Chapter Thirty: The Share of the Film

After finishing the script, Chen Ling personally delivered it to the Film Bureau for review. The company really needed to speed up its hiring process—imagine, even something as basic as submitting a script required the boss himself to make the trip.

No sooner had Chen Ling stepped out of the Film Bureau than his phone rang—Han Sanping was calling.

“Starting a new project?” Han’s voice carried a note of curiosity.

“Chairman Han, your sources are impressively well-informed. I just walked out the Film Bureau’s front gate,” Chen Ling replied, glancing back at the building in surprise. He’d half expected Han to have spotted him inside; the timing was uncanny.

“What genre is it?” There was clear interest in Han’s tone.

“Why not come to my office and we’ll talk in person?” Chen Ling suggested.

Without giving him a chance to respond, Han hung up.

Chen Ling shook his head as the dial tone buzzed in his ear. What choice did he have? When the big boss of China Film speaks, you don’t say no—China Film was the industry heavyweight, hardly someone to offend.

He got in his car and headed straight for China Film. According to Zhao Qian, they’d already hired a driver who would start in a few days, so Chen Ling wouldn’t have to drive himself much longer.

When he arrived, Han’s secretary was already waiting, and she led him directly to Han’s office.

This was Chen Ling’s second time in the chairman’s office, the last being when “Love Is Not Blind” broke two hundred million at the box office less than a month ago. The office, befitting a leader of China Film, was tastefully decorated with a weighty elegance.

“Sit, take a seat on the sofa. Make Director Chen a cup of the good tea I brought from the leadership last time,” Han called from behind his desk, apparently in the middle of some paperwork.

He greeted Chen Ling warmly, inviting him to the guest sofa and instructing his secretary to make tea—clear signs of respect and enthusiasm.

Whatever document Han was handling seemed urgent; by the time Chen Ling was sipping his second cup, Han finally finished.

“Take this to the Bureau, quickly,” Han instructed his secretary with a sense of urgency.

With business attended to, Han stepped out from behind his desk and sat across from Chen Ling.

“So, tell me about your new project. What genre? What’s the budget?” He took a gulp of tea before asking.

“It’s a road movie,” Chen Ling replied. At once, Han’s brow furrowed, clearly recalling some unpleasant memories.

Sensing Han’s reaction, Chen Ling quickly clarified, “It’s a road comedy, not like Director Ning’s ‘No Man’s Land.’”

“Next time, say the whole thing. Gave me a scare,” Han said, visibly relieved—he'd apparently been traumatized by Ning Hao’s film.

That film had China Film’s backing, but it still hadn’t been released, making it a bad debt on their books. At year-end meetings, it was sure to draw criticism. Worse yet, the fallout had soured relations with the review board and led to the suspension of several director projects closely tied to the board. Some veterans had even taken their complaints all the way up to the leadership, prompting a reprimand—these conflicts were making the company a laughingstock.

“How’s the script? Have you cast the roles? What’s the estimated budget?” Han inquired, visibly interested once he knew it wasn’t another “No Man’s Land.”

“The script was mostly done before, but after filming ‘Love Is Not Blind’ I felt it needed more work, so I polished it further and just finished,” Chen Ling lied a little, wanting to seem more reliable.

“For the main roles, I have some candidates in mind and am in talks. For supporting roles, I’ll hold open auditions—I’m not that familiar with many in the industry, so that’s safer. As for the male lead, I’ll play the part myself. Since the cast isn’t finalized, the total investment is only an estimate, but it should be around twenty to thirty million. It’s a road comedy, so locations will be varied,” Chen Ling summarized.

“Let’s budget thirty million for now. How much of the investment are you offering China Film?” Han cut straight to the chase. The budget wasn’t high, the project sounded solid, and China Film wanted in.

“I plan to bring in Wanda again, just like the last film. Their theater chain has been growing rapidly in recent years, which will help with showtimes after release,” Chen Ling explained. Without Wanda’s massive screen allocation, “Love Is Not Blind” would never have reached such heights at the box office, so he wanted them on board again—those who control the showtimes, control the market.

