Famous! Ch.213

Chapter 213: Box Office Surge

According to the fans, Lu Xu’s previous looks had been “somewhat conservative” and could have been more daring. However, makeup and styling were not solely up to the actor but had to align with the storyline. His previous films had not given him much room to showcase this aspect.

For the fans, Code A77 was nothing short of a visual feast.

The stills could even be used directly as wallpapers—compared to his first TV series, My Baby Prince, Lu Xu now had the distinct features of a mature man.

[This is exactly the kind of male beauty I want to see—ahhh!]

[Honestly, I think young actors should totally try out roles like this. But for some reason, in our country, when young actors lead films, they either end up in tragic coming-of-age dramas or urban love triangles. Audiences would love movies like this, wouldn’t they?]

[That’s because… there are too many directors in the industry like Zhang Zhizhen. For them, actors engaging in threes*mes or even group affairs is considered art, but making fun, feel-good films or lighthearted chick flicks is seen as lowbrow.]

[Uh… well…]

Moviegoers took a moment to reflect—did they not enjoy films like Code A77?

No, they loved them. The problem was that directors weren’t too keen on making them.

In terms of themes, domestic films in recent years had been too concentrated in specific genres. While there were special effects-driven productions, many of them—like the flop Sanzu River—were outright disasters. These films often made a killing at the box office early on, but once audiences got burned too many times, they inevitably became skeptical of so-called blockbusters.

Both Observing the Stars at Night and Code A77 had invested heavily in special effects, and audiences could clearly see where the money had gone.

However, the current market placed more emphasis on the depth of a film’s content, while technical innovation received far less attention.

Moreover, since special effects films required massive investments, they lost the potential to achieve big returns from small budgets.

When it came to high-budget films, investors typically favored well-established directors with proven success, leaving new directors with slim chances of securing funding. However, veteran directors often had their own distinctive styles, focusing more on depth than on technical innovation.

In a way, this problem had no real solution.

…

Lu Xu was hit by a fierce cold. He took two days off, but by the third day of the promotional tour, he still looked sickly. He was already drowsy backstage and had to push himself to stay alert once he got on stage.

“This isn’t the time to cut weight—eat more, drink more,” Xu Wen, who rarely accompanied Lu Xu to events, said while keeping a close eye on him. He had brought a large thermos and made sure Lu Xu drank water regularly.

Lu Xu felt like he had consumed an entire vat of water.

Despite his dazed state, he managed to make it through the event.

The production team released behind-the-scenes footage of Lu Xu climbing a moving train and parachuting, causing the audience to erupt in deafening screams that nearly shattered his eardrums.

Originally, this segment hadn’t been part of the event lineup. However, to reduce the number of times Lu Xu had to speak, the director deliberately added it.

Although Code A77 didn’t have many humorous behind-the-scenes moments, Lu Xu’s sharp gaze in the footage left a deep impression on fans—whether he was scaling mountains or traversing rugged terrain, he showed not a hint of hesitation.

It was a stark contrast to his current weakened state, where even his gaze seemed soft.

Everyone knew Lu Xu was dedicated to his craft, but in his previous works, this had been demonstrated through subtle facial expressions and emotional depth. In Code A77, however, his dedication was showcased through real, physical action.

He carried the submachine gun himself, and unless a stunt was absolutely beyond his ability, he performed all the dangerous scenes on his own. The filming of Code A77 was far from as easy as audiences might have imagined.

Although the film had fewer scenes focused on acting performance, achieving outstanding visual effects still required the actor’s full cooperation.

[Do people really think maintaining a model-like physique is that easy?]

[Haha, the entertainment industry comparisons are brutal (yes, I’m throwing shade). Actors like Lu Xu and Li Yan, real box office superstars, do their own stunts whenever possible. Even when they’re sick, they still show up for their fans. Meanwhile, some people take their shirts off only to reveal a belly full of fat, rely on stunt doubles for everything—including simple wire work—and cry over a tiny cut on their finger. But their fans will still defend them with ‘Do you know how hard they work?’ or ‘If you think it’s easy, why don’t you do it?’ Yeah, right.]

