booktalesy Chapter 220 Kitahara Shin's wings have grown too strong!
Chapter 220 Kitahara Shin's wings have grown too strong!
Chapter 220 Kitahara Shin's wings have grown too strong!
In February 1994, after extremely efficient preparations, the crew of "Bayside Shakedown" officially began filming for the first day.
For Kitahara Shin, directing or acting in this drama was fundamentally different from all the film sets he had experienced in the past.
Looking back, whether it was his early works that made him an overnight sensation, or the later hit series "Legal" that swept across Japan...
Although he was a core lead actor in "High" and even served as a producer and invested heavily in "The White Tower," he was still just an extremely important part of the power structure on set. He had to negotiate with the TV station's top executives and compromise with experienced directors; the set was not entirely his personal "one-man show."
But today, inside this massive, 1:1 scale replica of the Bay Shore Office set, everything is completely different.
He came up with the idea for "Bayside Shakedown," wrote the complete script for the first season, and provided 100% of the production funding. He was also the absolute male lead in the show.
In other words, apart from the up-and-coming director from the independent film industry whom he hired to execute the visual language, every single one of the hundreds of people in the crew was driven by Kitahara Shin's will. On this set, his identity was no longer merely that of a "genius actor" or a "top screenwriter," but rather that of an "absolute tyrant" who held absolute power over life and death.
When Kitahara Shin walked onto the set wearing the iconic military green trench coat from the drama and holding the script, the atmosphere instantly underwent a subtle change.
There's no longer that perfunctory, half-hearted "good morning" greeting like before.
The moment he stepped onto the set, the assistant director, who had been loudly directing the camera positions, immediately put down his megaphone, and the crew carrying equipment quickly moved their carts aside to make way for a wide passage.
Even the scriptwriting team members, who were sitting in the corner ready to revise the details of the lines at any time, subconsciously stood up the moment they saw him.
Good morning, President!
"Good morning, Mr. Kitahara!"
Greetings rose and fell in waves, and in everyone's eyes and tone of voice, there was genuine respect and fear.
This is by no means out of politeness, but rather stems from the most instinctive obedience to those in power.
Looking across the entire Japanese entertainment industry, it is extremely rare to find someone who holds such an absolute, feudal monarch-like position in a large production crew of over a hundred people.
Even those so-called "national treasure-level veteran actors" who have been around for decades and are praised by countless people can never enjoy this kind of breathtaking awe until they sit in the position of wholly owned capital.
Actors such as Matsu Takako and Yanagiba Toshiro, who were waiting in the distance, silently watched Kitahara Shin's decisive figure in the center of the set.
Seeing that even the director had to listen to his opinions from time to time, everyone felt not only deep admiration, but also an indescribable envy and shock.
This young man has completely transcended the ranks of actors and stood at the pinnacle of rule-makers.
However, where there is light, there is also shadow. Not everyone is willing to fawn over this young leader.
Japanese society, especially the entertainment industry, is a place where seniority and the concept of seniority are so deeply ingrained that it can be almost pathological.
At the previous "Nikokai" gathering in Karuizawa, Kitahara Shin successfully persuaded a large number of veteran actors to make cameo appearances in the film crew, thanks to his grand business empire and highly persuasive speaking skills. However, among that group, there were still two or three veteran actors who, despite their long service and past popularity, harbored some resentment towards him.
Katsuta, the veteran actor who plays one of the "Three Great Masters" of the Wangan Police Station, Chief Kanda, is a representative figure among them.
Katsuta has been working in the industry for forty years, acting in countless Taiga dramas, and considers himself a successor of the orthodox acting school.
At the party in Karuizawa, although he outwardly agreed to make a cameo appearance with a smile, he was inwardly extremely displeased with Kitahara Shin's subtly superior attitude.
In his opinion, Kitahara Shin was too arrogant.
At that banquet full of senior figures, this young man in his early twenties showed absolutely no humility befitting a junior. He didn't pour drinks for these elders with trepidation, nor did he feel flattered by a compliment from a senior. Instead, he talked loudly and became the absolute center of attention in front of them.
What stung Katsuta even more was Kitahara Shin's gaze.
Those deep, ambitious eyes didn't care about the past glories of these old guys at all. That inherent contempt, no matter how well it was concealed, couldn't escape the intuition of these seasoned veterans who had spent half their lives in the world of fame and fortune.
This time, Katsuta and two other veteran actors with the same idea came to the film crew. Although they were there to get the generous salary and to take advantage of the popularity of "Bayside Shakedown" to promote themselves, they had another plan in mind.
"So what if you hold multiple jobs? So what if you're a full shareholder?"
