Chapter 285

"Hello, Sam, oh my Sam, is that you? Sam White, my friend of twenty years, senior reporter for 'The Hollywood Reporter,' did crossing nine time zones make you lose your memory, or was the small gift last Christmas not enough to satisfy you? Have you already forgotten that there is a sincere friend of yours in LA waiting for your call?"

"Uh, Harvey, you misunderstood. In fact, I just came out of the Film Festival Palace, and I was just preparing to call you. Have you had lunch?"

"Thanks for the concern, it's 4 PM LA time now. I think I've already eaten. So, Sam. Are you going to tell me good news or bad news?"

"I don't know, Harvey. After all, there were over 2,000 people today, filling the Lumière to the brim, and I feel there might be over 1,800 of them who are reporters or my peers..."

"Wow, wait, sounds like that kid's film received quite a bit of attention at Cannes. What's going on?"

Sam White tightened his collar, avoided the crowd that was dispersing, stood under the shade of a tree in the parking lot, and said in a low voice to the person on the other side of the phone: "I can only say that you and I both underestimated that kid's influence at Cannes."

"James is right. If it weren't for his report three years ago guiding the focus to Emma Stone, plus the votes of those few Chinese jurors, it's very likely he would have held the Cannes trophy in 2006."

"In fact, I told you a few days ago, it's just that you didn't take it to heart. Since I came here on the 13th, I've often heard people talk about him. Especially among some foreign directors, they all like his performance in 'My Blueberry Nights'."

"In any case, before you bet, you really should learn a bit more. Dear Harvey."

The other side of the receiver was silent for a while, and then a low, hoarse voice said: "Don't make me feel so bad, Sam. You make it sound like he's filming the same movie three years ago as he is now."

"Don't worry about those bottom-level public opinions; I've been dealing with them at Cannes and Venice since the 70s. I absolutely know these people better than you."

"Their memory isn't much better than a woman's. You know? One second they like this bag, the next second they like that bag."

"So, the key now is, what do you think of the bag he made this time? Will it make ladies fall in love with it, thereby reaching the ears of some people?"

Sam White said: "I think it's great."

Then, the phone fell into an eerie silence.

After ten seconds or so, a voice came from the other side of the receiver: "Hello, Sam, are you still there?"

"Uh, I'm here, Harvey."

"Is that iPhone 3GS I just bought broken? Did that son of a bitch Jobs sell a pile of garbage? Why can't I hear your voice?"

Sam White rubbed his nose and sighed imperceptibly. If he had known things would turn out like this, he definitely wouldn't have accepted those two small gifts at Christmas.

"Uh, Harvey, I think it might not be Apple's problem; it's that I'm done speaking."

"Done speaking? Just that one sentence?" The man in the receiver pinched his voice in a sharp and mean way, imitating his voice, "I think it's great? Motherfucker Sam, I give you so many dollars every year, and send you two cute baby girls every Christmas, it's not for you to come here today to sing praises for that Chinese bastard, understand?"

Sam White frowned tightly and said: "Harvey, watch what you're saying, okay? I'm not your subordinate, nor am I one of those bitches you vent on. Either you talk to me like an adult, or we end it here tonight."

The phone was silent for a few seconds again, and the voice that came again was clearly much calmer, "Sam, now please give me a reason. Do you remember what you told me before you went? Didn't you guarantee me that you would fight to the end for my 5 million dollars? How come it sounds like you're already like the Japanese midgets at Midway?"

Several people walked past talking, and their words rushed through the night wind into Sam White's ears, making him temporarily ignore the annoying noise in the receiver.

"If you ask me, a cliché story."

"Yes, it reminds me of 'The Sixth Sense'."

"And 'Fight Club'."

"Including 'Identity', right?"

". It's all the same type. But... it didn't reach their height."

"Yes, it... is very reluctant..."

"Except for the actors... if it weren't for them, I would be very surprised it could enter the main competition unit."

"Then you think... who is better?"

"Haha, what are you hoping for, I won't give you a surprise..."

"Hahaha, I'm just..."

