MMB Chapter 233 New Goal, 5 Million Yuan Box Office
Chapter 233 New Goal, 5 Million Yuan Box Office
Chapter 233 New Goal: Five Billion in Box Office
The night after the special episode aired, Kitahara Shin met with Fujiwara alone.
The location was chosen by Fujiwara himself; it was a quiet bar in Ginza, a private room with only two people.
Fujiwara is a very direct person when it comes to business; he gets straight to the point and doesn't beat around the bush. He laid out several projects he had on hand and explained the areas where he could cooperate with Kitahara Shin. Kitahara Shin listened while drinking, occasionally asking a question or two, and the two had a very smooth conversation.
As the conversation progressed to the latter part, Fujiwara put down his wine glass, changed his tone, and said, "Kitahara-kun, there's something I'd like to say to you privately."
"Speak."
"That Kobayakawa guy," Fujiwara paused, "didn't invite you to that dinner entirely to help you. He wanted to get some leverage from you so he could have something to say to the conglomerate later. He's betting on both sides; that's his usual tactic."
Kitahara Shin put down his glass and nodded. "Thank you for telling me this."
Fujiwara waved his hand, picked up his glass again, and said casually, "I just think you should know that."
The two chatted for a while longer and roughly set out the framework for their collaboration.
As the event was about to end, Fujiwara suddenly spoke again, his tone becoming much more casual, as if he were talking about something insignificant: "Kitahara-kun, I have a small request, nothing important—"
—
"you say."
"I have a few friends who are very interested in the entertainment industry," Fujiwara paused, a slight smile playing on her lips, "You know a lot of actresses, so if it's convenient, could you arrange for a few of them to get together sometime? Just a casual dinner with friends, the kind that's really informal—"
After listening, Kitahara Shin remained silent for two seconds.
He wasn't actually surprised.
People with money and power in this circle will inevitably make this kind of request sooner or later; it's just a matter of time. Today, it's Fujiwara who's making it, that's all.
"I can't help with this," he said.
Fujiwara's smile faded slightly, but didn't disappear completely. He looked at Kitahara Shin, paused, and said, "Kitahara-kun, as you know, you have some connections with the conglomerate. If I could put in a good word for you, it would be very helpful to you—"
"Mr. Fujiwara," Kitahara Shin interrupted him, his tone flat, "we can talk business, we can discuss collaborations, I'm willing to sit down and talk about any projects in the building materials sector. But this is something I can't help with."
Fujiwara was silent for a moment, then put down his wine glass, sighed, shrugged, and said, "Well, there's nothing I can do about the conglomerate's affairs. Kitahara-kun, please don't blame me."
"I understand," Kitahara Nobu said. "We can continue to discuss business cooperation."
Fujiwara glanced at him, then smiled, a smile that held something that was hard to define—whether it was admiration or helplessness: "Kitahara-kun, you're a really interesting person."
The two shook hands and said goodbye.
After leaving the bar, Kitahara Shin stood on the street for a while, waiting for his car, keeping the matter to himself.
He always understood the rules of this circle. Where power and money are exchanged, there will always be someone trying to slip in something else, to see if you'll accept it.
He didn't answer.
There's nothing to dwell on about this.
But this incident also made him realize something else: he now has what he has, and he has already established a firm foothold in this industry. But establishing a foothold and being truly secure are two different things.
What he needs is to make his name so big that anyone would have to think twice before touching him.
To achieve this, relying solely on television dramas and movies, or simply being an actor, is not enough.
Ota parked the car, and Kitahara Shin got in, leaned back in the seat, and didn't say anything.
Da Tian glanced at him in the rearview mirror but didn't dare to ask.
After driving for a while, Kitahara Shin finally spoke, his tone very calm: "We can discuss business with Fujiwara, but keep your distance. Take note."
Da Tian responded.
As the car drove into the night streets, Kitahara Shin looked at the flowing lights outside the window, but his mind had already turned to something else.
