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视若无睹 中国群众演员现状调查 - 中国知网

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来自五湖四海的他们是《赤壁》、《大腕》、《康熙大帝》等众多影视剧中的路人、士兵、宫女等无名群众,白天他们可能站在镜头前虚幻的世界里,晚上却也许为明天的生活费、下一顿免费的剧组盒饭在哪里而茫然.他们大都不愿意在现实的残酷和梦想的缥缈中保持清醒.宁可活在臆想的亢奋中--他们.被称作群众演员。哪里有剧组拍戏,哪里就有群众演员(简称"群演"),全国各大影视基地和北京的北影厂门口,是群众演员的著名集散...

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群众演员:影视明星路上的"活道具" - 中国知网

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《我是路人甲》:"跑龙套"的也有青春 - 中国知网

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电影民工 草根追梦人 - 中国知网

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群众演员不只是路人甲乙丙 - 中国知网

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纪录片里的群众演员 - 中国精品文化期刊文献库

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众所周知,拍电影只有故事片才需要演员,拍新闻片必须真实,不允许出现演员。然而在荒诞的"文革"时期,我还真的当过一回虚假的新闻片演员。1973年年底,我到沈阳探亲。假期将过,我想带点东北特产送给南方亲友,但商店只有白菜、萝卜和土豆这"老三样"。父亲说:"你要到大连乘船去上海,大连出苹果,你就买点苹果吧!"谁知到了号称苹果之乡的大连,连跑几家商店,哪里有苹果,连苹果皮都未见到。我怀着最后一线希望...

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"入戏"与"群众演员" - 中国党建期刊文献总库

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梦想与现实 - 中国知网

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纪录片《梦想与现实--记录群众演员的点滴生活》是一部以群众演员为主角的纪录片，这是一个经常被我们忽略了的群体，然而在追梦的过程中，他们一路走得异常艰辛。在作品里，作者记录了三位车墩影视城的群众演员，他们来自不同地方但却怀着相目的相同，为了实现心中的一颗明星梦，他们甘愿风餐露宿、食不饱腹，甘愿冒着不被认可的压力、顶着家人的不理解独自漂泊打拼。虽然他们经常用"电影民工"的称号来调侃自己，但是还是...

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China is home to the world's highest number of cinephiles.

Over 10,000 cinemas across the country received more than 1.7 billion moviegoers in 2018. The world's second-largest movie market raked in total box office revenue of 60.98 billion yuan (about 8.87 billion U.S. dollars), accounting for more than one-fifth of the global box office grosses.

This year marks the 70th anniversary of the founding of the People's Republic of China (PRC), but the history of Chinese cinema can be traced back to earlier times.

A black-and-white silent film featuring and named after the Peking Opera classic "Dingjun Mountain" was produced at a small photo studio in Beijing in 1905, marking the birth of the first Chinese movie as well as the beginning of the Chinese film industry.

After a remarkable golden age from the 1920s to 1930s, the country's movie sector has completely stagnated due to over a decade of traumatic conflicts that plunged its people into misery and suffering.

Although they started from scratch, the post-1949 Chinese movies observed numerous historical firsts and records thanks to generations of filmmakers and industrial practitioners who dedicated their entire careers to Chinese cinema.

Tracing new China's cinematic footprints, we will see how the invaluable pictures reflect the tremendous changes the country and its people have undergone over the past 70 years.

As Robert McKee, the globally celebrated master of the art of storytelling, said: "Story is a metaphor for life and life is lived in time."

Dawn of a new era

Dubbed the "Cradle of new China's film industry," the Northeast Film Studio, founded in 1945, was the first film studio to start operations after nearly 15 years of constant war.

Renamed "Changchun Film Studio" in 1955, it also became the first registered film factory under the PRC. The studio is a landmark in the development and history of new China's films.

The 1949 piece "Bridge," widely considered the first feature film completed after the founding of the PRC, was produced here, kicking off a new era of Chinese cinema. The film set the theme for the productions during the 1950s and the 1960s - that is to stress the hard-won revolutionary victory and to strengthen national confidence and identity.

