novelraw Chapter 140: Production of "Hachiko Monogatari"! Shock at TV Tokyo!
Chapter 140: Production of "Hachiko Monogatari"! Shock at TV Tokyo!
Early the next morning, when the first glimmer of morning light pierced through the thin mist and gently sprinkled upon that vast, boundless expanse of emerald green rice paddies, the Nohara family's old house was already awakened by a warm aura mixed with the aroma of rice and the umami of miso soup.
"I say, Hiroshi, you child, it's rare for you to come back for a visit, can't you sleep a bit longer?"
In the kitchen, Nohara Tsuru looked at her handsome youngest son who was proficiently helping her out. A gentle smile hung on her face.
Nohara Hiroshi plated the freshly pan-fried tamagoyaki exuding an alluring savory aroma, and smiled as he said: "Mother, I'm used to waking up early in Tokyo. Besides, being able to eat breakfast made personally by you is much more important to me than sleeping."
These words acted like a spoonful of perfectly sweet honey, instantly filling Nohara Tsuru's motherly heart to the brim with sweetness.
"You just have a sweet mouth." She scolded with a smile, but deep in her eyes was an unmelting tenderness.
At the dining table, the whole family was harmonious and happy.
Nohara Ginnosuke sported two faint dark circles under his eyes, clearly excited enough by last night's engagement banquet that he didn't sleep well. At this moment, he was slurping miso soup while using the tone of an experienced person to impart his "Ginnosuke-style" wisdom on managing a wife to his eldest son, who was similarly somewhat lacking in energy.
"Semashi, let me tell you, regarding creatures like women, you cannot spoil them too much. When it's time to be tough, you must be tough! Otherwise in the future, your status in the family will..."
Before he could finish speaking, an iron fist full of "Tsuru-style" murderous intent landed heavily under the table with the sound of wind, accurately striking his restless old leg. "Ouch!"
Nohara Ginnosuke let out a shrill, miserable cry, his old face instantly piling up with grievance.
"Hahaha..."
A burst of good-natured, uproarious laughter instantly submerged this small Japanese room.
After breakfast, Nohara Tsuru pulled along Misae—who was also laughing so hard she was trembling like a branch—saying she was going to visit a few familiar distant relatives. Incidentally, she also wanted to let this soon-to-be daughter-in-law familiarize herself in advance with the local customs of Akita Prefecture.
Nohara Semashi was even more energetic. Early in the morning, he drove that domineering Land Cruiser, taking detailed information on the surrounding land provided by his future father-in-law, and purposefully went out to expand territory for the "Nohara Agricultural Corporation."
The noisy old house finally returned to tranquility.
Carrying a cup of warm barley tea, Nohara Hiroshi returned to that Japanese room full of his teenage memories.
He didn't pay attention to the work reports flying over like snowflakes from Tokyo's side, nor did he ponder those complex business layouts.
He merely sat down quietly in front of that low table, spread out a snow-white piece of drawing paper, and picked up that paintbrush which he had long regarded as a partner.
Outside the window was the chirping of cicadas in high summer, and the waves of rice swaying with the wind in the fields.
Inside the window was the soft rustling sound of the pen tip moving on the paper, like spring silkworms tirelessly gnawing on mulberry leaves.
His gaze was calm yet scorching.
What he was drawing was precisely that legendary story about "loyalty" and "waiting" that he had already conceived countless times in his heart—
"Hachiko Monogatari".
He didn't need to think, didn't need to compose the picture.
Because all the stories, all the storyboards, were already deeply carved into the depths of his soul like the most profound brands.
The tip of the pen dipped into ink, moving smoothly like flowing water on the paper.
A station, a lonely Akita Inu waiting, a master who would never return again...
Spring, summer, autumn, winter, the cycle of the four seasons.
Cherry blossoms bloomed and withered, white snow fell and melted.
The tide of people in front of the station came and went. Only that solitary figure, day after day, year after year, rain or shine, kept watch for that miracle which had long since become impossible to appear.
Nohara Hiroshi drew very fast, so fast that it even brought out afterimages.
Those classic scenes that had moved billions of viewers in his past life, under his pen, like movie film pressed with a fast-forward button, smoothly and naturally reappeared on this small piece of drawing paper.
However, when he drew to the very last scene, to that Akita Inu Hachiko, already aging and declining, slowly closing its eyes amid the swirling snow, finally seeing the master it thought of day and night dream, revealing a gentle smile toward it...
