fictionpage Chapter 84 Can I act in such a good script?
Chapter 84 Can I act in such a good script?
After Dai Ying finished reading the synopsis, she handed the folder to a colleague from the self-produced drama department. The colleague took it, glanced at it, frowned slightly, and then flipped back to the first page to read it again.
"There's one more thing." Luo Jinnian pulled out a second document from his bag, thinner than the first, and pushed it over. "This is the complete script for the first and second episodes of 'The Long Season'."
Director Qin sat up straight instinctively. He didn't know that Luo Jinnian had already written the script—he had only seen the outline before.
While Luo Jinnian was talking about "The Long Season" in the conference room, Lao Yan was filming a Republican-era detective drama in Hengdian.
When he took on this role, "The Hidden Corner" hadn't aired yet. His salary wasn't high, and his role wasn't significant—he played a police detective, appearing for about ten minutes per episode. He played the role effortlessly; frankly, it was the most common type of role for middle-aged male actors his age—somewhat capable but with obvious flaws.
In the early stages, she provides one or two key clues at crucial moments when the protagonist is solving the case, but later she spends more time playing a supporting role to another male celebrity.
In the morning, Lao Yan was on set when his assistant ran over and said that they had received a package from Beijing.
Old Yan was eating a boxed lunch at the time. He took a couple of bites, put the package down, picked up the package, and glanced at the sender—Early Spring Culture.
Do you know what's inside?
Assistant: "It looks like a script."
script?
Old Yan took a bite of rice and curiously began to unpack the package.
Unpacking the package, I found a thick stack of A4 paper. The cover read, "Script for 'The Long Season,' Volumes 1-4." The upper left corner featured the Early Spring Culture logo, a simple line drawing of tea leaves. In the lower right corner was a line of handwritten text, the dark blue penmanship suggesting a child's handwriting: "Uncle Yan, your scene is in the fifteenth scene of the first volume. Read it quickly. Call me when you're done."
He didn't know what the "Long Season" project was. But since it was sent by Luo Jinnian, he turned to the first page.
Scene 1. Birch forest, railway tracks, morning.
An old-fashioned steam locomotive emerged from the morning mist, its whistle trailing off. Inside the cab sat a middle-aged man in overalls; his name was Wang Xiang, a train driver for Huagang Steel. A smile played on his lips.
The second match.
The steel mill's cadre office. Wang Xiang's apprentice, Li Qun, had become the branch factory director. Wang Xiang came to handle some business, and Li Qun addressed him as "Master," his attitude respectful but distant. Wang Xiang didn't mind, even joking about how he had mentored Li Qun years ago. Li Qun's secretary came in to pour water, and Wang Xiang said, "When young Li first joined the factory, he couldn't even hold a wrench properly"—Li Qun's expression changed slightly, but he quickly regained his smile.
Old Yan's expression turned serious.
This isn't the opening of an ordinary web series; it's more like the opening of a proper satellite TV drama—it doesn't have a gimmicky opening, but instead uses a scene of a train driver operating a train to pull people into an era.
He continued flipping through the pages.
From the third to the seventh scene, Wang Xiang's background is gradually revealed. His son, Wang Yang, is eighteen years old, failed the college entrance examination, and stays at home instead of looking for a job. Wang Xiang both loves and hates this son. He feels that Wang Yang is disappointing and that he has worked hard in the steel factory all his life, but his son can't even get into university.
There is a dialogue between Wang Xiang and Wang Yang in the script—
Wang Xiang asked, "What exactly do you want to do?"
Wang Yang said, "I write poetry."
Wang Xiang paused for two seconds, then said, "Can writing poetry put food on the table?"
Old Yan's gaze lingered on those two lines of dialogue, unable to look away for a long time. He didn't know which character he was empathizing with: Wang Xiang, the father who couldn't express love, or Wang Yang, the son who was suffocating under the weight of the times.
Scenes 12 through 15, featuring Gong Biao, the character he was to portray, made his appearance. When Lao Yan turned to the scene of Gong Biao's entrance, his pupils gleamed—
Gong Biao, in his early thirties, was a junior office worker at the steel mill. He was talkative, gossipy, and harbored resentment. He addressed Wang Xiang as "Big Brother" excessively, showing too much enthusiasm.
The script describes his first appearance as being at the entrance of the factory director's office. Wang Xiang comes out from inside, and Gong Biao goes up to him and says, "Brother, I've talked to Director Li about this, and he's agreed to help."
As a veteran actor, Lao Yan naturally understood that the character he was playing had never actually been mentioned to Director Li; he just wanted to play the good guy in front of Wang Xiang.
This is the opposite of a positive character. Yes, good works and good characters should be like this. No one is perfect. This is the "human touch" that domestic TV dramas have lost for many years when creating characters.
Biaozi's authenticity touched Lao Yan's heart with just a few words. In countless factory offices, neighborhood committees, and government agencies in small counties, there were people like Gong Biao everywhere.
They are the most inconspicuous grains of sand in the torrent of the times, with a kind side and a vain side.
Their lives may not have many ups and downs, but in some unexpected moment, fate will suddenly turn around and sweep them away from their former selves.
Is this really the role I'm supposed to play?
Am I capable of playing such a great role well?
Lao Yan always thought that "The Hidden Corner" was the best opportunity of his life, but he never expected that he would get "The Long Season" as his next project.
When he saw it, he knew he wasn't reading a script; he was reading his own life.
There is a monologue by Gong Biao in the script that is longer than a page.
"Let me tell you, brother, I, Gong Biao, fear nothing in my life. When I got into university, the whole factory came to see me off, saying I'd made something of myself. After I graduated and was assigned back to the factory, they said, 'You're a college graduate, you have a bright future.' And now? I'm sitting in the office serving tea and water to Director Li. Am I not worthy of that title?"
"I'm not afraid to tell you, my older brother, that I'm frustrated. I'm not frustrated that I didn't become an official, I'm frustrated that I don't know when I became like this. I wasn't like this back then. I had ideals back then, and I really wanted to do something."
"Do you remember, brother? I remember. I remember when I first came to the factory, the boiler room was so hot it could scorch your eyebrows. I would turn on the valves without gloves and get blisters all over my hands. It wasn't that I was incapable of slacking off, it's just that I, Gong Biao, didn't think I was that kind of person. But later, I became that kind of person."
Old Yan's eyes reddened, and his eyes were full of tears.
He recalled his youth, in his early twenties, when he had just graduated from the Central Academy of Drama and spent a whole day waiting on an empty set when he was filming his first movie.
He squatted on the steps and thought, it doesn't matter, I'm still young.
But as time went by, I was still just an insignificant figure in the acting world.
He filmed three or four movies a year and acted for more than ten years, from his twenties to his forties.
He's played villains, policemen, fathers, factory workers, doctors, lawyers, and university professors—all supporting roles. He's the kind of actor whose face is familiar to the audience, but whose name they'd never recall. He earns enough to live on and support his family. But he doesn't realize that the heartache he feels seems to have started the day he went from "I want to play good roles" to "I'm happy as long as I get any roles."
I must do my best in this play.