Chapter 146: Eiji Kurosawa Steps Aside! The True Immortal! Hiroshi Nohara!
These words, like the last withered leaf in autumn, carried a chill of self-mockery, drifting onto the desolate filming location on the outskirts of Tokyo.
The wind carried the scent of dust and withered grass.
In the distance, the simple townhouses, temporarily erected for filming and filled with period style, appeared somewhat unreal and desolate under the wan afternoon sunlight.
A few plastic bags with convenience store logos tumbled in the autumn wind, bumping against icy cold equipment cases, making rustling sounds.
“Everyone, buck up!”
Assistant Director Shohei Soejima, a man nearing forty with sunken eyes and a face etched with sleep deprivation, was weakly shouting into a megaphone that had long since gone hoarse, addressing the staff members slumped on the ground in small groups, their expressions numb.
Beside him, the editor Ichiro Watanabe, a man wearing thick black-rimmed glasses and appearing quite refined, was using a glasses cloth to repeatedly, almost neurotically, wipe his already spotless lenses.
“I really don’t understand, what is Director Kurosawa thinking?”
In a corner, a young assistant in charge of lighting lowered his voice and complained to his companion, his tone filled with suppressed irritation: “Didn’t the film already finish shooting and enter the rough cut stage? Why did he suddenly call us all back? Saying… they need to do reshoots? Does he know we’ve been pulling all-nighters for almost a month to meet his damn schedule!”
“Tell me about it.”
Another worker in charge of props took a deep drag from his cigarette, inhaling the pungent smoke deep into his lungs, then exhaling slowly, as if to expel all the resentment in his heart: “I heard the board of directors cut the director’s budget again. This is the third time. I guess the director isn’t willing to give up and wants to create some new tricks with the least amount of money.”
“Tricks? He gets to have his fun with tricks, but it’s us subordinates who suffer, right?”
The lighting assistant pouted, his eyes filled with contempt and disdain for the “artistic pursuits” of those in power: “I’ve seen it all. This line of work is a bottomless pit. You can never satisfy those so-called ‘great directors’. They talk about ‘for art,’ but in reality, they’re using our blood and sweat to prop up their own pathetic, outdated pride.”
The resentful conversation stirred resonance among the crowd.
But everyone remained silent, yet on their tired faces, a kind of numbness called resignation emerged.
So what?
This is Director Eiji Kurosawa, who dares to offend him?
Shohei Soejima and Ichiro Watanabe exchanged glances, seeing a deep sense of helplessness in each other’s eyes.
They knew, of course, that Director Kurosawa’s film, 《The Blacksmith’s Samurai》, had been full of twists and turns since its inception.
They had also seen the rough cut sample film.
Frankly, it was a samurai film of a higher caliber.
Whether it was the composition, the score, or the actors’ performances, it bore Eiji Kurosawa’s signature, uniquely imbued with tragic aesthetics.
But…
It was merely “above average.”
It was too flat.
As flat as a cup of lukewarm water, which, though thirst-quenching, offered no hint of surprise or aftertaste.
Just like the samurai films Eiji Kurosawa had made in his later era.
The beginning, the process.
The ending.
All predictable!
Even with a small anti-trope incorporated, what of it?
They knew that the golden age belonging to Eiji Kurosawa, an era where he could cleave the entire era with a samurai sword, had truly passed.
Amidst this atmosphere of oppression and dullness, several familiar-looking minivans, quite incongruously, slowly drove into the desolate filming location.
The car doors opened, and several young actors dressed in fashionable casual wear, with looks of curiosity and confusion on their faces, stepped out.
It was Fujii Tree, Xiao Xunhua, and the core Kanto Faction actors who had shone brightly in 《World of the Strange》.
“Mr. Soejima, Mr. Watanabe.”
Fujii Tree, a popular actor among the younger generation, walked forward, bowed respectfully to the two seniors, a hint of confusion on his handsome face: “Director Kurosawa suddenly called us over, is there… any new arrangement? I recall, for the film 《The Blacksmith’s Samurai》, we… weren’t supposed to be in it, right?”
