nucmednet Chapter 138 Two Great Writers
Chapter 138 Two Great Writers
Chapter 138 Two Great Writers
Inside the first-class cabin of a Boeing 747, Peter Benchley leaned back in his large, soft leather seat, took a sip of champagne, and dispelled the fatigue from the long flight.
He turned his head and looked down through the porthole.
Through the thin clouds, California's golden coastline stretched out freely in the sunlight, and the Golden Gate Bridge at the mouth of the bay could be faintly seen.
Gazing at the azure waters of the Pacific Ocean, Peter felt an unparalleled sense of peace and joy.
In just two short years since Nixon took office, he went from a high-spirited White House writer to a down-on-his-luck writer on the streets of New York.
Forced to huddle in a dilapidated apartment in New York, he scratched his head in frustration at a typewriter that kept malfunctioning.
Back then, his biggest daily struggle was figuring out how to get through the long nights in the biting cold winds of the East Coast with the cheapest black coffee.
The novel "Jaws" is now completely finished.
Countless publishers have learned through various channels that this book is a big-budget A-list production confirmed by Universal Pictures, and editors are practically wearing down his doorstep with their checkbooks in hand.
In the end, he received an astronomical advance payment that he could never have dreamed of.
With the $80,000 he earned from selling the film rights, he has, from any perspective, returned to the ranks of the "wealthy."
At what moment did the gears of fate begin to turn?
Peter closed his eyes, and the summit from two months ago flashed through his mind.
Under the warm lights of the executive lounge, a young man from the East, dressed in an inexpensive suit, with eyes that seemed to see into the future, threw out a bet that would change his life.
All of this seemed so unreal, yet it was truly in his hands.
Peter downed the champagne in his glass, opened his eyes, and the confusion and dejection of the past were gone, replaced by an ambitious flame: Hollywood, here I come.
Fuck the East Coast, fuck New York, and that gloomy weather and those mean editors.
He wanted to leave that place completely and move to Los Angeles, a city filled with the "American Dream"!
As long as he holds onto Hans Films, this towering tree that is rising from the ground, his name, Peter Benchley, will eventually be engraved in the most prominent position on the Hollywood Walk of Fame!
Los Angeles International Airport's arrival hall was bustling with noise, creating a cacophony of sounds.
-
Peter pushed his fully loaded luggage cart out of the automatic glass doors, his gaze quickly settling on the bustling crowd.
Qin Han stood outside the railing, wearing a well-made casual outfit and large sunglasses perched on his nose, waving at me.
"Qin! Long time no see!"
Peter waved his arms excitedly and quickened his pace, pushing the cart over.
He opened his arms and gave the Chinese man, who had completely changed his destiny, a warm hug: "Come on, let's go to the hotel I booked, and we'll open a bottle of Romanée-Conti to celebrate."
Qin Han took off his sunglasses, a gentle smile in his eyes, and patted Peter on the shoulder: "Welcome, Peter, the Los Angeles sunshine suits your complexion perfectly."
He glanced at the writer's newly renovated high-end attire, then pointed to the flight information board above the lobby. "But the celebratory champagne will be opened a little later. We'll have to wait another ten minutes."
"Oh? Are you waiting for someone else?" Peter asked, somewhat puzzled.
"Yes, there's a budget flight from Maine, and I deliberately had you suspend your flight at this time to coincide with his schedule."
Ten minutes later, another wave of passengers poured out of the passage. Most of them looked tired and were dressed simply.
"Tabi, are you sure this is the exit? We really shouldn't have stuffed that typewriter in the suitcase; the tape on the handle seems to be tearing again—"
A slightly hesitant voice came from behind the crowd.
A tall, thin young man wearing thick-rimmed black glasses pushed a trolley piled high with old suitcases, sweating profusely as he walked out.
The woman walking beside him wore an old floral dress, her hands gripping the strap of her handbag tightly, her eyes darting around the vast and luxurious airport terminal, as if searching for someone.
"It's them." Qin Han took out a photo from his pocket, glanced at it, and confirmed the person's identity.
Peter, standing to the side, frowned slightly.
He couldn't understand why Qin Han, the boss of Han's Film Company, a renowned Hollywood upstart, would personally wait for such a poor couple when Han's Film Company was already a well-known Hollywood upstart.
Qin Han strode forward to greet her: "Stephen, Tabitha. Welcome to Hollywood." He smiled and extended his right hand.
Stephen King frantically slammed on the brakes, but the cart slid forward a short distance due to inertia.
