Chapter 82: Wu Xiang’s Grand Production and the Art of Saving Money

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(Haibo, you really need to be more careful! Sigh, there goes the image of a good man again—this industry is truly a mess. Still, heh, heh, the shady dealings will be revealed to everyone by degrees, no need to rush; the further you go, the more exciting it will become.)

In a period drama, one of the most significant expenditures is costumes!

Never underestimate this aspect; there are countless intricacies hidden within the world of costumes.

First, you must ensure historical accuracy. You can't just make things up; the audience isn't stupid. Among over a billion people in the country, plenty know their history.

Second, the costumes must be visually appealing. This is film and television, after all. No matter what people actually wore in history, if it doesn't look good on screen, what's the point of filming it? So, some artistic embellishment is necessary.

Take the simplest example: in ancient times, only officials and above could wear fine silks and satins, yet in film and television, which hero or heroine of the martial world doesn't wear them? In the context of ancient society, wouldn't their status be that of mere ruffians and rogues?

Third comes production costs. The first two are related to design. To be honest, Wu Xiang had no clear idea how much design would cost, but he had heard that costumes for period dramas did not come cheap. As for production, that's a story in itself. Materials used by factories vary greatly, and so do production standards—these all need to be taken into account.

In Wu Xiang’s previous two productions, costumes were hardly an issue—everyone could just wear their own clothes since they were modern dramas. Still, several tens of thousands were spent, especially on the lead actors and Haiqing’s wardrobe.

But this period drama was a different matter, and a much bigger problem—that’s why Wu Xiang sought out Teacher Zhao, who had once overseen costumes for “Romance of the Three Kingdoms.”

“Romance of the Three Kingdoms”—that was a super-production in its day!

Not just for its time—even years later, nothing has surpassed it. The total investment exceeded 170 million yuan—a staggering sum before 1992.

No need to mention what that would be worth years later; even in 2000, it would be an astronomical figure.

Moreover, most of that budget went to sets and other production aspects. Wages for the cast and crew were low; even big stars earned little, showing where the money was really spent. The series took nearly five years to film—a rarity both domestically and abroad.

With such a mega-production, and most of the budget spent on hardware, what more needs to be said about costume design and production?

Even the Japanese, when making Three Kingdoms-themed games, copied extensively from that series.

Wu Xiang’s “Emperor Wu of Han” was also set in the Han dynasty. With such a successful precedent, why bother hiring a new designer? Maybe Teacher Zhao’s designs were a bit outdated now, but with some tailoring and updating, they should be reliable.

If nothing else, it would definitely save money!

With Han San’s network, Wu Xiang easily found Teacher Zhao. She was an exceptionally approachable elderly lady, quite pleased with Wu Xiang’s eloquence and manners—he’d come bearing fruit and supplements aplenty.

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Teacher Zhao immediately brought out her old materials—drawings from years ago—and handed them straight to Wu Xiang, as if to say, “Here, take them. No need to say anything more.”

Wu Xiang was stunned. He had expected to spend some money, but she was so generous.

As it turned out, after the production ended, no one had ever come to ask for those materials. There hadn’t been any comparable big productions since, so the materials had just been gathering dust. If someone wanted them, she was happy to give them away.

Wu Xiang was deeply moved. He tried to pay her, but the elderly lady refused. In the end, Wu Xiang slipped ten thousand yuan into the fruit basket as a token of thanks.

He couldn’t bear to take it for nothing—this was technical expertise, far more valuable than anything he, a humanities major, could offer. He couldn’t manage more, but even this ten thousand was an incredible bargain.

Of course, the materials couldn’t be used as they were, since they were from years ago and, by today’s standards, lacked aesthetic appeal—falling short of modern tastes. This was the inevitable result of changing eras, tying in with the second rule of costume design.

As the audience’s appreciation evolves, generally improving, you must adapt to these changes. That’s why costumes in period dramas are becoming increasingly beautiful, even incorporating modern elements—all in service of the viewers.

