Sammo Hung had read the script. He knew the role he'd be playing, and he knew the film carried plenty of depth and meaning. While the final part of the ending was withheld for confidentiality, he was certain of one thing: Director Moran, who had a favorable view of the East, would never write an ending that humiliated Easterners. And he believed Leslie Cheung wasn't the kind of man who would throw away Eastern dignity just for the sake of being the lead in a Hollywood blockbuster. The ending had to be something remarkable.
That meant, with Laila Moran's film, Leslie Cheung was bound to reach an unprecedented height in his career. Just think—count how many Best Actor and Best Actress winners she had launched, count how many awards her collaborators had taken home, and it was obvious: working with her meant a brilliant future.
Could it even be possible… that for the first time, an Eastern actor would step onto the biggest stage in world cinema? Maybe even win an award?
The thought made him chuckle to himself.
He knew the odds were tiny—such hopes only surfaced because this was Laila. If it were any other director, even a top-tier Hollywood giant, the idea would never have crossed his mind.
To Westerners—especially in Hollywood—the East was a cinematic desert. They didn't believe the East could produce truly great actors. In recent years, the East's rising box office has shown them a new revenue stream and inspired them to use Eastern actors to boost sales, but they still wouldn't give them important roles. At most, they'd be thrown in as nameless extras.
Why? Simple. Their Hollywood blockbusters have already sold in the East without Eastern faces in the leads. Why risk giving a crucial role to an Eastern actor whose core audience didn't care for? Their market was global, and audiences who preferred Western faces still far outnumbered those who favored Asian actors.
Back when Leslie Cheung played a key role in Laila's The Lord of the Rings, it had already shocked Eastern audiences—no one had expected her to hand such an important character to an Eastern actor. And now, not only was he playing a vital supporting role, he was one of the dual male leads—so essential that without him, there would be no film.
Once his initial excitement had passed, Sammo Hung found himself respecting Leslie even more. Any other actor, upon landing such a role, would have let it leak to the press right away. But Leslie hadn't breathed a word—not even letting it slip that he was in the film at all. He hadn't used the opportunity to elevate his status in the entertainment world.
If Sammo hadn't come to the island in person, he suspected the outside world wouldn't know until the promotional campaign began.
Was this secrecy the director's idea, or simply Leslie's low profile? Sammo didn't bother digging into it. All he wanted now was to pour all his passion and strength into helping his countryman make this film one of the classics of cinematic history—and to use it to prove to those self-satisfied Westerners who looked down on Eastern actors that the East was not without its talents.
Laila noticed Sammo's excitement, and the rest of the stunt team wore the same incredulous expressions.
Was it really that surprising?
She asked herself the question, then chuckled. Of course it was—and that was exactly why she'd kept things under wraps. When promotion began, she planned to set the world buzzing over her choice of lead.
But picking an Eastern actor—picking Leslie Cheung—wasn't just a marketing move. More than that, it came from the affection she'd carried for him since her previous life. She wanted, with her own hands, to give him the recognition his talent deserved, to let the world know just how outstanding he truly was.
Once the lighter scenes were done, it was time to move into the dangerous action sequences. Hanging off cliffs might sound deadly, but compared to what the two leads were about to face, it was like the difference between kindergarten and high school.
Cliffs looked dangerous, but safety measures were easy to ensure. The injuries both leads had suffered earlier were due to bad weather—a rainstorm bringing strong winds—not the stunts themselves.
On the deserted island, threats weren't limited to vicious beasts; there were also venomous snakes, insects, and toxic plants to contend with.
So how could two men on opposing sides ever become allies? Clearly, not without facing real danger together. In rewriting the script, Laila had built in several perilous moments where each would have to save the other's life, forcing them to cooperate.
But that still wasn't enough. These were men who wanted each other dead—if the other truly faced mortal peril, the likeliest outcome was helping fate along, not intervening to save them.
So she gave them a shared goal: an object of immense importance, worth more to them than life itself. Each was convinced the other knew where it was, which meant neither could let the other die, and both had to work together to get the information they needed.
In this web of schemes and mistrust, they'd slowly learn the other wasn't the caricature they'd imagined—neither a mindless lackey nor a heartless villain.
To turn two enemies into brothers-in-arms in the shortest possible time, you had to push them through multiple life-and-death trials.
And so, the next scenes Laila shot let the cast and crew experience what "between life and death" really meant.
The safety precautions were thorough, but no amount of preparation could make fighting against a torrent pleasant.
The scene she was shooting now was a flash flood. She had her crew block the river upstream so that when the barriers were removed, the water would rush downstream with powerful speed.
Of course, the river itself was small, and for safety's sake, they couldn't let the current get too fierce. By Laila's standards, the flow wasn't dramatic enough—so she planned to enhance it later with special effects.
Even so, the two actors in the river weren't having an easy time. They couldn't open their mouths without swallowing water, and even keeping their eyes open was hard. The roar of the current filled their ears; their noses and mouths tasted of nothing but river water.
Standing upright was nearly impossible—the riverbed was covered in slippery, water-worn stones. Swept into the current again and again, they finally got the shots Laila wanted. When she called "CUT," both men were so spent they didn't even have the strength to lift a finger.