Director of Photography Department of Huayu

Chapter 459 Preliminary Selection? Too young!

It was a little after nine in the morning at China Film Group in Beijing.

Summer sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, making the entire office bright and airy. Occasionally, dappled sunlight filtered through the trees outside the window, adding a touch of summer's languor and comfort.

Inside the chairman's office, Wu Chen, Han Sanping, and Ming Zhenjiang were sitting around the guest sofa.

A faint aroma of tea wafted in the air, mixed with a hint of the unique scent of ink from paper.

Han Sanping held the script in his hand, his expression slightly solemn, and a hint of undisguised emotion flashed in his eyes.

Ming Zhenjiang's expression was even more direct. He turned the last few pages of the script with a slight change in expression, sighed, and said, "A good story, a really good story!"

He gently raised his head, looked at Wu Chen, and said earnestly:
"It seems to start from the perspective of a messenger, but it actually tells the story of the 'inheritance and sacrifice' of the entire nation at the critical moment of life and death. This idea is not simple."

The story seems to start with the most inconspicuous "messenger," far removed from the major battles of the main forces and the legends of heroic generals.

But every letter and message delivered by the messenger carried the heavy burden of the entire Anti-Japanese Allied Forces, the lives of hundreds of comrades, and even the flame of national resistance against Japan.

This is a portrayal of "small people, great heroes"—countless nameless people in the war who changed the course of history in the most humble and dangerous ways.

Ming Zhenjiang's heart was filled with emotion.

Having worked at the August First Film Studio for so many years, this was the first time he had ever seen a domestic director dare to use such a groundbreaking writing style and express emotions so effectively. He felt an indescribable excitement and resonance at that moment.

Han Sanping put down the script in his hand, leaned back in his chair, his eyes showing a slight change, and finally let out a long sigh.

As a director by training, he keenly noticed the subtle clues about the filming techniques in the script and asked in a deep voice:

"The entire story is almost entirely focused on Wei Sanpao and Huang Xiaoshan. What are you planning to do?"

"Chairman Han truly lives up to his reputation as an expert."

Wu Chen praised him, but Han Sanping immediately waved his hand, "Don't give me that. You sound like you're insulting me."

Ming Zhenjiang, who was still immersed in the sadness brought by the story, couldn't help but laugh when he heard this, which eased the atmosphere a little.

Wu Chen stopped keeping everyone in suspense and said directly, "I plan to use a pseudo-one-shot technique to film it."

Han Sanping was stunned upon hearing this and blurted out, "Why?"

Ming Zhenjiang also showed a slightly surprised expression, and his gaze became focused in an instant.

Although he did not have a directing background, he started as a film projectionist and film crew leader, so he was familiar with the concept of one-shot filming.

"There is no room for respite in war; danger is constant every minute and every second."

Wu Chen raised an eyebrow and slowly said:

"The messenger's mission cannot be interrupted, so the camera must also maintain uninterrupted continuity. Ninety-nine percent of the time, messengers only have two outcomes: successful delivery or death. This is inherently a cruel thing."

The effect I wanted was to let the audience follow in the footsteps of Wei Sanpao and Huang Xiaoshan, running through gunfire, traversing ruins, snowfields, and forests, allowing them to truly feel the tense and oppressive atmosphere of the real War of Resistance against Japan.

"Director Ming, what do you think?" Han Sanping turned to look at Ming Zhenjiang.

“It’s very impressive. If Director Wu could film it like this, I think it would be a truly moving film,” Ming Zhenjiang said without hesitation.

"really."

Han Sanping couldn't help but pick up Wu Chen's script again. The story of Wei Sanpao and Huang Xiaoshan, a pair of "master and apprentice" whose relationship lasted only ten days or so, moved him deeply. However, after careful consideration, he couldn't help but ponder:

"Wei Sanpao is easy to find according to your script; there are quite a few actors who fit the age. But Huang Xiaoshan is not so easy to find."