He vigorously wiped the sweat from his palms on his old coat before carefully taking Qin Han's hand.
"Mr. Qin! My God, it really is you who came to pick us up in person!" The future king of horror novels was so excited that his voice was trembling.
No one could understand the turmoil raging within him.
This winter in Maine was so cold that just two days after the strong man left, Tabitha fell seriously ill. Lacking the money for treatment, he was plunged into immense despair.
Then, he received an email from Los Angeles.
Twenty thousand US dollars! That cash check with Hans Films' letterhead pulled their family out of the brink of collapse.
Tabitha stood to the side, her eyes completely red.
This strong woman, who retrieved her husband's manuscript from the trash can during the most difficult time, looked at her extraordinary benefactor with tears welling up in her eyes.
She bowed deeply to Qin Han: "Mr. Qin, thank you! Otherwise, I might not have made it through this winter!"
""
"There's no need for that." Qin Han reacted quickly, firmly supporting Tabitha's arm and helping her up. "Your husband's talent is worthy of my check. You don't need to bow down to anyone. Han's Film Company respects genius the most."
He smiled and made way for Peter behind him: "For example, this is also a genius friend of mine. Come, let me introduce you."
"This is Peter Benchley, author of Jaws; this is Stephen King, author of Carrie."
Seeing Peter's surprised look and Stephen's flattered expression, Qin Han smiled and said, "You two are among the very few geniuses in the world who have mastered the code of words."
"As colleagues and, more importantly, as Hans Films' most important future partner, I believe you will become close friends in Los Angeles."
The two writers clasped hands.
The sun beat down on the asphalt road outside the villa in West Hollywood.
As soon as the group got out of the car, they heard rhythmic sounds coming from the courtyard.
"Clang! Clang!"
Sylvester Stallone was shirtless, his bronze muscles glistening with sweat.
He was lying on a bench press rack, his hands gripping the barbell full of weights, sculpting himself for the role of Rocky.
Hearing the car engine shut off, Stallone sat up abruptly, grabbed the towel around his neck, and hastily wiped the sweat from his body.
When he recognized the tall, slender figure getting out of the car, his eyes lit up instantly: "Hey! Look who it is!"
The teacher from the freezer!
He strode over, ignoring his sweaty body, and gave Stephen King a bear hug that nearly suffocated him.
"Cough cough—Sylvie, with that strength—you could really kill a bull."
Stephen rolled his eyes as he was being squeezed, and patted Stallone's broad back twice with his hands. The warm hug made him feel a sense of security in this unfamiliar place.
Qin Han walked to the trunk and took out the worn-out luggage.
"Sylvie, the Stephens have just arrived in Los Angeles and are unfamiliar with the area. For the next week, your physical training will be halved for now; I'm entrusting them to you."
Qin Han pointed to the luggage, "Help them find a long-term rental apartment with good security nearby. You can run errands for them, such as buying furniture and daily necessities."
"No problem, boss! Leave it to me!" Stallone patted his chest vigorously: "I guarantee the great writer will be able to settle down smoothly!"
""
After making the arrangements, Qin Han did not linger. He started the car again and drove Peter to a Hilton hotel near Beverly Hills.
Half an hour later, the two settled into the hotel's executive suite.
"I'll have to stay here for a while until I find a suitable place to live." Peter opened his suitcase and took out a thick stack of printed papers.
"This is the final draft of 'Jaws.' The publisher will start printing and mass production early next month."
Qin Han leaned back on the sofa and began to flip through the entire book, which was exactly the same as the original work in his memory.
"Congratulations, Peter. This novel will be a regular on the bestseller list."
"The novel is great, but as a basis for a screenplay, it's too bloated. Peter, for the upcoming screenplay adaptation, you'll need to be ruthless and work with me to do a massive amount of 'subtraction'."
Peter's smile froze for a moment; his writer's protective instincts made him instinctively want to retort: "Subtraction? Every plot point in this novel was carefully conceived by me; which part is superfluous?"
Qin Han unceremoniously flipped to the middle section of the manuscript: "For example, here. The love triangle between Sheriff Brody's wife and the oceanographer Hooper who was asked to help."
"Peter, describing this plot in words is certainly fine, and readers will enjoy it. However, in a movie, which is only two hours long, this kind of content and the tense and exciting monster eating people are not quite suitable."
"But—" Peter tried to explain, "that was to enrich the characters' personalities and increase dramatic conflict—"
"We have to make a choice; the film's length doesn't allow for such delicate build-up," Qin Han interrupted him, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Listen, Peter. For this movie to succeed, the script must focus intensely on two absolute core elements. I call it the dual-core drive."
