Chapter 105: The Drummer

Anderson Enje did not have high hopes when he went to see the film "The Drummer." The director was a newcomer who had switched from acting, the male lead was a singer-turned-actor making his debut, and the only one in the cast with real credentials was the leading lady, Zhang Xiaofeng.

It was hard for Anderson Enje to expect much from a lineup like this. The moment he saw the cast, he sensed the whiff of a box office flop, as if the film had been hastily assembled to make a quick buck and polish résumés rather than deliver anything of substance.

As Anderson Enje entered the cinema, his expectations for "The Drummer" were low—he simply hoped it wouldn't be so appalling that he’d feel compelled to walk out halfway through in speechless frustration.

The first thing that caught his eye upon entering was the film's poster. In it, the male lead played by Zhou Ran gripped a pair of drumsticks, his hands cracked and bleeding, the blood running down and staining the drum set red. Yet Zhou Ran’s gaze remained unwavering, filled with a stubborn persistence that seemed to say he could keep drumming for ten thousand years more.

Anderson Enje nodded ever so slightly as he took in the poster. Judging by this alone, perhaps the film had some merit; the image managed to convey a sense of rebelliousness and perseverance, a glimmer of genuine performance, a hint of emotion.

But a poster could only say so much. Anyone could pose for a single shot; the true measure of the film would emerge only when the lights dimmed and the story unfolded on screen. As the saying goes, the proof of the pudding is in the eating.

When Anderson Enje walked into the auditorium, which seated 400, the place was packed with barely a seat to spare. He quickly found a spot and sat down, waiting for the screening to begin.

To be honest, Anderson Enje wasn’t surprised to see the theater so full. Even before its release, "The Drummer" had been heavily promoted; Anderson Enje had seen advertisements for it in his own country. While not overwhelming, the publicity was certainly thorough, which explained the sizable turnout.

It was worth noting that the promotional budget for "The Drummer" accounted for thirty percent of the total investment. This time, Zhou Ran’s Huayu Entertainment had also stepped in directly. Leveraging their channels, they had extended their marketing reach overseas. They placed great importance on Zhou Ran’s debut film; if it managed to spark a lasting buzz, it would significantly advance their plans, saving both time and money.

After taking his seat, Anderson Enje quietly pulled out his battered notebook, ready to jot down his thoughts as the film played. Though it seemed old-fashioned—most people recorded notes on electronic devices these days—Anderson Enje preferred pen and paper. He believed that only what he wrote with his own hand could truly capture his thoughts in the moment. He didn’t trust electronic devices, which always seemed too easy to lose or erase.

As the film began, the camera revealed a young man—Zhou Ran’s character—alone in a basement late at night, furiously pounding away on the drums, his body drenched in sweat. The insistent beat, echoing in the midnight silence, took on a strange rhythm, as if telling a story of its own, inexplicably drawing the audience in.

Anderson Enje nodded and scribbled into his notebook: the opening was direct and succinct, going straight to the heart of the story. In his view, there was nothing wrong with this approach. The director had resisted the urge to mimic the so-called masters with flashy techniques or convoluted openings. Instead, he introduced the protagonist right away, allowing the audience to instantly grasp the film’s core.

This, Anderson Enje thought, was a wise choice. The foundation of a good film is the ability to tell a coherent story. Only after that should one worry about technique. If a film can’t even tell its story smoothly, chasing after style becomes a dead end. The basic principle is to tell a good story.

Just as Anderson Enje was looking forward to the next development, the film abruptly shifted scenes to a private villa. The protagonist—who had just been shown drumming with fierce concentration—was now fast asleep in bed. As the camera swept around the room, it revealed the walls lined with trophies, testifying to the protagonist’s many accolades. It became clear that the young man from the earlier scene was the main character, but from years before.

"Impressive—a time shift," Anderson Enje thought, pleasantly surprised. This opening broke from convention, avoiding the typical inspirational arc of rising from nothing through hard work to eventual success.

He also noticed that the soundtrack and cinematography were handled with care, offering a sense of comfort and professionalism, far from the slapdash approach he had feared.

Watching the early scenes of the protagonist drumming, Anderson Enje could tell at a glance that the actor had truly practiced. Some things are obvious in the details—there’s a fundamental difference between pretending and truly knowing how to do something.

That alone was enough to satisfy Anderson Enje. In his eyes, a film could have its flaws, but the attitude of the crew had to be right. Without that, even a technically perfect film would be worthless. In the end, what matters is the spirit behind the work.

[End of Chapter 105: "The Drummer"]