novellhall Chapter 274 You're a fucking genius! [5000 words]
Chapter 274 You're a fucking genius! [5000 words]
Chapter 273 You're a fucking genius! [5000 words]
Chen Xun spent twenty minutes quickly browsing through it.
He had heard of this script in his previous life, but had never seen it.
Now that I've opened the script, the plot is quite solid.
The creator clearly has a solid foundation.
La La Land is not just a romantic musical, but a modern allegory about art, dreams, compromise, and choices.
Sebastian is a very complex character.
He was not simply an idealist, but an ordinary person struggling painfully between ideals and reality.
Chazelle: "Interested?"
"Very interested!"
Chen Xun closed the script: "But this role is very difficult to play."
He paused for a moment: "He loves jazz, but jazz is dying. He wants to stay pure, but he has to pay rent and eat."
"If this struggle of life is portrayed too superficially, it will seem pretentious; if it is portrayed too deeply, it may make the audience feel uncomfortable."
"That's right!"
Upon hearing Chen Xun's words, Cha Zelei's eyes lit up: "So what I need is not just an actor who can act, but someone who can truly understand this struggle."
「；
"This is Sebastian."
Chazelle said, "He loved jazz, but jazz can't put food on the table, so he went to play Christmas carols and joined pop bands. Every compromise he made was killing him."
"But he can't stop, because people have to live!"
The two chatted for another hour.
Chazelle shared his creative concept: to tell a story of contemporary Los Angeles using the traditional musical film format.
The film was shot on film, preserving its retro feel.
All the music in the short film had to be original, paying homage to the golden age while also feeling modern and relevant to the audience.
"If this film becomes a success, it will be a classic."
Chazelle concluded, "If we lose, maybe nobody will remember."
"Would you like to gamble with me?"
Looking at the fire in the director's eyes, Chen Xun recalled his early days in the industry: "Of course I'm willing!"
It was already late when we left the jazz bar.
Chen Xun got into the car but didn't start it immediately.
He brought up the panel and looked at the tasks for the independent film path.
Now we have "The Last Roll of Film" and "La La Land".
Two parts already!
Eight more to go!
[Task Note: The criteria for award recognition are that the film has won an official award at a major film festival or award ceremony (including but not limited to major awards such as Best Film, Director, Screenplay, and Acting). Nominations, shortlisted nominations, or special mentions are not counted in the progress.]
My phone vibrated; it was a message from Lee So-yeon: "Oppa, I just received a confirmation email from AMPAS! 'The Last Roll of Film' has passed the initial screening and entered the professional review stage!"
Chen Xun smiled and replied, "Congratulations, now start waiting patiently."
What followed was a lengthy review process.
According to the Student Oscars process, the professional judging phase will last for two months.
The judges will view all shortlisted entries anonymously and select 15-20 entries for the semi-finals in each category.
Then the final jury will watch the films, discuss them, and vote to select the gold, silver, and bronze award winners.
During this time, Chen Xun began piano training.
Chen Xun originally planned to import the script directly into the panel and scan it.
But he plans to experience the process of learning piano first, since it's his own experience.
The abilities gained through sweeping are ultimately instilled all at once, lacking the intermediate process.
The teacher was recommended by Chazelle; he was a jazz musician in his sixties named Eddie.
Eddie's music room is on a quiet street in Santa Monica, nestled between a taco shop and a used record store.
The door was small, with no sign, only faded curtains partially obscuring it.
The first time Chen Xun came here, he almost went too far.
The music room contained only a Steinway grand piano, three folding chairs, and faded black-and-white photos of jazz musicians hanging on the walls.
Miles Davis, Bill Evans, Thelonis Monk.
Eddie said he's had this piano for forty years.
The scratches on the wood are from moving, and the worn-out keys are from when he practiced the piano in his youth.
"The piano is a cruel instrument."
Eddie said in his first lesson, "It doesn't forgive any mistakes. If you press the wrong key, everyone can hear it."
Chen Xun soon learned the weight of those words.
"C major scale, ascending and descending, octaves."
Eddie placed the sheet music on the music stand: "Slow, sixty beats."
Chen Xun placed his hands on the piano keys.
He remembered the finger placement; his mind could clearly picture where his fingers should land.
