Huayu: I'm reborn, but you still force me to be a scumbag?

Chapter 287 The most beautiful 2 minutes and 32 seconds

"Hello, Sam, oh my Sam, is that you? Sam White, my old friend of 20 years, senior reporter of The Hollywood Reporter, did you lose your memory after crossing nine time zones, or was the little gift from last Christmas not enough to satisfy you? Have you forgotten that there is a sincere friend of yours waiting for your call in LA?"

"Uh, Harvey, you misunderstood. Actually, I just came out of the Palais des Festivals and I was just about to call you. Have you had lunch?"

"Thanks for your concern. It's 4pm in LA now. I think I've already eaten. So, Sam. Do you have good news or bad news for me?"

"I don't know, Harvey. After all, there are more than 2000 people here today. The Lumiere is completely full, and I think there are probably more than 1800 of them are journalists or my colleagues."

"Wow, wait, it sounds like that guy's movie got a lot of attention in Cannes. What's going on?"

Sam White tightened his collar, avoided the crowd that was dispersing, stood under the shade of the trees in the parking lot, and whispered to the person on the other end of the phone: "I can only say that you and I both underestimated the influence of that kid in Cannes."

"James is right. If his report three years ago hadn't directed the focus to Emma Stone, and if those Chinese judges hadn't voted, he might have won the Cannes in 2006."

"In fact, I told you about this a few days ago, but you didn't take it seriously. Since I came here on the 13th, I've often heard people talk about him. Especially among some foreign directors, they all liked his performance in Blueberry Nights very much."

"Anyway, you should know more before you make a bet. My dear Harvey."

There was silence on the other end of the phone, and then a deep, hoarse voice said, "Don't make me feel so bad, Sam. You make it sound like he was making the same movie three years ago as he is now."

"Don't worry about the low-level opinion. I dealt with them in Cannes and Venice in the 70s. I definitely know these people better than you do."

"Their memory isn't much better than women's. You know? One second they like this bag, the next they like that bag."

"So, the key now is, what do you think of the bag he made this time? Will it attract ladies and spread to some people's ears?"

Sam White said: "I think it's great."

Then, there was a strange silence on the phone.

Ten seconds later, a voice came from the other side of the receiver: "Hello, Sam, are you still there?"

"Uh, I'm in, Harvey."

"Is that my newly bought iPhone 3GS broken? Did that son of a bitch Jobs sell a bunch of garbage? Why can't I hear your voice?"

Sam White touched his nose and sighed inaudibly. If he had known that things would turn out like this, he would definitely not have accepted the two small gifts at Christmas.

"Uh Harvey, I think it might not be Apple's problem. I've finished talking."

"That's all? Just that one sentence?" The man on the other end of the phone pinched his throat sarcastically and imitated his voice, "I think it's great? Motherfuker Sam, I give you so many dollars every year, and I give you two cute baby girls every Christmas, but I didn't fucking ask you to come here today to sing praises for that Chinese bastard, understand?"

Sam White frowned and said, "Harvey, watch what you say, OK? I'm not your subordinate, nor am I one of those bitches you can vent your anger on. Either you talk to me like an adult, or we call it a night."

There was silence on the phone for a few seconds. The voice that came back was obviously much calmer. "Sam, please give me a reason now. Do you remember what you told me before you left? Didn't you promise me that you would fight to the end for my $500 million? Why did you sound like a Japanese dwarf on Midway Island just now?"

A few people were walking in front of him, talking, and their words rushed through the night wind into Sam White's ears, making him temporarily ignore the annoying noise in the microphone.

"A clichéd story, if you ask me."

"Yeah, reminds me of The Sixth Sense."

“And Fight Club.”

"Including Identity, right?"

".They are of the same type. But. They haven't reached their height."

"Yes, he did. Very reluctantly."

"Except for the actors. If not for me, I'd be surprised it made it into the main competition."

"Who do you think is better?"

"Haha, what are you hoping for? I won't give you a surprise."

