FYN Chapter 60 European Film Schedule
Chapter 60 European Film Schedule
The van passed through the toll station on the Shanghai-Nanjing Expressway, leaving two black tire marks on the wet road surface.
Chen Yan closed the passenger window, and the sound of the wind disappeared through the gap.
"Go directly to the factory."
Chen Yan patted the laptop bag on his lap, and his voice carried to the driver's seat.
Wu Gang responded and turned the steering wheel slightly to the right, turning the car onto a side road leading to the Shanghai Film Studio.
Su Wan sat in the back row with a laptop on her lap.
The light from the screen shone on the tip of her nose, giving it a cold, white hue.
She opened an encrypted PDF file and slid her finger across the touchpad.
"Vincent replied to the email."
Su Wan's voice rang out in the cramped carriage.
Chen Yan did not turn around.
"explain."
"He agreed to the advance payment, but refused to include a minimum guarantee of screenings in European cinemas in the contract."
Su Wan closed her laptop and tapped her fingers on the case.
"His reason was that Chinese art films were not performing well in the European market, and theaters were unwilling to sign hard and fast terms."
Chen Yan looked out the window; the streetlights along the roadside were rapidly receding.
"He's lying."
Chen Yan unzipped the bag and took out a stack of printed letter paper.
"He holds a 30% stake in Frank Contract (MK2) and has direct control over at least fifty art-house cinemas in Paris and Berlin."
Su Wan was silent for two seconds.
"Does he want to eat it all by himself?"
"He wanted to wait until we won the award in Venice, and then sell it to a second-hand distributor at a higher price."
Chen Yan handed the letter to the person in the back row.
"Rewrite the contract."
"No cash, just screenings."
Su Wan took the letter and looked at the handwritten terms on it.
"A simultaneous screening in three regions?"
"Thirty screens in France, twenty in Germany, and fifteen in Italy. That's the bare minimum."
Chen Yan turned around and rested his elbows on the back of the chair.
"Tell him that if he can't sign, I will send the sample to Harvey Weinstein of Miramax in 48 hours."
Su Wan frowned.
"That guy is a ruthless maniac."
"Vincent knows Harvey's tastes, so he'll sign."
Chen Yan sat up straight again.
The bread truck was parked at the back gate of the Shanghai Film Studio.
The rust on the iron gate appeared dark brown under the car headlights.
Su Wan pushed open the car door and got out.
Lin Shufen was standing under the porch smoking, with two large aluminum alloy flight cases piled up at her feet.
"Director Chen, how's the air conditioning in Shanghai?"
Lin Shufen flicked away the cigarette ash and glanced at Chen Yan's face.
Chen Yan got out of the car, didn't say anything, and walked straight to the entrance of the boiler room of the printing plant.
Su Wan pulled Lin Shufen along, and the two walked into the factory's reception room.
There was a multinational long-distance telephone on the table in the reception room.
Su Wan dialed the number and pressed the speakerphone button.
"Vincent, it's Sue."
Su Wan's English was completely flat, with extremely heavy enunciation.
The sound of papers being turned over came from the other end of the phone.
"Su, a scheduling agreement is impossible. That goes against market principles. I can only guarantee you a good spot in the Cannes and Berlin film markets."
Vincent's tone carried a condescending admonition.
Su Wan glanced at Chen Yan's back as he adjusted the concentration of chemicals in the printing workshop.
"Miramax's fax has been sent to Nortel."
Su Wan's voice lowered.
"Harvey showed great interest in 'Thunder' and was willing to schedule it in 200 theaters across the United States."
There was a three-second silence on the other end of the phone.
"That's Harvey's lie. He'll just buy out your copyrights and then let them rot in the warehouse."
Vincent retorted.
Su Wan opened her handbag and took out a folded piece of paper.
"Was Mr. Marco Müller's email also a lie?"
Su Wan read the email's receipt time aloud into the phone.
"The Venice Film Festival has officially invited us for technical review. Vincent, you should know what that means."
"That was the last spot in the competition section. If you couldn't secure a screening, our sample film would be sent to Paris an hour later, but you wouldn't be the recipient anymore."
After Su Wan finished speaking, she placed her hand on the hang-up button.
one second.
two seconds.
"Frank Contract has forty-two cinemas."
Vincent's voice became hoarse, and he spoke faster.
"I can give you ten screens in the Latin Quarter of Paris for two weeks. That's the highest level of authority."
"not enough."
Su Wan looked at Lin Shufen standing next to her.
Lin Shufen squinted and wrote down a number on the paper: 60.
"The French ticket is 30 euros, and the first weekend must be a prime time for the games."
Su Wan stared at the clock on the wall.
"make a deal."
Vincent let out a breath.
"Send the contract over. I'll have the legal department stamp it within an hour."
The phone hangs up.
Lin Shufen walked up to Su Wan and took the piece of paper with numbers written on it.
"Xiao Su, that's a pretty ruthless way to get something for nothing."
Su Wan put away her laptop, her palms sweating.
"It was Chen Yan who taught him. He said the only way to deal with these people is to scare them with an even bigger wolf."
Lin Shufen patted the desk.
"I'll add another two million. I won't take a stake, I just want the exclusive rights to operate the first three roadshows in China."
