06-25-2013, 01:34 PM
It rains my first night in Beijing, and by morning it is less smoggy. In the lobby I make the acquaintance of the other feature-length winners. Tim, Galen and Johnny seem nice enough, but Joshua sets off warning bells -- the kind you might hear in a nuclear power plant when the rods are exposed. While shaking our hands and introducing himself, Joshua subvocalizes, "Hope you lose," maintaining a pleasant smile. He's around 25, works at Universal, has boyish good looks, and the grin of a sadist. Or at least that's my initial impression. Here's Joshua (left) and Johnny (right). Yes, they're young. They're all so very young. What am I doing here?
We take a bus over to the Beijing Film Academy. During the ride, Joshua wants to know what our film proposals are about. Johnny, Tim and Galen relate theirs, but as I start mine, Spence -- our facilitator of the moment -- interrupts from the front with a scheduling update. I never do relate mine (which is fine), as Joshua now gives a long account of his film proposal, which I suspect was what he wanted to do all along. His proposal is titled Tusk. It is near future, has to do with wetware, and he's very much into science fiction. Throughout my stay, I wonder if he is aware of my science fiction background. Even now I'm not entirely sure -- though it seems he would have googled all of us and come across it.
At the Beijing Film Academy, we meet the short film script winners. In this photo, Maya is on the far right. To her immediate left (in the background) is Ben. He's a really nice kid, just 19. When it came to college, he had the hard decision of choosing between Harvard and Stanford (he picked Harvard, but hopes to go to Stanford later on). They're all very very sharp.
We take a tour of the Beijing Film Academy. I won't bore you with its history and significance. Check the wikipedia article for that. The true litmus test for a place like this is its cubicles. These are promising, most draped over with blankets so they resemble caves, and in theme they range from the musical to the martial to the kitsche to the cluttered. There's hallways filled with displays and scribbled artwork on boards, rooms packed with models and mysterious works in progress. There's a huge sound room with gigantic consoles and a big theater screen. During a QA session, I ask the head honcho about 3D, whether it is becoming the standard. To my relief he says no, that it has it place, but 2D is alive and well. One hallway has old-style cameras that Greg might appreciate. In a screening room we watch an award-winning short animated feature created by a student. The Academy is so big that after a time everything becomes a blur.
Lunch is a 15-course meal in the Movie Story Theme Restaurant & Bar. There's a huge group in there, which we're told is a film crew. I try to pin down the director and any actors but am at a loss.
Then it's back to our rooms/hotels to rest up and put on awards clothes. This comes as a bit of a surprise for me, because I flew out on Friday aware the awards were on Sunday, but lo and behold this is Sunday (Saturday was gobbled up in some mysterious fashion). Spence asks if I have something to wear. I tell him I have a long-sleeved shirt that's decent. He seems to accept that. As it turns out, all the other guys will be wearing suits and ties. We then all return to the Beijing Film Academy, which is where the awards ceremony will take place. The Academy seems to have rooms for all occasions. I wonder what film stars have appeared in this modest auditorium.
As we take our seats in the front rows on the left, it's obvious there aren't many people in attendance. This puts me at ease, as this won't be a big deal, just a small event of minimal interest that they'll try to pump up to look bigger than it really is. Michael -- on the Beijing side of things -- is tasked with making this whole thing happen on time and in an orderly fashion, but he is running around looking a bit frantic. It's clear there's been no rehearsal by anyone. Michael is up on stage giving instructions to various people. Then he's down telling us how we'll proceed up on stage. One by one we'll take the left stairs, accept the award, go to the podium, give our speech, then come back down the left stairs. As he finishes explaining this, another official points out that we'll all need to stay on stage for group photos afterwards. So Michael says to stay on stage, though there's no further details.
Suddenly Chinese girls are handing us weird contraptions. They have cheap headphones, and it turns out they're translator devices. We're supposed to wear them during the initial Mandarin speeches, which will be translated into English for us. The problem is, we don't know what channel to use.
