MMB Chapter 131 Box Office Dark Horse and the "Kitahara Phenomenon"
Chapter 131 Box Office Dark Horse and the "Kitahara Phenomenon"
Chapter 131 Box Office Dark Horse and the "Kitahara Phenomenon"
The atmosphere in the finance department at Toei headquarters has been a bit strange lately.
Based on past experience, the box office performance of yakuza films is usually characterized by a "high opening followed by a decline".
The first week saw a surge thanks to a group of die-hard fans, but the second week saw a precipitous drop in popularity. By the third week, it was basically ready to be released on video.
But "The Wives of Yakuza: The End of Hell" is different.
The box office curve of this film drew a parabola that defied gravity and "reversely declined".
The first week's performance was mediocre, just average.
In the second week, the data suddenly started to fluctuate abnormally.
The normally quiet daytime show saw attendance soar to 80%.
Moreover, the demographics of the people entering the cinema have become extremely complex—there are middle-aged men in old jackets and with unshaven beards, as well as groups of young women clutching damp handkerchiefs.
In the third week, an even more astonishing situation emerged.
"President! The data is in!"
The finance manager, clutching a freshly printed report from the fax machine, rushed into the president's office without even knocking.
"Box office revenue this week is up 40% from last week! All major theater chains in Tokyo, Osaka, and Nagoya are requesting more screenings! Even theaters in remote areas like Hokkaido are calling to ask if they can add more shows!"
This is the legendary "social phenomenon".
In the cold winter of the bursting bubble economy, a movie about "a mad dog dying in order to live like a human being" inexplicably triggered a nationwide pain point.
The men were watching "elegy for the legacy of the Showa era".
Women are looking for "a sadomasochistic relationship with an extreme sense of brokenness".
Two completely different emotions found a perfect intersection in the character of "Sanada Kyoji".
Kyoto, on the way to the film set.
Nanako Matsushima gripped the steering wheel, carefully driving the black Toyota van. She occasionally—
I would occasionally peek through the rearview mirror at the "big brick" placed on the passenger seat.
The phone had been ringing the whole way.
"Take it."
Sitting in the back seat, Kitahara Shin rubbed his temples, his voice carrying a hint of languor from being woken up.
Nanako quickly picked up the phone, pressed the answer button, and then carefully handed it to the back.
"Feed?"
"Kitahara! You've really pulled off a miracle this time!"
The phone rang with Hiroki Matsukata's signature booming voice, accompanied by the clattering sound of mahjong tiles being shuffled in the background. He sounded like the big brother was having a blast at the mahjong table, in an incredibly good mood: "Just got news from Toei! The box office has already surpassed one billion! At this rate, it could easily reach two billion!"
Hiroki Matsukata laughed and added, "Although this series has never had trouble selling, this time we've really shattered the ceiling! Before, it was just a guaranteed profit, but this time it's practically printing money!"
"It's all thanks to the guidance and support of my seniors."
Kitahara Shin chuckled into the phone, his tone humble, "Without Matsukata-senpai supporting me in the play, I'd just be a mad dog that bites indiscriminately."
Don't give me that!
Matsukata Hiroki laughed and cursed, "Takada-sensei (screenwriter Takada Koji) just called me."
The old man is feeling quite pleased with himself right now!
At this point, Hiroki Matsukata lowered his voice, his tone tinged with a sense of cathartic relief: "Remember the drinking party on the night filming wrapped? The old man tore up that prepared resignation letter right in front of us."
Kitahara Shin nodded, though the person opposite him couldn't see him: "Of course I remember."
"Hey! Back then, those guys in suits at Toei headquarters were secretly mocking the old man, saying he was senile," and "feeling all self-satisfied," thinking the film wouldn't be able to succeed without those old tropes."
The sound of someone lighting a cigarette came from the other end of the phone, followed by a cold laugh from Matsukata Hiroki: "And now? The data came out, and those high-ups were slapped in the face! They were all lining up to call the old man, all smiles and begging! He told me he'd written hundreds of proposals in his life, but he'd never felt so satisfied!"
"He said, 'Thanks to your portrayal of Sanada Kyoji.' You proved with your acting that his decision that night was right—'We Showa old dogs' aren't all dead yet. As long as we're willing to change, we can still bite off a piece of the Heisei era!'"
"Alright, I'm not going to waste any more time with you. I need to get back to winning money! I have to treat you to drinks when I get back to Kyoto!"
'
I hung up the phone.
