Chapter 159: The Distinctive White Pictures

Golden Harvest, having just suffered a box office failure, surprisingly chose to stage a comeback. This left a group of heavyweights dumbfounded, though once they learned the identity of the partner this time around, the moguls in Hong Kong breathed a sigh of relief.

Hollywood folks were notoriously arrogant—this was a consensus among Hong Kong actors. Jack still had fresh, vivid memories of getting screwed over on a previous movie.

Yet, what was he seeing now? Things were completely different here. On this set, nobody dared to throw a tantrum except William White.

"Remember, we are an international company, not some garbage from Hollywood. Whoever dares to pull any discriminatory crap on my set can pack their bags and get the hell out immediately." This was the situation Jack had gathered. It wasn't that these white ghosts had suddenly changed their nature; rather, it was the immense pressure coming from the very top.

"No, no, Eddie. Your cadence is off. I'm not asking you to teach Jack proper English; I want you to project street slang, the kind of language guys from Queens use. Make it fast, make it rap-like."

"Jack, don't listen to a word he says. You need to transition from stuttering English into imitating his style. I don't need you to be fluent; I just want that imitation vibe."

"Got it, Brother William."

"All right, everyone, attention! Ready, and... action!"

The crew had been put together in a rush this time. If he hadn't had complete faith in William White, Eddie Murphy would never have taken on this film.

"Jack, this choreography is problematic. You need to convey agility, not just trade punches with the opponent. Redo the action sequence for this segment."

Despite the grueling physical demands of the shoot, Big Brother Jackie made no complaints. This was genuinely the style he loved.

The rest of the company struggled to understand why the boss wanted to shoot it this way. Calling it a comedy didn't quite fit, and if you called it an action thriller, where were the gritty, hardcore tough guys?

Well, the boss had Chinese ancestry, which meant he certainly understood the Chinese diaspora much better than most Americans did.

Hollywood films of this era indeed harbored stereotypical prejudices against the Chinese community.

In fact, their depictions were utterly ridiculous—much like Americanized Chinese food in the United States. That might be what you Yankees considered Chinese cuisine, but Chinese people certainly didn't like eating those things.

When it came to the social standing of the Chinese in America, you could only truly describe it as awkward.

If you wanted to be treated equally, you needed to find a spokesperson, at the very least.

Unfortunately, the Chinese community showed little interest in American elections. Besides, those politicians couldn't stay in office for many years anyway; even if a particular official turned out to be a complete bastard, you could just grit your teeth and endure it until their term passed.

Chinatown was essentially a freak of nature. Many people living here didn't really speak English, simply because there was no need to—everything around them was just like China.

The most bizarre part was that knowing Mandarin was useless; the majority of the locals used Minnan dialect or Cantonese, and they could only barely understand standard Mandarin.

William White believed that if you wanted to integrate into American society, the first step should be to tear down Chinatown. You might make a bit more money living here, but other than that, it was truly pointless.

Americans always liked to claim they had no prejudices, but once you lived in the United States, you would find that such discrimination was ubiquitous. Take Los Angeles, for instance: not only did it have a Chinatown, but it also had a Koreatown, while the brothers and Hispanic communities had their own distinct enclaves as well.

With communities so rigidly demarcated, telling someone that this wasn't discrimination was something that could probably only fool a ghost.

Most of the movie's locations were set in Chinatown. As for security, there were zero issues; Chinese people disliked trouble. As long as you didn't go out of your way to provoke them, they couldn't be bothered to pay attention to you.

As for what kind of movie you were shooting, do as you pleased. If it turned out genuinely good, they would even show up to support it. As for Bruce Lee-style martial arts, the number of foreigners who loved it actually fell short of the local Chinese fans.

The fighting style favored by the Chinese was graceful and fluid; landing every single punch with brutal, heavy impact felt far too wild.

Although Golden Harvest was not the primary investor this time, tycoon Raymond Chow still decided to come and observe the production. As for the "luck" others constantly chattered about, Raymond Chow remained unimpressed. Luck didn't just happen on command—try directing a film that clears one hundred million at the box office and show me.

Through careful observation, he realized that White Productions was indeed different from the others. The atmosphere here was much more relaxed. Although William White was strict, it was only during actual filming; the moment the camera stopped rolling, he was remarkably easy to talk to.

What surprised him the most was that William White did not mind teaching people a thing or two. One thing was abundantly clear: Ah Lung had definitely profited this trip, as the man had genuinely taught him a great deal.

"That's a wrap! Wrap it up!" Witnessing this scene, Raymond Chow could not help but offer a wry smile. The high efficiency of White Productions was a testament to the director's caliber, and the shooting schedule itself was remarkably concise.

"Let's go, Raymond. Let's grab a drink together."

"Alright. Thank you for your hard work, Brother William."

"Ha, it's alright. This isn't Hong Kong; if these guys work four hours a day, they're already showing the boss massive respect. You mustn't push them too hard, or you're bound to run into bad luck."

"Haha, that is indeed the case. *The Big Brawl* was filmed in fits and starts; I originally thought they were doing it on purpose."

"Raymond, my first movies were all made by young folks, and they weren't much slower than the pace in Hong Kong. Care to guess what they said about them?"

"Shoddy craftsmanship! Just listen to that—they hadn't even watched the movie yet, and they had already slapped a label on you."

"Is that so? Doesn't that mean you can't release many films a year?"

"There are simply too many film studios in Hollywood, and most of them never even make it into theaters. Why would you want to churn out so many movies? A single *Star Wars* runs in theaters for over half a year. Quality always comes first."

Regarding this film, Hollywood no longer treated it with disdain—not even a Chinese actor who had just suffered a string of box office flops. They were simply green with envy over this guy's dumb luck.

Well, and that black kid, too—how on earth did he manage to command such favorable treatment? It was utterly bizarre.

Movies in this era were still primarily driven by star power. Whether it was Brando or Clint Eastwood, only those heavy-hitting marquee names could carry a film.

White Productions didn't operate that way, however. They practically built their casts around actors whose careers had flatlined.

Well, there was no helping that—who else could make this guy's penchant for low-budget comedies work so well?

As time went on, they discovered that wasn't the case at all. Eddie Murphy's salary nowadays was no joke; it easily matched the rate of a quasi-A-list star. When box office profit-sharing was factored in, many A-list stars might not even match his earnings.

Moreover, William White's production budgets were steadily climbing. His last two films had both boasted budgets exceeding twenty million dollars.

Winning big with a small stake?

That was only because he used to lack capital. Now that funds were abundant, how could there possibly be any more "small investment, massive return" plays?

Was this the start of a corporate pivot?

From Hollywood's perspective, William White was acting rather arrogant. Since your comedies were printing money, you should have just kept playing that winning hand.

In truth, that was what everyone else did—squeezing the absolute limit out of an intellectual property until audiences finally refused to buy tickets.

The most classic example was *Superman*. The second installment was actually quite trashy, yet Warner Bros. relentlessly milked the franchise dry, finally driving the IP to a natural death.

When they later tried to resurrect it, it was merely out of envy for Iron Man's success. But Superman had already been completely mishandled; no matter how hard they tried, it would never amount to much.

If you treat the audience like fools, the audience will naturally vote with their feet. It was one thing for *Superman II* to be garbage, but *Superman III* was a total piece of dog crap. The entire film relied on bargain-bin visual effects, and the plot was a chaotic mess. Those traumatized audiences felt like throwing up just at the sight of Superman; no matter how well you shot subsequent films, it was all for naught.