mesbooks Chapter 309 Filming or Picking Up Girls?
Chapter 309 Filming or Picking Up Girls?
Chapter 309 Filming or Picking Up Girls?
Shimokitazawa, Tokyo.
This is a mecca for Japanese independent music, vintage clothing stores, and underground culture, with narrow streets lined with all sorts of shops steeped in history. Today, however, this usually bustling street is under temporary traffic control.
The film crew of "All About Lily Chou-Chou" officially began filming here.
In the on-site control center, director Shunji Iwai sat behind a high-definition monitor, holding a walkie-talkie, his eyes gleaming with an unprecedented, even somewhat fanatical, light.
"Camera position three, move the track forward half a meter. Lighting team, warm up the color temperature of the side-backlight a bit; I want that feeling of sunlight penetrating the fine dust particles in the air—good, perfect! Sound team test!"
With each command from Shunji Iwai, the entire film set was like a precision V8 engine lubricated with the finest lubricant, emitting an extremely satisfying roar.
No one made a loud noise, and no one ran around the set like headless flies. The lighting technician replaced the filter in ten seconds; the track cart was laid out without a single bump; even the peripheral crew responsible for blocking passersby seemed well-trained.
Sitting in the director's chair, Shunji Iwai felt a surge of emotions, an "absolute sense of smoothness" he had never experienced in over a decade.
As one of Japan's top art-house film directors, even his most successful and widely popular film, "Love Letter," was filled with a multitude of frustrating and tedious tasks on set. Budgets were extremely tight; to wait for a snow scene, the entire crew had to shiver in the cold of Hokkaido. To conserve film, each shot had to be rehearsed multiple times before filming could begin. When encountering unprofessional production assistants, he would even have to go and move reflectors himself.
But none of that exists in the Kitahara Group's film crew!
Having undergone the extreme stress test of investing hundreds of millions of dollars in "Resident Evil," Kitahara Productions has honed a massive industrial system that completely rivals Hollywood, and even surpasses it in execution. Now, Kitahara Shin is directly applying this system to an art film that could have been made for just tens of millions of yen—it's like using a cannon to kill a mosquito, or building a sailboat with the standards of an aircraft carrier!
"This is terrifying—is this the true foundation of the Kitahara Group?" Looking at the orderly scene before him, Shunji Iwai couldn't help but let out a deep sigh.
Many self-proclaimed highbrow arthouse film directors often look down on Hollywood's industrial system, believing that its assembly-line approach stifles artistic inspiration. But after experiencing the system firsthand, Shunji Iwai finally understood how foolish those people were.
A highly mature industrial system is an absolute boon to artistic creation! It strips away all the "garbage" aspects that drain the director's energy, such as food, drink, equipment management, and location coordination. The director doesn't need to worry about the quality of the meals or the financial crisis; he only needs to concentrate 100% of his mental capacity on the artistic composition of the monitor screen!
"All departments, prepare! Action!"
As the clapperboard fell, filming officially began inside a vintage secondhand record store in Shimokitazawa.
The camera slowly zooms in.
In front of the shelf, Kitahara Shin was wearing a simple pure white cotton shirt, a pair of slightly faded jeans, and a pair of classic Sony wired headphones around his neck.
When he appeared on camera dressed like this, many staff members on set couldn't help but gasp inwardly.
Too young!
In this film, Shin Kitahara plays a young man who has just entered university, feels lost, and seeks solace in online forums. To fit the role, he not only refrained from wearing any mature makeup today, but even styled his hair in a slightly messy, natural, tousled style.
Thanks to the system's "Ring of Life" superhuman enhancement, Kitahara Shin's current state was simply amazing. The terrifying, oppressive aura of a superior he once possessed had been perfectly suppressed, replaced by a refreshing, clean-cut, yet subtly melancholic, youthful charm. This was a stark contrast to his previous role in *Dragon Zakura*, where he wore a fake mustache to artificially appear older.
