Revolutionary Cycles in

Chinese Cinema, 1951–1979

This page intentionally left blank
 Revolutionary Cycles in
Chinese Cinema, 1951–1979

Zhuoyi Wang
REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA , 1951–1979
Copyright © Zhuoyi Wang, 2014.
Softcover reprint of the hardcover 1st edition 2014 978-1-137-37873-6

All rights reserved.

First published in 2014 by

PALGRAVE MACMILLAN®
in the United States—a division of St. Martin’s Press LLC,
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

Where this book is distributed in the UK, Europe and the rest of the World,
this is by Palgrave Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited,
registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills,
Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS.

Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above

companies and has companies and representatives throughout the world.

Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United

States, the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries.

ISBN 978-1-349-47847-7 ISBN 978-1-137-37874-3 (eBook)

DOI 10.1057/9781137378743

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Wang, Zhuoyi, 1974–

Revolutionary cycles in Chinese cinema, 1951–1979 / Zhuoyi Wang.
pages cm
Includes bibliographical references and index.

1. Motion pictures—China—History—20th century.

2. China—History—Cultural Revolution, 1966–1976. I. Title.
PN1993.5.C4W29 2014
791.430951—dc23 2014001691

A catalogue record of the book is available from the British Library.

Design by Integra Software Services

First edition: July 2014

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For all that the revolution created and devoured
This page intentionally left blank
 Contents

List of Figures ix
Acknowledgments xi
List of Abbreviations xv

Introduction: Understanding Revolutionary Culture

and Cinema 1

1 From The Life of Wu Xun to the Career of Song Jingshi:

Adapting Private Studio Filmmaking Legacy for a
Nationalized Cinema, 1951–1957 25
2 From Revolutionary Canon to Bourgeois White Flag:
Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon (1958) in the
Maoist Campaigns 45
3 From “a Hundred Flowers” to “a Poisonous Weed”:
Dangerous Opportunities for Satirical Comedies, 1955–1958 67
4 From Revolutionary Romanticism to Petty Bourgeois
Fanaticism: The Great Leap Forward and Filmmakers’
Stylistic Return to the Past, 1958–1960 93
5 From Disaster to Laughter: Making Comedies in a Changing
Political Landscape, 1959–1963 125
6 From Conflicting Authorities to Diverse Masses: Early Spring
in February (1964) as “Sugarcoated Poison” 149
Conclusion: From the Ebb of the Revolution to the End of
Revolutionary Cinema, 1967–1979 171

Notes 183
Bibliography 235
Index 259
This page intentionally left blank
 Figures

1.1 Wu Xun (middle) kneels down in front of Zhang (left) 31

1.2 Song Jingshi appears as a savior 38
2.1 Close-up of a member of the Mas 56
2.2 Wang Jinsheng criticizes Fan with an oil lamp in his hand 57
2.3 Yusheng shows Lingzhi the clock 62
3.1 Excited to see the sign of the Changchun Film Studio, Han
Lan’gen jumps into Yin Xiucen’s arms 85
3.2 A group of Changchun artists welcome Han Lan’gen and
Yin Xiucen. The sign of the Changchun Film Studio is in
the background 86
4.1 Nie Er exclaims: “How good would it be to visit the
Soviet Union!” 118
4.2 Left, Zhao Dan in Nie Er (first from left). Right, Zhao Dan
in Crossroads (second from right) 121
5.1 Protagonists of Two Good Brothers, Erhu (left) and Dahu
(right), are played by the same actor Zhang Liang 134
5.2 Erhu awkwardly poses in front of a mirror, which also
reflects the poster of the model soldier whom he attempts
to mimic 141
5.3 In a POV shot of Erhu, the model soldier changes from an
awe-inspiring figure into a smiling young fellow childishly
flaunting his submachine gun 142
5.4 In a POV shot of Erhu, his squad leader appears upside-down 143
6.1 A back-lit shot in Early Spring in February 169
6.2 A mirror reflecting Xiao Jianqiu and Tao Lan 170
This page intentionally left blank
 Acknowledgments

One day in October 2001, I sat in a film class as a first-year graduate

student at the University of Washington. The professor, who happened to
be my advisor, was enthusiastically talking about Sentinels under the Neon
Lights (Nihongdeng xia de shaobing), a Chinese film made in 1964. I could
not help but wonder: “Why should we even care about such a propagan-
distic film?” Several years later, I found myself enthusiastically discussing
with that professor, Yomi Braester, about the historical and artistic com-
plexities of those intriguing “propagandistic” films. With his eye-opening
and thought-provoking insights, Yomi profoundly changed my perspective
on Chinese film history. With his indispensable guidance at the Univer-
sity of Washington, my research that would eventually develop into this
book grew from a term paper into my dissertation. After I graduated and
left the beautiful city of Seattle, Yomi continued offering me invaluable
advice. He was a diligent editor of my first English-language journal arti-
cle, an earlier version of Chapter 1 of this book that appeared as “From
The Life of Wu Xun to the Career of Song Jingshi: Crisis and Adapta-
tion of Private Studio Film-Making Legacy (1951–1956),” in the Journal
of Chinese Cinemas (Volume 5, Number 1, March 2011). He was also a per-
ceptive reader of my chapter drafts. Among all the teachers and friends
toward whom I should express my gratitude for this book, I owe him
the most.
It is impossible to fully acknowledge all the people who have helped me
in the long journey of writing this book. I nonetheless begin by thank-
ing two other professors at the University of Washington, Stevan Harrell
and Madeleine Yue Dong. Although Steve joined my committee at a rather
late point, he carefully read my dissertation and gave me much-needed
constructive criticism and encouraging support. In particular, he inspired
my analysis of the problems of the conventional periodization of Chinese
film history. Professor Dong offered crucial support for my study and
research and specifically shared with me her insights about Rhapsody of
the Shisanling Reservoir (Shisanling shuiku changxiangqu), a film discussed
in detail in this book. She also introduced me to Sun Ge of the Chinese
Academy of Social Sciences. Visiting the University of Washington in 2006,
xii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Professor Sun organized a reading group that fundamentally reshaped my

understanding of history writing.
Tina Mai Chen of the University of Manitoba and Chen Xiaomei of the
University of California have both helped me develop my understanding
of revolutionary culture with their scholarly works and in their conver-
sations with me. Tina was the other of the two editors of my article on
The Life of Wu Xun and Song Jingshi. Among all her important helps, she
improved my understanding of the methodology of discursive study. Pro-
fessor Chen Xiaomei provided me with helpful advice on how to develop
my dissertation into a book. During her visit to Hamilton College, Carma
Hinton of George Mason University, the well-known director of Gate of
Heavenly Peace (1995) and Morning Sun (2003), shared with me not only
her experiences during the Cultural Revolution but also her insights on
the rationality behind the seemingly irrational mass movement. The con-
versations with her—all in our native tongue, Mandarin with a Beijing
accent—left with me an indelible impression and helped me consolidate
arguments in this book.
I would also like to thank a professor I have never met: Wang Ban of
Stanford University. His book The Sublime Figure of History: Aesthetics and
Politics in Twentieth-Century China, introduced to me by Yomi, is one of
the most engaging academic books I have read. It significantly increased
my understanding of and interest in revolutionary cinema and culture. My
entire research for this book, in fact, began with a term paper analyzing
Professor Wang’s arguments. Readers will find differences between his per-
spective and mine, but those differences should not obscure my gratitude
toward him.
I consider it my privilege to teach at Hamilton College, a national leader
in teaching students to write effectively. Thanks to this privilege, I have
established a long-term friendship with two of its best graduates, Cooper
Creagan and Cristina Garafola. Both of them are not only strong writers
but also great writing tutors and editors. As my proofreaders, they carefully
read each chapter of this book and gave me extremely helpful suggestions
on how to make my writing more idiomatic, smooth, and transparent.
I deeply appreciate their work.
I thank Robyn Curtis, Erica Buchman, Arvinth Ranganathan, and Susan
Eberhart for their efficient work and precious help in the reviewing and
editing process at Palgrave Macmillan. Comments from the thoughtful
and insightful anonymous reviewer were extremely helpful and highly
appreciated. I also deeply appreciate Suzanne Sherman Aboulfadl’s expert
assistance with the index. In addition to the Journal of Chinese Cinemas,
the Chinese journal Literature and Art Studies (Wenyi yanjiu) has also pub-
lished an earlier version of part of this book. An earlier Chinese-language
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS xiii

version of Chapter 2 appeared as “Sanliwan: duoyuan chongtu zhong de

dianying gaibian” (Sanliwan village: film adaptation in multipartite con-
flicts)” in issue 2 of the journal in 2013. I thank editor Dai Abao for his
help on the publication of this article. I also thank the two journals for
granting permission to use a version of the two articles in this book.
Since making our acquaintance in Seattle, my best friend Jian Ge has
repeatedly inspired me to better understand what it means to produce aca-
demic works in the field of China studies. My reflections on Chinese film
history and my self-reflections as a student, educator, and researcher of this
history, which molded the framework of this research, developed under
the strong influence of many other friends as well, including Christopher
Agnew, Cheng Hsiao-wen, Cheng Kai, Matthew Hamilton, He Zhaotian,
Birgit Linder, Liu Jin, Wang Juan, Jane Mee Wong, Winnie Wong, Zhang
Ling, and Zhang Yaxuan. And I particularly thank Zhao Yigong, who con-
ducted over a thousand interviews for the TV documentary series Film
Legends (Dianying chuanqi), for telling me all those fascinating stories
about revolutionary film artists in our long conversations. I also thank
Yigong and Mr. Cui Yongyuan for granting me permission to use the
transcripts of Yigong’s interviews with director Guo Wei for my research.
This book cites over 400 sources, many of which are available only at
major libraries in the United States. I have long lost count on the book
and article requests I sent to the Hamilton College library. But I clearly
know how much more work I have brought to Margie D’Aprix and Abigail
Morton, who respectively work at our interlibrary loan department and
requisition department. I admire their efficiency and sincerely appreciate
their help.
I owe not only this book but my career and life to my family. With
her love, care, support, and smile, my dear wife, Tiao-Guan, is the source
of my strength to survive challenging times. My gratitude toward her is
beyond words. I also thank my parents, Tang Kailan and Wang Zhongli,
for their love and for always supporting me at every crucial point in my life
and career. First as a pretty primary school student and then as a teacher
leading a quite successful student dancing troupe, my mother was in the
casting pool of two revolutionary films, Flowers of China (Zuguo de huaduo,
1955) and Haixia (1974). I often wonder what changes she would have
experienced had she really appeared on the revolutionary silver screen.
This page intentionally left blank
 Abbreviations