Kitahara Shin looked at the mobile phone in his hand, lost in thought.
It turned out to be the case.
The sheer courage that Takada Koji displayed when he tore up his resignation letter that night has finally become a reality today.
Even if this series eventually declines, at least at this moment, these Showa-era veterans have won back the face and dignity they value most through this battle.
This feeling is really good.
I hung up the phone.
Less than two minutes later, the bell rang again.
This time it's Iwashita Shima.
Compared to Hiroki Matsukata's ruggedness, the congratulations from this "Yakuza Queen" appeared reserved and aloof.
"Congratulations."
Concise and concise.
"Thank you, Iwashita-senpai."
"Remember to dress presentably for next week's celebration party," Shima Iwashita said casually. "There will be a lot of media, so don't embarrass me. Also—prepare well for this week's Kinema Junpo interview. It's going to be tough."
"clear."
After hanging up the phone, Kitahara Nobunaga breathed a sigh of relief.
He turned his gaze to the outside of the car window.
The streets of Kyoto remain old, but the poster boards along the roadside have been replaced with huge posters of "The End of Hell".
On the poster, Sanada Kyoji, his face covered in blood, is staring intently at passersby.
Just then.
A line of pale gold system notifications silently appeared in the corner of his retina.
[Mission Completion: Legendary Scenario Challenge - "The Yakuza's Wife: The End of Hell"]
[Rating: S-level (Perfect Performance)]
[Description: You didn't just create a character; you revived an era. You gave the outdated term "yakuza" renewed weight in the Heisei era. You defined what "the swan song of yakuza films" truly means.]
[Reward: Special Title - "The Last Yakuza"]
【Title Effect (Passive):】
Extreme Intimidation: When you play a gangster, criminal, or villain, your aura of dominance increases by 50%. In front of the camera, you are the embodiment of violence.
Flower of Evil: Your villainous image will have a fatal attraction to the opposite sex (commonly known as: women love bad boys).
Industry recognition: In the gangster/crime film genre, your salary weighting has been raised to "Top A".
Kitahara Shin's lips twitched as he looked at the description of "flower of evil".
This system really knows what "traffic codes" are.
three days later.
A high-class tea room in Ginza, Tokyo.
Yusaku Hayami, a senior reporter for Kinema Junpo, was sitting on the tatami mat, holding a pen in his hand, his eyes behind his glasses gleaming with scrutiny.
Sitting opposite him was Kitahara Shin, who had recently been at the center of a media storm.
Yusaku Hayami is known for his sharp tongue. He looks down on so-called stars who are packaged by talent agencies, and in his eyes, the current Japanese film industry is full of opportunists.
Today, he came with a knife.
"Kitahara-san".
-
Yusaku Hayami took a sip of tea and cut to the chase, his tone barbed: "To be honest, I've also seen 'The End of Hell.' The acting was indeed excellent, but I have a question."
He looked up, staring directly into Kitahara Shin's eyes, and posed an extremely tricky question: "Everyone knows you debuted in Kinji Fukasaku's violent films. Back then, you were a mad dog. But later, you turned around and starred in 'Tokyo Love Story,' packaging yourself as the nation's most desirable boyfriend for all Japanese women."
Hayami Yusaku paused, a mocking smile playing on his lips: "Now that you've settled into your 'idol' position, you've suddenly come back to playing a yakuza, back to being a mad dog."
"Some say this isn't a breakthrough in acting at all, but a shrewd business calculation. You're manipulating the audience's emotions by exploiting the huge contrast between a 'pure idol' and a 'gangster villain' to grab attention. Is this a return to art, or a carefully planned opportunism?"
This is a very pointed question.
It's even a bit like attacking someone's conscience.
It directly describes Kitahara Shin's acting career as a "fence-sitter" opportunistic behavior.
The manager sitting next to him, Daejeon, changed his expression and was about to speak up to smooth things over.
Kitahara Shin raised his hand to stop Ota.
He wasn't angry, and he didn't even change his posture.
He simply adjusted the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose, and with a slight thought, the newly acquired title of "The Last Ultimate Path" quietly loaded in the background.
For an instant.
The air in the tea room seemed to have dropped a few degrees.
Kitahara Shin's smile remained gentle, but his eyes, hidden behind his glasses, suddenly became unfathomable. It was as if a tiger that had been dozing had slightly opened its eyes.
"What does Hayami-san think the 'Yakuza' is?"
