Upon seeing the text message, Ye Zhou’s lips unconsciously curled into a smile. He quickly typed a smiley face on the keyboard, slipped the phone into his pocket, and bounded out with a spring in his step.
As soon as Ye Zhou stepped out, he saw Jiang Tingyuan standing not far away. Without hesitation, he quickened his pace, jogging towards him, and said, “Is it hot? Here, take this.”
With that, he casually took off the black duck-billed cap from his head and placed it on Mr. Jiang’s.
Jiang Tingyuan was always dressed in formal attire, and today was no exception. The formal outfit paired with the duck-billed cap looked rather mismatched, and his expressionless face added a touch of absurdity to the ensemble.
However, he did not reject Ye Zhou’s kind gesture. Instead, he grasped the brim of the cap and adjusted it, wearing it as it was.
In fact, Ye Zhou’s action was somewhat redundant. Mr. Jiang had been worried about Ye Zhou getting sunburned, so when he saw him come out without bothering to open an umbrella, he walked over. Just as Ye Zhou put the cap on him, a bodyguard carrying a parasol arrived in time, shielding the two of them from the sun.
Ye Zhou was not afraid of the sun. After returning from South Africa, he had already become quite tanned. If the intense South African sun didn’t bother him, the sun here was nothing. Besides, he wasn’t a celebrity; a little ruggedness only added a touch of masculinity!
Jiang Tingyuan patted his head affectionately, and the two returned to the set together.
The crew members were already accustomed to the presence of the Jiang Group’s CEO, and their calm reaction was understandable. After all, who wouldn’t be unfazed by someone who frequented the set every two or three days?
Since the two confirmed their relationship, Mr. Jiang had been visiting the set almost every other day. The crew’s initial nervousness had given way to a sense of familiarity.
“Everyone, take a break. Director Ye is treating us to herbal tea and desserts. Those who want some can go and get them at the front.”
At the assistant director’s words, the already lively set became even more energetic, with everyone thanking Ye Zhou and Mr. Jiang.
Mr. Jiang brought gifts every time he visited, presenting them under Ye Zhou’s name. Although the gifts were given in Ye Zhou’s name, after a while, everyone knew about the two’s close relationship, so they expressed their gratitude to both of them.
Ye Zhou took two bottles of herbal tea, unscrewed one cap and handed it to Mr. Jiang, then tilted his head back and gulped down several mouthfuls from the other bottle, letting out a satisfied sigh. “Jiang-ge, do you want to take a look at the scene I just filmed? I think it turned out pretty well.”
Jiang Tingyuan, of course, would not dampen his enthusiasm. He followed Ye Zhou to the monitor, pulled up a chair beside him, and sat down to watch the screen together.
It must be said that Ye Zhou’s previous two works did not become popular solely due to luck; his camerawork gave people a sense of intense tension.
The signs were already evident when he filmed the fight scenes for “A Farce.” Later, during the period when the two brothers and the old gangster were fighting in “Chasing the Light,” his personal style became increasingly prominent, catching the attention of many film critics.
However, those two films featured relatively few fight scenes, focusing more on dramatic performances. Additionally, both works were controversial within the industry, so the critics only briefly mentioned his camerawork when discussing them.
But now, with “Thriller Circus,” it was an entirely different story. Almost 70% of the movie consisted of fighting, killing, and fleeing sequences. Apart from the handful of scenes at the beginning, all the actors were either running for their lives or on the run, rarely having a moment of rest.
This gave Ye Zhou ample room to showcase his strengths to the fullest. In the past, Ye Zhou preferred to focus on the actors’ performances, but this time was different. he turned his attention to the camera work and visuals.
This could be attributed to his experiences from his past life. Back then, the production crews Ye Zhou worked with were always strapped for cash – the word ‘poor’ was an understatement. While big-name directors never lacked funding, unknown directors struggled to secure investments. Without investments, every penny had to be spent on wisely.
Even mildly extravagant scenes required substantial financial resources. Audiences might see only a second or two of content, but the crew would have to spend tens of millions, sometimes even hundreds of millions, just for those brief moments. Big-name directors would sometimes spend upwards of tens of millions just for a few seconds of footage.