"Hahaha, I just..."

"Yeah, and then laugh at me."

The men gradually walked away and their conversation could no longer be heard, but Sam White, a senior film critic and special writer for The Hollywood Reporter, knew exactly what they were talking about.

The noise in the receiver ended, and Sam White said seriously: "Harvey, you are wrong, I didn't. Although I just went through a long applause, coming out of the tribute ceremony that was one-third longer than "Inglourious Basterds."

"I just saw Sophie Marceau and Bellucci looking like they want to climb into the bed of that Chinese guy tonight, and they can't wait to show their affection to him."

"Even though I saw with my own eyes Quentin, Martin Scorsese and Angli all seemed eager to announce to the world that he was the winner of the Best Actor Award at the 62nd Cannes Film Festival."

"Xavi, I haven't lost my fighting spirit either."

"I'm still like a sailor on a gunboat in Pearl Harbor. Even if the ship under my feet is on fire, I dare to shoot at those damn rising sun flags."

Sam White didn't care that the man on the other side of the microphone was his long-term sponsor and a big shot in Hollywood. He spoke like a string of cannonballs, saying everything he wanted to say in one breath.

"You don't understand what just happened. The whole Korean movie is exactly what we thought before, that is, a thorough commercial film. He doesn't understand what artistry is."

"But...but it's a pity that you weren't there, otherwise you would understand what I mean."

"I dare say that no one among the 2000 people would have thought that after 100 minutes of mediocrity, a miracle would happen at the end of the film."

"Two minutes, just two minutes. Two minutes ago, the movie was just a piece of rotten wood. Two minutes later, it was infused with a soul like the Holy Spirit."

"Although this movie may still only be worth 60 points, its 60 points is different from others, because it has a layer of gold rim!"

"By the time the show was over, you know who looked like the Japanese monkeys on Midway Island? Those actors who were competing with him for the Best Actor Award at Cannes! It's a pity you weren't here to see their faces, otherwise you would never have used your wonderful metaphor on me!"

The other party was silenced again by his long speech, and this time the silence lasted for a particularly long time, so that it was Sam White's turn to doubt his Nokia.

He looked at the 97x360 high-definition screen of the Nokia N640, confirmed that the phone was still on the call, and asked, "Hello, Harvey, are you still there?"

"Yes I am."

"Well, what are you thinking about?"

"I'm wondering what to do. Sam, for many years, I have always trusted your judgment. We have also achieved many successful cooperations, right? So can you evaluate this movie more calmly and objectively and suggest what I should do."

Sam White was a little tired of standing, so he walked towards the rented Renault sedan, tilted his head and thought for a while, then said, "Harvey, can you change the bet? Maybe the Palme d'Or, Best Director or Best Actress."

"I don't think so."

Sam White shrugged and said, "Okay. Let me put it this way. If I bet on the Palme d'Or, I'd be willing to bet everything I have. Best Director? About the same. Best Actress? Probably more than half. Best Actor? I don't know."

The voice in the microphone was surprised: "Don't know?"

"Yes, I don't know. It's possible that I won't bet a penny, or I might take a chance, because the odds are at least 1:100. It's like you betting $13 on an odd number on the roulette wheel in Las Vegas. Although this number looks unlucky and like the devil's summons. But if my wife and children are separated and I'm heavily in debt, I swear I will. Anyway, it's all about one bullet."

".Shit, Sam, no wonder you're a movie critic, your metaphor is so fucking... Okay, it's pretty obvious. I get it."

"Xavi, I will tomorrow"

"Write it as you should, keep your authority, and don't let others think that Sam White has become an outsider who can't distinguish between good and bad... In any case, there is still Isabelle Huppert, let's see if this woman can give us a surprise. Anyway, wait until his new film with Warner, that's the key."

"OK, I get it Harvey. But what about that house in Palm Beach?"

"It's ok."

“But, that’s Palm Beach!”

"I know, but the house is not mine."

Bong Joon-ho didn't know that one day he would be troubled by language issues.