Su Wan stopped what she was doing.
"Sister Lin, the dragon seal for China hasn't been issued yet."
"If Chen Yan can knock on the door of Venice, then that wall can't stop him."
Lin Shufen took out a stack of bank drafts from her bag and placed them on the table.
"This money is for publicity and distribution. I want all the media in Shanghai to see Lin Qingqiu's face on the opening day of the film festival."
Su Wan put away the promissory note.
"I'm going to the editing room."
The editing room is located on the basement level.
The fluorescent light tubes in the corridor emitted a buzzing sound.
Chen Yan sat in front of a Moviola editing machine, with a piece of transparent film hanging around his neck.
Zhang Yuan stood by, his eyes bloodshot, gesturing with scissors.
"Brother Yan, from the eleventh to the thirteenth minute, the close-up shot of Lin Qingqiu grabbing the mud, should we cut three frames?"
Zhang Yuan asked.
Chen Yan stared at the monitor.
In the video, Lin Qingqiu's fingers are stuck in black mud.
Blood seeped from under the fingernails, and the mud had a sticky, gelatinous texture.
"No layoffs. Preserve that sense of stagnation."
Chen Yan turned the knob with his fingers.
The screen flickers frame by frame.
"Isn't this too gory? Can European judges accept this kind of physical repression?"
Zhang Yuan hesitated.
"Art is not a dinner party."
Chen Yan picked up a red marker and drew an X on the film canister.
"If we're not ruthless, they won't remember."
"They've grown accustomed to the ethereal beauty of the East. I want to show them the essence of the East."
The film rotates at high speed on the machine's gears, making a clicking sound.
Su Wan pushed open the door and walked in, placing a newly printed fax next to Chen Yan.
That was a copy of the European film distribution agreement signed by Vincent.
The distribution of art-house cinemas in France, Germany, and Italy is clearly printed on it.
Chen Yan glanced at it, his fingertip gliding over the top of the list.
"Place Lin Qingqiu's name on the first line of the overseas version of the poster."
Chen Yan didn't even look up.
Su Wan nodded.
"Sister Lin offered two million; she wants the roadshow rights."
"Give it to her."
Chen Yan threw the cut-off piece of scrap into the basket.
"Tell Lin Qingqiu not to stay in the hospital. Go buy a few cheongsams, the kind that will straighten your spine."
Su Wan looked at Chen Yan's profile; the faint white light of the editing machine was reflected in his pupils.
"Chen Yan, what about Shen Congzhou..."
"He's probably contacting the Venice organizing committee right now to get information."
Chen Yan turned off the editing machine, and the room instantly fell into darkness.
"But he didn't know. Marco Müller is an old friend I worked with in a past life. This time, I'm not giving him a pledge of loyalty, but a life-saving medicine."
Chen Yan walked out of the editing room, clutching the final film reel in her hand.
Wu Gang and others waited at the elevator entrance.
"Let's go to the dock. The French representatives are already waiting there."
The three people walked out of the factory building.
In the early morning in Shanghai, the fog was very thick, and visibility was less than ten meters.
The bread truck started.
As I passed the studio's gatehouse, a security guard in uniform poked his head out of the guard booth.
"Is Director Chen from the Beijing Film Academy here?"
The security guard waved a brown paper bag in his hand.
Wu Gang stepped on the brakes.
Chen Yan lowered the car window.
The security guard ran over and handed the envelope through the car window.
"A deliveryman just left a food delivery at the door. He said it was for Director Chen. It wasn't signed, just said it was an old photo from the Beijing Film Academy."
Chen Yan took the envelope.
The paper bag was thick and heavy.
Chen Yan opened the seal, and a stack of yellowed file pages slid out.
The top one is Lin Qingqiu's attendance sheet from ten years ago in the dance troupe.
Sandwiched in the middle was a private medical record bearing the name "Lin Qingqiu's agent - Wei Cheng".
The date is: 1991.
Chen Yan's fingers suddenly stopped.
There was a dark stain on the edge of the file page.
He turned to the last page.
A line of handwritten words in red ballpoint pen was scattered messily across the paper:
Have you seen the bones beneath the altar?
Chen Yan stuffed the paper back into the envelope and turned to look at the dark back seat.
Su Wan was leaning back in her chair, pretending to doze off.
He pressed the envelope to his chest, his gaze passing through the windshield as he looked at the fog-shrouded street.
"Angkor, drive! Speed up!"
Chen Yan's voice was very soft, each word sounding as if it were dampened by mist.
The bread cart disappeared into the fog.
The security guard in the gatehouse retreated into his post and closed the windows.
In the distance, on the Bund, the Customs House clock tower emitted a dull rumble.
It's exactly three o'clock.
Chen Yan took the file out of his pocket again and ran his fingernail over Wei Cheng's name.
It was a deep engraving.
He looked in the rearview mirror.
Two dark red dots appeared on the edge of the fog from a black sedan.
The car followed closely from five meters away.
Chen Yan didn't say anything.
He took a cigarette out of his pocket but didn't light it.
I just held it to my nose and smelled it.
"The fish has taken the bait."
He murmured a sentence.
Freeze.