novelraw Chapter 144: Kurosawa Eiji's Bow! "Seven Samurai" Officially Greenlit! The Spy Sato Kenji!
Chapter 144: Kurosawa Eiji's Bow! "Seven Samurai" Officially Greenlit! The Spy Sato Kenji!
TV Tokyo, Production Bureau Headquarters Building.
Asumi's office.
"...Peasants are the stingiest, most cunning, cowardly, malicious, low-ability! But wait, who made them become like this? It's you, it's you samurai!"
Kurosawa Eiji, this master revered as a "living legend" in the Japanese movie industry, at this moment acted like the most devout student, repeatedly, almost greedily, chewing over that earth-shattering dialogue of Nohara Hiroshi just now.
In those sharp eyes of his that had filmed countless classic shots, what burned at this moment was a terrifying burst of light sufficient to ignite the entire room!
That large hand of his covered in age spots yet still possessing strength, was still gripping Nohara Hiroshi's arm tightly, as if what he had grabbed wasn't a young man's arm, but a life-saving straw sufficient to thoroughly drag him out from that already dried-up quagmire of inspiration!
"Nohara-kun! Your... this idea of yours... is simply... simply genius!" His voice, due to extreme excitement, became somewhat hoarse. On that weather-beaten face, all exhaustion and confusion had faded, leaving only a piece of fanaticism and shock after catching a glimpse of the light of divine wisdom in the darkness!
"Director Kurosawa, please don't be excited first." On Nohara Hiroshi's face surfaced a helpless, dumbfounded expression.
He knew he seemed to have accidentally poked a hole in the heavens.
Asumi at the side, had already been thoroughly stunned by this scene before him. He blankly looked at that national-treasure-level master, then looked at that young man who had merely smiled calmly from beginning to end, and only felt incomparable absurdity!
Kurosawa Eiji!
That stubborn old man whom even he, the Deputy Director, had to treat courteously and respectfully address as "Director Kurosawa"!
Now, unexpectedly acting like a little fan, gripping the arm of a young man smaller than his grandson, his face flushed red, begging the other party to "bestow guidance"?
This... this was no longer simply "valuing highly"!
This was clearly the descent of a miracle!
"Hiroshi-kun, that 'Seven Samurai' you mentioned..." Kurosawa Eiji took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the fanaticism in his heart. Those eyes stared fixedly at Nohara Hiroshi, as if trying to see through his entire person: "These seven people, do they... all have their respective representations?"
"Yes." Nohara Hiroshi nodded. He knew, some things, once ignited, could never be extinguished again.
He simply sat back down on that soft sofa, and before those two big shots who had already been thoroughly won over by him, unhurriedly, he began to construct that magnificent world sufficient to overturn the entire Japanese movie history.
"Director Kurosawa, your script from just now, the core is 'the tragedy of a fake samurai'. But my idea is, why can't we enlarge the framework a bit more?"
His voice was calm, yet acted like a heavy hammer, fiercely striking onto Kurosawa Eiji's heart.
"What we are talking about, is not one samurai, but a class. What we need, is also not one protagonist, but a group portrait. Seven samurai, seven entirely different personalities, seven entirely different lives. Every single one of them, represents a core virtue within the 'spirit of Bushido'."
He paused. Amidst the increasingly scorching gazes of those two, slowly, he extended one finger.
"First, is the leader, Shimada Kambei. He is battle-hardened, both wise and courageous, yet has long been weary of slaughter. What he represents, is 'Benevolence' —— the benevolent is invincible. It is that kind of compassionate heart that, after seeing through the impermanence of the world, still chooses to step forward."
"Second, is the sword master, Kyuzo. He is taciturn, his swordsmanship divine, his whole life solely pursuing the pinnacle of the way of the sword. What he represents, is 'Honor' —— the honor of a samurai, is heavier than life."
"Then there is Kambei's old friend, Shichiroji. He was once a samurai, yet has long taken off his armor and become a peddler. But under his old friend's summons, he still returned without hesitation. What he represents, is 'Loyalty' —— that is a promise between men that transcends life and death."
