booktalesy Chapter 219, "The Great Investigation Line," a subversive professional drama.
Chapter 219, "The Great Investigation Line," a subversive professional drama.
Chapter 219, "The Great Investigation Line," a subversive professional drama.
With ample funding and the physical industrial chain in the preparatory stage, Beiyuan Xin's next step is naturally to return to the core of content creation.
In the bright and spacious top-floor conference room of Kitahara Office, a "New Drama Project Initiation and Screenwriter Team Building Conference" concerning the company's content ecosystem for the next ten years officially kicked off.
This time, Kitahara Shin decided to change his strategy.
In the past, many top-tier dramas ended poorly because the core screenwriters ran out of ideas or lacked energy.
Although he has countless brilliant scripts in his mind and has extremely high creative efficiency, it is obviously unscientific and extremely inefficient for him to rely on his own frantic output like a typewriter to truly realize that vast "peripheral business empire".
Moreover, Shinji Nojima, who has always maintained a good working relationship with him, is now a top-notch screenwriter in the industry. He will definitely showcase his talent in various big productions and cannot be tied to Kitahara Office as an exclusive ghostwriter for the rest of his life.
Therefore, Kitahara Shin decided to introduce Hollywood's mature screenwriter's studio system ahead of schedule in this era. That is, he (as the main creator) would control the overall direction and core highlights, while the screenwriting team below would be responsible for refining the outline, adding details, and revising the dialogue.
In order to recruit the most suitable talent, the "detection tape measure," an item that had been gathering dust in his system warehouse for a long time, played an extremely crucial role during this period.
By using a "measuring tape" to accurately measure talent and personality, Kitahara Shin unearthed a large number of frustrated screenwriting talents from the sidelines of major television stations and underground theater troupes.
Among them are not only variety show writers who regularly provide scripts for spin-off variety shows featuring Rie Miyazawa and Nanako Matsushima, but more importantly, he used this standard to meticulously find the real original screenwriter of "Owner's Investigation Line"—Ryoichi Kimie—as well as several senior scriptwriters specializing in different fields.
Inside the conference room, a dozen screenwriters who had been poached with high salaries sat around a long table.
Although Kitahara Shin offered extremely high salaries, these people who wielded pens all carried a certain degree of arrogance and stubbornness in their bones, a kind of "literary rivalry."
Looking at Kitahara Shin, who was overly young, handsome, and exuded the aura of a capitalist, sitting in the main seat, many screenwriters, while outwardly respectful, secretly exchanged subtle glances. Within their small circle, a highly conspiratorial theory circulated: Kitahara Shin's previous groundbreaking works, "Flower of Evil" and the ratings-sweeping "Legal High," were not actually written by him at all. Instead, he allegedly paid a large sum to buy the creative rights of top screenwriters like Nojima Shinji to embellish his own work and promote himself.
After all, how could a young man not yet thirty years old possibly possess both incredible acting skills and a keen business sense, while also writing such a profound and sophisticated script?
This is simply against common sense.
Therefore, they are unwilling to believe this almost mythical character from the bottom of their hearts.
"Everyone, we've gathered you all here today for our company's upcoming S-class long-term IP—'The Great Search Line'."
Ignoring the various gazes from the audience, Kitahara Shin simply tossed a stack of copied project outlines onto the table and went straight to the core concept.
"The core of this drama is the daily life of low-ranking detectives at the Wangan Police Station. Here, there are no protagonists who can fly or leap, no lone heroes. Being a police officer is just an ordinary job that requires clocking in on time, waiting for payday, and filling out three reports before even catching a thief." What we want to film is the extremely rigid and absurd bureaucracy within the Metropolitan Police Department, and the struggles and dark humor of low-level, overworked police officers caught in the middle.
When this revolutionary concept was introduced, the screenwriters present were indeed taken aback.
But soon, a seasoned screenwriter who had written traditional crime dramas for over a decade at a television station pushed up his glasses and deliberately posed an extremely pointed question that tested the screenwriter's basic skills in a exploratory tone.
"President Kitahara, this premise is indeed novel. However, the essence of drama is conflict." The veteran screenwriter stared intently into Kitahara's eyes, trying to gauge his understanding. "Since you've requested the removal of traditional police-gangster shootouts and serial killer elements, how are we going to construct the crisis-driven narrative across eleven episodes, or even dozens more? If there aren't any major cases, what will the audience watch? Just them drinking tea and chatting?"
