Were theaters always the active party in box office theft? Could there also be cases where producers and distributors colluded with theaters to steal or transfer the box office revenue of competing films?
Such cases of box office manipulation were not rare either. The mainstream revenue-sharing ratio in the film market across the Pacific was that theaters took 57%, and the key to producers and theaters colluding to steal or transfer box office revenue lay precisely in that percentage split.
Let's suppose two films were released simultaneously: Film A and Film B. Film A was a Hollywood blockbuster import, while Film B was a domestic large-scale youth inspirational romance film.
Knowing that its appeal to audiences could not compare to Film A's, Film B's production side might privately negotiate with the theaters: "Transfer some of Film A's box office revenue to ours, and I'll give you a rebate." By offering kickbacks and similar incentives, the producers voluntarily lowered their share percentage, encouraging theaters to help them steal or transfer box office revenue.
Theaters, being profit-driven commercial enterprises, naturally found this tempting. Selling 100 million yuan worth of tickets and transferring part of that revenue to a film with a higher revenue share would earn them more profit.
As for Film B, which conspired with the theaters, even if it earned less directly because of the reduced share ratio, at least its reported box office total increased! Higher box office numbers could influence audience viewing choices later on and attract more investment capital — benefits that were hard to quantify but undeniably significant.
Films like The Dark Knight Rises and several previous Hollywood productions that had suffered box office theft likely encountered precisely this type of manipulation, Duke speculated.
Of course, in the film market across the Pacific, aside from this profit-driven collusion, there was also another type of box office reallocation — one done out of helplessness.
For certain "main theme" films, theaters were assigned mandatory screening quotas. But what if no one wanted to buy tickets? Some departments would lose face, right? So, they would simply "borrow" a bit of box office revenue from other successful films.
In such cases, even if the affected producers discovered the theft, they could only swallow their anger in silence.
If box office theft represented the struggle for profits between theaters and producers, then competition between different production companies naturally existed as well.
Can't compete with another movie? No problem. Just like in all business sectors, the film industry was rife with intense under-the-table competition.
Kickbacks were the most common means of suppressing competitors.
Mainstream audience choices were easily influenced by theater scheduling. If a production company made a deal with a theater — "increase my screening ratio, and I'll give you a rebate" — then the theater would gain a larger share of the revenue.
For example, when a certain movie from a studio called "Times" was released, during its opening week the producers spent large sums to buy out entire theaters. Theaters were promised rebates — one percentage point if the screening share reached 40%, two points if it reached 45%, and so on.
As for buying tickets to inflate box office numbers, that was also done to secure better scheduling and prime showtimes.
Take the earlier example again: Films A and B were released in the same week, both vying for prime afternoon weekend slots. Whichever movie the theater gave that slot to would gain an early advantage.
So, Film B would negotiate with the theater: "I'll buy half the seats for these showings myself." For the theater, since the production company was paying out of its own pocket, occupancy rates were guaranteed, and profits were higher. For Film B, although it spent money upfront, it gained high early box office figures and attention, allowing it to seize the initiative in subsequent competition.
Unlike in North America, where production, distribution, and exhibition were forcibly separated, many corporate groups across the Pacific owned all three — production companies, distribution companies, and theater chains. This gave individuals and films far more room to "maneuver."
For example, Duke recalled that in his previous life, one box office champion film had used nearly every trick in the book to secure its title. Later, it even blatantly held so-called "welfare screenings," effectively paying for its own tickets under the pretense of charity.
These "welfare screenings," advertised as honoring the elderly or caring for children, were entirely funded by the producers themselves. If that were all, it might have been excusable — but in order to inflate their numbers within limited screening time at their own theaters, they went so far as to schedule these "welfare" showings in the same auditorium every ten minutes!
Given the film's runtime, imagine how much box office revenue they could fabricate from just one screening slot.
To theater insiders, that so-called "box office champion" film was nothing more than a joke.
This was a textbook manipulation method, and it was far from an isolated case among vertically integrated production-distribution-exhibition companies.
If one established a film company with its own production, distribution, and theater arms, and its new film aimed for the annual box office crown but was still 300 million yuan short — what could be done?
Fake screenings and fabricated ticket sales, of course. After all, most of the money just moved from the company's left pocket to its right pocket.
What would the cost be? Suppose falsifying 300 million yuan in box office revenue — one would need to pay 8.3% of that amount, or 24.9 million yuan, as the required national film development fund and taxes.
Spend a small amount, gain huge prestige — that was the choice the "champion" film's producers made.
