HPDBC Chapter 235 Negotiation and Planning
Chapter 235 Negotiation and Planning
Chapter 235 Negotiation and Strategy (6/71)
The screenwriting team meeting was convened on short notice that afternoon.
When Kitahara Shin entered, the group was still discussing the stack of documents from yesterday. Upon seeing him, the person in charge spoke first: "President, what were you thinking about last night?"
"I've got it." Kitahara Shin sat down at one end of the table and pushed the few pages of handwritten notes he had brought to the center of the table. "Take a look."
Several people crowded around to take a look.
Kitahara Shin said, "The problem with this script right now is that the scale of the case and the texture of the characters are in a tug-of-war. We want both sides, but we can't find a structure that allows them to work together."
The person in charge nodded: "Yes, this is where we're stuck."
"The solution is," Kitahara Shin said, "to break this big case into two lines. The main line is the case itself, which is large enough and independent enough for viewers who haven't seen the main series to follow. The subplot is the relationship between Aoshima and Muroi, pushing the things that the two of them couldn't explain in the whole TV series to the extreme in this movie."
"How do the two lines intersect?" the young screenwriter asked.
"In the final scene," Kitahara Shin said, "the resolution of the case and the turning point in the relationship between the two characters are placed at the same point in time. After the audience has finished watching the case storyline, their emotions are already there. At this point, the character relationship storyline is brought to a close. The two forces overlap, which is the weight that a theatrical version should have."
There was a moment of silence across the table.
The person in charge looked down at the few pages of paper, circled a certain place with a pen, and said, "This structure can work, but the subplot needs to be redesigned. Muroi's character has always been restrained in the main story, but pushing him to the limit in the movie is difficult to balance."
"I know," Kitahara Shin said, "so I want to get involved in writing this part of the script."
The person in charge looked up, glanced at him, and nodded: "Okay."
The meeting lasted until evening, and the basic framework of the new script was finalized. As the meeting adjourned, the young screenwriter packed up his things and whispered something to the person next to him—his voice was very soft, but Kitahara Shin heard it—
"He said he was stuck yesterday, but he figured everything out today."
Kitahara Shin didn't turn around, took the documents and walked out, his lips twitching slightly.
The meeting place arranged by Representative Kobayakawa was a quiet restaurant in Akasaka. The two sat down, and before they had even finished ordering, Kobayakawa spoke first.
"There's something I need to tell you," he put down the menu, his tone direct, "Fujiwara has been in contact with the conglomerate again."
Kitahara Shin paused, put down his teacup, and asked, "When did this happen?"
"Last week," Kobayakawa said, "and this time it wasn't just contact; he revealed some details of your theatrical version's plans. I'm not sure exactly how much he revealed, but the conglomerate should already know about the negotiation strategies regarding the theaters."
Kitahara Shin didn't speak and remained silent for a few seconds.
Kobayakawa sighed and said, "I am responsible for this. I was the one who brought Fujiwara to that dinner party. I originally wanted to give you another way out, but I didn't expect it to cause you trouble. I want to apologize to you."
"No need to apologize," Kitahara Shin said in a flat tone. "These are all normal things. Besides, the movie plan itself isn't exactly a secret. The conglomerate will find out sooner or later, and it doesn't make much difference to me whether they find out sooner or later."
"Aren't you angry?" Kobayakawa looked at him.
"What's the use of getting angry?" Kitahara Shin picked up his teacup. "I know what kind of person Fujiwara is. It's better to know than not to know."
Kobayakawa looked at him, remained silent for a moment, and then said, "You're a really difficult person to deal with."
Kitahara Shin smiled and did not deny it.
The two changed the subject and chatted for nearly an hour, from the theatrical version to several collaborative projects in public works. By the end, Kitahara Shin mentally reorganized his current network of contacts.
Kobayakawa's line is reliable; this incident has only confirmed it more clearly. Fujiwara's side is two-faced; keep them around, but redefine the boundaries. The Zaibatsu is lying low, remaining silent, but that doesn't mean they're not making moves.
Expanding one's network is something that needs to be done sooner or later.
But more important than all that right now is to make this movie a success.
With the framework of the script set, things became much clearer.
Da Tian went to Dongbao to sound him out. He returned in the evening, sat down in his office, took a sip of water, and then spoke.
"Dongbao's attitude was polite, but the terms weren't very favorable," he said.
"explain."
"They were willing to talk, but they brought up a risk-sharing clause." Da Tian pushed over the preliminary negotiation record. "Simply put, if the final box office is less than 2 billion, we will need to bear a certain percentage of the theaters' losses as compensation."
