Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio
Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio
Sadly, it seemed at that point that Jessica’s birthday wish to God had partially, if not totally, fallen on deaf ears.
“We’re sorry Mr. Wang, we don’t think your movie is suitable for the big screen. I mean, who’d ever want to see such a bunch of blurry sequences?”
“Sorry, forgive my bluntness, but comparing your work to a real movie is like comparing a dashing gentleman with proper etiquette to a clown with his funny faces and silly antics. And as far as I’m concerned, clowns belong in the circus, not cinema.”
“Publish your movie? No, of course we can’t… No, that’s completely out of the question. Look, kid, the movie business isn’t as simple as you think. You don’t want us to get into trouble, do you?”
It had been over half a month since Jessica’s birthday. During this time, Wang Yang had been relentless, calling on one film company after another. Despite speaking with dozens of companies and scouring the entire city of Los Angeles for opportunities, all he’d gotten in the end was rejection after rejection.
For all the confidence and drive he’d started out with, rejection eventually took its toll. He’d begun to feel weary, desperate, and deprived. Nevertheless, he remained steadfast, waking up every morning with a sense of purpose, making the rounds through the film companies in Los Angeles, spending the rest of his day working odd jobs, and eking out a living, however meager it might have been.
Due to his unstable work schedule, he had been forced to take up other more tedious jobs in addition to his night shift at McDonald’s. In the afternoon, for instance, he’d hand out flyers in the streets under the scorching sun, his body over-upholstered in a mascot costume. The heat, the stuffiness, and the sweat would have caused a lesser man to pass out. He also had a job hauling furniture at a furniture store. His arms would become so sore and weak by night that he had trouble falling asleep.
There were times when fatigue had drained all the feeling from his body. Admittedly, there were also times when he felt frustrated and ready to give up. D*mn it. Was all that hard work for nothing?
That day was just like any other, with the same old routine and travails. He’d visited yet another film company during the day and was mercilessly laughed at. “Childish. Naive. Are you out of your mind?” As soon as the meeting ended, he rushed downtown to McDonald’s to begin his night shift.
His part-time job at McDonald’s was his main source of income. It was also his only part-time job with fixed working hours—from seven in the evening until midnight. He’d work for five hours, day in, day out.
Working at a McDonald’s was physically demanding and financially unrewarding, and part-time positions were always easy to come by. For his troubles, Wang Yang received an hourly salary of seven dollars, which was just a hair above the minimum wage in California. Moreover, the McDonald’s where he worked at was conveniently located in an entertainment district, with a cinema and a parking lot nearby. That meant an endless stream of customers until the wee hours of the night and hardly any time to take a breather during his shift. Sometimes, Wang Yang couldn’t help but grumble. “God, why couldn’t there be a KFC around the area?”
Momentarily distracted by Ronald McDonald sitting on the bench in front of the shop, beaming with his ravishing head of red hair, Wang Yang stepped through the golden arches and into the fast-food restaurant. The first sight that greeted him was that of a chubby white man in a McDonald’s server uniform.
He had to have weighed at least 300 pounds. His face was round and full. A full beard hung from both his chins. He was just about to carry a tray of hamburgers to a customer when he saw Wang Yang in his business attire. “Hey, dude. Whoa, what’s with the get-up? Back from Silicon Valley? Or was it Wall Street?” he jested.
The chubby man’s name was Harry George. He was in his twenties and was a full-time employee at McDonald’s. “Not a bad guy” was perhaps the best way to describe him. After spending almost a month working together, Wang Yang had grown familiar with him, and the two of them had become rather close acquaintances. That said, they’ve never had a deep, personal conversation, and the fatty knew neither of Wang Yang’s predicament nor his passion for film.
“The White House!” Wang Yang rolled his eyes. Holding his briefcase, he made a beeline for the staff locker room at the back of the restaurant. The rejection he’d received from the film company earlier that day was the most scathing he’d ever received. Ego still stinging with pain, he was in no mood for banter.
“Did he get dumped?” Harry George muttered under his breath with a shrug. Head turned, he looked at Wang Yang as he walked away and shouted after him, “Dude, cheer up. It’s no big deal. Trust me, I’ve been through it many times!”
Without even turning his head to look back at him, Wang Yang merely responded with a backhanded wave that meant “leave me alone”. He made his way to the locker room, donned a black-brown uniform, and put on a black cap with the signature “M” on it. Then, he looked at himself in the mirror with a sigh before heading out to the counter for his shift.
There were still a few minutes left before seven. Precious windows of time like these offered brief respite from work, for once the pace picked up after seven-thirty, there was no possibility of rest. With the few existing tables served and no new customers entering the premises, Wang Yang, Harry, and the rest of the staff got to take a short break.
