novelslam Chapter 297 Zombie Movie, Resident Evil
Chapter 297 Zombie Movie, Resident Evil
Chapter 297 Zombie Movie, Resident Evil
Since making a killing of over a billion dollars in the financial markets and indulging in a lavish spending spree on luxury goods and cars, Kitahara Shin has taken a long-awaited few-day break.
During these rare few days of leisure, he calmed down and carefully studied the "system" or "golden finger equipment" that had accompanied him all the way.
As his personal reputation soared and the Beiyuan Consortium's capital empire took shape, the system also quietly underwent a qualitative leap.
Previously, the system's enhancements mostly only applied to Kitahara Shin himself. For example, the superhuman physical abilities brought by the "Ring of Life," or the personal acting aura that allowed him to get into character instantly and display god-level micro-expressions.
But now, this ability has been upgraded. It has evolved from a "single-target skill" into a large-scale area-of-effect (AoE) buff similar to "Absolute Field Domain".
As long as Kitahara Shin is on set as the lead actor or the main director, this "domain" will automatically cover the entire crew.
This comprehensive improvement is quite astounding. It directly impacts every detail of the production:
First, there's actor management. In this field, even extras randomly picked from the street will unconsciously enter a state of "flow" when the camera pans across them, moving precisely and expressing themselves naturally, without ever appearing distracted or looking around aimlessly.
It feels obviously staged. If it were a special effects blockbuster or war film requiring a large crew, the coordination of the entire production would be as perfect as precisely meshed gears.
Secondly, the texture of the scenes and props is enhanced. What might have been a cheap set made of wooden planks and foam plastic will automatically gain a layer of realistic physical texture when captured by the camera lens.
What's even more amazing is that this field automatically generates an "atmosphere filter" depending on the subject matter of the film. If Kitahara Shin is shooting an art film like "Love Letter," the entire set will be filled with a natural, cool, and melancholic atmosphere, and even the falling snowflakes will appear incredibly beautiful. If he's shooting a commercial special effects blockbuster, the contrast of light and shadow on set, and the colors of the explosions, will automatically present the top-tier heavy industrial visual impact of Hollywood.
Now that he held such a trump card, a card that could be described as a game-changer, Kitahara Shin naturally couldn't let it sit idle in storage. He had to make good use of it for a big heist.
Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of his top-floor office at the Chiyoda Ward headquarters, Kitahara Shin looked down at the bustling metropolis below, which also seemed to be showing signs of fatigue.
In his mind, the future direction of the global film market over the next few decades was clearly outlined.
As a time traveler, he knew all too well the nature of the Japanese film market. Don't be fooled by the fact that live-action films could occasionally flit around the box office charts in the 1990s. Once the millennium passed and the 21st century began, the Japanese live-action film box office would enter a long and desperate period of decline at a visible speed.
By then, the top ten spots on the annual Japanese box office charts will almost always be dominated by various theatrical anime films.
"Detective Conan", "Doraemon", works by Hayao Miyazaki, and later Makoto Shinkai's masterpiece.
Why does this deformity occur?
The reason is both realistic and cruel: Japan's economic stagnation for decades, the so-called "lost thirty years."
With GDP stagnating for years, ordinary people's wages have fallen instead of rising, while the cost of living has increased. With wallets thinner, consumption has naturally declined. Going to the movies has become a carefully budgeted entertainment expense for many Japanese families.
With limited budgets, audiences are unwilling to gamble on domestic live-action films of inconsistent quality and lackluster special effects. They prefer to spend their money on anime works with a large fan base, strong peripheral effects, and inherently superior visual presentation compared to live-action films. This is the fundamental reason why the anime industry has thrived during Japan's economic downturn, while live-action films have suffered setbacks.
