mesbooks Chapter 317 The Double Impact of Art Films
Chapter 317 The Double Impact of Art Films
Chapter 317 The Double Impact of Art Films
A little further back in time, during the period when Kitahara Shin went overseas to make a name for himself in Hollywood, the Asian film and television industry did not fall into silence because of his brief departure. On the contrary, two bombshells that shocked the industry were dropped one after another.
The first bomb came from Seoul, South Korea.
The low-budget black comedy film "Barking Dogs Never Bite," fully funded by the Bukwon Foundation and directed by newcomer Bong Joon-ho, has quietly been released in theaters across South Korea.
When this film was first being developed, traditional South Korean film studios had no confidence in it. In their eyes, a poor director living in a basement making a ridiculous story about a university lecturer who secretly kidnaps his neighbor's dog because he can't stand its barking was simply incomprehensible. If it weren't for the fact that the film was produced by Kitwon Productions, South Korean theaters wouldn't have even given it a chance to screen.
However, when the film was actually released, the social reaction it generated left all South Korean film critics speechless.
Unlike Resident Evil, Barking Dogs Never Bite didn't achieve the same phenomenal box office success. Given its target audience and subject matter, that's understandable. However, in terms of critical acclaim and artistic achievement, it achieved an unprecedented and phenomenal comeback!
Bong Joon-ho's talent, honed in that cramped and damp basement, was pushed to its absolute limit under the pressure of Shin Kitahara's demand to "prove yourself with your abilities." The film's dark humor, brimming with the flavor of everyday life, its biting satire of the rigid class system in Korean society, and the raw realism of the lower classes revealed in its absurdity, act like a sharp scalpel, precisely striking at the pain points of the Korean audience.
Within just one month, this low-budget film not only recouped its costs and achieved considerable profits, but also shone brightly at the Blue Dragon Film Awards and Grand Bell Awards in South Korea that year, winning several awards including Best New Director and Best Original Screenplay.
Late that night after the awards ceremony, a completely drunk Bong Joon-ho knelt in a phone booth on a Seoul street and made a long-distance call to Kitahara Shin in Tokyo. The 3,000-year-old man cried like a child on the other end of the line, repeatedly sobbing, "President Kitahara, thank you—you pulled me out of that dark, hopeless basement. From now on, my life, Bong Joon-ho's, belongs to the Kitahara Group!"
Shin Kitahara's casual investment not only successfully planted a super bombshell in the Korean film industry that would sweep the Oscars in the future, but also made film and television capital across Asia see his almost godlike and shrewd vision.
The second bomb was detonated on Japanese soil.
That is the literary masterpiece directed by Shunji Iwai and starring Shin Kitahara and Takako Matsu – All About Lily Chou-Chou.
The release of this film can be described as a phenomenal celebration in the history of Asian art films.
On the weekend of the film's premiere, long lines stretching hundreds of meters formed outside major cinemas in Shinjuku, Shibuya, and other areas. As audiences entered the screening rooms and the big screen lit up, the "millennial filter" and "unspoken ambiguity" effect brought about by Kitahara Shin's purple outfit, "A Glimpse of Time," overwhelmed everyone like a tidal wave.
That unique grainy texture of film from the late 20th century, that green wheat field rippling in the breeze, and the poignant, heart-wrenching tension between Kitahara Shin and Matsu Takako—their souls seemingly perfectly aligned, yet constantly missing each other in reality.
All of this is breathtakingly beautiful.
For the entire 120-minute film, no one in the theater spoke; only suppressed sobs could be heard.
When the film ended, Kitahara Shin stood outside the crowded concert hall, gazing at Matsu Takako across the sea of people, but ultimately did not recognize her and simply turned and walked in different directions—the entire Japanese audience wept in the movie theaters.
"This is the cruelest yet most beautiful love story I've ever seen. There isn't a single 'I love you' in it, yet it makes you feel like you've lost your whole world."
"President Kitahara's acting skills have transcended the realm of humanity. The image of him standing in that wheat field with his eyes closed could be preserved in the Louvre!"