“I don’t know either.”
Shohei Soejima shook his head with a wry smile, his tired face mirroring the same confusion as the other: “The director just told me to call all the Kanto Faction actors I could reach, saying… they were going to shoot a brand new scene.”
“A brand new scene?”
Everyone was stunned.
They looked at the “samurai-style” set before them, then at their own modern casual wear, and disbelief and absurdity were written on every face.
Just then, a steady roar, like the engine of a top-tier sports car, approached from a distance.
Everyone’s gaze, like iron filings attracted by a magnet, was focused uniformly on the slowly approaching, all-black, sleek, and elegantly lined business car.
The car door slid open silently.
Eiji Kurosawa’s figure, like a drawn samurai sword, carrying the unyielding spirit of an old-era artisan, appeared at the doorway.
The scene instantly fell silent.
Everyone subconsciously straightened up, a sense of instinctive awe appearing on their faces.
However, before their respectful greetings could be uttered, another figure, closely following, stepped unhurriedly from the imposing business car.
It was a young man dressed in simple casual wear, a signature gentle smile on his face.
He exuded a calm and stable aura like the warm autumn sun, as if he were not at a dusty and tired filming location but taking a leisurely stroll in his own back garden.
It was Hiroshi Nohara.
“…”
The entire filming location was plunged into an eerie silence where not a pin could be heard.
Everyone stared blankly at the figure, their faces filled with disbelieving shock.
How… how could he be here?!
Shohei Soejima and Ichiro Watanabe stood frozen like statues.
While they knew that Director Kurosawa had a good relationship with Minister Nohara, who had recently made a splash at Tokyo Television Station, this was a film set. What was Hiroshi Nohara, who made animated films, television dramas, and variety shows, doing here?
Didn’t Director Kurosawa mention excitedly on his mobile phone that he had invited a savior?
This savior… was Hiroshi Nohara!?
“Minister Nohara!”
Amidst this shock and absurdity, a cheer, filled with unrestrained, almost fanatical joy, exploded like thunder without warning!
Fujii Tree, Xiao Xunhua, and the other Kanto Faction actors, like travelers who had trekked through the desert for decades and finally saw an oasis, rushed out of the crowd almost simultaneously!
On their young faces, the confusion and bewilderment from moments ago were gone.
Replaced by ecstasy upon seeing their main pillar!
“Minister! How did you get here!”
“That’s great! Now that you’re here, we’re at ease!”
Like a flock of little birds finding shelter, they chirped around Hiroshi Nohara, their heartfelt affection and trust evident.
That fanaticism even infected the surrounding staff members, who belonged to the “Kurosawa Group.”
They looked at the young man, who was the center of attention, and then at their own director, who, though still authoritative, now seemed like a forgotten isolated island, appearing somewhat forlorn.
Their hearts, already filled with resentment, felt a complex emotion at that moment.
Eiji Kurosawa quietly watched the dramatic scene unfold.
His face revealed neither joy nor anger.
But a deep melancholy, like that of a hero in twilight, quietly appeared in the depths of his eyes.
His era had perhaps truly passed.
“Alright.”
Eiji Kurosawa spoke slowly, his voice hoarse, yet still carrying immense weight, instantly suppressing the fanatical clamor.
He looked at the group of “Kanto Faction actors” who had been revitalized by the arrival of a young man, and then at the “Kurosawa Group veterans” behind him, whose edges had been smoothed by reality.
He couldn’t help but sigh softly.
He turned around and said to the filming team who were looking at him, in a deep voice: “From today, the project 《The Blacksmith’s Samurai》 is officially abandoned!”
“Boom—!”
The words exploded like an atomic bomb in everyone’s minds!
“Di- Director! Wh- what are you saying?!” Shohei Soejima’s voice trembled with disbelief.
