Chapter 81: Who Says I’m Only Good for Comic Relief?

William White was busy planning his own farm. Though it might not be particularly profitable, it was something he simply had to do. You could call it a sense of social responsibility. In truth, that’s just a flattering way to put it—the real motive was to elevate his social standing.

Yes, you read that right. While wealth does bring status, that status is limited, and one day you might just be the fat pig waiting to be slaughtered. There are many ways to improve your position in society—charity, for instance—but that takes time, unless you make a spectacularly large donation all at once.

Promoting employment is actually the most effective method, especially for a Texan. You simply must do something for the local community, or you’ll be the target of public scorn. The expansion of the White Winery delighted the local government—this year, businesses were closing left and right, so a reliable new venture was bound to receive some support.

Being taken seriously was inevitable; after all, he bore the title of bestselling author. In certain circles, that carried even more weight than being a billionaire—the kind of social stature that couldn’t be matched by mere nouveau riche.

If you think William White is just a comedian, then you clearly haven’t read his books. His latest novel is anything but humorous—“The Shawshank Redemption” is a serious work, filled with thought-provoking moments. If “Forrest Gump” was whimsical self-indulgence and fantasy, then “Shawshank Redemption” exposes the darker side of society.

His depiction of prison life is strikingly vivid; the core of the narrative is redemption—a longing for freedom. Inevitably, the Justice Department took some heat, but you really couldn’t blame him. The disclaimer on the first page made it clear: all events were purely fictional; any resemblance to real persons or events was an honor.

It’s no accident that William White’s books are bestsellers. One of their most obvious features is the powerful sense of imagery. If you wanted to adapt them into films, little would need changing—they were written with the screen in mind.

Now, at last, talk of ghostwriting and plagiarism has died down. Not only does he write well, but his output is prodigious. If anyone dared to malign him further, the bankruptcy of three newspapers would serve as a warning.

The audiences for novels and films are different. How many bestselling books are lighthearted comedies? The majority are tragic, with readers cursing the author even as they hand over their money. Thankfully, sending razor blades in the mail isn’t in vogue these days—so you can write as you please. Just don’t torment the heroine too much; you never know if there’s a madman among your readers.

Wasn’t the great Jin Yong also beset by attacks? Sometimes I wonder, without Dragon Knights, would “Return of the Condor Heroes” have been so remarkable?

Moreover, there are now many alternative interpretations of Jin Yong’s work. The character of Little Dragon Girl is said to resemble the beauty he secretly loved; when his affections went unreturned, he vented his frustrations in fiction. Isn’t that the way of literary youth? At least the novel had a happy ending: the good escaped imprisonment, and the wicked were punished.

Such was the spirit of the era. There could be bad policemen, but there also had to be positive characters. Storylines like those in future American dramas about prison breaks were not permitted. Even Americans had their own mainstream values—narratives about ethics and morality could not go astray. Religion and race were strictly off-limits; to write carelessly was to invite real trouble.

This novel imparted a fair amount of legal knowledge, albeit in a playful tone, making readers more familiar with these topics. There have always been sticklers for accuracy, and in this era, even more so. With few entertainment options, hunting for flaws in a bestselling novel seemed a fine way to pass the time.

Truthfully, the legal professionals had already pored over the book. Some aspects were a little far-fetched, but there were no glaring logical flaws. I’m no expert on the law, but I see things differently—the author’s imagination is broad, and some ideas really could be put into practice.

For a novel, this is enough detail; anything more and it could become a manual for crime—a dangerous label to attract. Deliberately including some obvious errors was a wise precaution.

Naturally, some readers voiced doubts. William White, ever forthright, declared that he wasn’t a legal professional and had already exhausted himself gathering information. He couldn’t possibly be more detailed. If readers were truly interested in the law, they’d just have to fill in the blanks themselves.

That reply had everyone in stitches.

What the heck? Fill in the blanks yourself? You want readers to finish writing your novel for you? Could you be any more shameless?

No matter the commotion outside, William White remained unfazed. Having been tempered by the storms of the internet, such childish antics meant nothing to him. If there wasn’t a topic, he’d create one. If people stopped arguing, where would his sales come from?

In the end, these critics realized it was all intentional. The author knew even the most obscure legal trivia; he wouldn’t make such basic mistakes by accident. The only explanation was that he did it on purpose.

Given that, the reason was obvious. Before long, they realized certain parts simply couldn’t be too detailed, or else he’d be seen as inciting crime.

Serious novels and slapstick films had left the American establishment utterly bewildered; they simply couldn’t categorize this man.

He cared nothing for their confusion. Right now, making money was all that mattered. The relentless success of “Home Alone” had left several major studios paralyzed.

For other Christmas releases, “Home Alone” was a disaster. Poor box office results meant getting pulled from theaters, and if not for the limited number of prints, their films would have flopped even harder.

You call this a comedy?

Damn it, we want our money back!

Emulating William White isn’t easy. Without the right story, relentless slapstick falls flat. Audiences compare everything; whether it’s “Police Academy” or “Home Alone,” these films utterly eclipse the comedies of this era. If viewers hadn’t seen either, they might have accepted what was on offer, but after making the comparison, the outcome was inevitable.

Fortunately, these were just trial runs with modest investments. Even if audience response was underwhelming, losses would be minimal—there might even be a small profit.

In the short term, the losses didn’t seem significant. But they had lost the audience’s trust, and that is not easily regained. Even if future films were good, many would still watch with a jaundiced eye. Without a few decent films, some companies might be finished for good.

It was now clear that simple imitation wouldn’t work—effort had to be put into the script. And those damn actors—how could they turn comedy into a downer? That takes real talent, doesn’t it?

Their whole approach was flawed. Each one hoped to turn a few million into hundreds of millions at the box office. Their dreams were grand, but reality was harsh. Success could not simply be copied.

Now, even releasing “Police Academy” wouldn’t do the trick. William White’s triumph was a fluke, irrelevant as a model.

The first to eat the crab is a hero; the second is just a glutton.

There are plenty of successful films—why not copy “Star Wars”? Apparently, Hong Kong’s tycoon Shaw once tried, but it ended in disaster. A single film shattered the Shaw Brothers’ dreams.