Kitahara Shin took it and looked at it once, but didn't say anything.
Ota continued, "I think this clause is unreasonable. The risk should be shared by both parties. By proposing this, they are essentially pushing the lion's share onto us. I suggest we reject it and try negotiating with Shochiku or Toei instead."
"No change." Kitahara Shin put down the record.
Da Tian paused for a moment, then asked, "Why?"
"Toho's distribution network is the most complete," said Kitahara Shin. "If someone else were to do it, the coverage of screenings would be reduced by 30%, and this loss would be greater than that compensation clause."
"But that clause—"
'
"I accept," Kitahara Nobu said, "but with a reciprocal clause."
"What terms?"
Kitahara Shin said, "If the box office exceeds 3 billion yen, Toho must support all subsequent screening arrangements with the highest priority, including the allocation of additional screenings, prime-time screenings, and priority distribution rights for subsequent films in the series. All of this must be written into the contract."
Ota frowned and thought for a moment, then said, "Will they agree?"
"They will consider it," Kitahara Nobu said. "Three billion is a number they think we can't reach, so this clause seems low-risk to them. But they underestimated the film."
Da Tian jotted down this idea in his notebook, then looked up and asked, "Shall I go and talk to them again later?"
"Okay. Make sure the wording of that reciprocity clause is clear, and have the lawyer go over it before you come in next time."
Da Tian responded and lowered his head again to organize the notes.
The negotiations dragged on for almost a week, during which Dongbao sent a higher-level representative to meet with them, indicating that they were beginning to take the matter seriously internally. Finally, a preliminary agreement was reached in one afternoon, with both sides finalizing the terms, adjusting the risk-sharing ratio, and including reciprocal clauses.
After signing the papers, Da Tian stood in the corridor for a while and let out a long sigh.
He went into the office and reported the results to Kitahara Shin, saying, "We've reached an agreement."
"understood."
"Is this all you're going to do?" Da Tian looked at him. "I've been running around here for a week."
"Thank you for your hard work." Kitahara Shin looked up at him, "I mean it."
Da Tian paused for a moment, then waved his hand and said, "So, what's your next step?"
Kitahara Shin lowered his head again, looking at the first draft of the script spread out on the table, and said, "This is just the beginning."
But when he said that, the corners of his mouth were curved.
With the script and the theatrical releases secured, let's start filming.
After the third draft of the script was finalized.
Kitahara Shin signed the last page, pushed the document in front of the script supervisor, and said two words: "Start filming."
The opening ceremony wasn't very grand. The main creative team gathered together, exchanged a few words in front of the first shooting scene, and then everyone took their positions. Kitahara Shin stood in front of the set, glanced around, nodded, and said, "Let's begin."
The moment the camera started rolling, the atmosphere on set suddenly changed.
Rie received the script three days before filming began.
When Kitahara Shin handed her those pages, he only said one sentence: "Supporting role, not many scenes, but very important."
Rie flipped through it, looked up, and asked, "Did you add this character?"
“It wasn’t originally in the script,” Kitahara Shin said. “I added it.”
Rie lowered her head and looked at it again, without asking anything more. She closed the script and smiled, "Okay."
A few days after the production team officially started operating, Rie joined the crew on time.
She didn't have a full day of rehearsals today; she just came to try out her makeup and blocking.
Just as she walked out of the dressing room and through the narrow film set corridor, she bumped into someone who had just finished filming a solo scene.
Takako Matsu wearing a uniform.
The air seemed to freeze for a moment when their eyes met.
"Ms. Miyazawa," Matsu Takako spoke first, her tone carrying a hint of subconscious scrutiny.
Rie stopped in her tracks, and instead of acting like a little hedgehog with its quills raised like she did on the set of "Flower of Evil," she nodded at her with remarkable naturalness and composure.
-
"Ms. Takako Matsu, it's been a long time." Rie's voice was soft, even carrying a gentle smile.
Matsu Takako was slightly taken aback.
The Rie Miyazawa of the past always looked at her with that youthful arrogance, an undisguised defensiveness and hostility, and her words were always barbed, as if she wanted everyone to know she was possessive. But the Rie of now seems to have been nourished by something extremely gentle, radiating a confident and relaxed feeling from the inside out.
"Long time no see." Matsu Takako composed herself and smiled. "I've watched a few episodes of your recent variety shows; you seem to be doing well. Are you also filming a theatrical version this time?"
"Yes, it's the script that Shin-kun gave me a few days ago." Rie changed her way of addressing Kitahara Shin very naturally. The way she called him "Shin-kun" was not deliberate at all, but it was like a soft knife that lightly pierced Matsu Takako's ear.