Several of the key movies of this period also take the war and its aftermath as its subject, telling the story of ordinary Chinese people struggling under Japanese occupation, such as the 1963 feature "Little Soldier Zhang Ga."

The period also saw Chinese biopics in their heyday. Many of the titles that dominated the theaters at that time put the spotlight on heroes and martyrs from the 1955 biopic classic "Dong Cunrui" to the 1959 biopic of the Chinese musician "Nie Er," the composer of the PRC's national anthem "March of the Volunteers."

From 1949 to the mid-1960s, the number of organizations that were able to host film screenings increased from about 400 to more than 20,300. The China Film Distribution and Exhibition Corporation, established in 1951, has licensed and released a total of 1,213 films by 1965, including features and shorts.

In the 17 years after the PRC founding, the country's film industry churned out numerous cinematic compositions: 603 feature films and 8,342 reels of documentaries and news were produced.

Sponsored by the government, numerous producers and directors went to Moscow to learn film techniques and production. Meanwhile, there were 36 films of various genres winning prizes overseas.

Exploration never ceases

Cinematic forerunners, who performed actively during the first three decades after 1949, are considered as the Third Generation of Chinese filmmakers, including the late film masters Xie Tieli (1925-2015), Shui Hua (1916-1995), Cheng Yin (1918-1984) and Cui Wei (1912-1979).

They shaped the aesthetics of Chinese cinema in the new era and undertook the early exploration of filmmaking techniques. Their works, which followed the realistic principle, endeavored to unveil the nature of life, depicting social conflicts in a profound way.

Xie Jin (1923-2008) is one of the most dominant representatives of this period. He is known for early award-winning works like "The Red Detachment of Women" and "Stage Sisters." He is considered as the "teacher of film masters" as his oeuvre has a significant influence on the following generations of Chinese directors.

New waves have stormed China's cinematic world since the late 1970s in conjunction with the reform and opening-up process. The ideological liberation movement brought vigor and vitality to artistic creations. The film industry revived with filmmakers showing unprecedented passion, creating a tremendous amount of excellent works.

The Fourth Generation of directors introduced a particular genre named "scar films," which focused on individual tragedies as microscopic representations of massive societal trauma, displaying reflections on the most recent contemporary history.

These seemingly simple and melting dramas adopted a unique style of storytelling, featuring intimate, small-scale and finely detailed narratives, proving to be of great importance and influential in today's era.

Like Xie Jin and his fellows, some of the Fourth Generation's most prominent figures, such as Xie Fei and Wu Yigong, also served as mentors to the iconic characters of the Fifth Generation, such as Zhang Yimou, Chen Kaige and Tian Zhuangzhuang, who were admitted to the Beijing Film Academy in the same year of 1978.

The Fifth Generation brought Chinese cinema to the forefront of the international art-house circuit with their considerably acclaimed works, marked by a bold use of colors and emotive performances.

Some of their most celebrated epics include Golden Bear winner "Red Sorghum" (1987) and "Raise the Red Lantern" (1991) by Zhang Yimou, "Yellow Earth" (1984) and "Farewell My Concubine" (1993) by Chen Kaige, and Tian Zhuangzhuang's "The Horse Thief."

Together with the previous generations of Chinese filmmakers, these radical aesthetic and artistic experimentalists co-created the second golden age of Chinese cinema following the 1930s.

A booming market

The new century observed the rise of the Sixth Generation led by Jia Zhangke and Wang Xiaoshuai, who play increasingly important roles as today's most solid creative force in Chinese cinema, albeit the Fifth remains their mainstay.

The new era also witnesses China's rapid growth to the world's second-largest movie market that cannot be ignored. The country's film industry has seen a stable development since the dawn of a new millennium.

Especially since 2014, the growth rate of Chinese movies has dramatically increased, defining the concept of "Chinese speed" and showing a "Chinese miracle." The box office had rocketed from 29.63 billion yuan (4.41 billion U.S. dollars) in 2014 to 60.98 billion yuan (8.87 billion U.S. dollars) in 2018.

