"I'll hang up now, we'll talk later." Shang Yechu was about to hang up when she added, "Hurry up and finish reading, then focus on writing the script."
Shang Yechu turned on the camera and sound: "Xiao Gu, you finished watching so quickly?"
Ji Juntao, who was handling official business, also came online: "What do you think of this script?"
Gu Wenhua's avatar flashed, displaying a text message: "[Wait a moment, Mr. Ji. There's a sandstorm in Jinsha City, the signal is bad, and my video call won't connect. You and Ye Chu talk first.]"
Ji Juntao cleared his throat: "As you can see, this is a horror movie script. Although it's well-written, the domestic horror movie market has been sluggish for a long time, so even if it's made, it won't do much at the box office. It might not even pass censorship."
"..."
Gu Wenhua's text message popped up again: [Ye Chu, what about you? Why do you want to film this?]
The events at Happiness Commercial Street were obviously not a valid reason to make a film, so Shang Yechu had to repeat her theory about sexy lamps in chick flicks and the plight of young actresses. She added at the end, "Besides that, this role is one I've never portrayed before, and I want to challenge myself."
Shang Yechu spoke for a long time, but Gu Wenhua didn't react at all. It was unclear whether he was listening attentively or was already lost in thought.
"I'm done speaking." Shang Yechu's mouth was dry, and he took a big gulp of water. "Xiao Gu, you should always try things. The slump in the domestic horror film market is the result of the incompetence of Chinese filmmakers."
After a long silence, Gu Wenhua finally spoke: "If that's the case..."
Before Shang Yechu could even listen attentively to the other party's opinion, a burst of noise came from Gu Wenhua's end. He immediately muted it.
A little while later, Gu Wenhua sent an apologetic text message: "[Sorry, Mr. Ji, Ye Chu, and Director Gao Sanfu are looking for me. Let's talk later tonight!]" With that, he logged out of the meeting.
Shang Yechu and Ji Juntao stared at each other across the screen. To everyone's surprise, Gu Wenhua neither agreed nor refused. To be precise, he seemed to care about the movie at all.
Could it be that after spending these days with Gao Sanfu, his horizons have broadened and his mind has become more open, making him look down on this kind of low-budget, amateurish production?
Shang Yechu was somewhat disappointed. Not disappointed in Gu Wenhua; people naturally strive for better opportunities, and Gu Wenhua hadn't done anything wrong. It was just that, although she said she didn't want to force Gu Wenhua, deep down, Shang Yechu still hoped he would direct the film. Now that hope had been dashed, it was quite regrettable.
Ji Juntao frowned, pondered for a moment, and said, "Xiao Gu might indeed be busy. He might contact you tonight or tomorrow, so be sure to tell me."
"Hmm." Shang Yechu wasn't as optimistic as Ji Juntao; she had actually given up hope.
The meeting ended hastily, and Shang Yechu immediately changed her clothes, went downstairs, got into her car, and headed to Sheng Wenzhi's residence. If Shang Yechu didn't keep a close eye on things, Sheng Wenzhi could write the script until next year.
Sitting in the car, with the scenery rushing past on both sides of the window, Shang Yechu kept making mental notes.
Who else among the directors I know would be suitable?
Xu Hanwen? He's a TV drama director, which isn't really his field of expertise.
Those two junior directors employed by the company? Their skills are not bad, they could be considered as backup options.
Should we ask someone from Metafilm?
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