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Chapter 197 A Slap in the Face Towards the West!

The lights came on in the screening room.

The photo shows a mess of popcorn buckets and twisted drink cups scattered all over the floor.

After a brief silence, a heated discussion erupted instantly.

Under the lights, some people kept wiping away tears, as if an indescribable emotion was welling up in their hearts and they couldn't calm it down. Some people angrily cursed the media for spreading rumors, while many more people discussed whether Zhou Yang was really dead or not...

Liu Jiasheng stood up, took his fiancée Zhang Ying's somewhat cold hand, and silently squeezed through the crowded throng, walking out of the screening room...

Late at night.

But countless media outlets still crowded at the entrance of the screening room, and the flashes were so bright that people couldn't open their eyes.

They bombarded everyone who came out of the movie theater with questions, asking them what they thought of the film...

Not far away, scalpers waved movie tickets and shouted in their hoarse voices, "Last one for 3000 yuan!"

Liu Jiasheng followed his fiancée for a long way before finally managing to hail a taxi...

The moment he got home, he hurriedly turned on his computer, trembling as he clicked on "Movie House," and excitedly began to type a line.

"The Mine: A Precise Massacre of Suffering-Driven Consumerism!"

..............................

Berlin, Germany.

There is only one day left until the final selection of films is announced at the opening ceremony of the Berlin International Film Festival.

The lights in the private screening room came on, but film critic and one of the judges, Bass, remained trapped in the darkness of the screen, unable to look away.

After the "thrilling" movie ended, he struggled for a long time to recover from its "blatant satire."

He understands a little Chinese. Although he can't understand all the dialogue in the movie, he understands the most important parts.

Because he understood, he was shocked!

In his memory, no Chinese film had ever struck him so deeply with such explicit and profound content as "The Mine."

That Chinese director was incredibly audacious; like a madman, he slapped them hard across the face.

He lit a cigarette with trembling hands; the ashtray was already overflowing with twisted cigarette butts…

"I hope to add a film called 'The Mine' to the main competition!"

Amidst the rising smoke, he dialed the number for the Berlin International Film Festival once again.

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, then a moment later.

“Mr. Bass, this Chinese film has not been formally submitted for approval, and besides, I just watched the film…”

"To be honest, I was shocked and angry. I saw a barbaric and ignorant Easterner using 'movies' to slander us..."

"Sorry, this kind of movie disgusts me!"

"..."

The call was hung up again!
Looking at the phone...

Internationally renowned film critic and filmmaker Bass stubbed out his cigarette and looked toward the Berlin International Film Festival in the distance.

After a long while, he grabbed his coat, pushed open the door, and walked straight toward the office of the organizing committee's executive chairman, Karl Hoffman.

When he arrived at the office door, he was stopped.

The Berlin International Film Festival organizing committee is currently in a meeting to finalize the shortlisted films.

He waited at the door for a long time...

Finally, I heard the office door open.

The assistant came out.

"Come in, Mr. Bath, Mr. Hoffman is waiting for you..."

"it is good."

He straightened his clothes and then walked into the office, where he saw the legendary filmmaker Hoffman, who had just turned sixty this year.

Hoffmann, one of the founders of the European New Wave movement, created his masterpiece "The Silent Cross" in 1978. With its cold and austere cinematic language, the film exposed the spiritual ruins of postwar Germany and became an aesthetic benchmark for the Berlin School. To this day, it is regarded by film schools as a textbook on "narrative blank space"...

His "The Whistle Under the Ice" (1985) used minimalist techniques to depict the loneliness of East German border guards, winning the Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival and sparking a special discussion at the NATO Ministerial Conference on Culture. Western critics said that he "torn open the metaphor of the Iron Curtain with a single frame of footprints in the snow"...

It is no exaggeration to say that he was one of the most renowned filmmakers in European cinema during the 70s and late 90s, and this year, this legendary filmmaker accepted the invitation to serve as the executive chairman of the Berlin International Film Festival.

"Mr. Hoffman, that Chinese film must be nominated for the main competition!" Upon seeing Hoffman, Bass handed him a copy of "The Mine".

Hoffman looked at the disc, then at Bass, and smiled. "I heard you really like this film, which satirizes 'Western film festivals'?"

Bass stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window in his office, his fingers unconsciously stroking the sample DVD of "The Mine".

Outside the window, the red carpet in front of the Berlin Film Palace has been laid out, and workers are adjusting the lighting for the upcoming opening ceremony.

