Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

Chapter 173 Premiere Clash: The Black Diamond Piercing Heavy Industry

In early September, the sea breeze in the water town carried a hint of saltiness, blowing all the way from the canal mouth to Lido Island, even the edges of the red carpet were damp.

Outside the Lido Cinema Palace, security personnel had set up a long cordon, and flashes of light created a blinding white wave.

Harvey Weinstein, a cigar in his mouth, stood at the top of the steps, with a sea of ​​heads and a dense array of cameras below him. His eyes were downcast, as if he were inspecting his own territory.

The production of "The Abyss" was extremely extravagant, with Hollywood's top-tier cast and crew all in attendance. The $120 million budget was transformed into a deluge of press releases, practically draining the media resources of Venice.

The screening room was packed with two thousand seats.

The lights dimmed, the screen lit up, and the opening act immediately pushed the intensity to its peak.

In the fifteen-minute deep-sea special effects, the metallic tearing sound of a giant submarine poured into everyone's eardrums through Dolby Atmos, seawater rushed in, flames surged, and huge mechanical wreckage collapsed in the dark blue seabed. For ten minutes, the visual impact firmly held everyone's attention.

But then, the dialogue scenes started to drag on, and the pace slowed down.

The male lead recites heroism in a scripted manner, while the female lead's role is reduced to screaming and retreating. The plot slides along the Hollywood industrial assembly line, stepping over every clichéd point.

Jean-Michel, the editor-in-chief of Cahiers du Cinéma, who was sitting in the third row, straightened up, pushed his glasses up his nose, and glanced around.

The Italian film critic on the left glanced at his watch in the dim light of the screen, while the film selection committee member on the right had already leaned back in his chair, his breathing almost silent.

After the roar of heavy industry dulls the senses, all that's left is exhaustion.

Two hours later, the credits rolled, and applause rang out as usual, neat and restrained, like a polite closing.

No one stood up, no one cheered, there was only perfunctory applause, even the enthusiasm carried a chill.

Harvey sat in the front row, his face ashen, but he could only maintain his usual arrogance as he stood up and waved to the back.

Just a wall away in the Sarah Hall, the premiere of "Thunder" had no red carpet and no celebrity appearances.

Chen Yan stood in the front row, with Su Wan, Lin Qingqiu, and Zhao Xiao, who had just changed into an ill-fitting suit, beside him.

The 800-seat theater was only about 70% full, mostly filled with media who had been squeezed to the side by "The Abyss," plus a few independent film critics who were curious about Chen Yan's previous work.

Marc Muller sat in the last row.

He faced considerable pressure when he secured the film, and now he's waiting for Chen Yan to deliver results and silence all the controversies.

Chen Yan did not go on stage to give a speech, but simply raised his hand to the projectionist.

The lights went out, and even the factory logo and dragon logo disappeared. The screen then cut directly to a long, low-angle overhead shot.

Shanxi, illegal coal mines.

The camera slowly descends, passing through a narrow, damp mine tunnel, where black water flows down the rock walls, the dripping sound particularly clear in the ears.

The recording was completely unedited, showing only the miners' heavy breathing and the muffled sound of picks hitting the rock, as if they were being pushed up from the depths of the earth.

The scene shifts to the control room deep inside the mine.

Zhao Xiao sat in a dilapidated rattan chair, the dim light of the incandescent bulb pressing down on half of his face, the coal dust and oily sweat blurring his skin into a dull black base color.

He didn't look up, holding a blood-stained ledger in one hand and a rusty iron nail in the other, slowly tracing it across the table. The sharp metallic sound was amplified by the speakers, making one's neck tingle.

"How many people?"

When he spoke, his voice sounded like it had been sanded, with a heavy northern accent.

The English subtitles will appear simultaneously below.

"Four."

The miner captain opposite was trembling, his trouser legs were covered in mud, and he could barely breathe.

Zhao Xiao stopped what he was doing and looked up.

Those eyes fell into the darkness, devoid of any extra emotion, like someone who had long treated human lives as a cost, already accustomed to this kind of cold, hard indifference.

"Bury it. According to the old rules, each family will receive 30,000 yuan in compensation. Anyone who causes trouble will have their legs broken."

He said this in a flat tone, as if he were telling someone about dinner.

In the theater, the reporters, who were initially feeling tired, sat up almost simultaneously.

Jean-Michel had somehow entered the hall and stood in the middle of the aisle, staring intently at the screen.

Chen Yan didn't use background music to enhance the story, nor did he prepare the characters' emotions in advance. He simply dissected the most brutal layer of primitive capital accumulation and laid it directly in front of European audiences, not even bothering to cover it up.

The plot continues to unfold.