“Abandoned? Then… then all our efforts over the past few months… would be wasted?!” Ichiro Watanabe’s face was also filled with horror.
However, Eiji Kurosawa merely waved his hand calmly, turned around, and under countless gazes filled with shock and confusion, slowly directed his eyes towards the young man who had been smiling calmly from beginning to end.
He said lightly:
“From today, we will embark on a brand new project.”
He paused, and under the countless stares, already utterly shaken by his words, slowly said:
“Its name is—”
“—《Seven Samurai》!”
“And for this film, the chief planner, chief screenwriter, and… co-director.”
In Eiji Kurosawa’s eyes, a desperate madness burned, capable of incinerating the entire old era!
Eiji Kurosawa pointed directly at Hiroshi Nohara.
And shouted:
“—It is him, Hiroshi Nohara!”
“…”
The entire world seemed to have hit the mute button.
Everyone stared blankly at Eiji Kurosawa and Hiroshi Nohara, their gazes quickly darting between the two.
On their faces, only unmasked astonishment remained.
The shock-induced daze.
A first-class director, long established, declaring he would abandon his life’s work and have everyone follow the command of this young man, who had only recently graduated and hadn’t even been at Tokyo Television Station for half a year.
To continue filming a samurai film that even a master like Eiji Kurosawa, a giant in the samurai film genre, was willing to cooperate with!?
What the hell… does this make any sense?!
What was happening to the world?!
Assistant Director Shohei Soejima felt his brain had completely crashed.
He opened his mouth, and his tired face was now filled with only the bewilderment of having his worldview shattered.
He even suspected he was hallucinating due to lack of sleep.
“What are you all standing around for?!”
Eiji Kurosawa’s impatient roar, like thunder from a clear sky, finally tore through the eerie silence!
His sharp eyes swept across the entire venue, his gaze like a thoroughly angered lion, filled with unquestionable authority: “Didn’t you hear what I said?! Set construction! Props! Costumes! Get everything moving! And set up that meeting tent over there immediately!”
He pointed to a relatively open flat ground nearby, his posture like a warring states daimyo issuing commands.
But this time, all his commands pointed towards a single core objective.
He turned to the young man who had been calmly smiling all along and made a gesture of “please.”
“Chief Director Nohara, can we… begin?”
Chief Director Nohara?!
These three words, like three heavy siege hammers, struck the defenses of everyone present once more!
If they had harbored a sliver of hope earlier, believing this was just a fleeting joke by Director Kurosawa.
Then now, when these three words, uttered by this master who had been aloof for a lifetime, in a tone almost like “a subordinate reporting for duty,” everyone knew…
The world had truly changed.
“Okay, Director Kurosawa,” Hiroshi Nohara nodded with a smile.
Ignoring the shocked gazes that could have burned him alive, he walked with a composed stride, personally led by the legendary director, into the simple meeting tent that a few staff members had hastily erected.
Inside the tent, a folding long table and a few plastic chairs were all the furnishings.
Hiroshi Nohara sat down calmly in the chair symbolizing the main seat, his gaze calmly sweeping over the confused core members of the film crew, who were being pushed and shoved into the tent by Shohei Soejima like puppets.
“Everyone, I know you have many questions right now.”
Hiroshi Nohara said directly: “However, before I answer your questions, I’d like to tell you a story first.”
As he spoke, under countless gazes filled with confusion, doubt, bewilderment, and curiosity, he unhurriedly began to construct the world of the film.
“The story takes place in Japan’s Warring States period, in a poor mountain village plagued by mountain bandits…”
His voice was calm, without any intonation, like the most skilled storyteller, using the most ordinary tone to slowly unveil a grand scroll filled with blood and fire.
He told of the seven samurai with their distinct personalities, yet all filled with tragic color.
He spoke of the seemingly simple, yet in reality more cunning and pitiable than the mountain bandits, the farmers.
The autumn wind howled outside the tent.
Inside the tent, however, there was a deathly silence.
Everyone held their breath, and the initial numbness and disdain were gone from their faces.
