MMB Chapter 281 The Passing of the Scepter of Power, Ambition to Win the Oscars
Chapter 281 The Passing of the Scepter of Power, Ambition to Win the Oscars
Chapter 281 The Passing of the Scepter of Power, Ambition to Win the Oscars
The black Maybach smoothly drove into a secluded private estate on the outskirts of Tokyo.
Kitahara Shin got out of the car and discovered that this was not the traditional Japanese tea room implied by the invitation, but a top-notch underground winery filled with the rich aroma of oak barrels.
Deep within the dimly lit, luxurious wine cellar, a man sat at a long mahogany table. He appeared to be in his fifties, dressed in a sophisticated English three-piece suit, his hair meticulously combed. Though the corners of his eyes bore the marks of time, he exuded a commanding, mature charm, like a lion in its prime, dominating its territory.
This man is none other than Masaaki Watanabe, the true godfather of the core circle of traditional film and television capital in Japan. He holds the reins of several of the largest physical cinema chains in Japan and wields terrifying, absolute power in major television stations and film associations.
"Please have a seat, Kitahara-kun." Watanabe Masaaki gestured for him to sit, his eyes filled with undisguised admiration. He gestured to the entire wall of temperature-controlled liquor cabinets behind him. "Since you're here, what would you like to drink?"
Kitahara Shin calmly sat down opposite him, his gaze sweeping only halfway across the wine cabinet before he smiled and said, "The 1982 Lafite is certainly a classic, but considering the atmosphere tonight, perhaps that bottle of Romanée-Conti (DRC) Grand Cru Pinot Noir would be more suitable for our conversation."
Upon hearing Kitahara Shin's precise and knowledgeable identification of the most precious items in the wine cellar, Watanabe Masaaki's eyes flashed with surprise, before he burst into hearty laughter: "It seems that you are not only a genius actor and a shrewd capitalist, but also a true master of taste."
As Watanabe Masaaki opened the bottle himself, he gave a more direct self-introduction: "I think you can guess who I am. Simply put, more than 70% of the investment, theatrical releases, distribution channels, and so-called industry rules in the Japanese film and television industry all circulate around my desk."
"So, I wonder what Mr. Watanabe wanted to talk to me about tonight?" Kitahara Shin asked calmly, looking at the ruby-colored wine poured into the stemmed glass.
Watanabe Masaaki put down his bottle, crossed his hands on the table, and stared intently at Kitahara Shin: "Last month, I went to Europe to attend a top-level international film association summit. At that summit, several top Hollywood producers and veteran European directors were discussing your name."
He paused, then dropped a bombshell: "They believe that after director Akira Kurosawa, the most likely group in Asia to conquer the Oscars and achieve the highest honors in the next few years will not be the older generation who follow the rules, but rather young people like you who are full of explosive potential."
Kitahara Shin picked up his glass, swirled it gently, and smiled modestly yet confidently: "You flatter me. The rules of the Oscars are heavily influenced by Western values; they can't be easily won just by acting skills and box office success."
"But you're very ambitious, aren't you?" Watanabe Masaaki stared intently at him. "I can see that burning desire to devour everything in your eyes."
Kitahara Shin didn't deny it. He took a sip of red wine and said calmly, "Of course. If a person has no ambition in life, what's the point of continuing to do these things? In terms of money, my current wealth is already a number that ordinary people can't even imagine. Let alone living a life of luxury, even if I supported a hundred women now, I still wouldn't be able to spend all the interest in my account. Money has lost its meaning for me."
He raised his head, his eyes revealing a profound insight that transcended time: "What I truly pursue is the transformation of our era. The old era is about to end, and the 21st-century film market will experience a revolutionary upheaval."
"Oh? I'd like to hear more." Watanabe Masaaki became interested.
"First and foremost is the technological revolution," Shinji Kitahara explained clearly. "CG special effects and digital photography will completely replace the constraints of traditional film. When film is no longer the biggest obstacle limiting shooting costs, boundless imagination can be infinitely materialized. Future film budgets will shift—more money will be spent on top talent, excellent scripts, and stunning post-production special effects."
"This means that future films will be more free and have a larger global market." Kitahara Shin looked at the industry guru opposite him, his words ringing with conviction. "For me, merely using some insight to achieve success at a certain stage is not a real skill. What I want to do is to be in an absolute leading position in every era. I want to be a pioneer, even the one who personally pushes open the door to a new era."
Looking at the chilling confidence in Kitahara Shin's eyes, Watanabe Masaaki remained silent for a long time.
Suddenly, he laughed, a hearty laugh. He stood up and refilled Kitahara Shin's glass with red wine: "It seems I made the right choice in bringing you here today."
Kitahara Shin looked at the wine glass and couldn't help but complain, "But speaking of which, didn't the invitation say it was for tea? I thought I was going to be sitting upright and sipping matcha tonight."
"Of course we can have tea, but before that, we'll need to warm up with some strong liquor." Watanabe Masaaki smiled and sat down. "Since you have such a clear vision of the future, we have plenty of time today. I'd like to hear what changes you'd like to make to the current state of the Japanese film and television industry."