2RR combination of Revolutionary Realism and

Revolutionary Romanticism
CCP Chinese Communist Party
CCRG Central Cultural Revolution Group
GLF Great Leap Forward
GPCR Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution Campaign
KMT Kuomintang, or Chinese Nationalist Party
LLWD League of Left-Wing Dramatists
NCNA New China’s News Agency
PLA People’s Liberation Army
POV point-of-view
PRC People’s Republic of China
RAPP Rossiyskaya assotsiatsiya proletarskikh pisateley, or
Russian Association of Proletarian Writers
SR Socialist Realism
 Introduction: Understanding
Revolutionary Culture and
Cinema

The Revolutionary Square

In a memoir about his experiences during the Great Proletarian Cultural

Revolution (GPCR) campaign, Liang Xiaosheng, a former Red Guard,
describes what he calls “one of the most frantic scenes ever to occur in
human history.” On November 3, 1966, he and “tens of thousands of ”
other Red Guards from all over the People’s Republic of China (PRC)
“shouted, yelled, and cried” in Beijing’s Tiananmen Square. They rushed
and crowded there to see Mao, who would “inspect” (jianyue) them from
atop the Tiananmen Gate:

Thousands upon thousands of Red Guards converged into a sea of people,

twisting and turning in Tiananmen Square, becoming a huge maelstrom as
in a deep sea. Each person was like a tiny rock, being turned and swirled in
a gigantic whirlpool, neither rising nor sinking. Whichever way one should
turn to face Tiananmen Gate was completely beyond one’s control, as he or
she was being forced to spin around and around in the vortex.1

In his study of the PRC’s film and culture, Wang Ban argues that Liang’s
account exemplifies how Maoist revolutionary rituals assimilated individ-
uals into an unthinking collective, making them “ ‘love’ a hypnotizing
presence[:] the image of a powerful leader or a figure of collectivity.” These
rituals deprived individuals of their conscious minds, modifying their
minds so radically that their personal identities “dwindled to nothing” but
a “local mark of a homogeneous communal identity.” Mirroring infants’
relationship with their parents, these individuals were totally dependent
on the “widespread uniformity of thought and feeling” of the revolution-
ary masses. Such an understanding of what Wang calls the “mass mind”
is at the center of his, and many other scholars’, research of the PRC’s
2 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

revolutionary culture.2 Their insights surely shed extensive light on certain

important psychological roots of the rituals and the culture.
These scholars, however, have underestimated the historical complexi-
ties of revolutionary culture. In fact, they have contributed to a prevailing
paradigm that reduces revolutionary culture to a monolith constructed
by a hypnotized collective. The PRC’s revolutionary culture included far
more than revolutionary rituals, most of which were not even engaging,
let alone hypnotic, to their often involuntary participants.3 Moreover, in
even the most apparently “frantic” collectives, there were sophisticated,
diverse, rational, and individual calculations. What accompanied Liang’s
trip to Tiananmen Square, for example, was not a “widespread uniformity
of thought and feeling,” but rather intense and fluid nationwide factional
struggles that required each participant to quickly assess personal gains and
losses and find the best tactical position possible.4
Liang’s Red Guard faction in the northeastern city of Harbin origi-
nally engaged in radical actions, such as lying on railroad tracks, to stop
other Red Guards from going to Tiananmen Square for Mao’s inspection.
Such actions, according to Liang’s reflection, were “completely” for “self-
verification and self-enhancement” of each individual in his faction.5 At
that time, the 72-year-old Mao had, within just two months, appeared five
times at the square or on top of Tiananmen Gate in front of tens of millions
of Red Guards and masses. Lying on the cold and dangerous railroad tracks,
Liang figured, was “worthwhile” because that would show how much he
cared about Mao’s health and leave a highly positive record in his dossier.
But Liang miscalculated: his faction was far outnumbered and badly beaten
by those who wanted to go. Thinking quickly for himself, Liang found a
safe spot to hide during the fight, but then purposely injured himself and
finally returned to his comrades as a “hero” covered with blood.
Acting heroic in this way, however, could hardly appear “worthwhile.” It
was also too difficult for the Red Guards to resist the deal: free transporta-
tion, lodging, and food for their trips to see the nation, Mao, Tiananmen
Square, and Beijing.6 Only three days after the fight, Liang and some of his
comrades jumped on an extremely crowded train to Beijing, no longer say-
ing a word about their revolutionary actions to protect Mao’s health. They
departed with other Red Guards aboard, victoriously, after badly beating
another faction that had been lying on the rails.
The departure initiated Liang’s adventure into a much larger, much
more tangled battlefield. At the Changchun station, of which a well-armed
Red Guard faction by the name of the “Changchun Commune” had just
taken control, the Harbin Red Guards were required to clearly answer
whether they supported the “Heaven” faction or the “Earth” faction. Hav-
ing no idea about the relationships among these local factions, and seeing
 INTRODUCTION 3

that their train was forced to begin moving backward, Liang gambled by
leading everyone to shout slogans supporting and praising the “Com-
mune” faction. It turned out, luckily, to be the only correct move. They
had been presented with false choices: both the “Heaven” and the “Earth”
were the enemies of the “Commune.” A dramatically happy scene followed.
The Red Guards from the two cities were now intimate brothers and sisters
in arm, enthusiastically shaking hands with each other. The Changchun
Red Guards also entrusted the Harbin Red Guards with a large num-
ber of their armbands and leaflets to be distributed in Beijing and given
to Mao.
Soon after the train left the station, however, the Harbin Red Guards
threw all the armbands and leaflets out of the window. They were not
cruel or hypocritical, just cautious, because no one knew which faction
was waiting at the next station, Shenyang, or if that faction would see the
“Commune” as an enemy. Their caution, for a moment, appeared unneces-
sary. The Shenyang Red Guards welcomed them with much-needed food,
water, and open bathrooms, kindly telling them that due to a machin-
ery breakdown their train would stop for an hour, during which time
they could relax at the station. Eyes brimming with tears, the Harbin
Red Guards happily got off the train and began to relax, only to find the
Shenyang Red Guards immediately taking over all the space available on
the train, which departed as originally scheduled. Once again, figuring out
the situation quickly enough, Liang jumped back on the train just in time.
But he would still encounter more dismay, confusion, surprise, and dan-
ger during this trip that no naïvely idealistic individual could survive. He
would not find any collective to be dependable.
In Liang’s 65-page description of his ordeal and adventure from Harbin
to Beijing, the ritual in Tiananmen Square only took him three pages to
describe.7 Even this ritual, Liang cautions his readers, should not be simply
attributed to the collective worship of Mao and could not have occurred
without individual calculations: “Had [the Red Guards] needed to pay for
the food, lodging, and transportation, those who went to Beijing probably
would not have filled the Great Hall of the People.”8 Moreover, according
to Liang’s observation, the ritual did not have an emotional effect nearly as
profound and longlasting as people today tend to imagine:

People seemed to go immediately back to their normality once they left

Tiananmen Square, the swirl of people, and the dream-like situation. They
hastily disappeared in all directions. This made one feel that it was rather a
“task” to muster for [Mao’s] inspection. When people were looking forward
to today, they were actually looking forward to accomplishing this “task”
as soon as possible. After accomplishing this “task,” they could then leave
4 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

Beijing for Shanghai, Guangzhou, Fujian, or Xi’an—for any city or place

they wanted to visit. Most people from the south wanted to go north, while
most people from the north wanted to go south.
Today they finally achieved their wish and accomplished this task. Some
people were feeling relaxed rather than happy.9

Liang’s account urges us to properly historicize revolutionary rituals and

culture. If some of the rituals and some fragments of the culture appear
completely irrational today, that is because they have been completely
separated from their own historical contexts and even turned into exotic
visual spectacles for media consumption. As the first step in my attempt
to present them in their historical context, I try to look at the Tiananmen
Square inspection from Liang’s perspective. Although he had just experi-
enced one of the highest emotional climaxes in the revolution, Liang did
not see the square as a destination where people would happily abandon
their individuality to blend in with masses of kindred spirits. Rather, he
saw it as an intersection, where myriads of individuals arrived from dif-
ferent origins, along different paths, through different fights, and to reach
different destinations. Their agendas could clash with one another even on
the square, where they stood together only momentarily. As Liang describes
in his account, the Chinese People’s Liberation Army (PLA) tried to orga-
nize the Red Guards and maintain their walking pace, but the soldiers
completely lost control as the parade was approaching the square. Every
Red Guard rushed to get himself or herself a good spot to see Mao. It was
this intense individual competition that created in their pushing crowd the
“gigantic whirlpool” where everyone lost position and direction. Indeed,
they shouted the same slogans with all their strength. But this collective
ritual also justified and literally paid for their travels to different locations
to accomplish different personal objectives; there was no homogeneous
collective to bond them together. In fact, in the violent and complex revo-
lutionary struggles, many of those who went to the square from the same
collective, such as a family, a faction, or a group of friends, would soon
become enemies to one another, and many shouting revolutionary slogans
on the square would soon be attacked as counterrevolutionary enemies.
I see the square as emblematic of Maoist revolutionary campaigns. The
masses brought to the campaigns, like they did to the square, various agen-
das that they had devised in complex conflicts. They joined together not
only to answer Mao’s call but also for their own calculated, clashing pur-
poses. In the clashes, some won privileged spots, while others lost. Mao
remained the ultimate central figure in all the campaigns, like he did in
front of the square. Despite the relative stability of his power, however,
he was also caught in intense conflicts and frequently vacillated between
 INTRODUCTION 5

extremes. The masses, Mao, and all the authorities of the Chinese Com-
munist Party (CCP) created together in these campaigns an increasingly
gigantic whirlpool: radical changes following a cyclical pattern, or what I
call revolutionary cycles. These cycles constantly redefined not only each
individual’s position and direction, but also boundaries between com-
rades and enemies, correctness and wrongness, and, for literature and art,
revolutionary propaganda and counterrevolutionary “poison.”10

