Chapter 96: Looking at the Top Ten Box Office

To be fair, Hong Kong’s prices are genuinely high—a bowl of wonton noodles costs forty to fifty dollars. The wrap party had three tables, not some luxury hotel, but Wu Yuchen guessed each table must’ve cost two to three thousand Hong Kong dollars; back on the mainland, you could pull it off for three to five hundred. But it was just this one meal, so Wu Yuchen didn’t stint.

At Wu Yuchen’s table, besides the main creatives and leads, were also staff from Silver Metropolis and Lo Ka Ying.

Naturally, the evening began with celebrations, but once the atmosphere warmed up, the topic unexpectedly shifted to Hong Kong’s housing prices.

A Silver Metropolis employee began complaining: back in ’95, he’d planned to take out a loan to buy a flat, but prices kept climbing—over the past year and a half, they’d risen over 50% on average, and now he deeply regretted it.

Ni Dahong asked: “How much is housing in Hong Kong now?”

Lo Ka Ying gestured with his hand: “Around seven thousand.”

Ni Dahong sighed: “Good heavens, that’s more than double Beijing’s prices!”

Wu Yuchen said: “Teacher Ni, Hong Kong houses are priced by square feet. Lo Uncle means seven thousand per square foot—that’s sixty-five thousand Hong Kong dollars per square meter.”

What Hong Kong calls a “thousand-square-foot luxury villa” is actually just ninety-three square meters.

With Wu Yuchen’s explanation, not just Ni Dahong, but Fu Dalong, Li Xiaoran, and others at the table were stunned.

“Sixty-five thousand per square meter?! Is this house made of gold or silver? So I work my whole life and can’t even afford a toilet?” Ni Dahong, now middle-aged, hadn’t saved sixty-five thousand himself.

Lo Ka Ying waved his hand: “It’s all speculation! Lucky I’ve got no kids, no wife—I just earn enough to feed myself, easy and free!”

A Hong Konger beside Wu Yuchen asked: “Director Wu, how many cadres are there on the mainland?”

Wu Yuchen was taken aback: “I’m not sure—I’m curious why you’re asking?”

“Everyone’s saying prices won’t drop. Once Hong Kong returns, a million mainland cadres will all come here to buy homes. There’s a row of villas under construction near Line 9, called ‘official housing,’ each priced at twenty to thirty million—reserved exclusively for senior cadres!”

Hearing this with such conviction, the mainlanders at the table exchanged glances—they didn’t yet know the local buzzword: “Red Chip Takeover,” meaning they were certain the mainland would inevitably buy in, so speculation ran wild.

Wu Yuchen cleared his throat:

“I don’t know if there’s a million, but I’m certain even if there were, over ninety percent couldn’t afford Hong Kong housing now. This is all real estate developers pulling the wool over your eyes. I suggest you wait and watch—study Tokyo’s housing trends from a few years back.”

He knew that once Hong Kong returned next year and the British left, this inflated price bubble would burst—prices would plummet 80% within a few years, creating hundreds of thousands of negative-equity owners. But no one here believed him now; he’d just given a warning.

The Hong Kongers at the table exchanged glances, unsure how much they’d taken in.

On their walk back that night, Ni Dahong remarked:

“Everyone on the mainland says capitalist glitter is wonderful, but I say their lives aren’t better than ours!”

“They spend their whole lives serving capitalists—where’s the energy left for dreams or happiness?”

“Teacher Ni’s right—spending your whole life for one apartment, what’s the point of living?” Fu Dalong agreed.

On the mainland, the housing price frenzy hadn’t started yet; few worried about housing. The general belief was: if you land a good job locally, housing won’t be a big problem.

But Wu Yuchen couldn’t help adding:

“I think if you’ve got spare cash, buy a place in Beijing these next few years—solve your living situation first. Once our economy grows, housing prices will rise. Only with material security and peace of mind can you truly pursue ideals and happiness, right?”

“You’re right, Director Wu—Beijing is the national center. But I figure prices won’t go beyond ten or twenty thousand tops—how could they be as crazy as in the capitalist world!” Ni Dahong laughed.

These words made Wu Yuchen’s chest tighten slightly—he’d always assumed they were different, but in the end, everyone was the same. Yet seeing Fu Dalong, Li Xiaoran, and others nodding in full agreement, he said nothing more.