He looked completely different in his old-fashioned suit.
If someone who didn't know better walked in, they would definitely think that this was just a melancholy college student in his early twenties with an excessively handsome appearance.
Following the director's instructions, Matsu Takako walked into the frame from the other side of the screen.
She was wearing a light gray knitted sweater and holding a few books, looking like a lonely soul who seemed somewhat out of place in this bustling city.
The two met unexpectedly in front of a shelf displaying rare "Lily Chou-Chou" CDs.
Just as the two of them reached out at the same time, their fingertips lightly touching the edge of the CD case.
Kitahara Shin's purple outfit, "A Glimpse of Time," automatically triggered! The passive skills "Millennium Filter" and "Silent Ambiguity" instantly enveloped the entire record store!
Behind the monitor, Shunji Iwai's eyes widened suddenly.
He swore he hadn't asked the lighting technician to adjust the lights. But in the shot, the sunlight streaming in from the window was strangely and beautifully refracted. Dust motes floating in the air seemed to dance in the light, and the image automatically acquired a film-like texture with slight noise, characteristic of the late 20th century.
What's even more breathtaking is the chemistry between Kitahara Shin and Matsu Takako!
Kitahara Shin slightly raised his head, his eyes meeting Matsu Takako's. There was not a trace of blatant desire in his eyes, nor any of the greasy, sentimental look found in idol dramas. It was a feeling of being pulled apart by a kindred spirit after a long, lonely journey through a vast sea of people.
"I'm sorry." Kitahara Shin withdrew his finger as if he had been electrocuted, his voice so soft it seemed it could be blown away by the wind.
Matsu Takako looked into his eyes. Under the 300% amplification of emotional penetration from the [Silent Ambiguity], she felt as if her heart was being tightly gripped by an invisible hand.
This is not acting!
From Matsu Takako's perspective, the man before her, who was so high and mighty and had changed her entire destiny, now seemed so close yet so fragile. The bittersweet feeling of missing each other in real life and falling in love online, as depicted in the script, overwhelmed her like a tidal wave. She felt as if she were truly experiencing an extremely hazy first love, where even breathing was a fear of disturbing the other person.
"It's okay—you can look first." Matsu Takako lowered her head slightly, a very natural blush rising on her cheeks. The camera perfectly captured the evasive look in her eyes, a look of wanting to get closer yet retreating.
"Cut! Perfect! It's a miracle!"
Shunji Iwai was so excited that he jumped up from his chair and clapped loudly. In all his years of making art films, he had never seen a simple touch of the fingertips that could push the ambiguous tension of "feelings arising but restrained by propriety" to such a terrifying level!
Over the next few days of filming, the entire crew was immersed in the awe-inspiring acting skills of Kitahara Shin and the god-like filters.
During breaks between filming.
A young male actor who played a supporting role and had only a few lines in the play hesitated for a long time, but finally mustered up his courage and walked to Kitahara Shin's rest chair with the script in hand.
"Kitahara—President Kitahara." The young actor bowed repeatedly, sweat dripping from his forehead. "I'm so sorry to disturb your rest! I—I'm a newcomer who hasn't been in the industry long. The director kept saying that my performance in that scene where I had to suppress my emotions was too superficial. I—I know I'm not qualified to ask you for advice, but—"
He truly came with a "do or die" mentality. In this rigidly hierarchical industry, an unknown nobody daring to bother a top tycoon could easily be wiped out of the film industry with a single word if he offended them. But he desperately wanted to seize this opportunity to turn his life around.
To his surprise, Kitahara Shin did not show any impatience.
He put down his coffee cup and quite naturally took the script, which was worn out from being read so many times.
"Don't be so tense, take a deep breath." Kitahara Shin pointed to the empty chair next to him. "Sit down and talk."
Seeing Kitahara Shin's approachable manner and the lack of any disdain due to his humble status, the young actor was moved to tears.