In his previous life, Ye Zhou lacked funds, making it impossible to create grand scenes. He had to find alternative approaches, focusing his efforts on the actors’ performances, scaling down grand scenes into smaller ones, and turning large-scale fights into skirmishes. This restrained his ability to convey tension through camerawork and visuals.
But in this life, things were different. Under Mr. Jiang’s unconditional indulgence, Ye Zhou’s boldness had grown. He could film whatever he desired without reservations, freely expressing his suppressed creativity and allowing the inherent tension to burst forth.
While this tension was not yet evident in his first two films, it manifested itself fully in this movie from start to finish.
The monitor froze on a frame, and Ye Zhou looked expectantly at Mr. Jiang, seeking his opinion. “How is it?”
Jiang Tingyuan was not particularly interested in movies. On the rare occasions he watched them, he preferred classic, more subdued films, rarely venturing into the genre Ye Zhou was currently working on.
However, this did not hinder his market sensitivity. With the recent implementation of the rating system, this type of movie had experienced a years-long void. If Ye Zhou’s entire film maintained the same high quality as the scene he had just shown, and it passed the censorship, box office success was virtually guaranteed.
“Excellent.” Jiang Tingyuan’s eyes sparkled with delight, never holding back praise when it came to Ye Zhou.
Ye Zhou burst into laughter. He had only asked casually, but he didn’t expect Mr. Jiang to be so straightforward with his compliments. In fact, these scenes required post-production special effects to fully appreciate their impact. Non-professionals would find it difficult to judge the quality based solely on the raw footage.
Moreover, most of the wild beasts featured in the chase sequences were composited through visual effects in post-production. At present, the footage only showed green screens and silhouettes, which might even appear comical to the untrained eye.
Mr. Jiang’s praise, in Ye Zhou’s view, was undoubtedly colored by his boyfriend filter. He even suspected that Mr. Jiang would have said it looked good even if there had been no image on the monitor.
If this had happened with someone else, Ye Zhou would not have reacted strongly. But witnessing the usually serious and composed Mr. Jiang utter such flattering words with a straight face somehow struck Ye Zhou’s funny bone, causing him to double over in laughter, clutching Mr. Jiang’s shoulder for support.
Jiang Tingyuan felt a bit helpless and tried to explain himself. “It really is impressive.”
“Mmhmm!” Ye Zhou nodded vigorously to humor him, but the laughter lingering on his lips was impossible to conceal, and before long, he burst into another fit of laughter.
Mr. Jiang let out an inward sigh, feeling powerless against Ye Zhou. He lightly tapped his head. “When do you expect to wrap up filming?”
Ye Zhou thought for a moment. “At the earliest, one month. At the latest, two months. We’re almost done. There’s not much left.”
The filming progress for this movie had exceeded Ye Zhou’s expectations. From the start of production to now, only half a year had passed, and they were already in the final stages. This rapid pace helped save on expenses, but the downside was that the original release schedule couldn’t be met, and they would have to advance it.
Upon hearing this, Jiang Tingyuan understood. After considering it, he said, “The rating system is still in its early stages, so the review process will be more complex and may take some time.”
Ye Zhou was well aware of what he mentioned. After Ren Zi’an approached him, he had specifically researched the procedures involved. However, Ye Zhou was only a director after all, the information he could access was naturally different from what Mr. Jiang could obtain.
“Yeah, I’m mentally prepared. I’m not afraid of the lengthy process, but I am worried that after all that time, it might still get rejected,” Ye Zhou said with resignation. In this fictional world, everything seemed rather illogical, except for the strict regulations and rules.
Had the script not appealed so strongly to his tastes, Ye Zhou would never have agreed to take on such a troublesome and risky project based solely on the potential complications. But now that filming was nearly complete and money had already been invested, backing out was clearly impossible.
“Don’t worry too much,” Jiang Tingyuan noticed the concern in his eyes and reassured him. “Getting approval shouldn’t be a major issue, but the process may take a bit longer.”
Jiang Tingyuan’s guess was entirely accurate. By the time filming wrapped in mid-August, the subsequent post-production visual effects and editing process carried them through to late November. Then began the arduous review period, which dragged on without any news until the Spring Festival.