Thanks in four languages, Chinese, Korean, English and French, seemed not enough to cope with the enthusiasm he encountered.

On the night of the premiere, Fatty Feng heard all kinds of compliments, and he felt like a balloon flying into the sky, floating in the clouds. After the premiere, he naturally went out for a drink with his Korean compatriots.

However, this time he drank heartily. The look in Zan Yu's eyes at the banquet made him unable to help but drink at least 200% more than usual. In the end, he was really unconscious. He had no idea how many people Song Kanghao and his men had mobilized to carry this -pound fat man back to the hotel.

When he woke up the next day, it was already bright outside. Looking at the bright sunshine outside, even though his head hurt so much that he wanted to cut it off, Bong Joon-ho was still in a surprisingly good mood.

He was not too anxious because he always believed that the best moment of enjoying delicious food is not the moment of eating, but the time of waiting before.

Those moods and emotions are the real delicacies.

He lay on the bed, squinting his eyes, and carefully recalled every detail of what happened last night. It seemed as if those lovely people speaking different languages ​​and smiling around him appeared in front of him again.

Although I couldn't understand what they said most of the time, I could tell from their expressions that what they said must be sweeter than honey.

It took about 15 minutes to enjoy the anticipation.
Then Bong Joon-ho picked up the phone that someone had placed on the bedside table for him and called his assistant: "Dong-soo, are you awake?"

"Wake up, bro."

The voice on the phone was not as excited as he had imagined, but Fatty Feng didn't care. "Did you buy Screen?"

"I bought it, brother."

"Okay, bring it to me now."

"Okay, brother."

What's even more strange is that his assistant usually talks a lot, but for some reason today he seemed to be being concise and to the point.

I guess I drank too much last night and I might have a headache.

Bong Joon-ho got up.

The 185cm tall fat man hummed the popular song "gee gee gee, babybaby" and walked into the bathroom with his hands on his hips and dancing like a dog.
And fifteen minutes later, the obese man sitting on the sofa, rubbing his eyes and looking dazed, was completely two different people.

On the inside pages of the magazine spread out in front of him was a printed poster of his mother.

The poster is as always full of the story that Bong Joon-ho likes, especially Chen Nuo's eyes. From the beginning of the design, he rejected any unnecessary elements and thought that just putting a mother and a child in the poster was enough.

The effect after it came out was also very good. Yesterday, several Arab directors praised his poster as looking like golden sand in the desert and it looked very beautiful.

However, next to such a beautiful poster, the glaring 2.6 points looks so ugly.

"How is this possible?" Bong Joon-ho muttered, "2.6, how is this possible? Dong-soo, tell me, how is this possible?"

Assistant Dongzhu didn't dare to look at him, but kept staring at the score on the magazine. "These people don't understand movies. You don't have to take it to heart, brother. Just like Director Park said last night, life is like a plate of chocolates."

".You never know what the next one will taste like. Dongzhu, you should watch more movies. This is not what Director Park said. Okay, I'm fine, I'm just a little surprised."

"Let me see what's going on." Bong Joon-ho shook his head, cheered himself up from the dizziness and frustration of going from heaven to hell, and picked up the magazine.

“It’s a weird movie.

From the perspective of the film's subject matter, it is a film that uses suspense crime as its shell and deeply explores human nature and social issues.

However, neither the suspense nor the depth of exploration into human nature is particularly outstanding among the many outstanding works at the Cannes Film Festival.

Even the plot logic is lacking.

The development and transition of some plots in the film are too abrupt, and at many key moments, there is a lack of sufficient foreshadowing and reasonable explanation, which affects its coherence and credibility to a certain extent.

I can say that if we only look at the film itself, it is so mediocre that it is uninspiring. At best, it can be selected into a special category, but it definitely cannot reach the threshold of the main competition category. "

Bong Joon-ho couldn't bear to watch it anymore when he saw this.

Yesterday's hangover was like a murderer who came back from the dead and started sawing his head with a chainsaw, and his eardrums felt buzzing.

