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墨書 Inktalez
This scene was truly eye-watering. Even for Li Hong, who had seen his fair share of films, this particular youth movie with its art style was a bit overwhelming.
It wasn't that the shot was particularly bloody or violent; in fact, Lu Mao had deliberately chosen a beautifully aesthetic angle for this scene, likely considering that aspect. Even the person being consumed by the Eastern Maiden was portrayed as a blob of jelly through special effects.
However, despite the lack of gore, the psychological implications were incredibly strong.
Anyone who witnessed this moment would surely feel a chill run down their spine.
Such shots would likely struggle to pass censorship in horror and thriller films. Not to mention, this was supposed to be a romantic youth film. If this could get approved, Li Hong would have to question whether the person responsible for the review had any vision at all.
"I'm just trying to delve into human nature here. There’s nothing inappropriate in this scene; why can’t it work?" Lu Mao said, somewhat frustrated.
"Are you trying to drive me crazy?" Li Hong laughed. It was the first time he realized that Lu Mao was genuinely naive and sincere.
Delving into human nature?
Was that something a commercial film director should be concerned about? Making a money-grabbing romantic youth film while talking about exploring human nature?
At that moment, Li Hong felt quite disappointed in Lu Mao.
This guy must have gotten too caught up in his studies at Beijing Film Academy to actually believe in such nonsense about exploring human nature.
"Boss, I believe that as a film company, our works should not only consider the present but also think ahead for the future," Lu Mao spoke confidently. "Since its inception, film has been known as the seventh art. The film industry developed from the combination of moving photography and slide projection techniques, creating a continuous visual narrative. It is a modern art form that encompasses various elements such as tragedy and comedy, literature, photography, painting, music, dance, text, sculpture, and architecture."
"As practitioners, we must adhere to the baseline of artistry. Deeply exploring human nature and creating films that provoke thought in viewers—that is what makes a film excellent."
Li Hong laughed until tears nearly streamed down his face.
"Who would have thought... I never expected you, Lu Mao, to have the heart of an artist?"
Lu Mao asked in confusion, "Boss, making movies is just art, what's so strange about that?"
"Then go back to your art. We at Sweet Potato Films don't need artists," Li Hong replied coldly, his smile fading.
Lu Mao had truly disappointed him; he had fallen into the dead-end habits of an artist.
Is there a market for art films? The answer is yes. At least until the literary youth are extinct, art films will always have a place in the film industry.
However, Li Hong had no need for any art films to elevate his status. What he needed were the low-quality films that renowned directors scoffed at—commercial films that could bring him endless wealth, not those filled with artistic pretensions.
Li Hong couldn't understand why Lu Mao had changed. However, he could guess part of the reason.
It was simply that Lu Mao had produced a somewhat successful film, which had made the young director a bit carried away. Coupled with the old habits of film school students resurfacing, he was eager to create something grand.
Li Hong had already made plans regarding Lu Mao's thoughts.
This guy was no longer useful; with his approach of exploring humanity in youth films, Li Hong couldn't keep him around.
If this continued, Sweet Potato Films would inevitably be left in shambles by Lu Mao's hands.
"Boss... what... what did you say?" Lu Mao looked at Li Hong in disbelief, seemingly not having heard his previous words clearly.
Li Hong shot a cold glance at Lu Mao and said slowly and clearly, "If you still hold onto this idea, then you can pack your bags and leave. We at Sweet Potato Films do not need directors who explore humanity in youth films. We are just a company that cannot afford such extravagance."
Lu Mao stood frozen, dazed and unsure of what to do next.
He really wanted to tell Li Hong that making a film that deeply explores human nature could very well win awards at the film festival. It could also leave a lasting reputation among the audience.
But after thinking it over, Lu Mao chose to remain silent. He knew that if he said those words, Li Hong would not react at all.
What awards, what reputation? In the eyes of a bloody film company executive, those were just piles of trash.
Only solid box office numbers could prove a film's success.
Knowing he couldn't convince Li Hong, Lu Mao could only shake his head in regret. He realized that from this moment on, he had no choice but to stay with Sweet Potato Films.
Fortunately, Lu Mao wasn't too disappointed. With the success of I Am Red Riding Hood, I Love the Big Bad Wolf, he would always be a guest of honor at Film Company wherever he went.
"Boss, since you feel this way, I won't press you further. This is the last time I’ll call you boss; I think you should reconsider my suggestion. Film is the supreme seventh art, not a hodgepodge of garbage. A truly good movie will be recognized by the audience. And those hollow and boring bad films will always be met with unanimous disdain from viewers."
Li Hong stood with his arms crossed, coldly watching Lu Mao deliver his final remarks.
At that moment, Li Hong was as unyielding as a rock, unmoved by anything.
No matter how eloquently Lu Mao spoke, Li Hong remained steadfast in his beliefs.
Seeing that Li Hong showed no reaction to his words, disappointment deepened on Lu Mao's face.
Reluctantly, he dropped the film master copy he was holding and sighed as he left the editing room.
Once Lu Mao had departed, Li Hong turned back to glance at the master copy on the table, his expression pained.
Millions in funding had resulted in such garbage. It would be a lie to say Li Hong didn't feel heartbroken. After all, this was several million Soft Sister Coins down the drain; if he didn't feel upset about it, even he wouldn't believe it himself.
However, at this point, all he could do was helplessly admit his misfortune.
In situations like this, who could he blame? Blame Lu Mao for being too clever or blame himself for not recognizing the right person?
"Just consider it as being blind. Supporting such a worthless piece of trash back then was a mistake," Li Hong sighed and shook his head.
Lu Mao's transformation truly caught Li Hong off guard. This turn of events left him unprepared; losing several million was not the biggest issue. The real problem was where to find a suitable director now.
Having suffered this loss, Li Hong felt he could not afford to make the same mistake again.
When it came to choosing a director, experience didn't matter much, nor did talent. What was crucial was that he could never allow someone like Lu Mao—an insufferable pretentious intellectual—to emerge again.
If another film artist came along, Li Hong feared that his Sweet Potato Films would be doomed to close its doors for good.
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