MMB Chapter 240: 5 Million Reached! The Film and Television Industry's Collective Silence
Chapter 240: 5 Million Reached! The Film and Television Industry's Collective Silence
Chapter 240 The 5 Billion Yuan Achieved! The Film Industry's Collective Silence
In Chiyoda Ward, there is a high-end golf club that operates on a strict membership system.
The lawn was glistening with cool dew in the early morning. Kitahara Shin, dressed in casual sportswear, gripped his golf clubs, his eyes fixed intently on the hole in the distance.
"Bang-
—
A perfect shot, a beautiful arc. The golf ball landed precisely in a perfect spot on the green.
"Good shot." Fujiwara, the building materials tycoon standing to the side, clapped lightly, a somewhat sarcastic smile on his face. "Kitahara-kun not only dominates the theater scene, but he also plays golf so beautifully. But speaking of which, last time Kitahara-kun wouldn't even let a few friends in the entertainment industry introduce me. I thought you were a young man who didn't understand social etiquette, but now it seems you only have your mind on yourself."
Fujiwara was still acting like an elder. He was confident in his decision to attend the meeting today. Although he hadn't been able to control Kitahara Shin's decision regarding theater scheduling, he believed that with the support of a conglomerate alliance, even if Kitahara Shin made a lot of money, he wouldn't dare to really do anything to him.
Kitahara Shin handed the golf clubs to the caddie and casually took a hot towel to wipe his hands.
In fact, through cross-referencing intelligence gathered by Representative Kobayakawa and the Takayama Group, Kitahara Shin had already thoroughly investigated Fujiwara's background. This old fox was hardly a core figure within the conglomerate; the value he could offer was pitifully small. Most of the time, he was just using the conglomerate's name as a shield, a fox borrowing the tiger's power.
But it's precisely this kind of person who loves to disgust others behind their backs. Kitahara Shin was certainly not arrogant enough to think he could single-handedly overturn the entire structure of Japanese conglomerates. That kind of "business war" where people fight to the death for a sake of pride only exists in third-rate novels.
In the real world, conglomerates are deeply entrenched, and a single move can have far-reaching consequences. Kitahara Shin is currently just a small player in Japan's economic landscape; he simply wants to make his money peacefully and has neither the need nor the ability to cause an economic collapse.
In the adult world, things are all about interests and checks and balances.
"Mr. Fujiwara." Kitahara Shin walked to the sunshade in the rest area, sat down, picked up a glass of ice water, and said casually, "I didn't invite you here today to talk about the entertainment industry."
He took a brown paper bag from the briefcase next to him and casually tossed it onto the small round table in front of Fujiwara.
"Take a look."
Fujiwara frowned, suspiciously picking up the paper bag and tearing it open. After only a couple of glances, the arrogance and composure on his face vanished instantly, replaced by a deathly pale expression.
Inside were all the accounting books he had kept for the shell company in Chiyoda Ward over the past few years, as well as photocopies of the money flow records he had used to launder money overseas for several peripheral figures in the conglomerate. Every single transaction was crystal clear.
"Where did you get this?!" Fujiwara's voice cracked instantly, his legs went weak uncontrollably, and he collapsed onto the wicker chair.
Once these things are exposed, he will not only go to jail, but the conglomerate will also tear him to pieces immediately in order to protect itself!
"How you got it is not important." Kitahara Shin looked at him, his eyes showing no anger, only a calm that seemed to have seen through everything. "Mr. Fujiwara, I've always believed in making money through amicable means. The conglomerate is a towering tree; I have no interest in cutting it down, nor do I have the axe. But you, at best, are just a rotten branch on that tree."
Fujiwara trembled all over, clutching the photocopies tightly, cold sweat pouring down his forehead in large drops.
"I don't need you to be my slave, nor do I want your money." Kitahara Shin stood up, looking down at him. "I've already spoken with Representative Kobayakawa about today's matter, and he also thinks that some people are jumping around too much, which is inappropriate."
Upon hearing the words "Congressman Kobayakawa," Fujiwara's last line of defense completely crumbled.
