Chapter 146: The Hierarchy of Contempt in the Film and Television Industry

Outside the entrance to the Cannes Film Festival.

Zhou Ran, Zhang Xiaofeng, and Chef Huang were sitting in a vehicle arranged by the organizers, waiting to proceed onto the red carpet as scheduled.

The red carpet ceremony at the Cannes Film Festival is organized in batches, much like the Chinese Music Awards. First come those who have paid for the privilege of walking the carpet, followed by nominees arranged by their level of prestige—the higher the status, the later the appearance.

The team for Chef Huang’s film, *The Drummer*, was scheduled for a mid-tier time slot. In the context of the entire ceremony, this placement was merely average; it certainly did not qualify as a grand finale.

This came as no surprise to Chef Huang. The festival organizers determine the red carpet order based primarily on international influence. The cast of *The Drummer* was focused on the domestic market and lacked significant international recognition—or at best, possessed only a negligible amount—so it was only logical that they were positioned in the middle.

Chef Huang even suspected that they had only secured this middle spot because of Zhou Ran. Zhou Ran was currently white-hot in popularity back in China; without his influence, *The Drummer* likely wouldn't have even earned that placement.

In the list of nominations announced for this year’s festival, *The Drummer* had only received three: Best Newcomer for Zhou Ran, Best New Director for Chef Huang, and Best Foreign Language Film for the production itself. Beyond these, the film had no other nominations.

While this wasn't exactly a meager haul, it wasn't particularly impressive either. They had missed out on all the major categories, such as Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Film, and the Grand Prix.

Nevertheless, Chef Huang felt quite satisfied. This was his first time directing a film, and he had learned everything from scratch. Tasks he had once deemed simple as an actor proved to be of an entirely different level of difficulty once he was behind the camera.

For a novice director, receiving nominations at an international film festival in his debut year was a significant achievement—something many others spent their entire lives chasing without success.

Chef Huang knew that securing these nominations for his first project was the result of a convergence of factors, each one indispensable.

Take, for instance, the performances of Zhou Ran and Zhang Xiaofeng. Chef Huang was deeply satisfied with both. While they might not have been the most technically seasoned actors, in his eyes, they were the perfect fit for the characters. They embodied the protagonists exactly as he had envisioned them—in fact, he had molded the characters’ personalities and appearances based on the two of them.

Zhou Ran, in particular, had provided the most surprises. To refine his acting skills to such a competent level in just two months was, in Chef Huang’s view, quite remarkable.

Even compared to other newcomers he knew, Zhou Ran’s rate of progress was exceptional. Few could learn as quickly. More importantly, his attitude was genuine; he was truly eager to learn, rather than being the type to throw his weight around because of his fame. That, to Chef Huang, was the most precious quality of all.

One should not underestimate the difficulty of reaching a competent level of acting. If one were to compare the performances of those in the short-video industry to Zhou Ran’s acting in *The Drummer*, the disparity would be immediately apparent; they were simply not in the same league.

In the film and television industry, there is a distinct hierarchy of disdain, ranging from high to low: stage actors, film actors, television actors, commercial actors, and finally, at the very bottom, short-video creators. It may sound cynical, but this comparison is a useful metric for assessing the difficulty and craft involved.

Returning to the present, as time passed, a staff member informed Zhou Ran and Chef Huang that it was finally their turn for the red carpet.

Zhou Ran had expected that by the time their turn arrived, the earlier crowd would have dispersed. However, as they stepped onto the carpet, he was met with a sea of people. It felt as though no one had left; the area was completely packed.

Some individuals were being ushered away by festival security, highlighting the frustrating reality of those who "gate-crash" the red carpet. It seems that this phenomenon is universal, regardless of nationality or gender. As long as there is a chance for exposure, some will go to great lengths to seize it. Compared to the embarrassment of being escorted off by security, they value the attention of the media and the public far more.

The photographers on the sidelines didn't care whether the organizers welcomed these gate-crashers or not; they simply snapped their pictures.

To ensure they caught the media's attention, some of the gate-crashers resorted to exaggerated poses. Fortunately, this was the Cannes Film Festival, so they kept things relatively restrained, limiting themselves to the occasional "accidental" fall. Had this been a domestic film festival, some might have resorted to wardrobe malfunctions to drive traffic—a tactic notoriously effective at generating buzz.

"Zhou Ran, look at the camera! Don't walk so fast!"

Zhou Ran, Chef Huang, and the others had assumed no one would be interested in photographing them, so they had planned to walk through quickly. To their surprise, they were stopped by media members from the sidelines midway down the carpet.

Looking up, Zhou Ran noticed a group of familiar Chinese faces. He understood immediately: these were the media outlets sent from China. How could China be absent from such a cinematic extravaganza? They were bound to have dispatched journalists to cover the event.