In the first quarter of 2019, the Chinese box office market has raked in 18.61 billion yuan (2.77 billion U.S. dollars). During this year's Spring Festival, the domestic box office has reached a record number of 5.84 billion yuan (about 869 million U.S. dollars), which has exceeded the total gross in 2008.

This year, China plans to accelerate the development and construction of theaters further as well as to boost the movie market via a series of new policies.

There will be more than 80,000 big screens across the country in 2020. Also, more theaters are being built in China's remote rural areas, according to an official document released by the State Film Administration last December.

Also, more international cooperation in film production can be expected. During last year's Film Market - a core section of the Beijing International Film Festival (BJIFF) - Cinedigm, one of the largest American independent studios, signed a cooperation agreement with six Chinese partners.

At the ceremony, Chris McGurk, chairman and chief executive of Cinedigm, said, "I believe we are on the threshold of an even greater new global age for Chinese cinema."

The Film Market section of this year's BJIFF, which kicked off on Saturday night, has received more than 735 project pitches from 10 countries and regions to date.

It is fair to say that with more participation in the global market and more recognition worldwide, the next golden age for Chinese cinema is foreseeable.
(Cover image and infographics designed by Li Jingjie)

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Firsts, figures and fading memories: China's cinematic footprints over past 70 years

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China is home to the world's highest number of cinephiles. Over 10,000 cinemas across the country received more than 1.7 billion moviegoers in 2018. The world's second-largest movie market raked in total box office revenue of 60.98 billion yuan (about 8.87 billion U.S. dollars), accounting for more than one-fifth of the global box office grosses.

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China's entertainment industry is rattled after a document circulated online indicated that artists and studios would need to self-audit and pay additional taxes for the past three years by the end of 2018, Beijing Youth Daily reported Friday.

Bearing no stamp or other markings that would indicate its official status, the document claims that industry personnel and studios are being asked to pay taxes at rates higher than previously required by local laws, as well as penalty fees for at least 70 percent of their income between 2016 and 2018. The document also says that 17 entertainers have already been summoned to speak with tax authorities in person.

Coming in the wake of a crackdown launched in October after a high-profile tax evasion scandal involving actor Fan Bingbing, the notice has worried screenwriters, directors, actors, and others in the entertainment industry. Organizations such as the China TV-Series Screenwriters Committee and the China Film Directors' Guild have sent representatives to meet in person with officials from the State Administration of Taxation to discuss the matter.

In a post on microblogging platform Weibo, the official account of the China TV-Series Screenwriters Committee asked netizens to refrain from speculation. The committee included a screenshot of another social media post from its chairman, Liu Heping, reading, "The government's support for the movie and TV industries won't change and will only get better."

A detailed statement issued by the China Film Directors' Guild on Saturday - now deleted, though a cached version can still be viewed - expresses opposition to the tax payment scheme shown in the circulated document. "It would be unfair for all of the law-abiding people in the entertainment industry and would definitely lead to doubts about the credibility of local governments." The statement also suggests that this year's new tax crackdown would affect the entire industry's current business operations and calls upon authorities to consider more practical alternatives.

In 2014, the State Council - China's cabinet - published a notice calling for the abolition of any local taxation policies that had not been authorized by the country's tax authorities. In practice, however, local governments have disregarded this notice, maintaining existing taxes at low rates and even implementing new tax reductions to attract business. If enforced, the changes originally outlined in the notice would alter these local tax policies. Many of the studios that would be affected were established in "experimental parks" - designated areas for industries - dovetailing with local government initiatives to support the arts.

On Thursday, financial news outlet Securities Times confirmed with industry insiders that many had already received the circulated document. Cheng Qingsong, a veteran screenwriter, told Sixth Tone on Monday that his friends had been notified to self-audit. Like the directors' guild, he said he doesn't understand why the government is backtracking on the favorable local tax rates and policies followed in past years.

"We've received the notice and will deal with the [taxation] issues," said Cheng. "My point is that it is important to have consistent policies."
Editor: Hannah Lund. (Header image: Extras stand by during filming in Hengdian Town, Jinhua, Zhejiang province, July 14, 2016. VCG)

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Tax Crackdown Shocks, Worries China's Entertainment Industry

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China's entertainment industry is rattled after a document circulated online indicated that artists and studios would need to self-audit and pay additional taxes for the past three years by the end of 2018, Beijing Youth Daily reported Friday.