"Yes, and then mock me..."

Several men gradually walked away, and their words could no longer be heard, but Sam White, as a senior film critic and special writer for this Hollywood report, knew very clearly what they were chatting about.

The noise in the receiver ended, and Sam White said earnestly: "Harvey, you're wrong, I didn't. Although I just experienced a long applause, walking out of that tribute ceremony that was one-third longer than 'Inglourious Basterds'."

"I also just saw Sophie Marceau and Bellucci acting as if they wanted to crawl into that Chinese kid's bed tonight, impatiently showing him favor."

"Even if I witnessed Quentin, Martin Scorsese, and Ang Lee all looking as if they couldn't wait to announce to the world that the Best Actor of the 62nd Cannes Film Festival belongs to him."

"Harvey, I haven't lost my fighting spirit either."

"I'm still like a sailor on a Pearl Harbor gunboat; even if the ship under my feet is on fire, I dare to fire at those damn Rising Sun flags."

Sam White couldn't care that the man on the other side of the receiver was his long-term financier and a big shot in Hollywood; his words were like a string of firecrackers, saying everything he wanted to say in one breath,

"You don't understand at all what happened just now. The Korean film is indeed just like we thought before, it's a thorough commercial film. He doesn't understand what artistry is at all."

"But... but it's a pity you weren't on the scene, otherwise you would understand what I mean."

"I dare say, among the 2,000 people, no matter who it was, no one thought that after 100 minutes of mediocrity, at the end of the film, a miracle happened."

"Two minutes, only two minutes passed. Two minutes ago, this film was just a piece of rotten wood; two minutes later, it was injected with a soul like the Holy Spirit."

"Although this film might still only be worth 60 points, its 60 points are different from others; it's inlaid with a gold edge!"

"By the time the show ended, do you know who looks like the Japanese monkeys at Midway? It's those male actors competing with him for Cannes Best Actor! It's a pity you didn't witness their faces here, otherwise you would absolutely not use your exquisite metaphor on me!"

The other side was suddenly silenced again by his long-winded speech, and this time the silence was especially long. It was Sam White's turn to doubt his Nokia.

He looked at the 360x640 high-definition screen of the Nokia N97, confirmed the phone was still in a call, and asked: "Hello, Harvey, are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"Mm, what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking about what to do. Sam, for many years, I have always trusted your judgment. We have also reached many successful collaborations, right? So can you evaluate this film more calmly and objectively, and suggest what I should do."

Sam White was a bit tired of standing, walked toward the rented Renault sedan, tilted his head and thought for a while, and said: "Harvey, can you change the bet? For example, Palme d'Or, Best Director, or Best Actress is also fine."

"I don't think so."

Sam White shrugged and said: "Alright. Then let me put it this way. If betting on the Palme d'Or, I am willing to bet all my assets. Best Director? About the same. Actress? Probably more than half. Actor? I don't know."

The voice in the receiver was very surprised: "Don't know?"

"Yes, don't know. It's possible I won't bet a single cent, and it's also possible I will go and gamble, because that's at least 1:100 odds. It's equivalent to you being in Las Vegas, betting 10,000 dollars on an odd number 13 on the roulette wheel. Although this number looks unlucky, very much like a devil's summoning. However, if I were separated from my wife and children, and still heavily in debt, I swear I would. Anyway, it's just a matter of one bullet."

". Shit, Sam, no wonder you can be a film critic, this metaphor of yours is really fucking... alright, very easy to understand. I know."

"Harvey, then tomorrow..."

"Write it as you should write it, maintain your authority, don't let others think Sam White has become an alternative who can't distinguish good from bad... Anyway, there is still Isabelle Huppert, see if this woman will give us a surprise. Anyway, wait until his new film with Warner, that time is the key."

"OK, I understand, Harvey. But what about that house in Palm Beach?"

"It doesn't matter."

"But, that's Palm Beach!"

"I know, but the house isn't mine."

Bong Joon-ho didn't know he would one day be troubled by language matters.

Gratitude in four languages—Chinese, Korean, English, and French—seemed insufficient to handle the enthusiasm he encountered.