Nohara Hiroshi's hand holding the pen abruptly paused.
A drop of warm liquid uncontrollably slid down from the corner of his eye, dripping onto that unfinished drawing manuscript, spreading out into a small patch of dark water stain.
"Sigh..."
Nohara Hiroshi exhaled a long breath.
He knew that although this story had undergone artistic processing, that "loyalty" sufficient to cross species, to cross life and death, was real enough to make any heart that still possessed warmth be moved by it.
"Movies..."
He looked at this thick stack of drawing manuscripts before him, condensed from all his blood, sweat, and tears. In those eyes always carrying a bit of a smile, a more searing flame began to burn.
If TV dramas and variety shows were sharp blades he used to seize cities and capture territory, to establish his "Viewership Kingdom."
Then movies, this magical dream-making machine known as the "Seventh Art," was perhaps a sea of stars full of infinite possibilities that he truly wanted to conquer.
"Moreover..."
The corners of Nohara Hiroshi's mouth curled into a confident smile.
"That 'Hachiko Monogatari' from my past life, in 1987, reaped an astonishing box office of over two billion yen. Converting that according to the prices and purchasing power of this world, coupled with my current fame bonus, as long as it's operated properly, the final box office will absolutely not be lower than this figure."
"A single movie, at least one billion yen in pure profit... just thinking about this makes me a bit excited."
Nohara Hiroshi absolutely did not disdain having too much money!
Thus, he took that detailed movie script he had written long ago, along with that thick stack of manga storyboard manuscripts, carefully sorted them out, and placed them into a brand-new kraft paper file bag.
After doing all this, he stood up, stretched lazily, and moved his somewhat stiff neck, emitting a few crisp popping sounds from his joints.
It was time to let that bunch of guys in Tokyo experience what truly is called a dimensional strike.
...
In the only print shop in Omagari City equipped with the latest model high-speed fax machine, the boss, who usually always looked listless and made a living by copying ID cards and household registers for the villagers, was currently looking like he was seeing a monster, watching this young man stuffing a stack of manuscript paper as thick as a brick into the fax machine page by page.
"Young... young man." The boss's voice carried a trace of irrepressible trembling: "You... this is... going to be faxed to Tokyo?"
"Mhm." Nohara Hiroshi nodded.
"This... how many pages is this? My... my machine, I'm afraid... afraid it will fax until it gets dark?" The boss swallowed his saliva.
"Rest assured, I won't delay your business."
Nohara Hiroshi pulled out a few Fukuzawa Yukichis from his wallet and casually placed them on the counter. That posture was full of unquestionable heroism: "These are the deposit. After scanning is done, we'll settle it according to the actual cost."
Looking at those 10,000 yen bills, sufficient to make anyone in a rural place go crazy for them, the boss's eyes instantly straightened.
He didn't dare to speak another half-sentence of nonsense, merely acting like the most loyal servant, nimbly calibrating the machine for this God of Wealth.
Since others had already paid money, then there was nothing left to say.
Just fax!
Quickly, the fax machine emitted a "buzzing" sound, like an awakened beast, beginning to greedily devour those sheets of god-tier script belonging to Loyal Dog Hachiko.
Nohara Hiroshi didn't stay long beside the machine.
He picked up his phone and dialed the number he knew by heart.
The phone only rang once before being quickly connected.
"Hiroshi-kun?!" From the other end of the phone came Asumi's pleasantly surprised voice: "How is it? Are you having fun playing in your hometown? Did you relax properly?"
That tone was full of an elder's concern for a junior.
"Thanks to you, everything is well." Nohara Hiroshi smiled: "However, calling you today isn't to report private matters. I have a new movie project here. The script and storyboard manuscripts, I have already faxed to the fax machine in your office. If you have time, you can take a look."
"A movie project?!"
Asumi's voice abruptly rose, that pleasant surprise instantly replaced by a more intense shock: "Hiroshi-kun! You... you aren't joking, are you?! You currently have three ace programs in your hands! How... how did you suddenly think of doing whatever comes to mind and run off to make a movie?!"
"It's just an unformed idea." Nohara Hiroshi's tone remained calm and indifferent: "You read the script first, we will chat again later."
After saying that, he didn't give the other party any chance to refute, cleanly and neatly hanging up the phone.