Replaced by a profound shock of being utterly conquered by an absolute genius’s vision!
The young screenwriter who was responsible for recording had already stopped writing. He listened blankly, with two burning flames of pilgrimage in his eyes hidden behind thick lenses!
“…In the end, the mountain bandits were eliminated, and the village was saved. The villagers sang and danced, celebrating the harvest. Among the three surviving samurai, one said—’We lost again; the farmers won.'”
When Hiroshi Nohara finished the last word, he picked up the cup of long-cooled barley tea in front of him and took a sip.
The entire tent was still silent enough to hear a pin drop.
After a long pause, a suppressed gasp of admiration broke the silence!
“This… this… this is simply… divine!” the young screenwriter murmured, his voice trembling with utter defeat.
He had never imagined that a story about samurai could be told so grandly and so deeply touch the heart!
“Alright, the story is finished.”
Hiroshi Nohara put down the teacup, and under countless gazes already completely convinced by him, slowly placed the thick folder, ready and brick-like, in the center of the table.
“These are some of my immature thoughts, and some storyboard drafts I’ve drawn. You can… refer to them.”
Refer?
Shohei Soejima, a senior assistant director who had been at the Kurosawa Group for nearly ten years, opened the folder.
Then, his pupils suddenly contracted into the most dangerous pinpoint!
Where were these “drafts”?!
These were undeniably complete, infuriatingly precise, to the point of every camera angle and every character’s expression being perfect, god-tier storyboard drafts!
The flowing lines, the composition full of tension, and the unique cinematic flair revealed between the lines, which had long surpassed the aesthetic standards of this era…
It was like the sharpest samurai sword, fiercely cleaving through the fetters of his mind, long confined by the traditional filmmaking process!
“This… this…” His voice trembled with an almost uncontrollable tremor.
He had initially thought this young man was merely a genius storyteller.
But he could never have imagined that the other person would… would use this manga-like approach to vividly present every image of a film that had not yet begun shooting, right before his eyes!
“Do you have any more questions?” Hiroshi Nohara’s voice calmly rang out.
“No… no!”
Shohei Soejima abruptly stood up and, facing the young man, deeply, deeply bowed.
A perfect ninety-degree bow, filled with awe and conviction!
“Director Nohara! Please… please, let us follow you! And bring this great work into the world!”
“Please, let us follow you!”
Inside the tent, all the core members of the film crew, at that moment, seemed to be drawn by an invisible force and stood up in unison, offering a solemn bow to the young man!
Watching all this, Eiji Kurosawa slowly revealed a smile, not one of dejection, but of happiness from being recognized.
…
Outside the tent, in the open space, the atmosphere still held a subtle sense of division.
The Kanto Faction actors, who had been temporarily gathered, were chatting in small groups, their faces filled with excitement and expectation.
Meanwhile, the veterans of the “Kurosawa Group” maintained their innate sense of distance, observing everything with a cool gaze.
“Fujii-san, what do you think the Department Head is trying to film this time? Why did he even invite Director Kurosawa?” Xiao Xunhua, a young actress who had a stunning performance in World of the Strange, asked curiously to the young man beside her, who was already a leading figure among the younger generation of the Kanto Faction, Fujii Tree.
“Who knows,” Fujii Tree shrugged, his handsome face holding an almost blind confidence: “But since the Department Head is personally in charge, it’s definitely going to be good! We just need to wait and see the show.”
“Hmph, easy for you to say.”
Not far away, a master craftsman responsible for lighting, who had worked for the Kurosawa Group for nearly twenty years, heard this and couldn’t help but let out a cold snort of contempt from his nose.
He spat out his cigarette butt, crushed it with the sole of his shoe, and looked at them as if they were naive youngsters who didn’t know their place.
“Filmmaking isn’t your childish games. It’s an art that needs to be honed bit by bit with time and experience. And a television drama director dares to lecture Director Kurosawa? It’s utterly preposterous!”
