Strategy+Business – August 2019

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imagine the gesture for “cut a little off the head” of a scene.) This connection

transcended the differences in our cultures and upbringing. So much so that

when the TV star we’d cast as the architect pushed back on a scene we’d written,

where the architect has a flirtation with a housekeeper — proclaiming, “A man

of my stature would never be interested in a maid” — we both knew exactly

how to respond.

“You’re absolutely right,” we lied. “An architect might not be interested in a

maid. But do you know who that housekeeper is in real life?”

He shook his head.

“She’s every one of your fans across China,” we continued. “It’s not about

class. It’s about hope.”

The actor furrowed his brow, thinking about this for a moment, then

smiled, gave us a wink, and trotted back to the set, where he played the scene

with great conviction. The director and I looked at each other and shrugged.

No translator was necessary to interpret what we were both thinking: No mat-

ter where you go in the world, actors are actors. Their egos are unconstrained by

geographic boundaries.

Leaving fatalism behind

I worked on and off in China over the next decade — living in Singapore for

two of those years — and watched as the Chinese movie business expanded

like a slow-motion fireball in an action film. Every day seemed to bring the an-

nouncement of a new cineplex, or a new production company, as the number

of screens in China grew from 3,500 in 2007 to nearly 50,000 in 2017, and the

aggregate box-office gross went from $455 million to $8.5 billion. The num-

bers were dazzling, as China passed Japan, then the U.S., to become the world’s

largest film market. But I also witnessed a different kind of growth, just as im-

portant as the rising box office: A growth in the storytelling prowess of young

Chinese filmmakers.

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