Chapter 108: The Feelings Have Faded

Fang Hong came to the United States not just to make movies, but for three major IPs:

The Conjuring Series, The Purge Series, Fifty Shades Series—these were his main objectives.

The Conjuring Series is currently disputed, but lawyers are already handling the procedures; the review shows the other side plagiarized him!

Last year's plot differences were still significant, but over the past year they've grown increasingly similar.

It all depends on who the court ultimately rules in favor of!

The Purge Series is called the most successful trash film in history.

This series was originally an original script, and the copyright is in Fang Hong's hands—there's no dispute.

This series can be said to have the smallest investment, yet it spans film, TV, and games—it's an excellent subject.

It just has no logic, no plot.

Fifty Shades of Grey needs no explanation—it's a sensual theme.

None of these are good movies, none are serious films; decent people won't even look at them, and moralists will criticize him.

As long as it makes money, who cares!

Payments for Those Years are currently being settled gradually.

Total box office: 347 million yuan; after deducting taxes and funds at 8.3%; and after deducting theater and cinema cuts at 59%.

After deducting China Film Group's distribution cut of 8%; what reaches Yu Xian is 24.7%, roughly 85 million yuan in box office profit!

Domestic accounting methods give producers a higher share by excluding taxes and funds.

That is, theater and cinema cuts at 59%; distribution at 8% (sometimes 6%); producers get 33% to 35%—that's how they calculate it.

If you include taxes and funds, it's the first method; there are also special funds at 1%, but we won't count those—it's too complicated.

This is why, after the Traffic Era arrived, the model gradually changed, and everyone moved toward integrated production and distribution—this model raises the share.

Previously, traditional media like print and TV were controlled by old powers; the Traffic Era changed this game, making media methods more diverse.

Lost in Thailand made so much money because it was integrated production and distribution!

This is why many now both invest and distribute—they can earn more.

At this stage, producers can't make much money; before the market grows large, this is how it is—profit always goes to a few.

Funds and theaters take away more than half.

This is why, for so long, domestic blockbusters have been rare.

No other reason—the share is too low, you can't afford to make them, and you're likely to lose money the moment you shoot.

If, like the eight major studios in the United States, you produce and distribute yourself, and can impose harsh and unreasonable terms on theaters, then you dare to make blockbusters.

Domestic theater chains and cinemas don't care about any of that; if you want to screen your movie, you follow their rules.

And whoever makes money gets more screen time—no matter who you know, who's going to turn down money? Do you think theaters pay nothing to screen films?

Besides, Fang Hong didn't squeeze their share, didn't offend them—he's just fighting with Huayi; those theater operators couldn't care less!

Those Years profit: 85 million yuan; give 5% to Bao Jinjin and the couple: 4.25 million yuan, leaving roughly 80 million yuan.

The couple suddenly got such a large sum—they were ecstatic and even called specifically to thank him.

It's equivalent to having all the dowry and bride price covered.

Fang Hong told them to keep it safe and live well, absolutely no investing; the couple readily agreed.

Meanwhile, Fang Hong came to the United States to shoot Annabelle, plus hiring lawyers for copyright matters, plus his daily expenses with Yu Xian, plus buying the Fifty Shades of Grey copyright.

Roughly 8 million U. S. dollars spent—that's 56 million yuan!

Of course, this money came from loans—directly drawn in U. S. dollars from Hong Kong's border, making things much easier.

After removing these expenses, Yu Xian's cash pool is roughly 25 million yuan left.

But actually, it's not there—because there's still 20 million yuan invested in Beijing Meets Seattle, plus another 10 million yuan needed to prepare for The Genius Game.

So all the money is already allocated; not only is there no cash left, but he's in debt and must pay interest.

But owing a bit is normal—you can't have income exactly match expenditure!

Also, the broadcasting rights for Those Years and Those Years have already been sold—not exclusively, but non-exclusively.

Broadcasting rights on top video platforms like Youku, Tudou, PPS, and LeEco range from 1 million to 3 million yuan each.

Tencent Video hasn't launched yet—it just came out this month!

Broadcasting rights can recover roughly another 10 million yuan, but only for one year; Fang Hong won't sell for multiple years because the later the year, the higher the licensing fee.

Fang Hong is now aggressively investing; once Annabelle breaks through here, he can later negotiate with Hollywood's eight majors for a higher share.

Their distribution split is too high!

Profit still comes only from overseas; domestically, you can barely survive—making big money is very hard.

Over these years, Fang Hong hasn't seen a single film and entertainment company with a market cap exceeding 50 billion.

Only during those two years when capital flooded in with hot money did such companies exist; after that, all were dragged back to reality—no company has ever reached that scale again.

With matters here nearly settled, Liu Tianxian must return home—she can't stay any longer; her crappy movie A Chinese Ghost Story has entered the Propaganda Department phase—she must go back.

In the suite's bedroom, Fang Hong sat on the edge of the soft white bed, watching Liu Tianxian fold clothes and pack her luggage.

She wore a white short-sleeved top and jeans; her small butt was rounded and lifted by the denim.

She's quite slim now, and with long-term exercise, her figure is still excellent.

He really wanted to slap her little butt and feel its texture—but he dared not!

Fang Hong sighed: "Ah, the feelings have faded; she's leaving."

"I have real business—promoting my movie, so I have to leave. Do you think I'm idle enough to stay here with you forever?"

Liu Tianxian folded clothes and placed them in the suitcase, exuding the air of a virtuous wife and devoted mother.

"Then I have to ask: who matters more—me, or your movie promotion?" Fang Hong said.