Kitahara Shin asked in return, his voice very soft.
"Violence? Crime? A social cancer?" Hayami Yusaku frowned.
"No."
Kitahara Shin shook his head, his fingers lightly tracing the rim of the teacup: "They are the abandoned ones."
"When I first started out, I played a mad dog because at that time I had nothing and could only survive by biting people."
Later, I played Osamu because I wanted to experience the warmth of ordinary people. And now, I play Sanada Kyoji—”
He looked at Yusaku Hayami, his tone as calm as if he were telling someone else's story: "It wasn't for any contrast, nor for speculation. It was because that era didn't need mad dogs anymore."
The bubble economy burst, and even the elites working for large companies were laid off, let alone these remnants of the old era who only know how to use their fists.
"I'm not playing a gangster. I'm playing a group of pathetic creatures who have been abandoned by the times but still want to cling to the train door."
"As for scheming—"
Kitahara Shin smiled, a smile carrying a hint of the wickedness unique to Sanada Kyoji: "In this chaotic era, who isn't scheming to survive? Hayami-san, is your pen necessarily cleaner than my sword?"
Hayami Yusaku's hand holding the pen suddenly paused.
I've been checkmated.
This young man is not only a good actor, but he has also thoroughly understood the core of the character and even used the character's logic to question society.
This is hardly an idol who only knows how to look cool.
This is clearly a monster who can see through people's hearts.
Hayami Yusaku took a deep breath, abandoning his previous disdain. He closed his notebook and adopted a more serious sitting posture.
"Been taught a lesson."
He adjusted his glasses and asked the next question, this time with genuine respect: "So, Kitahara-san, the media these days idolizes you, calling you the Shintaro Katsu of the Heisei era," the savior of yakuza films. What do you think of that?"
"Savior?"
Upon hearing this word, Kitahara Shin couldn't help but laugh out loud.
He picked up his teacup, took a sip, and then looked out the window at the bustling streets of Ginza.
"Yakuza films never died, they just changed their clothes."
He said calmly, with a wisdom beyond his years, "People used to enjoy watching chivalrous stories because life was better then, and everyone yearned for that kind of fairytale of chivalry and loyalty. But now, the bubble has burst, and everyone has fallen into the mire. What people want to see now is no longer a big brother in a beautiful kimono posing, but a mad dog like Sanada Kyoji, wallowing in the mud just to survive."
"The End of Hell isn't a funeral, it's evolution. It proves that as long as you grasp the core concept of 'survival,' this theme can endure regardless of the era."
At this point, he turned to look at Yusaku Hayami, his eyes gleaming with ambition: "As for me—"
"I'm happy to have proven that, but I don't want to be just a spokesperson for one type of thing. Yakuza or idol, those are just masks. I'm greedy; I want to see just how many different masks I can wear."
Hayami Yusaku looked at the young man in front of him.
Despite uttering such arrogant words, the calmness and confidence that emanated from his very being made it seem perfectly natural.
After the interview, Yusaku Hayami watched the departing figure and wrote a title heavily in his notebook.
In this Heisei era where only plastic acting skills exist, finally a piece of real steel has arrived.
This is an extremely subtle and shocking turning point for the Japanese entertainment industry.
Prior to this, Kitahara Shin was popular, but that popularity was largely due to the television effect of "Tokyo Love Story" and the support of Yoshishita Riki Studio's "Ocean Waves." In the eyes of discerning film producers, it was only a "passing grade"—everyone felt that his portrayal of that refreshing young man was a natural fit and didn't require much technical skill.
But now, two powerful blows have completely shattered the industry's prejudices.
The first punch was "The Lies of Grand Hotel".
That weighty Silver Lion award proved that he could not only act in idol dramas, but also gain recognition at international film festivals. Under the pressure of a "monster-level" veteran actor like Rentaro Mikuni, he was not overwhelmed, but instead delivered a performance that was equally impressive. This film established his "upper limit" as an actor—meaning that he possesses the backbone to carry serious art films.
The second punch is the current "Yakuza Wife".
With the eccentric character of Sanada Kyoji, he solidified that superficial "traffic" into substantial "box office" revenue. He proved one thing to the entire industry: audiences go to the cinema not to see a particular character, but to see "Kitahara Shin" as a person. This film maintained his "lower limit" as a commercial star.
With the Silver Lion Award for artistic merit in his left hand and the box office miracle of yakuza films in his right, he holds both.
