For Screenplay
1
“There has to be a screenplay first, what kind of story do you want to tell? Let me tell you, you can never create your own, you don't know how to anyway. Why not simply snatch an idea from a newspaper? Everything in the news these days is just insane. Are you thinking of a long story? Or, just a collection of short ones?� My wife spoke slowly, her back reclining against the kitchen door.
“That all sounds good. I’m not sure yet, haven’t thought on it. Pass me the salt, please”, I got some salt, sprinkled it in the wok, and concentrated on stir-frying the vegetables.
2
Arrived at H’s place. He was seated at his enormous desk, on it were a pair of Yamaha NS10 speakers and JBL 4206 studio monitors, another 17 inch LCD monitor towards the middle, next to it a worse for wear 9 inch one, which struggled to play some movie clip, caused by unstable electric voltage, stripes appeared on the screen from time to time. A huge power amplifier hummed in low-frequency, sound emitted beneath the desk, the D/A, disc player and M-box lying on it seemed about to fall from the edge.
“What do you want?�
H took off the headset and turned around on his revolving chair, unhappy at being disturbed.
“Which film you working on? Sound recording or post-production?” I asked absently. “I did the recording, working on the post-production now, hmmm, the films' a co-production, shot in Sichuan just a while ago, the director was a shithead.”
H threw the headset on the desk, looking agitated.
“I want to write a screenplay, then make a film, what do you think?� I asked delicately.
“You have to feel that you already have something to say, filled with the urge to express, then, think of a story, don’t let it control you. I know you want to make something personal, so you have to tell a story about yourself, speak for yourself, don’t give a shit about others, you know what I mean?”
“As you said, should I just get out of the house and see what I can find?” I was confused.
“That’s your call. I didn’t say that. I’m not the one making the movie. You decide what you want to do.”
H put on the headset again, diving back into work and -----Faded out.
3
Hesitant, should I bring the Zoom H4n recorder? Not that it’s too heavy, just a small digital device. Problem was I had to do both the recording and photography, what if there wasn’t so much to record in the end yet I had brought too much stuff? What if I lose any of this? But what if something good comes on the way? Those unexpected sounds: beautiful thunder, folk music in the park, the rising tide of the sea… I want it all, even though I don’t know what for. Enough. Stop thinking.
3
I scanned through the luggage again, hoping I wouldn't damage anything on the way. Double checked the items: a Leica MP camera body and a M6; three lens:28/2.8, 21/2.8,and 50/2; fifty Eastman Double-X rolls; three large size X-ray film bags; filters------UVs, yellow and red, one of each; one flash; two pieces of cloth to clean the lens; a changing bag; the H4n recorder; a wind cap; one HD25-1 headset; four 4G SD cards; G4 computer, Black-berry with Google maps installed and a universal charger.
4
Beijing Rehearsal room, Central Conservatory of Music. “Do you feel that you want to escape that body of yours and judge yourself from other people’s perspective?” Z poured a cup of Dancong for me, “Try it, it’s not scented, you gonna like it.” “This is really good, I’ve never been fond of tea with a strong scent, it’s always a bit suspicious when it smells too good. Just like this world, how can there be so many beautiful things that others see? Yeah, you were right about me.” I had another sip, reflecting. “I think it’s gonna be difficult, it’s like trying to judge my own voice in a closed environment, I hear my own voice in a distorted manner, that’s why I can never judge it, or compare it with the others’” He played a segment of Brahms’s intermezzo. “See, you heard one sound, I heard another. What can you do about it? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” He handed me a disc, “This is the recording of S’s live concert, cello solo of Bach’s No. 1, 3 and 6 suites. Get to a beach and listen to it? I looked at the score; always felt it had something to do with the sea, why don’t you go find out?”
5 “Dear passengers. This is the boarding call for flight MU5468 from Beijing to Xiamen. Passengers please board through Gate B3. And don’t forget your boarding pass and ID. Thank you.” The grey-cement dike was empty, the beach was filthy with marks left by anchors having been dragged across, the rust had been washed off in the rain, merging with fresh yellow sands and forming a mottled pattern. The current made a grand gesture and crashed into the dike, the white foam and millions of bubbles dying suddenly upon the impregnable cement wall, leaving numerous candy wrappers, plastic bags and shells of all shapes and colors scattered along the beach. A bridge stood not far away, a straight line covering the horizon indistinctly, and there were a pair of newlyweds, wearing a tux and a wedding dress, whom stood beneath the huge pier. Wedding pictures were being taken. Her exposed skin matched the color of the sand, the snow white dress dazzling in the bright sunlight, everything was distorted in the heat. The groom was like a puppet, acting affectionate and cute, following the instructions of the bride while she was struck all sorts of artificial poses. Like it was proof of their being happily married. The process was boring and exhausting, everyone except the photographer was a bit weary. Only when the camera was raised, the joyfulness reappeared on their faces, yet it was short-lived and numb. I started to run all the way towards the bus stop, the sound of my cheap plastic sandals hitting down hard on the road transferred from my left ear to the right. All of a sudden, the heaven’s opened, rain crashed down to the earth, a percussion which punctuated everything that crawled on the street. An umbrella was opened. The water traced the curves of the umbrella and formed a liquid curtain. There was another world inside, the center being the umbrellaman, a vacuum, isolated, quiet and dry, fast moving, in a world full of chaos caused by the sudden storm. It was still windless, the rain thrust into the school building like needles, the teachers’ voice faded, muffled by the sound of rain, yet it was still there, trying to break through to reach the ears on the
street
6
HC-110 B solution, diluted 1:5 parts with water, went slowly into the tank, the 5222 negative started to work its mag
catch the final result on the minute polyester film base, after which it will never change, never fade. This was an inv
didn’t appear vague anymore, the lines hardened, the metal started burning, white, grey and black, then it ended, en
ing away all the chemicals and unnatural substances, it looked as pure as a newborn, even the darkest black seemed
gic in that dark and unknown world. No stirring, no shaking, after 20 minutes of stillness, the fixer was used to
verted vulnerable world of metallic grain. The image went through filter #4, projected on photographic paper; it
nded in the dark redness, only the AC was humming. The tiny stream of tap water ran through a rubber hose wash-
d so innocent.
7
I dragged all the sound files in to Logic; pre-set the length for each track, adjusted the sample rate ress bars. By simple clicks of the finger, the unseen digital signals transformed into vibrations of a coding, just like water drops in a stream, from a device called interface at a speed of 30,000km/s t I wanted. The tape span like a flow of time, no need for supervision. I was left there, looking at the me, I didn’t know where they were going, I didn’t know where I was going.
7
to 24bit/96khz, selected an input level and reduced noise properly, all of this revealed by progair and returned to the ears, all the details of the world at that time were converted into digital travel through the wire, into a reel to reel tape recorder in the order of time line, exactly the way cursor of Logic scanning every peak and trough of the sound wave, the memory surged back to
Limited edition of 50 copies
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