The meeting room fell silent instantly. All the screenwriters pricked up their ears, and even the usually reserved Ryoichi Kimizuka looked up, extremely curious about how this "genius TV King" would respond.
Faced with this professional challenge that was clearly meant to test him, Kitahara Shin did not get angry. Instead, he smiled calmly and rationally.
"Good question. But this is precisely the blind spot where you've fallen into the mindset of traditional crime dramas."
Kitahara Shin stood up, walked to the whiteboard, picked up a marker, and drew a pyramid structure with remarkable fluidity.
"In *The Great Investigation Line*, the core dramatic conflict isn't about the police catching a thief," but rather the confrontation between the crime scene and the meeting room. Kitahara Shin turned around, his gaze sweeping sharply over the group. "The traditional crisis countdown is a bomb exploding in five minutes; but in our script, the crisis countdown could be a murderer on the run, but our protagonist can't get the inter-district police car permit because his superior is absent!"
Kitahara Shin, his hands firmly on the table, spoke with a steady yet penetrating pace: "This sense of powerlessness caused by the stupidity of the system, this absurdity of cases occurring at bloody scenes, yet decisions being made in luxuriously carpeted conference rooms—that's the ultimate conflict that stings the audience's nerves more than any gunfight! What you're writing isn't a suspenseful mystery, but the workplace ecosystem!"
Upon hearing this extremely profound and insightful screenwriting theory, the veteran screenwriter who had just asked the question was immediately speechless, and his pupils suddenly contracted.
Following closely behind, another young screenwriter skilled in writing character biographies couldn't help but raise his hand and ask, "President, what about character arcs? If it's a long-running IP, and the protagonist completes their transformation from a rookie to a mature character in the first season, then the characters in subsequent seasons will become extremely flat and boring. How do you solve this problem?"
A variant of "adopting the Don Quixote model."
Kitahara Shin answered almost instantly, his brain containing the secrets to the success of countless hit dramas from his past life: "The core arc of the protagonist, Aoshima Shunsaku, was established in the first episode. He is a hothead who is full of enthusiasm but will hit a wall.
During the long serialization, he himself doesn't need to undergo drastic changes; what he needs to do is change the people around him.
"Use his almost foolish passion, like a pebble thrown into stagnant water, to slowly awaken those veteran police officers, high-ranking officials, and colleagues who have been completely numbed by the system. What we want to show is not his growth, but his wear and tear and his perseverance." The further you write, the more you need to strip away his idealism, making him choose to persevere despite repeated compromises; this will naturally reveal the depth of his character.
The entire conference room fell completely silent.
The gazes of all the screenwriters, including Ryoichi Kimiya, toward Shin Kitahara had completely transformed from initial suspicion and scrutiny to shock and deep, fanatical awe.
While an outsider might be able to recite a few technical terms to appear knowledgeable, the ability to effortlessly and thoroughly analyze plot structure and character arcs is a skill that only top masters, who have spent countless hours immersed in the world of scripts and endured numerous internal struggles, possess.
Ghostwriting? Paying for creativity? That's all bullshit!
The man in front of me possesses a talent and depth in screenwriting that is a hundred times more terrifying than his acting skills on screen!
Looking at the group of "penholders" who were finally completely convinced by him, Kitahara Shin put down his marker with satisfaction and sat back down in the main seat.
"It seems everyone has no doubts about the core spirit of the outline. Now, I will announce the operating rules of the 'Great Investigation Line' writing team."
With his fingers interlaced, Kitahara Shin made the final arrangements with utmost rationality: "I will personally write the complete script and episode outlines for the first season of 'Bayside Shakedown.' Your task is to take my script, dissect it, and learn my pacing and dialogue style. After the first season lays the foundation, starting with the special episodes and the future second season and spin-off movies, I will only be responsible for highlighting key moments and outlining the general direction. The rest of the fleshing out and polishing the details will be entirely handled by your team."
He looked around at everyone: "I'll give you the highest salaries and authorship rights in the industry; in return, you give me the most stable and efficient output. Do you understand?"
