Kapitel 48: An Order from Another Continent
Redakteur: Tennesh
Xue Jing only wanted to sell to someone that gave him good vibes. Good vibes were hard to define, but somehow, he felt that he wouldn't be upset if he sold his flat to Fang Zhao and the apartment was completely renovated.
Just as Fang Zhao put it, different arrangers would handle the same song differently. Different styles would come out. Everyone was equally entitled to leave their mark. Any buyer was simply a temporary custodian of the property.
Property prices in Qi'an were quite high, especially in this neighborhood. Flats that were located on the 100th floor or higher usually cost at least 10,000 dollars per square meter. There was only one penthouse apartment in the building. The entire property took up some 200 square meters, but the flat only accounted for half of it. A garden and a parking space took up the other half.
The price tag was 10 million, which was cheap compared to similar properties in the area. The market value was no less than 20 million.
One of the reasons why real estate in that neighborhood was expensive was the presence of security guards and regular patrols. Quite a few Yanzhou celebrities bought homes in the area to avoid media attention. Xue Jing had bought this place back then because he'd wanted the peace and quiet. He was no celebrity, but he was quite influential in the music industry. Many people sought him out for favors, hoping a word from Xue Jing would translate into shortcuts. Xue Jing got so fed up he moved here. "There's another reason I invited you here, besides selling you my apartment. It's entirely up to you. No pressure," Xue Jing said.
Fang Zhao had thought a favor might be attached when Xue Jing had announced his asking price. Given Xue Jing was so generous with his pricing, Fang Zhao would comply as long as it wasn't too big of a favor.
"Please continue," Fang Zhao said.
"As you know, I'm not teaching these days, focusing instead on editing and writing textbooks." Xue Jing looked at Fang Zhao. "I'm working on a book about symphonic works. I'd like to use your songs as an example."
Xue Jing was writing a textbook that analyzed symphonies and served as a how-to primer. Symphonies were an offbeat genre. Music students tended to avoid the specialty. Even though symphonies enjoyed greater prestige within the industry, they weren't too popular.
Xue Jing wasn't only concerned with turning a profit. The elders in the industry didn't bother with symphonies, but the genre had to be preserved. Xue Jing didn't want to cut and paste like previous authors. He wanted to present contemporary examples. This would require Fang Zhao to discuss his creative vision, his sources of inspiration, and some memorable moments from the creative process. In short, Xue Jing wanted Fang Zhao to pass on his knowledge and expose more students to the genre of symphonies. It would be the equivalent of a master class in written form. Of course, it was up to Fang Zhao to decide how much to reveal.
"As you know, this isn't a hit single. There won't be much money in it." Xue Jing was frank.
Fang Zhao's emergence gave Xue Jing hope. The "100-Year Period of Destruction" series probably made for the most memorable symphonic pop songs in the past century. More importantly, the series was not condescending. It took the accessible form of pop music and reached a broad audience.
Many young composers were reluctant to share their creative insight, so Xue Jing thought Fang Zhao would take his time to consider the request. Little did he expect Fang Zhao to agree immediately.
"No problem."
But Fang Zhao wasn't actually that young. He was happy to share his knowledge and pass on the lessons he'd learned from the end of days. Human life was finite, but there were no bounds to shared experience and knowledge.
Xue Jing was delighted. "Terrific. Terrific. I'll add your name to the list of consulting editors."
Textbooks in the New Era—whether in print or electronic form—identified their authors clearly. University regulations also required them to identify their editors and consulting editors.
Normally, protocol dictated that if the length of your contribution was brief and the content wasn't essential to the book, you weren't listed as a contributing editor. Xue Jing was thinking Fang Zhao probably wouldn't share at length, but the fact that he was willing to open up and share was worth applauding. Xue Jing was glad to give him credit.
"My assistant will brief you on the mechanics of contributing to the book. You could also organize your thoughts ahead of time. As for the apartment, I'll send for packers right away. I'll have all the paperwork completed and the flat vacated in three days. There's no rush in paying me. If you can't pay the full amount in one go, you can pay in installments over a few years. No hurry."
"It's OK. I can pay in full now," Fang Zhao said.
Fang Zhao left the apartment after the conversation ended. Xue Jing had him chauffeured back to Silver Wing. Fang Zhao got a call from Zhu Zhen, Duan Qianji's assistant, while en route.
"Fang Zhao, someone from Leizhou wants to use the third movement in a movie soundtrack. They don't want to buy the song outright—just license it for 30 days." In other words, there would be a moratorium on the song's release in other formats for 30 days after the film began screening in theaters.