Shortly after the special episode aired, Kitahara Shin summoned the core team to the conference room.
Secretary Aida, Masakazu Ota, the production manager of the film crew, the head of the scriptwriting team, and several people in charge of peripheral business sat at a table.
Kitahara Shin stood in front of the whiteboard, and without any pleasantries, said directly: "The 'Great Investigation Line' is going to be made into a movie."
The room fell silent for a moment.
Ota was the first to speak: "A movie? A theatrical version?"
"right."
"When did this happen?" Ota frowned. "Before you—"
"Preparations began the day filming started for the first season," said Kitahara Shin. "The actors' schedules were secured, a first draft of the script outline was completed, and we also contacted theater chains."
-
Da Tian opened his mouth, but couldn't say anything for a moment.
Secretary Aida looked up at him quietly, her pen still in her hand.
The head of the screenwriting team hesitated for a moment and said, "President, to be honest, in this day and age, I can't think of any successful precedents for TV series adapted into movies that have made it to theaters."
"I know." Kitahara Shin nodded. "It's precisely because there's no precedent that we have to do it."
"But," the production manager interjected, "the final episode of 'Bayside Shakedown' only had a 17.8% rating, and the special episode had 24.3%. How would theaters react to that?"
"The theater chains are taking a wait-and-see approach right now," Kitahara Shin said. "They feel the risk is on our side, and they don't have much to lose."
"Doesn't that mean," Da Tian couldn't help but ask, "that if the box office is bad, we'll have to shoulder the entire burden ourselves?"
"right."
Da Tian took a deep breath: "So what kind of expectation do you have in mind?"
Kitahara Shin turned around and wrote a number on the whiteboard.
"Target box office: 50 billion yen"
The room was silent for about five seconds.
Then Ota spoke first, his voice conveying a sense of trying hard to remain calm: "President, you mean—fifty billion?"
"right."
"JPY?"
"right."
Da Tian put down his pen, leaned back in his chair, stared at the ceiling, and said nothing.
Secretary Aida then put down his pen, wrote the number down in the memo, and after finishing, looked up and asked, "What is the current box office record for a similar Japanese theatrical film?"
"Hollywood's box office record in Japan last year was 7.2 billion yen," said Kitahara Shin. "For Japanese domestic films, the highest grossing film is animation, while the best live-action film has a gross of just over 2 billion yen."
"So," the head of the screenwriting team slowly said, "what you need to do is to more than double the box office revenue of Japanese live-action films."
"almost."
Another silence followed.
The production manager scratched his head and said, "It's not that I don't believe you, but I have to ask, what's the basis for this figure?"
Kitahara Shin rewrote a few words on the whiteboard: "Reputation building - surrounding area influence - cinema chain expansion."
"What 'Bayside Shakedown' has truly built over the past six months isn't ratings," he said, "but a group of viewers who genuinely treat the show as their own. These people will go to the cinema. And going to the cinema will bring in another group of people who have never seen the show before—because the cinema is a different space; it gives people a sense of ritual, making them feel that it's worth making a special effort to do it."
He paused for a moment, looking at everyone present.
"We've spent almost half a year developing merchandise, building reputation, and laying the groundwork. The theatrical release is the culmination of all that work over the past six months. If this succeeds, it will prove more than just how much money a movie can make."
He turned around and pointed to the number on the whiteboard.
"It proved that a movie adapted from a Japanese TV series can beat Hollywood in theaters. From that day on, our entire industry chain, from content to merchandise to theaters, was truly running smoothly."
The meeting room remained quiet for a long time.
Finally, it was Ota who spoke. The effort to maintain composure in his voice had vanished, replaced by something else—not confidence, but something more reassuring: "So, when do we start?"
Kitahara Shin put down the pen on the whiteboard and said, "Let's begin now."
Ota responded, but then frowned as if remembering something: "President, I have a question."