Leaving only that Kanto faction leader—who maneuvered vertically and horizontally on the power chessboard of TV Tokyo—standing blankly in place on the other end of the phone. On his elegant face was written unbelievable astonishment.
Not because Nohara Hiroshi dared to directly hang up on his phone.
But because beside him.
The fax machine truly let out a sound.
Asumi looked at that fax machine in his office currently "buzzing" and madly spitting out pages. That heart, already made somewhat fragile by Nohara Hiroshi's various "miracles", began to beat wildly "thump thump" once again at this moment.
He almost subconsciously rushed over, snatching those sheets of manuscript paper that had just been faxed over and still carried a bit of warmth from the machine that was still continuously spitting out paper.
His gaze fell upon that cover.
On it, written in a font full of power, were a few large words sufficient to make anyone moved.
—"Hachiko Monogatari".
"Is it really a movie script!?"
Asumi's breathing instantly paused.
Then, out of trust for Nohara Hiroshi, he almost greedily, word by word, carefully read that script full of magic.
His expression turned from initial confusion to astonishment, then to shock, and finally transformed into deep, bottomless emotion thoroughly completely submerged by the purest feelings.
When he read to the very end, seeing that Akita Inu named "Hachiko" waiting bitterly for its master for ten years in front of Shibuya Station, and finally peacefully closing its eyes in the wind and snow...
This middle-aged man, who had long tempered his emotions into something as hard as steel on the battlefield of business and officialdom, in those eyes that always carried a bit of an elegant smile, unexpectedly and uncontrollably welled up a layer of moist mist.
"Loyalty..."
He muttered to himself. In that voice was a tremor of being thoroughly hit.
He was too clear on it.
He was too clear on what the word "loyalty" ultimately meant for their nation, which upheld the "spirit of Bushido" as its guiding principle.
That was a supreme moral standard already deeply embedded in the bone marrow, almost akin to faith!
And this story, it used the purest, most tear-jerking, and most unreasoning way, to push this "loyalty" to a sacred height sufficient to move anyone!
"Good... good script! This... this is simply... a god-tier script tailor-made for us Japanese citizens!"
Asumi abruptly slammed the table. On that elegant face, all hesitation had faded, leaving only a fanaticism originating from the bone marrow!
He could guess that once this movie was filmed, the energy it could detonate would far exceed the sum of "Tales of the Unusual" and "Kasou Taishou"!
That would no longer represent simple viewership ratings!
That would be a cultural phenomenon sufficient to sweep the entire Japanese society, and even... sufficient to go out of the country and move the whole world!
No one would deny loyalty.
After classes emerged in the biology of human beings, after disparities emerged, after distances emerged.
The word loyalty became the most important foundation between people.
However, after the ecstasy, a denser, dark-cloud-like worry once again shrouded Asumi's heart.
"Sigh..."
He exhaled a long breath. In that breath carried a helplessness of expecting better.
The script was god-tier, the creativity was invincible.
But...
He looked at that script in his hands, then looked at that busy and impetuous Tokyo outside the window. At this moment, he actually felt somewhat powerless.
Nohara Hiroshi truly was a god.
But even a god would get tired.
Animation, TV dramas, variety shows...
This 23-year-old young man, he had already acted like a tireless draft ox, cultivating three pieces of fertile land sufficient to make anyone jealous for their Kanto faction on this barren land.
Now, he unexpectedly even wanted to challenge "movies."
This endless deep sea full of the unknown and danger?
A trace of doubt arose in Asumi's heart: "This guy Nohara Hiroshi, is he a bit... overly proud?"
He didn't not believe in Nohara Hiroshi's talent.
He just... didn't believe that Nohara Hiroshi could still adapt to the movie circle.
That was an independent kingdom entirely different from the television circle, more closed, and more exclusive.
There, talent was not the only pass.
Connections, seniority, factions, and even... luck, could all become the final straw that crushes a genius.
Otherwise, how could Director Kurosawa Eiji, their Kanto faction's number one person in samurai films, have remained silent for nearly seven or eight years without having shot a single movie?
It was only this year that he finally prepared to shoot another samurai film.
But according to his understanding...
Director Kurosawa Eiji's samurai film was similarly facing a difficult birth, and had even halted production several times.
Just then, a soft knock came at the office door.
His chief secretary, that intellectual beauty, walked in with a somewhat strange expression on her face.
"Deputy Director, this is... the latest edition of the project planning report just sent over from Director Kurosawa regarding his new movie 'Samurai in the Blacksmith Shop'."
