Chapter Fifty-Five: Disciplining Liu Yifei

October 1st marked the premiere of "My Beautiful Boss," the film starring Chen Ling’s ex-girlfriend, Jing Tian. Yet, Chen Ling, busy with his own shoot, was too entangled in his work to make time for the cinema. He had watched this film in his previous life and remembered it clearly; seeing it again would make little difference. Still, he paid attention to the online news about it the next day.

The opening day’s box office exceeded nine million, a remarkable figure compared to its investment. Online reviews were favorable. If nothing unexpected happened, it should easily reach fifty or sixty million in total box office. In the previous timeline, this film had barely crossed ten million, so it seemed that Jing Tian had gained a lot of fans from “Love Is Not Blind.” However, compared to Bai Baihe, her acting still fell short and she could not shoulder the banner of a leading lady in romantic comedies.

…

In the entertainment industry, there has always been a problem plaguing all actors: how to make audiences notice their acting, especially when the actor is exceptionally beautiful or handsome. Take Andy Lau, for example—his good looks when he was young were universally acknowledged, which meant that many audience members focused only on his appearance and not his acting. When moviegoers bought tickets, their attention was drawn to his looks, and directors, in turn, were reluctant to invest the effort to polish his performance.

As a result, actors missed the golden period to hone their craft. Once their style was set, it became difficult to improve. Andy Lau spent years carefully selecting scripts and grinding his skills, all in an attempt to shed the label of “superstar” and make audiences recognize him first as an actor, then as a superstar. Sadly, despite his efforts, he never quite encountered the right script or director. Though his acting had its highlights, for someone seeking to prove himself anew through his craft, it was not nearly enough.

Even more disappointing for viewers, his efforts didn’t prove his acting, but instead made him a box office poison. He was not alone; others in the industry, like Yang Mi, experienced similar fates. As she aged and her beauty faded, audiences began to notice her acting—only to find it had deteriorated to the point of being almost unbearable.

With so many examples to learn from, Chen Ling raised his expectations for Liu Yifei’s acting. The early twenties are a crucial time for noticeable progress. Once an actor’s style sets, improvement becomes nearly impossible unless one is willing to break everything down and start anew—a feat even Andy Lau could not achieve.

In “Breakup Buddies,” the female lead’s role was actually quite limited, especially in the first half; her screen time was pitifully scant, even less than some supporting characters, yet the demands on her acting were high. After all, Chen Ling’s reference for the original was the iconic Yuan Quan.

At present, they were shooting the scene where "Kang Xiaoyu" clumsily tries to fix the shower in the bathroom, and, by chance, hears "Geng Hao" singing "Going to Dali" on the computer, sparking her own desire to go to Dali.

This was a solo scene, with no dialogue, relying entirely on performance. Since Chen Ling did not appear in this scene, he sat beside the monitor, watching carefully.

Guo Fan had been shooed aside by him. “Kid, pay attention and learn from your brother.”

Liu Yifei had already filmed this scene twice; this was the third take. It wasn’t that her previous attempts were poor—rather, each redo brought a clear improvement in her performance, as Chen Ling could plainly feel.

As a director, he naturally hoped for better acting from his cast, as it would elevate the film as a whole. Furthermore, as the female lead, Liu Yifei’s performance would surely be compared with the other main actors by both media and audiences when the film was released. To spare the “Fairy Sister” from criticism, he was determined to be thorough in his coaching—especially since she was so willing to learn.

“Your earlier take was perfect up to the point where the water pipe bursts again. But from there, your expression and low, hoarse cry weren’t quite right. Remember, that moment is crucial. Find the feeling and we’ll do it again,” Chen Ling instructed, analyzing her previous performance and pointing out areas for improvement.

Did Liu Yifei have acting skills? Of course. Not only could she act, but she had solid martial arts training and could even transition into action stardom. Yet, in recent years, she had been suppressed by HuaYi, denied access to good projects, let alone opportunities to improve her craft. If not for this, with her natural talent, she might well have risen to the level of Fan Bingbing or even Zhang Ziyi. Unfortunately, the prime years for an actor had passed without opportunity, and her ascent was brutally cut short. The way HuaYi blocked her was a textbook case of how an agency could destroy a star’s career.

In this life, having crossed paths with her, Chen Ling didn’t mind giving Liu Yifei a hand—especially since he had no love for HuaYi. The enemy of his enemy was, after all, a friend. Besides, Chen Ling’s heart always softened towards those who had been tempered by time.

“Alright, give me a moment to get into character,” Liu Yifei replied, humbly accepting the suggestions from a director even younger than herself. It had been a long time since she’d encountered a director so invested in her performance, making her cherish the opportunity even more.

“You all pay attention and learn as well,” Chen Ling said to Shen Teng and Liu Yan nearby. “Comedy is the genre where audiences notice acting the least, yet performance is its very foundation.”

Chen Ling was right—comedians rarely get credit for their acting, yet does anyone dare say Stephen Chow or Jim Carrey lack acting skills? That would be absurd.

The others nodded obediently. During this period of shooting, Chen Ling had already won the respect of the entire crew through his professionalism. If, in the early days, that respect was built on the success of “Love Is Not Blind,” now it was rooted in his own abilities. Any trace of condescension due to his youth had completely vanished.

The quality of a film depends on three indispensable elements: a strong script, competent actors, and a reliable director. Over the course of shooting, the crew could sense that all three were present in this production.

To participate in an excellent film is an opportunity few actors would refuse. As the crew sensed the film’s potential, their enthusiasm and commitment soared. Conversely, when a shoot drags on with little hope of success, actors naturally lose motivation. Don’t think actors and crew can’t tell a good film from a bad one—it’s as absurd as doubting whether a chef knows if their food tastes good. If a chef truly doesn’t know, either the chef is incompetent, or the customer is paying far too much.

“Actors, in position. Lighting, camera, ready. Three, two, one, action!” With the call of the slate, a new take began.

Seated beside the monitor, Chen Ling watched Liu Yifei’s expression intently. With the experience of the earlier takes, this time her performance was noticeably better.

“Cut—perfect!” Chen Ling called out, loudly praising her performance.

“Did we get it? Let me see,” Liu Yifei said, taking a towel from the crew to dry her hair, which was soaked by the burst pipe. She hurried over to the monitor to review her scene.

“Yifei, that was excellent!” Liu Yan, who played a supporting role appearing only near the film’s end, gave her a thumbs up.

As a host under the Light Media banner and an investor in the film, Liu Yan could easily have joined the production only when her scenes were due. Had she insisted, Chen Ling would have found it hard to refuse. Yet, she made no special demands; from the very start, she came to set daily, showing great respect for Director Chen Ling’s authority. Chen Ling could only sigh with gratitude at her thoughtfulness.