The Cannes Film Festival's daily bulletin rated and ranked all the films in competition.
The highest possible score was four points.
The scores came from the invited critics and media outlets. Well, they were for reference only.
The biggest use of the whole thing was giving people a gimmick to sell films before the awards ceremony.
That was exactly what Bai Youlou wanted.
As for how meaningful the scores were... not at all.
The daily bulletin's scorers and the festival's judges were completely different groups.
Besides, the jury was different every year. No one could say for sure what each member's tastes and preferences would be.
In previous years, there had often been films with sky-high bulletin scores and explosive praise from critics everywhere, only for them to walk away from Cannes with nothing.
Being the hot favorite didn't necessarily mean certain death, but their chances of winning were no better than those of the other films.
In three words: it was all luck.
The judges' standards were highly subjective. After all, even if two universally recognized film masters were put together, their views on film could still clash or even contradict each other.
That wasn't unusual.
But that was film.
That was Cannes.
The closing ceremony arrived in the blink of an eye.
When Hu Manyin came to ask Bai Youlou whether she should wear the silver evening gown tomorrow to match him, he and Old Zhou both felt as if they had suddenly woken from a dream.
Damn, the awards were finally here!
Because these past few days had been the busiest, Bai Youlou and Old Zhou had devoted themselves almost entirely to this.
Old Zhou no longer spouted nonsense like, "Artists can't be this mercenary," because he really couldn't handle everything by himself.
As for what they