[Upstairs just roasted a whole bunch of people, hahaha. I once complained about this too, and someone accused me of body-shaming. Like, what’s there to be ashamed of? Just asking.]

[Lu Xu’s long-lasting popularity isn’t a coincidence—there’s a reason for it.]

Wu Ming had actually considered using the narrative of “Lu Xu promoting the film while sick” as a marketing strategy, but Lu Xu refused. Code A77 had remained at the top of the box office charts all week, and using such tactics would have seemed distasteful.

Lu Xu was willing to give his all for a role, but he didn’t want that to become a selling point of his acting career.

Being an actor was a profession, and dedication to a role was part of the job. Besides, he had already earned more money from this career than most people could ever dream of. He couldn’t expect to have it all.

Of course, even though the production team didn’t actively promote the story, Lu Xu’s immense popularity still pushed the news to the trending list.

Meanwhile, Code A77 continued its box office dominance.

On the third day, which was a Sunday, the film raked in 292 million yuan, maintaining a massive lead at the daily box office. By then, Code A77 had already surpassed 1.4 billion yuan in total earnings.

Up to Code A77, Lu Xu had never starred in a film with a box office below 1 billion yuan. Every movie he was in either made a huge profit or became an outright blockbuster—never a flop.

Of course, Code A77 received mixed reviews within the industry.

Even Movie Diary, a media outlet typically favorable toward Lu Xu, felt the film lacked depth. However, they praised its pacing, calling it a benchmark for the future of commercial blockbusters.

[The storyline follows familiar tropes, but as long as they resonate with audiences, there’s no reason they shouldn’t be leveraged for box office success.]

Meanwhile, some industry insiders and critics were far more cynical, claiming that Lu Xu was nothing more than “an aging actor selling his body” and that “tight-fitting outfits were what really carried Code A77 at the box office.”

Lu Xu: “…”

That sounded oddly familiar.

First of all, he was not an aging actor selling his body.

Secondly— That’s 1.4 billion yuan worth of ‘body.’ If you had the chance, wouldn’t you sell it too?

Before any critics could respond, Lu Xu left another comment under his own post: [Oh, you wouldn’t? How noble of you.]

Netizens: “…”

[We love watching it, we want to watch it—what’s it to you?]

[I can practically taste the jealousy. Let’s be real, they’re just bitter they couldn’t pull it off themselves.]

[Ahhh, calling it ‘an aging actor selling his body’—if I were Lu Xu, I wouldn’t let that slide either. Seriously, what’s with the nasty comments? Code A77 is crushing the box office, and some people are so jealous their faces must be twisted in rage. Tell me, can you even make one-tenth of what Code A77 has earned?]

[Don’t hate too much—the bitterness is showing.]

In the past, when industry insiders critiqued Lu Xu’s films, they at least focused on aspects like content, depth, storyline, and cinematography. Back then, his box office numbers hadn’t yet surpassed 2 billion yuan, and he wasn’t seen as the biggest threat in the film industry. As a result, their reviews often carried a condescending tone.

He was even mocked for failing to break the 2-billion-yuan barrier.

However, after he starred in Fearless Life and delivered two consecutive box office hits, those so-called professional critiques suddenly vanished. Instead, they resorted to dismissing his work as lowbrow, claiming that Obersving the Stars at Night becoming a box office phenomenon was “a tragedy for the film industry.”

Lu Xu couldn’t help but wonder—he wasn’t even a filmmaker himself, so why were these people lamenting the industry’s downfall like it was a personal crisis?

He didn’t get it.

From the way his rivals had shifted their tactics, all he could sense was sheer pettiness.

It felt like they had lost in every way—couldn’t outshine him in ticket sales, couldn’t beat him in awards—so all they could do was rant, as if making Lu Xu unhappy was their only goal.