Looking at the global landscape, the Chinese mainland market is about to experience explosive growth, soaring from a small pond of a few hundred million in box office revenue to a super ocean of tens of billions; South Korean films will also see a rise in domestic themes after the abolition of censorship; and the North American market, needless to say, has always been the tyrant of global blockbusters, and in the future it may even produce special effects monsters like "Avatar" and "The Avengers" that sweep the globe.
Only Japan will completely become a wasteland for live-action blockbuster films in the 21st century.
Therefore, the industry always says that the late 1990s was the "last golden age" of Japanese live-action films.
Kitahara Shin took a deep drag on his cigar and slowly exhaled pale blue smoke.
He had to seize this last and most lucrative golden opportunity in the Japanese domestic market. Before people completely tightened their purse strings and lost all motivation to spend, he needed to bombard Japanese cinemas with a super popcorn blockbuster that was packed with visual effects and commercial elements, reaping a massive box office surge.
He wants to create a box office legend that will be admired, despaired of, and even unattainable for Japanese live-action films for the next thirty years.
Since the film is intended to test the system's group gain effect and aims to break box office records, the selection of material must be extremely careful.
Art films are a no-go, as their audience is too narrow; ordinary crime films and romance films also fail to achieve the same impactful effect of drawing a large audience to the cinema to experience a "visual spectacle."
The subject matter must be one that perfectly leverages the three system characteristics of "enhanced prop quality," "superb ensemble acting," and "grand-scale atmosphere filter." In other words, it must have massive monster or ensemble special effects, extremely exciting action choreography, and it must be a top-tier commercial IP with a huge built-in audience.
At that point in 1997, what kind of IP could meet these stringent conditions?
Kitahara Shin turned around, walked to the large desk, and rummaged through a pile of thick documents. Finally, his gaze settled on a market research report compiled by the game department.
The report cover features a picture of PiayStat, a product that was just released last year and has caused a phenomenal craze worldwide.
The cover of the game ion.
The name of that game is Biohazard.
Kitahara Shin's eyes narrowed slightly, and a cold, triumphant smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
Yes, there's no better choice!
The original Resident Evil game was released in 1996. The extreme survival horror of the enclosed mansion and the visual impact of zombies bursting through windows instantly ignited the adrenaline of players worldwide. This IP is currently experiencing its most explosive period of popularity.
If he were to use his enormous capital to snatch the film adaptation rights from Capcom right now, and then have Kitahara Productions take the lead in making the world's first truly high-caliber zombie action blockbuster, it would absolutely shock the entire history of film!
What's even more amazing is that this theme is practically tailor-made for his newly upgraded system!
What's the hardest thing to make in a zombie movie? It's the awkwardness of the extras and the cheap feel of the special effects makeup, such as blood and internal organs.
But with the help of Kitahara Shin's "Absolute Set Domain", those crudely made-up zombie extras automatically exude a nauseatingly realistic sense of rotting flesh on camera; their staggering movements, guided by the system's flow state, become as terrifying, coordinated, and oppressive as real walking corpses.
As for the mansion's set design, under his filter of expertise, any lighting automatically creates that eerie, dark atmosphere.
The atmosphere is reminiscent of a top-tier horror blockbuster, sending chills down your spine. The tactical maneuvers and shooting actions of the mercenary squads, enhanced by the system's coordination, present a smoothness and precision that even surpasses top Hollywood action films.
"This is it."
Kitahara Shin slammed the report heavily on the table and immediately pressed the communicator on the table.
"Sasaki, notify the core team of the screenwriting department and the head of the investment and M&A department to immediately convene a meeting in the top-floor conference room." Kitahara Shin's tone carried a hint of fervor, as if a new storm was about to break out. "Get your checkbooks ready; we're going to Capcom's headquarters in Osaka. I'm going to acquire a super IP that can blow up cinemas worldwide."
77
The next morning, the sky over Tokyo was just beginning to lighten.
Several black, bulletproof Maybachs, escorted by police cars, drove in a grand procession onto the airport's VIP runway. Kitahara Shin, along with his core executive team responsible for investment and mergers and acquisitions from the Kitahara Group, boarded his private jet and flew directly to Osaka.
