raknovel Chapter 146 Soundtrack
Chapter 146 Soundtrack
Chapter 146 Soundtrack
In the final farewell scene, Li Jun made a bold move, not using cross-cutting, but instead using two long takes.
The first shot follows Tse Ting-Feng, from seeing Qin Hai-Lu, to passing by him, to his figure disappearing around the corner, all in one smooth motion.
Then the camera cuts to Qin Hailu's perspective, which is also a long shot, showing her husband getting further and further away.
That slow, silent, inevitable separation is more powerful than any sentimental music or dialogue.
The film ends on an empty dirt road. The wind blows, and the wild grass sways.
The subtitles slowly rose, with no background music, only the sound of the wind.
When the lights came on, the screening room was completely silent.
After a long silence, Kent Chan spoke first, his voice a little hoarse: "Little Li, this film is a success."
Yuan Tao wiped his eyes: "Li Jun, this is the most restrained war film I've ever seen."
No, it's not even a war film; it's an allegory about how beauty survives in ruins.
Producer Lao Zhou is quite pragmatic: "Artistically, it's impeccable, but commercially, it's very risky."
Modern audiences prefer fast-paced, high-energy shows. This show is too quiet; I'm afraid—"
"Afraid the audience won't stay seated?"
Chen Zeshi then spoke.
"Then find audience members who can sit still."
This play wasn't meant for everyone; it's for those who are willing to slow down, appreciate beauty, time, and memories.
Li Jun listened to their discussion, feeling both gratified and heavy-hearted.
The good news is that the film has been well-received. The bad news is that Lao Zhou was right; commercial risks definitely exist.
"Xiao Li, what are your plans?"
Chen Zeshi asked.
"First, finish the post-production: music, color grading, and mixing."
Li Jun said.
"Then send it to film festivals. The domestic market—we'll see how things go."
"Film festivals are a good approach."
Yuan Tao said.
"I would like film festivals with a tradition of art films, such as Cannes, Venice, and Berlin."
"But film festivals can't put food on the table."
Old Zhou reminded him.
"Movies always have to be released and face an audience."
"Then face it."
Li Jun said.
"I believe that good movies will have their own audience."
The discussion continued late into the night.
Finally, everyone reached a consensus:
First, perfect the post-production process, and at the same time, develop two publicity plans: one for film festivals and art-house cinemas, emphasizing the film's artistic and philosophical depth.
A series targeting the mass market, showcasing the performances of Nicholas Tse and Qin Hailu, and a love story set against the backdrop of war.
Although there were some compromises, this is the reality.
As the event ended, Kent Chan patted Li Jun on the shoulder: "Little Li, don't put too much pressure on yourself."
The fact that this film was made is a victory. As for whether it will be seen by more people, that depends on timing, location, and the right people.
Li Jun nodded: "I understand, Mr. Chen."
After seeing everyone off, Li Jun was left alone in the screening room.
He brought up the last shot of the movie again: an empty dirt road with wild grass swaying in the wind.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then he turned off the machine and walked out of the building.
The autumn nights in Beijing are already quite chilly.
The streets were sparsely populated, and the streetlights cast a dim, yellowish glow on the wet ground.
In the distance, there was the sound of a night bus engine and the faint glow of neon lights.
He walked slowly along the sidewalk, aimlessly, just walking.
My phone vibrated; it was a message from Jane Zhang: "The Guangzhou show is over, and I'm on the plane back to Beijing. How's the rough cut?"
Li Jun replied, "The response has been very positive, but I'm worried about its commercial viability."
Soon after, Jane Zhang replied: "Commercial appeal is important, but your films have never been made for commercial purposes."
Do you remember what you said in southern Anhui? You said that movies are a form of resistance.
What are we resisting?
What we're resisting is the mindset that "everything must be commercialized."
Li Jun smiled as he read this passage.
Yes, the things he figured out under the starry sky in southern Anhui, on the stone bridge, how could he forget them as soon as he returned to Beijing?
Film is resistance.
Resist forgetting, resist superficiality, resist all forces that want to turn art into fast food.
Even if resistance fails, it's better than never having resisted at all.
He put away his phone and continued walking.
He walked into a 24-hour bookstore as he passed by.
The bookstore was quiet late at night, with only a few young people reading or studying.
He walked to the art bookshelf and randomly picked out a picture book.
It's a collection of paintings by Bada Shanren. Opening it, you're greeted by a sense of detachment, aloofness, and simplicity.
A bird, a stone, a few strokes of withered branches, and a large expanse of blank space.
But that spiritual power, even after three hundred years, still resonates.
Li Jun stood in front of the bookshelf, turning the pages one by one.