Kitahara Shin blinked, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes. The man before him was far more formidable than he had imagined; his tone exuded an absolute domineering aura that said, "If you dare to dream it, I can turn the entire industry upside down for you."
Kitahara Shin had indeed accumulated considerable insight into the various malpractices within the Japanese film and television industry. Wherever there are people, there is a social hierarchy. He didn't dislike the rules of the industry, but he vehemently abhorred the use of seniority and established rules to suppress newcomers and create a "bad money drives out good" phenomenon.
"I want to break down those rigid factional barriers and seniority-based unspoken rules," Shin Kitahara stated bluntly. "Whether it's Rie Miyazawa, Nanako Matsushima, or other actors under my agency, they only need to let their acting skills and works speak for themselves. I want to provide them with a normal and fair environment for development, instead of making them bear the extra pressure and unspoken rules created by trying to curry favor with higher-ups."
As a boss, Kitahara Shin was extremely protective and responsible in this regard.
Over fine wine, the two talked for hours about the chronic problems plaguing the Japanese film and television industry and its future overseas expansion strategy.
Finally, Watanabe Masaaki put down his glass, his expression becoming extremely solemn, and proposed an extremely ambitious deal: "Kitahara-kun, since you have the ambition to lead Japanese cinema to the world stage and the courage to reshape industry rules, then I'll give you a goal."
"I hope you can win an Oscar for Best Actor, or at least Best Picture, within the next three to four years." A crazed glint shone in Watanabe Masaaki's eyes. "If you can achieve this historic goal of breaking the Western monopoly, I will hand over the reins of Japan's traditional film and television industry to you. I will use all available resources to help you realize the reforms you've described!"
Kitahara Shin looked at the industry godfather in front of him, who was willing to completely relinquish power for the future of Japanese cinema, and a confident smile appeared on his lips.
He raised his glass and lightly clinked it against his own: "You don't need to tell me, I'll do my best. Cheers."
This secret meeting, which would determine the future of the Japanese film and television industry, lasted for an entire day. It wasn't until the following morning that Kitahara Shin left the manor and returned to the set of "Great Teacher Onizuka GTO" to continue filming.
In the evening, Kitahara Shin returned to the president's office of his agency after finishing filming.
He leaned back in his boss's chair, his mind replaying the "Oscar" goal set by Masaaki Watanabe. To secure this mega-deal within three or four years, he needed to begin preparations immediately.
"If we want to compete for an Oscar, we have to figure out what the judges like."
Kitahara Shin turned on his computer and, drawing on his memories from his previous life, began to quickly sort through and summarize the Japanese films that had been nominated for or ultimately won Oscars.
From the early Kurosawa era to later works like "Departures" and "Drive My Car," what common characteristics do these Japanese films, which have caused a sensation in the highest echelons of Western cinema, possess?
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Kitahara Shin quickly summarized three core principles in his notebook:
First, the ultimate in Eastern aesthetics and cultural novelty.
Hollywood judges have a natural fascination with Japan's unique, ritualistic traditional culture (such as Bushido, the tea ceremony, and views on life and death). The films must present an Eastern aesthetic, both visually and thematically, that cannot be replicated in the Western world.
Second, universal humanistic concern that transcends cultural barriers.
The core of a film absolutely cannot be a self-indulgent, Japanese-centric narrative. To resonate with and move foreign audiences, the story's emotional core must be universal, such as exploring life and death, the bonds of family ethics, or a profound reflection on and redemption from the trauma of war.
Third, the mature narrative structure of Hollywood.
No matter how artistic or profound the theme, the pacing of the narrative and the language of the camera must conform to the commercial logic and dramatic conflict that Western audiences are accustomed to, and cannot be too obscure or dull.
Looking at the three main characteristics he had summarized, Kitahara Shin tapped his fingertips lightly on the table, his brain working at a rapid pace.
To create a script that perfectly meets these three conditions within three or four years and wins him the Best Actor award—a vague outline began to slowly take shape in his mind.
Kitahara Shin sat quietly at his desk for a long time.
He knew perfectly well that the Oscars, a circle controlled by white elites from Europe and America, was extremely exclusive and arrogant. Winning that little golden statuette was not something that could be achieved overnight by simply having a movie come out of nowhere. What he needed to do most now was to aggressively "make himself known" to the European and American film circles and those international judges, and establish his international influence.
He wrote down several future heavyweight names in his notebook.
The upcoming year 1997 is not only a crucial juncture for the world economy, but also a golden year for global cinema. For example, there's the star-making machine that will unleash a global phenomenon and sweep the Oscars at the end of next year—*Titanic*. And then there's *The Shawshank Redemption*, the critically acclaimed but commercially unsuccessful film of 1994, which will later be hailed as a masterpiece.
Although "The Shawshank Redemption" has already been filmed, he could have easily talked to the original author, Stephen King, to buy the adaptation rights to his other classic novels. Even just getting involved in Hollywood as an investor or making a stunning cameo appearance as an Asian character in one of those upcoming blockbusters would have been excellent steps to open the door to Hollywood.