The filming of Lola Runs Fast slightly exceeded budget, mainly because Hong Kong’s prices were so high—over a month of shooting meant constant expenses for food and lodging, everything cost more than on the mainland, so Wu Yuchen had to withdraw an extra hundred thousand U.S. dollars.

He also had no intention of returning to Beijing for post-production—he’d complete everything here in Hong Kong, even hiring local musicians for the soundtrack.

As previously mentioned, Lola Runs Fast can be seen as a game, and this was clearly reflected in its music: heavy use of electronic music, not only creating tension but making you feel like you’re playing a video game. This highly rhythmic electronic and rock style was currently more advanced in Hong Kong than on the mainland.

Earlier, Wu Yuchen had already been performing rinsing and editing while shooting, so he saved time on those tasks—within days, he completed other production work and began seeking musicians for the score.

Wu Yuchen, arm around Li Xiaoran—whose hair had been re-dyed black—walked into a cinema and bought tickets in English.

After buying tickets, Li Xiaoran rolled her eyes and complained:

“People here in Hong Kong are so snobbish—speak Mandarin and they’re dismissive; speak English and they instantly change their attitude!”

“It’s just like those people you meet on set—kowtowing to the powerful, stepping on the weak. Economically developed regions generally look down on less developed ones with superiority and arrogance.”

“I haven’t seen Beijing discriminate against outsiders that much~”

“That’s exactly why we need to reclaim Hong Kong sooner rather than later—the longer we wait, the harder it’ll be!” They chatted as they walked into the theater.

In 1996, Hong Kong cinema was the year of Young and Dangerous—the series turned Tony Leung into a superstar overnight. Four of the top ten Hong Kong films of the year were Tony Leung’s, three of them Young and Dangerous!

But it’s just flashy, fleeting excitement—buy a DVD and watch it once.

Today, Wu Yuchen took Li Xiaoran to see Sweet Heart, just released this month, starring Leon Lai and Maggie Cheung—this was the true classic film of the handover era.

Watching the nearly four-minute “chance meeting in the crowd” at the end, Wu Yuchen still marveled—it was brilliantly done, whether in acting or direction: not a single line of dialogue, only news broadcasts and Teresa Teng’s song, yet it left an unforgettable impression.

Director Chen Kaige really had talent!

This film was actually shot simultaneously by Chen Kaige—he negotiated with Golden Harvest by agreeing to direct the commercial film Flowers of War 2, in exchange for funding Sweet Heart. To ensure Golden Harvest didn’t cut funding for the art film, he’d shoot a scene of Flowers of War 2, then a scene of Sweet Heart, then back to Flowers of War 2—cross-cutting the two films. Brilliant.

Workers must master every trick to negotiate with capital!

Amid the song Sweet Heart, Li Xiaoran leaned her head on Wu Yuchen’s shoulder: “It’s so nice—they ended up together.”

Wu Yuchen rubbed her hair and asked: “Do you think Maggie Cheung acted well?”

“Of course! That scene where she tried to smile after seeing Zeng Zhiwei’s corpse, then burst into tears—she was incredible!”

Li Xiaoran sighed—she’d experienced firsthand how hard emotional transitions were in her own filming, so she was awed by Maggie Cheung’s performance.

Wu Yuchen chuckled and said: “What if I told you she didn’t act that—she just broke character and laughed?”

“Impossible!”

Li Xiaoran immediately disbelieved, but seeing Wu Yuchen’s calm expression, she asked: “Really?”

“When she saw the tattoo on Zeng Zhiwei’s corpse—green dragon on the left, white tiger on the right, with Mickey Mouse in the middle—she burst out laughing. Then she realized it was wrong and quickly switched to crying. The director was unhappy and made her do over ten more takes, but in editing, they found the accidental laugh take was the best.”

Wu Yuchen explained to Li Xiaoran, then said:

“Relax your mindset—sometimes, acting isn’t better when you’re tense all the time. Natural reactions matter too. When off-camera, return to life—your performance should come from your lived experience.”

These past few days, whenever he had free time, Wu Yuchen took Li Xiaoran out walking and to the movies, pulling her back into real life—so far, the effect was good.

Li Xiaoran nodded thoughtfully. Participating in Lola Runs Fast had given her so much—when she returned, she’d go back to school and retrain her fundamentals.