Their destination was the Osaka headquarters of Capcom, a long-established Japanese game company.
At this point in 1997, Capcom certainly enjoyed great success in the global gaming industry with the release of the first Resident Evil game the previous year, making a fortune and the company's stock price also saw a significant increase.
However, comparing Capcom to the current Kitahara Group is like an ant trying to shake a tree.
While Capcom is currently a star company in the gaming industry, it is ultimately just a game developer with a market value of tens of billions of yen. And what about Shin Kitahara? He just raked in a staggering $1.2 billion (over 140 billion yen) in net cash profit during the Asian financial crisis! This doesn't even include his vast film production company, his extensive CD/DVD distribution network across Asia, and his unfathomable overseas assets.
It's fair to say that if Kitahara Shin were willing, he could simply use his cash flow to forcibly acquire the entire Capcom, skin and bones, without even blinking an eye.
So when Kitahara Shin's luxury convoy came to a smooth stop in front of Capcom's headquarters, Capcom's president, Tsujimoto Kenzo, along with all the company's board members and executives, stood at the gate, sweating profusely, to greet them.
"President Kitahara! Welcome to Osaka!" Kenzo Tsujimoto, already in his fifties, bowed almost ninety degrees before Shin Kitahara, who was in his early thirties, his tone filled with overwhelming respect. "Your presence in person is an honor for Capcom!"
Kitahara Shin stepped out of the car, surrounded by a group of bodyguards in black. He casually buttoned the top button of his suit jacket, a gentle yet imposing smile on his face, and shook hands with Tsugimoto Kenzo: "President Tsugimoto, you're too kind. I've been engrossed in your company's Resident Evil game for several nights. I'm here today to discuss a win-win deal with you all."
The group arrived at Capcom's highest-level top-floor conference room in a grand procession.
At the massive oval conference table, Kitahara Shin sat imposingly at the head of the table, flanked by a group of well-dressed corporate elites, including Sasaki. Opposite them sat Capcom executives, looking somewhat tense.
The meeting room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop; the atmosphere was so heavy it felt like the air itself had stopped moving. Everyone knew that a financial tycoon of Kitahara Shin's stature couldn't possibly be there for idle chatter.
"I don't like beating around the bush, and everyone's time is precious." Kitahara Shin placed his fingers on the table, his deep gaze sweeping over everyone opposite him, and said bluntly, "I want to buy the exclusive global film adaptation rights to Resident Evil."
Upon hearing this, Capcom executives exchanged bewildered glances, and a low murmur arose in the conference room.
President Tsujimoto wiped the cold sweat from his brow, his expression somewhat troubled. He carefully chose his words, replying cautiously, "President Kitahara, it's an honor for our IP to have your favor. However—as you may know, Hollywood remade Nintendo's *Super Mario Bros.* in 1993, resulting in a box office and critical flop, becoming a laughingstock in the gaming world. Game adaptations have always been a curse. Our *Resident Evil* is currently at the peak of its popularity; if the movie flops, it will be a devastating blow to the sales and brand image of our main game—"
Kenzo Tsutomoto's concerns were not unfounded. In those days, game developers generally harbored a deep-seated fear of adapting games into films or television series.
"President Tsujimoto, are you comparing me to those second-rate popcorn directors in Hollywood?" Kitahara Shin chuckled, his laughter carrying an undeniable and absolute domineering air.
He leaned forward slightly, and his terrifying aura as a superior instantly enveloped the entire conference room.
"First of all, this film will be fully funded and produced by Kitahara Productions, with a tentative budget of one hundred million US dollars. In this day and age, I don't need to explain to you what level of visual effects a one hundred million US dollar investment means, do I?"
The Capcom executives across from them collectively gasped. One hundred million dollars?! In an era where even Hollywood blockbusters average only tens of millions of dollars in budget, a hundred million dollars in real money could easily fund a zombie movie, let alone Star Wars!