But once it starts to bounce, the little finger can't help but curl up, the ring and middle fingers fight, and the thumb always tries to beat the beat.
"Wrong note, try again!"
Chen Xun returns.
It's still a mispronunciation.
"Too high a wrist. Let's try again."
Again!
There were fewer wrong notes, but the rhythm was unstable.
"What's your rush? Sixty beats, not one hundred and twenty. Let's start again."
An hour later, Chen Xun's fingertips were red, and the back of his T-shirt was soaked.
Eddie finally raised his hand to let him rest.
He leaned back on the piano bench: "The fingering is chaotic, the hand position is unstable, and the rhythm is off—"
He paused for a moment: "Barely passable, and worse, you weren't focused enough while playing."
Chen Xun remained silent.
He was indeed distracted just now.
I wonder what Sebastian's expression would be if he saw this piano.
"One more time!"
"Don't think about anything this time."
Chen Xun put his fingers back on the piano keys.
He tried to clear his mind, but the more he forced himself not to think, the more distracting thoughts he had.
He played the C major key haltingly.
"Alright, that's enough for today. We'll continue tomorrow!"
Eddie sighed.
Chen Xun was helpless.
He really doesn't have much talent for music.
Just then, a purple attribute orb fell from Eddie's body:
[Limb control precision +8]
Chen Xun absorbed it quickly.
I felt my ten fingers suddenly become lighter.
The slight resistance when pressing the piano keys was reduced, and his fingertips could land more accurately where he wanted.
I never expected that learning piano could also drop attribute orbs.
Is it because I studied it for the purpose of performing?
So the music room turned into a film set!
I studied the basics for two days.
Chen Xun began practicing Hanon.
The tedious fingering practice, repeating the same notes in twelve keys, hour after hour.
"Why do we have to practice these things?"
Chen Xun's fingers were a little sore after playing the C major scale.
"Because your role isn't a rock star, it's a jazz pianist."
Eddie was unusually serious: "Jazz improvisation isn't random playing; it's finding freedom within well-known rules."
"You don't even understand the rules now, so you're just spouting nonsense about freedom."
Chen Xun did not refute, and continued playing.
They practiced for another two days.
When he finished playing a set of E major scales, he suddenly felt a connection established between his fingers and the keys.
Chen Xun closed his eyes, imagining Sebastian's expression when he played Christmas songs in the bar.
I suddenly feel a bit tired.
Although I don't really like playing these pieces, I have no choice but to do so because of the pressures of life.
Then his finger moved on its own.
It was just a very small rhythmic shift, which lengthened the originally even sixteenth note by a little bit.
It sounded like a sigh.
Just then, a purple attribute orb fell from his body:
[Musical Emotion Visualization +8]
As Chen Xun absorbed the information, he suddenly felt much more emotionally fulfilled while playing the piano.
"stop!"
Eddie sat up from the sofa: "Do that again."
Chen Xun tried to recreate it.
But when you try to imitate it deliberately, you lose that feeling.
"I'm not telling you to copy, I'm telling you to find that state."
Eddie walked over to the piano: "What were you thinking about just now?"
"I want to play a role."
Chen Xun said, "He was playing 'Jingle Bells' in the bar, but he was thinking about Miles Davis."
Eddie stared at him for a few seconds: "Play it again, the way you want."
Chen Xun closed his eyes.
He imagined Sebastian sitting in front of the Steinway in that tourist bar, wearing an incongruous Christmas sweater, surrounded by noisy customers and jingling glasses.
The character's first reaction upon seeing the piano.
Nostalgia~
The freedom I once found in this instrument.
Freedom has now been lost.
He pressed the first note.
It was a little slower than normal, and each note was drawn out by half a beat.
E—G—C.
The triplets should have flowed smoothly, but he paused for a very short moment in the middle.
It's like someone is recalling something, but dares not recall it too deeply.
After the last note faded, the studio fell silent for a few seconds.
Several attribute orbs dropped in succession:
[Instrument Spirit Link +15]
[Automation of technical actions +5]
[Musical emotional investment +6]
There's also a golden attribute ball in the middle!
Chen Xun opened his eyes.
He felt that his understanding of the piano had changed.
This instrument can be a tool for expressing emotions and feelings.
Just like his body and voice.
Eddie finally spoke: "You really haven't studied this systematically before?"
"without!"
