Chapter 101: Split Screen Montage

On July 22, 2002, Lu Kuan was in the editing room at the Beijing Film Academy, giving some instructions to Ning Hao and the others, when someone suddenly patted him on the shoulder.

"Ouch!"

Boss Lu spun around abruptly, then gasped in pain as he clutched his waist and sat down.

"Master Tian, why do you walk without making a sound? You’ll scare a person to death!"

Tian Zhuangzhuang’s face remained as calm as a stagnant well: "What’s wrong with your waist? A simple turn shouldn't be enough to pull a muscle, right?"

"Young people these days, your bodies are just too weak."

Lu Kuan had grievances he couldn't voice; his kidneys had been suffering lately.

Fan Bingbing hadn't had many announcements recently, and she had come to him again last night to report on her work for the entire evening.

A strong man with vigor, a woman long deprived—it was inevitably another sleepless night.

Tian Zhuangzhuang’s visit was to check on the editing progress of *Whiplash* and to inquire about Lu Kuan’s college entrance exam results.

"Oh! Don't worry, Master Tian, there shouldn't be any issues. But if there are any accidents, I'll still have to trouble you to put in a good word..."

Lu Kuan and Tian Zhuangzhuang walked outside the editing room, and he sycophantically handed the old man a cigarette.

The cultural course requirement for undergraduate admission to the Directing Department was 70% of the first-tier admission line in the candidate's home province. In 2002, the first-tier line in Jiangsu Province was 552, so 70% was 387 points.

With Chinese, Math, and English at 150 points each totaling 450, plus 300 for the comprehensive exam, the total was 750. Lu Kuan scoring 387 shouldn't be too much of a problem.

After all, in his past life, he was an undergraduate of the Beijing Film Academy and a master’s graduate of USC; just the Chinese and English subjects alone could earn him plenty of points.

"I don't have that kind of ability; this matter depends on yourself."

Tian Zhuangzhuang glanced at him, then offered an idea.

"Speed up the editing of *Whiplash*. I’ll talk to President Zhang and have you hold a small-scale screening at the standard projection room when the time comes."

Lu Kuan understood what he meant: in case his cultural scores didn't pass, this stunning film work could earn him some extra points with Zhang Huijun.

Rules are rules, and personal favors are personal favors. In domestic society, there are no true thresholds or one-size-fits-all policies; everything is open to negotiation.

The prerequisite is that you have to have some substance. If you’re nothing, the back door certainly won't be opened for you.

"Yes! Understood!"

Seeing him jumping around like a monkey, Tian Zhuangzhuang gestured for him to head downstairs together.

"Master Tian, where are we going?"

"Taking you to the Beijing Film Studio to look around and learn how Hollywood directors shoot films."

"Hollywood? Who?"

"Quentin."

Dead memories suddenly attacked; Boss Lu instantly recalled his past life, when a group of Beijing Film Academy students lined up, scrambling to observe the set.

Quentin had arrived in Jingcheng in May. The interior scenes for O-Ren Ishii’s revenge portion in *Kill Bill* were moved from Tokyo to Jingcheng, a decision made by Miramax to cut costs.

But Quentin had too much fun in Jingcheng, leading to endless blunders where three days of action scenes on the schedule would drag on for eight weeks before completion.

This caused the final film budget to surge by 50% from 36 million USD, even exceeding the estimated cost in Tokyo...

The two walked in silence, passing through the crowd of extras gathered in front of the Beijing Film Studio gate.

Under the scorching sun, those figures, nearly wilted from the heat, were still craning their necks in anticipation. If it weren't for the *Blind Shaft* crew, "Sha Gen" would likely be one of them right now.

*Blind Shaft* had finished filming in May; by now, post-production should be nearly complete.

Lu Kuan had been too busy lately; he had only discussed editing ideas with Li Yang after the wrap, and he planned to find another time to watch the final cut.

Entering the *Kill Bill* set, Quentin’s screams were incessant, mixed with a stream of f-words without any cooldown.

"Stop! Stop!" With a desperate, hoarse scream, Chen Feihu shook his head at his master and finally gave up.

Yuen Woo-ping looked at the white man lying on the ground like a dead pig, exposing a patch of white belly, and said helplessly: "Quentin, let's change actors. You can't play this role."

The foot-fetish director weakly raised his hand to signal agreement, giving up on playing the role of "Master Pai Mei" in the film.

The set erupted in another round of good-natured laughter; everyone was happy to witness the bloopers of a Palme d'Or-winning director.

Lu Kuan looked closely—whoa! Half the industry was here!

Zhang Yimou, Chen Kaige, Jiang Wen, and Jiang Zhiqiang.

There was also a burly man who looked slightly unfamiliar, but Lu Kuan recognized him; this was Han Shanping’s secretary, Gao Chengsheng.

Zhang Yimou greeted Tian Zhuangzhuang first, then noticed Lu Kuan on the side.

"Little Lu, long time no see."

"Hello, Director Zhang. I'm here today following Master Tian to observe and learn."