"Secondly," Kitahara Shin raised his second finger, "the Kitahara Group controls distribution channels covering the entire Asian continent and parts of North America, coupled with our frantic distribution of home DVDs. After this movie's release, it will become the perfect, thousands-of-hours-long, globally free game for you. I guarantee that in the month the movie is released, your Resident Evil sales will more than triple!"
"Finally, and most importantly," Kitahara Shin leaned back in his chair, his eyes sharpening, "I will personally star in this film and oversee the entire production as its core producer. As long as my name, Kitahara Shin, is on the credits, there's absolutely no chance it will be a flop."
Domineering, forceful, and leaving no room for rebuttal.
Kenzo Tsujimoto swallowed hard. He realized he had absolutely no reason to refuse. A massive budget, top-notch marketing, and the prestigious name of Shin Kitahara. This wasn't about buying adaptation rights; it was practically handing money over to Capcom.
Send a gift featuring a well-known God of Wealth!
"So, President Kitahara, what are your expectations regarding the licensing fee and box office revenue sharing?" Kenzo Tsujimoto's tone had softened completely, even carrying a hint of tentative flattery.
Kitahara Shin gave Sasaki a wink. Sasaki immediately opened his briefcase, took out a pre-prepared contract, and slid it in front of Tsujimoto Kenzo.
"I'm not short of money, and I'm willing to let my partners make money," Kitahara Shin said calmly. "I'll double the licensing fee. Capcom will receive five percent of the net profit from the film's global box office after its release. That's enough for you to develop Resident Evil to the tenth installment."
Just as Capcom executives were about to jump for joy, Kitahara Shin's tone suddenly shifted, his voice turning as cold as iron: "However, I have one bottom line that I will not back down from. That is, throughout the entire production process of the film, Capcom will only be responsible for providing original concept art and game world-building support, and will absolutely not be allowed to interfere with any of my crew's creative ideas, casting, or filming arrangements. I want to have 100% absolute creative control."
"If you agree, the money will be transferred to Capcom's account tomorrow. If you don't agree, I can simply go to Konami and buy Silent Hill, or even write my own original zombie script. There are game companies in Japan that would be willing to take on my projects, stretching from Osaka to Tokyo Bay."
This is the confidence of top-tier financial tycoons. They give a slap followed by a sweet treat, firmly keeping the initiative in their own hands.
Kenzo Tsujimoto didn't even need to think about it. He immediately took out a pen from his jacket pocket, signed his name on the contract without hesitation, and stamped it with Capcom's official seal.
"It's a pleasure working with you, President Kitahara! Capcom will fully cooperate with all your instructions!"
A blockbuster acquisition, worthy of being recorded in film history, was settled in less than an hour of confrontation.
Upon returning to Tokyo, Kitahara Shin immediately convened all the core members of Kitahara Productions at headquarters for an unprecedented mega-film project preparation meeting.
A huge blackboard hangs at the front of the conference room, covered with concept art of the mansion, zombies, hunters, and tyrant from the Resident Evil game.
"Securing the copyright is just the first step." Kitahara Shin stood in front of the blackboard, holding a pointer in his hand, his eyes piercing as he looked at the director, art director, and producers below him. "What we're going to make is a super commercial blockbuster that will completely subvert the current film industry system in terms of visual impact and horror atmosphere."
"First, let's start with casting. The male lead, who is also a core member of the STARS team, is out of the question—I'll handle that myself."
Starring. "
No one in the audience was surprised by this. This mega-production, destined to go down in history, could not have been handled by any other male actor if Kitahara Shin hadn't personally taken the lead.