Revolutionary Cycles

In the 1957 Anti-Rightist Campaign, Mao designated the renowned poet,

scholar, and translator Sun Dayu as a Rightist.11 Mass struggle sessions were
organized against Sun to execute this decision from the top. Yet during
these sessions, the participating masses levied double-edged criticism that
could also backfire on the party-state hierarchy. A worker accused: “The
Chinese people sent Sun up to the eighteenth floor of his apartment build-
ing, but he attempted to tramp down the people to ‘the eighteenth floor
of hell.’ ” The apartment building mentioned by this worker was a rarely
seen up-scale building that the government had reserved for privileged
intellectuals. Another worker calculated:

In our factory an average of two and a half workers can operate a lathe and
contribute 1.16 million yuan to the state per year, yet these two and a half
workers only earn a total wage of 170 yuan per month. You [Sun Dayu] take
462 yuan from the state every month . . . But what on earth have you done
for the people?12

These workers did not even mention Sun’s open conflict with several CCP
authorities, which was the main cause for his designation as a Rightist.
They were obviously much more concerned with the status and income
disparity in the party-state hierarchy, in which many Rightists had been
among the privileged, while the workers were of a lower class. The workers
turned the struggle sessions into a channel to vent their frustration.
This example is representative of a common pattern of the Maoist rev-
olutionary campaigns: in these campaigns, the mobilized masses turned
the overwhelming majority of cultural, economic, and political elites in
the party-state hierarchy, including most high-ranking CCP authorities,
into enemies to be fought. Granted, as scholars like James Townsend point
out, the Maoist mass campaigns were “designed to produce popular exe-
cution of policy,”13 we should not necessarily interpret the power dynamics
of these campaigns as unidirectional. Behind the apparent chorus echoing
top–down mobilization were diverse individuals and groups who, in Wang
6 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

Shaoguang’s words, acted “primarily out of self-interest and according to

their own agendas.”14
Moreover, a top–down framework does not fully capture the Maoist
mass line policies that these campaigns intended to execute. Mao defines
the mass line as follows:

In all the practical work of our Party, all correct leadership is necessarily
“from the masses to the masses.” This means: take the ideas of the masses
(scattered and unsystematic ideas) and concentrate them (through study
turn them into concentrated and systematic ideas), then go to the masses
and propagate and explain these ideas until the masses embrace them as
their own, hold fast to them and translate them into action, and test the
correctness of these ideas in such action.15

In Mao’s definition there exist three types of authority, which are, to bor-
row Mitch Meisner’s terms, “democratic authority (following the desires
of the masses),” “bureaucratic authority,” and, implicitly, his own ulti-
mate authority.16 This definition, with Mao’s characteristic double-talk,
epitomizes his ambivalence regarding the power relationship between
the democratic authority and the bureaucratic authority. He sometimes
depicted the masses as the true heroes, whereas the CCP leaders, “often
childish and ignorant” were bound to fail if they could not satisfy the
masses’ demands.17 At times, he even granted the masses the full agency
“to liberate themselves,” “to educate themselves and to distinguish between
right and wrong”18 At other points, however, he characterized the masses as
having “a side of spontaneity and blindness” and needing the CCP’s active
help to remedy their errors.19 Theoretical ambivalence led to oscillations in
practice. CCP cadres who constantly faced pressures from both higher lev-
els and the masses found it hard to decide which side possessed more sway
in concrete conflicts. This uncertainty, as scholars such as Marc Blecher
have pointed out, led to a diffusion of discretionary power from elites to
the masses.20 It often turned policy-making into a protracted negotiation
between the bureaucracy and the masses, filled with conflicts, compromise,
incertitude, vacillation, and violence.
Contesting agendas and interests in the mass line politics destabilized
the party-state hierarchy. A Maoist mass campaign often began by repu-
diating the policies dominating the previous period: those who rose to
prominence for being vanguard practitioners of the ruling line in one
campaign often became targets in another. In this context, one’s rank in
the party-state hierarchy mattered much less than their political positions
and factions, both of which were prone to dramatic changes during the
campaigns. Once denounced, elites could seldom use the political and
 INTRODUCTION 7

financial privileges they had gained to protect themselves from criticism

and violence. As shown in Sun’s case, they could even become more
vulnerable when facing the mobilized masses precisely for having such
privileges. The static opposition between elites and grassroots was dis-
solved into unsolidified power struggles that repeatedly brought down
elites and disturbed the ruling order.
As Mao wrote to Jiang Qing in 1966, the philosophy of his rulership
was that “great disturbance across the land leads to great order every seven
or eight years.”21 Since G. William Skinner and Edwin A. Winckler’s 1969
article, “Compliance Succession in Rural Communist China: A Cyclical
Theory,” scholars in sociology, political science, and anthropology have
noticed these disturbance–order cycles that were, in Stuart R. Schram’s
words, “marked by a succession of campaigns, interspersed with periods
of repose”22 These disturbance–order cycles, during which even the charis-
matic leader Mao periodically lost control, shaped virtually every aspect
of politics and daily life in the Maoist era. I call them revolutionary cycles
because they exhibit both meanings of the English word “revolution”: swift,
radical change as well as circular movement around a center. As the cyclical
disturbance reached its climax, the entire party-state bureaucratic system
nearly collapsed during the GPCR, which, in Michael Oksenberg’s words,
most clearly revealed the agency of “various segments of society . . . to
pursue their own interests.”23
The film industry was at the core of the complex conflicts of self-interest
during the revolutionary cycles. The CCP viewed cinema as “the most
important of all arts.”24 The cinematic apparatus of the party-state was a
main focus of multipartite struggles in the highly erratic political winds
and, precisely because of the ideological weight it carried, could not run
smoothly and effectively.

Revolutionary Cinema

Film was at the turbulent center of the revolutionary cycles. Virtually

all directors’ career trajectories were dramatically altered at one point or
another. Sun Yu was the first among them. In 1949, when Sun worked for
the prestigious private film studio Kunlun, he cautiously consulted sev-
eral CCP authorities on their attitudes toward his project The Life of Wu
Xun (Wu Xun zhuan). Because the project had started before 1949, the
year that the PRC was established, Sun was afraid that it would not meet
the CCP’s ideological expectations. All the authorities, including Prime
Minister Zhou Enlai, appeared to agree that the film would be politically
acceptable after certain revisions were made. Sun carefully followed each
8 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

piece of advice from the CCP authorities and made substantial revisions to
promote the party line in the film. Immediately after its release in February
1951, the film enjoyed market success, critical acclaim, and the praise of a
good number of high-ranking CCP authorities. But its success was brief.
In May, Mao wrote an article condemning the film, triggering the PRC’s
first nation-wide mass campaign on culture. In an unprecedented wave of
attacks against private studio film productions, Sun, as well as a group of
other elite Shanghai film artists, found themselves seriously marginalized
in the new film industry. This disturbance contributed to the nationaliza-
tion of the private film studios, which was completed in 1953. A new order
under the state ownership was established in the film industry three years
earlier than in other sectors.
A number of new elites rose to prominence in this new order. Film
critic Zhong Dianfei was one of them. Zhong quickly became an author-
itative critic and cultural bureaucrat for attacking private studio films
during the campaign against The Life of Wu Xun. Together with Mao’s wife,
Jiang Qing, Zhong was a key member of an investigation team set up to
expose the protagonist Wu Xun’s “reactionary” history. Zhong was also in
charge of a small team inspecting and revising the script of Song Jingshi,
an extremely high-budget film made to further the criticism against The
Life of Wu Xun. In 1956, however, Zhong became an important voice in a
mass criticism against the “administration [read: party-state bureaucracy]
centered” film production and distribution mode, which was established
precisely in the new order after the campaign against The Life of Wu Xun.
This apparently dramatic shift was also a continuation of his vanguard
position in the Maoist campaigns. The policy of this new campaign veered
toward “letting a hundred flowers bloom and a hundred schools of thought
contend,” or encouraging open criticism of the party-state bureaucracy.
The film circle was the first to echo this Hundred Flowers Campaign. But it
was also the first to see the crackdown on critical voices when the political
wind abruptly changed direction again. While in other sectors the govern-
ment would still encourage the “hundred flowers” to “bloom” for more
than three months on February 27, 1957, Mao designated Zhong as the
first Rightist target of the following Anti-Rightist Campaign.
In this book, the fates of Sun and Zhong are just two of a number of
cases demonstrating the fluidity and unpredictability of power dynamics
involving revolutionary film artists, critics, and CCP authorities. Power
struggles in this area frequently provided a preview of the rapid and
dramatic shifts in campaign politics and in the state’s cultural/political
hierarchy. A cacophony of competing and antagonistic voices in the suc-
cessive campaigns rendered this cinematic culture self-negating and self-
destructive. From the campaign against The Life of Wu Xun to the attack
 INTRODUCTION 9

on the Gang of Four,25 in one wave after another films made for propa-
ganda were attacked as erroneous, counterrevolutionary, and “poisonous.”
These waves reached a climax in 1966, when most PRC-made films were
denounced as products of an “anti-Party and anti-socialist black line” in
literature and art.26
During these revolutionary cycles, the power and privilege of elite
artists, critics, and bureaucrats in the film industry were even less secure
than in many other sectors of Maoist society. Careers and social statuses in
the film industry were constantly at stake in the rapid shifts in power. Elites
had to base their work on cautious, rational calculation of personal gains
and losses in order to succeed or even just to survive. Their rival interests
not only produced conflicting interpretations of films but also often ren-
dered the films self-contradictory. Such conflicts could temporarily reach
a compromise among all engaged parties and create a balance of tensions
both within the film text and in the critical discourse around it. In most
cases, however, the delicate balance would be destroyed in a subsequent
campaign.
During these revolutionary cycles, the CCP realized the power of cin-
ema as a political and cultural force, but failed to command that power for
a defined and coherent propagandistic purpose. This failure was a direct
result of the multipartite struggles. Because ideological correctness could
rapidly become wrongness during the course of these struggles, films made
to define and propagate the ideology of the CCP often had precisely the
opposite effect at the time of or soon after their release. The struggles also
made a long-existing dilemma more volatile for film artists. In her study of
the Chinese left-wing cinema movement in the 1930s, Laikwan Pang points
out that the left-wing filmmakers’ political agenda was both promoted and
contaminated by the commercial appeal of cinema.27 As the key cases dis-
cussed in this book show, PRC filmmakers continued to face this issue. On
the one hand, the filmmakers still had to resort to commercial elements in
order to successfully disseminate political ideas in films. On the other hand,
the new film culture justified its very ideological basis upon a fiery condem-
nation of the commercial appeal of cinema. Using commercial elements
rendered film artists vulnerable to condemnation of bourgeois deviation
or “poison” during political conflicts and upheavals. The waves of criti-
cism against such “poison” discredited the political correctness of precisely
those films that had or could have taken advantage of their commercial
appeal to create effective propaganda.
During these revolutionary cycles, audiences invested their energy into
film watching in diverse modes. Like in other film cultures, the ways in
which Chinese audiences viewed a film during the Maoist era can be illus-
trated as a system of, in Rick Altman’s words, “generic crossroads.” Each
10 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