"Understood, President!" All the screenwriters responded in unison, their eyes sparkling with excitement as they prepared to make a big splash.
With the core engine of the script in place, the next major task is naturally the selection of the director—the helmsman of this "super aircraft carrier."
In the past, Kitahara Shin might have used his connections to personally visit and relentlessly pursue a famous director. But his current position is different. Now that he has the money to do whatever he wants, he has the resources and confidence to establish a more scientific and rigorous selection mechanism to polish this big IP that is destined to have a long run.
Kitahara Shin did not directly appoint Motohiro Katsuyuki, the original director of the previous "Bayside Shakedown".
Although the original version is already a classic, Kitahara Shin, with his extensive film viewing experience and higher aesthetic pursuits, believes that the original version still has a strong "traditional Japanese television flavor" in its cinematography and certain emotional transitions. He could use his existing resources to elevate it to a more perfect cinematic quality.
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Therefore, he implemented a rigorous screening process within the company.
First, the production department collects the past resumes of currently active television drama directors and even some promising independent film directors from all over Japan.
Secondly, the entire creative team of Kitahara Nobuyoshi (including the newly formed screenwriting team) spent several days in the screening room, analyzing and studying the past works of these directors.
They don't look at the ratings; they only look at the director's visual language in handling "ensemble comedy," "workplace oppression," and "multi-narrative structure" to see whose style best matches the absurd yet realistic nature of "Bayside Shakedown."
After a rigorous selection process, three candidates were chosen, and Kitahara Nobu personally met with them in his office to discuss their understanding of the script. Ultimately, he selected a promising young director with a strong vision for camerawork and a willingness to break with television conventions.
Once the director was in place, the cast and crew began to quickly come together.
As the absolute core of this long-running IP, Kitahara Shin naturally had to personally play the male lead—Shunsaku Aoshima, a low-level detective who always wore a military green trench coat, was passionate but suffered greatly from the system.
Meanwhile, the outstanding performances of the Metropolitan Police Department's high-ranking officers, responsible for creating the absurdity of bureaucracy, and the three scene-stealing "Big Three" (the chief, deputy chief, and head of the criminal investigation division) of the Wangan Police Station, who were specifically responsible for comedy and shifting blame, were perfectly given to the veteran actors of the "Second Division Association" whom Kitahara Shin had previously tricked into joining at the Karuizawa gathering. These masterful actors, whose acting skills are already superb, are simply delivering a superior performance in these high-ranking bureaucratic roles, effortlessly adding depth to the entire drama.
The actors from her own agency were also busy. With her natural poise and stubbornness, Matsu Takako naturally landed a very important female role in the drama—the policewoman Onda Nogiko (or a hybrid character of Kashiwagi Yukino) who fights alongside the male lead.
Finally, there were the other important supporting roles whose auditions were made public.
In this round of auditions, Kitahara Shin personally oversaw the process, and the person he was looking for was Muroi Shinji, the cold-faced elite bureaucrat of the Metropolitan Police Department, who was also the lifelong rival and friend of the male protagonist, Aoshima Shunsaku.
This character's importance in the drama is no less than that of the male lead.
He was always impeccably dressed in a suit and tie, his brow furrowed, representing the rigid rules of the high-level conference room, yet deep down he was moved by the protagonist's passion. The classic line that swept across Japan in his past life, "Mr. Muroi! The case didn't happen in the conference room!", was shouted at him.
Many handsome male actors came to the audition that day, but after looking around, Kitahara Shin felt that their portrayal of "coolness" was too superficial, like a face with a blank expression.
Then a male actor with slicked-back hair and a naturally melancholic air about him walked in through the door.
Yanagi Toshiro.
The moment Kitahara Shin saw him, his eyes lit up slightly.
In his past life's memories, this man was practically synonymous with "Shinji Muroi".
That complex aura of struggling painfully in the cracks of the system, with a cold exterior but a warm interior, is something that no one else can imitate.
"Mr. Liu Ye, I won't look at your resume." Kitahara Shin picked up the script on the table and cut straight to the point. "Let's rehearse a scene. Now, you represent the Metropolitan Police Department's higher-ups, and I'm a junior detective. I just disobeyed your orders to save a little girl who was almost hit by a car, and let a key suspect escape from the scene. Now, you're going to reprimand me."