On the television in the restaurant, a movie called Donald and Heaton was playing. It was a romance movie. Just as the male and female protagonists were about to kiss on screen, something came over Harry George. Bursting out in a high, animated tone, he said, “Just look at that shot, you guys. It sucks! What were the director and cameraman thinking?” Then he ranted on, “I can’t believe my own glasses. Are their brains filled with horsesh*t or what? What a crappy movie!”
Wang Yang glanced at him, forcing a smile. Every time the fatty watched a movie, he would act out of character, cursing and swearing in such a way that one might think he had a grudge against the director. Wang Yang usually kept to himself under such circumstances. However, feeling particularly hostile that day, Wang Yang couldn’t help putting in his nickel’s worth. “Is that so? Enlighten us then, what makes the movie so crappy?”
Eyes fixed on the television screen, unblinking, Harry George replied Wang Yang, “Oh, there are so many things that are crappy about it. Like that cross montage just now where the male and female protagonists ran from opposite sides of the town, met in the center, and kissed.” He then critiqued, “I would’ve used an eye-level medium shot to capture their faces when they’re running, then cut to a high-angle full shot, giving a full view of the couple together with the town’s scenery. And once they’ve found each other, I’d switch to a close-up. That’s how you get the best effect using camera framing and shot sizes!”
Throwing his hands up, he looked at Wang Yang and said with demoralizing casualness, “But instead, we get a camera that’s stuck at eye-level and medium-range the whole time. God, isn’t it crappy?”
Wang Yang looked imbecilic with shock. He hadn’t been expecting such a well-thought-out and professional response from fatty. Moreover, he agreed with him; the movie would look so much better with the shots he suggested. He smiled and said, “Harry, you’re absolutely right.” As pleased as punch, Harry George said, “Of course I’m right.”
Just as Harry was starting to feel pleased with himself, Wang Yang threw him a curveball. “But you’ve forgotten something. Minimizing cost is very important for a low-budget movie like this. How do you suppose the shots you’ve suggested, like the high-angle full shot, are accomplished? That’s right, with a helicopter.” As he said that, a sense of sorrow suddenly welled up in him and he lamented, “So, you see, crappy movies aren’t always a result of foolish directors and incompetent cameramen. Sometimes, you have a vision and know the best way to achieve it, but you just don’t have the means to do so.”
“Oh please, what do you know?” Indignation clearly written on his chubby face, Harry George said in a huff, “It’s just for one shot. How much would it cost to rent a helicopter, anyway?”
“Sure, you can pull out all the stops and hire a helicopter for this shot, but what about the other shots? There are at least 90 minutes in a movie, Harry,” said Wang Yang as he shook his head. “It’s a question of class. It’s the reason why a hamburger meal at McDonald’s doesn’t come with a table-side violin serenade.”
Harry George started to reply, but he was overridden with a smirk by Smith Sean who worked the cash register, “Yang, quit arguing with Harry. He’s a cameraman, you know. If he ever got admitted to a university, that is.” He shrugged a little shrug and said in long, drawn-out syllables, enjoying the look of discomfiture on Harry’s face as he did so, “Yep, that was his dream all right.”
Upon hearing the word “dream”, Harry George’s face deflated like a football. Shamed and woebegone, he made a shushing motion with his hand and said, “Don’t talk to me about dreams. My dream is dead. Reality killed it.” No longer in the mood for television after the conversation, he went surlily back to attending to customers.
A cameraman? Did that mean Harry had given up on his dream? Wang Yang considered in silence. Then he recalled Anne Darren out of the blue—the girl with freckles on her nose and a head full of yellow hair. He remembered how lost and desolated she had looked when she’d asked him that night, “Director, do you think I should just go home?”
Should I just go home? Wang Yang let out a sigh. Having been met with constant rejection for the past few days, he finally understood Anne’s pain. To be struck down again and again in pursuit of his dream, without any hope in sight, to toil away day after day and night after night, lost, confused, fretful…
Perhaps it would be better to give up on his dreams and start his life anew. It might be boring; it might not be what he’d wanted, but at least he would break free from the struggle and the suffering. Just like that cross montage, there was a gap between what could have been and what really was. After all, who could argue with reality? It was reality that killed the movie. It was reality that had killed Harry’s dream.
Suddenly, something stirred within Wang Yang, snapping him out of his negative thoughts. No, that can’t be right! His eyebrows furrowed. How did I reply to Anne Darren the other day?
“If that’s what you love to do, do it. Not even God can stop me from pursuing my passion for film. No way am I going to look back in regret when I’m old…”
Would he have regrets when he was old? Or would he become like Harry, cynical and disillusioned, living vicariously through his critique and condemnation of other people’s films, hissing and cursing at the directors, “Oh please, that’s no way to make a movie! If it were up to me, I’d have done a much better job than he.”
