The Shanghai Film Festival is co-hosted by the China National Film Administration, China Central Television, and the Shanghai municipal government. It is an internationally recognized Class-A film festival certified by the International Federation of Film Producers Associations.
The festival was first held in 1993 and takes place in early June each year. Its highest honor is the Golden Goblet Award, which includes 12 subcategories.
Those who have served as the Jury President of the Golden Goblet Award include Wong Kar-wai, Jean-Jacques Annaud, John Woo, Danny Boyle, Luc Besson, Andrey Zvyagintsev, and others.
In fact, according to the original plan, Gilbert was invited to serve as the Jury President of this year's Shanghai International Film Festival Golden Goblet Awards.
Although Gilbert has never won any international Class-A film festival awards—nor any from Cannes, Berlin, or Venice, the three major European film festivals—
This didn't affect Gilbert's qualifications to serve as Jury President. After all, he is a two-time Academy Award winner for Best Director.
While the Oscars are, in essence, a regional award, due to Hollywood's global influence, the Oscars have long since become a world-class prize, a stage all filmmakers dream of.
Those so-called "Three Major European Film Festivals" are forced to retreat in the face of the Oscars.
The gap in influence is all-encompassing and not something that can be bridged simply with artistry or professionalism.
Besides, are the three major European film festivals truly more professional or artistic than the Oscars? That might not be the case!
Gilbert himself was quite happy to take on the role of Jury President.
However, North America's summer movie season was keeping him extremely busy, and he simply couldn't spare over ten days to watch and judge a bunch of films he didn't know or hadn't seen.
So Gilbert declined the offer and instead agreed to attend an exchange lecture.
Aside from Gilbert, several well-known domestic directors were invited to the lecture. Both "the National Master" and "Chen Pigeon" would be there to engage in a face-to-face discussion with Gilbert.
Three days after the lecture, there would also be a small test—this test was a selection process where Gilbert would personally pick fifty students.
Of course, officially it was presented as Gilbert evaluating talent in China's film industry—nothing more.
In June, Shanghai's weather felt like a furnace—hotter than even Los Angeles in summer.
Gilbert's private jet landed at Shanghai Pudong International Airport. Paul, President of Disney's China region, and Wilson, General Manager of Warner Bros. China, had already been waiting there for quite a while.
Besides those two and their entourages, members of the Shanghai International Film Festival Organizing Committee were also there, eagerly awaiting Gilbert's arrival.
As the luxurious private jet pulled up to the tarmac, several staff members from the festival whispered among themselves:
"Isn't Gilbert a film director? How come he's so rich? He can afford a plane?"
"You think all directors are broke? The guy makes one or two hundred million dollars per film!"
"That sounds exaggerated. Didn't they say his salary is only 20 million dollars per film?"
"Tch. Who's making movies for only 20 million? There's also box office share. And don't forget—Gilbert isn't just a director; he's a super-rich tycoon."
"Didn't you see this year's Forbes Rich List? He ranked 9th globally with $23.1 billion!"
"God, that's terrifying. He's only 33, right?"
"To be exact, he hasn't even turned 33 yet."
"Shh, stop talking. They're coming."
As he stepped off the private jet, a wave of scorching heat hit Gilbert. Thankfully, he came prepared—dressed in casual clothes.
Not very formal, but at least it wasn't hot!
Scarlett wore a plaid shirt on top and denim shorts on the bottom, her cheeks slightly flushed. She had been all over Gilbert on the plane, and now her body felt a bit weak.
She was fanning herself with a traditional Chinese-style fan—the same one Gilbert had gifted her on her birthday.
"So hot, so hot… so many people. I want ice cream," Scarlett pouted coquettishly.
Gilbert gently reassured her, "You'll get diarrhea if you eat that now. Let's wait a bit—go rest at the hotel first."
"Alright," Scarlett nodded obediently, clearly being very well-behaved.
The two of them headed toward the crowd, followed by their entourage carrying suitcases and briefcases, which they quickly loaded into several RVs.
A slightly chubby, bespectacled middle-aged man stepped forward to greet them: "Hello, are you Director Gilbert?"
Once Gilbert nodded, the man broke into a smile: "Hello, hello! Welcome to Shanghai. I'm Xu Caikun, assigned to receive and host you."
After a brief exchange of pleasantries and greeting Paul and Wilson, Xu Caikun said, "We'll take you to the hotel to rest first. Tomorrow we'll properly host a welcome banquet."
"Then I'll follow your lead," Gilbert said with a smile.