film might be related to a different system, and each audience could have
a different itinerary on these roads.28 For example, one fork of the generic
crossroads of an “counter-espionage film” (fante yingpian), a popular genre
at the time, might represent ideological justice, while some other forks
might represent the pleasures expected from this genre. Some of these plea-
sures, such as those of thrilling action adventures in the counter-espionage
films, could be seen as ideologically legitimate as a favorable response to
the bravery of revolutionary heroes. Others, however, could not; audiences
might be drawn to such films for the visual pleasures derived from cine-
matic representations of the enemy, ranging from their luxurious, exotic
life styles to the glamour of female spies. Different audiences might devote
themselves primarily to one of the forks, might experience split subjectiv-
ity by taking multiple forks at the same time, and might completely reject
this system of generic crossroads in favor of another.
Unlike in most other film cultures, the maps of the generic crossroads
were often radically redrawn during the revolutionary cycles. The unsta-
ble ideological matrix frequently changed politically legitimate forks
into counter-ideological ones. The aforementioned seemingly innocuous
action adventure, for example, could be condemned as “obsession with
thrilling and spectacular actions and promotion of individual heroism,”
as was the case for Guerrillas on the Railway (Tiedao youjidui, 1956).
CCP guerrilla heroes in the film, who used to stand for justice, in this
interpretation became politically backward “peasant and petty bourgeois”
representatives of “guerrillaism” for relying on neither “mass support”
nor “the leadership of the Party.”29 Changes in the opposite direction also
took place. For example, the films that had been condemned as bourgeois
“White Flags” in 1958 were rehabilitated in 1962, as were most “black line”
films during the last years of the Maoist revolution. Like most other revo-
lutionary films, the films examined in this book went through this kind
of dramatic back-and-forth shift, both condemned and rehabilitated at
least once.
Ironically, during the revolutionary cycles, films often reached larger
audiences precisely for being deemed counter-ideological. The mass audi-
ences did not just passively adapt to the changing political environments in
their individual viewing experiences. They were expected to actively partic-
ipate in the campaigns that changed the film industry again and again. The
more “poisonous” a PRC-made film was, the more the masses needed to
be mobilized to denounce it. Large numbers of prints of such films were
distributed to viewing sessions organized for mass criticism and struggle.
Rather than controlling the accessibility of the films, the mass line policy
enforcers sought instead to direct audiences’ thoughts about them. But a
unified public opinion existed only in theory. Archive research in this book
 INTRODUCTION 11

shows that a viewer’s purpose for attending such viewing sessions varied
greatly, and so did audiences’ reactions toward the films to be criticized.
In light of the historical idiosyncrasies of the films produced during the
revolutionary cycles, this book uses the term “revolutionary cinema/films”
to replace “communist cinema/films,” which has been more commonly
used in Euro-American secondary literature. I use the former term because
the latter term has been too frequently associated with a static understand-
ing that this cinema, in its entirety, served one single agenda: communist
propaganda.30 Yet revolutionary films were not closed texts transmitting
definite ideological messages, but discursive sites open to multifarious
struggles and conflicts during the revolutionary cycles, which did not fol-
low a single, coherent propagandistic line in the first place.31 Based on what
discursive positions and for what purposes did artists produce their films?
How did CCP authorities, critics, and audiences use films to their advan-
tage? To what degree did these agents achieve their purposes after the film
entered into the complex struggles and negotiations over its uses during
the revolutionary cycles (if at all)? These questions are overlooked by the
conventional approach to this cinema and can be answered only with a
user-centered analytical framework.

From “the Carefully Nurtured Image” to a User-Centered Analytical

Framework

According to prevailing assumptions, revolutionary films were “little

screws of a giant, political machine.”32 These assumptions suggest that the
films offer nothing beyond repetitive stories and fully controlled messages.
Conventional scholarly understanding of the development of Chinese cin-
ema reconfirms the prevailing assumptions in at least three ways. The first
way is through neglect. Euro-American critical secondary literature on
Chinese cinema has long developed a strong preference for two separate
periods, the pre-1949 period and the post-1984 period (after the state-
owned film industry began to fall apart during the economic reform). The
35 years in between remain an understudied period of Chinese film history.
Films produced during this period, it is implied, deserve only marginal aca-
demic attention. The second way is through dismissal. W. J. F. Jenner, for
example, argues that the Chinese cinema only produced “puppets of pro-
paganda concepts” since 1949.33 Homogenization of film texts is the third
way that scholars reconfirm the generalizations surrounding films made
during this era. Scholars who pay serious attention to revolutionary cin-
ema use a limited number of texts to examine the entirety of this cinema,
or even revolutionary culture. This neglect of film diversity restricts them
12 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

to the conventional approach and causes them to conform to the prevailing

assumptions about revolutionary cinema.
Literary scholars regularly base their arguments on close readings of a
few representative texts. The White-Haired Girl (Bai mao nü, film 1950,
filmed ballet performance 1971), Song of the Youth (Qingchun zhige, film
1959), and The Red Detachment of Women (Hongse niangzijun, film 1961,
filmed ballet performance 1970) are some of the most widely read exam-
ples of the commonly regarded representative texts. This concentration on
a limited number of texts has the advantage of allowing scholars to develop
in-depth discourses insightfully revealing layers of meanings within these
texts. Yet the methodology of representative texts presupposes that the
film culture under study is homogenous. By studying highly selected film
texts produced in random campaign contexts, it is implied that one can
somehow reach an in-depth understanding not only of a huge number of
other unstudied texts but also of the cultural environment in general. Lit-
erary scholars such as Wang Ban, Cui Shuqin, Meng Yue, and Dai Jinhua,
to name a few, develop arguments concerning revolutionary culture in
its entirety on the basis of an interpretation of one single film or film
sequence. In this framework, revolutionary cinema is understood, in Wang
Ban’s words, “as the most effective apparatus in the Communist endeavor
to build a mass political culture, which was directed toward producing an
identical political consciousness and affording collective enjoyment.”34
This picture, in which revolutionary cinema was an effective and coher-
ent part of a collective transformation smoothly controlled by the CCP, has
been complicated with a historical approach to the films. In his Chinese
Cinema: Culture and Politics since 1949, Paul Clark points out that the
history of PRC cinema began with a chasm between “Yan’an,” or CCP
cadres and filmmakers from the wartime CCP-controlled areas headquar-
tered in Yan’an, and “Shanghai,” or artists from the private film studios,
who concentrated in the Kuomintang (KMT)-controlled Shanghai.35 Paul
G. Pickowicz studied Shi Hui and Zheng Junli, two well-known Shanghai
filmmakers, and gave a detailed account of the ups and downs they experi-
enced in the revolutionary film industry, which was filled with complicated
ideological and factional struggles.36
A divide between historical narrative and textual analysis, however, is
often seen in these film historians’ works. Their historical insights into
the cleavages between Yan’an and Shanghai and factional struggles are
seldom present in their analyses of actual filmic texts. Clark draws a
distinction between artists and cadres in his historical study, but when
analyzing specific films, he argues that “the hands of artists and the
contributions of politicians are difficult to distinguish” and that artists
and CCP cadres shared the same “broad self-image.”37 In his informative
 INTRODUCTION 13

study of Zheng Junli’s career, Pickowicz mentions several important films

Zheng directed after 1949. To him, however, these films deserve little
more than sketchy descriptions for being equally “forgettable,” “dreadful,”
“utterly predictable,” and “unbearably propagandistic.”38 Such a homoge-
nous understanding of film texts simplifies the general picture of the
cultural sphere that the historians draw for the revolutionary years. In
Chinese Cinema: Culture and Politics since 1949, Clark structures his entire
narrative of the Chinese film history from 1949 to the 1980s around the
dichotomy of Yan’an versus Shanghai and generally writes the history as
an undoubtable triumph of the former over the latter until after the end
of the Maoist revolution.39 To Pickowicz, it is out of the question that the
party-state had “nearly monopolistic control” over culture.40
Due to the neglect, dismissal, and homogenization of revolutionary
films, “the carefully nurtured image” that Michael Oksenberg advised
China scholars to abandon as early as 1968 still dominates the field of
Chinese film studies today. In this image, the Maoist PRC appears to be
“a monolithic society led by a unified, cohesive elite”41 Insufficient atten-
tion has been paid to how conflicts and the balancing of multiple agendas
generated complex meanings for the films produced during this period. As
with studies of other national or transnational cinemas, the study of the
PRC’s revolutionary cinema is in critical need of “a move away from look-
ing at texts as monolithic and univocal, representing only one ideological
position, and allowing for only one possible means of reception.”42
Recently a few scholars, including Yomi Braester, Tina Mai Chen, and
Paul Clark (in his 2008 work The Chinese Cultural Revolution: A History),
have started to move away from “the carefully nurtured image” by bringing
together textual analysis and historical approaches. Together they chal-
lenge the purported monotony of revolutionary cinema by integrating
close readings of film texts into historical examinations of the chang-
ing discursive structures in the Maoist campaigns.43 This book seeks to
contribute to this new approach by making a three-part argument.
First, the cultural-political context of Maoist China was neither uni-
fied nor fully controlled. Rather, it was dominated by the revolution,
which produced frequent oscillations between disturbance and order in
the form of political campaigns. Among other uncertainties, these revolu-
tionary cycles generated unpredictable factional conflicts, unstable social
hierarchies, and constantly shifting ruling lines.
Second, as a crucial form of ideological education in the view of CCP
authorities, film was at the turbulent center of this revolution. Major cam-
paigns that shaped PRC cultural and political history were often initiated
and/or anticipated in the revolutionary film industry. Chinese revolu-
tionary films not only clearly represent conflicts and compromises in
14 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