Zhang Yimou smiled kindly, the nasolabial folds on his face deepening; he had a very good impression of this young man.

Aside from his bluntness about the structural problems of his script during the fourth round of auditions, it was also evident in his composed and unyielding attitude after the conflict with the Xiangjiang filmmakers.

"I heard from Zhuangzhuang that your film is almost finished. Will you invite me to the screening then?"

"Of course, you are most welcome!"

In this setting, Boss Lu certainly had to be humble; a whole group of people was watching.

The three exchanged pleasantries and continued watching Quentin film.

He was seen constantly wiping sweat with a handkerchief, discussing problems intensely with the Chinese first assistant director, Zhang Jinzhan, as well as the cinematography and art departments.

Chen Kaige and several other big directors formed a circle, listening to the translator’s relay.

Lu Kuan didn't need a translator; he quickly understood Quentin’s confusion.

There were two main points.

First, there was a plot in *Kill Bill* where the assassin goes to the hospital to kill the heroine. Quentin felt the plot was too tedious and the narrative method wasn't innovative enough.

Simply depicting the female assassin killing her way into the hospital, all the way to the fierce battle with the heroine in the hospital bed and her subsequent defeat, seemed too plain.

As everyone knew, Quentin was famous for the non-linear narrative structure in *Pulp Fiction*, and he had extremely high standards for the narrative language of his films.

The second point was that before the duel between O-Ren Ishii and the Bride, a bloody growth history of O-Ren Ishii needed to be inserted.

This flashback couldn't overshadow the main plot, yet it had to be naturally embedded so the audience wouldn't feel it was abrupt. This was a great test of a director’s overall planning ability in film editing.

The set quickly fell into a deathly silence, with only Quentin’s occasional f-words popping up; everyone was lost in thought.

Film is an ancient art, and the techniques of modern cinema are already very mature.

And Quentin is called a film genius precisely because he has his own innovations in narrative structure and visual expression.

This was also the purpose of the group of Chinese directors coming to observe and exchange ideas.

Zhang Yimou spoke first: "Quentin, this segment is indeed a bit abrupt. Not to mention disrupting the narrative structure, it mainly affects the rhythm of the plot. Beatrix’s revenge rhythm will be interrupted, and the audience’s previous experience will have a pause here."

Jiang Wen was mainly considering the second problem, which was somewhat similar to the shots of the police chief in his film *Devils on the Doorstep*.

"Quentin, for the first part, how about this: skip the female assassin’s preparation work, start with a close-up of the heroine, and then use a Hitchcock zoom to build up the tension?"

Quentin’s eyes lit up, but he immediately shook his head: "This kind of zoom is too dependent on the background. The hospital bed background doesn't have enough lens language to reflect it; the effect probably won't be very good."

Boss Lu found it amusing; for him, these two questions were like an open-book exam.

"Split screen montage!"

A split screen montage is exactly that.

He said this in English. While the group of Chinese directors was still waiting for the translator to relay, Quentin had already started previewing this plan in his mind.

Chen Kaige’s expression was somewhat displeased: "Zhuangzhuang, in such an occasion, don't let your student interrupt, lest he embarrass himself."

Boss Lu glanced at him with disdain.

Embarrass himself? It’s your pants that aren't tied right, exposing you.

Speaking up was just posturing, suppressing others, and acting superior based on seniority—it was disgusting.

Over there, Quentin slapped his thigh: "Genius idea!"

He stood up and walked over, inviting Lu Kuan to the monitor.

"Friend, tell me your thoughts."

The group of big directors looked at each other. Zhang Yimou, Jiang Wen, Tian Zhuangzhuang, and the others all had their eyes light up when they heard the translated term "split screen montage."

Only Chen Kaige’s face was gloomy, feeling he had lost face.

Foreigners are just foreigners, not understanding any social etiquette. I spoke up to reprimand you, yet you treat him as an honored guest?

Boss Lu didn't care about that; he already knew who among those present was the real deal and who was a total fraud!

"It’s very simple. A split screen montage serves to juxtapose time and space."

"On one side, depict the female assassin’s preparations; on the other, show the heroine’s helplessness. The two can create a strong contrast."

"Here, set the heroine up as a lamb waiting to be slaughtered; her counter-kill later will be very satisfying."

The principle here is similar to that of a 'satisfying' web novel: the author must use every possible means to suppress the protagonist, suppress the reader’s emotions, and then, in one moment of showing off, dominate the world.

Jiang Wen clapped in admiration: "This idea is truly wonderful! How should we handle the flashback of O-Ren Ishii?"

Tian Zhuangzhuang and Zhang Yimou nodded incessantly, looking forward to Lu Kuan’s answer.

"For this part, we can try using animation, in a Japanese manga style."

Lu Kuan asked the art department for a few sheets of paper and quickly sketched out some Japanese-style scenes and manga compositions.

This was the basic skill of a USC master’s graduate in his past life; there is no excellent director who isn't skilled at drawing storyboards.

Quentin and the Chinese directors all gathered around to look closely, each engaging in their own brainstorming.

