009 The Stars All Applaud You

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Success depends on a strong start in everything. Filmmaking is certainly no exception. The film Crazy Stone employs a nonlinear narrative, so there’s no need to shoot scenes in chronological order. The guiding principle is to film the simpler scenes first. It’s like taking an exam: tackle the questions you know first, and leave the difficult ones for later. This approach creates an illusion for the test-taker that, although everyone faces the same paper and their abilities differ, at least in the beginning the gap between them is not yet apparent. Therefore, the first scene must be the easiest to shoot, serving as the opening highlight.

The opening scene of the film, relatively straightforward, posed no particular challenge. Hence, Qian Lang made no changes and used the film’s first scene as the first shot of the shoot. “Crazy Stone, Scene 1, Shot 1, Take 1! Action!” The production crew assembled by Galaxy Pictures was impressively professional. As the clapperboard was announced with vigour and swiftly snapped, the set operated smoothly and efficiently. The cameras focused and began rolling. The actors on set paused briefly to allow for editing space.

The first scene was an indoor one, simple in content, designed to portray the protagonist, Bao Shihong, a man between thirty and forty years old. He should have been in the prime of life, yet afflicted with a hidden ailment, his future stalled. Gradually, he found himself trapped in the quagmire of life, pushed to its edges and corners. This was a truthful reflection of ordinary people: holding modest authority and knowledge without great wisdom or exceptional skills, yet not entirely insignificant.

The actor playing Bao Shihong was unknown, but his acting skills were evident. Through subtle facial expressions and close-ups of a dripping faucet, the character’s ailment was conveyed clearly. The shoot proceeded remarkably smoothly. It must be said that although few filmmakers in Daxia reach great fame, many possess solid fundamentals. Scenes like this were handled with ease. Subsequent scenes, even with Qian Lang’s relatively high standards, rarely required more than five takes. Often, some shots were achieved in a single take.

Of course, to ensure quality, Qian Lang would always shoot an additional take as a backup. Even so, the efficiency on the first day was extraordinary, largely thanks to Qian Lang himself. With a finished cut already in his mind, as long as he stuck to the original script, he could almost perfectly replicate the original shots, unlike some directors who change ideas mid-shoot. When one works seriously, time flies.

Soon, the first day’s filming drew to a close. The sun set in the west. There were no plans to shoot night scenes that evening. Qian Lang called for wrap-up, but the crew seemed reluctant to stop. In other productions, they had never enjoyed such good conditions. There were always actors stealing scenes, or conflicts among crew members, leading to all sorts of chaotic problems. These disruptions often stalled filming, forcing night shoots that stretched into the early hours, as if to justify the very existence of the film industry. Yet here, none of those troubles appeared. It was truly baffling.

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“Thank you all for your hard work!” Qian Lang expressed his gratitude to the entire crew. His words were met with a thunderous round of applause.

“Director Qian, your leadership is exemplary! You truly are a great talent!” Chen Yuanyuan and Hao Han sincerely praised him. Though exhausted after the day’s work, they felt fulfilled and optimistic about the future. Galaxy Pictures’ prospects looked bright.

“Heh, it’s all thanks to everyone’s thorough preparation,” Qian Lang replied modestly. He understood well the value of humility and was not one to monopolize credit or seek glory.

“Director Qian, I really wasn’t mistaken about you!” Pei Duoduo was heartened. Naturally, she had observed the first day’s shooting closely. After all, this was a project with a ten-million investment. It could not afford to go badly, nor could it be mediocre. Success meant the possibility of breaking even; failure might mean disbanding the crew, something she wished to avoid. She favored steady, long-term returns rather than quick profits. She hoped Qian Lang would not lose confidence and abandon directing. After all, suitable directors—even those of mediocre films—were hard to find.

“Ms. Pei, I hope I lived up to your expectations?” Qian Lang smiled. This film was his chance at redemption; everything needed to be meticulous. If the big boss had any suggestions, he was eager to improve.

“No,” Pei Duoduo shook her head. To be honest, she grew increasingly satisfied with Qian Lang’s performance today. For example, his insistence on shooting extra takes directly increased production costs, yet he avoided fatigue and burnout, aligning with her style. After all, everyone on set was family, not exploited labor. She was not investing in Galaxy Pictures solely for profit.

“Everyone, eat before heading back!” Chen Yuanyuan and Hao Han distributed boxed meals, prompting cheers. There was no doubt the catering was generous: a well-balanced mix of meat and vegetables, along with desserts and a fruit platter. Such a high standard was a rarity.

Everyone bowed their heads and dug in. Soon, some holding their boxes bid farewell—extras who lived nearby. They couldn’t bear to eat the exquisite desserts and fruit platter on site, intending to take some home for their children.

As night fell, crew members gradually left the set to return to their hotels and rest.

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Meanwhile, at the Tai Chi production, the scene was brightly lit. Yet the crew looked exhausted.

“So tiring!” “Day one already this intense!” Complaints echoed. A crew member asked assistant director Wang Xingxing, “Should we call for the boxed meals now?”

Wang, visibly impatient, snapped, “What meals? We haven’t even shot enough usable takes today! What are you all doing? Get moving!” Though only the assistant director, he ruled the set.

Because Tai Chi was a big-budget project, director Zhang Mu proposed splitting the crew across multiple sets to speed filming and meet the summer release deadline. Wang eagerly supported this, as it expanded his influence.

“Yes, sir,” staff replied, biting their tongues but redoubling their efforts.

Suddenly, hurried footsteps approached. Everyone turned. It was the arrival of the esteemed guest.

“Wang, everyone’s exhausted. Can we wrap up for today?” said Masaru Sanada, speaking Mandarin with the commanding tone of a colonel.

“No problem,” Wang replied with an ingratiating smile. “I was just about to call wrap.”

At his words, the crew emitted a collective groan. Wang’s duplicitous nature was clear: harsh to the crew but obsequious to the foreign star. It was utterly disgusting.

“Everyone, disperse.” Wang was no fool. He sensed their resentment but dared not speak harshly in front of the international celebrity. So he hurried everyone off to avoid delaying his flattery of the star.

“Thanks a lot!” Masaru left swiftly, satisfied.

Wang watched their retreating backs, sneering. Actors are heartless, indeed. He scornfully withdrew his gaze, pulled out his phone, and snapped a selfie with the caption: “Overtime night, the stars are all applauding for you!” Posting it on Weibo, he quickly gathered hundreds of likes within seconds.