Lin Qingqiu plays a vengeful heroine who infiltrates a mining area. Snow weighs down the mountains, and the abandoned slaughterhouse is filled with half-frozen pork with white skin. The air is filled with a fishy and cold smell.

She was wearing a heavy military overcoat, holding a butcher knife, and facing three thugs weighing over 200 pounds each.

There were no fancy moves, nor did they use wires to elevate their figures.

Wu Gang's action style is fully displayed here: clean, concise, and deadly.

Lin Qingqiu was kicked away, her back slamming heavily against the iron hook. She didn't cry out, not even flinching. She simply pushed herself up from the ground and plunged the knife into the other man's femoral artery.

Blood splattered onto her face, but she didn't wipe it away. Her eyes were empty, as if all the warmth had been drained from her.

She pulled out the knife and stabbed again, her movements mechanical and almost ruthless, her body driven only by an unyielding survival instinct.

The extreme sense of fragmentation and extreme violence collided to create a chilling effect.

Western audiences are used to sexy spies or hysterical avengers, but they have never seen an Eastern woman whose humanity has been stripped away bit by bit, leaving only the instinct for survival.

Mark Muller clenched his fist in the darkness, his nails digging deep into his palm.

As the film nears its end, Zhao Xiao's mining empire collapses completely. He is trapped in the mine he ordered sealed off, the water level slowly rising, darkness engulfing him. There is no remorseful monologue, no light of redemption, only increasingly rapid breathing that echoes and reverberates within the sealed mine walls.

The screen went black, and the end credits rolled silently.

The screening room was eerily quiet. For a full minute, no one spoke, no one stood up, and not even a cough was heard.

The emotion that had been weighing on my chest slowly swelled in the air until it reached its peak.

Jean-Michel clapped first.

The crisp applause spread throughout the empty theater, like pebbles falling into deep water.

Immediately afterwards, a second, a third, and the applause quickly spread out in a continuous burst.

Eight hundred people stood up at the same time, and applause filled the entire Sara Hall as everyone paid tribute to Chen Yan's team, who were sitting in the first row.

The applause was louder and lasted longer than at the premiere of "The Abyss".

Chen Yan stood up, buttoned his suit jacket, and without any extra expression, simply turned to look at Su Wan.

Su Wan's eyes were red, but she forced back her tears and stood up straight.

Lin Qingqiu stood beside Chen Yan, watching the blond-haired, blue-eyed film critics around her waving vigorously at her, her fingertips, which were usually cold, trembling.

Chen Yan raised his hand and gently patted her shoulder.

"You deserve it."

Jean-Michel opened his notebook, took out his pen, and quickly wrote a line on a blank page.

Chen Yan used a rusty scalpel to cut open the hypocritical belly of capitalism.

Compared to it, "The Abyss" is like a noisy plastic toy.

Half an hour later, on Lido Island, at the top-floor luxury suite of the Exelcio Hotel.

Harvey loosened his tie and sank heavily into the leather sofa.

Scattered on the table were the newly compiled scores from the event program: "The Abyss" 2.1 points, "Thunder" 3.8 points, out of a total of 4 points.

European film media outlets have begun to temporarily change their headlines, with the focus shifting towards Chen Yan. His name is also sweeping across the entire Venice Film Festival's media landscape along this trend.

"Boss."

The assistant pushed open the door and came in, walking very quietly, carrying a thick file bag in his hand.

"You found it?"

Harvey lifted his eyelids.

"Found it."

The assistant placed the file bag on the coffee table and unwrapped the cord.

"Our people bribed a local tyrant in northern China to get this information. It has been translated into English and endorsed by a public relations firm."

Harvey sat up straight and pulled the document out of the box.

At the top is a photo of Zhao Xiao in prison uniform with a shaved head, taken during his prison registration.

Below is a densely packed criminal record: illegal possession of explosives, gang fights, resulting in serious injury.

The words flashed before his eyes, and his gloomy expression gradually relaxed.

He leaned back on the sofa, picked up a cigar, and his assistant immediately bent down to light it. The moment the cigarette lit up, white smoke billowed out.

Harvey chuckled softly, flicked away his cigarette ash, and pointed at Zhao Xiao in the photo.

"Art, reality."

He scoffed. "Chen Yanzhen gave me a big surprise. He actually found a real murderer to play the male lead."

"Boss, should we release this to the media now?"

The assistant asked.

"No."

Harvey waved his hand, lifting his gaze from the documents to the distant cinema.

"Releasing it now is just gossip. Let's wait until tomorrow's red carpet, until he brings this criminal into the global spotlight, until everyone is applauding him, then we'll release this information."

He stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and gazed at the brightly lit cinema in the distance.

"Europeans love to talk about morality and human rights. I want to see what their faces will look like when they find out that the person they're standing up to applaud is a thug with blood on his hands. I want Chen Yan, along with his film, to die in Shuicheng."