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This article is part of a about the changing face of Chinese tourism.

Millions of tourists visit the walled ancient city of Pingyao every year, but its faded movie theater has never been an attraction. The theater has been closed for over a decade, idly gathering dust as throngs of people shuffle by.

Nevertheless, the 2,700-year-old city in northern China's Shanxi province could soon be at the center of Chinese cinema.

Several months ago, pile drivers started pounding away at Pingyao's abandoned diesel engine factory, transforming it into the site of the area's first international film festival. The inaugural Pingyao Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon International Film Festival (PYIFF) - named after the Oscar-winning kung fu movie - will kick off in late October.

The main driver behind the project is celebrated Chinese cineast and Shanxi native Jia Zhangke. In his view, PYIFF differs from other domestic film festivals in that it will forgo big-budget blockbusters. Jia's own movies, which he writes and directs, tend to be small productions as well, with a focus on people living on the fringes of society. One recurring element in Jia's work is his home province, Shanxi.

"I constantly wondered during the journey when we could have a film festival in our own country, in our own hometown," Jia said during a press conference held in Beijing in March. "Today, my dream has come true."

Jia - who himself has triumphed at the prestigious Cannes, Berlin, and Venice film festivals - has assembled a team of international curators and producers to select films for the Pingyao festival. They reportedly hope to see PYIFF become the Chinese version of Sundance, a festival held in Utah that features only independent films.

Though PYIFF is Jia's brainchild, it has also received backing from the Pingyao County government as part of Pingyao's push to attract more visitors. The government has pledged 40 million yuan ($6 million) to cover the festival's costs for the first three years, hoping that the film event will contribute to Pingyao's already-sizable tourism industry.

Director Jia Zhangke poses after winning the Best Screenplay award at the Asian Film Awards in Macau, March 17, 2016. IC

Situated in the heart of China's coal mining country, Pingyao County once relied on heavy industry - until unfavorable national policies and depleted natural reserves took their toll on the sector. Luckily, the area was endowed with more than just coal: It began promoting its walled ancient city, complete with well-preserved historic architecture.

In 1997, Pingyao Ancient City was named a UNESCO World Heritage site. Then, in 2015, it became a 5A-level tourist attraction, the highest ranking awarded by the China National Tourism Administration based on a host of factors, including site preservation and popularity. Pingyao received more than 10 million visitors in 2016, which earned the county a total of 11.8 billion yuan. But that's still a far cry from the 19.3 billion-yuan target that the local government has set for 2019.

Just outside the upcoming film festival's main venue - the former engine factory - stands an eatery owned by Zhao Xiaoyuan, 49, and her husband. They used to work at the factory, a state-owned enterprise that employed around 1,500 people at its peak. But the couple were laid off in the 1990s when a wave of liberalizing economic reforms swept across the country.

Zhao Xiaoyuan poses for a photo at her restaurant at Pingyao Ancient City, Jinzhong, Shanxi province, May 19, 2017. Fu Danni/Sixth Tone

Located in a remote corner of the ancient city, the restaurant sits some distance away from Pingyao's most significant historical sites and other tourist attractions. This means that rent for the restaurant - about 50,000 yuan per year - is nearly half what the area's most desirable properties go for. But it also means that business is just "so-so," Zhao said. The place is only ever packed during the annual Pingyao International Photography Festival, which started in 2001 and is also held at the former engine factory.

Every year during one week in September, Zhao's restaurant is flooded with people in khaki vests, carrying big cameras and even bigger lenses. Although Zhao expects a slight uptick in customers during the upcoming film festival, she's not over the moon - two festivals a year won't give much of a boost to her family's income, she figures.

Newly inaugurated county head Shi Yong agrees, telling Sixth Tone that "The idea of a film festival alone doesn't appeal to me very much." The local government has its sights set on a bigger slice of China's burgeoning movie industry: With plans to build a studio and other film-related facilities, Pingyao aims to become the northern Hengdian, the town in Zhejiang province whose TV and movie studios host about 70 percent of all Chinese productions.