Someone else now tells us we can't use the left stairs. We'll need to cross in front of the stage and use the right stairs. And now things are getting spookier as figureheads are escorted in to take their seats front and center. At the last second the place is filling up, and one can feel the presence of the power elite.
We're just a couple minutes from starting when more Chinese girls assail us (they seem to come in waves). They will be accompanying us on stage to translate our speeches. For that, they need transcripts of our speeches. I have not prepared anything. The girl tending to me is rattled by that fact. Finally, to put her at ease, I scrawl something on one page of a pocket notebook. I have to tell her what it says, because I've written it so hastily and sloppily. She is aghast and even amused at how short it is. "Are you sure that's all you're going to say?" I tell her yes. She laughs, incredulous. I had intended to say more, but for her benefit I'm simplifying. I don't want to be flipping pages up there. They'll likely fill our hands with stuff, and even though we're supposed to have the podium, I don't trust them.
The short film awards are the warm-up act, while the feature length awards are the pinnacle of the ceremony. This isn't really fair, since the short film competitors had to submit completed scripts while the feature length film competitors only wrote 12-page proposals. Still, it is what it is.
The introductory speeches begin, first by Michael and other competition officials, then by the Beijing elite. The latter are a scary bunch, especially the lady we come to call Madam Chancellor. She's a handsome businesswoman with a tight mane of hair who emanates total confidence and gives a forceful emphatic speech. I sense she's someone you don't want to fall out of favor with.
Once all these speeches are completed, the short film contestants are hustled aside and then onstage. This is when things start getting strange. A winner is introduced, with his/her photo appearing on screen, followed by a capsule description of the story, with the corresponding text shown onscreen. Then comes a comment -- and this is where it turns totally Chinese. I'm guessing these comments were taken from the private remarks of the judges without their knowledge. For instance: "Comment: the protagonist needs better motivation when leaving his girlfriend." We're sitting there, stunned, glancing at each other, at first thinking we've misheard. Then we start to laugh. The next winner is announced, the story described, then: "Comment: Good idea but in need of a plot." And then another: "Comment: Promising start, but needs a better resolution." One by one the short film winners receive their awards, but not before getting their pieces trashed. It's great!
Now it's time for the feature length awards. Someone tells us to hurry across to the right side. As I pull off my translator device, it tangles with one hearing aid and sends it flying somewhere down in the seats. I'm scrambling to retrieve it and reseat it even as a handler urges me to hurry up. Finally I'm on my way and soon join the others on the far right, where another wave of Chinese girls hands us translator devices again. Like we can use them now! We just lay them aside. Our names and story titles are announced, and our photos are shown on the screen, and sure enough, they've used that horrid photo of me that Spence assured me would just be a placeholder until I sent the professional one. Our capsule descriptions are not accompanied by comments, since our submissions were proposals and not finished screenplays. Our handler tells us to go up on stage, but changes our order. Okayyyy. Up there, we stand in a line facing the audience and it is blindingly bright. I should have expected it. It's something performers have to get used to. But it's a deer-in-the-headlights moment that just won't go away. Before giving our speeches, we're each handed a huge check and a large scroll. A Beijing VIP gives us the former, and Madam Chancellor gives us the latter. Handshakes and photos accompany these hand-offs. I'm all fumbly, because I need to keep my pocket notebook hidden behind the large check, and now I need to hold the scroll in that hand as well. As Madam Chancellor finishes with me and steps past, she furtively grasps my hand and wedges the check and scroll tighter into my grip. It seems like something she's done a million times before.
When it comes to the speeches, I'm second to last. The other winners are giving amazing and elegant speeches. I mean, they're impressive! Now, the awards ceremony has been going on for an hour now, and I've had time to reflect. To hell with it, I think. I'll give my longer extemporaneous speech, which will be more genuine. The translation girl can just give the short version.