"Next is Hayashida Heihachi. He is always cheerful, even if in a desperate situation, he can use a joke to defuse his companions' tension. What he represents, is 'Courage' —— true courage is not being fearless, but still choosing to smile in the face of fear."
"There is also Katayama Gorobei, a wise man proficient in the art of war. What he represents, is 'Wisdom'."
"Okamoto Katsushiro, a young samurai of noble birth yet ignorant of the ways of the world. He harbors the purest yearning for the spirit of Bushido, representing 'Sincerity'."
"Lastly, and also the most crucial person." The corners of Nohara Hiroshi's mouth curled into a meaningful arc: "Kikuchiyo. A fake who came from a peasant background, yet used lies and brute force to forcibly squeeze into the ranks of the samurai. He is crude, lecherous, loves to boast, possessing almost all the inherent flaws of peasants. But he, desires to become a true samurai more than anyone else. What he represents, is 'Compassion' —— it is sympathy for the weak, and also an inseparable compassion for his own origins. He, will be the most important bridge connecting the two opposing classes of 'samurai' and 'peasants'."
"..."
The entire office, once again plunged into an eerie silence where one could hear a pin drop.
Kurosawa Eiji sat there blankly. On that weather-beaten face, all expressions had faded, leaving only a piece of numbness and emptiness after being thoroughly crushed by an absolutely genius concept.
Seven samurai, seven virtues.
Benevolence, Honor, Loyalty, Courage, Wisdom, Sincerity, Compassion...
This... this was no longer a simple story!
This was an immortal epic sufficient to thoroughly deconstruct and re-sublimate the entire "spirit of Bushido"!
"Then... then what about the peasants?!" Kurosawa Eiji's voice, due to extreme excitement, became somewhat hoarse. He was like a drowning man grasping the final life-saving straw!
"The peasants, are the true core of this story."
Nohara Hiroshi looked at him. In those calm eyes, flashed a trace of profound insight into human nature: "Director Kurosawa, you said just now, your story is too flat. That is because, you wrote the peasants as too 'good'."
"They are simple, kind-hearted, oppressed by mountain bandits, waiting for the salvation of samurai. This is a very classic heroic narrative. But, it is not real."
"What is real?"
"The reality is, peasants, are more terrifying, and also more cunning than mountain bandits!"
Nohara Hiroshi slowly, word by word, clearly spat out that "theory on peasants" sufficient to overturn everyone's worldview present once again.
"They are stingy, cunning, cowardly, malicious... but then who made them become like this? It's you samurai!"
These arguments full of dialectics and irony, acted like the sharpest scalpel, accurately slicing open that hypocritical pastoral veil that had long been beautified thousands of times by countless literary and artistic works.
Nakedly displaying that bloody cruel reality full of class opposition and human struggles before everyone's eyes!
"Class... opposition..."
Asumi murmured to himself. In those eyes always flickering with an astute light, for the first time surfaced a deep fear stemming from the bone marrow.
He looked at that young man, feeling that what he saw was not a director, but a terrifying monster sufficient to see through the underlying logic of the operation of entire society!
"That's right! Exactly this! Exactly this!" Kurosawa Eiji fiercely slapped his thigh. On that old face that was already somewhat ashen, at this moment unexpectedly regained an almost terminal-lucidity-like radiance!
"I understand! I completely understand! What we are talking about, is not a simple story of samurai saving peasants! What we are talking about, is a tragedy full of human struggles regarding 'trust' and 'betrayal', 'protection' and 'utilization'!"
"The samurai protected the peasants, yet in the end were abandoned by the peasants. The peasants utilized the samurai, yet also found their lost dignity in the protection of the samurai. This... this is the true, high-level reversal full of tragic aesthetics!"
He acted like a martial arts grandmaster who had unblocked his Ren and Du meridians, pacing back and forth excitedly in this office, his mouth constantly muttering. In those sharp eyes, erupted a creative fanaticism sufficient to make anyone look sideways!
