Chapter 576

The interview continued; Liu Tianxian wore a blue suit with a belt wrapped around her waist, sitting upright with legs crossed, exuding an aura of commanding elegance.

She spoke seriously and solemnly about her views on her profession, and about her attitude toward life—never complaining about her circumstances.

She simply hadn't worked hard enough to earn wider recognition.

This Liu Tianxian was deeply thoughtful; if one came to know her better, one would unconsciously fall in love with her—a love too reverent to desecrate.

But foreigners knew little of her; if they knew more, they would discover her unique charm.

This interview was meant precisely to help more foreigners get to know Liu Tianxian—at least enough to form a first impression, a basic liking.

In the interview room, light and shadow danced; the host, with brown skin, smiled and asked again: "When your mindset suddenly cleared, how did you break through reality?"

"Improve yourself, accumulate enough energy and value—when the opportunity comes, I'm already ready to seize it and show myself," Liu Tianxian said.

"When did that opportunity appear?" the host asked.

"Ten years ago—when he appeared!"

Liu Tianxian pointed to the man beside her and added: "That's when I realized it wasn't that I couldn't act well—it was that I hadn't met the right person. Sometimes, an actor is like falling in love, finding a husband; once you meet that right person, you can fully enter the state, and your joys, sorrows, anger, and happiness are completely released."

"Over these years, I've made film after film—I feel acting is a kind of sensitivity, and then amplifying your own sensitivity."

What she meant was, before meeting Fang Hong, every other director she worked with treated their work carelessly and never trained actors.

They only cared about making money, never about making good films.

Although she didn't only work with Fang Hong's films, the directors he chose wanted to make good films, and producers held them accountable.

At least the script couldn't be changed arbitrarily—that was true.

"They say you're a U. S. citizen—are you afraid of what others might say?" the reporter asked.

"Afraid! At first I was terrified—gossip is terrifying; I was especially afraid others would say things, so I thought about changing myself, returning to my home country," Liu Tianxian said.

"Then why didn't you go back?" the host followed up.

"I tried once, but I didn't persist—there were many reasons, reasons on this side, reasons on that side; there were too many obstacles I couldn't overcome."

"Later, I came to understand: nationality means nothing—it's just an identity. I clearly know I am Chinese: yellow skin, red blood, and my thoughts are rooted in Confucian culture—none of that can change."

"Wherever I go, I say this: no matter what happens, I will never do anything to harm this nation or this country. Others may say what they will—I have no guilt in my heart; I only do what I believe in."

Liu Tianxian spoke with genuine emotion.

Over these years, how many Heizi have attacked her over this—but in nearly thirty years of life, she has never done a single thing to betray anyone or this country.

When she has the ability, she donates money she should donate; she pays taxes she must pay; she owns no company of her own—she pays only personal income tax; money earned in China is taxed in China—simple as that.

The host nodded and did not press further on this topic.

They then discussed some matters about film and personal life, and the interview ended—lasting about an hour.

Afterwards, they took a photo together in front of the camera.

The edited interview video was quickly released, with the part about nationality edited down and only the middle section retained, omitting the latter part.

The latter part was essentially a reiteration; since the purpose was film promotion, it was better not to involve nationality issues.

This interview appeared on Facebook, YouTube, and was also broadcast on NBC.

It quickly drew massive attention from viewers and fans; Liu Tianxian already had some followers.

"Oh my god! Her thinking is so ahead of its time!"

"I've fallen in love with this Chinese girl—she's so beautiful!"

"Watched Gravity! She acted brilliantly!"

"Can't believe Gravity is a Chinese film—it's shot so well."

"Chinese-language film? Don't they only make kung fu movies?"

"You should watch it—it's really good."

"Chinese-language film? Nobody watches that."

"Shuijing, you can do it!"

"."

As more people watched Gravity and were drawn to her, many foreigners also watched her interview—traffic was definitely there.

Of course, with more onlookers came chaotic comments.

Regardless, the promotional interview had some effect: many viewers who had seen the film now wanted to learn more about its female lead.

Even viewers who had watched her earlier films wanted to know more.

The interview came out just in time; her soft-spoken tone and forward-thinking ideas won her a new wave of fans, and her recent information was everywhere.

Japan's Spur magazine praised Liu Tianxian: "An international beauty, with refined, elegant English, like an upper-class lady!"

Gravity had just opened in Japan, playing in over five hundred theaters, earning $4.08 million—very impressive.

With increased promotion, Gravity's North American box office surpassed $17.48 million; clearly, the effort paid off, and the film's reputation continued to grow.

After all, this film—with few characters and centered on a female lead's survival adventure in space—didn't need to face many Chinese faces.