He finally understood that Kitahara Shin dared to so blatantly reveal his trump card to him because Kitahara Shin had already reached some kind of tacit agreement with Kobayakawa! With these two working together, even if Fujiwara had ten lives, it wouldn't be enough to catch them!
"Go back to the conglomerate, continue being your building materials director, and do what you're supposed to do." Kitahara Shin straightened his cuffs, tossing out his final warning, "As long as you don't ever touch my business again, these ledgers will forever remain just a pile of waste paper. Understand?"
"I-I understand—I will absolutely not cause you any more trouble!" Fujiwara swallowed hard, his voice trembling like a leaky bellows, even using honorifics.
Kitahara Shin didn't look at him again and turned to walk towards the golf course gate.
The threat has been eliminated. Without bloodshed or a fight to the death, just an invisible leash has kept this local tyrant firmly in place.
As time goes by, the cold winter gradually passes, and the warmth of early spring begins to return.
The theatrical performance of the "Bayside Shakedown" movie has finally reached a moment that is destined to be forever recorded in Japanese film history.
The day before the film officially ended its run, major cinema chains jointly released the final box office figures.
5.53 billion yen!
The following morning, newsstands across Japan were sold out within just half an hour. Major newspapers such as the Yomiuri Shimbun, Asahi Shimbun, and Sankei Shimbun, for the first time ever, used extremely prominent bold red text on their front pages.
"A new god has been born in Japanese film history!"
"A miracle of 5 billion! Shin Kitahara shatters the ceiling of domestic realistic films!"
From morning news to late-night entertainment reports, all television programs were frantically broadcasting this suffocating number. The entire Japanese film industry was plunged into an unprecedented collective shock and deathly silence.
What exactly is the concept of 5 billion?
In this era, if a Japanese live-action film grossed over two billion yen, the studio executives would celebrate with champagne for three days and three nights. But Kitahara Shin defied the industry's universally acknowledged "historical limit," pushing it more than double!
This is not surpassing, this is a revolutionary, dimensional reduction attack.
In a private salon for old-school film critics in Tokyo, the atmosphere was so oppressive that you could hear a pin drop.
Two weeks ago, the same old scholar who made outrageous remarks in Kinema Junpo, mocking that "midday dramas are simply not good enough" and "television actors can't carry the weight of the big screen," is now looking at the newspaper with trembling hands.
His lips trembled for a long time before he finally crumpled up the half-written, pessimistic film review and slammed it into the trash can. Faced with five billion dollars poured in by the market with real money, any lofty professional commentary became worthless paper that could be torn at a touch. The old discourse power that these old-school scholars relied on for survival was directly shattered by Kitahara Shin's extremely violent display of monetary power.
Meanwhile, in the top-floor conference room of Johnny & Associates, the air pressure was so low it felt like it was frozen.
Kitagawa stared at the box office report on the table, remaining silent for a full ten minutes. The executives below were ashen-faced, barely daring to breathe. Their prized star idols and their overwhelming fan economy seemed like a fragile toy in the face of this behemoth worth five billion.
"Pass it on." The old president rubbed his temples and issued an extremely humiliating yet helpless order: "From now on, for any schedule or leading lady that Kitahara Shin has his eye on, have everyone voluntarily avoid him. Don't mess with him. We're creating stars, and he—is already the capital that sets the rules."
In the public eye, this is no longer just a victory for a movie, but a phenomenal social celebration.
On the streets of Shinjuku and Shibuya, young people wearing M-51 military green trench coats can be seen taking photos everywhere. In various izakayas, office workers hold up beer glasses, their eyes red, and loudly recite the classic lines of Aoshima Shunsaku's rebellion against the higher-ups.
Big win.
Kitahara Shin not only earned a terrifying cash flow that would make conglomerates envious, but he also etched his name into the very top of the Japanese entertainment industry, becoming an absolutely unshakeable king.
1995, spring.
The top-floor conference room of Kitahara Office was bathed in sunlight.
With the improvement of the surrounding physical industrial chain, the orderly production of the EVA animation, and the huge cash flow brought by "Bayside Shakedown", Kitahara Office has completely formed a mature business operation system.
Shoichi Ota, Secretary Aida, and other core executives sat on either side of the long table, their eyes fixed intently on Nobu Kitahara, who sat at the head of the table.