The guy ahead of me finishes his speech, receives applause, and hands me the mike. It's like I feared. We don't have the podium. We're just standing on stage, needing to hold check and scroll and notes in one hand and the mike in the other. Not that it matters if I'm going to be extemporaneous. So I get five words into my free-wheeling speech and Johnny, who is up next, grabs my mike and lifts it up higher towards my face. He doesn't think it's working. Now, I'm not certain what he's doing. As it turns out, the mike was working fine. But this throws me. Making matters worse, the translator girl on my other side now tries to shove her mike into my hand, thinking there's a problem with my mike. I think Johnny communicates to her that he was mistaken and all is well, because just as I reach for her mike, she withdraws it. Now I have no idea where I'm at, and I need to look down at my notepad and just read from it as a fallback. But I don't have my reading glasses, and my writing is so sloppy I can't make it out. So I blather as few more words and that's that.
Who needs nightmares when one can have them in real life?
Once the ceremony ends, people exit into the lobby. As I try to exit, I am assailed by someone who wants the translator device back. Malinda tells me the person really needs me to return the device. That's all well and good, but how the hell am I supposed to know where it's at? I was handed two different ones at different times and couldn't bloody take them on stage with me. So I dig around where I originally sat and discover the first one fallen down underneath. That seems to satisfy the person. Then it's out into the lobby, and it's loud and crowded and of course I go off where there's a bit of elbow room because that's the kind of guy I am. Michael spies me and comes over to say I did good. He can tell I have my doubts about that, and he says, Really, you did good. Then off he goes to put out the interminable little fires and perhaps not so little, and a couple days later we hear he is sick, and it doesn't surprise me one bit.
We're soon buffeted by a new wave of Chinese girls. These want to interview us. I don't remember much of what I am asked or what I say, but the girl who interviews me seems to think I'm a noted sinologist with a deep understanding of Chinese and Mongol culture and the naming conventions back in the Yuan dynasty. I do recall her asking, "What three words come to mind when you think of Beijing?" Pollution, crazy drivers, and language barrier is what I think, but I blather something else.
Eventually we are rounded up to head for the banquet. For the life of me I don't recall where the banquet took place. But I did take this vague night-shot outside the establishment.
Next time, the banquet.
We take a bus over to the Beijing Film Academy. During the ride, Joshua wants to know what our film proposals are about. Johnny, Tim and Galen relate theirs, but as I start mine, Spence -- our facilitator of the moment -- interrupts from the front with a scheduling update. I never do relate mine (which is fine), as Joshua now gives a long account of his film proposal, which I suspect was what he wanted to do all along. His proposal is titled Tusk. It is near future, has to do with wetware, and he's very much into science fiction. Throughout my stay, I wonder if he is aware of my science fiction background. Even now I'm not entirely sure -- though it seems he would have googled all of us and come across it.
At the Beijing Film Academy, we meet the short film script winners. In this photo, Maya is on the far right. To her immediate left (in the background) is Ben. He's a really nice kid, just 19. When it came to college, he had the hard decision of choosing between Harvard and Stanford (he picked Harvard, but hopes to go to Stanford later on). They're all very very sharp.
We take a tour of the Beijing Film Academy. I won't bore you with its history and significance. Check the wikipedia article for that. The true litmus test for a place like this is its cubicles. These are promising, most draped over with blankets so they resemble caves, and in theme they range from the musical to the martial to the kitsche to the cluttered. There's hallways filled with displays and scribbled artwork on boards, rooms packed with models and mysterious works in progress. There's a huge sound room with gigantic consoles and a big theater screen. During a QA session, I ask the head honcho about 3D, whether it is becoming the standard. To my relief he says no, that it has it place, but 2D is alive and well. One hallway has old-style cameras that Greg might appreciate. In a screening room we watch an award-winning short animated feature created by a student. The Academy is so big that after a time everything becomes a blur.