He also knew that Wanda’s theaters would soon become the largest in the country, so it made sense to cultivate the relationship now. As for his personal affairs with Jing Tian, that was a private matter and had nothing to do with the movie. Besides, Lu Zheng was only the boss of Starlight Splendor, not Wanda. At most, he just wouldn’t invite Jing Tian to join the cast—not that she’d necessarily accept even if he did.

“I’m also planning to bring in Enlight Media. Chairman Wang called me on the way over to express interest, and their distribution team is first-rate. If Enlight and China Film join forces for the release, the benefits will be enormous,” Chen Ling added—this time truthfully, as he’d indeed received a call from Wang Changtian en route. Not only Enlight, but even Wanda had called about the project, though it was the manager he’d met at the last celebration, not Lu Zheng.

Going forward, Chen Ling would likely deal with this manager on Wanda’s behalf. He’d also gotten a call from Bona, which left him a bit exasperated—clearly, the Film Bureau’s confidentiality was sorely lacking. Barely an hour after submitting the script, it felt like the whole world already knew.

Chen Ling still underestimated his influence—a hit-making commercial director was a rare commodity. Back when Huayi had lost so many artists to Wang Jinghua’s exodus, they hadn’t worried because they had a big-name director like “Little Cannon” at the helm. Of course, Chen Ling’s box office record and accolades still fell far short of his.

But he had youth on his side. If his second film succeeded at the box office, his status as a commercial director would be cemented, and the attention he received would only grow.

“I knew Old Wang didn’t come to our last film’s celebration out of the goodness of his heart,” Han grumbled when Chen Ling mentioned Enlight.

“So that’s why Wang Changtian showed up uninvited at the party for ‘Love Is Not Blind’—after all, Enlight and China Film are rivals to some extent,” Chen Ling thought, though he kept quiet.

“For this film, I’ll allocate fifteen percent to China Film, the same for Wanda, and ten percent for Enlight,” Chen Ling said, clearly having thought through the distribution of shares on the way over.

He didn’t want to give away too much of what was likely to be a profitable film—just enough to secure passage. Even if he told the other three that the film would be a huge success, they wouldn’t believe him at this stage.

“All right, fifteen percent it is. But China Film gets to handle the publicity and distribution,” Han replied, seeing that Chen Ling had already made up his mind.

“No problem, China Film can handle distribution,” Chen Ling agreed readily. “But the promotional fee can’t be as high as last time.”

There was a lot of wiggle room in film promotion budgets. Last time, China Film had charged several extra points for handling the publicity.

“No problem, we’ll do it at cost,” Han agreed readily.

Circumstances had changed dramatically since Chen Ling’s first film. Back then, he’d had to beg for investment. Now, he could pick and choose whose money to accept.

“That’s the benefit of fame,” Chen Ling mused inwardly.

Of course, if his next film flopped, his treatment in the eyes of investors would drop accordingly. This was the entertainment industry, after all—a vast arena of fame and fortune.

With the new film discussed, Han shifted the topic to “Love Is Not Blind.”

“The Venice Film Festival is coming up soon. Since our film has already been released, it doesn’t qualify for competition, but Venice gathers distributors from all over the world. If you have no other plans, China Film could take ‘Love Is Not Blind’ over there and see if we can sell the rights for a good price.”

That’s right—the Venice Film Festival, one of Europe’s Big Three, typically starts in late August or early September and was about to begin. Its global influence was enormous, attracting outstanding filmmakers from around the world to compete with their works. An award there brings instant international renown—a true moment of glory for any filmmaker.

Unfortunately, films already released cannot compete, and the deadline for entry had long passed. All they could do with “Love Is Not Blind” was try to sell its rights.

Each year, these major festivals drew not only filmmakers but also the world’s top film distributors. If one wanted to sell a film’s rights, there was no better place—assuming, of course, the film was good enough to attract attention.

Chen Ling didn’t have any connections at the Big Three festivals yet, so he could only leave things in China Film’s capable hands. With their near-monopoly on import rights, they were experts at such deals.

With business concluded, Chen Ling didn’t linger. The chairman of China Film was a busy man, with little time for idle chatter during working hours.

Before leaving, they agreed to finalize the cast and then bring in Wanda and Enlight to sign contracts and formally divide the shares.