"explain."
"We have our own Kitahara Cinema chain, and director Miike is also consistently releasing films through V-Cinema, so we're making some cash, but the highest box office for a single film there is only in the range of 200 to 300 million yen." Ota paused for a moment, "The goal of 5 billion yen is clearly not something we can achieve by going down that route."
"Yes." Kitahara Shin nodded. "V-Cinema follows a different logic. Its audience is fixed, and the number of theaters is limited, so the ceiling is there. The theatrical version of 'Bayside Shakedown' must go through the mainstream channels of regular theaters."
The production manager chimed in, "Toho? Shochiku? Or Toei?"
"Toho. It has the largest scale, the most complete distribution network, and the strongest voice in mainstream cinema chains."
The head of the screenwriting team hesitated for a moment and said, "Would Toho be willing to take on a movie adapted from a midday TV drama? Their film slate is always very selective."
"I'm not willing now," Kitahara Nobu said. "But we're not going to talk about it now."
"When?"
"Wait until the script is finished, the trailer is edited, and we have something to put on the table. If we go in empty-handed, everyone will just wait and see. But if we bring something complete, their attitude will be different."
Secretary Aida, without looking up, jotted down notes and asked, "So, what about the Kitahara Cinema? Aren't they showing the theatrical version?"
"Let's go. But Kitahara Cinemas is a supplement, not the main force. The core battleground for the theatrical version is Toho's mainstream theaters. Kitahara Cinemas will provide supplementary screenings to cover areas that mainstream theaters can't reach. We need to walk on two legs, not rely on just one."
Ota jotted it down in his notebook, then looked up: "What about Director Miike? Is the V-Cinema project still progressing?"
"Continue. That storyline continues. V-Cinema is a cash flow, a place to nurture new talent, and it's separate from the theatrical version; they don't interfere with each other."
The production manager nodded, but there was still something lingering in his expression. He hesitated for a moment before saying, "President, I have to say something a little unpleasant."
"explain."
"Even if the script is finished, the trailer is cut, and Toho is willing to negotiate," he paused, "the theaters' confidence in this film is ultimately based on the reputation of 'Bayside Shakedown.' But that show's viewership has never exceeded 25, and from the theaters' perspective, it's hard to convince them that this is enough to support a 5 billion yen box office."
The meeting room fell silent for a moment.
This is the truth, and everyone here knows it.
Kitahara Shin didn't answer immediately. He just stood there, thought for a while, and then spoke.
"I know that 5 billion yuan in box office revenue isn't enough to rely on the existing audience of 'Bayside Shakedown,'" he said. "So this movie has to achieve one thing: even if you haven't seen a single episode of the main series, you can understand it and be moved when you go to the cinema. That's the first hard requirement of the script."
"How did you do that?" the head of the scriptwriting team asked.
"Make the case itself large enough, independent and complete enough, so that it can stand alone outside of the main drama," said Kitahara Shin. "TV dramas accumulate a core audience, while movies need to break through to a wider audience. The core audience will come, but the 5 billion yuan comes from those who have never seen the show before but were lured to the cinema by a poster or a trailer. Only when both of these things are done simultaneously can the numbers be valid."
The production manager was silent for a moment, then picked up his pen and began to take notes.
The head of the scriptwriting team leaned back in his chair, thought for a moment, and asked, "When will the script be finalized?"
"Three months," Kitahara Shin said. "Before that, we're simultaneously working on theater deals, marketing plans, and actor schedules. Once the script is finished, everything has to be ready; we can't wait a single step."
He glanced at everyone present.
"If there's a problem, say it now."
No one spoke.
It wasn't because they had no doubts, but because they had all followed this person and done one seemingly impossible thing after another, watching it happen one by one.
This time, perhaps it will be the same.
Ota closed his notebook first and said, "Then I'll contact Toho and sound them out first."
"7
"Alright," Kitahara Shin said, "Meeting adjourned."