Upon thinking of this, Shang Yechu's original question was silenced.
Seeing that Shang Yechu did not speak, Gu Wenhua continued.
"The characters in the original script were too one-dimensional, only allowing a small group of people to identify with them. Who are these people?"
Gu Wenhua wrote a few lines on the paper:
[Film Critic]
[Artsy Youth]
The highly socialized middle class
Swish, swish, swish. Amidst the sound of pens falling, Shang Yechu's mind flashed with images of many movies. Without exception, those movies were "good movies" that were highly praised online.
“These people hold the power of discourse and are the loudest group among the audience,” Gu Wenhua said eloquently. “If we please them, we will gain word-of-mouth; but if we only please them, it means that all the movie will have left is word-of-mouth.”
"Ingratiating?" The moment Shang Yechu caught those two words, she couldn't help but frown. For some reason, she felt that Gu Wenhua was somewhat different from before.
When filming "The Mute Woman," even though it was just a graduation project, Gu Wenhua poured his heart and soul into it, doing everything himself. Back then, he didn't have the habit of constantly trying to please anyone.
Gu Wenhua was taken aback, then quickly said, "Sorry, this is something Director Gao Sanfu often says. I've heard it so many times that I might have accidentally said it offhand."
Gu Wenhua's expression was quite natural when he uttered the word, which didn't seem like a slip of the tongue. Besides, Gao Sanfu was notoriously aloof and arrogant; would he really say something like that?
Shang Yechu didn't ask the question aloud, but instead nodded: "I think he makes a good point. If you want to be yourself, go into art; if you want to make money, you have to please the audience. There's nothing shameful about pleasing the audience; what's shameful is blaming the audience for not going to the movies when you're unwilling to please them and your film flops."
These are Shang Yechu's true feelings. Shang Yechu has made just as many flops as any actor, and her long years of ups and downs have taught her one thing: you can't blame the audience.
A few years later, in the internet age, the internet is extremely widespread and mature, and ordinary viewers can also access it. The internet is no longer a platform for a select few to dictate the narrative. The arts and entertainment industry, obsessed with entertainment to the death, is gradually having its authority deconstructed. Viewers no longer have to pay to be subservient, nor are they subject to the manipulation of media mouthpieces and public intellectuals; they have boldly taken control of their own discourse.
Shang Yechu had witnessed far too many self-important directors in that era who ended up being thoroughly ridiculed and humiliated by audiences. Countless renowned directors fell from grace, becoming the subject of memes, parody videos, and satirical head-swap jokes. Countless big-budget productions failed miserably, and numerous box office miracles became laughingstocks.
Although she was muddle-headed, through so many ups and downs, she had developed a basic sense of crisis. She knew who she could offend and who she absolutely could not say a word to.
In a flash, it soars into the wind and grows wings; in an instant, it is swept away by the waves and left to flounder in the mud. The entertainment industry may seem glamorous, but without an audience, it is nothing.
If you offend the director, you can just find a new director and start filming; if you offend the investor, you can just find an even bigger investor; but if you offend the audience, you'll have to start over.
This is a "since we can't afford to offend them, we should figure out how to please them" mentality—to paraphrase the famous foreign director Paul Wilkes, "We are all little bitches of the audience."
Of course, this mentality also has a euphemism: "reverence." This term makes artists seem less pitiful, less like pimps selling prostitutes.
Shang Yechu dreams of becoming a world-class superstar, so naturally he respects the audience. It's unexpected that Gu Wenhua, with his limited experience, already had this awareness so early on. Social skills truly are a talent.
Gu Wenhua's eyes lit up, as if he had found a kindred spirit: "That's very well said! -- Actually... never mind. In short, with this group of people targeting snipers, they'll only end up with a lot of noise but little effect. Your goal is to get more people to see the movie, and this definitely won't work. Even if these people are all tied together, they can't support an entire street!"
After discovering that Shang Yechu didn't care about pleasing the audience, Gu Wenhua completely let loose, his voice getting louder and his speech faster:
"So it had to be changed. In the revised script, each protagonist is an ordinary person with a high degree of openness, taking into account the sense of identification of various groups—men and women, young and old, scholars, farmers, artisans and merchants, young people, and middle-aged people. We must broaden the audience as much as possible. We must not let go of any opportunity to increase the potential audience!"
Gu Wenhua excitedly made three exclamation marks on the paper, each one bigger than the last.
Shang Yechu was also shocked.
Every character Gu Wenhua revised was utterly generic, lacking any originality or brilliance. But this also means that these are some unshakeable truths about making money. Only profitable personas will be repeatedly analyzed by the market; no one will imitate losers—nobody's got money to burn.
Gu Wenhua may not know which movies are the best, but he certainly knows which movies are the most profitable.
Yes, it's not artistic at all, but it's very profitable.
"Ahem." Shang Yechu cleared her throat, pulling Gu Wenhua back to reality from his surging passion. "Tell me more about what's exciting."
Shang Yechu had already been largely persuaded by Gu Wenhua. The reason he was allowed to continue speaking was simply to gather material to persuade Sheng Wenzhi. Persuading Sheng Wenzhi was far more difficult than persuading Shang Yechu.
"The appeal is easy to understand. It's all about the contrast." Gu Wenhua realized he had gotten a little carried away and blushed. "The most popular things on the market are just a few things: playing dumb to fool others, underdogs achieving success, and lucky breaks."
"Do you think the thrill of 'a computer genius solving a puzzle through computer calculations' is greater, or the thrill of 'an ordinary nerd discovering that he has seen this puzzle in an extremely obscure anime and solves it in two seconds' is greater?"
Shang Ye Chu put herself in her shoes and thought about it. Of course, she wasn't a computer genius, nor had she watched any extremely obscure anime. But for some reason, she just felt that the latter was more enjoyable.
Shang Yechu fell silent.
This was utterly unbelievable to Shang Ye.
Shang Yechu couldn't help but look at Gu Wenhua: "Does the Beijing Academy of Drama teach these things?"
Is the Beijing Academy of Drama really that pragmatic? It's making Shang Yechu even consider taking the adult college entrance examination and trying to get into the Beijing Academy of Drama.
"No," Gu Wenhua said, scratching his face sheepishly. "I figured it out myself."
Shang Yechu: "..."
Gu Wenhua added, “The signal is bad on Mount Taifu. There’s no internet for 23 out of 24 hours a day. When I’m not filming, I lie in bed and think about these things.”
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