Chapter 733: Cannot Change History

The net profit share isn't very reliable—typical Hollywood accountants will make the books show a loss.

The actual share that comes through is very little, not much at all.

But the 3% global derivative revenue share is a long-term meal ticket, just like Zhou Zhaolong selling his action rights to someone else.

Fang Hong and Liu Tianxian sat beside a desk, on which sat a laptop displaying Lao Zha's aged face—they were on a video call.

The man was still the same, with an aristocratic air about him.

"Oh my god, Principal, you're asking for way too much—bonuses, profit share, AND future derivative income. How could we possibly afford that? Who knows if this movie will even make money. If it doesn't, we'll need the follow-up to recoup our costs." Lao Zha was being theatrical on the video call.

Fang Hong smiled and said: "How about this—if the film's global box office exceeds 800 million USD, you give Yu Xian an 8 million USD bonus. That's five times the production cost in box office. You'll definitely make money!"

Lao Zha thought for a moment. With box office that high, giving a bonus was reasonable—it proved you did a good job, and you could work together again next time.

"Five million USD. If it exceeds 800 million USD at the box office, a 5 million USD bonus." He held up five fingers.

"OK, 5 million USD it is." Fang Hong agreed.

Liu Tianxian translated his words on the side, glanced at Fang Hong—he was way too easy to negotiate with. But with 15 million USD, Yu Xian's income had already exceeded 100 million.

This was way more than what domestic directors made. Domestic directors' base fee topped out at twenty or thirty million, though of course big-name directors had bargaining power.

Then there were box office profit shares, bonuses, and investment rights on top of that.

This was determined by the economic situation—after all, Hollywood faces the global market. A-grade productions easily run over a hundred million USD, so directors' fees are naturally high.

"Then what about the 5% net profit share?" Fang Hong added.

"Well, about that—"

"Don't push back anymore. Everything else I've gone along with you on. If I go along with this one too, this movie really can't be made." Fang Hong raised his hand to stop the other from continuing.

"Fine, 5% it is, 5%. That we can give." Lao Zha laughed.

Anyway, their Hollywood accountants were world-famous. In the end, how much net profit there was would be whatever they said it was.

"You can't say your movie clearly made money—100 million at the box office—and cook the books into a loss. That would just be too underhanded." Fang Hong seemed to see right through the other's thoughts.

"No, no, how could we? You Chinese people think too badly of us Americans." Lao Zha gave an awkward smile.

"You Americans are bad to begin with—bad to the point of festering." Fang Hong随口 said it in Chinese.

Lao Zha didn't catch it for the moment and showed a puzzled expression.

"Oh, he said you Americans are good, very good." Liu Tianxian gave the other a thumbs-up.

Inside, though, she found it pretty funny—random nonsense in response.

"Hahaha, yes yes!" Lao Zha was quite pleased.

"Then next is the 3% global derivative revenue. We can't leave this out." Liu Tianxian translated.

This was a long-term meal ticket—even if Yu Xian died, his descendants would still receive this money.

"We've already given a lot. Any more and we really can't give it." Lao Zha was in a bind.

"This is a guarantee for you making the film. There will be more collaborations in the future. Besides, Lao Zha, even if you find other big Hollywood directors, those people would ask for it too! Compared to your investment amount, what we're asking isn't much." Fang Hong said.

Not only do big Hollywood directors ask for follow-up rights revenue shares, screenwriters and novel adaptation authors do too.

Like the old man at Marvel—his derivative rights fees came in hand over fist.

"But 3% is still too much." Lao Zha said.

"Then we'll take a step back—2%. It can't go any lower." Fang Hong said firmly.

"Principal, you're really making this too hard for me." Lao Zha put on an act, striking a pose that suggested things were difficult.

"You and Yu Xian have a long-term partnership—it's not just this one collaboration. Next time you shoot, you can still find him. You and he have worked together on The Conjuring Universe for so many years, you know his abilities. Box office? He's got it. Honors? He's got them. Skill? He's got it.

I'll say it straight—if you pay him less, he might as well keep making horror films for me. Making horror films for me, with three to five hundred million USD at the box office, he can still earn twenty or thirty million USD in fees.

Why would he work himself to the bone making your film? Your film only has the brand name going for it. With Yu Xian's current reputation, he can earn it back no matter what."

Fang Hong's words were direct.