revolutionary struggles but also actively shaped the discursive political and
cultural contexts by reifying political correctness, wrongness, and ideolog-
ical terms. Such discursive interactions make it particularly necessary to
understand revolutionary films as open sites in history.
Third, as important loci of political and cultural struggles, Chinese rev-
olutionary films generated complex and contradictory meanings because a
wide range of agents used these films for specific and often competing pur-
poses. To reveal these meanings, one must combine textual close readings
with a historical study of how the films were used in the discursive con-
texts of their production and distribution. A turn to user-centered study of
discursive cases is necessary.
To make such a methodological turn, this book follows Rick Altman’s
model of historicizing Hollywood genres. In Film/Genre, Altman argues
against the assumption that “genres [are] shaped by the film industry
[and] are communicated completely and uniformly to audiences widely
dispersed in terms of time, space and experience.”44 For Altman, genres
are not transhistorical, but fluid, discursive products. They are created
and constantly redefined by context-specific and often competing needs
of diverse film users, such as producers, filmmakers, distributors, cultural
agents, and various spectator groups.
Altman notes that while his arguments mainly address the film genre,
the model “may be applied to any set of texts, because it is truly based on
a general theory of meaning.”45 Underlying this general theory of mean-
ing is the Foucauldian statement that “nothing has any meaning outside of
discourse.”46 A text does not produce meaning in and of itself: the ways one
uses a text in a discourse, rather than the text per se, decide its meanings.
Altman proposes a new approach to film studies that “addresses the fact
that every text has multiple users; considers why different users develop dif-
ferent readings; theorizes the relationship among those users; and actively
considers the effect of multiple conflicting uses on the production, labeling,
and display of films and genres alike.”47
In this framework, analysis of meaning is closely connected to that of
power dynamics in history. To understand how meanings of a film are gen-
erated and changed, one must investigate how agents negotiate, compete,
and struggle with each other for the power to decide how to use the film.
The extensively different, agonistic, and even antagonistic power strategies
of these film users create a discursive network of meaning. In this network,
as Foucault reminds us:

Power must be analysed as something which circulates . . . It is never localised

here or there, never in anybody’s hands, never appropriated as a commod-
ity or piece of wealth. Power is employed and exercised through a net-like
 INTRODUCTION 15

organization. And not only do individuals circulate between its threads; they
are always in the position of simultaneously undergoing and exercising this
power.48

Introduction of the Foucauldian–Altmanian model to the study of rev-

olutionary cinema points to a new direction in Chinese film research.49
The model is particularly useful in enriching the conventional approach to
revolutionary cinema. It offers a pluralistic perspective that undermines
the typical homogenous understanding, which assumes that a uniform
group of party-state elites monopolized the power to determine mean-
ing and implemented it top-down in film production, distribution, and
reception. The model supports a comprehensive analysis of the rapid cir-
culation of power among different film users during the revolutionary
cycles and is effective in revealing the complex meanings discursively cre-
ated and changed. Adopting this direction, this book seeks to delineate the
discursive network of meaning through a user-centered study of key cases
of films during the revolutionary cycles from 1951 to 1979.
In this book I primarily focus on film artists, CCP authorities, crit-
ics, and audiences. These groups of film users were major players in the
negotiation, competition, and struggles over the power to use films dur-
ing the revolutionary cycles. The Foucauldian–Altmanian model is open
and invites research of still more types of film users, such as projectionists,
theater managers, and poster designers.
I take certain filmic discursive sites as key cases, because in these cases
major conflicts over the uses of films were crucially related with the circula-
tion of power among the film users in focus. They are the clearest examples
of the discursive interactions between power and meaning. Films are at
the center of key cases, but a key case does not define the entire life of
the film. Different historical contexts can place a film in distinct key cases.
For example, dozens of revolutionary films, dubbed “red classics” (hongse
jingdian), have been adapted into TV series since the beginning of the
twenty-first century. This trend has given these films new uses and gener-
ated new meanings for them during the post-revolutionary era, which are
vastly different from their uses during the revolutionary cycles. Discursive
study of meaning in these two historical contexts may focus on the same
films, but needs to analyze them in terms of separate key cases. Moreover,
there is no definite set of key cases for any given historical period. Key cases
vary with the user focus of discursive study. For example, a discursive study
focusing on mobile projection teams may select a different set of key cases
from the one focusing on high-level CCP authorities. Defined as such, key
cases are different from the conventionally used representative texts in that
researchers do not use these cases to conclusively delineate revolutionary
16 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

cinema as if it were coherent and static. Instead, these cases reveal the tip
of the iceberg of the sheer historical complexities of revolutionary films
in their rapidly and radically changing uses. Dealing with the key cases in
chronological order, this book proposes a new periodization of Chinese
revolutionary cinema in line with the revolutionary cycles and organizes
its chapters around that periodization.

A New Periodization

This book departs from the conventional periodization that differentiates

the “17 year period” (from 1949 to 1966) from the “Cultural Revolution”
(from 1966 to 1976). The term “17 year period” arose in post-revolutionary
Chinese literary scholarship. In the Chinese context, it conformed to the
mainstream “complete negation” (chedi fouding) of the Cultural Revolu-
tion. This negation justified the reform-era hierarchy by characterizing
the Cultural Revolution, which had brought down reform-era authorities
and elites, as an exceptionally ridiculous and chaotic era. It is a problem-
atic periodization because it obscures important historical turning points
within the “17 year period,” cuts off important connections between the
“17 year period” and the Cultural Revolution, and cuts short the history of
revolutionary film.
The first historical turning point that this periodization obscures is the
campaign against The Life of Wu Xun. In 1951, the campaign radically
disrupted the long-time cooperation between the CCP and Shanghai pri-
vate studio left-wing, or progressive (jinbu), film artists. The progressive
artists, who had joined the PRC film industry as both celebrities of film
and important allies of the CCP, now lost their artistic and political priv-
ileges, and their filmmaking legacy was in crisis. CCP authorities gained
tighter control of the film industry, quickly nationalized the film indus-
try, and established a vertically structured, “administration centered” film
production and distribution system. Although attaining significant polit-
ical power in return, film critics lost their critical distance from the CCP,
and film reviews became often indistinguishable from political statements.
Filmmakers with a Yan’an background benefited from the lack of compe-
tition with the marginalized Shanghai artists and attained higher political
and artistic status. A new order was in place, but it would be disrupted by
the next revolutionary cycle beginning in 1956.
I take the year 1951 as the beginning point of the revolutionary film
history and term the phase from 1951 to 1955 the “Nationalization Period,”
for the nationalization of the film industry (completed in 1953) and the
ongoing nationalization of all sectors throughout this period. Chapter 1
 INTRODUCTION 17

begins by discussing the pre-history leading to this revolutionary cycle, and

then focuses on two key cases: The Life of Wu Xun and Song Jingshi (1957).
It examines discursive meanings of the films in the circulation of power
among Shanghai and Yan’an film artists, CCP authorities, and critics.
The key issue during the Nationalization Period, as this term suggests,
was the nationalization of studio ownership. On the surface, the cam-
paign against The Life of Wu Xun was fought on ideological terms. This
led scholars such as Paul Clark to understand the struggles in a frame-
work of politics versus art. I argue that the political was not all that was at
stake in this apparently ideological campaign, as the CCP’s economic moti-
vations formed another crucial reason for the crisis of the private studio
filmmaking legacy. The CCP needed to economically transform the film
industry from the private sector to the public sector. While private stu-
dio artists actively adapted their legacy to meet new political conditions,
they fell victim to the campaign for standing in the way of this economic
transformation.
In the new order after the campaign, the former private studio artists
shifted their economic status by joining state-owned studios and further
remade their legacy in the hope of regaining their celebrity status. This
shift began with the film Song Jingshi. It was an exceptionally big-budget
film made to further the criticism of The Life of Wu Xun. Former private
studio artists, who constituted most of the crew, both actively adjusted
and strategically defended their artistic legacy when making the film. CCP
authorities and critics also had high stakes in the outcomes of this major
production. The initial version of the film, completed in 1955, strove to
meet all these users’ different needs at the same time. Yet factional struggles
delayed its release, created increasingly conflicted uses of the film, forced
it into a long and painful revision process, and finally turned it into a
self-contradictory text.
The second and third historical turning points that the conventional
periodization obscures may be located in 1956 and 1957. The 1956 Hun-
dred Flowers Campaign, the 1957 Anti-Rightist Campaign, and the 1958
Campaign to Wrench Out White Flags marked the beginning, the dramatic
turning point, and the end of the second revolutionary cycle analyzed in
this book. Despite its short length, this revolutionary cycle brought about
some of the most significant changes in the history of revolutionary film.
I call this particularly complex and crucial period the Hundred Flowers
Period and discuss it in both chapters 2 and 3.
Chapter 2 discusses Blooming Flower and the Full Moon (Huahao
yueyuan, 1958, dir. Guo Wei), a film adaptation of Zhao Shuli’s 1955 novel
Sanliwan Village, as a key case connecting the Nationalization Period to
the Hundred Flowers Period. From adaptation to distribution, the film
18 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