His Chinese had always been decent—after all, it was his native language in a previous life—but a language left unused for a long time could never match a native speaker.
Still, Gilbert's Chinese was undoubtedly better than most foreigners'. That was certain.
At the airport, it wasn't just officials who had shown up—some journalists were also present, snapping pictures from a distance.
Originally, a brief interview had been scheduled, but considering Gilbert had just come off a long flight, they scrapped the idea and just took photos.
After the greetings, Gilbert, Scarlett, and their entourage boarded an RV and headed to the Peace Hotel on the Bund for some rest.
These days, hotels receiving foreign guests needed proper qualifications—it wasn't like Gilbert could just stay anywhere he wanted. So the Peace Hotel was the best choice.
After arriving at the hotel, Gilbert crashed onto the bed and slept straight through until the next morning.
Even though he took great care of his body, he wasn't that young anymore. A man in his thirties just couldn't handle pulling all-nighters like before.
With two days remaining before the start of the Shanghai International Film Festival, Gilbert avoided idle roaming and instead stayed close, strolling around nearby with Scarlett.
Johnny Depp, after arriving at the hotel to rest, disappeared without a trace.
Gilbert didn't bother to check on him—so long as he didn't cause any trouble, all was well.
These days, while foreigners might be rare in some parts of China, in a cosmopolitan city like Shanghai—especially along the Bund—Westerners were no longer a novelty.
Oddly enough, Gilbert and Scarlett ran into several Chinese fans along the way, seeking autographs and photos.
Gilbert was unfazed, but Scarlett's small streak of vanity was satisfied.
She hopped along in delight and exclaimed, "I didn't expect to have fans in China, I'm so happy!"
"Of course," Gilbert smiled. "Wherever we go, people will love you."
Scarlett, beaming, replied, "This lady's charm is limitless—ha!"
After taking a walk and returning to the hotel, Anna briefed Gilbert on the schedule arranged with the organizers:
"There's a dinner tonight that you, Scarlett, and Mr. Depp need to attend. Two days later, the festival opens—we'll need to be there for the opening ceremony, and the next day is the China premiere of Pirates of the Caribbean.
After that, there's the exchange forum and lecture, followed by the small assessment you've arranged.
Also, Fudan University wants to invite you to give a guest lecture—if you have time."
Gilbert waved his hand. "You just put it on the schedule..."
"Understood," Anna jotted down the times. She paused and added, "By the way, a television program wants to interview you."
"What show?"
"I think it's called Yang Lan's Talk?"
Gilbert declined immediately: "No TV interviews. Too flashy, and some people are already displeased with me."
Anna understood and crossed it off the schedule.
With events like 9/11 and China joining the WTO, Sino-U.S. relations were showing signs of a honeymoon. Cultural and political exchanges were strong.
But Gilbert was a mainstream Hollywood director—and his stance toward China this past year had riled many.
Now wasn't the time to provoke sensitive people—don't give them a chance to stir trouble and create embarrassment for everyone.
Attending events was fine—but skip the TV interview.
Once the schedule was set, Gilbert rested in the afternoon. In the evening, he and Scarlett attended a reception dinner held in his honor.
Johnny Depp showed up in a quirky Zhongshan suit—a bizarre outfit that matched his eccentric personality.
Gilbert amusedly explained to the Chinese hosts, "Johnny's the Hollywood oddball, but he's a good guy. He just thought this would look respectful to you all."
The accompanying Chinese staff forced polite smiles—respect, really? Hardly.
Still, the dinner was delicious. Any Chinese meal served to foreign guests had to be adapted—refined to suit foreign palates.
Gilbert had no diet issues—he could eat authentic Chinese cuisine with no trouble. Scarlett and Depp, however, raved about the adaptive menu, complimenting it endlessly.
Scarlett even used a couple of Chinese phrases Gilbert had taught her, thumbs up: "Tasty, tasty—xiexie..."
Her pronunciation wasn't perfect, but for someone with a heavy tongue? Just saying a few words was impressive.
In China, dining always carried hidden meanings. You could socialize, maybe open doors for projects—anything was possible.
But Gilbert kept tight-lipped about Disney parks or any factory investments. Not a word.
His responses circled back to two lines:
"I don't have that information—I need to talk to Paul."
"I'm not sure about that—you'll need to speak with Wilson."
The Chinese officials inwardly cursed. Of course—they couldn't sort it out themselves.
Sadly, Gilbert played it dumb and pretended not to understand—even pouring them drinks didn't loosen anything. Disney and Warner's Chinese branches had troublemakers—this was the moment they'd've been useful.
....
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