"The female lead, Jill Valentine, must possess a combination of sexiness and a tough, soldierly demeanor. Don't cast any delicate, popular actresses. Inform Nanako Matsushima and Rie Miyazawa to immediately head to the gym for two months of intensive firearms and close-quarters combat training. Whoever has the best muscle definition and the most precise tactical movements will get the role," Kitahara Shin coldly ordered. He wasn't going to show any mercy; if they were making an action blockbuster, it had to present the most realistic special forces feel.
"The next major event is the setup of the set and the extras." Kitahara Shin put down his pointer, placed his hands on the table, and his expression became extremely serious.
The art director immediately stood up and reported to the director, "President, regarding the most crucial Arklay mansion in the game," if we were to find a real castle in Europe for location shooting, not only would the rental costs be exorbitant, but many locations would also prohibit explosions and blood spraying. This severely limits our creative freedom."
"No, we're not going to Europe." Kitahara Shin rejected the suggestion without hesitation. "We'll go to the reclaimed land area in Tokyo Bay and just buy a piece of vacant land."
"I want you to build me a replica of the mansion in the game, exactly the same size, on this empty lot, using the strongest steel and cement and top-grade wood! The spiral staircase, the underground research lab, the helipad—everything must be built to the standards of real architecture!"
A collective gasp filled the conference room. Building a real mansion to film a movie? Is this the true value of a $100 million budget? It's outrageously extravagant!
But Kitahara Nobuyuki had his own calculations. The reason he built the set himself was entirely to maximize the use of the "Absolute Film Set Domain" that his system upgrade had brought him. If he rented a castle from someone else, many of the structures couldn't be modified, and the "Top-Tier Horror Movie Atmosphere Filter" enhanced by the system wouldn't achieve its most perfect immersive effect. Only in a completely enclosed and vast film set that belonged entirely to him could he elevate that gloomy, claustrophobic atmosphere, along with the physical texture of the props, to a level that sent chills down one's spine.
"Finally, there's the zombie filming." Kitahara Shin's gaze swept over the casting director. "I don't plan to rely entirely on computer-generated imagery (CGI) to create the monsters like Hollywood does. I need a large number of live-action actors specializing in character portrayal."
"Issue recruitment notices throughout Japan. No acting skills are required; as long as the physique is suitable, whether they are skinny and weak or tall and burly, recruit them all. Hire the world's best special effects makeup team to create their silicone skin."
A contact lens with its eyeballs rolled back and a model of rotting internal organs.
The casting director raised his hand with some concern: "President, real people playing zombies certainly have a more realistic feel. But—extras are often difficult to control. With hundreds of extras gathered together, if someone laughs in front of the camera, or if their body language looks fake and stiff, the entire atmosphere of horror is completely ruined. Training so many extras is almost an impossible task."
"You don't need to worry about the acting skills and teamwork of the extras," Kitahara Shin said with a smile.
This is his trump card.
As soon as the group of extras, fully made up, stepped onto his film set, guided by the system's group buff effect and flow state, they didn't even need to act. The system automatically adjusted their subconscious, making them walk like real zombies, staggering and contorting, with every opening of their gaping maw precisely timed to the most horrifying moment. Even a chaotic scene of hundreds of zombies simultaneously flooding into a hall would present a breathtakingly realistic feel thanks to the system's powerful orchestration.
"You just need to do the most realistic makeup on them and prepare the thickest fake blood." Kitahara Shin's voice echoed in the conference room, carrying a domineering fervor. "When we get to the set, the moment my camera starts rolling, I'll show the whole world what real fear is!"
With Kitahara Shin's order, the entire Kitahara Empire's massive and sophisticated war machine immediately sprang into action for this epic masterpiece, tentatively titled "Resident Evil: Origins."
Funds poured in like water, and construction roared day and night on the Tokyo Bay site, where a sinister and terrifying Arklay Mansion was rising from the ground; thousands of special actors flocked to the casting center from all over the country; and all kinds of live-fire military training were in full swing in secret bases.
A visual storm that is about to change the global film industry landscape is quietly brewing in the heart of Japan.