"President, how do we decide on new projects this year?" Ota Shoichi opened his notebook, eager to try. "We've already filled a warehouse with joint production proposals from major TV stations and film companies. As long as you provide the script, we can start filming anytime."
Everyone thought that Kitahara Shin should strike while the iron was hot, continue to produce his own scripts, invest in them, and star in them himself, so as to firmly grasp the hegemony.
-
However, Kitahara Shin shook his head.
"This year, the agency's production department is operating those small-to-medium budget investments according to the established track." Kitahara Shin leaned back in his chair, his tone relaxed. "As for me personally, I don't plan to write scripts or organize productions myself."
Everyone was taken aback.
"The company has grown big enough now that I don't need to be a tyrant on set," Kitahara Shin smiled. "This year, I want to comfortably go back to being a pure actor."
For the past few years, he has always been at the forefront, acting as investor, screenwriter, and lead actor, keeping himself under immense pressure. Now that his core fanbase is solid, he can step out of his comfort zone and engage with other top creators of this era, using his pure acting skills to win several highly prestigious Best Actor awards.
"So, what kind of roles are you planning to take?" Secretary Aida adjusted her glasses, immediately switching into work mode. "Are there any scripts currently available that you'd like to audition for yourself?"
There are two parts.
Kitahara Shin pulled two documents from the folder beside him and pushed them to the middle of the table.
"The first one is a new drama that TBS is currently preparing, tentatively titled 'Tell Me You Love Me' (爱してい)"
"I can't say that." Kitahara Shin pointed to one of the documents. This was a love drama about deaf-mute characters that was extremely demanding on acting skills. In the original timeline, it starred Toyokawa Etsushi and was considered a phenomenal hit drama in 95, winning numerous awards.
Part Two —
Kitahara Shin's fingers landed on another film proposal, a hint of anticipation in his eyes.
"It's a film that a new director named Shunji Iwai is preparing. It's a small-budget, art film, and it's called 'Love Letter'."
Ota and Aida exchanged a puzzled look. Why would they turn down a ton of blockbuster commercial films to audition for an art film by a new director?
"President, what's so special about this art film?" Ota couldn't help but ask.
"It's nothing special." Kitahara Shin looked out the window at the early spring sunshine, and the image of Otaru City covered in snow flashed through his mind. "It just helps us rake in all the tears of Asia. Aida, go and contact those two production teams for me. Tell them that Kitahara Shin wants to audition."
Secretary Aida has always been known for his swift and decisive execution.
Less than half an hour after the meeting ended, two phone calls were made to the production department of TBS television station and to an obscure independent film preparation group.
The first to be in an uproar was the production office of TBS's "Tell Me You Love Me".
"Say that again? Whose secretary called?"
-
The producer of the film crew was holding a receiver, and his voice was so distorted that everyone in the office turned to look.
When he hung up the phone and announced, with a blank expression, that "Kitahara Shin is coming to audition for the male lead," the entire office was dead silent for a full five seconds before erupting in screams that seemed to lift the roof off.
"Quick! Go downstairs to the convenience store and buy champagne! Buy the most expensive kind!" The director jumped up from his chair excitedly, rubbing his hands together, his face flushed red. "A box office god with 5 billion! A ratings king! He's actually willing to act in our pure love drama! My God, this drama is already a winner before it even starts filming!"
"Tell Me You Love Me" is a pure love drama about deaf-mute people. The script is indeed delicate and solid, but before that, the biggest star in the production team was only the newly cast female lead, Takako Tokiwa. Although Takako Tokiwa has been doing well in the past two years, she can only be considered a rising star among the new generation of actresses. The entire drama simply doesn't have a superstar who can carry the ratings on their own.
Now, the sudden arrival of a true god of Kitahara Shin's level is like putting a nuclear engine directly into a small wooden boat.
Takako Tokiwa, who had just finished her makeup test in the next dressing room, covered her mouth and remained stunned for a long time upon hearing the news.
"I—I'm going to act alongside Kitahara-senpai?" Her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to jump out of her throat, her face filled with disbelief and immense joy. In the minds of actresses of this era, being able to act alongside Kitahara Shin in a pure love drama was an absolute dream come true.