Orders like this from another continent were rare and often translated into new opportunities.
"We haven't discussed the price yet. Chairman Duan wants to get your OK first," Zhu Zhen said.
"To use on a soundtrack? It's a production company from Leizhou?"
"Yes. The deal will help promote the song, but the production company doesn't have a great reputation."
Every continent had protectionist measures in place to shore up their own music and film industries. "Cocoon Breach" was a good example that illustrated this trend. After the song was proven to have an impact on Hull virus patients, the publicity on other continents glossed over the title of the song or made brief mention of it. The focus was on its effect on Hull virus carriers and related topics. The medical discussion took precedence, obscuring any talk of Polar Light or details about the first and second movements.
It was one thing if the two songs were merely released as songs. But the two movements were inextricably linked to a virtual idol, so they were heavily censored in Leizhou.
Media coverage of the songs in Leizhou not only buried the title of the songs and the names of the composer and production company—Polar Light wasn't mentioned at all. Few people who read the news reports searched for the songs. The first two movements also weren't available for download outside of Yanzhou.
So what Duan Qianji had in mind was using the Leizhou film as an alternative platform, even though it might be a crappy production. Given the fact that the two songs were not available for download outside of Yanzhou, they could license them for placement in films. This didn't affect their marketing plan in Yanzhou.
But Duan Qianji was worried that Fang Zhao would find the placement degrading if the film was a mediocre production just judging from appearances. He might be turned off. That was why she had asked Zhu Zhen to run the plan by Fang Zhao first before entering into negotiations.
After being briefed by Zhu Zhen, Fang Zhao thought for about two seconds. "I'd like to get a sense of the plot of the film and where exactly the song will be placed."
"I'm not entirely clear on either. Let me get back to you."
Half an hour later, Zhu Zhen sent Fang Zhao an encrypted file that outlined the plot and where the third movement would be placed.
The document also listed the names of the production company and key investors as well as the main actors.
The credits would have meant nothing to someone outside the entertainment industry in Yanzhou. But anyone from Leizhou could tell from the names of the production company and investors that the film was a shameless ploy to promote a certain star. What wass funny was that, despite their corny story lines and shitty acting, films like this did OK at the box office. People usually bitched as they watched these movies online. They knew they were crap but they couldn't resist watching. Maybe it was a form of venting.
Fang Zhao spent an afternoon watching previous releases backed by the same production company and investors. He had his answer by sundown.
"I'll sign off on this. My only request is that the third movement only be used for the scene specified. There is no leeway on this. It can only be played then."
Kapitel 49: From Whence the Gumption
Redakteur: Tennesh
The continent of Renault, or Leizhou, was named after the New Era general Harmon Renault. In Renault, the last name of Renault was a status symbol.
Renaults frequently popped up among the top names in politics, military, and finance, but what captured the public imagination the most wasn't these men in positions of power, but young Zaro Renault, a regular in the paparazzi pages.
Zaro Renault was the youngest grandson of the current governor of Renault. Even though the governor already had great-grandchildren, his favorite was still Zaro, who was rather spoiled.
Zaro Renault was the prototypical impulsive rich kid. Born into royalty and wealth, he'd never worked a day in his life and spent most of his time partying and chasing skirts. After graduating from university, he had launched the movie company Wireless Media. But even people who paid scant attention to the entertainment industry knew that the company was a joke. Every movie project it backed was a vehicle for his current girlfriend. So far, Wireless Media had seven films to its credit, and Zaro had cycled through seven girlfriends in the past two years.
People jokingly dubbed Zaro "Senior Master," and not because of seniority. He was the youngest Renault in his generation. "Senior Master" was a reference to his excess, indulgence, and incompetence.
Anyone who lived in Renault knew that any Wireless Media production was crap plot-wise. Every film had a simplistic story. You could figure out the ending by reading the synopsis.
Utterly unoriginal. Sometimes the movies barely made sense.
Given the level of technological advancement in the New Era, film production was quite straightforward. The number of films made had grown exponentially. Still, some of the major online portals screened their offerings. Yet any such restrictions were amenable to political and financial influence.
Take Zaro's Wireless Media, for example. Its releases were nearly universally panned, yet they were promoted vigorously on the most prominent platforms. They drew a significant viewership and did OK at the box office. Their revenues could never rival hit blockbusters, but they still managed to break even.
Viewers also loved to trash the films online because Zaro didn't seem to mind. Gradually, moviegoers became emboldened. Every time a Wireless Media film was released, they would watch it right away and generate tons of reviews. The reviews were still mostly critical. But despite the overwhelmingly negative commentary, the movies still drew a considerable audience.