"Then... then what about the ending? How is the ending?" Asumi looked at these two men who had already plunged into creative fanaticism, and finally couldn't hold back anymore, asking the question he cared about the most.
"Ending?" The corners of Nohara Hiroshi's mouth curled into an icy arc accurate like a scalpel.
"The ending, of course is victory. The mountain bandits are wiped out, the village is saved, the peasants are singing and dancing, celebrating the harvest. But..."
He paused. Amidst the increasingly nervous gazes of those two, slowly, he spat out that cruel answer sufficient to make all heroic narratives pale in comparison.
"The seven samurai, four died. Only three survived."
"Why?!" Asumi almost blurted out!
"Because, the three who survived, are the ones who represent the true tragic core of this story."
Nohara Hiroshi looked at him, that gaze like a deity overlooking a war of mortals, full of calmness and indifference.
"The first one, is the leader, Kambei. He looks at those celebrating peasants, and speaks that line I have set for him —— 'In the end we lost this battle too. The victory belongs to those peasants. Not to us'. His survival, symbolizes the thorough disillusionment of the samurai class towards this new era."
"The second one, is Shichiroji. He took off his armor and went back to being his peddler. His survival, symbolizes the helpless compromise and transformation of the samurai spirit in the face of realistic interests."
"The third one, and also the final one, is that young man, Katsushiro. He fell in love with a peasant's daughter in the village, and ultimately, he chose to stay in the village and become a peasant. His survival, symbolizes the thorough integration of the bloodline of the samurai class with the peasant class. And also foreshadows, that the era belonging to the samurai, full of glory and slaughter, has already, thoroughly, ended."
Silence.
Deathly silence.
Asumi sat there blankly. That professional brain full of traditional television "iron rules" and "experience", went completely blank at this moment!
This is too brilliant!
He finally understood, this young man was using the fates of seven samurai to compose an elegy for the demise of a class, the most solemn and profound elegy!
This... this is no longer a simple movie!
This is art! It is immortal art sufficient to still let future generations repeatedly savor it even a hundred years later!
"Good... Good! What a great 'We lost again'!"
Kurosawa Eiji could hold it in no longer. This master who had ruled the Japanese movie industry for half a century, like a pilgrim who had finally found his lifelong pursuit, let out a heartily loud laughter full of ecstasy and excitement long suppressed!
He abruptly turned around. Under Asumi's unbelievable, almost as if seeing a ghost gaze, he again deeply bent his waist before that young man smaller than his grandson.
Another bow!
"Nohara-kun!"
Kurosawa Eiji's voice was no longer hoarse, no longer confused, but full of loud and clear resonance like surviving a disaster: "Please allow me to follow you to film this 'Seven Samurai'! Let an old man like me, witness that monster-like brain of yours!"
"I, Kurosawa Eiji, implore you! Together with me, bring this great work sufficient to change the entire Japanese movie history, into this world!"
"I beg you!"
"This is truly a kind of movie that is beyond my previous understanding, which cannot simply be called a samurai movie... but a movie concerning Bushido that is almost akin to the Dao!"
This was too solemn.
Nohara Hiroshi extended his hand, using a kind of respect a junior has for a senior, firmly helping this master who had long been deified in the Japanese movie industry, yet at this moment acted like a lost child, back up from that ninety-degree bow full of seeking knowledge and humility.
"Director Kurosawa, your words are too heavy."
The gentle smile hung on Nohara Hiroshi's face again: "To be able to cooperate with a grandmaster like you, is my honor."
It was Asumi at the side who was thoroughly stunned.
He blankly looked at those two figures, one old and one young, two generations of legends, seemingly completing some kind of sacred handover ceremony in his office.
That scene was full of absurdity.
Yet additionally carried a kind of fatalistic harmony.
Kurosawa Eiji, that national-treasure-level master whom even he, the Deputy Director, had to treat courteously and respectfully address as "Director Kurosawa", that stubborn old man renowned for his "arrogance" and "paranoia" throughout the entire Japanese movie industry, at this moment, unexpectedly... was truly thoroughly won over by this young man smaller than his grandson, using just a few casually spoken sentences?