“Exactly!”
Another old worker responsible for props nodded in agreement, his voice filled with the sense of superiority of a veteran: “We’ve been with Director Kurosawa for almost thirty years, and what kind of geniuses haven’t we seen? But in the end? Didn’t they all have to obediently follow the director’s rules? The film industry is much deeper than you think.”
This statement, filled with an air of condescension, brought a flicker of displeasure to Fujii Tree’s handsome face.
He was about to retort when the curtain of the meeting tent was suddenly thrown open.
Eiji Kurosawa, his figure like a drawn samurai sword, strode out.
His face bore an air of authority.
Everyone subconsciously stood up.
“Director Kurosawa!”
“Director!”
“What are your orders, Director?”
Everyone looked at Eiji Kurosawa.
But Eiji Kurosawa was only holding a few simple sketches of seven samurai characters, torn from that stack of divine storyboard drafts.
“Taiji Miyoshi!” he then announced, his booming voice resounding through the set like thunder!
The man called out was a middle-aged actor nearing fifty, his eyes carrying a hint of worldly weariness.
He paused for a moment and quickly stepped out from the crowd.
“Here!”
“You, play Kanbei!” Eiji Kurosawa heavily placed a drawing sheet covered in small text into his hand: “Go back! Memorize the character synopsis! I want you to portray that compassion of someone who has seen through life and death, yet still chooses to stand up!”
“Yes!” Taiji Miyoshi nodded heavily, his composed face filled with irrepressible excitement!
Although he didn’t quite grasp the situation.
This was a drawing and synopsis given to him by Director Eiji Kurosawa!
“Shunpei Makino!” Eiji Kurosawa spoke again.
“Here!” A young actor with a hint of defiance in his eyes stepped forward.
“You, play Chiyo!” Eiji Kurosawa handed him another sketch: “I want you to portray that beast-like vitality and childlike innocence! I want the audience to see you, and feel like they’re looking at a beast that could break free from its restraints at any moment!”
“Yes!”
“Ryuji Fushimi!”
“Here!”
“You, play Kyuzo! I want you to portray that absolute calmness of someone who would sacrifice everything for kendo!”
“Yes!”
…
Name after name exploded like thunder from his lips!
Drawing after drawing was handed out like military orders to the actors, who had already been completely stunned by his decisive actions!
The entire casting process was clean and efficient, without a hint of hesitation!
The precise grasp of actor’s temperament and the absolute control unique to a top director were fully displayed at this moment!
They looked at their director, who seemed to have regained his peak condition in an instant, with much confusion.
Logically, such minor matters as casting shouldn’t require Director Kurosawa’s personal involvement, right?
However, before they could recover from their shock, a voice filled with confusion, yet tinged with unwillingness, sounded inappropriately.
“Um… Director Kurosawa.”
The older gentleman who was previously in charge of lighting hesitated for a moment, then mustered his courage and stepped forward, asking in a tone as diplomatic as possible, “Are we… really going to film a completely new movie? Then… then who is in charge of this movie?”
This question voiced the inner thoughts of all the “Kurosawa Group” members present.
They looked at their director, as majestic as a deity, their eyes filled with a final, tiny struggle.
However, Eiji Kurosawa merely glanced at him calmly, his gaze like that of someone looking at a disobedient child: “Wasn’t I clear before? Don’t you know who the actual Chief Director is?”
He still answered them: “I said it! It’s… Hiroshi Nohara!”
…
The entire world seemed to hit the mute button again.
The lighting technician stood frozen, his already dark face draining of all color in an instant.
Including all the members of the Kurosawa Group’s filming team, their faces showed expressions of both grievance and bewilderment.
In their hearts, Eiji Kurosawa had always been a god-like existence!
“Wow!” The young entertainers from the Kanto Faction, however, all expressed surprised delight.
Looking towards the tent, their eyes burned with even greater fanaticism.
Because they knew.
Hiroshi Nohara.
Was the true, god!