Shi is not originally from Pingyao. His first impression of the area's tourism sector, he said, is that it doesn't attract enough young visitors. In his view, Pingyao is a typical northern Chinese city that quietly and solemnly fixates on its long history. He hopes the film festival will help make the ancient city more attractive to young people.

But Zhao's 19-year-old son, Wang Sen, wants nothing more than to escape his hometown. He's studying in the provincial capital, Taiyuan, to become a tour guide and doesn't plan to move back to Pingyao anytime soon. "Pingyao is an easy and comfortable place, not suitable for people who want to fight for success," he told Sixth Tone.

An aerial view of Pingyao Ancient City in Jinzhong, Shanxi province, Oct. 22, 2006. George Steinmetz/Corbis Documentary/VCG

Wang doesn't go to the cinema often - only on dates with his girlfriend, he said - and he doesn't expect the film festival to help his family's business very much, explaining that silver screen celebrities are not the kind of people to patronize his parents' modest restaurant. Nevertheless, he can't help but feel excited.

"I look forward to feasting my eyes on A-list stars and big-name directors right outside our door," Wang said.
Additional reporting from Pingyao: Fu Danni and Li Wenying; contributions: Colum Murphy; editor: Kevin Schoenmakers. (Header image: A view of Pingyao Ancient City during the annual Pingyao International Photography Festival in Jinzhong, Shanxi province, Sept. 26, 2016. Cheng Yuefeng/IC)

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Ancient City Seeks to Host China's Sundance

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This article is part of a about the changing face of Chinese tourism. Millions of tourists visit the walled ancient city of Pingyao every year, but its faded movie theater has never been an attraction. The theater has been closed for over a decade, idly gathering dust as throngs of people shuffle by.

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ZHEJIANG, East China - Four years ago, Peng Yusi was a nondescript Beijing drifter who waited tables and sold gloves under a foot bridge to get by. Now he's a star, with over 40 major movie roles under his belt.

But there's a catch: None of them have ever been shown in the cinema.

Instead Peng - who's best known as the zombie-fighting, ghost-busting sorcerer Yin Shisan in the first two films of the "Monk Comes Off the Mountain" series - has turned the internet into his stage. The first film, which shares its name with the series, had a puny 280,000-yuan (then $45,100) budget and was filmed over the course of a week. Nevertheless, it became an online hit when it was released in 2015, raking in 24 million yuan over the course of four months from users who pay per video.

The series is an example of "online big movies," a term coined in 2014 which refers to movies exclusively shown on video streaming sites - similar to Netflix- or Hulu-produced films in the United States. The market size has grown from 1 billion yuan in 2016, to an estimated 3 billion yuan this year, according to data published by video streaming site iQIYI. As online movies tend to be cheaper to make than traditional blockbusters, they've become a paradise for both profit-seeking opportunists and relatively inexperienced directors who are able to experiment with rookie actors and banned genres that might not normally make it onto the silver screen.

Peng believes that his stardom is a lucky coincidence. Born as Peng Qiang to a working-class family in northwestern Gansu province, Peng never had any professional theater training. He graduated from a vocational school, and worked first on a factory assembly line, then in an internet café.

In 2010, after two years at the cybercafé, Peng met a girl who changed his life. She was an aspiring actress, and before he knew it he was following her to Beijing to pursue an acting career against his parents' wishes. But when he arrived, reality hit. He didn't have any influential industry connections and struggled to land even the occasional role as an extra. Housing was expensive, and he found himself experiencing what millions of migrant workers face: living in a basement and flitting between odd jobs. In 2013, he changed his name to Peng Yusi after a fortuneteller told him it might bring him better luck.

It just might have worked.

But Peng credits his lucky break to director Zhang Tao, who in turn has a lot for which to thank online movies. Filmmaking had long been Zhang's dream, but he repressed it, believing it would be impossible for a layman like him to achieve. In 2014, Zhang - who now owns several media companies - spotted a hole in the market for zombie feature films and decided to direct his debut online film, "Monk Comes Off the Mountain." While casting, he stumbled upon Peng's acting portfolio and was taken with Peng's everyman look, opting to hire him for the role of Yin over a more traditionally attractive heartthrob.

