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The more developed the entertainment industry becomes, the more sordid and unsavory incidents emerge within show business.
With the rise of the internet, interaction and communication between people have reached an unprecedented level. Information that once could only be obtained through television, radio, newspapers, and magazines can now be accessed instantly online.
The internet has greatly amplified the visibility of celebrities and idols, but at the same time, negative news about artists is magnified many times over, easily triggering waves of public opinion.
There are all kinds of people in this world. The entertainment circle is a mixed bag, more and more people are entering it, and negative news keeps breaking out, deepening the public's negative impression of the industry.
Drug abuse, prostitution, infidelity, drunk driving, brawls… In recent years, such scandals involving celebrities have become regulars on the entertainment pages, frequently making headlines and exerting an ever-growing social impact.
Under such circumstances, the relevant national authorities had no choice but to introduce corresponding regulations, significantly increasing the penalties for famous figures who violate laws, regulations, or moral standards. It was no longer a matter of merely "raising a toast as punishment."
Wan Xiaoquan had gone to prison for a year and a half for injuring someone in a fight. Although his crime was understandable, rules are rules, laws that everyone must abide by. A two-year ban was already considered a lenient punishment.
Therefore, during these two years, Wan Xiaoquan could not make films. Even if he did, they would not be released or broadcast, so naturally no film production companies or investors would approach him.
The paths left open to him were either temporary withdrawal from the industry or finding another line of work.
In fact, the impact of such bans is far-reaching. For a director like Wan Xiaoquan, it was relatively manageable. But if it were an idol artist, two years would be enough to plunge them into the abyss permanently, with no chance of recovery.
For Wan Xiaoquan, however, sitting on the sidelines for two years was something he could still endure financially, at least he wouldn't starve.
But being unable to engage in the career he loved and had devoted his life to was undoubtedly a tremendous torment.
Compared to two years ago, Wan Xiaoquan looked at least ten years older now, with streaks of white at his temples.
That was why, when he saw the ''A Chinese Ghost Story'' script Lu Chen had taken out, his first reaction was excitement, a surge of heat rose from within him, quickly spreading throughout his body, making him feel as if he had regained vitality.
But when he thought of his current situation, it was as if a bucket of icy water had been poured over his head, jolting him awake.
That feeling was truly difficult to put into words.
The inner conflict made Wan Xiaoquan clench his fists involuntarily, his knuckles turning white from the force.
Lu Chen saw all of this and sighed inwardly.
Of course, Lu Chen understood the trouble Wan Xiaoquan was facing. Since he had brought out this script, he had come prepared.
"Teacher Wan," Lu Chen said, "for this film, I'd like to invite you to serve as a consultant."
Where there are policies, there are countermeasures. Wan Xiaoquan couldn't be credited as the director, but serving as an advisor was not a problem. To put it bluntly, it was a way of skirting the ban, hanging a sheep's head while selling dog meat.
However, this also meant that even if the entire film were effectively directed by Wan Xiaoquan, his name would not appear anywhere, whether in promotion or in the credits, he would be an "invisible person."
This was clearly a compromise solution. Lu Chen had only proposed it after understanding Wan Xiaoquan's situation. If Wan Xiaoquan had been banned due to drug abuse or something similar, then no matter how talented he was, Lu Chen would have kept his distance.
After all, inviting Wan Xiaoquan to be a film consultant also carried risks.
Wan Xiaoquan's eyes immediately lit up.
He was someone from the entertainment circle; how could he not understand what Lu Chen meant?
This approach was completely feasible. Although it would deny him the direct honor of being credited as director, what he needed most right now was a job, not honor.
"Actually…"
At this moment, the middle-aged man sitting nearby suddenly spoke up. "I have a suggestion."
Lu Chen immediately said, "Teacher Zhang, please go ahead."
This middle-aged man's surname was Zhang. He was a veteran independent media professional and one of Wan Xiaoquan's few remaining close friends.
The man said seriously, "Little Lu, if you want Old Wan to direct this film, I suggest you take him to Hong Kong!"
Lu Chen was taken aback. "To Hong Kong?"
"Yes, Hong Kong."
The man smiled and continued, "You might not know this, but earlier this year, **** introduced a new regulation…"
This new regulation issued by **** was specifically aimed at Hong Kong's film industry. It complemented the Hong Kong SAR government's film industry support plan and was intended to help revive Hong Kong cinema.
Hong Kong's film industry had once been extraordinarily glorious in the 1980s and 1990s. After Hong Kong's return to the motherland in 1997, a large number of local films were able to enter the vast mainland market. Urban dramas, comedies, supernatural films, police-and-gangster movies, all of them profoundly influenced several generations of young people, and one Heavenly King–level star after another emerged.
There were even many Category III erotic films that flowed into the mainland, screened in places like street-corner video parlors.
However, that prosperity did not last long. Due to severe homogenization and the endless emergence of shoddy productions, audiences gradually grew tired of them. Coupled with the vigorous development of the mainland film and television industry, Hong Kong cinema suffered a heavy blow and quickly declined after entering the new century.
Many industry professionals headed north in search of opportunities, leading to a constant loss of talent and further worsening the decline.
For more than a decade, Hong Kong cinema had been struggling to find a breakthrough. Although a few good films did emerge, expecting a return to its former glory was nothing but wishful thinking.
Hong Kong filmmakers had long been calling for government support, and the new regulation from **** along with the Hong Kong SAR government's support plan was conceived under exactly such circumstances.
Wan Xiaoquan's old friend went on to explain in more detail:
"You have no real foundation in the film industry yet. Instead of choosing to compete with so many powerful rivals in Capital City, you'd be better off moving to Hong Kong and starting from scratch, say, by setting up a film workshop."
"The Hong Kong government's film industry support plan isn't limited to locals. Any film production company registered in Hong Kong can enjoy preferential policies and support, and can also share in Hong Kong's local film market, while radiating influence toward Treasure Island, Japan, and Southeast Asia!"
"Most importantly, under the new regulations from ****, films produced in Hong Kong can apply for a green channel for approval and screening. Once approved, they can be released simultaneously across the three major national cinema chains as well as the smaller ones!"
"That reason alone makes it completely worth going to Hong Kong to take a shot!"
Lu Chen's heart skipped a beat.
(End of chapter)