Part of the reason was Zaro's reputation. Everyone wanted to see what kind of crap the notorious rich kid had produced. They got a kick out of it.
There was another reason. Wireless Media releases usually boasted huge budgets and realistic sets.
The Renaults were loaded, and while Master Zaro set low standards for story development, he was exacting when it came to production design and visual effects. He loved films with epic scenes, so the movies he made were filled with them.
Movie technology was in full bloom in the New Era. A single digital artist could easily create grand and realistic space shots. But sophisticated viewers could always spot flaws.
The proliferation of special effects created a niche audience that preferred big-budget blockbusters that used actual sets and props.
And the reason such viewers enjoyed Wireless Media releases was because they often used the real thing instead of props, be they firearms, flying cars, or spaceships.
For his last production, Zaro had rented a spaceship and 10 fighter jets from the military. Several scenes were also shot in space.
Zaro himself was no expert when it came to production design, but as a Renault, he felt he had to distinguish himself. When everyone used special effects, he would use the real thing. Only lavish budgets and splashy moves would live up to the Renault name.
And now Master Renault was on his eighth girlfriend and Wireless Media was gearing up for their eighth production. It was an old-fashioned damsel in distress movie.
Usually, Zaro would hire a famous actor to star alongside his girlfriend. When he was in the mood, he would make a cameo appearance himself. But this time, Senior Master didn't want to guest star. He wanted to be the leading man proper. So Wireless Media's eighth production had an even larger budget than usual. Zaro ordered the filmmakers to rent three battleships and nearly 50 fighter jets.
Of course, the battleships and fighter jets were steered and piloted by actual soldiers. As impulsive as Zaro was, he wasn't stupid enough to let non-professionals man the battleships and fighter jets. If any of them were damaged during shooting, his father would skin him alive.
Zaro had the perfect excuse cooked up when he approached his father for his military connections—the film would promote the military, boost recruitment, and help clamp down on draft dodgers.
In the New Era, a mandatory two-year period of military service was required for both men and women. The length of service was scaled back to one year after 200 years. Still, people went to extraordinary lengths to avoid serving.
Leizhou had been plagued by a series of high-profile desertions not too long ago involving several rather prominent celebrities, which generated considerable public discussion.
Zaro's father didn't buy his son's story for one second, but alas, his father—Zaro's grandfather, the governor himself—was already on board. Dad had no choice but to comply grudgingly. As a result, he was ostracized within the military and treated like a leper. The insults made in private were even worse.
Someone once joked that Zaro was born to screw over his father.
The latest production generated buzz within Renault's entertainment industry because of the huge budget and the large number of military rentals. Others saw a golden opportunity.
No matter how crappy the film turned out to be, people would still flock to see it. It would probably draw a larger audience than Wireless Media's previous seven movies. Any role in the film offered great exposure. Agents were dying to place their clients.
Apart from actors, composers also wanted in. They scrambled to offer their best songs. Many even offered discounts.
But Zaro didn't like any of the demos he received. Yet his appearance in the film called for the most epic song, so he decided to hire the best composer in town.
Just as he was about to shop for composers, word broke of the magical songs that had a healing effect on a Hull virus patient. The story piqued Zaro's curiosity. He ordered his underlings to obtain copies of "Divine Punishment" and "Cocoon Breach." The songs weren't available for download in Leizhou, but Zaro had his connections.
After listening to the two songs, he made contact with Silver Wing immediately. He loved the first two movements. Judging from the evolution of the songs, Zaro figured the third movement would strike his fancy even more.
He never used pieces that had been previously released on his movie soundtracks. They were too familiar and wouldn't add to the class of the film. He was starring in this eighth production, after all. His entrance had to be accompanied by a brand new, epic song. Only that kind of background music befitted his status.
Most blockbusters hired professional composers to write songs tailored to their plot and different scenes, also known as made-to-order songs.
So Zaro had people reach out to Silver Wing to see if the composer of the first two movements was willing to write a song for his movie. But Silver Wing refused immediately. The reason they gave was that the composer was too busy working on the third movement.
That pissed Zaro off, but Silver Wing was adamant in their refusal. There was nothing he could do. Zaro could make mountains move simply by flaunting his family name in Renault, but people in Yanzhou were less likely to extend a similar courtesy.
After pondering the matter, Zaro asked Silver Wing roughly when the third movement was coming out. The answer was January, which was when Wireless Media's eighth movie was being released. So Zaro decided to buy the rights to the third movement.