Kitahara Shin deliberately added a constraint that was extremely demanding on micro-expressions: "Remember, deep down you actually agree with my approach, but your identity and the uniform you wear require you to uphold the absolute authority of the rules. Don't slam the table, don't yell, let's begin."
After listening to this extremely complex psychological profile, Toshiro Yanagi stood still, closed his eyes, and remained silent for a full ten seconds.
When he opened his eyes again, his aura instantly subsided to its extreme.
He didn't make any unnecessary movements; he simply raised his hand very slowly and straightened his meticulously tied tie.
Then, with a steady, almost suppressed gait, he walked to Kitahara Shin's desk.
He looked down at Kitahara Shin, the deep lines between his brows furrowed, his jawline taut.
Qingdao.
Toshiro Liu's voice was extremely low, as cold as a piece of iron without temperature.
But upon closer listening, a hint of extremely restrained helplessness could be heard in the end of that cold, hard tone.
"In this system, there is no order without obedience. Your compassion is worthless."
After delivering that line, he stared intently into Kitahara Shin's eyes, his gaze a mixture of anger at the broken rules, sternness towards his subordinates, and a hint of wavering that was forcibly suppressed deep within.
This performance, which relied entirely on micro-expressions and the rhythm of the lines, made the up-and-coming director sitting up straight.
Kitahara Shin looked at him, his face showing no sign of excitement.
He simply nodded calmly.
"Thank you for your hard work, Mr. Liu Ye. Go back and wait for our notification."
Yanagiba Toshiro bowed and turned to leave. Only after the conference room door closed did Kitahara Shin turn around and whisper to the assistant director beside him, "Go sign the contract. Muroi Shinji is the one."
, 7
In early February 1994, the crew of "Bayside Shakedown" officially began filming in a huge studio on the outskirts of Tokyo.
To create this groundbreaking workplace police drama, Kitahara Shin not only broke with convention in terms of content, but also completely upgraded the production quality.
Before filming began, he directly invested heavily in purchasing the most advanced and expensive cinematic cameras and sound and lighting equipment currently available on the market from overseas. In an era when most Japanese television stations were still using outdated standard-definition equipment to save on budgets, the top-of-the-line hardware that Kitahara Shin spent so much money to acquire would become the core technological barrier that would completely set Kitahara's studio apart from other production companies in terms of picture quality and industrial feel.
Because this level of hardware procurement involves an extremely large amount of money, and is the most lucrative job in the film and television production process, Kitahara Shin specially set up a dedicated "Film and Television Equipment Procurement Department" in the company in order to prevent internal corruption and kickbacks, and handed over this powerful department to his most trusted veteran, Ota Masakazu, to manage it in full.
As the company expanded, Masakazu Ota's work focus shifted accordingly.
He was no longer responsible for Kitahara Shin's daily affairs and schedule arrangements, but instead took over the more core tasks of financial allocation and internal supervision.
As for Kitahara Shin's complicated personal work, it was all handed over to his newly appointed, shrewd and capable chief secretary, Ms. Aida.
On the first day of filming, the hugely expensive set built by the Bay Shore Office was bustling with activity.
Kitahara Shin changed into the iconic military green trench coat from the drama, completely transforming into the busiest spinning top on set. Unlike traditional producers who leisurely sit behind the monitor drinking tea, he personally went on set, shuttling between various departments at high speed.
"Lighting team, dim that top light in the corner. This is a front-line office; perfect lighting makes it look fake!"
"Director of photography, take that new camera off the tripod. This scene will be shot entirely by handheld camera. I want the camera to follow the actors' movements as they squeeze into this messy office. I have to capture that crowded workplace atmosphere."
"Art team! The documents on the desk are too neatly arranged. Crumple up a few sheets and throw two leftover instant noodle containers next to the trash can!"
Turning his head, he picked up the script again and had a heated discussion about blocking with the director and several veteran actors from the "Second Division".
He required the actors to recite their lines while moving around, and even deliberately created a noisy effect of overlapping dialogue.
The high demands and fast pace of the entire film set initially left the staff, who were used to the slow pace of traditional Japanese dramas, somewhat overwhelmed.
However, under Kitahara Shin's extremely clear and professional instructions, the entire crew was quickly molded into a highly efficient machine.
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