A makeup artist powders Peng Yusi's face at a dressing room in Hengdian Town, Zhejiang province, May 26, 2018. Shi Yangkun/Sixth Tone

Zhang and a few of his friends raised a total of 280,000 yuan and called in favors for the things they couldn't afford, such as renting a fire engine and a school stadium. "To be honest, 280,000 yuan is not even enough for lunchboxes for a normal movie crew," Zhang tells Sixth Tone. "[It felt like] we were crossing the river by feeling the stones," he added.

Despite the film's cash crunch, it was still a good time for the emerging online film industry, which was able to show things that are often not allowed to be shown in cinemas. Anything shown in Chinese theatres needs official approval: Producers must submit an application before shooting, and the final product needs to be signed off. Because China currently does not have a film classification system, regulators cut content that they consider unfit for an all-ages audience - including violence, highly sexualized scenes, zombies, and vampires. Until July of last year, online movies had very little official oversight, and so producers took advantage of this competitive advantage. In 2016, financial publication Jiemian reported that movies with supernatural themes made up almost half of the overall online movie market.

"Monk Comes Off the Mountain" was no different - Peng's Yin helped the soul of an aborted baby get to heaven, saved a pretty girl who was being haunted by her dead friend's ghost, and also fought off zombies.

Peng embodied the character so well that he was soon flooded with similarly mystical roles. But he hasn't recited any incantations for a while, thanks to increased official scrutiny. In response to the growing online movie market, video platforms and the country's media regulator released stricter rules in June and July last year. Nowadays, online movies have to first gain approval from both the regulator and host platform before they can be screened, meaning that there is no more content on ghosts or superstitious practices. Last year, iQIYI refused 20 percent of online movies offered by studios, and took dozens of hit films offline, including those mimicking old Hong Kong gangster movies.

It's been a blow for online movies: According to Peng, the formerly lax rules about content were why movies like the "Monk Comes Off the Mountain" series were successful in the first place. "Back then [in 2014], a few decades had passed since a zombie picture was made," Peng says, adding that China wouldn't allow foreign productions about the undead to screen either. The lack of zombie films left the audience hungry for the genre, he says. "If they had but one taste, they would gobble it up with relish."

Online movie director Qin Xiangfei - who goes by his nickname Professor Qin - explains that the newborn industry often had to use salacious content to win over viewers. "The first bucket of gold in any industry is sinful," says Qin, "Without money, without high-quality talent, we have to use certain tricks, as well as more bloody and naked scenes, to attract viewers and survive."

Inside a dressing room at a film set in Hengdian Town, Zhejiang province, May 26, 2018. Shi Yangkun/Sixth Tone

While traditional movies might take years to shoot, limited budgets mean online movies are under much tighter schedules, usually taking a week or two to film, during which the crew often works until midnight. Last month, Qin worked on a new martial arts movie starring Peng, which had to be completely wrapped up in 15 days. The crew worked almost 24 hours a day, seven days a week. "We are like workers in a Foxconn factory," he says, comparing his working conditions with an iPhone factory accused of harsh working conditions. "As a result, the films lack creativity, just like a process on an assembly line." The tight filming schedule for online movies contributes to their low quality, Qin says, adding that he hopes both the content - and the schedules that put them under such enormous time pressure - will improve as online movies get more investment.

Now that online movies are subject to the same government oversight as feature films, they have less of a competitive edge and may struggle to compete with big-budget flicks. The changes over the past year have seen many small-time production houses driven out of the game, Qin says. Online movies are often criticized for being of lower quality than their blockbuster counterparts - unsurprising considering their short shooting schedules, low budgets, hasty post-production, and sometimes weak plots. On review sites, some viewers have slammed online films for their substandard quality and tendency to steal names and branding from well-established blockbusters. In one movie poster for "Monk Comes Off the Mountain," for example, there's even a look-alike of Marvel's most popular hero, Iron Man.