He closed his eyes, leaned on the sofa and said weakly: "Dongzhu, I don't want to read English anymore, please translate it into Korean for me."

"Okay, bro." The assistant, who graduated from Yonsei University and is proficient in Korean, French and English, translating a small film review is no problem for him.

It took less than ten minutes to translate and read the entire film review.

".The image of the mother in the film is too strong and extreme, and the performance of actress Kim Hye-ja is a bit stiff. The character's personality and psychological changes are not delicate and in-depth enough. I only see a paranoid single mother with a bit of a son complex.

I don’t know if this is what Bong Joon-ho, a commercial director, wanted to express, but it undoubtedly reduced my emotional resonance with the whole story.

Not to mention that the director deliberately tried to arouse people's imagination in some scenes, which is really disgusting.

Even the few bright spots in the film's structure cannot outweigh its overall failure.

This movie is indeed a masterpiece.

But it is not so good. It is like a piece of rotten wood, which makes people feel uncomfortable when they smell it, but at the same time, the flowers blooming on it may be the most beautiful.

If you want to enjoy the flowers, you have to endure the stench, and that’s the frustrating part.”

Coincidentally, just as Dong-soo, a Seoul native, finished reading a film review in standard Korean, another person with less standard pronunciation called.

"Brother, have you watched today's "Screen"? How could they do this? It's too much." The voice on the phone sounded very indignant.

So much so that Bong Joon-ho couldn't help but look at the screen of his mobile phone again. Yes, the name written on the screen was indeed "Chen Nuo, my younger brother."

So why is the tone like this?

Could it be that the "Screen" he was reading was not the same one that Dongzhu, the honest boy, was reading just now?

Could it be that what he just heard, "Those two minutes and thirty-two seconds may be the most beautiful two minutes and thirty-two seconds among the thousands of masterpieces played by Lumiere" was made up by Dongzhu?

Or, "From New York three years ago to the Korean countryside this year, what can make all Cannes filmmakers feel relieved is that his spirituality is still there."

"By the way, I was not among those who, since December last year, have been loudly declaring in countless newspapers and magazines that Chen has become another victim of Hollywood."

"I have always believed that Chen is not a flash-in-the-pan genius. Otherwise, after the dust was blown off the rough diamond in Berlin, he would not have been polished into a diamond in Cannes three years ago."

"As a talent first discovered by Cannes and a young actor who won an Oscar at the age of 22, how could he sink into such a twilight overnight and not know how to act?"

"I can only say that he has grasped the delicate balance between commerce and art. I really want to know what those people who criticized it at the beginning would say if they watched the last two minutes and thirty-two seconds of "Mother"?"

"There's no need to connect the plot or analyze the director's metaphors. It's not worth it. Those who have the opportunity to go to the theater just need to be prepared at the last moment and appreciate what I think is the most artistic film performance in the past decade. That's enough."

This disgusting flattery is directed at another person?

Bong Joon-ho thinks of course not.

However, when the other party called, he still seemed indignant. In Bong Joon-ho's opinion, there was undoubtedly only one reason.

Fatty Feng was a little touched, and felt a ball of heat in his chest. He said, "It doesn't matter, my brother. It doesn't matter if they don't understand. We know what the movie is like. As long as you stand on my side, that's enough."

As soon as Feng Junhao finished speaking, the other party said angrily: "How can it be okay? Brother, what does it say? It says that Teacher Huizi's performance is stiff and not delicate and profound enough?"

"What on earth is this bastard named John Stuart writing? Forget about the rest, but I absolutely disagree with this part about Teacher Kim Hye-ja! Brother, how about this, you go and complain to them and ask them to take back all the magazines and burn them!"

Bong Joon-ho was silent for a few seconds, then said: "I understand. I will consider it. That's it. See you at the closing ceremony, my brother."

PS:

There will be another chapter tomorrow during the day.

I am touched by the monthly tickets from all the big guys.

Coding!
(End of this chapter)