"Look at this line." Kitahara circled it on the script with his pen and patiently explained, "The outburst after suppression isn't shown by yelling and screaming. True despair is often silent. Before you recite this line, try to put yourself in a state of oxygen deprivation, let your eyes go blank, and then squeeze your emotions out bit by bit, like squeezing toothpaste. Try it once."
Under Kitahara Shin's guidance and personal demonstration, the young actor suddenly understood, as if his Ren and Du meridians had been opened instantly.
Not only this newcomer, but on set, whether it was the production assistant, lighting assistant, or other supporting actors, whenever a question arose in their professional field, Kitahara Shin would generously offer the most precise and efficient guidance. Even Iwai Shunji would proactively consult with Kitahara Shin when unsure about the language of the shot. And Kitahara Shin always managed to provide Iwai Shunji with brilliant suggestions for revision, thanks to his forward-thinking aesthetic sense.
At this point, Kitahara Shin's mindset had already surpassed that of an ordinary actor or producer.
He viewed the entire industry from a grand, macro perspective. He wasn't afraid of others learning from him; in fact, he longed for more geniuses to emerge from the production crew. The Kitahara Group was such a massive ship that it needed countless excellent cogs and promising cornerstones to support its future trillion-dollar empire. As long as you had something special, Kitahara Shin would absolutely not hesitate to pour resources into elevating you to stardom.
With such an extremely relaxed and energetic mindset, the atmosphere on set was incredibly good.
A few days later, at Kitahara Productions headquarters, in the artists' lounge.
Matsu Takako came to the company to handle some contract matters since she had no scheduled work today.
However, anyone with eyes could see that Matsu Takako was acting very "off" today. She sat on the sofa looking at a magazine, but half an hour had passed and she hadn't even turned a single page. The corners of her mouth would occasionally turn up, her eyes were unfocused, and she seemed to be walking on clouds, exuding a "pink, sour smell of love" that could be infecting even the air.
"What's wrong with her? Is she possessed?"
At the other end of the lounge, Nanako Matsushima, who had just finished filming a male character, held a coffee cup, nudged Rie Miyazawa next to her with her elbow, and asked in a low voice.
Following Nanako's gaze, Rie Miyazawa saw Takako Matsu's absent-minded and lovesick expression and couldn't help but—
Zhu rolled her eyes with a charming and alluring expression.
"What else could it be? She got carried away filming arthouse romance movies with that man." Rie Miyazawa gritted her teeth, her tone revealing a subtle bitterness and resentment.
Upon hearing this, Nanako Matsushima immediately broke down.
The three of them, though unknown to the outside world, had long since reached a tacit understanding, knowing each other's complicated relationships with Kitahara Shin. Moreover, they had long foreseen that the pure and innocent Matsu Takako would eventually be won over by that domineering man.
However, Nanako and Rie felt extremely resentful when they thought about the recent difference in treatment!
"That's too much!" Nanako slammed down her coffee cup indignantly. "Before, Shin-kun dragged me into filming 'Great Teacher Onizuka' (GTO). I played a rigid female teacher who was either disciplining delinquent students or getting driven crazy by them every day. There was practically no romance in the entire series!"
"You're lucky!" Rie Miyazawa was even more furious. "Look at me! I played Jill in Resident Evil! Good heavens, for that role, Shin forced me to work out in the gym for two months straight! On set, I was either rolling around in mud or being chased and bitten by zombies covered in blood every day. I was so exhausted that I didn't even have the energy to remove my makeup. Shin was as cold and ruthless as a tyrant on set; I didn't even have time to be affectionate or flirt with him!"
"Why is it that when it comes to Ryuko, he arranges a beautiful, artistic film for her? And it's all about the peaceful, idyllic life under the Shimokitazawa sun? Was he really there to make a movie, or was he using it as a pretext to woo Ryuko?!"
The two exchanged a glance, both seeing a burning "gossip fire" and a desire to explore in each other's eyes.