"Takako Matsu is amazing. She is the most perfect white moonlight of this era. Her fragile beauty makes you want to present the whole world to her."
"All About Lily Chou-Chou" not only broke the box office record for Japanese art films, but also swept major film festivals across Asia that year. It sparked a frenzy of "millennial nostalgia" in society, with countless young people starting to imitate the outfits in the movie in order to find that kind of soul resonance that exists between the virtual world of the internet and the cold reality.
With this film, Takako Matsu firmly established herself as one of Asia's top actresses, her name inextricably linked with "sophistication" and "purity." Meanwhile, Shin Kitahara delivered a powerful rebuke to film critics worldwide with this work—not only is he capable of creating blockbuster special effects films, but he also stands at the very top of the pyramid as an uncrowned king in profound artistic and humanistic expression.
Our gaze crosses the ocean and returns to the mist-shrouded Atlantic Ocean, to Blackwood Island.
By this time, Blackwood Island had long since shed its former desolation. A massive film crew camp was nestled halfway up the mountain, huge searchlights piercing through the thick fog at sea, and the roar of generators mingled with the sound of waves crashing against the rocks.
Filming for "Shutter Island" is in full swing here.
Kitahara Shin sat behind an expensive high-definition monitor, wearing a long black trench coat to protect him from the sea breeze.
His gaze was as sharp as a hawk's, fixed intently on the image on the screen.
Although this was only his "second" official time as a film director, his expertise in directing and his vast experience from two lifetimes allowed him to demonstrate a level of skill and control on set that instilled a deep sense of awe in all the veteran behind-the-scenes personnel from Hollywood.
The scene being filmed today is the most crucial and demanding psychological breakdown scene in the entire film, requiring the most acting skills.
To help readers better understand this dramatic tension, it is necessary to first peel back the layers of mystery surrounding "Shutter Island".
The film is set in 1954. Nicolas Cage plays Teddy, a legendary FBI detective. He and his assistant arrive at Blackwood Island, a secluded island dedicated to incarcerated mentally ill criminals, to investigate the mysterious disappearance of a female patient.
During his investigation, Teddy discovers that the island is filled with eeriness. The doctors seem to be hiding some kind of inhuman lobotomy experiment on humans; and in his own mind, he begins to have horrific memories of his time in a concentration camp during World War II, as well as terrifying hallucinations of his wife being reduced to ashes in a fire.
Teddy felt he was getting closer and closer to the dark truth of the island. He even thought that the doctors on the island were secretly drugging him in an attempt to drive him insane and trap him on this isolated island forever in order to cover up the truth.
But the movie's truly divine twist lies in—
There were no missing female patients, and there were no human experiments.
The male protagonist, Teddy, is actually the island's most dangerous mentally ill criminal, number 67! His real name is Andrew Laddis.
He went insane because his wife, who suffered from severe bipolar disorder, drowned all three of their children in the lake in their backyard during an episode. In a state of extreme grief and collapse, he shot and killed his wife.
Unable to bear the horrific trauma, his brain activated its ultimate defense mechanism. He erased his real memories, fabricated a heroic identity for himself as "Federal Detective Teddy," and imagined his wife had died in an accidental fire.
The so-called "investigation of a cold case" that he experienced on the island was actually a large-scale role-playing game on an island-wide scale, orchestrated by the island's attending physician in order to cure his schizophrenia! The doctors hoped that by letting him go through this fake investigation process, they could eventually uncover the truth in the lighthouse and force him to confront his deepest trauma.
What's being filmed right now is the scene where the male lead, Teddy, is in the dark C ward, his mind beginning to seriously deteriorate, and he's on the verge of a breakdown.
"Click!"
Kitahara Shin picked up the walkie-talkie, his voice echoing in the empty, oppressive setting, "Nicholas, something's wrong with you. Take a break."
Nicolas Cage stopped, wiped the cold sweat from his brow, and walked somewhat puzzled to the monitor. As a newly crowned Oscar winner, he was extremely confident in his explosive and frenetic performance, and he couldn't understand why Kitahara Shin had called for a halt.