This is not just an increase in fame; it's a leap in social class.
He has obtained an official ticket to the "National Actor" club. From today onwards, he is no longer a traffic idol who can be replaced at any time, but a "top star" who can win awards and carry the box office.
10 PM.
Kitahara Shin arrived at his apartment building in Roppongi as agreed.
Akina called today specifically to say that she wanted to throw him a "private celebration party" for just the two of them to celebrate the movie's box office success.
He rang the doorbell.
"Here it comes!"
A series of hurried slipper slaps came from inside the door, followed by the door being pulled open.
Akina Nakamori stood at the door.
She had clearly prepared carefully for tonight's "date," with light makeup on her face and her hair styled. However, the pink apron she wore and the long chopsticks she was holding instantly betrayed her current flustered state.
"Come in quickly! The soup is overflowing!"
She didn't even bother to get slippers for Kitahara Shin, and hurriedly turned around and ran back to the kitchen.
Kitahara Shin smiled and shook his head, then changed his shoes and went into the living room.
A rich, sweet, and savory aroma filled the room.
That's the unique flavor of Kanto-style sukiyaki, except—there seems to be an overly strong soy sauce smell in the air.
The table in the living room was already set with tableware, and there was even a somewhat pretentious candle lit—it seemed that this singer really wanted to create the atmosphere of a "romantic dinner".
"Okay!"
Akina carried out a steaming pot and carefully placed it on the portable stove.
"Today, I, the master chef, am personally cooking to celebrate Mr. Sanada Kyoji's box office success!"
She wiped her hands and looked at Kitahara Shin with anticipation: "How is it? Looks good, right? This time I followed the recipe strictly, I even weighed the sugar on a scale!"
Kitahara Shin glanced at the pot.
Although the beef was cut into uneven thicknesses, the mushrooms were sliced crookedly, and the soup base was so dark it looked a bit like Chinese medicine, at least it was cooked.
"It looks very appetizing."
Kitahara Shin gave a high-EQ assessment, then pointed to the television: "By the way, what did you say you wanted me to watch on the phone?"
"Oh right! I almost forgot!"
Akina quickly grabbed the remote and turned the volume up. "That scathing-tongued Yusaku Hayami actually praised you on the show!"
A late-night talk show is playing on television.
Yusaku Hayami, facing the camera with a serious expression, said: "—If you ask me what the biggest surprise in Japanese cinema this year is, I would say it's Shin Kitahara. He showed me the potential of a new generation of actors. The disruptive power he possesses is something the entertainment industry lacks most right now—"
"Hmph."
Akina sat cross-legged on the chair, shaking her head smugly. "Looks like this old man isn't just good at cursing."
I knew you were the best.
As she spoke, she picked up the largest piece of marbled beef, dipped it in the egg mixture, and stuffed it directly into Kitahara Shin's bowl: "Try it! It's a reward for you!"
Kitahara Shin picked up a piece of beef and put it in his mouth.
Yes, I knew it.
Too much sugar made it cloyingly sweet, and too much soy sauce made it so salty it made you want to drink water. This is still the familiar "Akina-style" dark cuisine, emphasizing a strong flavor.
"How was it?" Akina blinked her big eyes at him.
"tasty."
Kitahara Shin swallowed it without changing his expression, even showing an expression of enjoyment. "It tastes better than the restaurants outside."
"real?"
Akina suspiciously picked up a piece and tasted it herself.
"Ugh————"
Her face scrunched up. "It seems... a little salty?"
"It's okay, I just like salty food." Kitahara Shin picked up his oolong tea, took a sip, and naturally changed the subject. "Besides, it tastes more like home."
Akina blushed slightly upon hearing the word "home".
She poked at the tofu in her bowl, muttering under her breath, "You know how to talk."
"Oh, right."
Having eaten almost all of his meal (though he had drunk three glasses of water), Kitahara Shin took out a newly acquired proposal from his briefcase: "For the next script, Ota has narrowed down the selection process. Fuji Television has handed us a very substantial script."
"Are you going to act in those fighting and killing scenes again?" Akina asked while clearing the dishes. "Although Sanada is very handsome, my heart can't take seeing you bleeding all the time."
"No."
Kitahara Shin showed her the cover of the script—"Under One Roof".
"This time I'm playing a surgeon."
He pushed up his glasses, his tone carrying a hint of consideration: "The second eldest brother of the Kashiwagi family, a graduate of the University of Tokyo's medical school, is calm, rational, and a bit of a germaphobe. He usually only wears a white coat. He's a complete elitist."