This... this could no longer be summarized by the simple word "talent".
This is a kind of precise insight and absolute control over the human heart!
"Truly a monster!" Asumi sighed with emotion in his heart.
Just when Asumi was still immersed in shock, Nohara Hiroshi's gaze had already calmly landed on him.
"Deputy Director Asumi." Nohara Hiroshi smiled: "You see, now, even a great senior like Director Kurosawa is willing to condescend to cooperate with me, a junior. Then, that unformed movie project of mine, 'Hachiko Monogatari', is it... able to be put on the agenda too?"
Asumi's body jerked violently!
A bitter smile also revealed on his face.
He finally understood.
This young man, he simply wasn't "helping".
He was, setting up the board!
He used Kurosawa Eiji, this golden signboard that no one could shake in the entire movie industry, to tie the most powerful engine sufficient to crush all doubts and obstacles onto his giant ship that was about to set sail, full of unknowns and dangers!
"Alright!" Asumi nodded heavily. In his voice, bringing a decisive solemnity: "Hiroshi-kun, rest assured! As long as this 'Seven Samurai' of yours can succeed, no! Even if it doesn't succeed! I, Asumi, even if I have to kneel, I will beg Chief Sakata, beg that bunch of old geezers on the Board of Directors! To approve the budget for 'Hachiko' for you!"
"Then thank you so much, Deputy Director." Nohara Hiroshi expressed his thanks.
"Let's go! Nohara-kun! Let's go then!"
Kurosawa Eiji at the side, at this time, could already no longer wait: "Go to my studio! Now! Immediately! At once! I want to listen to you, tell me the story of those seven samurai, completely, without missing a single word!"
As he spoke, he disregarded everything and pulled Nohara Hiroshi, rushing out of this office that had long been turned upside down by him like a gust of wind.
Leaving only Asumi alone standing on the spot, looking at those two retreating figures full of gap moe, a smile full of helplessness surfacing on his face.
"The weather in this movie circle is going to change." Asumi shook his head and sighed lightly.
...
Kurosawa Eiji's studio was located in a seemingly inconspicuous two-story small building in the suburbs of Tokyo.
Here there were no modern glass curtain walls, nor cold metal decorations.
Only simple decoration, ivy climbing all over the walls, emerald green grassy plants, and a courtyard landscape with a classical artistic style, narrating the host's arrogance and persistence that was out of tune with this impetuous era.
"Please have some tea."
Kurosawa Eiji, this tyrant sufficient to make any producer keep quiet out of fear outside, at this moment acted like the most humble apprentice, personally brewing a cup of steaming Sencha for Nohara Hiroshi.
Those large hands covered in age spots yet still possessing strength, when picking up the teacup, unexpectedly also carried a trace of imperceptible nervousness.
He looked at that young man who was leisurely sizing up this "humble abode" of his, on that weather-beaten face, surfaced a small embarrassment and awkwardness.
"Um... Nohara-kun." He cleared his throat. In his voice, bringing a bit of helplessness difficult to speak out: "Without hiding it from you, that 'Samurai in the Blacksmith Shop' of mine, tossed back and forth for almost half a year, the script was revised for over ten drafts, over a hundred actors were auditioned... now, the budget of five hundred million allocated from the Board of Directors, has been... mostly used up by me."
As he spoke, that old face turned somewhat red, like a child who had done something wrong.
"Now, the movable funds on the account, even at a full count, is only... only left with a bit over one hundred million."
Over one hundred million.
This number might be considered ample for an ordinary movie.
But for an epic samurai masterpiece that required a convergence of thousands of people and extensive practical sets, it was tantamount to a drop in the bucket.
However, Nohara Hiroshi merely smiled calmly, as if one hundred million was nothing more than a very normal number.
"It's enough."
Nohara Hiroshi said: "Director Kurosawa, don't be anxious first. Can you let me watch the footage you filmed before first?"
"Ah? Oh! Okay! Okay!" Kurosawa Eiji hurriedly led Nohara Hiroshi into that editing room that didn't see sunlight all year round.