Actually, Chinese women fare better than Chinese men in Hollywood.

The next day, Gravity held a press event at a science museum in Los Angeles—private screening.

They invited mainstream and secondary media from the United States and around the world to conduct interviews here.

That included The Hollywood Reporter, Variety, New York Post, Los Angeles Times, Associated Press, Yahoo, and others.

Also included were gossip and entertainment outlets like TMZ, Vanity Fair, Entertainment Weekly, as well as domestic media like Phoenix Online.

In short, there were many reporters on-site, all with cameras and microphones.

When they followed staff into a spacious room, they saw no one to interview, no chairs set up, no indication they were to sit and speak.

They exchanged glances, looking confused—what was this supposed to be?

Just as everyone was bewildered, the lights went out with a series of "click-click" sounds.

"Huh? What's going on?" Murmurs arose in the room—everyone was clueless.

"Welcome to outer space." Along with this mechanical voice, the scene here changed accordingly.

It became dark, void-like, and in the distance visible to the naked eye were two or three stars, giving that sense of nothingness where it seemed you could see everything, yet couldn't make out anything clearly.

As if it placed everyone in outer space.

This scene was similar to the Light Box used during filming back then, which could change scenes at will, with people inside it.

"Oh my God!" The foreigners seeing such a scene couldn't help but exclaim in admiration.

"How is this done?" a foreigner asked in astonishment.

Looking at the surroundings, and the void beneath their feet, as if they weren't stepping on anything, yet they could be placed in such a scene, their faces were full of shock.

As a beam of light shone down, Fang Hong and Liu Tianxian appeared before them. Liu Tianxian said: "The place you are now is the recreation of the scene from when Gravity was filmed."

"Oh God, you brought the scene from the movie into reality?" a reporter asked.

"Yes." Fang Hong smiled and nodded. Although he couldn't understand, from their expressions he could tell what they were saying. Actually, it wasn't true—the background was entirely post-production; this scene was just something made back then to give the actors a greater sense of immersion.

If filmed this way, the effect couldn't be achieved—tumbling in zero gravity simply couldn't be filmed, and it would look very fake.

Now it was just an enlarged version of the Light Box, only meant to let more people know what their movie was about, and what kind of marvelous sights it contained.

This way, more people could learn about this movie, rather than losing interest the moment they heard it was a Chinese-language film.

Although the word-of-mouth for Gravity was fermenting better and better, there were still many people resistant to Chinese-language films.

They believed that apart from kung fu films, they couldn't make anything else well.

Liu Tianxian, with a smile on her face and hands clasped behind her back, introduced: "This is low-Earth orbit, with no sound and no oxygen, all objects appear extremely tiny, and behind you is the azure Earth."

Hearing her words, everyone turned their heads, looked up, and saw the enormous azure Earth against the dark background.

"God, how magnificent!" the reporter exclaimed, as if it were truly presented before them.

Some reporters used the cameras and video cameras in their hands to capture everything here.

This "Earth" was suspended in mid-air—in fact, it was just a 3D LED screen, looking three-dimensional visually, nothing fancy.

If placed down below, it would block the space, and people might bump into it—it's quite expensive.

"May I ask, what is the purpose of all this you've done?" a white reporter asked, holding out his microphone.

"To let more people learn about Gravity, and also to let more people go watch this movie." Liu Tianxian responded very candidly.

"Can I understand it this way? It's just for more box office?" a reporter pressed, the subtext being that they were mercenary.

"Making movies for box office is perfectly normal, isn't it? Having more box office proves more people went to watch, proves the movie is popular—is that a bad thing?" Liu Tianxian countered.

The reporter was momentarily at a loss for words—that was indeed the logic.

Then Liu Tianxian added: "Of course, a good movie isn't determined by box office either. If this movie doesn't go to theaters and is released on streaming platforms, that's also fine. A movie's box office doesn't prove anything, nor does it determine its value."

Even without theatrical release, without box office, it doesn't matter—streaming platforms can also let more people see it.

Now video streaming in the United States was increasingly developed; revenue from pay-per-view and user subscriptions could generate hundreds of millions of dollars in income, while saving a lot on marketing, distribution, and theater revenue sharing.

Because the cost of watching on streaming platforms was lower, the viewing method was simpler, and the base was larger.

Even domestically there were now online movies, and iQiyi had even bought over the film rights from Hollywood, charging 5 yuan per pay-per-view.

Of course, that was something for later—it hadn't reached that point yet, and they were still using models like ad revenue sharing and memberships.

But box office was the most intuitive thing, the thing that best demonstrated a film's value.

"How did you come up with the idea of presenting the scenes from the movie in reality?" a reporter asked.

"He came up with it."