Why sit in the comfort of the theater and talk about others? Why not roll up his sleeves and do it himself?
What was the point of being alive if not to do the things that one loved? Why spend our days living unremarkably? The mere thought of cooking in a restaurant every day made Wang Yang’s hair bristle. Being chained to a stove, doing something he didn’t like for the rest of his life, wouldn’t that be a worse fate than failure? Sure, he’d been coming home every night wilted and drained, and waking up at the crack of dawn the following day, but at least he welcomed each day with new hope and a sense of purpose. The same could not be said about working in a restaurant.
Did Anne go home? As Wang Yang recounted all the great times he had when shooting his film, a faint smile flickered over his face. No, he knew Anne would never go home. Even if she had to live the rest of her life as a background actor, she’d never go home. As for him, he’d never go home either.
Do dreams ever really die? Look at Harry. He hadn’t given up at all. He still muttered indignantly at the television every day. His dream was well and alive. It’s just that he was running away from it.
“But I won’t run away from mine!” Wang Yang’s resolve hardened. His fingers clenched tightly onto his palm. At that moment, business began to pick up at the restaurant. An African American mother came up to the counter with her child and Wang Yang greeted them, his face radiating smiles and positivity. “Welcome to McDonald’s; what can I do for you?”
There was an endless stream of customers entering and leaving the restaurant. As a member of the service crew, his job was to take the customers’ orders, retrieve the customers’ meals from the back of the house and bring it to them—and from time to time, clean up after customers who wouldn’t do it themselves. It was a busy job, and Wang Yang hardly had a chance to relax.
Wang Yang entered the kitchen to retrieve a meal for a couple from whom he’d just taken an order, only to find Harry George leaning against the wall, seemingly idle. He couldn’t help coming up to his big, fleshy backside with a mischievous grin and giving it a good kick. “Hey, dude, what gives? Slacking off like that. Don’t you have any sense of professionalism?”
“Oh please, I’ve been working my a*s off all day. Can’t a guy take a rest?” Harry barely wheezed out his excuse as he remained inclined on the wall, utterly indolent.
Wang Yang smiled. Just as he was reaching for a hamburger, his cell phone began beeping in his pocket. Who could be calling him at this hour? With a frown, he dug his phone out and checked it. To his pleasant surprise, it was Rachel, whom he hadn’t spoken to in a long while. Looking at Harry, he felt justified giving himself a little break as well. He answered the call with a smile. “Hi, Rachel, is that you?”
“Hi Yang, good evening!” Rachel’s voice said over the phone. Then, with a soft but unmistakable giggle, she said, “We haven’t spoken in such a long time. Why haven’t you called me?”
The truth was, Wang Yang had been busy calling on film companies and working an assortment of odd jobs to support himself. Every day, he’d come home and plunge his fatigued body into his bed without even taking a shower. He barely had time to research and contact film companies regarding his work let alone idle chit-chat over the phone. More importantly, he couldn’t afford the phone bill… But he wasn’t going to tell her that. Half humorously, he said, “Oh, the number six button on my cell phone’s dial pad got broken. Too bad your phone number has so many six’s in it…” He laughed. “How have you been?”
Rachel laughed and said, “Oh, same old, same old. Going to school every day, sitting in lectures, eating, sleeping. How about you?”
“Me? I’m doing pretty good. I’ve been making daily trips to Los Angeles and getting a bunch of no’s from all sorts of people.” Strangely enough, Wang Yang was no longer bitter about his ordeal from the past few days. In fact, he felt invigorated just talking about it. “I didn’t expect that there would be so many film companies in Los Angeles. You should’ve seen the names of some of these companies. They’re so quirky and weird. The funniest one I’ve seen so far is a company called Toxic Films.”
Blurting out a laugh he said, “God, are they trying to make a niche for themselves at the box office with drug movies?” Rachel cracked up in laughter at his comment. For a while they laughed, then Wang Yang asked, “Rachel, is there any reason you’re calling me? Yeah, I’m on duty at McDonald’s, so I can’t be on the phone for too long.”
“Oh! I didn’t know you were at work. Am I disturbing you?” Rachel apologized. Wang Yang brushed it off. Then she said, “Yang, I’ll be brief. Here’s the thing: since I haven’t heard from you for so long, I’m guessing your hunt for a movie publisher isn’t going too well. I mean, if there was any good news, you’d have told me a long time ago, right?” Wang Yang nodded and said, “That’s right, you clever girl.”