He thought of Lin Shen.
That fictional painter, if he were in reality, would probably be like Bada Shanren, who used his brush and ink to preserve his spiritual independence amidst the changing dynasties.
I also thought of Lin Mo.
That young painter was searching for his own path between tradition and modernity.
He also thought of himself.
Between commerce and art, between applause and loneliness, we seek the true nature of film.
Perhaps all art, in the final analysis, follows the same path: expressing infinite spirit within finite forms.
In a fleeting moment in time and space, we pursue eternal values.
He bought the picture book.
As I walked out of the bookstore, the sky was already beginning to lighten.
Another sleepless night.
But Li Jun didn't feel tired. On the contrary, a clear and firm strength rose from the bottom of his heart.
He knew what he had to do.
Post-production has entered its second phase: soundtrack.
This is a crucial part of "Mountains and Rivers Enter Dreams".
The film itself is very quiet, with few lines and a slow pace. The music not only enhances the emotions but also fills those silent spaces, becoming another kind of "dialogue".
The composer Li Jun wanted to find was Chen Qigang, whom he had already decided on on the plane.
Chen Qigang is a composer who lived in France and is skilled at blending traditional Chinese musical elements with modern composition techniques.
His score for "The Flowers of War" perfectly blends Eastern melancholy with Western grandeur, capturing the essence of the film.
The problem is, Chen Qigang is very difficult to meet.
He spends most of his time in France, is very selective about the projects he takes on, and charges high prices.
After making phone calls for three days, Yuan Tao finally got in touch with Chen Qigang's assistant through an intermediary.
The reply was: Professor Chen is currently preparing works for the Paris Autumn Concert and will not have time for the next six months.
Are there any other options?
Yuan Tao asked.
Li Jun flipped through the composers' portfolios, looking at each one one by one.
Some were too traditional, some too modern, and some too commercial. None of them were what he wanted.
"How about we try out a newcomer?"
Old Yang suggested, "There are some young composers with fresh ideas, and their prices are reasonable."
"Newcomers face greater risks."
Li Jun shook his head.
"The soundtrack is half the soul of a film; we can't take risks."
Just as I was worrying, Lin Mo called.
"Director Li, I'm sorry to bother you."
Lin Mo's voice sounded hesitant.
"I heard from Mr. Yuan Tao that you are looking for a composer?"
"Yes, do you have any recommendations?"
"I know a friend named Su He, who is a composer."
He's a bit special, would you like to meet him?
"What's so special about it?"
"He doesn't use traditional musical instruments, nor does he use electronic music."
He used a natural sound.
The sounds of wind, water, stones rubbing together, leaves rustling, and people breathing and heartbeats.
Lin Mo paused.
He said that music is not man-made, but exists in nature itself.
The composer is merely a discoverer and organizer.
Li Jun became interested: "Does he have any works?"
"Yes, I'll send it to your email."
After hanging up the phone, Li Jun opened his email.
Lin Mo sent a compressed file containing several audio files and a PDF resume.
Su He, born in 1988, graduated from the Composition Department of the Central Conservatory of Music, and later studied in Germany under the tutelage of the renowned avant-garde composer 0.
After returning to China, he did not enter the mainstream music scene, but instead established a "sound lab" to collect various natural and environmental sounds for creative purposes.
Li Jun put on his headphones and played the first audio clip.
Title: Mountain Whispers.
At first, there was absolute silence, then gradually sounds began to seep in: distant rumbles of thunder, the sound of raindrops falling on leaves, the sound of wind blowing through the bamboo forest, and the sound of stream water flowing over stones.
These sounds have been carefully processed, with rhythm, layers, and a sense of melody, yet they retain their natural authenticity.
Then a human voice joins in, not singing, but chanting, a sigh. It's a few monosyllable hums.
Human voices and natural sounds intertwine, like the mountains speaking and the water singing.
The entire piece lasted fifteen minutes, and after listening to it, Li Jun didn't take off his headphones for a long time.
This is the sound he wanted.
It's not traditional folk music, nor is it Western orchestral music; it's the sound of this land itself, the breath of the mountains and rivers of southern Anhui.
He immediately instructed Yuan Tao to contact Su He.
We arranged to meet at Suhe's studio, in a secluded corner of the 798 Art District.
The studio was large, but it was filled with all sorts of strange equipment:
A tape recorder, a spectrometer, sound processing equipment, and an entire wall of hard drives labeled "Huangshan Wind Sounds," "West Lake Rain Sounds," and "Dunhuang Sand Sounds" —
Su He himself is different from what I imagined.