Liu Tianxian pointed at Fang Hong, then said: "I think this is very good—it can let people more intuitively feel the vastness of the universe, and spark curiosity about the mysterious cosmos."

Facing the reporters, Liu Tianxian spoke eloquently. When reporters asked her questions, she answered with great expression and emotion, like a spokesperson. Actually, these questions should have been answered by Fang Hong, since he was the director.

But he didn't know English, so Liu Tianxian had to do it!

"For this movie, we discovered that it clearly only needed one or two actors—why didn't the director find Hollywood actors? Finding Hollywood actors could more easily open up the International Market, right?" a reporter tried to turn the question to Fang Hong.

Reporters abroad loved to ask tricky questions; the NBC interview was much better, after all, that had been arranged with Universal.

"What did he say?" Fang Hong asked, puzzled.

"He said why you didn't find Hollywood actors, why you found me." Liu Tianxian whispered with a smile by his ear.

"Met her, felt she was right, that's it." Fang Hong casually said these three phrases.

Liu Tianxian translated it for them.

"Do you think you're suitable?" the reporter asked Liu Tianxian.

This question made Liu Tianxian raise an eyebrow—what kind of weird question was that? She said: "I think I'm quite suitable. If the director thinks you're suitable, that's fine too."

In this kind of place, as long as you showed up and invited reporters, some interviews were unavoidable—for exposure, there was no choice.

The news that the director of Gravity had created a movie's space marvel at the Los Angeles Science Museum, along with photos and videos, spread across Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, and other major social media in an instant.

Countless Wangyi saw such marvels, which sparked intense curiosity among more viewers.

"Oh my God, isn't this the space background from the movie I saw? In reality—the director is awesome!" Wangyi saw it and were shocked.

"Looks pretty good."

"Recommend you go watch it!"

"."

Major mainstream media rushed to publish news about Gravity.

"Praising director Principal's talent, letting the movie reflect reality, a miracle of technology, an emotional震撼!" The Guardian.

The headlines were basically all like this—many reporters, the moment they entered such a scene, were indeed stunned.

Of course there were also criticisms. The Chicago Tribune criticized: "Certain scientific details in the movie aren't accurate enough, believing this might affect the audience's sense of immersion!"

Recently in overseas media, there was particularly a lot of reporting about Gravity, and particularly a lot of information about Liu Tianxian and Fang Hong.

Domestically, although there was a firewall, they would also repost it, and it repeatedly made the trending searches. Of course, what was reposted was the good stuff, for example, Empire rated Gravity: "A must-see movie, it redefines the realm of space films!"

The buzz was unprecedented, good news kept coming internationally, and domestically the sixth-day box office broke through 460 million—simply terrifying.

It sucked in the box office of all the other films — a kind of siphon effect.

This left Huayi, Bona and other film producers pretty glum; they could only stay silent. No matter how much they said, it was useless — losing is losing.

Gravity's total box office broke 2 billion in 6 days, surpassing the record set by Transformers: Age of Extinction, and domestic media launched another wave of wild hype.

But what no one knew was that the film had only just barely broken even — recouped its production cost.

Zhang Hongsen called Fang Hong, who was far away in the United States, to ask about the situation, but he didn't pick up — he was swamped, running non-stop every day.

If he wasn't doing Propaganda Department rounds, he was dealing with media reporters.

And Liu Tianxian had become a hit too — Gravity pulled in 23 million dollars in a single day in North America.

First-week total box office broke 56.47 million dollars!

That was just one week in North America. If you added Japan, the United Kingdom, France and other places where it had only been out for a couple of days, it was projected to have broken 80 million dollars.

The exact figures just hadn't come back yet — it would take a week.

Breaking 100 million was just around the corner. Fang Hong's goal was to break 100 million — to surpass The Forbidden Kingdom!

To let Liu Tianxian return to the international stage and take the place that belonged to her. That place had always been hers; she just hadn't been willing to cling to anyone, hadn't been willing to get dirty, and so couldn't have her wish.

But that goal was now being realized — because Gravity had simply too many talking points, whether it was the earlier put-down of: A Space Odyssey…

…or Liu Tianxian frequently appearing at various public events, or the publicity around the film's real-life oddities.

All of it gave the movie enough buzz, and sparked strong curiosity in the audience — mainly because the film's quality really was high.

Otherwise it wouldn't have broken 20 million in a single day in North America, mostly through Wangyi spreading the word by mouth. People who didn't like Chinese-language films would never like them — you could only get people around you to recommend it.

Over the past few days, Fang Hong had been busy accompanying Liu Tianxian on magazine cover shoots — internationally famous fashion magazines, media magazines, lifestyle magazines, all wanting her on their covers.

(End of chapter)