Chapter 5: Try Being a Human for Once

These days, making films isn’t just about having money.

In 1997, the door was opened: individuals could participate in film production through sponsorship or investment, breaking the monopoly once held by sixteen state-owned studios.

Some policies have good intentions, but without specific regulations, the boundaries become hard to control, making censorship a constant headache.

Thus, “selling studio logos” became the best solution.

This “selling studio logo” practice is similar to the publishing world’s “selling book numbers”—paying studios with production qualifications to use their logo for filmmaking.

It wasn’t until 2002, with the introduction of the new Film Management Regulations, that film production, distribution, and screening in the country fully opened up to private capital.

Beijing Film Academy has its own student-run Youth Film Studio. Naturally, as a directing student there, Cao Yang prioritized obtaining resources through this Youth Studio.

The Youth Studio’s original purpose was to support various departments’ teaching plans, completing student film assignments and practical production, serving as a creative workshop for the entire faculty.

In these tight financial times, the Youth Studio’s annual budget was modest, focusing mainly on short films, managing to fund maybe three to five feature films at most. Many professors, directors, and innovative teachers were eagerly waiting in line for opportunities.

If you suggested the Youth Studio invest hundreds of thousands in feature films made by undergraduates, even if you were the principal’s illegitimate son, it was impossible.

But conversely, if you didn’t require the Youth Studio to put up real money, only needed the studio logo, then it was an open green light—anything could be negotiated.

Of course, the prerequisite was that you had to be a student or teacher at the school and help fulfill their teaching and practical plans.

After coordination, Cao Yang’s film was classified under “Exploring new models of school-enterprise (individual) cooperation in practical filmmaking,” counted as part of the teaching plan. The enterprise (or individual) provided funding; the school supplied all filming equipment and personnel except for the film stock.

Regarding copyrights, domestic rights would be shared, with a 10% cut from domestic box office revenue, while overseas rights belonged exclusively to the enterprise (or individual).

Cao Yang was fairly satisfied—art films earn little from domestic box office, and there were no sequels anyway.

The school valued this highly. Holding domestic rights—even shared ones—without spending money meant that if the film succeeded, they could proudly claim externally (to higher authorities) that this was a practical film made by on-campus students under the school's guidance—a political achievement no one could erase.

As long as the film was good, this model would definitely continue.

If the film did well and had award potential—especially at the three major European film festivals—the school would be even more proactive than Cao Yang in seeking opportunities.

For the school, an award won by a current student and one won by an alumnus were both honors but fundamentally different.

Since the film’s scale was small with few locations, Cao Yang only requested from the Youth Studio a deputy director, a producer, a stylist, a lighting technician, a sound recorder, and a script supervisor.

He didn’t ask for a cinematographer—Tianzhuang Zhuang was on board and would handle that well.

Cao Yang selected capable people, scheduled their time, and, with the deputy director and producer, began preparations.

One scene involved the female lead escaping overwhelming public opinion by traveling abroad to clear her mind and meeting a friend.

Initially, Cao Yang planned to shoot in Germany but reconsidered, realizing many places in China featured European and American architectural styles, so why waste money?

After on-site inspections with the producer, the Badaguan area on Ludong Island in Shandong Province was ideal.

Built in the 1930s and known as the “Museum of International Architecture,” Badaguan offered styles from more than twenty countries, allowing one to appreciate European and American architecture without leaving the country.

Both the buildings and the park paths perfectly met the requirements.

Ludong Island, a coastal city with many beaches, also allowed nearby shooting of beach scenes—truly a win-win.

By not going abroad and finding an inexpensive actress, the filming budget saved over a hundred thousand yuan—something Cao Yang hadn’t anticipated.

But the money couldn’t be left unused; the budget had to be fully spent, which could also pose problems.

“Teacher Cheng, during filming, upgrade the crew’s accommodation and meals by one level.”

“Rent a seaside villa on Ludong Island with a beach suitable for walking; the fewer people the better, but safety is paramount.”

“Call Li Xiaoran and have her come over quickly. Don’t worry about saving money—cover her airfare and all expenses through the production budget.”

“Rent her plenty of videotapes of films like ‘Waterloo Bridge,’ ‘Casablanca,’ ‘Ghost,’ ‘Gone with the Wind,’ ‘Edward Scissorhands,’ ‘Titanic,’ ‘The Bridges of Madison County,’ ‘Roman Holiday’—anything with tragic romance. The more, the better. Have her watch them daily; when tired, let her stroll on the beach to soak in the atmosphere.”

“Don’t just rent Western films. Include domestic ones like ‘Farewell My Concubine,’ Japanese ‘Love Letter,’ Hong Kong’s ‘A Moment of Romance,’ ‘Comrades: Almost a Love Story,’ ‘Eighteen Springs,’ ‘Glass City,’ and recent releases like ‘In the Mood for Love.’ Any tragic love story will do.”

After a moment, he added, “Don’t let her bring anyone along—not even her agent or assistant. She must stay there twenty-four hours a day. Arrange for someone to deliver meals on time. Minimize interaction to create a sense of solitude. For safety, rent a small house next door and hire two security guards with military backgrounds.”

“Remind me in a month; I’ll check on her progress and talk about the film. Let’s rent the house for three months—two months should be enough for her to get into the role, leaving one month as a buffer.”

Producer Cheng Jianye gasped at Cao Yang’s instructions. He knew this was to help the actress get into character, but wasn’t it a bit inhumane?

Watching all those tragic, heart-wrenching love films every day—wouldn’t it risk making the girl depressed?

“Got it. I’ll arrange everything right away.”

“Also, buy some sad love songs— the sadder, the better. Give her a personal player. When not watching films, she should listen to the music. Don’t hesitate to exaggerate; tell her that if this film succeeds, she’ll become a top-tier leading lady. Encourage her to take it seriously and not treat it like a vacation.”

Cheng Jianye glanced at Cao Yang, this sunny, handsome, boy-next-door type—he was truly ruthless!

Sigh, better just follow orders carefully. People like him must never be offended.

Before Cheng could finish sighing, he heard Cao Yang mutter regretfully in a low voice:

“Listening to music and watching films is still too simple. If only we could find a married older man to have an intense affair with her and then abandon her—that would make the film perfect.”

Cheng stumbled, nearly tripping, forcing a strained smile as he hurried away.

Even rough-hewn senior brother Zhuang Zhuang would say after hearing this: Cao Yang, please be human!

Li Xiaoran’s dream of sunshine, beaches, and a big villa to experience a luxurious lifestyle at public expense was likely to be a twisting, strange journey.

Whether she would regret it remained to be seen.