constituted a polyvocal microcosm metonymically connected with layers

of changes and conflicts in four major Maoist campaigns that occurred
during the two periods. This chapter first analyzes the original direction
of the Campaign for Agricultural Collectivization as reflected in Sanliwan
Village and the significant differences between Sanliwan Village and Bloom-
ing Flowers and the Full Moon resulting from policy vacillations during
the campaign. It then moves beyond the rigid Yan’an versus Shanghai
dichotomy and discusses director Guo Wei’s strong Yan’an background,
which benefited him in the new order established after the campaign
against The Life of Wu Xun, and his artistic connection to Shanghai, which
significantly influenced his filmmaking style. Finally, the chapter compares
Guo’s intended use of the film in the Hundred Flowers Campaign with the
actual use of the film in the Anti-Rightist Campaign and the Campaign to
Wrench Out White Flags. Guo made the film for effective and up-to-date
propaganda. He intended to take advantage of the new changes during the
Hundred Flowers Period to achieve another box-office, political, and artis-
tic triple success in his smoothly developing career. But the Anti-Rightist
Campaign and the following Campaign to Wrench Out White Flags turned
the film into an example of bourgeois White Flag.
Part of what got Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon into trouble
was the comedic elements of the film. Comedy was a politically dubi-
ous genre practically suppressed during the Nationalization Period. The
policy of the Hundred Flowers Campaign, however, encouraged a dis-
turbance against the CCP’s tight control of film and revived this genre.
Mass criticism of the film institution, epitomized by a large-scale film
discussion entitled “Why Are There So Few Good PRC-Made Films?,”
strongly called for an end to the marginalization of Shanghai. A num-
ber of Shanghai artists made a second attempt to justify their background
and regain their status in this discussion. At the same time, some crit-
ics embraced new changes during the Thaw era of the Soviet Union and
challenged Socialist Realism for blunting the critical edge of realism. Their
articles initiated a consequential debate on the Soviet-imported doctrine.
In this discursive context, both Yan’an and Shanghai filmmakers advanced
new changes in their films and manifested various artistic connections to
the Shanghai legacy, causing the dichotomy of Yan’an versus Shanghai to
blur. A new genre, dubbed “satirical comedies” (fengcixing xiju), flour-
ished briefly. In the spirit of the revitalized critical realism, these comedies
poignantly criticized not only the relatively safe targets, such as the bour-
geois way of life and everyday violations of contemporary norms, but also
the risky ones, such as bureaucratism, corruption, party-line didacticism,
and administration ridden with sycophancy. Many of these comedies were
based on a new type of script, dubbed “the fourth kind of script” for
 INTRODUCTION 19

being different from the conventional worker, peasant, and soldier subject
scripts.
Chapter 3 focuses on The Unfinished Comedies (Meiyou wancheng de
xiju 1957, dir. Lü Ban) as a key satirical comedy demonstrating these sig-
nificant changes in the creative practices of film. It analyzes the film as
the most radical discursive onscreen product to criticize the CCP’s bureau-
cracy and doctrines. As in the case of Guo Wei, the chapter also discusses
how the director Lü Ban’s strong Yan’an background and deep connec-
tions to Shanghai (albeit in a different way than Guo) further complicated
the discursive meanings of the film. It analyzes how Lü Ban, apparently
a Yan’an director, used the film to make a strong call for a revival of the
Shanghai legacy.
A new order was taking shape during the Hundred Flowers Period, but
it was disrupted prematurely by the Anti-Rightist Campaign. Vanguards of
the mass criticism, advocators of critical realism, and many participants of
a nascent institutional reform were all denounced by the CCP as Rightists.
The dichotomy of Yan’an versus Shanghai practically dissolved: what mat-
tered now were filmmakers’ current political and factional positions, rather
than their backgrounds. Some Yan’an and Shanghai filmmakers were
denounced as Rightists, while others condemned the Rightists and sur-
vived the campaign. Among the filmmaker Rightists, Lü Ban was regarded
as the most vicious enemy. Chapter 3 ends with a discussion of Lü’s political
downfall.
The disturbance of the Anti-Rightist Campaign and the Campaign to
Wrench Out White Flags led to a new order supporting the Great Leap For-
ward Campaign (GLF) from 1958 to 1961. The third cycle in revolutionary
cinema began and ended with the GLF. In 1958, as the Sino-Soviet relation-
ship continued to deteriorate, Mao replaced the much-debated “Socialist
Realism” with his “Combination of Revolutionary Romanticism and Rev-
olutionary Realism.” This renaming declared a separation of the Chinese
literature and art from that of the post–Thaw Soviet Union. The emphasis
on Revolutionary Romanticism also prevented future revitalization of crit-
ical realism. As a result, satirical comedies that directly mocked the CCP’s
bureaucracy and doctrines never reappeared in revolutionary cinema.
But the new dogma also created a new discursive space. During the
GLF period, filmmakers used this space to experiment with new cinematic
possibilities and generate new, legitimate discursive meanings for their
artistic legacy. Chapter 4 focuses on Rhapsody of the Shisanling Reservoir
(Shisanling shuiku changxiangqu, 1958, dir. Jin Shan) and Nie Er (1959,
dir. Zheng Junli) as two key cases demonstrating their efforts. The former
was a “documentary-style art film” (jiluxing yishupian), which was a new
genre that flourished in 1958 as the first artistic practice following the new
20 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

dogma. Completed at a GLF speed, namely within months, weeks, or even

days, films of this genre are always dismissed in histories of PRC cinema
for their low artistic quality. But I argue that it was precisely the discursive
context of the GLF, especially the promotion of Revolutionary Romanti-
cism, that catalyzed in Rhapsody of the Shisanling Reservoir the first and the
only science-fiction story in Chinese revolutionary cinema. Nie Er marked
the third, finally successful attempt since Song Jingshi to rewrite and jus-
tify the Shanghai filmmaking legacy. It idealized a pre-PRC Shanghai artist
as a revolutionary hero, making a bold stylistic return to progressive films
in the 1930s. Invoking Revolutionary Romanticism, supporters of this film
effectively defended it against criticism.
1961 saw the beginning of the fourth historical turn that the conven-
tional periodization obscures. The catastrophe of the GLF disturbed the
order established during this period, forcing the CCP to take a series of
steps adjusting its policies in late 1960 and throughout 1961. In January
1962, leading cadres at the level of the CCP’s county committee and
above prolonged the so-called Seven Thousand People Conference to vent
their frustrations, turning it into a platform for criticism. The conference
pushed high-level CCP authorities to complete the policy turn.
The new policy changes had many significant similarities to those in
the Hundred Flowers Period, so I call the fourth historical period the
Second Hundred Flowers Period. The film industry was one of the first
sectors to implement the new policy changes. In 1961, there were a high
frequency of film policy meetings and talks, which directly or indirectly
supported many views that had been expressed by the now Rightists dur-
ing the Hundred Flowers Period. The Film Bureau announced a series of
new directives to re-encourage the flowers to bloom and to reverse the
GLF policy. Among other changes, the dramatic shift of discursive context
even rehabilitated the term “star” (mingxing). A key concept of commer-
cial cinema, the term had attained a negative connotation immediately
after the establishment of the PRC, and had vanished almost completely
since the Nationalization Period. But the term made a triumphant reap-
pearance in April 1962, when large pictures of “22 Big Stars of New China”
(Xinzhongguo ershier da mingxing) were hung in movie theaters all around
China.
Filmmaking also changed quickly in the fast-changing discursive con-
text. Chapter 5 reviews the winds of political change in the film industry
and the industry’s commercial turn after the GLF. It particularly focuses on
a wave of popular comedies made in 1962 as key cases to analyze the fine
balance between the obvious and the subtle, the explicit and the implicit,
and political correctness and artistic transgression that filmmakers needed
to strike in the changing political landscape.
 INTRODUCTION 21

Like the first Hundred Flowers Period, the second one was also short-
lived. Its nascent order in the film industry was completely disrupted and
reversed when the pictures of the new stars were removed from movie
theaters in September 1964. This disruption initiated the Cultural Rev-
olution Period, which is the fifth historical turn that the conventional
periodization obscures. Contrary to conventional assumptions, the Cul-
tural Revolution Period was not eruptive and isolated, but a continuation
and a repeat of earlier revolutionary cycles in the so-called “17 years.” Like
the earlier ones, this revolutionary cycle began in the film industry earlier
than in most other sectors. At the end of 1963 and in 1964, Mao’s remarks
triggered two rectification campaigns in the cultural bureaucracy. Mass
struggles were extensively mobilized in film studios and resulted in intense
and complex factional conflicts. Xia Yan and Chen Huangmei, two chief
cultural bureaucrats in charge of the film work, were both brought down.
Similar to Zhong Dianfei, who had been designated as the first Rightist
before the Anti-Rightist Campaign was declared to begin, Xia and Chen
became two of the first “people who are in power within the Party and
take the capitalist road” (dangnei zou zibenzhuyi daolu de dangquanpai),
before this revolutionary cycle saw the charge widely used. At the same
time, dozens of films were condemned as “Poisonous Weeds” (Ducao),
foreshadowing the fate of hundreds of other revolutionary films.
Chapter 6 focuses on the conception, revision, distribution, and recep-
tion of one of the earliest and the most attacked Poisonous Weeds during
this revolutionary cycle: Early Spring in Feburary (Zaochun eryue, 1964).
Produced in the Second Hundred Flowers spirit under Xia’s close supervi-
sion yet completed too late, the film was not released until the Cultural
Revolution Period. Deemed particularly “poisonous,” it was widely dis-
tributed exclusively for mass criticism. From September 1964 to the end of
1965, the height of its mass viewing and mass criticism lasted 16 months.
While articles published in newspapers were almost univocally against the
film, unpublished archives reflect a much greater diversity in the audi-
ences’ attitudes toward it. Using the film in their various open, semi-open,
and secret ways, the audiences immeasurably complicated its discursive
meanings.
Against the CCP’s self-contradictory official claims, made at different
historical points, that the Cultural Revolution lasted for 11 “victorious” or
10 “disastrous” years from 1966 to 1977 or 1976, scholars like Anita Chen
have argued with strong reasons that it was actually much shorter.50 In this
book, I differentiate the actual mass campaign of GPCR from the much
longer Cultural Revolution Period. I argue that the GPCR essentially lasted
only a little over two years, from May 1966, when the CCP officially began
its nationwide mobilization for the campaign, to September 1968, when
22 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