Really—if he earned this little making films for them, Yu Xian might as well go back to making horror films.

The words left Lao Zha silent. It was precisely because every film Yu Xian made was a massive hit, and he had an Oscar to his name, that they decided to have him direct.

He was quite confident he could make a good film.

Even if they didn't hire Yu Xian and found another director, they'd still need this kind of expense. If they paid less, Yu Xian might as well make niche horror films—he'd still earn plenty.

"Fine, let's settle it then. Ten million USD base fee, five million USD bonus, 5% net profit, 2% global derivative revenue share. Have Yu Xian come to our Warner headquarters building to sign the agreement." Lao Zha conceded.

"Then here's to a pleasant collaboration." Liu Tianxian smiled.

Afterwards they exchanged pleasantries for a while, and the distribution arrangement for Yu Xian directing Aquaman was settled.

After hanging up the video call, Liu Tianxian asked: "With this arrangement, can Yu Xian get 20 million USD for this one film?"

"Should be possible." Fang Hong nodded. This film had over a billion USD at the box office in his previous life.

They'd have to give some profit, and as for the follow-up global derivative revenue share—that was lifetime income.

"Might as well let him make horror films. Making horror films, Yu Xian earns plenty too. As long as a horror film hits 300 million USD at the box office, Yu Xian can earn 15 million USD." Liu Tianxian was calculating based on 5%.

The Zhong family's financial distribution and Yu Xian's share were all being managed in advance now.

"A person has to have some ambition. You can't keep him fixed in one range—you still have to let him try to branch out and make something different." Fang Hong said.

"Makes sense. Then I'll report the good news to Yu Xian—tell him it's settled." Liu Tianxian nodded.

Saying so, she took out her phone and dialed Yu Xian.

"Let me tell you, we really had to pull out all the stops to get this settled for you." Liu Tianxian briefed him on the profit distribution.

"Only this much? That's an A-grade Hollywood blockbuster—the box office won't be small." Yu Xian was a bit disappointed.

"There's the long-term meal ticket too. You can't expect others to share as much with you as we do. Family is family, outsiders are outsiders." Liu Tianxian reasoned with him.

"Fair point." Yu Xian understood.

The Principal giving him so much for one film was entirely because of this relationship—that was what maintained his lavish lifestyle.

Other people still had to talk about profit, about making more money.

"Then thank you both." Yu Xian expressed his gratitude; for this film with Warner, the Principal and Liu Tianxian received nothing.

They were completely doing this for him out of obligation.

"What's there to thank for? Just shoot well. When I go to Hollywood someday, I'll hire you as director—make me a Hollywood blockbuster, let me see what an A-level production feels like," Liu Tianxian joked.

He hadn't yet shot a billion-dollar production—160 million U. S. dollars exceeds 1.1 billion.

"With the Principal around, how could it ever be your turn to direct me?" Yu Xian laughed.

"Him? He can't shoot without assistants—he's only suited for others to direct for him." Liu Tianxian knew that for the few films he'd made, post-production was mostly handled by the assistant director.

On-set directing was also entirely handled by the assistant director; Fang Hong merely expressed the artistic vision.

He just needed to clearly explain the effects he wanted and the artistic expression; everything else was done by others.

Other directors always stayed long-term in post-production; her man barely ever did.

Fang Hong, hearing Liu Tianxian speak ill of him, pinched her smooth ear between his fingers, rubbing it like he was handling banknotes—smooth and soft.

Liu Tianxian swatted his hand away in annoyance.

"Being able to achieve the desired effect and story through an assistant director is still a skill. Many people couldn't even replicate the same film as well if you handed it to them," Yu Xian said.

"Yes, that's true," Liu Tianxian agreed.

Yu Xian's filming of Aquaman and the Huayi payment matter were both resolved.

But Xing Ye was deeply frustrated: he'd originally wanted to cut the Principal in on The Exorcist, hoping to break free from him—only to find he couldn't escape.

Not only that, he now had to accept the Principal's control; when investment came, they'd surely send finance staff over.

After this matter, it was The Martian's turn; Fang Hong decided to still release this film globally after the Oscar.

That way, its impact would be far greater—it was a gamble for awards.

Even if it didn't win, TikTok and WeChat would merge, their data would officially connect, and global users would see a massive surge.