"Rie, do you have a gig tomorrow?" Nanako raised an eyebrow.
"No, I declined." Rie snorted.
"Let's go visit the set in Shimokitazawa. I want to see just how inseparable they are on set!"
The next afternoon, on set of "All About Lily Chou-Chou".
Kitahara Shin and Matsu Takako had no idea that two of Japan's top actresses were currently wearing oversized black crew uniforms borrowed from the production crew, with their hats pulled low and large masks on, like two female thieves, sneaking around behind a huge reflector.
At this moment, the film set is preparing to shoot the most crucial scene in the entire series.
Before filming this scene, Kitahara Shin and Iwai Shunji had an extremely in-depth script discussion in the conference room.
The original Lily Chou-Chou film actually has significant structural flaws. Shunji Iwai is too obsessed with his fragmented, stream-of-consciousness visual language. The entire film is filled with long takes, landscape shots, and nonsensical dialogue.
Kitahara Shin bluntly pointed this out at the time: "Director Iwai, audiences can accept stream of consciousness, but they absolutely cannot accept you sleepwalking on the big screen!"
-
As a person from the future, Shinta Kitahara understood the fatal weakness of this kind of "atmosphere." More than twenty years later, if you edited the original "Lily Chou-Chou" into a short TikTok clip of about ten seconds, paired with melancholic background music, it would definitely go viral and garner millions of likes. Because the audience of short videos only needs that one moment of emotional engagement.
However, if you were to stretch this illogical and fragmented narrative to 120 minutes and put it in a movie theater for the audience to watch, the vast majority of people would either fall asleep halfway through or curse it as a nonsensical and terrible film.
No matter how beautiful your visuals are, a feature film must have an extremely solid story anchor!
Therefore, Kitahara Shin made extremely ingenious modifications and enhancements to this core plot.
He concretized the originally ethereal belief in "ether" into a suspenseful driving force in reality. The male and female protagonists are confidants on an online forum, but in reality, they are drawn into a vortex of misunderstandings due to an incident involving counterfeit tickets to a Lily Chou-Chou concert. Unaware of each other's online identities, they experience intense conflict and opposition in real life; yet, at night online, they pour out their daytime pain to each other.
This "Romeo and Juliet"-style identity misalignment and information gap greatly enhances the film's narrative tension and sense of destiny, instantly giving the art film, which was originally floating in mid-air, an extremely solid grip!
Today's scene is a confrontation that erupts on a rainy street after the conflict between the two reached its peak in real life.
"Action!"
Water trucks sprayed dense artificial rain into the sky.
Kitahara Shin was soaked to the bone, his white shirt clinging tightly to his body, outlining his perfect muscle definition. He stared intently at Matsu Takako, who was also shivering from the rain.
With the enhancement of the [Time's Gaze] equipment, and in conjunction with the heavy rain, Kitahara Shin's eyes were filled with a mixture of anger and...
He felt resentful, and a deep-seated heartache that he himself was unaware of.
"Do you think you can cover up what you've done by putting on an innocent act?!" Kitahara Shin's voice ripped through the rain, his explosive delivery instantly stunning the entire audience.
Matsu Takako tilted her head back, rain streaming down her pale cheeks. She looked at Kitahara Shin, her lips trembling violently, offering no rebuttal, tears mingling with the rain as they silently overflowed. Her overwhelming despair and sense of utter devastation, amplified by Kitahara Shin's terrifying aura, reached an extraordinary level!
Nanako Matsushima and Rie Miyazawa, who were hiding behind the reflector, originally came with the intention of "catching someone cheating" and "watching the show."
However, when they witnessed firsthand the clash between these two masters in the torrential rain, a battle as intense as a collision of planets; and saw Kitahara Shin's extremely restrained micro-expressions amidst his anger, they were deeply moved.
The two top actresses instantly abandoned their playful mood, completely captivated by the incredibly powerful dramatic tension, and remained rooted to the spot.