Chapter 4: The More Important Question Than the Director

Many in the classroom exchanged glances; a short-haired, efficient girl spoke up directly:

“I don’t think it’s necessary. ‘Bus 44’ is written so well—if it doesn’t win, I won’t accept it!”

With this girl leading, others quickly chimed in agreement.

But then a boy raised his hand and said:

“I fully admire the script of ‘Bus 44,’ but Wu Yuchen has only been in university for a month—can he even handle directing?”

“Wang Hongwei, aren’t you from the Literature Department too? Aren’t you a newcomer to directing too?!” the short-haired girl retorted.

Wu Yuchen turned his head toward the voice—it was Wang Hongwei!

Wang Hongwei was Jia Zhangke’s go-to actor, the one who played Xiao Wu, even appearing nude in the film—truly sacrificing for art.

“I don’t mean anything by it. Everyone admires the script, and Wu Yuchen has the most right to speak—but I just want us to carefully consider how to shoot it well.”

Wang Hongwei explained with a sheepish grin.

If you ask whether Wang Hongwei had ulterior motives, of course he did!

But his motive wasn’t for himself—it was for his best friend, Jia Zhangke.

As Jia Zhangke’s close friend and roommate, Wang Hongwei knew his heart best. He knew Jia Zhangke craved this opportunity, so he wanted to help his best friend fight for it.

Wu Yuchen smiled faintly, completely unfazed.

He stood up deliberately, clapped his hands twice, and drew everyone’s attention.

“Thank you all for your appreciation of my script.

But compared to choosing a director, I think there’s a more important issue.”

Wu Yuchen didn’t answer Wang Hongwei’s question at all—he changed the subject outright.

The classmates all turned to Wu Yuchen, wondering what this more important issue could be.

Wu Yuchen thought to himself: What adorable students—only dreaming, ready to act at a moment’s notice!

Wu Yuchen scanned the room:

“Money!

Have any of you seriously calculated how much it would cost to shoot this short film?”

Everyone froze, stunned he’d brought up such a practical issue.

This youth film group was formed by young people united by passion, hobby, and idealism.

Full of fiery enthusiasm and ready to act—that was their greatest trait, which meant none of them had ever seriously considered how much money it would take to make a film.

But now that Wu Yuchen raised it, they had to face it—and yet, they just stared at each other, unable to name a single figure.

Wu Yuchen smiled:

“We can calculate item by item.

First, how long do you think our short film should be?”

Everyone chattered, agreeing that even as a short, it shouldn’t be too short—minimum thirty minutes.

Wu Yuchen watched them, thinking: Another flaw of inexperienced newcomers—greedy for quantity!

Wu Yuchen nodded without arguing and asked further:

“Then, given our experience and ability, how many days do you think it would take to shoot?”

Wu Yuchen looked at Jia Zhangke.

Jia Zhangke paused, then said: “We’ve all got no experience. Some directors are fast, some slow. Let’s take an average—ten days okay?”

Everyone agreed. If a 90-minute feature takes a month, then thirty minutes in ten days made perfect sense.

Wu Yuchen nodded with a smile and continued:

“Let me calculate for you.

First, film stock cost.

Currently, established directors in China require a shooting ratio of three to one or four to one.

We have no experience—I’ll be generous and use five to one.

That means shooting a thirty-minute short requires 180 minutes of film.

Most of us now use 35mm or 16mm film.

A 400-foot roll of 35mm film costs 1,500 yuan and shoots four minutes.

A 1,000-foot roll of 16mm film costs 1,200 yuan and shoots ten minutes.

35mm film is too expensive—we can’t afford it.

At 16mm, 180 minutes needs eighteen rolls, 1,200 yuan each—total 21,600 yuan.

That’s just shooting. Post-production—editing, developing, sound mixing, and creating the master—costs even more than the film stock!”

“Add it all up—I’m estimating fifty thousand yuan total.”

He’d already stunned the students, but Wu Yuchen wasn’t done—he held up another finger:

“Now, shooting equipment.

A 16mm camera rents for 1,000 yuan per day.

A Nagra recorder costs at least 500 yuan per day.

…

Plus actor fees, crew wages, food and drink, props rental—minimum 1,000 yuan per day.

That’s at least 4,000 yuan per day, and we’re shooting ten days—forty thousand yuan.”

Finally, Wu Yuchen looked around the room and concluded:

“According to these estimates, to shoot this short film, we need at least ninety thousand yuan.

If anything goes wrong, we’ll need at least one hundred thousand!”

The students sat stunned. They were just students—even those with part-time jobs couldn’t possibly afford one hundred thousand yuan.

It was 1995; most people earned only a few hundred yuan a month.

They’d spent countless nights watching films, debating, passionately writing.

They’d dreamed of making a dazzling, groundbreaking work together—only to hit this first, crushing reality.

They stared at each other, speechless.

Like a bonfire doused with cold water, the entire classroom fell silent.

Wu Yuchen had given these students a hard lesson in reality.

He also felt a pang—filmmaking in the film-stock era was this expensive, this high a barrier!

Back then, Chinese directors weren’t like Hollywood’s rich, reckless ones—they saved every foot of film, even Zhang Yimou kept his ratio under 1:5.

Not everyone was Jiang Wen, who dared to shoot 250,000 feet of film for his debut as director, ‘In the Heat of the Sun,’ achieving a staggering 1:15 ratio, with one scene alone requiring 1,300 meters of film!

Wu Yuchen had calculated: Jiang Wen spent 1.01 million yuan just on film stock—enough for many directors to make two films.

Unlike the digital age, where Ning Hao shot his 90-minute ‘Incense’ with a DV camera for just thirty thousand yuan.

But Wu Yuchen saw some students looking dejected—he knew he couldn’t crush them too hard, or how would he convince… cough, rally them for crowdfunding?

“Don’t give up yet—we can still make the film!” Wu Yuchen raised his hand and smiled.

Seeing Wu Yuchen’s calm, confident aura, many instinctively felt hopeful, eager to hear his solution.

Wu Yuchen handed his script to Jia Zhangke: “Everyone, please take a look at my script.”