On the night of the premiere, Fatty Bong heard all kinds of compliments, and the whole person was like a balloon flying into the sky, floating in the clouds. After the premiere ended, it was only natural to go drink another round with his Korean compatriots.

But this time it was a happy drink. At the banquet, the look in Brother Chan-wook's eyes made him unable to help but drink at least 30% more than usual. By the end, he was truly unconscious, and he had no idea how many people Song Kang-ho and the others mobilized to carry his 200-plus-pound big fat body back to the hotel.

When he woke up the next day, the sky was already bright. Looking at the bright sunlight outside, even though his head hurt so much he wanted to cut it off, Bong Joon-ho's mood was still surprisingly good.

He wasn't too anxious, because he had always believed that the most wonderful moment to enjoy food wasn't the moment of eating, but the time spent waiting before.

Those moods and emotions are the real delicacies.

He lay on the bed and squinted his eyes, carefully recalling every bit of what happened last night. Before his eyes, scenes of those lovely people speaking different languages and smiling sweetly surrounding him seemed to emerge again.

Although he couldn't understand many times, looking at their expressions, he knew that what they said must be sweeter than honey.

He spent about 15 minutes enjoying the anticipation,

and afterwards, Bong Joon-ho picked up the phone that he didn't know who had placed on his bedside table and called his assistant: "Dong-soo, are you awake?"

"Awake, Brother."

The voice from the phone wasn't as excited as he imagined, but Fatty Bong didn't care, "Did you buy 'Screen'?"

"Bought it, Brother."

"Good, bring it over to me now."

"Okay, Brother."

It was even stranger; his assistant usually talked a lot, but today, for some reason, he was a bit concise.

It's estimated he drank too much last night and might have a headache.

Bong Joon-ho got out of bed,

the 185-tall big fat man, humming the currently super-hot "Gee Gee Gee, Baby Baby," hands on his hips, dancing the dog-leg dance, swaying into the bathroom,

and fifteen minutes later, sitting on the sofa, the dazed, fat man rubbing his eyes was completely two different people.

On the magazine page spread out in front of him, there was a printed "Mother" poster.

The poster was as full of storytelling as Bong Joon-ho liked, especially Chen Nuo's pair of eyes, which made him refuse any extra elements from the beginning of the design, believing that just putting one mother and one son on it was enough.

And the effect after it came out was also very good; yesterday, several Arab directors praised his poster as being like golden sand in the desert, looking very beautiful.

However, next to such a beautiful poster, the glaring 2.6 points were so ugly.

"How is it possible?" Bong Joon-ho muttered, "2.6, how is it possible? Dong-soo, you tell me, how is this possible?"

Assistant Dong-soo didn't dare look at him, but kept staring at the score on the magazine, "It's these people who don't understand movies; you don't need to take it to heart at all, Brother. Just like what Director Park said last night, life is like a box of chocolates..."

". You never know what the next one will taste like. Dong-soo, you should watch more movies; that wasn't said by Director Park. Alright, I'm fine, I'm just a bit surprised."

"Let me see what on earth is going on." Bong Joon-ho shook his head, pulled himself together from the dizziness and frustration of going from heaven to hell, and picked up the magazine.

"This is a strange film.

From the subject matter, it is a film that uses suspense and crime as a shell to deeply explore human nature and social issues.

And whether it is suspense or the depth of exploration of human nature, it is not particularly prominent among the many excellent works at the Cannes Film Festival.

Even the plot logic is lacking.

The development and twists of some plots in the film are too abrupt, and at many critical moments, there is a lack of sufficient foreshadowing and reasonable explanation, making its coherence and credibility affected to a certain extent.

I can say that if it's just the film itself, it is so mediocre that it makes people unable to get excited; at most, it could be selected for the Un Certain Regard unit, and it definitely wouldn't touch the threshold of the main competition unit."

Bong Joon-ho couldn't bear to read anymore when he saw this.

Yesterday's hangover was like a resurrected serial killer, starting to saw his head with a chainsaw, and his whole eardrum felt buzzing.