Chen Xun spoke the truth.
He stood up, put his hands behind his back, and walked around the room twice: "I'm not saying you're good at it."
"On the contrary, your technique is terrible, your touch is rough, your pedal is awful, and you often press the wrong keys in the high range."
He turned back and stared at Chen Xun: "But you actually have your own emotions in your playing. Some people can't achieve that even after a lifetime of practice, and you've already done it in just a few days—"
"You're a fucking genius!"
Eddie sighed.
This is a slang term.
Chen Xun took a moment to understand what it meant.
Eddie later adjusted the teaching content.
"Half of the Hanon's!"
He crossed out half a page of the sheet music.
"Let's practice something more practical."
He taught Chen Xun to play standard jazz pieces.
It's not about playing from a sheet music; it's about listening to recordings, imitating them, and then disassembling them yourself.
First learn "Autumn Leaves", then "Misty", and then "My Funny Valentine".
Listen to five or six versions of each song first.
Miles Davis's austerity, Bill Evans's lyricism, and Keith Jarrett's free improvisation.
"Listen to Miles play these sixteen bars."
Eddie put down the needle, and the vinyl record whirred: "He seemed to hesitate with every note, as if unsure whether he should play it or not, but it was this hesitation that gave the music its tension."
As Chen Xun listened, his fingers hovered over the piano keys, following the air as he played.
"Now switch to Keith."
Eddie changed the record: "Can you hear the difference? He's not playing a melody, he's questioning it. Every phrase is asking, is it like this? Or should it be like that?"
Chen Xun closed his eyes.
He imagined Sebastian in a deserted bar late at night.
A person faces a piano, using the notes to question the ideals they once abandoned.
He started playing.
The first time, I stumbled and made mistakes, pressing the pedals haphazardly.
The second time, it went a little smoother, but it was still unremarkable.
Before starting the third take, he paused for a long time, so long that Eddie thought he had fallen asleep.
Then he pressed the first note.
It's the beginning of "Misty".
He played very slowly, twice as slow as the original piece, with each note drawn out, like mist slowly spreading through the streets in the early morning.
The melody line is not clear, but blurry, like a faded scene in a memory.
He played a few more wrong notes.
He played B flat instead of B in a passage that should have been B flat, and he forgot the next phrase halfway through a harmony.
But Eddie didn't call a halt.
Because of things other than mispronunciation.
When he reached the middle section, the accompaniment in his left hand suddenly became lighter and almost disappeared, leaving only his right hand tentatively exploring in the high register.
Just like Sebastian, who couldn't find a balance between ideals and reality.
Then the right hand stopped too, and there was a few blanks.
After the pause, he repeated the opening phrase, with the exact same fingering and tempo, but with a completely different emotion.
The first time was a memory, the second time was a farewell.
As the last note faded, the sound of traffic from the highway outside the window surged in again.
Eddie stood up, walked to the window, turned his back to Chen Xun, and lit a cigarette.
"Do you know?"
His voice was a little hoarse: "I shared the stage with Miles Davis once when I was twenty years old."
"It's not a formal performance, just a rehearsal. He needs a pianist to go through the score for him."
"I was sitting right here, two meters away from him. He was playing 'So What,' and I was playing the harmonies."
He took a drag of his cigarette: "Later I bragged to everyone that I had worked with Miles."
"But actually I didn't hear anything during those twenty minutes. I was too nervous, and my mind was full of sheet music."
"Until he finished playing the last measure, put down the horn, looked at me and said: 'Young man, you played everything correctly, but not a single note is yours.'"
Eddie turned to look at Chen Xun: "I've said this to over three hundred students, and you're the first person who reminds me of this lesson."
He played the wrong notes, his technique was rough, and he used the pedals like a road hazard who had just learned to drive.
But every note he played was his own.
As he narrated, attribute orbs began to fall from Eddie's body:
[Impromptu Narrative Ability +7]
[Sympathy +4]
[Master Experience Transfer Efficiency +9]
After absorbing the information, Chen Xun felt some additional fragments in his mind, and suddenly noticed that the sound of traffic on the highway outside the window had a rhythm.
It's like a drum brush rubbing against cymbals.
He could feel the weight of each note when he touched the keys.
In Eddie's eyes, Chen Xun seemed to have suddenly learned to speak with the piano.