“Mr. Hoffman, it is precisely because this film satirizes us that we should include it in the competition.” Bass turned around, his voice exceptionally clear in the spacious office: “This is true artistic freedom, Mr. Hoffman. Why don’t you take a look at this film?”

Hoffman took off his glasses and slowly wiped the lenses with a silk handkerchief.

The sixty-year-old film master moved with elegance, his face gentle, silently gazing at the distant film festival: "Mr. Bass, you and I both know this isn't a simple artistic issue. This Chinese director portrays our film festival as a bloodthirsty vulture, waiting to tear chunks of 'art' from the miners' corpses..."

Bass was stunned!
He had assumed that Hoffman was too busy with film festival matters to watch the movie, but to his surprise, he actually did!
“Mr. Hoffman, is he wrong?” Bass glanced down at the envelope on his desk.

He knew the envelope contained the shortlist for this year's Berlin International Film Festival. He sighed, "Since the 1990s, which of the awards we've given to Eastern countries hasn't been for films that depict poverty, ignorance, and the darkness of the system? Is this what true cinematic art should be? Is this what true Western freedom should be?"

After finishing his speech, Bass looked at Hoffman by the window and sighed, "After the millennium, I actually visited China. In those four years, every year China changed differently. But every year, the Chinese films at the Berlin International Film Festival were exactly the same as those from the 80s and 90s—all depicting poverty, backwardness, and barbarity. It was as if that country had never progressed. I know the truth behind the film festival, but film is a purely realistic art, not something that serves the government. Film can satirize, even serve the underprivileged, but it cannot always be a weapon of the government..."

After Bass finished speaking, he looked at Hoffman, but Hoffman's expression remained calm, as if he hadn't heard anything.

The entire conference room suddenly fell into a long silence.

The assistant quietly retreated to a corner, pretending to organize documents.

Bass picked up the disc and, without consulting anyone, copied it and inserted it into the office computer, then sped up the playback of scenes from "The Mine".

The moment the projector in the office lit up, the darkness of the deep mine on the screen engulfed the entire office.

Hoffman turned his head and silently watched the movie.

When he saw the director in the movie start sawing off a leg again, his expression gradually became serious.

The assistant next to him was also stunned...

……

When the screening ended, the office returned to silence.

Hoffman stared at the frozen donation statement for a long time, then silently closed his eyes.

He also understands Chinese.

“Art should have no borders.” Bass turned off the projector, his voice hoarse: “We are high above, but if we don’t even have the courage to face criticism, what’s the difference between us and those directors in the film industry who are waiting for awards for ‘real mining disasters’?”

"If we reject this film, then isn't an even more ironic 'film' unfolding in reality?"

Hoffman slowly got up, walked to the bookshelf, and took out a poster of "The Silent Cross" from 1978.

On the yellowed paper, a young version of himself is depicted holding the golden lion aloft on the Venice podium...

It reminded me of my younger self...

"More than twenty years ago..." the old man suddenly laughed, deep wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes, "I think I, too, like this Chinese director, slapped the entire city of Venice across the face with my film..."

He turned around and pressed the internal communication button.

He then lowered his head and said, "Notify the organizing committee of an emergency meeting. Now!"

That night, the conference room on the top floor of the Berlin Film Palace was brightly lit.

Bass stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, looking at the city lights at midnight.

A heated argument erupted behind me, with French, German, and English clashing on the conference table.

There were also figures angrily slamming their fists on tables, shouting for this Chinese person to be banned from attending any Western film festivals...

He didn't know how much time had passed, but at some point, he heard Hoffman's aged yet resolute voice pierce through the noise: "True art is never afraid of satire, gentlemen. What's always afraid of being exposed is politics... And we are the purest of all, filmmakers! I see my former self in this young Chinese man... so arrogant, so crazy, so... reckless!"

After Hoffman's voice rang out, a long silence fell over the office.

Time passed little by little.

After the last judge signed and left, Bass looked at the newly released shortlist.

The name "The Mine" was solemnly added to the end of the list with a fountain pen, the ink spreading slightly on the paper, fresh as blood.

As Hoffman handed the list to Bass, a strange light flickered in his tired eyes: "Go tell that Chinese director..."

He paused slightly, a smile spreading across his face, as if he had returned to his former high-spirited days. After a brief moment of reverie, he looked down at the DVD of "The Mine," gently stroking it, his smile growing ever brighter: "Tell him that we caught the slap he gave us!"

(Two chapters guaranteed today...)
(End of this chapter)