69novels Chapter 30: Winning the Prize?
Chapter 30: Winning the Prize?
On February 8th, the Beijing Film Academy started its new semester.
The willow trees on campus have just sprouted some green buds, and from a distance they look like they are covered with a thin layer of green gauze.
Students poured back from all directions, dragging their suitcases. The area in front of the dormitory building was piled high with luggage. Some people were on the phone, while others were looking for their keys.
Liu Yu went to the Management Department's website in the morning, and since he had no classes in the afternoon, he went to audit classes in the Photography Department.
This lesson is taught by Mu Deyuan, titled "The Language of Cinematography".
This wasn't the first time Liu Yu had come to freeload; he had come several times last semester, always sitting in the last row against the wall, inconspicuous, yet Mu Deyuan always managed to spot him.
The old man had a sharp eye; he could tell who was there and who wasn't in the 300-seat lecture hall with just a glance.
This lesson is about the use of light.
Mu Deyuan stood on the podium, wearing a dark blue jacket. His hair was gray, but he was in good spirits. He spoke with a strong voice, and even the last row could hear him clearly without a microphone.
He played several clips from classic films, breaking them down piece by piece, discussing everything from lighting position, light quality, and light ratio to emotional rendering and character development.
Liu Yu listened and took notes in his notebook, filling two pages.
"Look at this light," Mu Deyuan pointed to a shot from "The Godfather" on the screen, where Marlon Brando sat in a dimly lit room, his eyes hidden in the shadow of his hat brim. "This light isn't for illumination; it's for concealing things. A good cinematographer knows what to show the audience and what not to show them."
.....
The bell rang, signaling the end of get out of class.
The students packed up their things and left, and the lecture hall was noisy.
Liu Yu stuffed the notebook into his backpack, stood up, and prepared to leave.
"Liu Yu, wait a moment."
Mu Deyuan stood on the podium and waved to him.
Liu Yu was stunned for a moment.
Despite attending so many classes without his knowledge, Mu Deyuan never called on him individually.
He adjusted the strap of his backpack over his shoulder, walked through rows of empty chairs, and reached the front of the podium.
"Teacher Mu."
Mu Deyuan looked him up and down, a smile that was hard to decipher.
"You've been auditing my classes for a whole semester, and I haven't even spoken to you. I happen to have some free time today, so come to my office for a bit."
Liu Yu nodded and followed Mu Deyuan out of the lecture hall.
Mu Deyuan's office is on the third floor of the photography department's teaching building. On one wall hang several black and white photographs, all taken by himself, including landscapes and portraits, with meticulous composition.
On the other wall was a huge movie poster, Akira Kurosawa's "Ran".
On the desk sat a green enamel lamp, a stack of student assignments, and an enamel mug filled with a thick layer of tea stains.
"sit."
Mu Deyuan pointed to the chair opposite the desk, sat down, picked up the enamel mug, took a sip of water, put it down, and leaned back in the chair.
Liu Yu sat down and placed his schoolbag at his feet.
Mu Deyuan didn't speak immediately. He looked at Liu Yu for a few seconds, as if he was organizing his thoughts.
When can we watch "Speed Scandal"?
"The editing is almost finished, around March or April." Liu Yu paused, "I'll ask Teacher Mu for guidance then."
Mu Deyuan waved his hand.
"I wouldn't call it giving pointers. There are some things you young people film that I might not understand." He smiled, twirling the enamel mug in his hand. "I didn't call you here today to talk about that."
Liu Yu didn't respond, waiting for him to continue.
Mude leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers lightly on the table twice, as if he were keeping time for himself.
"You're almost a sophomore, and it'll be over soon. What are your plans after that?"
Liu Yu thought for a moment, "Let's continue making movies."
"I'm asking if you're going to pursue a master's degree."
Liu Yu was taken aback; he hadn't really thought about this question much.
He'd filmed two movies, had a ton of work to do at the company, and was squeezing in time for his classes at school. Graduate school? He hadn't seriously considered it.
Seeing that he didn't speak, Mu Deyuan spoke again, "If you study, you can transfer directly to my name after graduating with a bachelor's degree, without having to take an exam."
Liu Yu looked up and glanced at Mu Deyuan. The old man's expression didn't change much; it remained indifferent, his eyes conveying a sense of "I'll show you a path, you choose for yourself."
"Teacher Mu, I..."
"Don't rush to answer," Mu Deyuan interrupted him, picking up his enamel mug and taking another sip. "I'm not forcing you to read it. You've already directed two commercial films, and they've done quite well. If you want to focus on producing in the future, you don't need to consider this. But..."
