Huayu: Starting from joining the mainstream entertainment industry in 96

Chapter 426, Section 424: The Culture War

The clamor at Gwangju World Cup Stadium, like a punctured balloon, was quickly replaced by a profound sense of loss and an indescribable sense of suffocation the moment the final whistle blew.

0:2.

China's World Cup debut appeared somewhat powerless against Costa Rica's more experienced tactics and efficiency.

The once fiery red sea of ​​people in the stands now seemed to have been doused with cold water. The shouts were extinguished, replaced by silence, sighs, and some suppressed sobs.

Wang Sheng calmly looked at the Chinese national football players on the field, some collapsed, others standing blankly, their faces filled with exhaustion and resentment.

He was not surprised by this result; in fact, it was a familiar scene in his memories from his previous life.

However, when you are personally present at this historic scene and feel the huge gap between the peak expectations and the bottom of the valley of tens of thousands of compatriots around you, the heavy sense of reality is still clearly discernible.

However, what happened next went beyond the realm of sports failure and had a somewhat absurd quality.

Just as the Chinese national football team players walked heavily toward the players' tunnel with their heads down, a commotion suddenly broke out in the mixed spectator area near the tunnel entrance.

The area was packed with local South Korean viewers as well as tourists from all over the world, many of whom had clearly seen or heard of the popular movie "Shaolin Soccer".

"Why no Kung Fu?!"

"Hey! Where's your kung fu?! Isn't it like in the movies?"

"Kung Fu Soccer! Use it!"

"Why not use kung fu?"

Various languages, mixed with disappointment, mockery, and a hint of anger at being "deceived," pelted the passing Chinese football players like scattered stones.

Some excited spectators even tried to lean out and point at the players, questioning them.

Security personnel quickly stepped forward to form a human wall, preventing the sudden chaos.

The players were clearly bewildered by this inexplicable accusation. Some looked angry, some quickened their pace in shame, and some were completely blank, unable to understand where this accusation about "kung fu" came from.

A real football match has been transformed into such a surreal accountability scenario thanks to a fictional movie.

Wang Sheng stood in the VIP section and took in the whole scene.

The public's emotions are simple, sometimes even simplistic and blind.

They projected the fantastical expectations brought by movies onto the cruel reality of competition, and the sense of incongruity in this is both tragic and laughable.

Stephen Chow appeared somewhat embarrassed and helpless standing to the side.

Movies are artistic creations, exaggerated comedies; who would have thought that someone would completely equate them with reality?

“President Wang, Commander Kim and Chairman Lee have already arranged a banquet. What do you think…” Zheng Taiyuan stepped forward at the right moment, with a professional smile on his face, trying to divert attention from the awkward scene.

Wang Sheng withdrew his gaze, his tone calm yet undeniable: "President Zheng, please convey my gratitude to Commander Jin and Chairman Li for their hospitality."

However, company affairs are very busy, especially the specific work regarding the pilot program for importing Chinese and South Korean films, which urgently needs to be handled. I must return to China this afternoon. I can only thank you in person for the dinner.

Jung Tae-won's smile froze slightly. He clearly hoped to use the dinner to further solidify the relationship and even test Wang Sheng's attitude towards future cooperation, especially the list of Korean films he had submitted.

But Wang Sheng's reasons were plausible, and he couldn't force him to stay.

"I understand, I understand! Mr. Wang is very busy." Zheng Taiyuan nodded quickly. "Then I will arrange a car to take you to the airport immediately."

"Thank you."

Wang Sheng didn't linger any longer. After exchanging a few words with Zhou Xingxing and Li Xiaoran (they had promotional activities in Japan and South Korea later), he quickly left the stadium, which was filled with disappointment and absurdity, surrounded by his assistant and security guards.

Hours later, the flight bound for Beijing took off, leaving the hustle and bustle of Gwangju far behind.