Then, leveraging TikTok's advantage in global outreach, they could launch a major propaganda campaign—much safer that way.

He wanted both prestige and box office.

As November arrived, Beijing's temperature plummeted sharply, and the final box office figures for the National Day slot were released.

The top box office was The Mermaid, with a final gross of 1.186 billion—this film was a milestone in mainstream cinema.

Yet this film didn't help Bona go public; its IPO application was rejected, because too many events had occurred in the entertainment industry this year, causing severe damage to its reputation.

This left Yu Pangzi of Bona deeply depressed; he could only wait until next year to reapply.

Fang Hong couldn't help either; if they couldn't go public this year, they wouldn't be able to for years to come—the entertainment industry would only sink further, with more scandals emerging.

Sometimes he couldn't change history!

Second place was From Your World, with 813 million in box office; Yutu could earn about 260 million from it, before deducting production costs.

In his past life, this film's production cost was 250 million, with 50 million in marketing—roughly 300 million total. What nonsense—earlier, Fang Hong had seen The Wandering Earth's budget was only around 300 million.

This film barely needed 50 million in production cost.

Other films like L. O. R. D: Legend of Ravaging Dynasties and Mission Milano had already been savaged by audiences.

Now Liu Tianwang only hoped The Martian would release soon, to make up for his overdrawn popularity and value.

Now that films on streaming platforms had single-title pay-per-view, a hot, high-grossing movie could still earn 30 to 50 million.

Streaming video platforms had been nearly killed off by the copyright wars between Chang'e, Tencent, Alibaba, iQiyi, and others.

It was basically just these four competing now; others like Sohu and LeEco had already been eliminated.

LeEco was on the brink of collapse, just waiting to explode—when it did, the entertainment industry would shake again, as many stars had invested in LeEco.

Dozens of famous stars and artists—including Lao Mouzi, Guo Xiaosi, Yan Wang, Sun Li and her husband, Huang Jiaozhu, and even Su Mang—had invested tens of millions to over a hundred million each.

The largest investors were precisely those mentioned above, especially Liu Tao, who invested 60 million and was among the biggest losers.

But they could still make money—not only could they repay their husbands' money, they could invest again and lose tens of millions more; stars still made a fortune.

This collapse meant nearly all their money had turned to water, since they'd all entered at peak valuations.

That's why these people all rushed into Variety shows—they made money fast and could quickly recoup losses.

But once they earned money, they wanted to return to film and TV to restore their diminished value—unfortunately, there was no room left for them.

The New Year Slot was already in its warm-up phase; this slot was the most important of the year, with over sixty films scheduled to release during it.

It could be called the gathering point of all film studios, and the most prominent was without doubt The Great Wall—its prestige was fully on display.

Another was The Ferryman, produced by Alibaba, testing the possibility of using Big Data to write screenplays.

It was a film that had completely ruined Mojing Wang.

On November 26, the annual Golden Horse Awards were held again; this year's ceremony remained highly controversial.

The main controversy was that a mediocre, melodramatic teen film swept the Best Actress award—and gave it to two actresses: Zhou Dongyu and Ma Sichun.

Netizens mocked it as the "buy-one-get-one-free" Golden Horse Best Actress!

Some even said: "Better to give the award to Liu Tianxian—Superwoman 2 is far better, and her acting is no worse."

"Now Liu Tianxian doesn't come anymore; she used to attend every year—what a pity!"

"Gong Huang doesn't come either."

"The Golden Horse is getting watered down; better to watch the Macau Film Festival—it's still authoritative."

"How could it not be authoritative? The last two hosts were each more daring than the last—wonder who they'll get this year?"

Netizens debated heatedly, always comparing film festivals.

They found the Macau Film Festival still more authoritative.

This year's Macau Film Festival will be held on December 31—about a month from now, deliberately spaced apart so stars don't have to rush back and forth.

This year's Macau Film Festival could be called the most spectacular ever, with both the Principal and Liu Tianxian attending.

CEOs from Huayi, Bona, Xinli, and other studios, plus major directors Feng Kuzi and Dante Lam, along with top stars from the industry—Liu Tianwang, Shen Teng, Huang Jiaozhu, Fan Xiaopang, Guoji Zhang—all would be present.

Not only would every major figure in film attend, but their films were all entered into competition, offering richer selections and brighter stars than ever before.

(End of this chapter)