"That's just from your and my perspective," Leslie Cheung said as he flipped to the next page of the newspaper, still reading as he spoke. "Have you considered the kind of starting point she had? Does she even need to chase after film festival awards anymore? Or maybe you should ask yourself—why do films even participate in these festivals in the first place?"
"Isn't it obvious to win awards?" Chen Shufen looked at him, puzzled. If not for the awards, what is it for sightseeing?
Leslie Cheung chuckled and shook his head. "For most people, the ultimate goal after making a film is to make it to theaters in the U.S. Getting into the U.S. market is both an honor and recognition of their ability. But do you think Laila needs to go through all that?"
"Of course not!" She's already established in Hollywood—why would she need to go through all that effort again?
Now that he put it that way, Chen Shufen began to understand.
Leslie Cheung continued, "No one can deny that the U.S. box office is the most important in the world. Why do so many filmmakers dream of going to Hollywood? Because that's the holy land of cinema."
For filmmakers without connections or from other countries, if they want their work to gain recognition, they first need to make a name for themselves so American distributors will notice them. Only after selling distribution rights can their films have a shot at getting screened in the U.S.—something all filmmakers aspire to.
But how does one gain that kind of recognition? The most straightforward way—or at least the most effective—is through film festivals. Leveraging the prestige and influence of festivals, a film can gain recognition within the industry and thus attract attention from distributors.
So, while these awards carry significant weight for many filmmakers, to those with real ambition, they're merely stepping stones on the path to Hollywood.
The Oscars are the ultimate goal for filmmakers. Every filmmaker in the world dreams of stepping onto that stage—just getting nominated is already an honor. But there's a catch: Oscar-eligible films must be screened in U.S. theaters for a certain period. Even a limited release counts, but there has to be some official screening to qualify.
And the only ones who can get a film screened in the U.S. are American distributors.
So we come full circle—how do you attract an American distributor?
Take Eastern films, for instance. Once a film is made, it's submitted to festivals. If it wins awards or is at least recognized for its commercial potential, it might catch the eye of a distributor. Then comes a U.S. release, and with that, Oscar eligibility.
Because of this system, many films that are highly acclaimed in Asia or the East end up being sold to U.S. distributors at ridiculously low prices. We're talking just tens of thousands of dollars—six figures is already considered quite a good deal.
It's not that the distributors are being ruthless—after all, they're not philanthropists. Why would they take a risk on a foreign film if there's no money to be made?
There are huge cultural differences between East and West. A storyline that's wildly popular in the East might be seen as cryptic or hard to grasp in the West. Historical context, subtlety, cultural jokes—Western audiences often can't fully appreciate these elements, and the viewing experience simply doesn't land the same way.
So when a distributor acquires an Eastern film, it's a major gamble. Usually, they'll start with a limited release to test the waters, and only if the box office results are promising will they expand the release. As for promotion? Don't even think about it. If you get a poster in the lobby, consider yourself lucky. A lack of exposure and marketing is one of the biggest reasons Eastern films fail to gain traction.
It was only after Leslie Cheung's "film industry 101" that Chen Shufen truly began to understand. No wonder Laila doesn't participate in film festivals—her starting point is simply too high. What other directors desperately try to earn, she already owns outright. Her company releases a large number of films every year, and nearly all of them are under her own brand.
"There's another reason," Leslie Cheung paused and then smiled slightly. "She's already won the highest award. Do you think she'd still be interested in those little gold stars they hand out in class? If she doesn't care, why would she bother going?"
She already has multiple Oscars—the dream of every filmmaker. Why would she care about any other awards?
Chen Shufen couldn't help but laugh at his "little gold stars" analogy, but deep down, she knew he wasn't joking.
"So that's how it is," she sighed. "People say even being born is a skill. If only you had…"
If only he'd been born into a family like hers—then, with his talent, he would've surely already received all the accolades he deserved.
But to her surprise, Leslie Cheung shook his head. "It's not like that. It has little to do with her background. Do you really think she couldn't have reached where she is without that kind of family? Don't forget how she rose to the top. Even without the Moran family behind her, she would've carved out a space for herself in the global film scene based on her own ability."
Chen Shufen was only trying to sigh over fate, but she backed down: "Alright, alright, you're right. She's just that good. The most badass director in Hollywood! Doesn't matter what her background is—at least she had the vision to bring you to Hollywood." Saying that, she suddenly thought of another lucky person Laila brought with her—Roy Jixin, the man who's now about to become her husband.
That guy might not have been born with great luck, but he sure hit the jackpot when it came to meeting the right person. The media had already dug up everything about their lives, and the two of them had shared plenty themselves on talk shows. So practically everyone who knows them knows their story—and many are genuinely touched and envious of their fairytale-like meeting.
"No one in this world gets something for nothing. You only get results when you put in the effort," Leslie Cheung said as he looked at the newspaper, ending the conversation with a calm remark.
Anyone who's ever worked with Laila would know—those awards and accolades didn't just fall from the sky. The reason she can create such powerful films is that she treats her work with utmost seriousness and care. If you don't even take your own job seriously, how can you expect to make a good film? Whether or not a film has sincerity behind it is something the audience can always sense.
Why does Laila have so many fans? Why are her movies so loved by so many people? Isn't it precisely because the audience can feel the sincerity she puts into her work—and because of that, they accept what she delivers?