The autumn breeze is refreshing and slightly cool.
Sitting in the car, the sounds of the wind and traffic outside the window made Shang Yechu's breathing much easier.
I wonder how Teacher Shao's communication with Ai Xiaodong is going now.
Science fiction novels… science fiction movies… Shang Yechu squinted, taking a deep breath of the cool suburban air. Science fiction is great, it's the best genre. She loves science fiction movies.
Adapting science fiction into a film is several times, even dozens of times, more difficult than adapting other genres. And for short science fiction stories, the process is even more arduous.
Short science fiction stories typically revolve around a core premise and include one or two plot twists. They express the author's philosophical reflections more than the plot itself. However, films are entertainment and cannot be sustained entirely by philosophical themes. A single premise and one or two plot twists are hardly enough. For example, if *The Heavenly Emperor* were adapted strictly according to the original story, it probably wouldn't even be enough for a single film.
In this situation, short science fiction stories usually only have two paths to take.
The first strategy is the widely used tactic in the entertainment industry: "If the acting isn't enough, make up for it with romance." Comedy scenes or romantic subplots, such as those involving family, love, or friendship, are used to fill in the thin framework.
Sci-fi films that go down this path are basically cut off from masterpieces. After all, everyone has their own niche, and everyone has their own way of doing things. A few comedic moments and romantic scenes are nice embellishments, but if they fill more than a third of the screen, it becomes a watered-down version of sci-fi with romance—so why don't audiences just go watch a comedy or a romance film?
Romantic scenes are often considered "boring moments" in science fiction films, a fact well-known to everyone in the science fiction industry. But there's no way around it, because the second path is even more difficult.
The second approach requires screenwriters and directors to use their skills to fill in the thin framework of short science fiction stories.
In other words, screenwriters and directors need to start from the short ten or twenty thousand words of the original novel and fill in the gaps to complete the worldview, technological background, historical context, social organization, and power conflicts, and so on.
If the author's philosophy does not conform to mainstream values (such as Ai Xiaodong's "faith is dead," such dark and brutal ideas will not attract a large audience), then the poor directors and screenwriters have to rack their brains to supplement or regenerate new positive energy ideas and social issues, and then weave them into the film.
In addition, we also need to complete the character arcs for characters who only appear briefly in the original work; we need to complete the detailed settings for technological products that are only mentioned briefly in the original work; and we even have to rack our brains to depict a door or a wall.
It's no exaggeration to say that adapting a short science fiction story into a film requires creators to create a large amount of original content based on the original setting of the story, which is almost equivalent to recreating a world—no, even more difficult than recreating a world. Because starting from scratch allows for more creative freedom; while screenwriters of science fiction films must perfectly connect the worldview of the original work with the author's thought process, without deviating from the setting, which is almost like dancing ballet in shackles.
Shao Guangji wanted to make a good film, so he naturally chose the second path.
That's the difficulty. Science fiction isn't something everyone can write well. If just any screenwriter could match Ai Xiaodong's thought process, fill in the gaps in the science fiction setting to his level, and construct a harmonious world that blends seamlessly with his original novels, that would be truly absurd!
Shao Guangji, with a background in documentary filmmaking, is naturally ill-suited to this kind of magnificent and imaginative literature. Asking him to fill in the tens of thousands of words of text in "The Heavenly Emperor" and expand it into a two- or three-hour film is quite a challenge. However, Ai Xiaodong is a lazy person who sells the rights readily, but asking him to personally write the script and set the story would be a different story altogether.
Shao Guangji spent a long time writing the script and setting for "The Heavenly Emperor." He could never quite capture the effortless profundity, coldness, and grandeur of Ai Xiaodong's original work. It troubled him greatly.
After much deliberation, Shao Guangji chose the most common and effective path—
Suture.
If we stitch the settings from Ai Xiaodong's other short stories into "The Heavenly Lord," wouldn't all the difficulties be easily solved?
Firstly, these works are from the same school and share a similar style. Unlike Shao Guangji's own works, which are a hodgepodge and create a huge sense of disconnect, allowing the audience to see the vast difference in skill between the two authors.
Secondly, these novels are all works by Ai Xiaodong, making it easier to discuss them.
Thirdly, it can also increase the depth and richness of the work, making it much more substantial than the skeletal "Heavenly Emperor"!
Shao Guangji was overjoyed and immediately informed Ai Xiaodong of the matter. On the surface, it was to solicit opinions, but in reality, it was just a notification.
Ai Xiaodong remained noncommittal about Shao Guangji's idea. He was a lazy man; in his previous life, he had famously said, "My novels are my novels; movies and TV series are just clones of them." Ai Xiaodong had little desire to control film and television adaptations. Let Shao Guangji sew it if he wants; it won't hurt him.
With Ai Xiaodong's tacit approval, Shao Guangji naturally began his grand project of patchwork, stitching together the settings of over a dozen novels for "The Heavenly Emperor." Initially, he would politely inform Ai Xiaodong, but later he stopped even that. Ai Xiaodong himself, once he opened his eyes, was either embroiled in a lawsuit with Xinkong Publishing House or on vacation, and he didn't even bother to ask.
Even so, Shao Guangji did not purchase the copyrights to these stitched-together novels. Although it sounds unbelievable, this is a tacitly accepted rule in the Chinese entertainment industry, and even the global entertainment industry, called "inspiration-absorption-based development." Of course, there is also a simpler way to say it—"homage."
To put it bluntly, it means buying one work (A) by the same author and then conveniently taking the best parts from their other work (B) without paying any copyright fees.
While this practice is unethical, it's a common tactic in this industry. The author won't object, because there's no need to jeopardize the collaboration over such a small matter; if even the author hasn't said anything, no one else will be so foolish as to meddle. Of course, the copyright holder of work B will certainly be somewhat unhappy, but it's just some fragmented plot points and "ideas," not worth going to court for. If work A's adaptation becomes a hit, they can ride the wave of popularity later.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