He personally operated that editing machine that looked quite aged, projecting that rough cut demo he had seen no less than a hundred times onto that massive screen once again.
Nohara Hiroshi watched quietly.
He saw that back view of the samurai full of tragic solemnity and decisiveness, standing lonely under the setting sun.
He saw that sinister smile revealed by the lord full of deception and betrayal on the city wall.
He even saw that horrific siege battle, although the scale wasn't large, but every shot was full of Kurosawa Eiji's unique aesthetic of violence.
The pictures were beautiful, the composition was exquisite, and the actors' performances were also impeccable.
But, just like what Kurosawa Eiji himself had said.
It was too flat.
Like a cup of sake that had been opened and left for too long, although still mellow, it lacked that fiery nature sufficient to scorch the soul.
"How is it?" When the final frame froze, in Kurosawa Eiji's voice, that imperceptible nervousness was brought up again.
"Very good." Nohara Hiroshi gave the most objective evaluation. He pointed at those few war scenes full of visual impact on the screen. In those clear eyes, flashed a sharp light belonging to a professional producer: "Director Kurosawa, among these materials you filmed before, there are many we can directly use in 'Seven Samurai'."
"Eh?!" Kurosawa Eiji was stunned.
"You see." Nohara Hiroshi stood up, walking to the screen, like the most brilliant battlefield commander directing affairs on that battlefield where light and shadows intertwined: "This wide shot of the mountain bandits harassing the village, we can use it. This montage of the protagonist training the ashigaru, if the pacing is sped up a bit, it can also be kept. And this siege scene, we only need to do reshoots for a few close-ups of the protagonists, and we can seamlessly connect it in."
"This way, we can at least save thirty million in production funds."
"Moreover." The corners of Nohara Hiroshi's mouth curled into a confident arc: "The story of 'Seven Samurai' mostly takes place in a dilapidated, impoverished mountain village repeatedly looted by mountain bandits. We don't need magnificent castles, we don't need exquisite streets. We only need to find a sufficiently desolate, sufficiently textured practical location, and use the least amount of money to create the most realistic 'poverty' and that will be enough."
"As for the actors..." He turned around, a smile like an old fox blooming on his face: "Director Kurosawa, don't forget. Under our hands we have an entire army of cheap yet highly capable Kanto Faction actors!"
"Good! Good! Good!"
Kurosawa Eiji slapped his thigh heavily. On that old face that was already somewhat ashen was at this moment extremely radiant!
Because what Nohara Hiroshi said was correct!
"We'll do as you say! Nohara-kun! From today onwards, you are the general producer of this movie of ours! I, Kurosawa Eiji, will be an executive assistant director for you!"
He was so excited his pacing back and forth, not even giving Nohara Hiroshi space to speak, deciding it on the spot: "This was originally your script, your creativity, your conception! If you are not the general producer, general director, then I, Kurosawa Eiji would be swindling under false pretenses as the general director, then I might as well just commit seppuku!"
Looking at the solemn look of this senior Kurosawa Eiji, Nohara Hiroshi also smiled helplessly: "Alright then."
...
This massive shockwave brought by Nohara Hiroshi's upcoming involvement in the movie circle quickly swept across the entire TV Tokyo with an unrivaled posture.
[Nohara Hiroshi · Independent Production Department].
The massive office had long become like a fish pond that had a depth charge dropped into it, thoroughly boiling!
"Did you hear?! The Manager... he decided to go film movies!"
"Nani?! Real or fake?! Who is he cooperating with?!"
"Who else could it be?! Kurosawa Eiji! That legendary Director Kurosawa! I heard Deputy Director Asumi's secretary say, yesterday it was Director Kurosawa personally coming to the door to 'invite' the Manager out of the mountain!"
"Holy crap! This... this is too magical, right?! The Manager... he is only twenty-three years old!"
"What's so strange about this?" Minamura Hoshi, this fanatical fan who had long deified Nohara Hiroshi, at this moment had his hands on his hips. On that young face was written a proud sense of sharing in his glory: "You guys don't look at what kind of person our Manager is! Television dramas, animation, variety shows, in which field did he not directly become a god upon entering? A mere movie circle, to him, isn't it as easy as reaching out his hand?"
