pjbooks Chapter 111 The Lonely Flight
Chapter 111 The Lonely Flight
Chapter 111 The Lonely Flight
Narita Airport, VIP lounge in Terminal 1.
This place was originally a social hub for successful people, where the air was always filled with the scent of expensive cologne and cigars. But in this economic downturn, the waiting room felt particularly deserted, with only the coffee machine in the corner still humming tirelessly.
Juzo Itami sat on the leather sofa by the window, his posture far from elegant.
He propped his long legs up on the coffee table, holding the newly bought copy of the Tokyo Sports newspaper in his hand, a cold smile on his face that was hard for others to understand.
The headline of the newspaper's entertainment section featured a strikingly satirical black-and-white cartoon.
The painting depicts a tiny figure wearing a director's vest, with his signature large nose exaggerated several times over. He is kneeling in front of a group of foreign judges with high noses and deep-set eyes, holding a roll of film as if presenting a treasure. Behind his backside, there is only a fig leaf with the words "Venice" written on it, which cannot cover his swollen and red "box office underwear".
The accompanying text was even more vicious and vulgar—[Having lost everything in China, they have no choice but to beg for a fig leaf in Europe?]
"These comic book artists have lost their drawing skills."
Juzo Itami snorted and flicked his finger across the painting. "They painted my nose like a clown's red nose, not even a fraction of my masculine charm."
He crumpled the newspaper into a ball and casually tossed it into a trash can two meters away.
With a loud "bang," it hit the bullseye.
But he didn't show any joy at making the shot. He just took out the half-smoked pack of Seven Stars cigarettes from his pocket, thought about lighting it, but then remembered that this was a no-smoking area, so he could only irritably sniff the cigarette under his nose.
This is Tokyo now, a Tokyo filled with malice towards him.
The unexpected popularity of "Hear the Waves" was like a resounding slap in the face to all those who had been pessimistic about Kitahara Shin.
At this point, the media and the public's simplistic and crude "controlled variable method" logic immediately came into play:
Look, Kitahara Shin went to star in a youth film, and it was a box office hit with rave reviews. What does this prove? It proves that Kitahara Shin's acting skills are excellent, and his ability to carry a film at the box office is top-notch.
So why did "The Grand Hotel Lies" flop?
The answer is obvious: it's the director's fault.
It's you, Juzo Itami, who's run out of ideas. You insisted on making this kind of heavy subject matter that makes people want to hang themselves. You've dragged a perfectly good national idol down with you.
This kind of logic may be mindless, but it has a huge market.
Because the Japanese people today are all harboring a deep-seated resentment. The pain of the bursting bubble has only just begun. The common people resent the rich, hate the elites, and especially dislike "great directors" like Juzo Itami who made a fortune in the past, acted arrogantly, and loved to preach in their movies.
When a wall falls, everyone pushes it down. Everyone is waiting to see this once arrogant guy completely ruined.
"Director, it's time to board the plane."
The translator they found at the last minute was a young man who spoke very carefully, afraid of offending the hot-tempered director.
This scene looked particularly shabby. There were no flowers, no fans to see them off, and not even a single media outlet came to see them off at the airport.
Only two staff members were responsible for carrying the heavy plastic film boxes, pushing a luggage cart behind them.
Juzo Itami stood up and straightened the multi-pocket vest he insisted on wearing even in the summer.
He turned his head and glanced at the gray tarmac outside through the huge floor-to-ceiling window.
"Walk."
He uttered a single word and walked toward the boarding gate without looking back.
The flight, lasting over ten hours, was so boring it was maddening.
The champagne in first class is good, but at 10,000 meters altitude, it just doesn't feel quite right.
Juzo Itami put down his wine glass and adjusted the back of his chair.
Although "The Grand Hotel Lies" was a box office flop in Japan, it didn't mean that director Juzo Itami went bankrupt. Thanks to the success of his earlier films like "The Female Tax Collector" and "Street Woman," he remains one of Japan's wealthiest directors.
The reason I'm going alone this time isn't because I don't have the money, but because it's unnecessary.
Since the domestic media are all waiting to see him make a fool of himself, why bother making such a big fuss and parading around? Taking a bunch of people to Venice will only get him a lot of criticism anyway, so he might as well keep to himself in peace.
failure?
He could certainly accept failure. But what he couldn't accept was those idiots who hadn't even understood the movie yet and were already spouting nonsense.
When the plane finally landed at Marco Polo Airport, they were greeted by the salty, damp sea breeze typical of the Adriatic Sea, and the scorching sun of Venice that seemed to bake a person alive.
The sun here is unreasonably harsh, melting away the gloomy, musty smell of Tokyo.
The dock was a chaotic mess, like a pot of boiling porridge. The exaggeratedly loud voices of Italians, the roar of speedboat engines, and the clattering of tourists from all over the world dragging their suitcases across the cobblestones all blended together in a cacophony.
Just as Itami Juzo lit a cigarette he'd been holding back all the way, before he could even take a deep drag, a slightly mocking voice came from beside him.
"Oh my, isn't this the great director Itami? What a coincidence!"
Itami turned his head and squinted through the smoke.
A large group of people stood beside him, their entourage far surpassing his. Seven or eight assistants surrounded him, their luggage piled up like a small mountain, and there were even bodyguards clearing the way.