Walking out of the cinema, Wu Yuchen looked back at the poster of Maggie Cheung from Sweet Heart—in a few months, she’d be a jury member at the Berlin Film Festival. Would she support him?

After sorting out the music, the final cut was quickly ready. Wu Yuchen watched it once, found no issues, and immediately mailed the tape to the Berlin Film Festival.

Technically, he’d missed the November 30 deadline, but that date was really just for show—artists aren’t that rigid. The art world is a circle of acquaintances; many well-known directors submitted entries after the deadline and still got in, as long as they sent their films before the official January 31 list was published.

Wu Yuchen wasn’t very famous, but he’d just won the Berlin Short Film Golden Bear last year—he was essentially Berlin’s own. He simply claimed the courier had lost the package and resubmitted it, and no one questioned it.

After nearly two months in Hong Kong, Wu Yuchen returned to Beijing in December—the temperature was far colder than Hong Kong’s. Back in Beijing, Wu Yuchen didn’t rest long before heading straight to Beiyingchang.

In the factory director’s office, Han Sanping smiled and asked Wu Yuchen:

“Young Director Wu, how was your shoot in Hong Kong?”

“Thanks to you, with your coordination, Silver Metropolis was very cooperative—saved me a huge amount of trouble! I came back right after filming to report to you!”

Han Sanping asked kindly: “Why not take a week off? Your health matters!”

Wu Yuchen shook his head with a smile: “The shoot was already late—I can’t afford to delay until the New Year and make the whole crew hate me!”

Han Sanping stopped urging him, nodded, and said:

“Young Director Wu, I’ve already assembled your crew. Cui Jian and Jiang Wu got the script a month ago. We’ve sent people to Hacheng to cast the child roles—each part has three or five candidates, but you’ll need to decide in person.”

"Young Director Wu, I’ve already set up the entire crew for you; Cui Jian and Jiang Wu received the script a month ago, and we’ve sent people to Hacheng to audition young actors—each child role has three or five candidates, but you’ll need to go there in person to make the final decision."

“Hahaha, it’s my duty—after all, it’s a Beiyingchang project!” Han Sanping laughed heartily.

When Wu Yuchen first approached Han Sanping, he’d promised a collaboration after Lola Runs Fast. So while Wu was in Hong Kong, Han had already assembled the entire crew and prepared everything—waiting only for Wu’s return to begin shooting.

Originally, it was a verbal two-studio collaboration, but Wu Yuchen reconsidered and decided to bring Qingyingchang on board—they’d helped him before, and this was likely a box office hit; Qingyingchang couldn’t be left out.

After discussing with Han Sanping and Hou Ke Ming, Beiyingchang and Miracle Pictures each invested 40%, Qingyingchang 20%—total funding: 1.2 million yuan.

Wu Yuchen’s next film was purely aimed at the domestic box office: a tearjerker, My Brothers and Sisters.

The film was released in 2001 with a national box office of 26 million yuan; that year’s total national box office was 870 million.

Next year is 1997, with a total national box office of around 1.1 billion. If we simply calculate by proportion, this film should earn over 30 million.

Of course, box office results can’t be calculated so mechanically—they depend heavily on social trends, market tastes, and marketing.

My Brothers and Sisters is a tearjerker like Mother, Mother Again—no high artistry, just one goal: make everyone cry!

Wu Yuchen estimated that in 1997, the social climate and market taste would make this film even more fitting—and more tear-inducing—than in 2001.

As for marketing, Wu Yuchen thought of this film because of that department head, Yu Dong!

In his past life, Yu Dong quit in anger after Beiyingchang merged into New China Film, his entire department dissolved. He founded Bona Entertainment himself and made 26 million yuan from this 2-million-yuan indie—earning massive profit and instant industry recognition.

Now, Yu Dong was already at Beiyingchang—he could be used directly, and this time he’d leverage Beiyingchang’s entire marketing network, far exceeding the influence Yu Dong had when he first launched Bona.

So analyzing all angles, Wu Yuchen believed that if he could make My Brothers and Sisters well, the box office wouldn’t fall below 30 million—he could even aim for 40 million, and definitely crack next year’s top ten!

So after analyzing from all angles, Wu Yuchen felt that as long as he could make this film, My Brothers and Sisters, well, the box office wouldn’t be lower than thirty million, could even aim for forty million, and would surely make next year’s top ten box office list!