Zaro wanted to the buy the third movement outright, which meant it would not be released online in Yanzhou. He was willing to pay extra.
But Silver Wing responded with an equally definite no.
Zaro was so furious he cursed in his office the entire day.
Even paying a premium couldn't get them the third movement. Zaro's assistants and his agent told him to give up.
"There are quite a few composers in Leizhou who write symphonic pieces. If you haven't found one you like, just sift through some more," Zaro's agent pleaded. The movie was already over budget. It was just a matter of commissioning a song. There were so many movie composers in Leizhou. All they had to do was find a reputable one. It was going to be a crappy movie anyway. The most important thing was for Zaro to get his fix from the starring role. What was the point of being so exacting?
The agent was already in a tough spot. Other members of the Renault family were already upset that Zaro had made so many trashy, soulless, and critically panned movies. He already been summoned by a few of them, who had asked him to restrain Zaro and stop tarnishing the family name. Alas, his words carried little weight. Senior Master Zaro didn't care what he said.
At Zaro's insistence, his people kept negotiating with Silver Wing. They finally reached an agreement. Silver Wing would agree to the placement, but it would only license the song for exclusive use for one month. The third movement would still be launched in Yanzhou as scheduled, while in Leizhou, the release would be delayed by a month, until Wireless Media's eighth film ended its theatrical run. Silver Wing's price: 10 million.
Zaro signed off on the deal.
His agent wanted to cry.
In the first half of the year, the filmmakers behind an expensive Renault space war flick had commissioned a famed music cooperative to write a song. That only cost some 3 million. The filmmakers owned the rights to the song outright, which meant they could keep recycling the song in other movies without paying additional royalties. But now Wireless Media had spent 10 million licensing a song from Silver Wing for a mere month.
Where did Silver Wing find such gumption?
And yet Zaro had agreed to the deal. What was he thinking? Did money grow on trees? He really was clueless about his finances.
"Senior Master, should we maybe reconsider?" the agent pleaded again.
"There's no need. Let's do it. Let's speed up the shoot. The day the third movement is released in Yanzhou will be the day our movie is released!" He didn't want the background music that introduced his character showing up elsewhere first.
"But the price and the terms..." Zaro's agent made a last-ditch effort.
"They're fine." Zaro was already fed up. He wanted to get on set and figure out when his first scenes were. His stunt double had been filming until now.
Zaro's agent was the picture of doom. He wiped his forehead.
You had to be nuts to spend so much to license a song. They were bound to become the laughing stock of the industry.
He knew there was no room for savings on production design, given how demanding Senior Master was, but not being able to cut costs on music rights and going over budget instead—how very indulgent.
"I almost forgot—did Silver Wing mention any other conditions?" Zaro asked.
"The composer has requested that the third movement only be used for the scene he specified and no where else," an assistant standing next to him said.
Zaro looked at his assistant and smiled. "That's what we were thinking all along! That's where I make my grand entrance."
"Indeed. That's why Wireless Media agreed to the deal," the assistant said.
It was just one scene and they couldn't even play the entire song. For that, Silver Wing had demanded 10 million. Only a dumb*ss so loose with his cash like Zaro would agree, his agent thought.
Ten million! Were they paying for golden bricks?
Taking note of his agent's sour mood, Zaro chuckled and said, "Look how stingy you are."
"It's not that I'm stingy, Senior Master. It's 10 million dollars, for crying out loud. What if the song doesn't work?"
"Then we'll buy another song, the song you picked earlier. We'll use that as backup."
So they would splurge on another song? What about the 10 million?
"Then we'd have to write off that 10 million," his agent said.
"Then write it off. I can afford it," Zaro responded casually.
Yeah, you're a Renault, 10 million is like 1000 dollars to you, but for mortals like us, it's like treading ice, the agent cursed silently.
Given the cumulative profits from Wireless Media's first seven movies, they could break even despite taking a 10 million dollar loss this time.
That was also why Zaro was so carefree. They were breaking even, even making the occasional profit. He could keep fooling around in the entertainment industry.
"Is it worth it?" Zaro's agent was still in pain.
"Are you suggesting it's not worth it spending this much on music for a crappy film?" Zaro looked at his agent askance.
The agent flashed an embarrassed smile, thinking to himself, So you realize this is a shit production too?
"Wanna hear a saying?" Zaro asked.
"Yeah?" The agent and assistant were all ears.
"Since the beginning of time, crappy films have generated hit songs."
Geschenke
-- Geschenk
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