He wasn't a long-haired, artistic young man, but a young man with a buzz cut and wearing work pants who looked more like an engineer.
"Hello, Director Li."
He shook hands firmly.
"Lin Mo told me about your movie, and I'm very interested."
"I was deeply moved after listening to your 'Mountain Whispers'."
Li Jun got straight to the point.
"I would like to ask you to compose the music for 'Dreams of Mountains and Rivers'."
Su He didn't agree immediately, but asked, "Can I watch the movie first?"
Li Jun brought a rough cut of the hard drive.
They watched it once in the studio's small screening room.
After the movie ended, Su He remained silent for a long time.
"This movie ————"
He spoke slowly.
"It's not for looking at, it's for listening to."
Li Jun was taken aback: "What do you mean?"
"Its rhythm, its silence, its blank spaces, all invite the audience to listen with their ears, to hear the sound of the wind, the sound of the rain, the sound of ink rubbing on paper, and the sound of the characters' breathing."
Su He's eyes lit up.
"Traditional soundtracks would ruin the listening experience." What I needed to do wasn't to add music, but to refine and enhance the sounds that were already there.
"How exactly do we do it?"
"For example, the scene in the bamboo forest."
Suhe retrieved that footage.
"Right now, there are only ambient sounds and the actors' breathing sounds."
But I can collect the real sounds of the bamboo forests in southern Anhui: the sound of the wind passing through the bamboo leaves in different seasons, the sound of bamboo stalks rubbing against each other, and the sound of bamboo shoots breaking through the soil.
Then these sounds were processed rhythmically to create a "bamboo forest symphony." Not melody, but rhythm, a texture.
He then brought up the scene of burning the painting: "The sound of fire. The sound of fire is different depending on the burning material."
The burning of Xuan paper produces a crisp crackling sound, while the burning of a scroll produces a deep rumbling sound.
I can collect various sounds of burning and combine them into the language of fire. I can then synchronize this language with the characters' breathing and heartbeats.
Li Jun became more and more excited as he listened.
This is exactly what he wanted: not external music, but an inner poetic sound.
"But you have to make sure the final effect isn't too experimental; it has to be acceptable to the average viewer."
Yuan Tao offered a reminder.
"After all, the movie is going to be released."
"I will find a balance between experimentation and audibility."
Su He said.
"Moreover, I will retain some traditional elements, such as a few single notes of the guqin and a few long notes of the xiao."
But it's not the main theme; it's an embellishment, like a seal on a painting.
And so, the collaboration was finalized.
For the next month, Li Jun spent almost every day in Su He's studio.
They listened to the materials together and discussed the sound design for each scene.
Su He's working method is very special. He doesn't write scores, but directly operates on the sound processing software, dragging, stretching, superimposing, and deforming various sampled sounds.
When composing music for the play about Lin Shen painting, Su He collected sounds of brushes rubbing on rice paper, ink grinding, and water droplets falling into an inkstone.
He slowed down and lengthened these sounds, creating a rhythmic, meditative background. Then he added minimalist guqin plucking, which only played once every ten seconds or so, like an inscription on a painting.
In the cellar scene, Su He created three layers of sound: the bottom layer was the echo of the cellar itself and the sound of soil and stones rubbing together.
The middle layer simulates distant explosions, which are then processed into a rhythmic, oppressive pulse.
At the top level, the sounds of Xie Tingfeng and Qin Hailu's breathing and heartbeats were slightly amplified and became dominant.
The most exciting scene was the final farewell scene.
Su He didn't add any music; he only did two things:
First, the sound of the wind was enhanced, turning ordinary wind sounds into a sobbing, melodic background.
Secondly, it incorporated extremely faint, almost inaudible bell sounds—not real bells, but samples of temple bell sounds.
Slow it down a hundred times, stretch it out, and it becomes a faint, almost imperceptible sound that symbolizes the passage of time.
"The audience may not be able to hear the bell."
Su He said.
"But you can feel it subconsciously."
Just like in movies, some things aren't said directly; they're implied in the air.
A month later, the first draft of the soundtrack was completed.
Li Jun invited Chen Zeshi and the others to listen again. This time, it wasn't in a screening room, but in a professional mixing studio with the best sound system.
Once the film is accompanied by sound, it becomes a completely different work.
Those originally quiet shots become full of tension because of the carefully designed sound.
The bamboo forest is no longer a static scene, but a living thing with wind, leaves, and life breathing.
Burning paintings is no longer a visual shock, but an auditory baptism: the sound of fire engulfing, the mournful sound of paper, and the turbulent waves beneath the calm breathing of the figures.
By the end of the film, everyone had goosebumps.
"This background music—"