She gently placed a document on Asumi's desk.
Asumi looked at that familiar project planning report, not knowing for the umpteenth time it had been sent back. That heart already filled with irritability was thoroughly ignited by an unnamable fire.
He was even too lazy to open it, only asking in a tone full of exhaustion: "What's wrong again? This time, which step had a problem?"
"It's... it's the budget."
The secretary's voice carried a bit of caution: "The Board of Directors still feels that Director Kurosawa's project requires too massive an investment and too high a risk, and does not align... does not align with current market expectations. They... they suggest reducing the budget... by another thirty percent."
"Bastards!"
Asumi abruptly slammed the table. On that elegant face was undisguised monstrous anger!
"Even a national-treasure-level master like Director Kurosawa, they repeatedly torture and humiliate him using this method! This damn movie circle, already corroded by capital and factions! Is it... is there still salvation for it?!"
He looked at the 'Hachiko Monogatari' full of hope in his hands, then looked at the 'Samurai in the Blacksmith Shop' full of despair on the table. A growing sense of powerlessness in his heart threatened to thoroughly submerge him.
For Nohara Hiroshi's ship to carve out a bloody path in this dead ocean already blockaded by the icebergs of the old era.
Its difficulty was far greater than what he imagined.
Moreover...
Asumi looked at this 'Samurai in the Blacksmith Shop', still slowly pursed his lips, having to somewhat admit it.
Samurai films.
Indeed were somewhat behind the times.
Movies are like this. Great subjects of the past, once a phase passes, they will become outdated subjects.
Even a great director like Kurosawa Eiji was no exception.
Not yet having entered the movie circle.
Nohara Hiroshi wanting to enter... could he truly succeed?!
Or rather.
Asumi worried, did Nohara Hiroshi truly know how to shoot movies?
...
Suburbs of Tokyo, Kurosawa Eiji's Studio.
In an editing room that sunlight never reached year-round, Kurosawa Eiji was currently using a posture almost akin to self-torture, repeatedly watching that rough cut footage he had already watched no less than a hundred times.
This master in the Japanese movie industry, who was once known as the "Soul of the Samurai," now looked like an aged male lion trapped in a cage. In those sharp eyes that had once filmed countless classic shots, only lingering exhaustion and irritability remained.
"Stop."
His hoarse voice pierced the monotonous "clatter clatter" sound of the editing machine.
The screen froze on the face of a samurai full of tragic solemnity and resoluteness. The owner of that face was exactly the male lead of this agonizing new work of his — 'Samurai in the Blacksmith Shop'.
"Soejima-kun, Watanabe-kun." Kurosawa Eiji didn't turn his head, merely using his knuckles to gently and sporadically tap against the cold metal operating console: "You two, tell me the truth. Is this film... too flat?"
The named Assistant Director Soejima Shohei and Editor Watanabe Ichiro looked at each other. A perfectly appropriate confusion full of respect surfaced on both their faces.
"How could that be, Director?" Soejima Shohei hurriedly stepped forward: "I feel that this is already your best samurai work in the past ten years! Especially that final scene, it's simply a stroke of genius!"
"Yes, yes!" Editor Watanabe also nodded in agreement. He pointed at the frozen frame on the screen, his voice full of a professional's analysis and admiration: "The protagonist takes his final companion, fights bloody battles, and ultimately dies tragically under the daimyo's castle walls. And on the castle walls, that seemingly incompetent daimyo reveals a sinister smile, pulling out an entire row of matchlocks at the unsuspecting enemy forces attacking upward! This reversal is too unexpected!"
"The era of the samurai ends beneath firearms. Using a tragedy to announce the curtain call of an era. This technique of seeing the big picture through a small lens is full of your unique tragic and solemn aesthetic! I believe that as long as it's screened, it will absolutely cause a sensation!"
The flattery of the two acted like two spoonfuls of lukewarm sugar water, which not only failed to soothe the anxiety in Kurosawa Eiji's heart, but instead made him even more depressed.
He exhaled a long breath. In that breath carried the desolation of an aging hero.
"What you've said, I know all of it." He slowly turned around. On that weather-beaten face was written the most rigorous scrutiny from a top-tier creator towards his own work: "But, this... is still not enough."
He pointed at the screen, his voice carrying a kind of heartache: "Don't you feel that the core of this story is still too old? It's still that same set—loyalty, betrayal, honor, revenge... I have filmed samurai for a lifetime and talked about these things for a lifetime. The audience... is already tired of it."