"Stop being unreasonable, okay? Can these even be compared?" Liu Tianxian glanced at him—what a waste of time.

"I'm being unreasonable, and you actually say I'm being unreasonable—as expected, the feelings have faded, there's no love left!"

Fang Hong put on a look as if life held no more joy. Liu Tianxian found it funny and kicked him: "Are you bored? Playing a role reversal with me, huh!"

"No, no! I just can't bear to part with you." Fang Hong smiled.

"What's there to be reluctant about? It's not like you're never coming back to the country—you have to go back eventually." Liu Tianxian didn't think it was a big deal; she wasn't as melodramatic as this man.

Fang Hong leaned closer: "Stay two more days, will you? I still have something here I need your help with."

"What else is there?" Liu Tianxian looked at him.

"I'm going to shoot my next film. Take us to get familiar with the Screen Actors Guild here, so we won't need to go through an agency in the future—the commission is too high." Fang Hong said.

The guild doesn't take a commission; actors and crew just pay membership fees based on annual income. It has little to do with their relationship as Producer.

Of course, if you withhold people's wages or pay, then they'll definitely have something to say to you!

"You're going to shoot your next film this soon?"

Liu Tianxian was surprised and sat down beside him: "This film of yours is still in post-production and hasn't been released, and you already want to shoot the next one? That's way too fast!"

"Not fast. For me, it's very slow!" Fang Hong said.

"I'm advising you—take it easy. This isn't like losing a little money back home; it's all U. S. dollars. You could easily lose tens of millions just like that." Liu Tianxian meant well for him.

"I know, but I have confidence."

Fang Hong wouldn't listen to her. What would a woman know?

"I know you have confidence. I just don't think you need to be in such a rush. What's the rush? Wait until this film is released, then shoot the next one!" Liu Tianxian advised.

"I don't want what you think; I want what I think." Fang Hong looked at her.

Liu Tianxian glared at him—so domineering, always so self-righteous, never listening to others' advice.

Still, she knew Fang Hong's temperament—he never listened to anyone in business. When the two of them had discussed the distribution of Annabelle before, it had been the same: he had to do it his way.

Later, buying Fifty Shades of Grey was the same—she thought it was a smut novel not worth buying, but he insisted on buying it.

"I'm only doing the preliminary preparation, training Yu Xian as quickly as possible. I didn't say I'd shoot this quickly. Besides, this one is a small budget—smaller than what we're filming now. I have a sense of proportion." Fang Hong said again.

He still had to consider Liu Tianxian's feelings—she was concerned, after all.

But he was training Yu Xian to become a Producer, and since Liu Tianxian was here, she could guide him more, saving him a lot of detours.

Next time he came to the United States, who knew when that would be!

"I see!"

Liu Tianxian let him be—it wasn't her money anyway: "But I don't know that much myself. I can only tell you what I know."

She had never put together a film crew; how could she know all those ins and outs? She only understood the actors' situation.

And incidentally, she knew some of the rules of the game here in the United States!

"No problem, stay two more days." Fang Hong said again.

"One day is enough. I'll just take you around to have a look. If anything comes up, just call. It's not that complicated. Two more days or two fewer days doesn't make much difference." Liu Tianxian said.

"It does—doesn't it mean I get to look at you two more days?" Sweet nothings came effortlessly from Fang Hong's mouth.

"Oh!"

Liu Tianxian gave a thoughtful hum—so that was what this man was waiting for.

She tilted her head slightly, her big eyes rolling: "Then what's in it for me?"

"What benefit do you want?" Fang Hong said.

"Depends on what benefit you can offer." Liu Tianxian said with a sly look.

"Then how about giving you me?" Fang Hong joked.

"I don't want that—keeping you is too much trouble."

Liu Tianxian laughed, then said again: "But if I stay, you have to promise me one thing."

"Okay, as long as it doesn't go against my ancestors, I'll promise you anything."

"Cut the nonsense."

Liu Tianxian bent over slightly and raised an eyebrow: "I haven't decided yet. I'll tell you when I have."

The two faced each other and exchanged a smile!

The Screen Actors Guild in the United States is very simple—it's just looking up information. All information on actors and crew can be found here.

Liu Tianxian was just taking Fang Hong and Yu Xian to see how the process worked here, what the rules were, and incidentally mentioning some things to watch out for.

Actually, this guild is supervisory and coordinating in nature, protecting wages, benefits, and working hours.

For example, if actors or crew encounter unfair treatment like unspoken rules, they can come here to file a complaint.

Of course, if the person involved doesn't pursue it, then it's fine!

Liu Tianxian also registered the two of them as members of the Writers Guild of America, Screen Actors Guild, and Directors Guild of America, so they'd have better protection working here in the future.

"These all require annual membership fees. Take the Screen Actors Guild as an example: for a million-dollar income, the annual fee is only a few thousand dollars, with a maximum of $6,566 per year." she explained.

Fang Hong didn't care—he wasn't acting or making films in the United States, so he wouldn't generate income there.

The United States couldn't touch his income back home.

Yu Xian didn't say anything either—you only qualify to pay these fees if you can earn money; if you can't earn money, you can't pay much.

Once familiar with it, when Yu Xian makes films in the future, he'll have to liaise with people here himself, expressing what kind of crew and actors he needs, and they'll provide him with the information.

Of course, he chooses himself—not as attentive a service as CAA, which also recommends and organizes things for you.

But now Yu Xian has already filmed one movie and learned a lot of the process; the rest he can learn gradually.

As long as he doesn't make mistakes on the big picture, small mistakes don't matter!

(End of chapter)