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Chapter 143: The Trash Gang
🕑 Added 2025-01-01 09:01:48 +0000 UTC"I brought the short film we shot. You can take a look." Not long after everyone sat down, James Wan pulled a disc from his pocket. It was a short film they had shot to showcase their ability to direct and act—a short version of Saw.
Ethan, Carl, and the others watched the entire short film and then fell silent.
"What do you think?" James Wan asked tentatively, and Leigh Whannell perked up his ears to listen.
This was a decision they had made at the last minute. Since James Wan wanted to direct this movie, they had spent all their savings to shoot this short film, which could be called Saw 0.5.
Ethan stroked his chin after hearing James Wan's question and replied, "The plot works, the story logic is solid, and the actors' performances are commendable—though a bit exaggerated, it's still within a salvageable range. However..."
"However, what?" James Wan leaned forward.
"However, the use of the camera is too chaotic and terrible. I can see you were trying to create a sense of panic, but what came out was a mess," Ethan said bluntly. "Additionally, the directing techniques are immature. There's barely any proper use of lighting, and the editing is quite careless."
James Wan, who had expected some praise, was instead disappointed. Unable to hold back, he argued, "Our budget wasn't enough..."
"No, no, no. It's not about the budget, James. Look here—you used a close-up to capture his face to show his tension. That idea is correct. But you didn't convey it. You didn't capture the true muscle movements on his face. Look at this area on his forehead—his veins were bulging. That's what you should have shown."
"Of course, you might say you're not familiar with cinematography, and that's fine. But here—look at the positioning of these two people. You didn't manage the scale well. Their height should reflect their current situation. When he's asking for help from someone, his posture should naturally be lower than the person he's seeking help from."
Ethan kept replaying the scenes, explaining the mistakes James Wan had made. James Wan kept nodding as he listened.
In school, most of what the professors taught was theoretical knowledge, never this kind of practical advice. Even someone with natural talent needed time and patience to figure out the practical skills required on set.
But for Ethan, these insights came effortlessly. As James Wan listened to him, those parts of the production he had been unsure about suddenly clicked into place, leaving him enlightened.
It was like listening to a teacher give a lecture. That feeling of knowledge flowing into his brain was James Wan's favorite. Perhaps it was also an inherited instinct from his Chinese ancestry.
After discussing all the flaws in the short film, they moved on to the script.
"I think the core of the entire movie lies in the character of Jigsaw. Although he doesn't appear much in the film, there's no doubt that he and his puppet are the true protagonists."
"The effect this film needs to achieve is to make most of the audience think, 'I can't agree with Jigsaw's methods, but they're so satisfying and cathartic.' That's the reaction you want."
"Also, your script has quite a few bugs. For example, here—when the character wants to reach the phone, he could have tried using the saw first instead of directly cutting off his foot."
"And I think reducing the amount of gore in this movie is crucial. The film doesn't win through gore but through the ingenious and shocking traps. Blood can be used, but if it's like what the script describes now, it'll only get an NC-17 rating."
"You're asking me what I expect from this movie? I hope there will be a fixed Saw release date every year in the future, turning this into an enduring series."
Ethan and James Wan talked for a long time—three whole hours. From the script to filming techniques and editing, every topic sparked their interest and led to many interesting ideas.
This scene of instant connection seemed incredible to Jimmy. Although James Wan mostly accepted Ethan's suggestions, it was rare for Ethan to show such enthusiasm.
Even Greta, the aspiring female director Ethan had high hopes for, had never received such treatment.
It could only be said that a director like James Wan, skilled at achieving big results with small resources, shared the same latent control-freak tendencies as Ethan. They were two extremes of control—one controlling outwardly, the other inwardly.
When these two came together, they found endless topics to discuss. For Ethan, combining knowledge from his previous life with his current experiences made it easy to spot James Wan's immaturity.
This future horror master, who would gain fame through his films, was far from reaching his true potential. Right now, he was just an unpolished gem.
After signing the agreement and leaving the office, James Wan discussed Ethan with his good friend Leigh Whannell on their way back.
"What do you think, Wan? Do you think Ethan can make this movie work?" Although Leigh Whannell hadn't sat through the entire conversation, he had a general understanding of their discussion, so he asked this question with a certain level of confidence.
James Wan gave him an equally confident answer: "Of course! Leigh, how do I put it? It feels like he knows this movie better than I, the person who came up with the idea, do."
"Right? I thought the same thing. It's like he's read the script dozens of times."
"Exactly. That's how I feel too," James Wan said with a laugh. "So I think this movie should turn out well. There shouldn't be any problems, especially since Ethan is an Oscar-winning cinematographer. We don't even need to worry about the visuals."