A promotional image for the film 'Monk Comes Off the Mountain II,' featuring an Iron Man lookalike in the top right corner. From the film's page on Douban

While traditional filmmaker and professor at Beijing Film Academy Wang Hongwei also recognized the need to make a profit, he still tried to warn the online movie industry not to get too carried away by monetary success. "No matter whether they're online platforms or young directors, they need to stay alert so as not to be seduced by the current statistics," he said at an industry conference held by iQIYI.

The new rules have already made changes in the fledgling industry, with some films graduating to bigger-budget productions while some smaller-budget flicks are no longer competitive enough to survive. For Zhang Tao, he has moved away from cheap productions. His latest directorial works - one fantasy and one action-packed movie - cost eight and ten million yuan to shoot, respectively.

As a pioneer of online big movies, Zhang remains optimistic about the industry: It's still developing, and will eventually reach a Hollywood standard, he says. Zhang sees the silver lining of the increased official input - he thinks it's a sign that the industry has become big enough to be noticed by the authorities. "You can't let the masses and opportunists with bad aims disrupt the market," says Zhang, claiming that he has always been aware that his creations can't cross the line.

Oscar-winning Taiwanese director Ang Lee is Zhang's role model, but Zhang also believes that movies should be a commodity first and an artistic work second. People are often impressed by how he has managed to earn so much from his films, despite creating the film on a shoestring. He hopes that this can show kindred spirits - whether they're fresh graduates or Beijing drifters - that working on a film isn't just a pipe dream. "Many youngsters with a movie dream like I had [now] have a goal to strive for," he says. "They see the light."

For Peng, the online big movie industry has been a great shortcut to stardom. Despite his humility, his paychecks show that he's already become reasonably successful: His current income is higher than most online movie actors', at a few million yuan per year.

Peng Yusi takes a nap at a film set in Hengdian Town, Zhejiang province, May 26, 2018. Shi Yangkun/Sixth Tone

But such highs have come at a price. Peng's lost count of how many films he shot last year, but estimates that it was at least 12, meaning that he had barely any time to relax. Peng has cut down on roles in a bid to level-up into big-budget productions with more challenging genres to hone his acting skills, although he's yet to score a big part on television or in traditional box office movies. "I would rather be a chicken head than a phoenix tail," he says, explaining how he would prefer a main role in a small-time film over a smaller part in a major hit. The busy schedule has already taken a toll on his health - he now takes traditional Chinese medicine three times a day after meals. "It's the medicine that holds me together," Peng jokes, trying to sound careless.

Ultimately, says Peng, the industry has fundamentally changed, thanks to the year-old rules and oversight, but it still provides an easier route for rookie actors to get on screen. The industry is more cautious, meaning fans of supernatural movies might not be able to get what they've waited so long for. "The good side is that [the government] has started to recognize and standardize the industry. The bad side is that creations are restricted," says the former onscreen fighter. "Anything is a double-edged sword."
Editor: Julia Hollingsworth. (Header image: Peng Yusi (right) takes a break at a film set in Hengdian Town, Zhejiang province, May 26, 2018. Shi Yangkun/Sixth Tone)

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The Big Screen Dreams of China's Internet Movie Stars

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ZHEJIANG, East China - Four years ago, Peng Yusi was a nondescript Beijing drifter who waited tables and sold gloves under a foot bridge to get by. Now he's a star, with over 40 major movie roles under his belt. But there's a catch: None of them have ever been shown in the cinema.

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Copyright © 2018 CGTN. Beijing ICP prepared NO.16065310-3

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The 'Drifters' Dreaming of Stardom - Caixin Global

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The 'Drifters' Dreaming of Stardom- In one of the world's largest movie production bases, aspiring actors from all over China struggle to get noticed

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seeking stardom: life inside china’s largest film studio

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Seeking stardom: life inside China's largest film studio

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Hengdian in the centre of China’s eastern province of Zhejiang attracts an endless stream of aspiring actors with dreams of making it big in the movie business. Aspiring actors have high...

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Fed up with the drudgery of his sales job in southern China, Lu Qi quit and travelled a thousand kilometres north to one of the country's biggest film studios with hopes of making it in movies.