As for the so-called "audience"?
TBS executives and the directing team exchanged a knowing glance. Screw the auditions! As long as Kitahara Shin himself steps through TBS's doors, even if he stands there speechless and just stares blankly during the audition, the lead role is his for sure. Going through this audition process is purely to maintain Kitahara's professional image and give him a respectable appearance.
In contrast to the jubilant celebrations and champagne-filled atmosphere at TBS, the production team of "Love Letter" was completely bewildered and terrified.
This is a rented, cheap office, filled with various location scouting photos and storyboards.
Shunji Iwai hung up the phone, staring at the old-fashioned landline in front of him, his hands still trembling slightly.
He's only in his early thirties and has been making TV shorts and music videos all his life. "Love Letter" is the first feature film he's ever been preparing for. As a complete newcomer to the film industry, he has immense confidence in his scripts and aesthetic sense, but he also has a very clear understanding of his financial situation and standing in the industry.
"Director, what's wrong? Did the investors withdraw their funding?" The assistant director next to him asked cautiously, looking at his ashen face.
"No—" Shunji Iwai swallowed, feeling his throat parched. "The Kitahara office just called—saying that Shin Kitahara wants to see the script for 'Love Letter' and wants to audition for the male lead, Shigeru Akiba."
"Clatter." The assistant director's pen fell to the ground, his eyes wide with shock.
-
"Bei--Beiyuan Xin?! That monster who just made 5 billion at the box office? That tycoon who owns his own theater chain and runs his own business?!" the assistant director stammered. "He auditioned for our crappy art film? Does our entire budget even cover a single day's pay for him?!"
Shunji Iwai scratched his hair in dejection.
He knew his script was good, of course, but he couldn't understand why an industry giant at the very top of the Japanese film and television industry would suddenly set its sights on his work as a new director. Just thinking about the day of the audition, when Kitahara Shin's terrifying aura, which could even devour veteran actors, would appear in front of him, Iwai Shunji felt a spasm in his stomach and was so nervous that his palms were sweating.
However, the female lead, Miho Nakayama, who also received the news, had a completely different reaction.
At that moment, Miho Nakayama was sitting in her van, reviewing a script. Upon hearing the message from her agent, she was initially taken aback, then looked out the window, a complex mix of emotions welling up in her eyes.
As a top idol singer who rose to fame in the late 1980s, she has been trying to transform into a powerful actress in recent years. Although she has filmed several well-received TV series and maintained her popularity at the top level, she has always lacked an absolute masterpiece that can completely cement her status in film history and shed the "idol" label.
She took on the role in "Love Letter," a script where she played two characters, because she wanted to take a gamble.
But she never expected that this low-budget art film, which was originally insignificant in the industry, would actually attract the attention of a big shot like Kitahara Shin.
"There's actually a chance to collaborate again—" Miho Nakayama murmured softly, a scene from a few years ago involuntarily flashing through her mind.
It was at a high-profile industry and business dinner, filled with veteran filmmakers and business tycoons. At that time, Kitahara Shin had just made a name for herself with several hit dramas. Holding her wine glass, she mustered up her courage and walked up to Kitahara Shin, wanting to recommend herself and ask for a collaboration opportunity.
Before he could even finish a few words, he was unceremoniously called away by the industry's big sister, Shima Iwashita, who directly dragged Shin Kitahara to film "Yakuza's Wife," the movie that first showed his box office appeal.
At that moment, Miho Nakayama stood there with her wine glass in hand, thinking she had missed the chance to catch this wave of opportunity in her entire life. In this industry, once the gap in status and position widens, climbing back up becomes incredibly difficult.
Times have changed, and today Kitahara Shin is a powerful and influential figure, a financial behemoth that even major cinema chains and conglomerates have to defer to.
Unexpectedly, fate, in the crew of this unknown new director, handed her a key to the top again.
"Cancel all my other engagements for the next two days." Miho Nakayama closed the script, her eyes becoming extremely sharp and determined. "I need to go into seclusion and study the script for 'Love Letter.' I absolutely cannot embarrass myself in front of Mr. Kitahara on the day of the audition."