Lunch is a 15-course meal in the Movie Story Theme Restaurant & Bar. There's a huge group in there, which we're told is a film crew. I try to pin down the director and any actors but am at a loss.
Then it's back to our rooms/hotels to rest up and put on awards clothes. This comes as a bit of a surprise for me, because I flew out on Friday aware the awards were on Sunday, but lo and behold this is Sunday (Saturday was gobbled up in some mysterious fashion). Spence asks if I have something to wear. I tell him I have a long-sleeved shirt that's decent. He seems to accept that. As it turns out, all the other guys will be wearing suits and ties. We then all return to the Beijing Film Academy, which is where the awards ceremony will take place. The Academy seems to have rooms for all occasions. I wonder what film stars have appeared in this modest auditorium.
As we take our seats in the front rows on the left, it's obvious there aren't many people in attendance. This puts me at ease, as this won't be a big deal, just a small event of minimal interest that they'll try to pump up to look bigger than it really is. Michael -- on the Beijing side of things -- is tasked with making this whole thing happen on time and in an orderly fashion, but he is running around looking a bit frantic. It's clear there's been no rehearsal by anyone. Michael is up on stage giving instructions to various people. Then he's down telling us how we'll proceed up on stage. One by one we'll take the left stairs, accept the award, go to the podium, give our speech, then come back down the left stairs. As he finishes explaining this, another official points out that we'll all need to stay on stage for group photos afterwards. So Michael says to stay on stage, though there's no further details.
Suddenly Chinese girls are handing us weird contraptions. They have cheap headphones, and it turns out they're translator devices. We're supposed to wear them during the initial Mandarin speeches, which will be translated into English for us. The problem is, we don't know what channel to use.
Someone else now tells us we can't use the left stairs. We'll need to cross in front of the stage and use the right stairs. And now things are getting spookier as figureheads are escorted in to take their seats front and center. At the last second the place is filling up, and one can feel the presence of the power elite.
We're just a couple minutes from starting when more Chinese girls assail us (they seem to come in waves). They will be accompanying us on stage to translate our speeches. For that, they need transcripts of our speeches. I have not prepared anything. The girl tending to me is rattled by that fact. Finally, to put her at ease, I scrawl something on one page of a pocket notebook. I have to tell her what it says, because I've written it so hastily and sloppily. She is aghast and even amused at how short it is. "Are you sure that's all you're going to say?" I tell her yes. She laughs, incredulous. I had intended to say more, but for her benefit I'm simplifying. I don't want to be flipping pages up there. They'll likely fill our hands with stuff, and even though we're supposed to have the podium, I don't trust them.
The short film awards are the warm-up act, while the feature length awards are the pinnacle of the ceremony. This isn't really fair, since the short film competitors had to submit completed scripts while the feature length film competitors only wrote 12-page proposals. Still, it is what it is.
The introductory speeches begin, first by Michael and other competition officials, then by the Beijing elite. The latter are a scary bunch, especially the lady we come to call Madam Chancellor. She's a handsome businesswoman with a tight mane of hair who emanates total confidence and gives a forceful emphatic speech. I sense she's someone you don't want to fall out of favor with.
Once all these speeches are completed, the short film contestants are hustled aside and then onstage. This is when things start getting strange. A winner is introduced, with his/her photo appearing on screen, followed by a capsule description of the story, with the corresponding text shown onscreen. Then comes a comment -- and this is where it turns totally Chinese. I'm guessing these comments were taken from the private remarks of the judges without their knowledge. For instance: "Comment: the protagonist needs better motivation when leaving his girlfriend." We're sitting there, stunned, glancing at each other, at first thinking we've misheard. Then we start to laugh. The next winner is announced, the story described, then: "Comment: Good idea but in need of a plot." And then another: "Comment: Promising start, but needs a better resolution." One by one the short film winners receive their awards, but not before getting their pieces trashed. It's great!