the PLA-dominated forces resumed a semblance of order nationwide after

their bloody suppression of revolutionary radicals. The end of the GPCR
marked the beginning of the end of the Maoist revolution. But the Cul-
tural Revolution Period did not end completely even in 1976 or 1977. The
fall of the Gang of Four in 1976, which ended the “disastrous” GPCR in
the post-revolutionary historiography, in fact led to another revolution-
ary disruption that was similar to earlier ones: the only major difference
is who were brought down and who were empowered. When officially
declaring the end of the GPCR in August 1977, the CCP still claimed that
the GPCR had been victorious and should be repeated many times in the
future.51 The real ending of the Cultural Revolution Period began when
Deng Xiaoping took control of the CCP in December 1978. In the film
industry, the final conclusion may be located in February 1979, when the
Ministry of Culture finished rehabilitating most pre-GPCR films (582, to
be exact), almost completely overturning the film order established during
the Cultural Revolution Period.
The concluding chapter reviews the political and film history from
the GPCR to the end of the Cultural Revolution Period. Production of
new feature-length films completely stopped during the GPCR and did
not resume until August 1968. Historical details of the production and
reception of these new films, as well as their distinctive Cultural Revolu-
tion aesthetic style, deserve a separate book-length study. Paul Clark has
offered such a study in his above-mentioned pioneering work The Chinese
Cultural Revolution: A History. Yet in terms of the focus of my historical
investigation—how agents negotiated, competed, and struggled with each
other for the power to decide how to use revolutionary films—the fading
revolution only saw cases that basically repeated the pre-GPCR pattern.
The concluding chapter therefore does not analyze any new key cases in
detail, but traces major changes and events in the film industry and the
career development of certain important film artists, including Xie Tieli
and Li Wenhua, the director and the cinematographer of Early Spring in
February, respectively.
The order of the so-called “New Era” (Xin shiqi) of Chinese literature
and art began in 1979. Its development no longer followed the trajectory
of revolutionary cycles and was no longer subject to revolutionary disrup-
tions. Since the second half of the 1980s, elite film artists have found their
privileges increasingly secured along with the marketization and privati-
zation of the Chinese film industry. Cinema is no longer a revolutionary
battlefield where no party could claim easy victory, but, for the privileged,
has become a vanity fair where fortune and fame go hand in hand. Lip
service is still paid to revolutionary ideology to this day in the so-called
“main melody” (zhu xuanlü) films. But the film industry has long stopped
 INTRODUCTION 23

revolutionizing its power structures: a key difference separating the PRC’s

culture from Western capitalist ones has disappeared.
The Maoist revolutionary culture was dominated by an utterly differ-
ent ideology than that of the present day in both China and the West. Its
revolutionary characteristics have become, in the words of Braester and
Chen, “as foreign to Western audiences as to market-minded contempo-
rary Chinese audiences.”52 When studying such a distant culture, there is
a temptation to make generalizations and simplifications that conform to
the dominant political and cultural values of the present day and embed us
more deeply in our own cultural hegemonies. Moving beyond such lim-
itations will enable us to reflect upon our accustomed epistemic stance
in today’s non-revolutionary, market-oriented culture. This book seeks to
make a contribution in this direction.
 1

From The Life of Wu Xun to the

Career of Song Jingshi: Adapting
Private Studio Filmmaking
Legacy for a Nationalized
Cinema, 1951–1957

O n June 1, 1950, the first PRC state-sponsored movie magazine Mass

Cinema (Dazhong dianying) began its publication in Shanghai. It
would soon replace all the remaining popular Republican-era movie mag-
azines. In a long essay published in the first three issues of the magazine,
Huang Zongying, a progressive Shanghai private studio actor (yanyuan),1
told a story of her witnessing the “liberation” of a Chinese girl from the
Hollywood star culture. Entitled “Two Cultures,” the story begins shortly
before the CCP’s takeover of Shanghai in 1949. Huang receives an unex-
pected visit from the girl, who is a fan of hers. Having watched Bathing
Beauty (1944) five times and believing that she herself looks like Paulette
Goddard, the girl dreams of becoming a movie star and has come to Huang
to ask how. To educate this “captive of American cinema,” Huang tells her
that there are two kinds of cinema. The cinema that suits the girl’s movie
star fantasy is “yellow” or obscene.2 It “fabricates outlandish stories out
of thin air, has pretty women boldly sell their bodies, and is full of thrills
and eroticism.” The other kind of cinema “is a cultural education, trans-
mits truth and righteousness, reveals to people the direction of their lives,
and encourages them to move forward.” Progressive films, such as Plun-
der of Peach and Plum (Tao li jie, 1934), Song of the Fishermen (Yu guang
qu, 1934), and The Highway (Da lu, 1934), are all examples of the latter
kind of cinema. Huang claims that it takes knowledge and righteousness,
26 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

instead of “pretty face and mandarin accent,” to perform in this kind of

cinema. The girl leaves puzzled and frustrated.
The story takes a turn when they run into each other after the CCP’s
takeover: the girl has joined the PLA. Claiming that she had lost the orig-
inal, Huang reproduced a long letter from the girl, now the army soldier.
The letter details how the CCP and the PLA have helped her transform
from a petty bourgeois young lady dreaming about a movie star career to
a “glorious people’s literary and art worker, following the CCP and serving
workers, peasants, and soldiers.” It also criticizes film stars for not seriously
participating in benefit performances and seldom performing for soldiers.
Huang stated that she took this letter as a friendly challenge and would
transform herself more painstakingly to a performer “who truly serves
the people.” She concluded by vowing to “advance in Chairman Mao’s
direction of literature and art” together with the girl.3
This story can lie anywhere between a true account and a complete fab-
rication. Huang’s excitement at the girl’s “liberation” is both plausible and
questionable, when we understand it in the context of the rapid transi-
tion from the Republican-era star culture to the PRC’s revolutionary film
culture.
The excitement is plausible, because many progressive artists were
indeed critical of the Hollywood star culture. The ideological revolution
that would soon overturn the domination of this culture in China had
historical roots in their voices. As Wang Chaoguang and Zhang Jishun
point out, strong Chinese moral and political criticism of American cin-
ema began as early as the 1920s, and significantly increased with the advent
of the Chinese left-wing cinema movement in the 1930s.4 In post-WWII
Republican China, escalated importation of American films stimulated a
chorus against the “distasteful,” “banal,” “psychologically sick,” “weird,”
and “obscene” Hollywood. Participants included not only progressive
artists but also liberal and politically neutral intellectuals. Their tones
were “as radical and strong as that of the early 1950s.”5 The standpoint
of Huang’s essay was consistent with such criticism of the Hollywood and
Hollywood-influenced “yellow cinema.”
But Huang’s privileged social status had also been dependent on the
Republican-era star culture, which closely followed the Hollywood model.
In the story, Huang can lecture the girl about the poison of the star culture
precisely because she is one of the movie stars the girl adores. After the new
ideology inverts this power relationship, it is the former movie star’s turn to
be educated by the young “literary and art worker” on how to painstakingly
transform herself. The fact that Huang practically quit her acting career
soon after the founding of the PRC suggests that she was not necessarily as
enthusiastic about the transformation as this essay sounded.6
 FROM THE LIFE OF WU XUN TO CAREER OF SONG JINGSHI 27

Sincerely enthusiastic or not, Huang’s accommodation to the new cul-

ture was rational. I use the word “rational” in the sense invoked by
Wang Shaoguang in his following argument on the Cultural Revolution
participants:

Participants in the movement were true believers in Mao, but their partici-
pation in, or withdrawal from, collective action was principally based upon
their rational calculations of personal pay-offs. The reckoning of costs and
benefits thus conditioned, to a large extent, the degree and manner of those
true believers’ involvement in the movement.7

Wang’s insight on the rational calculations of “true believers” can help us

better understand the Maoist era against the prevailing and flawed assump-
tion that revolutionary subjects were all blind followers of a charismatic
leader. Participants of revolutionary politics and culture, ranging from true
believers to opportunists, all rationally calculated their moves for diverse
individual purposes. Huang was one such participant. The way she used
the three progressive films in the essay epitomized her calculations. Plun-
der of Peach and Plum features Chen Bo’er and Yuan Muzhi and initiated
their successful movie star careers in Shanghai. Both Chen and Yuan,
however, left Shanghai for Yan’an in 1938, joined the CCP (in 1937 and
1940, respectively), and became leading Yan’an filmmakers and high-level
CCP authorities. Cai Chusheng, director of Song of the Fishermen, was the
highest-ranked state official among non-CCP Shanghai film artists when
Huang wrote the essay. The Highway was directed by Sun Yu and featured
Jin Yan, Zheng Junli, Zhang Yi, Han Lan’gen, and Li Lili. These progressive
artists shared a similar artistic and political background with Huang and
her husband, Zhao Dan, who was also a Shanghai private studio movie star.
Some of them had close collaborative and/or personal relationships with
the couple. By drawing a simple and clear line between the “yellow cinema”
and the three carefully chosen films, Huang bracketed her circle of film
artists and the power holders of the new film industry together.8 She based
her devotion to the transformation of the new film art on her justification
of her own artistic and political position as truthful and righteous.
Huang represented Shanghai progressive private studio artists in her
attempt to invoke ideological references in the CCP’s parlance, such as the
worker/peasant/soldier trio (gongnongbing) and the people, to discursively
strengthen her political status. Zhao Dan, for example, vowed similarly
“to be an art soldier faithfully serving the people.”9 In the nascent PRC,
the progressive artists were certainly not the only group of people who
made this strategic move. At the time, even private bankers quoted Mao
Zedong’s “On Coalition Government” and advertised that their banks were
28 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

“serving the people whole-heartedly.”10 The diverse groups’ similar efforts

to appropriate new ideological references may lead to an impression of
collective transformation. The coming disturbance, however, would soon
expose the underlying competition and struggle, and reshuffle the power
structure of the film industry for a new order.
This chapter focuses on the cases of The Life of Wu Xun and Song Jingshi
to discuss the cycle of disturbance and order that initiated the Maoist
revolution in Chinese cinema. The English-language scholarship has not
studied the former film adequately, and has largely neglected the latter.11
But they were in fact two of the most important sites of the circulation
of power among CCP authorities, critics, and film artists during the first
phase, or the Nationalization Period, of the PRC’s revolutionary cinema.
In the first section of the chapter, I focus on the causes and effects of the
campaign against The Life of Wu Xun, and review the circulation of power
leading to the production of the exceptionally big-budget Song Jingshi. In
the second section, I examine the high stakes of different factions of CCP
authorities, critics, and the former private studio artists in the outcome of
the production of Song Jingshi. The last section discusses how the compet-
ing stakes of these parties caused Song Jingshi to drastically depart from its
intended course as a coherent part of the campaign against The Life of Wu
Xun. The film eventually became a failure for everyone: the CCP author-
ities failed to use the film for any effective propagandistic purpose, critics
against The Life of Wu Xun failed to use it to gain critical authority, and the
Shanghai artists failed to use it to adjust and defend their private studio
filmmaking legacy.