Matsu Takako's eyelids twitched slightly, and her heart suddenly tightened. She thought for a moment, then tentatively followed up, "Mr. Kitahara personally arranged this role for you? Is it a lot of screen time?"
"Not much." Rie looked into Matsu Takako's eyes, her smile deepening, carrying a hint of smugness and suggestion. "But these few pages were added by him, staying up all night just for me. He said this role is very important, and only I can portray the feeling he wants. So, I came."
She spoke in a calm tone, without any boastful arrogance, but the aura of "I am favored and treated specially by him" between the lines was like an invisible net, tightly covering her.
For a moment, Matsu Takako was speechless, overwhelmed by this soft yet extremely aggressive pressure. She could only manage to maintain a slight smile: "That's good. Mr. Kitahara has always had a discerning eye."
Rie hummed in agreement, leaning forward slightly, a hint of assertive composure flashing in her beautiful eyes: "Yes, he always knows what's most suitable. Ms. Matsu Takako, please continue with your work; I'm going to the stylist."
After saying that, Rie turned around and left with light steps.
Matsu Takako stood there, watching Rie's retreating figure, her fingers unconsciously tightening around the script.
She recalled how, back on the set of "Flowers of Evil," Rie used childish actions like sneaking up on tiptoe to kiss Shin Kitahara on the cheek to prove their relationship.
At that time, Rie was clearly still an insecure little girl.
But now, that childish willfulness is gone. In its place is an absolute confidence that comes from being certain that the other person has truly accepted and deeply favored you.
In this hidden battleground, Rie no longer needs to prove anything through loud arguments or jealousy. She simply stands there, looking at you with that all-knowing, mature gaze, which is enough to make you feel extremely dangerous and oppressed.
Matsu Takako lowered her head, took a deep breath, and walked forward without thinking further, but the sense of crisis in her heart spread uncontrollably.
Their first official scene together was a corridor scene where Kitahara Shin and Rie brushed past each other.
Rie's character has only one line, but that line foreshadows the second half of the movie. It has to be delivered subtly, so that the audience doesn't realize the weight of the line on their first viewing.
The director explained the requirements to Rie, who nodded and stood in her designated spot.
"Action!"
After the first take, the director thought it was already quite good and was about to say it was okay when Kitahara Shin shook his head: "The emotion is still a little lacking, tone it down a bit. Let's do one more take."
Rie glanced at him, without any rebuttal or grievance, and calmly walked back to the starting point to gather her emotions again.
After filming the second take, Kitahara Shin looked at the monitor, a satisfied smile appearing on his lips: "Alright, cut."
After watching it again, the director couldn't help but exclaim, "It's really good now; that feeling of profound skill has completely come through."
Rie closed the script and went to the rest area to pour herself a glass of water. She was extremely relaxed, not looking at the monitor, nor, like last time when they worked together, eagerly looking up at Kitahara Shin after each take to ask, "Was it good?"
She clearly knew it herself. She was now completely in sync with Kitahara Shin's pace.
Matsu Takako watched this scene from the outside, her feelings becoming increasingly complicated.
That little girl who used to just follow behind her and get jealous has quietly transformed in terms of acting skills and mentality to the point where she can resonate with Kitahara Shin's soul.
In the second week of filming, there was a group scene with very complex choreography, involving many actors and a large setting. Just getting the blocking right took almost an hour.
In this scene, Kitahara Shin is both the lead actor and the actual controller. He communicates with the director while paying attention to the position of every actor in the scene, occasionally calling a stop to adjust someone's position or reminding them of the timing of a line.
There was a new young actor in the crew who was participating in a shoot of this scale for the first time. He couldn't get his blocking right even after three takes. He was standing there a little flustered and didn't know where to put his hands.
Kitahara Shin walked over and stood in the same spot as him, saying, "Right now, you're thinking about positioning, but your character is thinking about what's behind that door. Change your mindset from positioning to that door, and try it again."
The young actor nodded and walked the path again; this time it was correct.
Someone nearby whispered, "He's starting to look more and more like a director."
No one responded, but those present probably all agreed that what he said was true.
One day after work, Kitahara Shin sat on a chair on set and mentally reviewed the scenes he had filmed that day.
The script's framework is correct, the actors are in good condition, and the entire filming is progressing in the direction he wants.
He looked down and flipped to the last few pages. Those scenes that hadn't been filmed yet were the most emotionally intense and also the most difficult part of the entire movie.
He closed the script, stood up, and draped his coat over his shoulders.
The most difficult part is yet to come, but he already knows how to film those scenes.