Cutting to the chase, Rachel said, “Well, a few days ago, I was talking to my professor when the subject of DV movies came up, which led to you. And it just so happens that my professor knows the Vice President of Publishing at Lionsgate Films, John Feldmeyer. They’re close friends. So, I asked my professor to introduce Mr. Feldmeyer to me. I got in touch with him and we had a chat. He’s very interested in your movie and would like to meet up with you.”
“Lionsgate Films?” For a minute, Wang Yang considered. Lionsgate was a highly reputable film company. Wang Yang had been meaning to contact them, but seeing as it wasn’t based in Los Angeles, but further up north beyond the Los Angeles International Airport in the coastal city of Santa Monica, he’d decided not to approach the company for the time being.
But now, with Rachel’s recommendation, it seemed his trip to Santa Monica had been put on the front burner. With a grateful smile Wang Yang replied, “Sure, I’d be glad to meet up. Thank you so much, Rachel! Before you hang up, could you give me Mr. Feldmeyer’s contact details?”
An “okay” from Rachel preceded the sounds of her rummaging through her bag. Minutes later, she replied, “All right Yang, listen closely.” She told Yang the number for Lionsgate Films, as well as Mr. Feldmeyer’s business number.
Wang Yang ripped a sheet from his order pad and jotted down the numbers with a ballpoint pen. After double-checking the numbers with Rachel, he smiled and said, “Thanks a lot, Rachel. I’ll get in touch with them.”
“Yang, I’ve had a long chat with Mr. Feldmeyer over the phone, and I could tell he doesn’t have any bias against DV movies. You can do it.” After a few words of encouragement, Rachel said, “All right then. I’ll leave you to your work. Bye!”
“Bye, goodnight.” Wang Yang ended the call and stuffed the piece of paper with the phone numbers written on it into his pocket. There was a smile on his face. Wow, another opportunity! See, why would I need to go home?
At some unnoticed moment, Harry George had left the comfort of his wall and had been surveying Wang Yang with a quizzical look on his face. “I heard it just now. Dude, what’s all this about a movie? Did you make a film?” he asked.
Wang Yang nodded. He had nothing to hide. “It’s a movie I shot using a DV camcorder. I’ve been running around for a month trying to get it published.” With that, he walked into the kitchen with a food tray propped on his hand, waiting for the line cook to fill up the order on his ticket.
Like an ugly shadow, Harry George followed behind Wang Yang, taunting him and reminding him of his misfortune. “Hey, I bet you’re on a bad streak, aren’t you? Did the film companies chew you up and spit you out? ‘Oh, you’re nothing but dog sh*t.’ Face it, kid. Look at you. This is where you belong—in McDonald’s—forever and ever…”
“Okay, if you say so.” Wang Yang shrugged his shoulders, unperturbed.
“Dude, it’s not as easy as you think!” Harry George sniggered, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest. With a knowing smile that Wang Yang thought offensively confident, he said, “I was a poor fool just like you. I tried my luck at all the film production companies in Hollywood, and they all said, ‘Go home, fat kid. You’re not cut out to be a cameraman. Just go home.'” Patting Wang Yang on his shoulder he said, “Trust me, dude. I’ve been through it all and now I’ve seen the light. Everyone has dreams, but not all of them were meant to be.”
“I don’t care what you say. How would I know if my dream wasn’t meant to be if I never tried?” Wang Yang said with full conviction. But as soon as he saw Harry George’s blasé expression, he suddenly asked in a milder tone, “Say, how many sets did you visit back then?” Harry barked impatiently, “About a dozen. Who remembers?”
Wang Yang huffed out a laugh as he took a tray of food from the line cook and started for the table outside. He told Harry smilingly, “Dude, you want to know something? I’ve visited fifty-four film companies over the past month! And soon, it’s going to be fifty-five.”
Harry stood stunned a minute before he could fully register what he’d just heard. Teeth clenched, he called out after Wang Yang with a certainty in his voice, “Dude, you want to know something as well? You’re going to fail. I guarantee it! We’re alike, you and I. We’re both failures.”
“Failure? There’s always the fifty-sixth company, the fifty-seventh company…” In a few steps, Wang Yang had turned around and was facing Harry, blinking and smiling. “My dream will never die,” he said.
Harry seemed to be groping for words as he convulsed with rage. Kneading his chubby face into a frown, he finally bellowed, “Even if there are a hundred companies out there, you’ll still fail!”
“Yeah, but there’s always the hundred and first company.”
“Failure! Failure! Failure…” Harry shouted incessantly, so as to be heard above Wang Yang’s voice. Only when Wang Yang had left the kitchen did he stop to catch his breath. In a spell of daze and exhaustion, spots and strings danced before his eyes. Dreams will never die? “That stupid b*stard!” he cursed under his breath.