Chapter 478: Shining at Cannes, Amin Causes Trouble

Although without Bingbing, 28-year-old Isabelle Adjani was equally dazzling, and she was also the most famous and talked-about female actress in Europe during this period.

She was a Cannes Film Festival Best Actress winner, a French César Award Best Actress winner, and an Oscar nominee for Best Actress.

When Wei Ming and Li Baotian walked the red carpet, almost no one paid attention; the moment Adjani appeared, the flashbulbs never stopped, relentlessly snapping at her.

At this time, Adjani had not yet begun dating Jean-Michel Jarre, Wei Ming’s French friend; her current partner was photographer Bruno Nuytten, whose status in the industry could not compare to hers, and who was also unremarkable in looks—suggesting Adjani must have been drawn to his talent.

As soon as Adjani entered, Wei Ming noticed that veteran men like Mel Gibson, Robert De Niro, and Takeshi Kitano began staring at her intently.

Compared to them, Wei Ming, who kept his gaze straight ahead, seemed like a proper gentleman; beside him, Melinda smiled: “If you want to look, just look—she really is beautiful.”

Wei Ming: “I think she’s average—not as beautiful as you.”

Melinda Gaskell had also come to Cannes, claiming she was on vacation.

The two were separated by distance, and with Wei Ming finally in Europe and staying for half a month, she certainly wouldn’t miss this opportunity—she was already twenty-five, at the prime age for childbearing.

Last night, Melinda arrived in Cannes, just three hours after Wei Ming and the others, then, under the excuse that all hotel rooms were full, moved in with her luggage into Wei Ming’s room; Bao and Li Baotian could only half-close one eye and strain both ears.

The red carpet parade continued; after several forgotten older men, another radiant flower caught the attention of reporters and men alike—the German actress Natasha Kinski.

Natasha Kinski’s Ruwei film was Jean-Jacques Beineix’s *Moonlighting by the Canal*.

She was the same age as Wei Ming, also twenty-two this year; she began modeling at thirteen, lived with the renowned director Roman Polanski at fifteen, rose to fame at eighteen in his *Tess*, and then entered Hollywood—often called the European version of Brooke Shields.

Unfortunately, her Polanski could never return to America, but Polanski would soon find an even younger girl: Emmaunuelle Céry, born in 1966.

As this beauty entered, Wei Ming and Melinda admired her together, whispering comments; behind them, Deputy Director Bao and Li Baotian, unable to understand English, could only fume in frustration—could these two really be openly flirting?

Finally, the festival president, director, and jury members appeared and delivered speeches.

Melinda had brought Wei Ming a collection of short stories by William Styron, the jury president; one of them, *The Expedition*, was based on his own experiences during the Korean War.

When the war broke out, Styron was drafted into the Marine Corps, but in 1952 he left the military due to an eye condition and turned his experiences at Lejeune Marine Corps Base in North Carolina into a novel.

Through this story, one could roughly understand why the Korean War had such low visibility in America, and how American soldiers and ordinary citizens viewed the conflict.

“Suddenly plunged into a war, a confusing, vague war, a war you couldn’t win without some trickery… It was a war without slogans, without praise, without heroes—for every soldier involved, this was truly unbearable…”

Wei Ming hoped to glimpse Styron’s attitude toward China from his work, but after reading, he still couldn’t grasp it clearly—the novel mentioned the Volunteer Army only sparingly, and at most, one could say there was no obvious hatred toward Chinese people.

Next came the opening film screening; the opening film was Andrei Tarkovsky’s *Nostalghia*, his sixth feature film.

Among today’s directors who can be called cinematic masters, fifty-one-year-old Andrei Tarkovsky was relatively young; those compared with him were Ingmar Bergman, Federico Fellini, Akira Kurosawa, and Stanley Kubrick—figures enshrined in film studies textbooks and history books.

Choosing this film as the opening feature clearly demonstrated Cannes’ respect for him.

Yet at this time, Andrei Tarkovsky’s life was far from smooth; *Nostalghia* was shot under difficult conditions in Italy.

Because his films were constantly interfered with by the Soviet film bureau—scripts rejected, funding slashed, completed films banned from screening—he was emotionally and physically exhausted, so this time he simply went abroad to shoot.

The Soviet film bureau’s retaliation was to detain his underage son, preventing father and son from meeting, and now they were still obstructing this film’s appearance at Cannes; they would not be reunited until after Andrei’s death.

If his films exposed the dark side of the Soviet Union, such interference might be understandable—but they didn’t; though hypnotic, Wei Ming had watched all his films in full.

His films were not narrative-driven genre pieces, but in cinematic aesthetics, they were unquestionable—he deserved the title “Poet of Cinema,” and his exploration of film’s artistic boundaries profoundly influenced directors like Lars von Trier, Denis Villeneuve, Alejandro González Iñárritu, and Bi Gan.

Even Martin Scorsese, a director already established and celebrated in America, sat rigidly during the screening, like a student in class.

Martin later made *The Last Temptation of Christ* inspired by Tarkovsky’s *Andrei Rublev*; after Tarkovsky’s death, Martin presided over the restoration and re-release of his films.

So a director’s status in the industry largely depends on how many later directors his filmmaking techniques influenced—especially major directors—and thus Andrei, Kurosawa, and Wang Jia Wei always rank highly in director rankings, as so many have benefited from their cinematic methods.