"The first core element is the primal terror of nature: a gigantic, elusive man-eating great white shark. We need to make the audience feel the unknown danger beneath the surface, that oppressive sense of being torn apart at any moment, and keep them on the edge of their seats."
"The second core issue, and even more important, is the ugliness of human nature." Qin Han tapped his fingers heavily on the coffee table a few times. "To protect the huge economic benefits brought by the summer tourist season, the town mayor deliberately concealed the truth about the shark attack, leading to the tragic deaths of many more innocent people. This kind of bureaucracy, where money trumps human life, is a monster more terrifying than a shark!"
Looking into Qin Han's determined eyes, Peter began to mentally simulate the plot's direction after cutting out the romantic subplot.
Without all those complicated family dramas, the plot will become extremely pure and very fast-paced.
The sheriff's anxiety, the mayor's greed, and the public's panic—all the focal points of the conflict will be magnified exponentially.
"Not only is the pace faster—" Peter muttered to himself, "the irony is also more pronounced! The lies of bureaucrats ultimately require heroes to pay the price with their lives!"
"Indeed, different fields are like different worlds; scripts and novels are quite different, Qin!"
"We'll do it your way! I'll start revising tonight!"
A few days later, in the San Fernando Valley of Los Angeles, at Universal Pictures' sprawling studio complex.
Qin Han, with Peter in tow, pushed open the heavy soundproof door of the special effects preparation workshop.
In the center of the workshop was a huge freshwater test tank, and the water pumps were making a deafening roar.
Bob Matt, one of Hollywood's top special effects masters, is standing on scaffolding at the edge of the water tank, holding a complex remote control device in his hand.
In the center of the tank, a seven-meter-long mechanical great white shark, made of rubber and metal frame, is opening its gaping maw full of sharp silicone teeth on the water's surface, driven by hydraulic bearings, making a "click-clack" mechanical friction sound.
"Close the valve! Test the pneumatic device's waterproofness!" Bob shouted through a megaphone.
Qin Han stood at the edge of the water tank, coldly watching the mechanical monster that was baring its fangs and claws in the fresh water.
No one knew better than him what a fatal mistake Bob Matt, that arrogant guy, had made.
This hydraulic system, which works well in fresh water, will completely fail within a very short time if it is thrown into highly corrosive seawater, where its complex circuitry and pneumatic valves will be rendered unusable.
However, Qin Han did not intend to point out this fatal flaw now.
It was precisely because of the mechanical shark's frequent malfunctions during filming that the director was forced to use a lot of subjective perspectives and suggestive shots to cover up the prop's failure, thus inadvertently creating one of the most classic thriller and suspense techniques in film history.
Making this robotic fish too perfect now would ruin the soul of the movie.
"Hi! Qin! Peter!"
A young man with messy hair and thick-rimmed glasses rushed over, stepping over the cables scattered on the ground.
Steven Spielberg at that moment was like a child who had received his favorite toy, radiating an almost manic creative passion.
"My God, Peter! I stayed up all night reading your novel. It was absolutely amazing!"
He gripped Peter's hand tightly, speaking rapidly, like a machine gun firing: "But I urgently want to know, what are your thoughts on the specific adaptations of the script? The book has too much content; we must make some choices!"
Qin Han and Peter exchanged a smile and then presented the revised script outline.
"Imagine the mayor covering up the truth for personal gain? And in the end, only the sheriff, the shark hunter, and the oceanographer are left, helplessly hunting monsters on the vast ocean?"
Spielberg's eyes widened instantly: "This is amazing—"
He muttered to himself, looking excitedly at Qin Han: "Think about what the TV news is reporting every day these days? The Watergate scandal!"
The Hollywood terror attack! The whole of Washington is lying to the public!
"The town mayor's lies are a microcosm of the Nixon administration's lies! This is a real-world metaphor!"
"The extreme distrust and disgust the American public has for the government means they will resonate most strongly when they see a mayor's foolish decisions leading to bloodshed!"
A clash between geniuses often only requires a small spark.
Spielberg was completely in a state of excitement. He grabbed a piece of draft paper from the workbench next to him and began to draw storyboards.
"Without any unnecessary romance, the second half of the film is pure, unadulterated suspense in a confined space! A wrecked ship, three desperate men, and an unseen, man-eating monster—"
"Clang!"
Behind them, the mechanical shark that had just been pulled from the tank snapped its jaws shut with a deafening roar!
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