Such falsified box office figures were often barely concealed, and the perpetrators would even justify their actions righteously. In this rapidly developing yet chaotic market, this was merely one of many forms of disorder.
Just like in Hollywood, many film companies would stop at nothing for profit and numbers.
Every time a new movie declared during its premiere that it aimed for 1 or 2 billion yuan at the box office, netizens would knowingly laugh — because to make the numbers look good, they would surely use any means necessary.
Box office theft had long become an open secret among the industry's ambitious players. In fact, within the industry, not having manipulated box office figures almost made one unqualified to call themselves a filmmaker.
Ticket hiding, underreporting, bribing for better screening slots, offering high rebates — these were all standard practices.
Perhaps those same box office schemers even held regular meetings to brainstorm new tricks for stealing revenue.
For example, in a report submitted to Duke by Warner Bros. Greater China, a new phenomenon had emerged in the film industry across the Pacific — "ghost screenings," the latest weapon of box office fraud thriving under cover of night.
Just like that so-called champion film, movies suspected of "phantom screenings" usually choose non-operational hours—early mornings or midnight—to schedule fake showings lasting only a few dozen minutes, turning them on the books into "sold-out sessions." Or the film's producers and distributors spend their own money to create the illusion of full attendance during prime time. The goal is singular—to artificially boost the box office in a short period, attract trend-following audiences, and fabricate an image of success and popularity to raise first-week and subsequent screening rates.
Such chaos naturally drew Hollywood's attention. The MPAA not only lodged a formal complaint with the relevant departments across the Pacific but also established a dedicated Asia-Pacific office to handle disputes in that market.
Every film market requires a developmental phase before reaching maturity—Duke understood this well. So, even though he was aware of that market's disorder, he never considered giving up.
Moreover, the relevant authorities on the other side were beginning to implement certain laws and regulations to make the industry more standardized.
For example, after Duke and Warner Bros. submitted their protest, the head of a certain "big pair of scissors" publicly stated that, regarding the phenomenon of theaters stealing box office revenue, they would investigate based on evidence, enforce penalties by the rules, and grant absolutely no leniency.
The film distribution and exhibition association across the Pacific would also regularly release the names of theaters caught stealing box office revenue—using real names—and such violators would face huge fines and suspension from screening films for four to six months. In addition, those theaters would lose eligibility for that year's "advance levy and rebate" subsidies and awards.
The "big scissors" organization even planned to establish a specialized ticket-monitoring company to oversee theaters nationwide.
In addition to setting up such a monitoring company, they also introduced measures encouraging ordinary audiences to help with supervision. Photos of theaters altering film titles or issuing handwritten tickets would serve as official evidence for the film bureau to punish violators.
These were all encouraging developments, helping the market move toward a more standardized and transparent future.
Subsequently, the MPAA once again proposed the implementation of a film rating system to the "big scissors" authorities—but it was rejected yet again.
"The film rating system clearly has its advantages," said Scarlett Johansson, who had just returned from Tennessee. Flipping through a stack of letters the housekeeper Emma had just delivered, she spoke to Duke, who was sipping tea on the terrace. "Why do they keep rejecting it?"
Duke shrugged. "Who knows?"
The "big scissors" didn't want a rating system, nor did they want any dividing lines, because they didn't wish to appear as condoning pornography or violence to anyone. Their content restrictions reflected the anxieties of the ruling class: film and television content must not "endanger" unity, security, or honor; must not "distort" history; must not include explicit sexual or gambling scenes; and must not promote "religious supremacy" or depict fortune-telling, divination, or spiritual rituals in detail.
In theory, all these were strictly prohibited.
To some extent, a film rating system might lead to the gradual legalization of pornographic and violent films—an undeniable fact.
Of course, there were other, less crucial reasons as well.
For instance, the rating system didn't align with the "one-size-fits-all" approach of the "big scissors." Having ratings meant having standards, and with standards, things couldn't be pushed too far. For films they didn't want released, under a rating system they'd have to find proper reasons and excuses. But in the current situation, if certain people wanted a film banned, it simply wouldn't be shown—"inappropriate" was excuse enough.
In any case, the idea of film ratings across the Pacific was nothing more than a false proposition—not worth pursuing. Films by directors like Quentin Tarantino, for example, found it nearly impossible to enter that market. Even if they were imported, they might be abruptly pulled from theaters mid-screening by an emergency notice from the "big scissors."
Duke couldn't possibly explain all this to Scarlett Johansson—so he simply didn't bother.
At that moment, Scarlett Johansson opened what seemed to be an invitation letter, and her expression turned oddly amused. "These adult associations actually sent you an invitation?"
.....
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