While the materials couldn’t be used directly, they could serve as a foundation for improvements—that was their greatest value.

It’s far more efficient to modify an existing base than create something from scratch—saving both time and costs!

How to update them? Wu Xiang simply handed everything to Hao Yi, telling him to consult the art department and other art colleges, letting young people use their perspective to revamp these nearly decade-old designs.

Wu Xiang was confident this was the best approach. Though they were still students, they represented the current trends. Rigorous historical research colliding with modern fashion—who knows what sparks might fly? Wu Xiang was filled with hope and anticipation.

That was as far as Wu Xiang could take the costume issue. As for whether other resources from “Romance of the Three Kingdoms” could be reused—perhaps the cinematographer could offer some advice, or even return for another project?

On second thought, though, “Old Bi,” you’d better stick to your promising career as a TV host.

Wait, there was still makeup!

Though he couldn’t bring “Old Bi” out of retirement, Wu Xiang could still draw on the legacy of “Romance of the Three Kingdoms” for makeup, so he went looking for Han San again…

Another key point in the budget of a major production—and the most expensive—is the extras.

Some might say, “Extras only get thirty to fifty a day—how much could that cost?”

True, that’s the going rate these days. But what about when you need huge numbers?

Wu Xiang’s drama required grand scenes, which called for vast crowds. Unlike Hollywood, where CGI is used, here they couldn’t afford it—Industrial Light & Magic charges five million dollars per minute. It was cheaper, by far, to just hire more people.

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Mainland China excels at large-crowd scenes, because at least they’re possible to shoot. In Hong Kong and Taiwan, it’s a different story: Hong Kong might just come to the mainland to shoot such scenes, while Taiwan simply cuts them out. Not the footage, but the words themselves.

Phrases like “a sea of people” or “as far as the eye can see”—don’t even put them in the script, because there’s no way to film them.

Our advantage is simply people—being able to mobilize the masses for a single cause!

“Ah, Xiao Wu, what brings you here? And you brought gifts too—no need to stand on ceremony.” That clear, booming voice belonged to none other than Commander Huang.

Wu Xiang had come looking for help. His drama required countless people for the scenes of the northern campaign against the Xiongnu. Where to find that many people? Naturally, the army.

“Hello, Uncle Huang. It’s been a while since I last visited, and since I’m not too busy with my studies these days, I thought I’d drop by.” Wu Xiang lied with a straight face—he had actually taken another extended leave.

“Hahaha, good! I’ve missed you too. Come, let’s have a good chat, and later, how about a drink or two?” Commander Huang was as warm as ever. “Hey, what happened to your face?”

A drink or two? But the situation with his face could be put to use.

“I bumped into a door, got hurt, so I’ll pass on the drinks,” Wu Xiang seized the chance to get to the point. “Actually, I’m here to ask for your help with some people.”

“You need people? Sure…” Commander Huang agreed readily, but then added, “But your last film was a big hit, and our August First Studio didn’t get any credit. That won’t do—you see…”

His meaning was clear: he could provide the people, and it wouldn’t cost Wu Xiang much, but they ought to be counted as stakeholders.

“How big a share?” Wu Xiang asked immediately, knowing that working with the army was the cheapest option. More importantly, army extras were far easier to manage than ordinary civilians—the discipline was worth its weight in gold.

“Ten percent! But, although I’ll handle the mobilization, you won’t have to pay for vehicles, tents, or equipment, but fuel and meals for the logistics will be your responsibility.” Commander Huang laid out his terms, which were more than fair.

“Deal!” Wu Xiang agreed on the spot—these were reasonable demands. He pressed on, “What’s the maximum number?”

Commander Huang replied, “Up to two regiments.”

Wu Xiang grinned, “Uncle Huang, you’d better prepare a whole division.”

Commander Huang exploded, “Hey! Do you even know how high my rank is, kid?”