diymy Chapter 150 Funeral
Chapter 150 Funeral
Chapter 150 Funeral
With two crisp "clinks," the crystal-clear ice cubes fell into the glass.
The bourbon whiskey was poured out, and Qin Han, holding the glass, walked back to his desk and pushed it in front of Michael.
"While I don't encourage drinking during work hours," he picked up his glass of soda and lightly clinked it against the other person's, making a crisp sound, "congratulations on your first victory. Drink up, it'll clear your throat."
Michael Ovitz grabbed his glass, tilted his head back, and downed the half-glass of spicy bourbon whiskey in one gulp.
The strong liquor burned down his throat, igniting the passion that had not yet subsided in his chest.
"Ha—!" He exhaled a heavy breath reeking of alcohol. "Boss, what do we do next?"
"You did a great job, Michael." Qin Han put down his water glass and placed the phone receiver back on the landline. "I just heard you arguing with him on the phone."
"Remember this feeling: like a hungry wolf, bite down hard on the prey's throat and never let go, even if the other person is a hedgehog."
"This is your first lesson in becoming a top Hollywood agent."
Michael squeezed it tightly; those few simple words of instruction were more important than anything he had learned in a year in William Morris's mailroom.
"Now that Martin Scorsese is flying to Los Angeles next week, it's time to let you know our playing style."
""
Qin Han turned around, walked to the huge whiteboard in the office, and wrote three names on it:
Martin Scorsese, Disney, Jodie Foster
"Ronald from Disney complained to us about Martin's harassment."
"Why would a major Hollywood company be helpless against a poor director who makes underground films?"
Michael frowned. Logically speaking, Disney could easily shut Martin up by having its legal department send a strongly worded lawyer's letter or by using its connections to blacklist him.
Why go through all this trouble, even resorting to using Hans Film Studio as a shield?
"Because of the project Martin is in charge of?" he asked tentatively.
"You're half right." Qin Han pointed to Martin's name with his pen: "Martin Scorsese is a mad director who pursues extreme realism and artistic depravity."
"I saw the script for his newly completed play, 'Alice Is Not Here,' through some channels."
Of course, this was based on his memories from his previous life.
"The film's depiction of women struggling at the bottom of society is extremely despairing, and it places very high demands on the actors."
He tapped the name "Jodie Foster" again.
"In this project, there is a minor girl character with a dark side."
"Looking at all the child stars in Hollywood right now—only Jodie Foster, this gifted little girl, has the ability to deliver his performance."
"Martin has set his sights on her, regarding her as his only muse, which is why he's so fixated on Disney."
Michael suddenly realized, "If that's the case, why doesn't Disney just go with the flow?"
"If it's truly an award-winning masterpiece, having their own actors star in it would be a win-win situation for Disney."
.
"A win-win situation?" Qin Han thought to himself as if he had heard a hilarious joke: "Michael, you've overlooked the core of Disney's business empire."
"What are its core assets? Mickey Mouse! Snow White! It's the dream castle symbolizing truth, goodness, and beauty in the hearts of every family in America!"
He added a small angel halo next to "Disney": "They would never allow their innocent child stars to go and play a morally corrupt, borderline role in a movie that might be rated R!"
"They knew the script had extremely high artistic value, but they absolutely dared not touch this landmine that could destroy the company's reputation."
Michael understood completely.
This is a dead end. Disney wants artistic recognition, but it doesn't dare to bear the resulting backlash from public opinion.
"So, boss—" Michael's breathing quickened, his gaze fixed intently on the triangle on the whiteboard: "The purpose of Han's Film Studio is to break this deadlock?"
"Smart." Qin Han snapped his fingers and wrote "Han's" next to the triangle: "Han's Film Industry, they're here to be the front man."
He looked at Michael and gave a clear instruction: "Next, I want you to immediately draft a three-party outsourcing agreement that must include the following three core clauses."
"First, Hans Films, under the guise of investing in independent art projects, leased Jodie Foster's filming time."
"Secondly, Hans Films fully hired Martin Scorsese to direct the film and assumed all production responsibilities for the project."
"Third, and most importantly, Disney's name will not appear in any of the promotional materials for this film."
"But as the actors' exclusive agents, they will secretly enjoy a share of the film's future box office profits."
Qin Han looked at Michael and smiled as he gave his final summary: "Do you understand now?"
"If this movie causes a huge uproar among conservatives across the United States after its release, then Hans Films is the profit-driven, unscrupulous production company."
"This situation will likely not end until Martin Scorsese makes a film that is accepted by the mainstream."
"While Disney can comfortably stay behind the scenes and count its dollars."
Michael Ovitz quickly went through the three requirements in his mind, and the hairs on his body stood on end.
This is hardly a commercial outsourcing contract.
It seemed like Disney had gotten the better deal, but he fully understood the boss's true purpose hidden beneath the scapegoating.
To take the blame?
Hans Films is a fledgling independent talent agency that prides itself on breaking conventions. What is it afraid of infamy?
In Hollywood, controversy often means exposure and box office potential!
Hans Films paid almost no real cost, simply taking advantage of Disney's fear of reputation, and used their star actors as bait to recruit a promising director!
This is an attempt to use Disney's resources to win over Martin Scorsese's fans!
Once Martin and Judy's collaboration makes a name for themselves with a film, this extremely fanatical director, who despises capital, will regard Hans Films as the only mentor who dares to support his artistic pursuits!
Flawless!
Michael felt his blood boiling, and that "hungry wolf" feeling was completely ignited.
"Boss, I understand! I'll start drafting this perfect scapegoat-and-money-grabbing agreement tonight! I won't let Disney find a single flaw in punctuation!"