"Exactly! Exactly!"
"When the Manager acts, it must be a masterpiece!"
"I've already started anticipating! I don't know what kind of divine work sufficient to overturn worldviews the Manager will bring us this time!"
For a time, the entire department was immersed in an almost blind worship and fanaticism towards their Manager's god-like abilities.
They had long accustomed themselves to following that young man's footsteps, witnessing one seemingly impossible miracle after another.
They firmly believed this time would absolutely be no exception.
However, in this atmosphere full of the joy of victory, in a corner of the TV Drama Section, a figure seemed somewhat out of place.
Sato Kenji, this nominal "liaison officer", at this moment had his head lowered, seemingly sorting through the documents in his hands.
But in those eyes hidden behind gold-rimmed glasses, a sharp light out of tune with the enthusiastic atmosphere around him flickered.
He stood up calmly, revealing a perfectly appropriate apologetic smile to Yamamoto Takeshi beside him who was chatting heatedly.
"Section Chief Yamamoto, I'm going out to smoke a cigarette."
"Go ahead, go ahead."
No one noticed his slight abnormality.
Sato Kenji walked out of that office full of light and heat, arriving before that secluded fire escape window at the end of the corridor.
He didn't light a cigarette, merely fishing out that pager that had long been polished to a gleam from his pocket.
He skillfully inputted a number he knew by heart, and an implicitly suggestive password.
[Should we drink coffee?]
Not long after, the pager emitted a slight vibration.
On it, was only a brief, icy reply.
[First floor, utility room.]
The corners of Sato Kenji's eyes twitched imperceptibly.
He took a deep breath, placed the pager back into his pocket, and then took normal-looking steps, walking towards that staff elevator leading to the lowest, most gloomy corner of the building.
First floor, utility room.
A dim incandescent bulb crackled overhead, casting the figures of the two men into two long shadows full of suppression and calculation on the cold concrete floor.
"Speak."
Takada Toshihide, this second-in-command of the Tokyo Faction, was standing in that corner piled with discarded props.
His voice was as flat as a bottomless pool of stagnant water, unable to discern joy or anger.
"He... he is really going to shoot a movie."
Sato Kenji lowered his head, in that voice carrying a trace of awe towards that young man that even he himself had not noticed: "Cooperating with Kurosawa Eiji, the project seems to be a subject about samurai and peasants."
He respectfully handed over that project synopsis printed from the internal system.
Takada Toshihide didn't take it immediately.
He merely turned around slowly, those icy eyes like two unsheathed swords, piercing straight into the depths of Sato Kenji's soul.
"Sato-kun." His voice was as light as a devil's whisper, yet carried a cruelty sufficient to make anyone shudder: "Do you know? I am... very disappointed."
Sato Kenji's body jerked violently.
"I originally thought, you were the sharpest blade I planted by his side. I needed you, to deal a fatal blow to his back, when he is most complacent."
Takada Toshihide slowly walked in front of him, reaching out and heavily patting his still slightly trembling shoulder.
"But what about you? You accomplished nothing. You just watched him helplessly, step by step, growing from an unknown nobody into a behemoth that even I find troublesome."
"I..." It was as if a lump of scalding hot cotton had been stuffed into Sato Kenji's throat. He opened his mouth, yet couldn't utter a single word.
On that face always carrying a bit of refined smile, surfaced a fear of being seen through.
"But, it doesn't matter."
The corners of Takada Toshihide's mouth curled into an icy smile like a demon's: "Now, the opportunity has arrived."
He finally took that project proposal.
If he could defeat Nohara Hiroshi in the same field, then perhaps, he could properly vent out a mouthful of bad breath, right?
Looking at Sato Kenji before him whose face was full of fear, he also revealed a smile, gently patting his arm: "Alright, you are after all Chairman Sato Tokugawa's distant nephew, no matter what I will give you a bit of face. Go back now, you have already done very well."
(End of Chapter)