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Chapter 124: The Mystery
🕑 Added 2024-12-24 18:06:02 +0000 UTC"Hahaha! Mr. Ethan, you're really a straightforward person! I like that!" As Hori Nobuyoshi laughed heartily, Ōtsuka Masaru grinned widely. He wasn't afraid of straightforward people; what he feared was people without needs.
As long as there were weaknesses or preferences, there was always a chance to negotiate a deal.
Hearing Ethan's words, he immediately raised his glass. "Come, let's drink to that."
Ethan didn't refuse. After Kyoko Fukada filled his glass, he picked it up, clinked it lightly in the air with Ōtsuka Masaru, and downed it in one gulp.
As long as he could make money without violating his principles, Ethan couldn't care less about how Hori Nobuyoshi and the others exploited actors for profit.
Quentin, seeing Ethan chatting and laughing so amicably with the two, was slightly tempted but ultimately refrained from raising his glass.
Hori Nobuyoshi noticed this and asked, "Mr. Quentin, is there something you're concerned about? I can assure you, there will be absolutely no restrictions or interference with your creative process. All we ask is that you assign a few minor roles to our actors. We will handle the related media promotion."
Quentin shook his head. "Sorry, I think this goes against my creative principles."
"Mr. Quentin, isn't the dollar a principle?" Ōtsuka Masaru interrupted Hori Nobuyoshi, attempting to persuade him.
Seeing Quentin deep in thought, Ōtsuka Masaru continued, "While I may be part of the yakuza, I imagine there are many things you find troubling when filming your movies, aren't there? For instance, locations. We have connections with the Tokyo government. As long as you agree, you'll have free rein to shoot movies in Tokyo—anytime, anywhere."
The implication was clear: if Quentin didn't agree, his current film might face location issues.
This reminded Ethan of a peculiar incident. In later years, when people discussed Kill Bill's filming locations, they often mentioned Gonpachi restaurant. However, they referred to it as the "inspiration" rather than the "filming location."
If Quentin had indeed chosen Gonpachi, why didn't he shoot there directly? Why replicate its setting back in an American studio, incurring additional costs for Miramax?
The explanation that he wanted to make significant changes to the original location didn't hold up—there were countless more cost-effective ways to modify the real Gonpachi restaurant into something closer to Quentin's vision.
So why wasn't Kill Bill filmed in Gonpachi?
Could it be because of the very decision he was about to make now? Ethan found it highly plausible!
It seemed he had inadvertently become part of this historical event, a participant in its unfolding!
Based on how things should have gone, Quentin likely refused Ōtsuka Masaru's offer, losing access to Gonpachi as a result and being forced to recreate the setting in the U.S.
Clearly, the influence of Ōtsuka Masaru's Sumiyoshi-kai syndicate was at play here.
Having realized this, Ethan spoke up. "Mr. Ōtsuka, rigidity cannot last. If a string is always tightly stretched, it will eventually snap. I think Quentin needs some time to think it over. You know how artists can be—they have their peculiar habits and preferences."
Hearing the word "artist," Quentin glanced at Ethan with a slightly surprised expression.
Although Quentin had never outright declared himself an artist, his actions had consistently trended in that direction. As he once said himself, he would only direct ten films in his lifetime, excluding collaborations or movies where he acted.
To him, Kill Bill: Volume 1 and Volume 2 were merely one film. By the time Ethan had passed in his previous life, Quentin had directed only nine movies.
This type of declaration was typical of an artist's mindset. Quentin wasn't concerned about money—only his work and a certain sense of ritual.
Of course, the weight of this promise might diminish over time and eventually be overturned, but at the moment he made it, he truly viewed cinema as an art form.
Moreover, Quentin's films could undeniably be considered cinematic art. So Ethan's words resonated with him deeply—he hadn't expected Ethan to understand him so well.
Sometimes true understanding didn't require lengthy explanations; a few concise words were enough.
Ōtsuka Masaru, hearing Ethan's words, nodded. "Indeed, Mr. Ethan, you're right. I was… impatient."
"Mr. Ethan, why don't we discuss our potential collaboration in detail first?" Hori Nobuyoshi suggested, breaking the silence. "We've assembled the actors we have so far—clap, clap!"
He clapped his hands, prompting several kimono-clad women sitting at the center of the table to stand up and line up in front of Ethan and Quentin.
Besides Kyoko Fukada, there were several other beautiful actresses. However, Ethan didn't recognize their names.
"What do you think of them?" Hori Nobuyoshi asked tentatively.
Ethan set down his glass and shook his head. Speaking deliberately in Japanese, he mocked, "Mr. Hori, if these are the only actors your company has, then I think dreaming of entering Hollywood is pure fantasy."
"Why? Aren't they attractive enough?" Hori Nobuyoshi asked, somewhat unwilling to concede. He had put considerable effort into founding this new company, even persuading several promising young actresses to switch over.
Although he had his eye on a few other promising newcomers, like the bright and cheerful Satomi Ishihara, she had only recently joined the company and would need to complete her training first.
In truth, setting up this new company had been fraught with challenges.
They had invited not only Ethan and Quentin but also the crew of The Last Samurai currently filming in Tokyo, as well as anyone else connected to Hollywood they could find.
Unfortunately, most had expressed willingness to provide audition opportunities but made it clear they couldn't guarantee screen time.
Thus, Hori Nobuyoshi and Ōtsuka Masaru didn't have high expectations for Ethan and Quentin either. Ethan's unexpected enthusiasm had caught them off guard, prompting them to probe for more reassurance.
They hadn't anticipated Ethan's blunt and unvarnished response.
"What good is being attractive?" Ethan scoffed. "Every year, tens of thousands of handsome and beautiful people in Hollywood seek opportunities on set, only to leave disappointed. If even locals struggle, do you think someone from Tokyo stands a chance?"
"You're right…" Hori Nobuyoshi fell silent, lost in thought.
Ethan continued, "Hollywood's prejudices against Asians won't be overcome with acting skills alone. Their aesthetic preferences for Asians don't align with yours. If you want to break into Hollywood, you need to fit their stereotypical image first."
"So don't delude yourself into thinking your actors can truly make it in Hollywood. This is the market's decision, and no one can change the audience's preferences—understand?"
"You're absolutely right." A few words were enough to make Hori Nobuyoshi realize how unrealistic his previous ideas had been. It was no wonder directors and producers had all declined.
Ultimately, movies were about making money. Even if Hori Nobuyoshi offered certain incentives, they couldn't compete with the films' profits and reputations. So naturally, no one would risk casting unproven actors.
If this were a domestic company, the situation might be manageable. Similar exchanges of benefits occurred daily within the industry.
But for a foreign company, breaking into the Hollywood system was much more challenging. Resources were scarce, and competition was fierce.
This might explain why Ethan hadn't heard of their company in his previous life—it had likely failed before it could take off.
However, Ethan's circumstances were different.
He had a small talent agency and foresight.
If he wanted to promote talent, he could recruit actors who had achieved fame in his previous life. They could join his agency, land opportunities through his connections, and play minor roles in his productions. After gaining exposure, they could return to Tokyo as stars.
This process would cost Ethan little and yield considerable benefits. Why refuse?