Katsuta, dressed in the uniform of a high-ranking police officer, sat on his private chair in the rest area, took a sip of hot tea from his thermos, and coldly watched Kitahara Shin, who was directing the extras' movements, with a sneer of arrogance on his lips.
He was going to teach Kitahara Shin a lesson in his own way during the upcoming filming. He wanted this arrogant young man to understand a cruel truth—once the camera is on, the soul in the lens is ultimately the actor!
Didn't you create some kind of "fast-paced American TV series"? Didn't you require everyone to "recite lines while moving around, without pausing, and even repeating lines"?
Katsuta had no intention of listening to that. He planned to forcefully use the dramatic, rhythmic tone he had honed over decades in the ensemble performance later. He wanted to pause where necessary, leaving enough "dramatic blanks" to showcase his facial expressions.
He was determined to use this extremely domineering, veteran acting style to forcefully wrest control of the scene from Kitahara Shin's hands. He wanted to show Kitahara Shin through his actions: on this set, you can't control everything. Without the cooperation of us veteran actors, your so-called innovation is nothing but empty talk!
In this seemingly harmonious but actually turbulent atmosphere, all departments are ready.
The up-and-coming director, poached by Kitahara Shin with a high salary, sat behind the monitor, raised his walkie-talkie, and took a deep breath.
"Episode 1, Scene 1 of 'The Great Investigation Team,' everyone in position—Action!"
The script for the first episode of "Bayside Shakedown" is actually a huge irony.
The story begins with the protagonist, Shunsaku Aoshima, a top salesman who, driven by a passionate dream of "catching serious criminals and upholding justice," joins the Metropolitan Police Department and is assigned to the remote Wangan Police Station.
When he arrived, he discovered that the so-called police station didn't actually have that many sensational cases.
His daily tasks included helping his boss find lost golf clubs, dealing with petty theft in his jurisdiction, and handling endless bureaucratic reports.
Even more critically, the drama realistically depicts the strict hierarchical barriers between the "professional" and "non-professional" police forces in Japan. As a low-ranking detective in the non-professional unit, Aoshima Shunsaku doesn't even have the right to speak directly to the elite bureaucrats sent by the Metropolitan Police Department headquarters.
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This creates a striking and interesting contrast with reality.
On the actual film set, Kitahara Shin was a big investor, a top screenwriter, and an absolute tyrant who had the final say. All the staff had to bow and make way for him.
But as soon as the clapperboard is opened and the machine is turned on—
Kitahara Shin donned the slightly oversized military green trench coat, and his entire aura instantly shrank. His shoulders slumped slightly, and his face wore the obsequious and helpless expression typical of a lowly office worker as he frantically bowed and apologized to the arrogant superiors and elites of headquarters in the drama. This seamless switch from "set tyrant" to "punching bag cop" left the crew on set in awe.
With his terrifyingly strong acting skills and the added boost from passive items like the "Emotional Infection Aura" system equipment, Kitahara Shin's performance remained frighteningly consistent.
There's a legend circulating in the industry about him: any film crew with Shin Kitahara on set is guaranteed to have the highest shooting efficiency. Whenever he's in front of the camera, there's almost never a retake due to him forgetting his lines or not conveying the right emotions. If a reshoot is absolutely necessary, it's most likely because an extra was in the wrong position, or the lighting technician didn't set the slate properly.
However, this extremely smooth and efficient shooting rhythm was abruptly interrupted when the scene shifted to a group scene in the police station lobby in the afternoon.
This scene requires Shin Kitahara, who plays Shunsaku Aoshima, to have a rapid-fire dialogue with three high-ranking officers from the Wangan Police Station—the director, the deputy director, and the head of the criminal investigation department.
These three high-ranking supporting characters, jokingly referred to as the "Three Great Masters," were played by veteran actors Katsuta, Matsuhashi, and Yamazaki, invited by the Nikakai.
"Action!"
The camera began to pan rapidly. Kitahara Shin, carrying a coffee, walked quickly among the cluttered desks, reporting on the case at an extremely fast pace.
According to the rules set by Kitahara Shin, at this moment, the three high-ranking officials who are walking towards him should interrupt him immediately in an extremely impatient tone as they pass by, and even reiterate their lines at the end of Kitahara Shin's sentence.
However, when Kitahara Shin reached the designated spot, Katsuta, who was walking at the front, suddenly stopped.
This veteran actor, who has performed in Taiga dramas his entire life, deliberately paused for two seconds, giving himself so-called "dramatic reaction time," before reciting his lines in a pretentious and clear voice: "Qingdao, don't bother me with such trivial matters."
Following behind him, Matsuhashi and Yamazaki followed their old-fashioned rhythm, pausing occasionally to slowly and deliberately take their turn speaking.