However, while the ideal is lofty, the reality is somewhat tricky.
Kitahara Shin's daily life on set is still filled with "Great Teacher Onizuka GTO". During breaks in filming, he tries to contact Hollywood production companies across the ocean through the business department of Kitahara's office.
But he discovered that, despite being a ratings kingpin and a multinational financial giant in East Asia, he was still just a "rich Asian outsider" in the eyes of the closed-off core circle of Hollywood.
Such transoceanic communication, lacking direct personal connections, is extremely inefficient and is often ignored by the arrogance of the other party.
Just as Kitahara Shin was looking at the stack of perfunctory English faxes on his desk, frowning slightly in annoyance, the door to the president's office was gently pushed open.
"Xin-kun, it looks like you've run into some trouble?"
Akina Nakamori, dressed in a light beige casual outfit, walked in carrying a freshly brewed cup of hand-drip coffee. Seeing Shin Kitahara's furrowed brow, she walked over to him with a touch of sympathy.
"The barriers to entry in Hollywood are a bit more exclusive than I imagined." Kitahara Shin took the coffee, smiled helplessly, and briefly explained the networking bottleneck he had encountered.
Upon hearing this, Nakamori Akina didn't seem worried at all; instead, her beautiful eyes lit up slightly. She leaned closer to Kitahara Shin and said with a smile, "Then—would you like me to help you?"
Kitahara Shin looked at her with some surprise: "Help me? How?"
Akina Nakamori winked mischievously: "Have you forgotten? I spent a long time back then recording records and studying in Los Angeles and Hawaii."
Kitahara Shin paused for a moment, then chuckled, "Of course I remember. But you went there to study music and record albums, which shouldn't have any direct connection to the Hollywood film industry, right?"
"Oh dear, you underestimate me!" Akina Nakamori held up a slender white finger and gently shook it in front of Shin Kitahara, her tone tinged with smugness. "Although my main profession is music, the art circles in Europe and America are essentially interconnected. Many arrangers and producers working there also do film scoring. During that time, I met many very talented friends in the art world, some of whom have now established themselves in Hollywood studios and the Directors Guild."
She paused, then continued, "Although we've mainly kept in touch through letters and overseas phone calls over the years, our friendship has remained strong. This is definitely not a big problem! So, how about I help you contact them, or even accompany you to Los Angeles?"
Seeing Akina's confident demeanor and her eagerness to share his burden, Kitahara Shin felt a surge of warmth in his heart. He reached out and gently pinched her cheek, smiling as he said, "Alright, then I'll leave it to our great songstress."
Akina Nakamori sat down opposite him, cupping her cheeks in her hands and smiling brightly: "Why are you being so polite with me?"
0
Kitahara Shin stared at the woman before him, momentarily lost in thought.
It's already 1996, so Akina Nakamori, born in 1965, is thirty-one years old. But time hasn't left any cruel marks on her face; instead, it has allowed her to retain her delicate, girlish charm while adding a gentle grace nurtured by love.
This is definitely not a case of Kitahara Shin seeing beauty in the eye of the beholder.
Not long ago, when Akina went to Tokyo's top private hospital for regular skin care and instrument testing, even her well-informed attending physician was shocked.
The test report shows that Akina's current skin age and cell activity are only equivalent to that of a young girl in her early twenties!
At the time, the doctors were baffled and could only attribute this incredible "reverse aging" to her excellent genes and her recent extremely pleasant mental state.
But Akina knew very well that even in her prime in her twenties, her skin never possessed the exaggerated tightness and radiance it had now. Combined with Kitahara Shin's ability to always turn the ordinary into the extraordinary, she vaguely sensed something.
This man must be hiding many amazing secrets that cannot be explained by science.
But so what? To Akina, whether Kitahara Shin was a man or a god, as long as she could stay by his side and help him in a little way when he wanted to conquer the world, she would feel incredibly happy.
"However—" Kitahara Shin took a sip of coffee, and his thoughts became completely clear.
Simply going to the US and relying on connections to meet with Hollywood directors for coffee is unlikely to earn their genuine respect. Hollywood is a place that values ability and profit; you can't get something for nothing.
He must bring something that will impress the Western judges and make them see his "irreplaceable Eastern value"!
He thought of the three Oscar rules he had summarized last night: ultimate Eastern aesthetics, universal humanistic concern, and mature narrative structure.
If these three conditions are combined, he could have used his precognitive advantage as a "plagiarist" to write the masterpiece that would later win the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film for Japan and move countless audiences around the world in this era!
At that time, he can not only take this impeccable script to the United States to participate in film festivals and assemble a team, but also use this film to completely open up his Hollywood network.
Having made his decision, Kitahara Shin's eyes instantly sharpened. He opened a drawer and took out a stack of blank manuscript paper.
The script he's writing not only perfectly matches his acting style, but it's also a super tearjerker that can move people to tears and transcend cultural barriers.
At the top of the white paper, Kitahara Shin wrote three large characters in vigorous strokes—
"Entry Examiner".
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