"But Director, aren't samurai films supposed to be about these?" Soejima Shohei was somewhat puzzled.
"Yes, but also no." Kurosawa Eiji shook his head. In those slightly murky eyes, a trace of confusion that even he himself hadn't detected flashed past: "I always feel that it... it is missing something. Missing a little bit of something new that could truly sting this era."
Just as this stifling atmosphere full of the dilemma of artistic creation set in, the door to the editing room was gently pushed open.
His assistant Kobayashi, his face carrying a bit of trepidation not daring to look straight, carefully placed a document in front of Kurosawa Eiji as if delivering a death notice.
"Director... it's a notice just sent over from the Board of Directors."
Kurosawa Eiji picked up that document, only randomly glancing at it. That face that was already gloomy instantly darkened like the bottom of a pot.
"Reducing the budget? The third time?" His voice wasn't loud, but carried a cold murderous intent: "From the initial five hundred million, to four hundred million, and now, only three hundred million is left? Do they... want me to use a single video camera, to shoot a war?!"
"The Board of Directors said... said you insist on not using popular idol stars as the male lead, causing the film's commercial prospects to be unclear, so..." Kobayashi's voice grew smaller and smaller as he spoke, ultimately becoming almost inaudible.
"Popular idol stars?" Kurosawa Eiji sneered cleanly. There was full contempt and disdain in that laugh: "Let a pretty boy who can't even hold a sword steady, and whose crying scenes only rely on eye drops, play the samurai in my heart who bears the tragedy of an entire era? Are they... humiliating me, or are they humiliating the term 'samurai film'?!"
He fiercely crumpled that document into a ball and smashed it onto the ground, flames of anger shooting from his eyes.
"Tell them! Three hundred million is three hundred million! Even if there's only one hundred million left, I, Kurosawa Eiji, will absolutely not lower my proud head to capital, to that garbage!"
"Hai!" Granted amnesty, Kobayashi frantically scrambled and slipped out.
The editing room once again sank into a death-like silence.
Soejima Shohei and Watanabe Ichiro looked at that man pacing back and forth in the room like an utterly enraged male lion. On their two faces were written suppressed helplessness and sympathy.
They were too clear on it.
The times truly had changed.
Twenty years ago, ten years ago, who dared to cut Kurosawa Eiji's budget? Those producers only held up money, begging him to shoot a bit more, and then a bit more.
But now...
A hero in his twilight years, a tiger in the plains.
"Director, then... then our subsequent shooting plans..." Soejima Shohei asked cautiously.
"Cut!" Kurosawa Eiji squeezed out a word from between his teeth. That voice was full of unwillingness and humiliation: "Change that originally planned grand battle of a thousand men to a hundred men. Change those streets that needed to be built on location all to set shoots. Tell the art department to use the least amount of money to create the most textured 'poverty feel' for me!"
As he spoke, he weakly slumped back into his chair. That spine that had been straight for a lifetime, at this moment, unexpectedly also hunched slightly.
He knew he had lost.
Not losing to his opponents, but losing to this cold era that no longer belonged to him.
However, just as Kurosawa Eiji was sitting in his chair, he thought of a name.
The name of a young man.
"Nohara Hiroshi."
Kurosawa Eiji did not know why he would think of this young man, especially since this young man had actually never directed a movie;
he had only produced animation, shot episodic television dramas, and successful variety shows.
Indeed, he had also achieved very good results in all of them.
All of them broke records.
Even within the closed filming sets, he had heard the praises of Nohara Hiroshi from countless people.
But now, Kurosawa Eiji was still certain that Nohara Hiroshi had never shot a movie, and did not know how to shoot movies.
After all, Nohara Hiroshi was not a person of the movie circle.
"But why would I think of him?" Kurosawa Eiji reached out and rubbed between his eyebrows, feeling absurd for thinking of Nohara Hiroshi.
Because in his heart, unexpectedly and unconsciously, there was a feeling that if Nohara Hiroshi was by his side, it would be even better...
Himself, a Level 1 Director famous for a long time.
Now, he would actually think of a young man who had just graduated from university and had never shot or been in contact with movies before?
Isn't this absurd?
Kurosawa Eiji couldn't help but reveal a bitter smile: "Is it that I am truly behind the times, and I hope a young man... will come and teach me?"
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(End of Chapter)