He paused for a moment, put the jar down, crossed his hands on the table, and looked at Liu Yu's face.
"If you want to go further down the path of directing and want to make something different, you can consider the three major European film studios."
Liu Yu's heart skipped a beat.
He understood what Mu Deyuan meant: in the domestic environment, there was a difference between having a trophy and not having one.
Look at Feng Xiaogang, he's made a bunch of commercial films, and no matter how high the box office is, in some people's eyes he's just a director with high box office.
Then look at Poet Chen, he has a golden palm tree in his home, and no matter how it's photographed from behind, his status is unshakeable.
Winning an award doesn't necessarily make someone a good director, but a good director should ideally have an award trophy.
No one says it outright, but everyone in the industry understands.
"I'm just giving you a suggestion." Mu Deyuan leaned back in his chair, his tone more relaxed. "You're still young, no rush."
"I understand." Liu Yu nodded. "Thank you, Teacher Mu."
After chatting for a few more minutes, Liu Yu stood up, picked up his schoolbag, and left.
.....
At 6:30 p.m., the four of them from the dormitory gathered at a small restaurant outside the school.
Fatty Wang was the first to arrive. He took a seat by the window, ordered a pot of tea, and waited while munching on sunflower seeds.
Liu Yu was the last to arrive. When he pushed the door open, Fatty Wang was eating his thirty-seventh sunflower seed.
"Director Liu is here! Have a seat!" Fatty Wang patted the chair next to him. Sunflower seed shells fell from his mouth and landed on the table. He swept them off with his hand and sent them to the floor.
Liu Yu sat down, put his schoolbag at his feet, picked up the teapot on the table, and poured himself a cup of tea.
After ordering the food, the four of them started chatting.
First they talked about winter break, then about the first day of school, and then about their homework.
Liu Yu picked up a piece of diced chicken and chewed it slowly, his mind still preoccupied with the prize-winning situation.
His gaze wandered aimlessly over the people and things in the restaurant; a couple at the next table were arguing.
Liu Yu's gaze suddenly stopped.
Two people came in through the door.
A man and a woman, both around forty years old, dressed simply.
The man was holding a menu, and the woman was following behind him; neither of them spoke.
They walked to an empty table in the corner and sat down. The man pointed to the menu on the wall, made a "two" gesture with his hand, and then made a "rice" gesture.
The proprietress nodded and wrote it down in her notebook.
Deaf-mute.
Liu Yu stared at them for a few seconds. After the man ordered, he put his hands together, closed his eyes, and his lips moved slightly. He was praying.
The movements were small, light, and natural, as if they had been done for many years.
The woman waited quietly beside him, her gaze fixed on the man's face, a faint smile playing on her lips.
Then the man opened his eyes, looked at the woman, and made a few hand gestures.
The woman's eyes lit up, she smiled, and she responded with hand gestures.
Their fingers danced in the air like butterflies. There was no sound, but the intensity of their communication was greater than any spoken conversation.
Liu Yu stopped using his chopsticks.
Something clicked in my head, like a lock being opened.
He remembered a movie.
It was the image of the deaf-mute praying that struck something in his heart, opening a wound, and then the story flowed in like water.
The only daughter in a deaf-mute family.
She loves to sing and wants to apply to a music academy.
The family can't do without her; her parents and brother all need her to be their "ears."
Family and dreams, silence and voice, letting go and fulfilling.
He put down his chopsticks and stared at the plate of boiled fish on the table for a few seconds. The red oil was still steaming, and the peppercorns floated on the surface like little boats.
Fatty Wang was gnawing on a chicken leg next to him, his mouth greasy from the effort.
"Liu Yu, what's wrong? Aren't you going to eat?"
Liu Yu ignored him. He took out his notebook from his bag, turned to a blank page, picked up a pen, and wrote two words on it.
Sing.
Then I wrote two words below.
Deaf and mute.
Then I drew an arrow next to it and wrote two words.
daughter.
Fatty Wang leaned over for a look, and the oil from the chicken leg almost dripped onto the paper.
"Are you...writing a script?"
Liu Yu closed the notebook and put it back in his bag.
"Have you finished eating?"
"There's still one plate of twice-cooked pork that hasn't been served yet," Li Dabenshi said.
"I can't wait any longer." Liu Yu stood up, picked up his schoolbag, and said, "You guys eat, I'll go back first."
"What's your hurry?" Old Chen pushed up his glasses, looking puzzled.
"I've figured something out." Liu Yu slung his backpack over his shoulder, pulled two hundred-yuan bills out of his pocket, and slapped them on the table. "This meal is on me."