“Code A77 had a solid storyline, didn’t it?” Lu Xu genuinely believed so.

“It did,” Zheng Xiao agreed. “There were so many garbage films released this year, but somehow, they only have a problem with Code A77?”

“That’s because they can’t make something like it,” Shao Yao chimed in. Lately, he had also been facing a lot of targeted criticism.

For someone like Lu Xu, whose reputation was already rock solid, those attacks were just for show—empty words meant to vent frustration. But Shao Yao was different. He was still climbing the ranks in the film industry, so when people targeted him, they meant business.

His agency wasn’t particularly skilled at handling such attacks, nor was it as aggressive in securing roles compared to other companies. Fortunately, Shao Yao was able to withstand the pressure on his own.

In that regard, Zheng Xiao’s agency was significantly stronger.

Each company had its own management style, and the three of them had chosen agencies that suited them best. Zheng Xiao was signed with a major company that imposed stricter restrictions, but he was used to it. Lu Xu, on the other hand, disliked being controlled, while Shao Yao was well-protected by his own agency.

Although Mingniao wasn’t the most powerful agency, it treated Shao Yao—the company’s top talent—with genuine care.

When Code A77 was released, both Shao Yao and Zheng Xiao immediately bought tickets to show their support. It had been a year and a half since Lu Xu’s last film, and they were just as invested in its box office performance.

—Though, given Lu Xu’s track record, any concerns were probably unnecessary.

When Zheng Xiao checked the film’s box office numbers again, he was stunned to find that Code A77 had already surpassed 2 billion yuan in total revenue—less than a week after its release.

Based on his own projections, even if the film didn’t break 4 billion yuan, reaching at least 3.5 billion shouldn’t be a problem.

“As long as no particularly tough competition appears in the coming weeks… huh?” Zheng Xiao casually scrolled through the list of upcoming releases. “Wait, wasn’t Roar and Howl originally scheduled for a different season? Why was its release date moved up?”

“Yeah, seems like it was specifically rescheduled for summer,” Lu Xu replied. “I heard the film performed really well overseas, both in terms of reviews and box office numbers.”

“It’s already hit 1 billion dollars, right? I didn’t expect it to be released here so soon.”

A movie that reached 1 billion dollar at the box office couldn’t have achieved that through just one market—it was undoubtedly designed for a global box office sweep.

In the entire history of cinema, fewer than fifty films had ever crossed the 1-billion-dollar mark.

For the Code A77 production team, Roar and Howl’s early release was definitely bad news.

The summer box office season accumulated earnings on a weekly basis. On the Thursday marking Code A77’s first full week in theaters, the film still brought in nearly 200 million yuan.

According to the usual box office trajectory, Code A77 was still in its growth phase. If it could maintain a strong screening ratio, it was possible that after surpassing 2 billion yuan, it wouldn’t even take another full week to break 3 billion.

But on Friday, Roar and Howl was set to premiere.

This was a film that had recently claimed the title of the highest-grossing movie of the year worldwide. It had topped the box office charts in over a dozen countries and wasn’t just arriving with overwhelming momentum—it would likely dominate theater schedules to the greatest extent possible.

[Code A77, in danger!]

[This should be a wake-up call for certain production teams. A real international blockbuster is about to show them what true cinema looks like. Stop hyping up that so-called ‘eye candy’ film—foreign audiences are laughing at how low our standards have fallen.]

[Code A77’s lucky streak is obviously over.]

There was no denying that Roar and Howl was a juggernaut. Upon its release that Friday, it immediately seized 34% of the total screenings and claimed most of the prime time slots in theaters, forcing Code A77 into second place.

Many online commenters expected Roar and Howl to completely crush Code A77 at the box office. However, while Code A77’s earnings did take a hit, the drop was far from disastrous.

On its eighth day in theaters, Code A77 still pulled in 159 million yuan, securing the second spot on the box office rankings.

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