After Han Sanping finished speaking, Ming Zhenjiang also searched his mind. Wei Sanpao's character was a veteran messenger with ten years of military service, straightforward and fond of scolding, but with a sharp tongue but a soft heart.
When he first joined the army, he successfully delivered messages behind enemy lines many times and was known as "Little Devil Foot". He no longer served as a messenger and has been transferred to the operations department.

Because he had witnessed his apprentice sacrifice himself during a mission, he had always felt guilty, feeling that he had failed to save him.

So when he saw a new kid who had only been there for about ten days about to deliver a letter, he stepped forward without hesitation.

According to this setting, any actor over 25 years old can be competent.
However, finding the right actor for the role of Huang Xiaoshan, nicknamed "Little Sparrow," was difficult; the age range of 16-18 alone eliminated most potential actors.

“It is indeed not easy to find. There are very few people with formal training in this age group. Most of them are still in high school,” Ming Zhenjiang nodded in agreement.

Wu Chen also knew that this actor would be hard to find: "I plan to talk to teachers from several schools later to see if they can recommend some suitable candidates."

"If you ask me, you should just hold a nationwide audition and make a bigger splash."

Han Sanping's old habit has resurfaced.

Wu Chen's expression turned somewhat strange upon hearing this.

Upon hearing the words "nationwide audition," the first thing that flashed through his mind was "Dream of the Red Chamber."

Han Sanping noticed Wu Chen's strange expression and was immediately puzzled: "What's wrong? Is there a problem with my idea?"

Wu Chen coughed, barely suppressing a laugh, and said, "No, I just suddenly thought of 'Dream of the Red Chamber'."

Han Sanping was a little embarrassed.

Damn, I really didn't know it would turn out like this. In the end, I could only add with a sigh, "Well, it really depends on the person."

"If we really can't find one, let's hold a nationwide search." Wu Chen did not reject this suggestion.

Choosing the right person is very important. Sometimes, finding someone without experience is not necessarily worse than someone with formal training. Of course, this also tests the director's ability to guide.

The fact that Zhang Yimou was able to guide Zhou Dongyu in completing "Under the Hawthorn Tree" in his previous life is enough to prove that...
Moreover, Huang Xiaoshan has only been in the army for about ten days, so he should be a greenhorn. Perhaps someone without a sense of 'acting' is more authentic.

With Wu Chen's stance clear, the rest became much simpler.

A war film made using a pseudo-one-shot technique will not have a low production cost;
The biggest costs are for set construction, live-action shooting, explosions, fireworks, live-fire effects, as well as shooting equipment, photography team, and post-production.

Han Sanping waved his hand and said decisively, "Why bother with 80 million? Just quote 100 million! You, Wu Chen, are a famous director at home and abroad now. Starting with 100 million is not stingy."

Ming Zhenjiang nodded slightly in agreement.

After a brief discussion, the three quickly reached an agreement.

Wu Chen then said, "Then let's do it this way, China Film Group takes 30%, and 81 Film Group takes 20%?"

Ming Zhenjiang naturally had no objection. Bayi was not the main control unit; it was usually just a nominal position with human resources contributions.

Han Sanping hesitated for a moment, then nodded and said, "Okay, no problem."

After the group finished discussing and making their decisions, Wu Chen quickly got to work.

That evening, Beijing Film Academy, Central Academy of Drama, Shanghai Theatre Academy, and other major art colleges across the country quickly received the news: Wu Chen's graduation project was looking for young lead actors aged 16-18, and a slightly immature appearance was acceptable.

At first, many teachers and students in the schools were full of expectations.

The mere mention of "young actor" is enough to make one look forward to it.

That's right, isn't it young to be in your early twenties?

Upon learning that Wu Chen was looking for someone aged 16-18, with a baby face being a slight exception, many art school students were immediately discouraged.
That's incredibly naive of me.
(End of this chapter)