*Nostalghia* was one of Andrei Tarkovsky’s more accessible works and among his finest in his career.

The protagonist’s name was Andrei, a poet—a clear reflection of the director’s own circumstances.

With English subtitles, Wei Ming found it easy to follow, especially since he had seen it before.

Old Bao had a slight advantage over Li Baotian because the few lines of dialogue were in Russian, and men of his generation had some basic understanding.

Only Li Baotian, who knew neither Russian nor English, could only watch the images—but even the images alone were a pleasure for him, for they were stunning, possessing an oil-painting texture, a poetic beauty.

And coincidentally, this film also featured scenes of collecting rainwater in different containers, though Wei Ming’s treatment was more romantic.

Li Baotian assumed the judges couldn’t understand the plot of *The Sheepfold Class*, so he unconsciously compared the visuals of *The Sheepfold Class* with those of *Nostalghia*.

Wei Ming and those film school kids had also put great effort into visual beauty; *Nostalghia* had an oil-painting texture, meticulously composed frames, and the director especially excelled in using mirrors to tell stories.

Wei Ming, however, preferred sunlight; in *The Sheepfold Class*, the sun was a crucial narrative prop, and there was even the insert song *Planting the Sun*.

As he thought, Li Baotian suddenly lowered his head in embarrassment, as the female lead began undressing, revealing one side of her snowy white skin.

He glanced at Bao Tongzhi; no wonder he was Deputy Director of the Film Bureau, regularly reviewing foreign films—this level of exposure was nothing to him.

As for Wei Ming, he was even more composed; not only was this just a film, but even in person, he had seen and experienced her last night.

Although Li Baotian didn’t fully understand the story, when the final scene appeared—showing the male lead sitting on the ground with his dog, his childhood home placed among ancient Roman ruins, reality and illusion indistinguishable—he truly felt “nostalgia” made tangible.

When the film ended, applause erupted and lasted without pause; fellow filmmakers and critics who loved cinematic art were clearly moved by Andrei’s story and visuals; they whispered to each other, exchanging thoughts on the film’s lingering resonance, praising Old Tarkovsky as always—every work a masterpiece.

Yet Sergei Bondarchuk, a Soviet director and one of the jurors, frowned deeply—he had come here with a mission.

After the screening, Wei Ming introduced Melinda to Old Bao and Old Li; Melinda spoke Chinese, so communication was smooth, and she warmly treated the two Chinese men to a French meal.

Having eaten their food, Bao could no longer say anything; though this might have negative consequences, Xiao Wei was a single young man, and Melinda had once been his lover.

During dinner, they met Martin Scorsese; he acted as if just meeting Wei Ming, suddenly shaking his hand warmly.

“I just learned from a friend that last year’s short film *The Witness* was your work—a truly indisputable masterpiece; many Hollywood directors were inspired by it,” Martin said.

He had always assumed Wei Ming was a complete newcomer who had plunged into the film industry; he never expected that the wildly popular short film last year came from his hand.

Previously, Martin had thought Wei Ming was too young—that the committee must have selected his film for his literary achievements and influence; now it seemed his new film must have merit, making him even more eager to see *The Sheepfold Class*.

The screening schedule had now been released.

More than twenty main competition entries would be screened two or three times over the next twelve days in alternating slots.

*The Sheepfold Class*’s premiere was scheduled later, so Wei Ming could first go support Martin’s new film.

But if Martin’s *King of Comedy* clashed with Adjani’s *A Stagnant Summer*, Wei Ming would definitely choose the latter.

After a full day of activity, Wei Ming and Melinda returned to the hotel; they had just lain down when Li Baotian knocked on the door.

“Deputy Director Bao said the Xinhua News Agency’s France bureau will come tomorrow to take photos and interview us—so you should pay attention to your appearance.”

Wei Ming acknowledged—he wouldn’t let Melinda leave any hickeys on him.

“I thought we wouldn’t have any of our own media here,” Wei Ming chuckled, since back home he’d rarely seen news coverage of films nominated for Europe’s Big Three festivals.

At that moment, Deputy Director Bao opened his door and appeared: “There used to be coverage—photo ops and interviews were always arranged; it’s just that after we didn’t win any awards, there was no big publicity. Sure, participation matters, but results matter too.”

Besides the Xinhua reporters, because two Japanese films had entered the main competition, many Japanese media outlets had also come; though they didn’t directly interview Wei Ming, they did photograph him walking the red carpet, and the images were faxed back the same day of the opening ceremony.

Hong Kong’s *Ming Pao* learned of Wei Ming’s feature debut *The Sheepfold Class* entering the Cannes main competition only through Japanese media reports.

Though late, Jin Yong promptly dispatched a reporter to Cannes to secure exclusive news.

Gong Ying and Zhou Hui had already known the news several days earlier, as Wei Ming had mentioned in his letter that he would be staying in France for a while.

Gong Ying could only send distant blessings, hoping Xiao Wei would win an award—any award, big or small, would be a major breakthrough for Chinese live-action cinema.

Zhou Hui, however, was bolder; she wasn’t sure whether Wei Ming would detour to Hong Kong after returning from France, given that mainlanders often had to follow organizational arrangements.