He has met many geniuses, some of whom went to Berklee, some became recording studio musicians, and a few made a name for themselves in the jazz world.
But he had never met anyone like Chen Xun.
"I have a venue on Venice Beach, where I perform two nights a week."
Eddie suddenly said, "Would you like to play for half an hour? Nothing too complicated, just three or five standard pieces."
Chen Xun was taken aback: "You mean the performance?"
-
"What else? Should I let you collect the money for the drinks?"
Eddie stubbed out his cigarette: "Your technique is still far from good. You have a lot of wrong notes, but the audience can't tell. They listen to the feeling."
""
"What time is it?"
Chen Xun was eager to try.
He has always appeared in the public eye as an actor, and this is the first time he has played the piano.
Friday at 5 PM.
Chen Xun parked his car in the public parking lot at Venice Beach and straightened his collar in front of the rearview mirror.
Eddie said he could wear anything, just not a suit.
Last time, a pianist who came in wearing a three-piece suit was mistaken by the audience for someone who was there to mourn.
He chose a dark blue Henley shirt and wore an old leather jacket over it.
The person in the mirror didn't look like an actor, but rather like a musician working in a recording studio.
Downstairs from the studio.
Eddie is installing a keyboard onto a Dodge pickup truck with peeling paint.
"The drummer and bassist are a thing of the past."
Eddie secured the violin case and dusted off his hands: "Remember, you're just here to play the violin tonight, not as a star."
"Nobody there cares what movies you've been in; they care whether your music can get them to have a couple more drinks."
"Got it!"
Chen Xun agreed.
He was a novice in this area, so naturally he needed to listen to Eddie's advice.
The pickup truck drove towards the sea, passing through the graffiti-covered streets of Venice.
Tourists take photos by the canal, while skateboarders practice dolphin jumps on the slope in front of the city hall.
The West Coast sunshine bathed everything in a golden-pink hue.
The bar is called the Lifeguard Hut.
The signboard is so old that the words are illegible.
It huddled in the shadows at the end of the boardwalk, with a roadside stall selling fried squid on the left and a souvenir shop on the verge of closing on the right.
When Eddie pushed open the door, the drummer was already adjusting the record.
"Fuck! Eddie, you're finally here."
The drummer looked up; he was in his early sixties, with a full head of white hair tied in a ponytail, and his T-shirt read: "Old guy doesn't retire."
"This piano is so out of tune, I thought I was hearing loss!"
"Only off-key notes have soul."
Eddie placed the violin case next to the piano: "This is Chen. He'll play a few pieces tonight."
The drummer looked at Chen Xun with curiosity in his eyes: "How long have you been playing?"
"Three weeks."
Chen Xun spoke the truth.
The drummer nearly dropped his drumstick.
He turned and glared at Eddie: "Three weeks? You're putting a complete novice who's only been learning for three weeks on stage with me?"
"He's fine."
Eddie only said those four words.
The bassist then came in through the back door.
A younger man in his early thirties, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and carrying an old Fender, paused when he saw Chen Xun: "You're the one who played Gu Yi?"
"I'm playing the piano tonight."
Chen Xun smiled at him.
The bassist was about to say something, but the drummer stopped him with a look.
The tuning took twenty minutes.
When Chen Xun tried out the piano, he could clearly feel the tension in the band.
It's a lack of trust in him.
The drummer's metronome was very firm, and the bass's root note was very precise, leaving him no room for improvisation.
Chen Xun didn't say anything.
He only played a few bars of "Autumn Leaves," very slowly, with each note drawn out by half a beat.
The drummer's drumsticks stopped in mid-air.
The bassist looked down at his fingerboard, as if flowers had suddenly sprouted there.
"One more time!"
"That's what the drummer said."
The second time, Chen Xun increased the speed a bit, with his left hand accompaniment going down softer and his right hand wandering in the high register.
He played two wrong notes: an F was played as an F#, and a chord that should have continued was interrupted by half a beat.
But the drummer didn't say anything this time.
At the end of the third take, the bassist spoke up: "Was that wrong note intentional?"
Chen Xun smiled but didn't say anything.
The bassist paused for a few seconds: "It sounds quite pleasant, and it suits our band better than the original key."
Eddie was smoking on the sofa in the back corner, a slight smile playing on his lips.