"I would personally love for Mr. Leslie Cheung to win a few awards. And sure, I could say something reassuring right now to make you feel better. But I don't want to make empty promises — no matter how sweet a lie sounds today, by next year, it'll be exposed as just that… a lie."
"If we're talking about acting ability alone, he absolutely has what it takes to win awards — plenty of them, even. But if we're talking about winning major honors in the U.S., that might be more difficult."
After a brief pause, Laila added, "But that doesn't mean we give up before we even start, right? There are people in Hollywood who are hoping to see change. To them, his identity as an East Asian actor might not be a disadvantage — it might actually add to his appeal."
Hollywood had more than its fair share of gatekeepers — people who clung to the status quo, guarding their little piece of turf and rejecting any idea of change.
But there were also some with vision and ambition. These people wanted change. They were tired of the Academy Awards being dominated by films the average viewer couldn't even understand — pretentious "art" films praised only by small circles of critics, while the general public was left cold. They wanted a younger, fresher Oscars — something more reflective of modern tastes and audiences.
Because really — why was the Oscars considered so prestigious to begin with? Wasn't it because the public recognized it?
If the awards continued to ignore what the general audience wanted, then one day, the public would simply stop caring. And when that happened, would the Oscars still matter?
There's a saying: "Water can carry a boat, but it can also overturn it."
Ignore the audience for too long, and one day they might rise and flip the entire system.
That's why change was inevitable. And just as Laila said, perhaps choosing an East Asian actor was the kind of progressive move that would appeal to those hoping for reform. If paired with the right marketing, maybe… just maybe, it could shake the system.
"You're absolutely right!" Chen Shufen felt reinvigorated. Yes — how could they give up before even trying?
Actually, she had been wanting to ask Laila something else:
With a film this good, why not take it to international film festivals?
Why not compete at Cannes, Venice, or Berlin? With her skills, winning at those festivals should be a sure thing.
But then again… as far as she could remember, Laila had never entered any film festivals. So in the end, she kept that question to herself.
—
After the call, Chen Shufen went to visit Leslie Cheung at his home. As expected, he was sitting in his favorite spot, bathed in warm sunlight and the scent of tea, reading the newspaper.
Several other papers were scattered on the table beside him — clearly, he'd been reading for a while.
"You sure care about what people are saying for someone who played it so cool on the phone," Chen Shufen teased, grinning.
Cheung glanced at her, then went back to reading the entertainment section. "What did she say?"
"She said releasing the trailer early was intentional. Director Moran believes it'll generate more interest. And honestly, I think she's right."
Chen Shufen repeated what Laila had told her, then added with admiration, "No wonder people say her success has as much to do with marketing as with filmmaking. If it weren't for her incredible promotional skills, her movies might only make half as much at the box office."
Cheung raised an eyebrow at the mention of the legendary Hollywood director, then gave a subtle, noncommittal smile.
If she truly wanted the public to uncover everything themselves, wouldn't she have at least informed them first? What if something had gone wrong on their end and thrown off her "plan"?
He didn't believe Laila would make such a careless, rookie mistake.
More likely — she'd simply forgotten.
And not because of her team, either — she'd insisted on handling the communications herself. Maybe with her upcoming wedding, she just got too busy and let it slip.
Still, he didn't voice those thoughts. No need to spoil his manager's awe and admiration for Director Moran.
"Promotion is important — not just to her, but to everyone. Right?" he said lightly. Even he, someone who disliked the spotlight, still took promotions seriously when it came to his films.
The days of "if it's good, people will find it" were long gone.
Back then, there weren't many homes, and certainly not as many distractions. Open a bottle of good wine, and its fragrance might drift for miles — enough to attract attention even without advertising. Plus, people didn't have much entertainment. Gossip was one of the few pleasures of daily life, and word-of-mouth carried far.
But things were different now. The competition was fierce. If you didn't promote your work, how would anyone know what you were doing? Even if they did know you'd made a film, there were so many choices — why would they pick yours?
That's why Laila prioritizing publicity wasn't just smart — it was necessary.
And more importantly, her promotions never annoyed the audience.
No matter how much she hyped her films, viewers always came away thinking:
"She wasn't exaggerating at all. It really was that good."
They left the theaters thinking her films were worth rewatching.
Of course, she never overhyped anything either. Audiences weren't stupid. If a film was good or bad, word would get out.
In Hollywood and elsewhere, plenty of films with huge marketing budgets flopped hard — some even got pulled from theaters after just one day.
"You're right," Chen Shufen sighed. Then she remembered the question that had been bothering her.
When she finally asked, Cheung responded with a faint smile.
"It's not as complicated as you think. The reason she doesn't enter film festivals might simply be because… she doesn't see the need."
"How could she not?" Chen Shufen said, incredulous. "With her skills, she'd win easily! Those awards that everyone dreams of — they're practically within reach. All she has to do is stretch out her hand. Why wouldn't she want them?"