Inside first class, Wang Sheng adjusted his seat and took out a document that Zheng Taiyuan had solemnly submitted earlier—a list of recommended Korean films that Taiyuan Entertainment had carefully prepared for the Chinese market. He leaned back in his chair, his fingertips tracing the smooth paper, his gaze quickly scanning the synopsis, cast, and genre of each film.

Jung Tae-won put a lot of effort into recommending films, covering mainstream genres such as romance, comedy, and action. Among them were some films that performed well at the box office and received positive reviews in South Korea, and even one or two gangster films that imitated the style of Hong Kong films, attempting to use "violent aesthetics" as a selling point.

However, Wang Sheng's eyes remained calm, even with a hint of criticism.

He knew that Korean cinema would experience a so-called "Chungmuro ​​revival" in the next decade or so, with a number of works winning international awards or attracting attention.

However, by 2002, the overall industrial level, narrative ability, and international influence of South Korean films were far from mature.

In his view, most of the works bear a strong imitation mark (especially of Hong Kong films and Hollywood B-movies). The scripts are often strong at the beginning but weak at the end, the emotional expression is too straightforward or even melodramatic, and the production inevitably reveals a kind of "small-scale" style.

He carefully flipped through the pages, like a demanding quality inspector.

Finally, he tapped the descriptions of two of the films with his finger.

One is a supposedly high-budget romantic film with a clichéd terminal illness plot, coupled with some contrived comedic moments and exaggerated acting.

The other film is a crime thriller that attempts to create a dark atmosphere, but the narrative is chaotic, the logic is flawed, and the action design is clumsy.

"Just these two," Wang Sheng whispered to his assistant. "Report back to Zheng Taiyuan that, after a preliminary assessment, we are interested in importing these two films. As for the specific details, we'll have the distribution department contact them after we return to China."

The assistant quickly took notes.

He was puzzled. There were several films on the list that looked more "decent," so why did Mr. Wang choose these two films that looked rather mediocre and were even poorly received in South Korea?

However, he knew that Wang Sheng's decisions were never unfounded, so he didn't ask any questions and simply carried them out strictly.

Wang Sheng closed the folder, shut his eyes, seemingly to rest, but his mind was clearly engaged in strategic deduction.

He currently has no say in the importation of Hollywood blockbusters.

However, he secured this pilot opportunity with South Korean films, giving him considerable influence.

He will never allow this opening to become a breeding ground for South Korean films to expand their territory in the Chinese market.

His purpose was clear:
First, fulfilling the pilot program commitments demonstrates that Shengying Media is actively promoting film exchanges between China and South Korea, thus silencing any dissent.

Second, carefully select some mediocre South Korean films that lack the potential to become blockbusters for import.

The goal is to ensure that the first batch of Korean films to enter the Chinese market through official channels leave domestic audiences and theaters with the impression that they are "just so-so" or even "a bit bad".

When audiences see these films with clichéd plots and rough production in theaters, they will naturally lower their expectations for the "Korean film" brand as a whole, forming an initial perception that "Korean films are just so-so."

This is far more advantageous than introducing a potential blockbuster.

Third, and most importantly, he wants to maximize the value of these three precious "import quotas"—not to use them to benefit South Korean films, but to promote "China-South Korea co-productions".

This is a classic case of "openly repairing the plank road while secretly crossing the Chencang pass".

Those two "bad films" that were selected were just to make up the numbers, to show that they had indeed been "imported," and they might even be used as bargaining chips to force the South Korean side to make greater concessions on co-production projects.

Competition in the cultural sphere is sometimes more subtle and brutal than on the sports field.

It is not about winning or losing at any moment, but about the subtle influence and the struggle for the right to speak.

He has no intention of hindering the trend of cultural exchange, but he must ensure that the voice and interests of China dominate this trend.

Importing a few obscure Korean films and then cleverly transforming the import channels into co-production projects for our own use is only the first step.

He wants future Chinese audiences to think of high-quality co-productions led by the "Shengying Group" that align with Chinese values ​​and market principles when they think of Korean cultural products, rather than the original "Korean Wave."

(End of this chapter)