He closed his eyes, leaned on the sofa, and said weakly: "Dong-soo, I don't want to read English anymore; translate it into Korean for me to listen to."

"Okay, Brother." The assistant who graduated from Yonsei University, proficient in Korean, French, and English, naturally had no problem translating a small film review.

It took less than ten minutes to translate the entire film review and finish reading it.

". The image of the mother in the film is too strong and extreme, and actress Kim Hye-ja's performance is also a bit stiff, not delicate or deep enough in character personality and psychological transformation, making me only see a paranoid single mother with a son-complex.

I don't know if this is the thought that commercial director Bong Joon-ho wants to express, but this undoubtedly makes my emotional resonance with the entire story greatly discounted.

Not to mention that some bridges in the film are deliberately intended to make people imagine, which is really disgusting.

Even a little bit of brilliance in the film's structure cannot cover up its failure as a whole.

This film is indeed a masterpiece.

But it is also not that good. It is like a piece of rotten wood, which makes people feel uncomfortable just smelling it, but at the same time, the flowers blooming on it might be the most beautiful.

If you want to enjoy the flowers, you must endure the stench; this is the helpless part."

Coincidentally, just as Dong-soo from Seoul finished reading the film review in standard Korean, another person with non-standard pronunciation called.

"Brother, have you seen today's 'Screen'? How can they be like this, it's simply too much." The voice on the phone sounded very indignant.

So much so that Bong Joon-ho couldn't help but look at the phone screen again. That's right, the name written on the screen was indeed "Chen Nuo my brother."

Then why would it be this tone?

Could it be that the "Screen" he read wasn't the same one that the honest dog Dong-soo just read?

Could it be that what he just heard, the so-called "Those two minutes and thirty-two seconds might be the most beautiful two minutes and thirty-two seconds among the thousands of masterpieces played in Lumière," was made up by Dong-soo?

Or was it, "From New York three years ago to the Korean countryside this year, what can make all Cannes filmmakers feel at ease is that his spirituality is still there."

"By the way, since December last year, among those who have loudly declared in countless newspapers and magazines that Chen has become another victim of Hollywood, it does not include me."

"I have always believed that Chen is by no means that kind of flash-in-the-pan genius. Otherwise, after Berlin blew the dust off this raw diamond in the mountains, he wouldn't have ultimately been polished into a diamond at Cannes three years ago."

"As a genius first discovered by Cannes, a young actor who won an Oscar at 22, how could he sink so low in Twilight overnight and not know how to act?"

"It can only be said that he grasped the subtle balance between commerce and art. Really want to know, if those who attacked him loudly at the beginning watched these two minutes and thirty-two seconds at the end of 'Mother', what would they say?"

"No need to connect to the plot, no need to analyze the director's metaphors, that's not worth it. Those who have the opportunity to walk into the cinema only need to be prepared at the last moment to appreciate what I consider the most artistic piece of film performance in the last decade, and that is enough."

Was this disgusting flattery talking about someone else?

Bong Joon-ho naturally thought not.

However, at the time the other party called, he still showed an indignant appearance. In Bong Joon-ho's mind, there was undoubtedly only one reason.

Fatty Bong was a bit moved, feeling a heat surging in his chest, and he said: "It doesn't matter, my brother, it doesn't matter if they don't understand; we know how the movie is ourselves. As long as you stand on Brother's side, that's enough."

Just as Bong Joon-ho finished speaking, the other party said angrily: "How can it not matter? Brother, what is written on it? Saying Teacher Hye-ja's performance is stiff, not delicate and deep enough?"

"What on earth is this dog-son named John Stroutt writing? The others are fine, but I firmly disagree with this part about Teacher Kim Hye-ja! Brother, how about this, you go directly to complain about them and let them take back all the magazines and burn them!"

Bong Joon-ho was silent for a few seconds, then said: "I know, I will consider it. That's it, see you at the closing ceremony, my brother."

PS:

There will be another chapter tomorrow during the day.

Moved by the monthly tickets of all the big bosses.

Currently coding!

(End of chapter)