"Director Kitahara, was my hysteria just now not strong enough?" Cage asked humbly. In the past two weeks, he had been completely impressed by Kitahara Shin's terrifyingly prescient intuition on set.
Kitahara Shin stood up and handed Cage a glass of warm water, his eyes calm yet revealing a penetrating power.
"No, Nicholas. You were too crazy just now." This is a common mistake many actors make when playing mentally ill characters—acting crazy for the sake of acting crazy.
Shin Kitahara pointed to the dense annotations on the script and analyzed in a low voice, "You have to remember, at this stage, Teddy doesn't know he's mentally ill! He firmly believes he's a righteous federal detective, and that he's the only sane person on the entire island. So, when he sees those terrifying hallucinations, his first reaction shouldn't be to scream like a madman."
"He must be terrified! A profound panic as his proud rationality is being slowly stripped away by some unknown force! He has to desperately suppress his madness, trying to maintain the dignity of a normal person. The more he tries to prove he's not insane, the more terrifying his taut nerves become, giving off a sense of impending collapse. This desperate struggle between lucidity and madness—that's the essence of high-level acting, understand?"
Kitahara Shin's words were like a thunderbolt, directly cleaving through the fog in Cage's mind.
The Oscar-winning actor stared wide-eyed at Kitahara Shin, his gaze filled with barely suppressed shock and fervor.
So insightful!
In all his years of acting, no director had ever dissected the subtle, millisecond-level psychological defense mechanisms of a character so vividly and accurately. Kitahara Shin wasn't just giving him acting instructions; he was reshaping the boundaries of his understanding of the art of performance!
"I understand, director. Give me ten minutes, I'll get back into the swing of things." Cage took a deep breath, turned around like a devout apprentice and walked back to the center of the dark set, closing his eyes and frantically trying to build up his emotions.
The art director, lighting technician, and several Hollywood assistant directors standing around looked at each other, and everyone saw deep admiration in each other's eyes.
On this film set, there was no racial prejudice, no Hollywood arrogance. Kitahara Shinnobu, with his tyrannical yet absolutely correct professionalism, tamed this group of proud Western filmmakers into sheep-like meekness.
Filming resumed ten minutes later.
Following Kitahara Shin's instructions, this time, Cage didn't yell or scream. He hid in a dark corner, his whole body trembling slightly uncontrollably. His eyes were bloodshot, staring intently into the void, panting heavily. He desperately grabbed his hair, trying to use the pain to keep himself awake, letting out suppressed sobs.
The extreme horror of "a normal person watching themselves fall into the abyss of madness" sent chills down the spines of all the staff present through the monitor, making it difficult for them to even breathe.
"Perfect. This one's done." Kitahara Shin nodded in satisfaction.
As night deepened, a fierce wind howled across the ancient castle on Blackwood Island, tearing the roar of the waves crashing against the rocks into fragments.
Because of the heavy filming schedule, Kitahara Shin did not stay on the luxurious yacht, but instead temporarily converted a spacious library on the second floor of the castle into his director's studio and lounge.
It's 1:30 a.m.
The room was dimly lit by a desk lamp. Kitahara Shin was still wearing that white shirt, the collar slightly open, sitting at the large oak desk, intently revising the lighting and blocking diagrams for several long takes to be filmed the next day. His expression was focused and aloof, as if the storms outside had nothing to do with him.
"Click" 7
A soft click of a lock turning echoed in the quiet corridor. Then, the heavy oak door was pushed open a crack.
Kitahara Shin's hand holding the pen didn't pause, nor did he even lift his head; he simply spoke in a flat tone.
He said, "Miss Green, breaking into someone else's room late at night is considered a very impolite act in European aristocratic etiquette."
The door was pushed open completely.
Eva Green walked in silently, her bare feet sinking into the thick carpet.
The young mistress of Blackwood Island had clearly come prepared tonight. She had shed her imposing, fully-covered Gothic attire from the daytime, donning instead a simple yet figure-hugging burgundy silk satin loungewear. Her previously high-swept black hair was now casually draped over her shoulders. In the dim light of the table lamp, she had shed her aloofness, gaining an undeniable air of languid charm and allure.