Now it's time for the feature length awards. Someone tells us to hurry across to the right side. As I pull off my translator device, it tangles with one hearing aid and sends it flying somewhere down in the seats. I'm scrambling to retrieve it and reseat it even as a handler urges me to hurry up. Finally I'm on my way and soon join the others on the far right, where another wave of Chinese girls hands us translator devices again. Like we can use them now! We just lay them aside. Our names and story titles are announced, and our photos are shown on the screen, and sure enough, they've used that horrid photo of me that Spence assured me would just be a placeholder until I sent the professional one. Our capsule descriptions are not accompanied by comments, since our submissions were proposals and not finished screenplays. Our handler tells us to go up on stage, but changes our order. Okayyyy. Up there, we stand in a line facing the audience and it is blindingly bright. I should have expected it. It's something performers have to get used to. But it's a deer-in-the-headlights moment that just won't go away. Before giving our speeches, we're each handed a huge check and a large scroll. A Beijing VIP gives us the former, and Madam Chancellor gives us the latter. Handshakes and photos accompany these hand-offs. I'm all fumbly, because I need to keep my pocket notebook hidden behind the large check, and now I need to hold the scroll in that hand as well. As Madam Chancellor finishes with me and steps past, she furtively grasps my hand and wedges the check and scroll tighter into my grip. It seems like something she's done a million times before.
When it comes to the speeches, I'm second to last. The other winners are giving amazing and elegant speeches. I mean, they're impressive! Now, the awards ceremony has been going on for an hour now, and I've had time to reflect. To hell with it, I think. I'll give my longer extemporaneous speech, which will be more genuine. The translation girl can just give the short version.
The guy ahead of me finishes his speech, receives applause, and hands me the mike. It's like I feared. We don't have the podium. We're just standing on stage, needing to hold check and scroll and notes in one hand and the mike in the other. Not that it matters if I'm going to be extemporaneous. So I get five words into my free-wheeling speech and Johnny, who is up next, grabs my mike and lifts it up higher towards my face. He doesn't think it's working. Now, I'm not certain what he's doing. As it turns out, the mike was working fine. But this throws me. Making matters worse, the translator girl on my other side now tries to shove her mike into my hand, thinking there's a problem with my mike. I think Johnny communicates to her that he was mistaken and all is well, because just as I reach for her mike, she withdraws it. Now I have no idea where I'm at, and I need to look down at my notepad and just read from it as a fallback. But I don't have my reading glasses, and my writing is so sloppy I can't make it out. So I blather as few more words and that's that.
Who needs nightmares when one can have them in real life?
Once the ceremony ends, people exit into the lobby. As I try to exit, I am assailed by someone who wants the translator device back. Malinda tells me the person really needs me to return the device. That's all well and good, but how the hell am I supposed to know where it's at? I was handed two different ones at different times and couldn't bloody take them on stage with me. So I dig around where I originally sat and discover the first one fallen down underneath. That seems to satisfy the person. Then it's out into the lobby, and it's loud and crowded and of course I go off where there's a bit of elbow room because that's the kind of guy I am. Michael spies me and comes over to say I did good. He can tell I have my doubts about that, and he says, Really, you did good. Then off he goes to put out the interminable little fires and perhaps not so little, and a couple days later we hear he is sick, and it doesn't surprise me one bit.
We're soon buffeted by a new wave of Chinese girls. These want to interview us. I don't remember much of what I am asked or what I say, but the girl who interviews me seems to think I'm a noted sinologist with a deep understanding of Chinese and Mongol culture and the naming conventions back in the Yuan dynasty. I do recall her asking, "What three words come to mind when you think of Beijing?" Pollution, crazy drivers, and language barrier is what I think, but I blather something else.
Eventually we are rounded up to head for the banquet. For the life of me I don't recall where the banquet took place. But I did take this vague night-shot outside the establishment.
Next time, the banquet.