The speaker was a middle-aged man with long hair and sunglasses, who was fanning himself with a folding fan. His floral shirt was particularly glaring in the sunlight.
Junya Sato, a veteran commercial director from Toei, is also attending the festival with his new film. However, he's taking a purely commercial approach, bringing an all-star cast, with the aim of selling distribution rights rather than competing for awards.
In the shadows behind Junya Sato stood a man who was far too young.
Wearing sunglasses and a stylish denim jacket, he still had a touch of youthful awkwardness, but his undeniable star quality attracted the attention of countless tourists around him.
Takuya Kimura.
SMAP is a rising star currently being heavily promoted by Johnny & Associates. Although they haven't been around for long, their looks have already caused quite a stir among young girls, and they even have the potential to become the next national idols.
"I heard that your reputation in China hasn't been very good lately."
Junya Sato leaned closer with a forced smile, waving his fan even more enthusiastically. "I've seen 'Grand Hotel,' and it's actually quite profound. It's just a pity that today's audiences don't appreciate it; they're all criticizing it as bad luck. You must have been under a lot of pressure coming to Venice this time. If you go back empty-handed, the newspapers will probably say even worse things."
These words sound like words of comfort, but they are actually rubbing salt into the wound.
Rivals are common among colleagues, especially commercial directors like Sato who have always been overshadowed by Itami in awards. Now that he sees Itami down on his luck, he can't hide his schadenfreude.
"pressure?"
Juzo Itami exhaled a smoke ring, his gaze not even focusing on Sato, but directly looking past him at Takuya Kimura, who was whispering to his manager behind him.
"Bringing your idol to a place like this, you're probably the one under the most pressure, right?"
Itami flicked his cigarette ash, his tone calm but his words barbed. "The film festival red carpet is tough to walk. The cameras there can see every pore. If your acting can't hold up, relying solely on your looks will expose you on that big screen. Then it won't just be you who loses face, it will be the Japanese film industry that's embarrassed."
Sato's expression froze for a moment, and his hand, which was fanning himself, paused for a second.
He brought Kimura along this time, indeed to ride the wave of popularity and sell film rights. He also knew that while Kimura's acting skills were sufficient for idol dramas, they did appear immature compared to veteran actors at A-list international film festivals.
"That's a bit biased, Itami-san."
Sato forced a smile and tried to salvage the situation, his tone carrying a hint of forced boasting, "Young people these days are very talented. You know how popular Kimura-kun is right now; as long as he's there, the box office is guaranteed. Unlike some people—who insisted on turning a perfectly good national idol into a poker face, resulting in a box office disaster."
At that moment, Takuya Kimura over there seemed to notice Ziguang on this side.
He turned his head and took off his sunglasses, revealing a pair of highly distinctive, deep-set eyes.
He bowed politely to Itami Jūzō.
"Director Itami, nice to meet you. Please take care of me."
Her voice was clear and bright, her movements were precise, and her smile was perfect.
That idol-like, practiced smile was so radiant that several foreign female tourists around her couldn't help but gasp in surprise.
Juzo Itami looked at that beautiful face.
He's undeniably handsome. His refined features and effortless elegance are simply made for the camera. If he were filming a high-octane idol drama, his face would be absolutely irresistible.
But that's it.
Her facial features were calculated, her smile measured; beautiful as she may be, it's only as thin as a sheet of paper. Peel back that pretty exterior, and you'll find nothing inside.
It lacks the captivating, musty, and even slightly bloody "humanity," as well as the rough yet alluring wrinkles left by life's repeated trials.
As he looked at Kimura, the image of Kitahara Shin in "Grand Hotel" involuntarily came to mind.
The way he wiped his glasses while trembling as he disposed of the body, and the chilling fake smile he gave at the end as he stared into the empty corridor.
That's what a human being is. That's what it means to be alive, even after being crushed by life.
Compared to Kitahara Shin, this perfect idol in front of him was like a glass of soda with too much sugar, sickeningly sweet, but without any aftertaste.
"I wouldn't call it giving advice."
Itami snorted, looked away, and threw the half-smoked cigarette butt into the trash can next to him.
"Whether or not these Europeans will buy into something has nothing to do with appearances."
After saying that, he called to his assistant and jumped into a somewhat dilapidated-looking water taxi that had just docked without looking back.
"Let's go to Lido Island."
With the roar of the engine, the small boat cut through the murky water, leaving a white trail of spray on the canal, leaving a group of people on the shore with a solitary and proud silhouette.
Junya Sato was so angry he gritted his teeth and spat at Itami's retreating figure: "Stop pretending to be so high and mighty! Wait until you slink back to Japan with your tail between your legs, then let's see how arrogant you'll be!"
Takuya Kimura put his sunglasses back on and watched the small boat sail away, lost in thought.
He turned to his manager and asked, "That Kitahara Shin—was he really that good at acting? Even a weirdo like Itami is so devoted to him?"
The agent paused for a moment, then gave a vague answer: "It was just luck—whoever acts in those kinds of films gets criticized."
Kimura didn't speak, he just looked at the shimmering sea.
His intuition told him that the man named Kitahara Shin might not be the "box office poison" the media was talking about at all.
True adversaries are often born in this silence.