"Why--?"
Akina stopped what she was doing and imagined the scene. "A doctor? That's such a big contrast."
He just finished playing a gangster wielding a knife, and now he's saving lives with a scalpel?
"That's the contrast we wanted."
Akina nodded. "You'd definitely look good in a white lab coat."
At this point, she seemed to remember something, wiped her hands, took out another script from the shelf behind her, and handed it over hesitantly: "Actually—Fuji TV has been trying to talk to me about a new drama recently."
Kitahara Shin looked down and saw "The Whole Picture Without Makeup".
"It's a dual-female lead drama. I'm going to play a crazy dancing girl, paired with Ms. Yasuda Narumi."
Akina's voice was soft, as if she was choosing her words carefully: "But the producer said that there's one male lead they can't seem to settle on. They want someone—well, handsome, a bit cynical, but actually very understanding of women."
She pointed to the script with her finger: "The producer asked me if we could get you to act in it. He said if the two of us acted opposite each other, the ratings would definitely be great. If it wasn't convenient, they contacted other agencies—"
The room was silent for a few seconds.
Kitahara Shin looked at the two scripts in front of him.
On the left is "Under One Roof," a sure-fire ratings hit that could propel him to the status of a "national actor." On the right is "All About Beauty," Akina's transformative work, and—it's obvious the TV station is trying to ride their coattails with a "publicly funded romance."
In the Japanese entertainment industry of that era, the boundaries were not as clear as they are in later years.
This was a golden age for "all-around entertainers." There was no absolute separation between "professional actors" and "professional singers." It was perfectly normal for top idols like Miho Nakayama and Kyoko Koizumi to simultaneously top the charts and dominate primetime ratings.
The problem is that both dramas are major shows in Fuji TV's spring season, and their filming schedules completely overlap.
"This is troublesome."
Kitahara Shin picked up his teacup, took a sip, and frowned slightly.
"It won't work, will it?"
Akina immediately seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, but her eyes betrayed her disappointment. "I also think it won't work. You'll definitely need a lot of time to prepare for playing that doctor. And filming two dramas at the same time will definitely take a toll on your health."
She reached out to take the script for "The Whole of My Face" back: "It's okay, I'll just turn down the producer tomorrow—"
A hand pressed down on the script.
Akina froze, then looked up at Kitahara Shin.
"Who says it can't be done?"
Kitahara Shin tapped the script cover lightly with his fingers, a somewhat manic smile spreading across his face: "Since they're all Fuji TV dramas, this makes it even more interesting."
"I play a carefree playboy on Monday nights and a stern doctor on Sunday nights. It's a very interesting challenge for me to let the audience see different sides of me in the same persona but with different characters."
"ha?"
Akina's eyes widened, and her voice suddenly rose eight octaves: "Are you serious? Both of these roles are very demanding, you'll be exhausted! You're a human, not a machine!"
'
She panicked and stood up abruptly. "No way! Absolutely not! I've seen your schedule. If you take on two projects, you won't even get three hours of sleep a day! Sacrificing your life for work is something only an idiot would do!"
"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."
Kitahara Shin stacked the two scripts together and put them into his briefcase. His tone was calm, yet it conveyed an undeniable firmness: "This is a rare opportunity. I want to secure my position this spring."
He looked up at Akina, who was looking anxious, and softened his tone: "And—I'll let you date other men on TV."
He paused for a moment, then casually shrugged: "Even though it's acting, I'll probably still feel a little uncomfortable. In that case, I might as well do it myself."
Akina's face instantly turned bright red.
She opened her mouth, wanting to refute something, but looking at Kitahara Shin's tired yet ambitious eyes, she could only swallow her words in the end.
"Whatever!"
She slammed back into her chair, still fuming, and slammed the still-steaming pot lid down: "Don't cry when you're exhausted! I'm not bringing you food to the hospital!"
"That's natural."
Kitahara Shin was in a good mood looking at her flustered appearance.
Under the warm yellow light, the sukiyaki pot was bubbling away.
In this small room, the man who had just fought his way through the world of yakuza films made an extremely greedy and arrogant decision that very night.
He wants to dominate all of Japan's television screens this spring with two completely different faces.
Meanwhile, that stubborn but soft-hearted fool of a songstress, though she was cursing him, was already planning in her heart to buy that expensive ginseng that was said to be very nourishing for the body the next day.