She carried two glasses of expensive red wine, her steps unsteady as she walked to Kitahara Shin's desk.
"On my private island, in my castle, I set the rules." Eva's lips curled into a seductive smile as she gently pushed one of the glasses of red wine toward Kitahara Shin, then leaned forward slightly, resting her arms on the table, looking down at him.
Those emerald eyes gleamed with undisguised aggression and desire.
"You work here like a tireless machine every day. Am I really that unattractive, not even worthy of your attention?" Eva's voice was languidly hoarse, as if hooked, trying to provoke the unmoved man before her, who was as cold as an iceberg.
Kitahara Shin did feel somewhat helpless about the directness and passion of these Western women.
Westerners rarely use the subtle push-pull approach in expressing emotions that Easterners employ, especially girls like Eva who have always gotten what they wanted and are inherently rebellious. When she sets her sights on someone, she won't hesitate to launch the most direct offensive, and she doesn't even mind offering herself up.
If it were any other director, faced with this future Hollywood top dark goddess throwing herself into their arms late at night, they would probably have thrown the script into the Pacific Ocean long ago.
But Kitahara Shin only paused his pen slightly.
He finally raised his head, his gaze calmly sweeping over Eva's alluring figure, his eyes devoid of any lust, as clear as a still lake.
"I admit you're beautiful, Miss Green. Your outfit is enough to make any Hollywood actor go crazy for you." Kitahara Shin's voice was calm and restrained. "However, right now, all my energy is focused on this movie."
I don't want any unnecessary complications to affect my judgment or the filming schedule.
He pushed the glass of red wine back and tapped the table lightly with his slender fingers.
"There's a sofa over there. If you can't sleep, you can sit there and quietly finish your drink. If you want to do something else, the door is behind you."
These words were like pouring a bucket of ice water on burning coals.
Eva Green's alluring smile froze instantly, and a deep sense of frustration and disbelief flashed in her beautiful eyes.
In this materialistic world, she had seen too many well-dressed, art-speaking so-called gentlemen who, when faced with temptation, instantly ripped off their ugly facades. She believed that all men had a price, and that with enough temptation, no fortress was impenetrable.
But in front of Kitahara Shin, her proud beauty and her humble, late-night initiative seemed to have hit an insurmountable wall of sighs.
But it was precisely this almost cold rationality that acted like a deadly poison, making Eva increasingly infatuated with him.
She left without getting angry, slamming the door behind her.
Eva bit her bright red lips, took a deep breath, and actually turned around and walked to the leather sofa not far away, crossed her legs, and sat down quietly.
She held her wine glass, saying nothing, but with a pair of complex eyes, she quietly watched Kitahara Shin, who had once again lowered his head and immersed himself in his work, in the dim light.
In the quiet of the night, only the scratching sound of the pen scratching on the paper could be heard.
Looking at Kitahara Shin's profile, so focused he was completely absorbed, and at every line he drew on those storyboards, every cold and precise directing instruction he wrote, Eva suddenly understood the real reason why this man was able to stand at the top of the world's entertainment industry at his age.
That was not just because of money and talent, but also because he had an absolute, ascetic-like control and fanatical focus on his goals.
Any desire, any temptation, must give way to film and his ambition.
Eva took a sip of the red wine in her glass, gradually becoming somewhat mesmerized. From a young age, she had scoffed at the Hollywood film industry, considering it a low-class trick to fool children. But now, looking at Kitahara Shin, a powerful impulse suddenly surged within her.
She no longer wanted to be just a bystander providing the venue.
"Kitahara Shin." Eva broke the silence, her voice exceptionally clear in the quiet library.
"If you make another movie, save a role for me." Eva looked at him, her eyes no longer carrying that flirtatious frivolity, but filled with an unprecedented seriousness and ambition. "I want to see just how far you can push me when you're behind the monitor."
Kitahara Shin didn't look up; instead, the pen in his hand smoothly traced a perfect arc across the paper.
"That depends on whether you have the talent to make a living from this."
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