Meanwhile, a comedy film submitted for review around the same time as “Thriller Circus” had already passed and secured its release date for the Spring Festival holiday season.
In this regard, Ye Zhou felt resigned more than anything else. He had originally intended to target the Spring Festival season, but under the current circumstances, that was clearly out of the question.
Although Ye Zhou’s film failed to secure a release, He Feiyang’s “Tears Behind Bars” had won numerous awards at various film festivals and was gearing up for its domestic release.
According to He Feiyang’s intentions, they wanted to avoid the Spring Festival season. After all, the competition during that period was incredibly fierce, with major heavy-hitters vying for a piece of the pie. It would be challenging to stand out, and years of hard work could potentially go to waste due to a poorly timed release.
While “Tears Behind Bars” had garnered many awards and widespread critical acclaim, earning excellent word-of-mouth, positive reviews alone could not sustain a film’s success. Good word-of-mouth did not necessarily translate to strong box office performance. As a niche subject matter, neither He Feiyang nor Liu Zhao had confidence in achieving significant success during the Spring Festival season.
This was not a lack of faith in their work but rather a realistic assessment of their target audience. If they insisted on a Spring Festival release, forget about box office numbers – they might not even secure sufficient screen allocations, rendering them almost entirely uncompetitive.
However, after watching the film, Ye Zhou firmly decided they should aim for the Spring Festival season. He called in the theater chain executives he had collaborated with previously and introduced He Feiyang and Liu Zhao to them in person.
Initially, the theater executives adopted a cautious stance. After all, this was no ordinary release window – the Spring Festival season only came once a year. Screen allocations could not be decided over casual conversations; only fools would make such decisions hastily. Those who had reached high positions were as shrewd as monkeys, and they were naturally unwilling to commit.
Previously, the theaters had been willing to reserve a window for Ye Zhou for two reasons: firstly, his previous two films had performed decently at the box office, and he had gained some renown within the industry as a director; secondly, they wished to maintain goodwill with Mr. Jiang; and thirdly, after internal test screenings, everyone had assessed the film’s quality as exceptional, even before the lifting of the ban.
As Jiang Tingyuan had mentioned, the thriller genre had been dormant for too long, and they were curious to gauge audience reactions and see if Ye Zhou could revive the market, so they were willing to give him a chance.
“Tears Behind Bars,” however, was a different story. Although it had won numerous awards and seemed glittering with gold, it was ultimately constrained by its subject matter.
Think about it – during the New Year holidays, people went to the movies for family entertainment. Who in their right mind would voluntarily watch a tearjerker educational film? That would be pure madness.
After Ye Zhou’s repeated persuasions and assurances, three theater chain executives agreed to watch the film first, while the others politely declined.
He Feiyang’s film was indeed exceptional. After the screening, all three theater executives emerged from the cinema with reddened eyes, and one female executive even had swollen eyes from crying.
The truth was that quality work never lacked appreciation. Although the initial screen allocations were not many, they were still more than double that of a typical independent film, giving “Tears Behind Bars” a chance to compete during the Spring Festival season.
Whether they could seize this opportunity, however, would depend on audience preferences for the film. If the initial box office performance was decent, subsequent screen allocations would undoubtedly increase. However, if the early numbers were disappointing, they might not even retain the originally allocated screens.
At midnight on New Year’s Eve, five minutes before the premiere of “Tears Behind Bars,” Ye Zhou, wearing sunglasses and a thick scarf, sneakily entered the cinema while dragging Mr. Jiang, who was similarly dressed, along with him.
The lights in the theater had already dimmed. To avoid disturbing others’ viewing experience, Ye Zhou refrained from using his flashlight and groped his way to their seats in the darkness.
After sitting down, he let out a soft exhale and whispered to Mr. Jiang beside him, “We’re safe now. You can take off your scarf; we’ll put it back on when it’s almost over.”
Jiang Tingyuan seemed hesitant at first but then whispered back after a moment of silence, “I’m not hot.”
It was their first time wearing couple outfits, so he might as well keep it on a little longer.
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