Tian Zhuangzhuang asked skeptically: "Won't that be too abrupt, going from realistic shots to manga style?"

Lu Kuan explained with a smile: "There are two benefits to doing this."

"First, using manga style instead of live-action filming allows for a larger scale; many blood-splattering and frequent stabbing actions are impossible for real people to perform."

"Second, using a different expressive technique distinguishes it from the main plot, without affecting the integrity of the narrative structure, and it’s more stylized and tension-filled."

Quentin never looked up from start to finish; he just had the monitor replay the live-action version of O-Ren Ishii’s revenge, crazily immersing himself in the perspective of Japanese manga.

"Crazy idea!"

Zhang Yimou and the others all looked at the young director with approval.

To call the solution to these two problems a stroke of genius might be an exaggeration, but it was indeed the optimal solution at present.

Tian Zhuangzhuang watched as Lu Kuan and Quentin spoke eloquently in fluent English; Zhang Yimou and the others nearby listened intently, feeling very gratified in their hearts.

This fifth-generation director, who still harbored great aspirations despite his age, had returned to the Beijing Film Academy to take up the teaching baton once more, all to cultivate the next generation of film talent.

His golden decade had been banned, and it was difficult for him to have the urge to create, so he might as well put his remaining energy to use.

At the annual awards ceremony of the China Film Directors' Guild in 2017, he had once spoken on behalf of fifth-generation directors like Zhang Yimou and Chen Kaige.

At that time, his face, already lined with the ravages of time, showed no signs of old age, but was instead filled with grand wishes and hopes.

His tone was smooth, without any agitation:

We are a generation of transition, but in this society, we have seen people, seen the heavens, seen the earth, and we know what love is, what responsibility is, and what giving is.

We later put all of this into our films, using our own lives to make movies; I think this is perhaps the attitude of our generation.

I hope future filmmakers will be the same, passing down the backbone of our Chinese filmmakers from generation to generation.

Seeing Lu Kuan, who was like an uncut jade, he naturally felt the excitement of a hunter spotting prey.

Tian Zhuangzhuang decided to have a word with Zhang Huijun first; he could not miss out on such a good talent.

Boss Lu had put on a big show in front of others again, and returned to the Beijing Film Academy feeling satisfied, calling Ning Hao to go eat dinner.

The two had to return to the editing room after eating, so they were too lazy to run outside the school and went straight to the canteen's Xinjiang restaurant to eat hand-grabbed rice.

"What's wrong? If you have something to say, just spit it out!"

Boss Lu, his mouth oily from gnawing on lamb chops, glanced at Ning Hao opposite him.

Ning Hao was tongue-tied as if constipated one moment, and shifting left and right as if he had hemorrhoids the next.

"Um, Director Lu, oh no, Boss Lu!"

"My script is just about finished, I want to... hehe..."

Boss Lu knew exactly what was going on: "What's the budget?"

"I plan to set the location in Shancheng, and for the actors, I'll try to find those whose reputation exceeds their fame, or those who are professionally trained from the Central Academy of Drama or the Beijing Film Academy."

Ning Hao gritted his teeth and reported a number: "6 million!"

Boss Lu secretly chuckled; this number was about the same as the funding he had proposed when seeking the "Asian Star Director" project from Liu Dehua in his later life.

"As a director, I understand that you want as much funding as possible."

"But as a producer, I suggest you first scout locations and draw up storyboards, and then give me a qualified and compliant budget before we talk."

This was Ning Hao's first feature-length theatrical film, and Lu Kuan wanted to gradually train him to operate according to the standardized processes of Hollywood film crews, which would also be beneficial for his future career.

The biggest benefit was to ensure he didn't cause trouble or exceed the budget for himself, the investor.

Ning Hao didn't care about that; he thanked him repeatedly, full of excitement.

In fact, he had only mentioned it in passing, but after fighting side-by-side with Lu Kuan against the few from Xiangjiang, he knew that Boss Lu was far from as simple as he appeared on the surface.

Therefore, he had pinned his hopes for the funding of his first film on him, never expecting Lu Kuan to agree so readily.

He was happy, and Boss Lu was even happier.

Everyone knew who would film this; once it was finished, it would be pure profit.

Lu Kuan smiled: "Tomorrow I'll have Sun Wenwen find you to sign the contract; you decide for yourself whether you want a box office share or a fixed director's fee."

"By the way, consider arranging auditions for Zhang Songwen, Huang Bo, and Wang Baoqiang."

"Of course, prioritize the roles; if they aren't qualified, feel free to cut them."

Ning Hao nodded repeatedly; never mind arranging auditions, even the shit of his investor-daddy would smell sweet.

In 2002, the domestic film industry was particularly desolate, and it was indeed too difficult to raise investment; the improvement of this situation would have to wait until after the massive success of "Hero".

And that was only for those famous directors.

Lu Kuan made a call to Sun Wenwen in front of Ning Hao, looking at the smiling man with the big gold chain and short hair in front of him, sighing that his butterfly wings had changed the life of another director.

Alas! Why didn't I have such good luck in my past life!

(End of chapter)