Chapter 634 Xia Boyang and Shang Ye Chu read the script twice.
It should be said that the script for "Ice and Iron" is quite typical of what a multinational co-production project should look like.
Among transnational co-productions with China, those with Japan and South Korea have yielded the best and most natural results. This is because these two countries have long been influenced by China throughout history, and their cultures and aesthetics are relatively closer to those of the West. Transnational co-productions between China and Japan and South Korea are like pouring water from a source into a cup—a harmonious blend.
However, transnational collaborations with Western countries are different. East and West represent two separate histories and two different cultures, inevitably resulting in two different narratives. But film tells a single story and can only have one narrative style.
Therefore, international co-productions are historically most prone to becoming a hodgepodge. Take the *Kung Fu Panda* series, for example; it incorporates Chinese elements but uses Hollywood storytelling techniques. Essentially, it presents a Western perspective on "China," not the real China. —But this was a relatively successful attempt, at least earning critical acclaim and box office success. Many more co-productions either receive critical acclaim but fail at the box office; or they achieve box office success but are met with overwhelmingly negative reviews; or they fail in both areas, resulting in a complete flop.
The ideal is a two-headed phoenix, but reality is a two-headed snake; if one goes wrong, it might turn into a nine-headed worm. This is the downside of multinational projects.
The script for *Ice and Iron* clearly presents the problem of conflicting narratives once again. The script had three screenwriters: two from Russia and one from China. The cold, nihilistic, and oppressive atmosphere of the Belosnezhsk arsenal in the early part of the script, the pervasive sense of fear under Kovalev's control, is clearly the work of the Russian screenwriter. However, the middle part, depicting the love story between Wei Bingkai and Kovalev, uses typical techniques found in Chinese romance films.
In the later stages, the scene where Wei Bingkai "educates" Kovalev becomes a classic. This scene is actually a classic example of the "general + political commissar" combination. In fact, the Soviet Union was the originator of this trope.
In the 1930s, the Soviet Union produced a film called *Chapayev*. Chapayev was a valiant and resourceful military commander, intelligent, fierce, and fearless; however, he had a violent temper, and when he lashed out, even his own soldiers suffered. He sometimes neglected official duties due to personal feelings. He was arrogant, rude, and reckless.
This fiery military genius eventually met his nemesis. A political worker named Krychkov was assigned to serve as Chapayev's political commissar. Naturally, the two clashed and clashed repeatedly. Krychkov, fully utilizing his intellectual advantages, patiently and continuously corrected and educated Chapayev, ultimately guiding him back on the right track and enabling him to excellently complete the tasks assigned to him by the Party.
This classic film has influenced the portrayal of "generals" and "political commissars" in war films of all ages, not only in the Soviet Union but also in China. The general is the political commissar's material weapon, and the political commissar is the general's ideological guide. The essence of "the Party commands the gun" is vividly demonstrated in this pairing.
In the script of "Ice and Iron," Wei Bingkai plays the role of the political commissar. Kovalev, naturally, is the unruly Chapayev. However, Wei Bingkai is Chinese, and it seems odd to have a Chinese person travel thousands of miles to become a Soviet political commissar. (To put it bluntly, it makes one think that the Soviet Union no longer has any qualified intellectuals.) Therefore, the screenwriter cleverly made a slight variation on their relationship, changing it to a pair of lovers, one guiding and the other being guided. This way, Wei Bingkai doesn't seem like a scoundrel, and Kovalev doesn't seem like a traitor.
As for the ending of the play, it is a natural consequence of this variant relationship combined with the historical context. Under the great tide of the times, both Chapayev and Krychkov could only be pushed along. Everything was inevitable.
Wei Bingkai helped Kovalev rebuild his faith. But Kovalev, having regained his faith, chose to commit suicide. Was this a stroke of luck or misfortune for him?
Shang Yechu vaguely guessed that this ending was most likely added by a domestic screenwriter.
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