"Fantastic! Finally, we've got some money." Leigh Whannell thought of the tough times they'd endured, like going hungry in their rented apartment, and felt the pain ease a little. Now that the script had sold for $400,000, the money would be split between them and Jack Wilson.
Adding the Golden Script Award bonus and the screenwriting salary, Leigh Whannell could finally afford to eat at a decent restaurant.
"Yeah, though I'd have preferred to get a share of the profits, being the assistant director doesn't give me that chance." James Wan sighed.
He had initially wanted to fight for the director's position, but after hearing Ethan point out all the flaws, he realized he might not be ready yet.
Even though he believed he was more skilled in the horror genre, it was clear that Ethan was far more experienced.
Perhaps working with Ethan on this film would allow him to become independent sooner.
But would this movie even have the opportunity for sequels? James Wan didn't know. For the first time, he felt an intense uncertainty about the future. The thought of the box office performance loomed over him, placing an invisible weight on his shoulders.
Meanwhile, at a party hosted by a friend, she was chatting with Latavia Robertson, a former group member from her Destiny's Child days.
However, the expressions on both sides were noticeably fake. After a few words, Latavia went to the dance floor to find her friends.
Jay-Z walked over to her and glanced: "What's wrong? Hmm, you don't look very happy."
"I just didn't expect to see her here." Beyoncé shrugged and took a sip of her drink.
"You don't get along with her?"
"Forget it, let's not talk about it. Let's drink." Beyoncé picked up a bartender's glass and clinked it with Jay-Z's.
Although she didn't want to say more, someone wasn't willing to let her off easily.
When Jay-Z went to the bathroom, Beyoncé sat in a booth with her friends playing dice. At this time, Latavia suddenly brought a few friends over and introduced with a smug tone, "Hey, look, this is my little sister, Beyoncé. I heard she's releasing a new album soon; you guys better help her out!"
"Of course! Your sister is really beautiful."
"No problem! If she's willing to offer some small rewards, that'd be even better." Several male friends readily agreed, but the sleazy smiles on their faces made the situation seem off.
Beyoncé's expression didn't look good. Seeing this, Latavia continued, "Hey, don't be like that, guys. She's already signed with Jay-Z's company. Be careful; you might face gang shootings when you go home tonight."
"Hahaha." The men laughed after drinking. "A gang? We have our own. Who's afraid of who? You mean Jay-Z, that guy? That black guy probably hasn't even fired a gun before!"
These people were West Coast rappers here for a gig, so naturally, they didn't get along with East Coast rappers.
Beyoncé couldn't hold back and stood up, gripping the beer bottle backward, "Latavia, get out of here! You're not welcome here!"
"Oh, oh! Little girl, what are you saying? Telling who to leave?" One of the black thugs raised his finger to warn Beyoncé while touching his bulging waist.
"Don't make a fuss!" Latavia laughed and said, "Don't upset our little sweetheart. I heard her new album even invited an Oscar-winning cinematographer to direct. She's bound to explode in popularity this time, the future Black Queen of America."
"Best cinematographer? Ethan?" Unexpectedly, Latavia's words made one of the black men grin, "Guys, I've seen that guy! He was forced at gunpoint by Fiss, a gang leader, to take pornographic photos of his wife!"
Not only did he say this, but he also mimicked the scene by pressing his fingers to his head, baring his teeth, and making a pleading expression to portray the situation.
"Hahahaha!" Everyone burst out laughing.
"Really, Kabigo?" Only Latavia asked about its authenticity.
"Of course! I saw it with my own eyes!" Kabigo swore confidently. If Ethan had been there, he would have recognized this man as one of Fiss's drivers who never even went upstairs.
For some unknown reason, after Fiss died, he moved to the West Coast.
"Wow, so there was such a story!" Latavia's smile deepened as she turned to Beyoncé, "My little sweetheart, were you also photographed by Ethan like that? Or is the reason he agreed to direct your MV because of this?"
Although she didn't say it outright, Beyoncé could tell what she meant from her expression.
Crash! Beyoncé directly raised the beer bottle and smashed it on Latavia's head. A crisp sound echoed as the glass shattered, leaving jagged edges around the bottle.
"Bitch!" After hitting her, Beyoncé raised her middle finger.
"F**K YOU! Stupid b*tch!" Latavia was hit and bleeding from her head, staggered backward. Luckily, someone caught and supported her as they retreated.
The remaining friends immediately charged at Beyoncé to hit her.
"Damn b*tch!"
"What are you doing!"
Beyoncé's friends immediately stood up to help. The conflict escalated, punches and kicks flying as the scene descended into chaos.
