Chapter Thirteen: It Truly Succeeded

"What kind of movie is this? It scared me half to death..."

"The person sitting next to me actually threw up—the scenes were just too gory..."

"Lin Guoyu is truly a monster; even the death penalty is too lenient for him..."

"It's not Lin Guoyu who's the monster, it's the director—how could he make such a film? My stomach still feels queasy..."

"Who played Lin Guoyu? He portrayed a madman so convincingly..."

"You couldn't pay me to watch this film again—it's absolutely disgusting..."

"You jerk, I told you we should see a romance, but you insisted on this..."

"It was so intense—I broke out in a cold sweat from fright..."

"I'm going to tell Abin and the others to watch it too. It was really well made!"

...

After the screening, listening to the audience’s chatter, it was clear that their opinions fell into two extremes—those who liked it loved it, and those who didn’t were utterly repulsed. Yet, no one had much to criticize about the filmmaking or the plot itself.

Seeing these reactions, Yan Xu knew he had achieved what he set out to do.

This was exactly the effect he wanted. No film could ever win over every viewer, but any film that could spark such heated discussion was a success. The audience’s words and debates would at the very least influence those around them, working as a subtle but powerful form of publicity. Even the most extreme disgust would arouse others’ curiosity, prompting them to see for themselves just how horrifying and repellent the film really was. At the very least, it now seemed certain that the film’s costs would be recouped.

**************************Scene Break**************************

It was already midnight. In Guangtou Qiang’s office, a group of people waited anxiously, Yan Xu especially so. Though he was confident in his film, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy as they awaited the final numbers.

"How did it go?" The door swung open, and Yan Xu practically sprang from his chair like a grasshopper, darting over to Ji Mao and grabbing his shoulders.

"The numbers are in," Ji Mao replied, pulling a slip of paper from his pocket—these figures were hard for an outsider like him to remember. "Four cinemas, an average seating rate of forty percent, about five hundred people per show. Including the midnight screening, there were four showings today. Tickets were seventeen each. Each theater made about thirty-two thousand, so that’s about one hundred and thirty thousand in total."

"One hundred and thirty thousand in all!" Yan Xu took the paper from Ji Mao’s hand.

"That much?" The others in the room, noting Yan Xu’s silence, were much more excited.

Unknown actors, an unknown director, a production costing only a hundred thousand, and on the first day the box office exceeded the entire budget. If things continued at this pace, they’d recoup the costs within three days. What’s more, there were no competing films at the moment; it would run at least until the end of the month—fifteen days in all. In that case, breaking a million at the box office was perfectly possible; with luck, even two million wasn’t out of the question.

"Congratulations are in order, Jiuri," said Brother Jiu, clapping Yan Xu’s shoulder. None of them had imagined a film made for a hundred thousand could perform so well.

"Starting tomorrow there’ll be morning shows, matinees, evening and midnight screenings—a total of ten per day. If things stay like this, that’s nearly three hundred thousand a day," Gui Dong added, moving to Yan Xu’s side to offer congratulations.

"You can’t calculate it like that," Yan Xu said, handing the paper to Guangtou Qiang. "People work during the day, so cinema traffic drops by at least three-quarters. The real money comes in the evenings. Of course, tomorrow’s the weekend, so there’ll be more people—that’s a different calculation."

Seeing the numbers, Yan Xu finally allowed himself to relax a little.

This was only the first day, and the audience’s reactions would serve as excellent publicity. With tomorrow being the weekend and a full slate of ten screenings, the box office should surpass today’s, maybe topping two hundred thousand. If things held until the end of the month—even with numbers dropping off after the first week as was usual—his minimum goal of two million should be in reach.

That meant his efforts wouldn’t be in vain. Ten percent of two million was over two hundred thousand. With property prices in Jiulong currently at just over a thousand per square foot, and even the most expensive seafront flats on Hong Kong Island only running at about two thousand, that commission would buy a tidy forty-square-meter one-bedroom apartment—small, perhaps, but more than enough for one person.

Most importantly, he had made a film for a hundred thousand that would gross over two million—word of this would spread through the industry. If he wanted to join Jiahe, Cinema City, or even the once-mighty but now fading Shaw Brothers or the newly founded D&B Films, it wouldn’t be impossible at all.

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...Although it used sex and violence as selling points, those scenes were just embellishments. Especially noteworthy was the director’s choice to show Lin Guoyu’s childhood at the start, prompting viewers to wonder: did childhood abuse leave him permanently scarred, influencing him to become a murderer? It sounded a warning bell—could early traumas become obstacles later in life? If handled well, not everyone with a painful past ends up disturbed, but it is certainly a wound, and has a profound impact on personality...

...Many viewers experienced psychological discomfort after watching the film. Our reporter personally witnessed more than one person vomiting during the screening...

...The entire film gives a sense of complete immersion; the tight plot gradually draws the audience into the mind of the deranged killer. Most viewers left with their scalps tingling, feeling as if such a madman might be living right next door—normal on the surface, but capable of monstrous evil if triggered. It left many wondering: in this city, where can we truly feel safe...

...Highly intelligent criminal methods contrasted with a foolish arrest. If Lin Guoyu was always so calm and meticulous, especially in disposing of the bodies, his eventual capture came as a surprise. Perhaps he was right: if he hadn’t gone to develop those photos, maybe the police would never have caught him...

To everyone’s surprise, the box office for "Butcher in the Rainy Night" didn’t just grow as expected—it exploded. On the sixteenth, a weekend, after a relatively calm morning, attendance at the four cinemas began to surge in the afternoon, culminating in sold-out shows at eight and ten in the evening.

By Monday, the newspapers began to sporadically report on the film. Though opinions were mixed and inevitably linked the film to the recent special pardon of Lin Guoyu, this publicity far surpassed that of the four cinemas’ combined marketing efforts.

Unlike most films that peak at the box office in their first few days before tapering off, from the third day onward, audience numbers kept rising. Even during the day, cinemas were seventy percent full, and in the prime-time evening slots, tickets were impossible to come by.

The four cinemas reported box office receipts of 127,000 on the first day, 215,000 on the second, and an astonishing 540,000 on the third—Monday.

That was 880,000 in three days, averaging nearly 300,000 per day. For a film, that wasn’t a small sum. Among the yearly rankings of Hong Kong films, any movie making that much would easily place in the top 120.

Films like "Wheels on Meals" and "The Family," which had just finished their runs in early September, averaged over a million per day. Even their replacement, "I Love Rolando," was pulling in 600,000 daily.

But "Butcher in the Rainy Night" was showing in only four cinemas, compared to the dozen or more for those other films. If more cinemas screened it, some of the audience would be distributed, but even more people would have a chance to see it.