Suddenly, the rhythm of the entire scene experienced an extremely unpleasant break. It was like a rock song that was originally full of explosive energy suddenly having a slow, sluggish operatic singing style forcibly inserted, making it seem extremely abrupt and unnatural.
"Card!"
The up-and-coming director sat behind the monitor, his brow furrowed. He certainly saw the problem, but these three were highly respected veterans in the entertainment industry, and he, a fledgling young director, dared not say anything harsh.
He could only stand up, walk to the center of the set, and suggest in an extremely tactful and objective tone: "Um—Katsuta-senpai, Matsuhashi-senpai, your movements during the blocking were fantastic. However, the overall pace of our play is a bit fast. Could you perhaps make the transitions between lines with Aoshima a little—more concise? No need for pauses."
Katsuta glanced at the young director, subtly adjusted the collar of his police uniform, and said slowly, "Director, if there's not a single pause, how can the audience see the contempt we high-ranking officials have for the lower ranks? Acting requires breathing."
Faced with this argument of relying on seniority, the up-and-coming director was speechless for a moment and could only look to Kitahara Shin for help.
Kitahara Shin didn't get angry at first. He stepped forward and smiled politely at the three senior photographers: "It's alright, maybe you guys aren't used to this fast-paced shooting style yet. Seniors, let's try again."
However, the second time, the third time, and the fourth time.
No matter how many times the scenes were reshot, Katsuta and his two companions remained defiant. Deep down, they didn't agree with this kind of "nonsense" acting style where the characters couldn't even speak properly. In fact, subconsciously, they wanted to use this method to suppress Kitahara Shin's arrogance and prove the irreplaceable nature of old-school acting.
The repeated takes brought the previously efficient operation of the film set to a standstill. The atmosphere began to become somewhat tense.
However, Kitahara Shin did not become furious because of the filming setbacks, as these veteran actors had expected.
He glanced at his watch and decisively gave the director the order: "Put this scene on hold. All departments, move to the next location immediately and shoot scenes fourteen and seventeen, Qingdao's solo scenes in the interrogation room, and the policewoman's dialogue scenes first. Don't waste lighting time here, everyone get moving!"
Since these three people are only playing supporting roles, Kitahara Shin doesn't need to stop the entire crew's work for them.
Filming is inherently done in a haphazard manner, but he has plenty of ways to circumvent this problem and maintain the efficient progress of the main crew.
With Kitahara Shin's command, the entire crew, like a precision instrument with its program reprogrammed, quickly and orderly turned their guns around.
The stagehands moved props, the lighting crew changed camera positions, and no one complained or dragged their feet.
In less than ten minutes, filming resumed on another set.
Meanwhile, the three veteran actors, Katsuta, Matsuhashi, and Yamazaki, who originally wanted to take control of the rhythm, were left out in the cold.
They sat on folding chairs in the rest area, holding hot tea provided by the crew, and watching the film set that had resumed operation not far away.
In the interrogation room scenes where they weren't present, Kitahara Shin faced off against several young actors, exchanging lines with lightning speed.
The ease with which he moved, and the chilling absolute control he displayed in front of the camera, evoked a complex and indescribable feeling in the three people sitting off-camera.
They originally intended to slow down the pace to give this arrogant junior a lesson and let him know the importance of veteran actors.
But the reality is that Kitahara Shin doesn't care about their manipulation at all.
He didn't even need to get angry; he simply changed the notice board in a very understated way, and that completely marginalized them.
That kind of disregard made these proud seniors feel an indescribable sense of powerlessness and loss, even more so than direct criticism.
As the sun set, the loudspeaker announced the end of the day inside the huge film studio.
For the entire afternoon, the crew operated like a finely wound-up machine, efficiently and smoothly completing the filming of all other scenes on the call sheet. Meanwhile, Katsuta, Matsuhashi, and Yamazaki, three veteran actors highly respected in the industry, sat on the cold benches in the rest area for several hours, watching Kitahara Shin effortlessly issue commands in various sets.
Until the very last moment before wrapping up, Kitahara Shin never mentioned again the matter of asking them to go back to the lobby to reshoot that group scene.
The staff began to pack up the equipment in an orderly manner. Kitahara Shin took off his military green trench coat and changed back into his regular clothes. He walked to the rest area and looked at the three senior colleagues whose expressions were already a little stiff, but his face still wore that kind and impeccable smile.
"Katsuta-senpai, Matsuhashi-senpai, Yamazaki-senpai, thank you all for spending so much time on set today." Kitahara Shin bowed slightly politely, his tone extremely relaxed and natural. "The other scenes have been completed ahead of schedule today, and everyone is quite exhausted."