After saying that, he rushed to his desk like a whirlwind, pulled out a thick stack of documents, and began writing frantically.
A few days later, Burbank, Warner Bros. Studios.
The heavy soundproof door completely shut out the noise from the outside world.
In the fully enclosed post-production mixing room, the final, thrilling battle of "Enter the Dragon" is playing on a huge screen.
In the maze of mirrors shaped like the Chinese character "回" (hui), countless reflections of Bruce Lee flicker in the broken glass.
-
Amidst the interplay of light and shadow, the image freezes on Bruce Lee leaping into the air and unleashing an extremely powerful flying kick!
In the dubbing room, to simulate the most realistic explosive power, Bruce Lee was shirtless with his muscles taut.
At the very instant he delivered the flying kick in the footage, he let out a wild, furious roar into the microphone in front of him: "Ada!!!"
"Perfect!!!"
Outside the mixing room, Warner Bros. executives and producer Fred Weintraub could not contain their excitement and erupted in thunderous cheers and applause.
"My God, the sound effects are absolutely amazing!"
"I felt like that flying kick landed squarely on my face!"
"Impeccable rhythm!"
Amidst deafening cheers, a crisp "bang" was heard as an expensive bottle of champagne was opened on the spot.
All the staff involved in post-production raised their glasses in celebration, knowing they had just completed an action blockbuster destined to leave its mark on film history.
Amidst the fervent celebratory atmosphere, Qin Han stood quietly by the door.
Fred, his face flushed, squeezed through the crowd with two glasses of champagne and handed them to Qin Han.
"Qin! Come have a drink! Post-production is finally finished!"
"President Ashley has already booked the most luxurious restaurant in Beverly Hills. Tonight, we're going to drink until we drop!"
Qin Han raised his hand, politely declining the wine glass offered to him.
"Have a good time, Fred," he said with a smile, his tone calm and gentle. "We have some personal matters to attend to. Please give my apologies to President Ted."
Ignoring Fred's surprised gaze, he pushed open the heavy soundproof door and walked into the sound room.
Bruce Lee casually grabbed a white towel draped over the chair and slowly wiped the knuckles of his right fingers.
Qin Han walked to his master's side, bowed slightly, and said in a voice that only the two of them could hear, "Master, everything is ready at the port for the UFC No Rules Fighting League press conference."
"Chairman Parker has used all his connections. Tomorrow morning at 10 a.m., all the major sports media outlets and broadcasters in the United States will be there."
Bruce Lee wiped the sweat from his body, casually tossed the towel onto the control panel, and turned around: "I will be there on time for the press conference."
He slowly clenched his fists, which he had just dried, and his knuckles cracked.
"I want to use this arena to make all the Japanese yakuza hiding in the shadows open their eyes and see clearly that Jeet Kune Do is not just a performance on film, but a fighting technique used to kill."
Qin Han sensed the chilling intent in his master's words and nodded silently.
However, Bruce Lee did not continue to discuss the details of the press conference.
He walked to the shelf in the corner, unzipped his sports bag, reached inside, fumbled for a moment, and pulled out two extremely thick, heavy white paper envelopes.
That's the most traditional way in the Chinese community to use "platinum" to hold pension payments.
Turning around, he looked at Qin Han, and a trace of weariness and sorrow appeared on the tough man's face.
"You've been so busy lately with the mess you've made with the movie and the company, running around everywhere, that I haven't had a chance to talk to you about this."
"Chan Bing-ho and Fatty were buried the day before yesterday."
Qin Han's breath caught in his throat for a moment.
The image of that blood-soaked motel on Oscar night flashed through my mind, along with the two headless corpses that had been brutally decapitated and nailed to the wall with steel nails.
"Those two brothers were decapitated by those Japanese bastards while they were checking for bombs and protecting me."
Bruce Lee slammed the two heavy white envelopes onto Qin Han's palm, his eyes slightly red: "The movie's finished, and the UFC extravaganza is about to begin. Before we go and enjoy the spotlight and cheers—"
Let's go to the cemetery together.
"Let's go and offer three incense sticks and kowtow to these two brothers who took the knife for us!"
The envelope in my hand was heavy, not only because of the weight of the banknotes, but also because of the blood debt left by two lives lost.
Qin Han's eyes welled up with an uncontrollable surge of heat.
No words of comfort were offered; in the face of the code of brotherhood that transcends life and death, any words seemed pale and powerless.
He took a deep breath and carefully put the two envelopes full of compensation money into his pocket: "I'll arrange a car now and then notify Zhou Ruofei and the others to gather together."
Half an hour later.
Outside the grand gates of Warner Bros. Studios, the executives who had attended the celebration banquet had already boarded luxury cars and headed to Beverly Hills, their laughter still lingering in the air.
Bruce Lee and Chin Han walked out side by side from the side of the gate.
-
The master and apprentice had taken off their casual jackets and changed into extremely solemn black robes.
The black tie and black leather shoes looked out of place under the glaring California sun, exuding an aura of solemnity and austerity.
A black sedan that had been waiting for a long time glided up in front of the two of them. Qin Han opened the car door, helped Li Xiaolong into the back seat, and then went around to the other side to get in the car himself.
"Bang."
The car door closed, completely shutting out the hustle and bustle of Hollywood.
Soon, the vehicle arrived at Forrest Cemetery in the suburbs, where Zhou Ruofei and a group of security personnel were already waiting.
The car door opened, and Qin Han and Bruce Lee got out of the car together and walked to their apprentice's side.
"Master, Grandmaster, over there are Chen Bing and Fatty's family members." Zhou Ruofei's nose was red as she pointed to the several women standing silently to the side.