That dream remains a work in progress for Lu and thousands like him who eke out a precarious living as extras at Hengdian World Studios.

Just as movie-goers use film to escape reality, so too do many of Hengdian's army of more than 6,000 extras.

"I failed so many times (in sales) and haven't made much progress," said Lu, his head shaved bald save for a knit cap keeping it warm.

"Most people here have no degrees, skills or relations. (We) can't do any business either, so we are just here to escape the reality and the competition out there," the 24-year-old added.

Hengdian, in eastern China's Zhejiang province, was once a poverty-stricken town amid rugged hills. But in the mid-1990s the investment firm Hengdian Group expanded into movies.

It bulldozed the landscape and erected the mammoth studio complex, which now claims to be the world's largest film and TV shooting base.
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Sometimes dubbed the "Hollywood of the East" or simply "Chinawood", local media reported more than 70 per cent of China's films and TV shows have been at least partly shot on a 330-hectare (1.3 sq mile) site.

Sets range from ancient palace complexes that can accommodate casts of thousands to contemporary mansions and modern green screens.

"You can complete a Beijing-Hong Kong trip in one day," Hengdian tour guide Wu Rongrong declared as she stood before a life-sized reproduction of Beijing's Forbidden City while gesturing toward a replica of an old Hong Kong street complete with opium bars.
Cast of thousands
The studio has been the backdrop for Chinese blockbusters like "Hero" (2002) and has been graced by A-listers like Jackie Chan and Fan Bingbing.
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Its growth has outrun the local supply of manpower.

"At first, we recruited mostly locals as extras. Now the majority of them come from out of town," said Zhou Fenglai, a Hengdian official who deals with performer management.

An estimated 6,000 to 8,000 people are on hand daily to serve as extras at Hengdian.

Lian Chunyu grew up on horseback on the plains of China's Inner Mongolia region, before parlaying that experience into work as a Hengdian stunt rider for eight years.

Even though his face is never seen in movies, it's still a thrill to be part of it.

"It would be difficult for me to get used to doing something else after this," he said.
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Lu, who spends a few months a year in Hengdian and the rest at home in Guangdong province, checks his WeChat group messages each morning for studio work, usually finding something daily.

Lu and Lian make about 100-200 yuan per day ($15-$30), enough to cover rent and meals, while those with more acting experience can make more.

Male extras get an additional 40 yuan each time they shave their heads - partly to make sure there is ample manpower for often used scenes requiring the Manchu-style shaved head and braided queue.

As well as the extra cash, Lu also likes that such a specific look rules him out of military roles.
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"It's very uncomfortable running around in the mountains wearing armour and being blown up," Lu said, comparing it to work as a "coolie."
Herded like cattle
Between scenes, Lu shoots videos of himself with props and costumes, which he uploads to social media. Many extras do live online broadcasts and performances, making additional money via digital payments from their followers, he said.

One downside: being barked at and herded like cattle.

"Most film crews are really terrible, cursing people and such. That's despicable. The bigger the production team, the worse they are," said Wang Xiaopin, a 47-year-old extra from central Henan province.

"It doesn't matter how well you perform. In their eyes, you will always be unqualified."
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China's entertainment sector has blossomed in recent years as the government looks to build up the domestic industry and replace imported foreign content with homegrown fare.

But many projects have been put on hold after the government last year began cracking down on alleged widespread tax evasion and exorbitant pay for big-name stars.

That has made work more scarce for now, and while sources at Hengdian say some extras have left, Lu remains optimistic.

"I still want to be an actor," Lu explained, adding: "I believe the future will be better than the past."

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Chasing dreams of movie stardom in China's 'Hollywood of the East' | Hong Kong Free Press HKFP

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By Kelly Wang Fed up with the drudgery of his sales job in southern China, Lu Qi quit and travelled a thousand kilometres north to one of the country's biggest film studios with hopes of making it in movies. That dream remains a work in progress for Lu and thousands like him who eke out ...

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EXCELLENT AUDITIONING ACTORS FROM FIGURANT OR AMATEURS【群英会】-2/2