" "A pleasure to meet you. We've long admired you!" Two people came forward and introduced themselves. They were Shu Kei, editor-in-chief of Film Biweekly, and Chen Baisheng, the deputy editor. They were astonished. They had sent the Left an invitation on the off chance, never expecting that the very next day someone would ask to meet—and to talk about sponsorship! Please. The Left wanted to sponsor them! Wong Tai Sin had shown his power! But politeness still required that they see him. After a few pleasantries, Chen Qi asked, "Do you have a sponsor now?" "Radio Hong Kong is helping us put it together. The whole awards ceremony will be broadcast on the radio." "No television station?" "Uh... not yet!" Seeing the look on the other man's face, Shu Kei flushed and hurried to cover. "We're just starting out. There's no help for the small scale. If you want to sponsor us, Mr. Chen, to be honest, it isn't really appropriate. Because you're a film company. A film company sponsoring a film award—if word got out, it would sound terrible." "But your awards are already decided. There's no backroom dealing. What's so terrible about it?" Chen Qi said with a smile, "We of the Left are poor. Even as sponsors we can't put up much money. It's purely out of regard for your daring to be the first, and for the way you've given your all to the growth of Hong Kong cinema, that we want to lend a hand. And we have no demands whatsoever about the awards. I came specially today just to look over the venue." He stood, looked around the theatre, and asked, "Have you prepared a red carpet?" "No!" "Background music?" "No!" "Fans on site to cheer?" "No!" "You haven't got anything. What kind of awards ceremony are you putting on?" Chen Qi picked the place apart without the least courtesy, pointing as he went. "The way I see it, there's a small open space outside the building, and then the road. Lay a red carpet from the curb to the entrance. Set barriers on both sides, and outside the barriers is the media area, strictly for reporters to take photos. To the left of the entrance, set up a signing area and stand a big backdrop. Every guest signs there after walking the carpet. A pity there won't be a live television broadcast, or we could have set up a host to do interviews. We'll let that go this year. "And this stage—the steps up onto it need a red carpet too. Have a few pieces of music on site to build the atmosphere. Give the first floor to the guests, and leave the second floor open for the fans. Set up a media interview area backstage. After every winner collects an award, they go there for an interview..." "All these odds and ends—the red carpet, security, the music, travel money for the reporters—we of the Left are poor. We can only put up 150,000. That ought to be enough. Our paper has a few obscure subsidiary papers under it. We can sponsor in their names, so no film company is involved. Please, both of you, believe us. There really is no political aim. It's purely to do our bit for Hong Kong cinema!" "..." Shu Kei and Chen Baisheng swallowed. They were men of culture. Men of culture were not above loving money; they just had to be coy about it. They couldn't ask for it themselves. Best if someone else offered it of his own accord. Chen Qi had come to their door unasked, and what he proposed was thoroughly worked out. It already sounded like a proper awards ceremony. "You really have no demands about the awards?" "The results are already out. Can you still change them? No!" "Then... then we'll discuss it among ourselves." "Of course!" Chen Qi took his leave. Walking out of the Arts Centre, he couldn't help laughing out loud. He had raised the specifications. Now he would wait and see how those people who turned up perfunctorily, any old way, made fools of themselves. How an award established its authority depended, besides the organizers and the award itself, on packaging. Packaging was a very important part. A little pink-lit hair-washing shop on the street charged 200; a bathhouse, 800; a luxury business karaoke, 2,000 just for drinking company. Want a touch, and the price doubled. If she went out with the client, it doubled again. A student ID, and it was doubled and redoubled. All of it depended on the packaging... As for why sponsor the Hong Kong Film Awards? Simple. If you were being kept, don't talk about standing on your own. Take foreigners' money, and drop the talk of self-expression—yes, that means you, the Sixth Generation! Of course this was only the first edition. Everything was still very rough. Chen Qi meant to work his way in, little by little. He had come to Hong Kong in February. In the blink of an eye a month had passed, and it was early March. One week remained until the Hong Kong Film Awards. The Shaolin Temple had already opened on the mainland and, as usual, set off a rush to the theaters. But with Tai Chi ahead of it, the rush always fell that little bit short. Two hits in a row made Li Lianjie the undisputed newcomer king. Post-production on Tai Chi 2 and Orphan was finished, in time for Cannes in May. Chen Qi got in touch again with that assistant of Chen Xiangmei's and asked her to come to Hong Kong to look at a sample print of Orphan. This year he had originally wanted to make four films: Tai Chi 3, a North America exclusive, Ghost, and an awards contender. But he found he truly couldn't manage it. Once the awards contender entered formal production, he would have to put all his energy there. The film was on a large scale, and not the slightest bit of it could be treated carelessly. So he thought it over and over, gave up the exclusive, and would make only three. In any case, once Tai Chi 2 and Orphan were sold, this year's results would be in hand. The exclusive could wait until next year. "Mom, I'm off!" In the morning, at Chungking Mansions, Zhong Chuhong ran to the stall where her mother sold clothes to say goodbye. Her mother quickly called her back. "Ahong, when on earth does this film of yours start shooting?" "Soon. Another half a month or so!" "Then what are you busy with now?" "Wah, it's like I signed up for a cram school. Pottery, bartending, dancing—I have to learn all of it. I'm playing an artist. Multi-talented." "Why is filming with the Left such a bother? Go on, then. Come back early. It isn't safe." "It's fine. If those Indian and Pakistani guys hassle me, I'll hit them." Zhong Chuhong had been boyish in temper since she was little, and often got into fights. She waved, ran out, and caught a minibus to Clear Water Bay. Eyes full of melancholy, she watched the Shaw Brothers studio slip past, and the bus stopped at the gate of the Leftist studio. She used to think filming was just filming, not the same as going to work. But after taking this film, she actually had the feeling of a job. Show up on time every day, leave on time, practice all kinds of skills, hold script table reads. Heaven as her witness! She had never known filming included such a thing as a script table read. Everyone sat together, crew included. Each person was given some lines and narration, and together they worked through the plot and felt out the atmosphere. Honestly, though, the form was rather interesting. In an instant it sorted out who was strong with dialogue and who was weak. The three newcomers all fell flat. Xiao Fangfang lorded it over the whole room. Why was Chen Qi doing this? Because Ghost was a love story, and atmosphere mattered most. If the actors lacked that sense of atmosphere between them—especially the male and female leads—they could not shoot a good film. "Morning, Ahong!" "Morning!" "Wah, so pretty today?" "And which day am I not pretty?" She went into the soundstage. It had already been dressed as the male lead's home. Living room, bedroom, and bathroom were all there, and a small bar had been set off by itself, just for her bartending. In the original, Demi Moore was nothing but a pretty face. Aside from how she looked, she had no character at all. Chen Qi had added a great many interesting things to his own version. The male lead was upright, kind, and exceptionally clever; the female lead was multi-talented and full of passion for life. Only then was there something worth watching in the two of them falling in love.