As for the group scene in the lobby, we're not in a hurry at all. We've booked the entire studio. We'll see when the production manager schedules a suitable time tomorrow or next week, and then we'll film it at our leisure. Everyone, please go home and get some rest.
These words were spoken so politely, they could even be described as incredibly considerate.
But to Katsuta and his seasoned veterans, every word he uttered exuded a chilling sense of ease and confidence. Kitahara Shin's attitude was clear: on this set, the crew's operations would not be halted in the slightest by the absence of their cooperation.
If you're willing to play by the rules, you're welcome anytime; if you want to compete, then you can stay on the sidelines.
From the very beginning, Kitahara Shin never placed his hopes for controlling the quality and pacing of the work on these so-called "veteran actors." What he always trusted most was the industrial standards he set himself.
Watching Kitahara Shin turn and leave, Katsuta held his now-cold teacup, the veins on the back of his hand bulging slightly.
An indescribable sense of frustration and humiliation gnawed at the hearts of these three senior figures like venomous snakes. They had spent most of their lives struggling in this hierarchical circle, working themselves to the bone to accumulate their current seniority and social status, where they were treated like royalty wherever they went.
But today, right on this set, their lofty "seniority privileges" were completely stripped away in an extremely casual way by a young man who had only been making a name for himself in the industry for five or six years. What made them feel most powerless was that the other party was not only the lead actor and screenwriter, but also an absolute power with a checkbook in hand; they didn't even have the right to threaten to "strike."
"That kid—he's utterly arrogant!" Songqiao gritted his teeth and muttered under his breath.
"Let's go, stop making a fool of ourselves here." Katsuta took a deep breath, stood up, his face so gloomy it looked like it could drip water. "Let's find a place in Ginza tonight, and we old folks can have a good drink."
The three big shots who originally wanted to intimidate the newcomer ended up leaving the set in a huff, feeling frustrated and resentful.
Meanwhile, in Tokyo's Minato Ward, far from the film set, inside a top-tier, private restaurant that is not open to the public.
If the conflict that occurred on the set of "Bayside Shakedown" during the day was merely a power struggle within the production team, then the issue brewing in this Japanese-style room at this moment concerns the future power structure of the entire Japanese entertainment industry.
Several middle-aged men in suits sat cross-legged on the tatami mats. Some were presidents of traditional large talent agencies, some were representatives of the capital conglomerates behind major television stations, and some were even behind-the-scenes figures in the traditional record industry.
In the past year or two, although Kitahara Shin has been incredibly popular, producing hit dramas like "Legal High" that broke viewership records, the real big shots behind the scenes haven't actually gotten really angry.
In their view, no matter how much trouble Kitahara Shin caused or how many Cannes awards he won, he was essentially still collaborating with traditional institutions like Fuji TV. As long as he continued to produce TV dramas and movies, he was contributing to the popularity of this vast entertainment ecosystem, playing games on the "table" they had built. Everyone made money together; it was just that Kitahara Shin took a slightly larger slice of the pie.
However, in the last two weeks, the situation has changed in an extremely alarming way.
The informants and business investigation companies planted by various parties have sent back extremely dangerous intelligence: Kitahara Shin has begun to aggressively expand into new industries, using the billions of dollars in cash flow he has amassed from the financial market and photo booth machines.
He established a wholly-owned peripheral planning company, directly bypassing the traditional IP licensing committee; he acquired clothing factories,
The toy factory and printing factory are preparing to create an independent product system entirely under their own personal brand; he is even establishing his own direct sales and distribution channels, attempting to directly convert the massive traffic brought by film and television dramas into huge profits in the real economy.
This isn't just about winning money at the card table; this is about overturning the traditional entertainment industry's card table!
"Everyone has seen the report on the table, right?"
The president of a long-established agency, who was sitting in the main seat, put down his sake cup, and his tone became more solemn than ever before.
"The latest series of actions by Kitahara Productions goes beyond what an artist's studio should do. They want to make merchandise, they want to get involved in the real economy, and they want to control the entire process from scriptwriting to product monetization."
Another executive scoffed and continued, "If he really succeeds in making this model work, and earns ten or a hundred times more money selling merchandise and his personal brand than he does from acting, what do you think the consequences will be? Then all the top artists in the industry will follow suit. Who will still be willing to obediently accept the agency's cut? Who will still respect us so-called 'capital'?"
A long silence fell over the room. A subtle tension lingered on everyone's face.
They finally realized that the young man, who was originally just a very good actor, had unknowingly swelled into a monster on the verge of going out of control.
"We can't let him continue to develop so smoothly." The president, sitting at the head of the table, had a sinister look in his eyes and tapped his fingers lightly on the table. "We need to have an open and frank discussion about how to set some new rules for him, regarding his current new companies and the 'Great Investigation Line' that's being filmed."