The Campaign against The Life of Wu Xun: Disruption of Adaptation

As mentioned in the introduction, conventional historical narratives of

the Chinese revolutionary cinema tend to center around the dichotomy of
Yan’an versus Shanghai, or CCP cadres and filmmakers from the wartime
CCP-controlled areas versus artists from the private film studios.12 As
categories of different pre-PRC backgrounds of filmmakers, Yan’an and
Shanghai are useful for understanding part of the power dynamics in
the initial years of the PRC’s revolutionary cinema. But this categoriza-
tion problematically assumes a static confrontation, in which Yan’an and
Shanghai had “different perceptions of the function of art and artists in
society.”13 Contrary to this assumption, Yan’an and Shanghai’s percep-
tions of the function of film art and artists were consistently in sync
from the 1930s to the 1950s. From the 1930s to 1948, CCP authori-
ties in Yan’an kept their perception in line with those Shanghai private
 FROM THE LIFE OF WU XUN TO CAREER OF SONG JINGSHI 29

studio artists from whom they could win support. Having very lit-
tle film production capacity of their own, the CCP could only seek to
exert their influence on the Chinese film industry through cooperation
between underground CCP members and bourgeois film professionals
in the KMT-governed areas, especially Shanghai, the hub of the national
film industry. For this purpose, the CCP welcomed and actively con-
tributed to the commercial success of progressive movie stars, although
their stardom might obscure their ideological standing. Specifically, Mao’s
seminal 1942 Talks at the Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art (Talks)
did not include film as part of revolutionary literature and art, which
must primarily serve workers, peasants, and soldiers.14 CCP documents
show that the film industry remained an exception from the Talks’ dog-
mas even after the CCP acquired their first film studio in northeast
China in 1946. In a directive issued in November 1948, the Ministry of
Propaganda of the CCP’s Central Committee set up some quite liberal
political standards for film scriptwriting, and particularly warned that
exceeding “the acceptable degree of strictness” may lead to suffocating
the CCP’s fledgling film project.15 In the same year, Xia Yan, a longtime
central figure of the CCP’s underground film work organizations, stated
at a film forum that “it is quite unobjectionable for capitalists to make
profit.”16
After the CCP took over Shanghai, as the need to unite bourgeois film
professionals to undermine the KMT’s rulership disappeared, its tolerant
film policy began to tighten. On August 14, 1949, the Ministry of Propa-
ganda of the CCP’s Central Committee issued a resolution. It stated that
“film art has the most extensive popularity and widespread propagandistic
effect,” and called for “scriptwriters, directors and actors who have mas-
tered the CCP’s policies and are familiar with the life of workers, peasants,
and soldiers” to “strengthen the film project.”17 This resolution marked the
beginning of a nationwide application of the formulation found in the
Talks to the film industry. It was now the Shanghai artists’ turn to align
their political and artistic ideas with the CCP’s norms.
The progressive film artists began their rational adaptation to the new
regime and the new film culture through media publications, conference
addresses, and filmmaking. Most of them actively joined a chorus echoing
the CCP’s promotion of the worker/peasant/soldier cinema. True believ-
ers in the worker/peasant/soldier cinema or not, they promptly completed
a number of films practicing the new Party line. The three best-known
are Between a Married Couple (Women fufu zhijian, 1951), Platoon Com-
mander Guan (Guan lianzhang, 1951), and The Life of Wu Xun. Between a
Married Couple and Platoon Commander Guan both foregrounded revolu-
tionary worker/peasant/soldier figures and featured urban petty bourgeois
30 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

intellectuals, who obviously served as a self-portrayal of the filmmakers, as

faithful political followers of the revolutionaries.
The Life of Wu Xun, which predated the CCP’s takeover, was not as up
to date with the new Party line as the other two films. The protagonist of
this film, Wu Xun (1839–1896), was a late Qing beggar who lived a desti-
tute life but raised money for several charity schools through his begging.
Many Republican-era progressive intellectuals, including Sun Yu and Zhao
Dan, greatly admired Wu for his selfless and unyielding devotion to equal
education.18 In 1948, Sun began to shoot The Life of Wu Xun at the Kunlun
Film Studio, casting Zhao as Wu. As shown in his original script, the film
would have been an epic celebrating Wu’s merits and achievements. In the
first half of the story, Wu labors hard for a rich Recommended Man (Juren,
or those who passed provincial-level civil service exams in imperial China),
Zhang. But Zhang tampers with his salary accounts, refuses to pay any-
thing, and beats him cruelly. After being rescued by his friend Zhou Da,
Wu has a fevered dream in which he comes up with the idea to establish
charity schools and empower the poor through education. This dream is
a turning point. Wu’s subsequent efforts to build charity schools may look
humiliating: he begs for money even by playing punching sack for any-
one who is willing to pay. But such actions reward him with hope, inner
happiness, and an exciting realization of his education dream. Elites and
the emperor also recognize Wu for his achievements with great respect,
although Wu does not care about the honor they give.19
The project was suspended during the chaos of the civil war. In 1950,
Kunlun pushed Sun to resume the project, hoping that the film could res-
cue the studio from its financial crisis. At this point, however, Sun clearly
saw the difficulties in adapting the film to the Party line, and he accepted
the task only reluctantly. Putting tremendous efforts into the revisions,
he actively consulted with CCP authorities and carefully followed their
advice. The authorities were not enthusiastic about the project either, but
all appeared to agree that the film would be politically acceptable after the
appropriate revisions were made.
In 1951, Sun completed The Life of Wu Xun. Dramatically different from
its original script, the film showed an ambivalent attitude toward Wu. On
the one hand, it still intended to praise Wu, at times trying to make Wu
appear revolutionary. On several occasions, Wu expresses his desire to seek
vengeance from Zhang and other elite oppressors. In the fevered dream, he
even becomes a leader mobilizing the poor into revolutionary actions. On
the other hand, however, the film could not alter the well-known histori-
cal facts that Wu was far from a rebel and was even highly honored by the
Qing rulers. It had to criticize his lack of a spirit of revolt from a revolu-
tionary perspective. The film repeatedly stressed that by begging, instead
 FROM THE LIFE OF WU XUN TO CAREER OF SONG JINGSHI 31

of revolting, Wu only deepens his torment and perpetuates the unjust soci-
ety. Zhang’s henchmen, who thrash Wu in Zhang’s house, later thrash him
again as his punching “patrons.” An elite defrauds Wu out of the first
sum of money that he raises. Facing such oppression, Wu’s reaction can-
not be further away from vengeance. He repeatedly falls on his knees not
only to beg for money but also to implore the elites with enough power
and status to initiate the school project with the funds he raises. When
the elites finally gather to discuss the school project, Zhang appears as a
well-respected guest, warning the elites that charity schools would work
against their interests and vilifying Wu as a money-grubbing liar. Infuri-
ated, Wu tries to approach Zhang, but he has no confrontational strength
and ends up silently collapsing and, once again, kneeling in front of Zhang
(Figure 1.1).
Another elite speaks up against Zhang and saves Wu and the school
project. Not surprisingly, however, the school is run by the elites, and the
education it offers only reinforces the existing hierarchy.
This tragedy about Wu’s failures gave much more focus to Zhou Da
than the original script had done. In the original script, Zhou is a com-
mon cart driver who is imprisoned for rescuing Wu and pardoned by the
emperor after Wu becomes famous. In the film, Zhou is transformed into
an armed rebel who repeatedly reminds Wu that violent rebellion, rather

Figure 1.1 Wu Xun (middle) kneels down in front of Zhang (left)

32 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

than education, is the way to empower the poor. Toward the end of the film,
it is Zhou who victoriously takes revenge on Zhang by burning down his
house and killing his henchmen. The disruption Zhou brings to the town
also disperses the elites who are running a ceremony to honor Wu with the
emperor’s authorization. Zhou’s actions are inspiring and encouraging to
Wu, who has seen problems in the charity school. He returns to the school,
urges the students not to forget about the poor after receiving their educa-
tion, and tells them what Zhou has told him: “One day the poor will rule
all under the heaven!” He then walks out of the school and sees off Zhou’s
army. As internal diegetic sound, Zhou’s words are repeated once again in
Wu’s mind and conclude his story.
Although Zhou obviously represents the path that Wu should have
taken, the film was cautious enough to point out that even Zhou’s way is
not perfect. When Wu asks Zhou if his army can really solve all the prob-
lems just by killing, Zhou falls silent and then complains to Wu that the
rebellion lacks a “good leader.” Lest the audience should not immediately
figure out what the “good leader” refers to, the film added a concluding
sequence in which a teacher (played by Huang Zongying) gives a lecture
about Wu Xun. The teacher argues that neither Wu nor Zhou’s individ-
ual efforts can liberate the poor. The Chinese people, who have toiled and
struggled for thousands of years, can achieve true liberation only under the
organization of the CCP.
The revised The Life of Wu Xun was poised to satisfy multiple users at
the same time. Despite its ambivalence and self-contradictions, the film
managed to package didactic promotion of the CCP’s rulership in a touch-
ing story of a tender, warm-hearted idealist. It also had the potential to
appeal to the urban audiences, contribute to the CCP’s propaganda, secure
Sun Yu’s social and artistic status, and make significant profits for the
Kunlun Studio. This appeared to be the case for three months after the
film had been released in February 1951. The film was a blockbuster in
Shanghai, Nanjing, and Beijing. A number of high-level CCP authori-
ties praised it. Many newspapers and journals published high acclaims of
the film.20
The first disturbance in the revolutionary film history, however, soon
disrupted the Shanghai artists’ seemingly smooth adaptation to the new
culture. Critic Jia Ji’s article in the Literary Gazette (Wenyi bao), the chief
organ of the CCP’s policy of literature and art, signaled a turn of the offi-
cial attitude toward the film in April 1951.21 The article criticized Wu as a
servile capitulationist propagating class reconciliation, arguing at the same
time that it is a distortion to portray Zhou as “an underworld hero who
kills and burns indiscriminately” instead of “a soldier who consciously
pursues his ideas and knows the means.” Positive reviews of The Life of
 FROM THE LIFE OF WU XUN TO CAREER OF SONG JINGSHI 33

Wu Xun stopped appearing in the press after Jia’s intervention. On May

20, 1951, Mao wrote an editorial in the People’s Daily, an organ of the
CCP’s Central Committee, to condemn the film.22 The editorial triggered
a nationwide campaign, in which the CCP mobilized a full-scale mass crit-
icism against The Life of Wu Xun. This mass criticism soon extended to
all other private studio productions, especially Between a Married Couple
and Platoon Commander Guan. Both films were condemned for their petty
bourgeois “distortions” of the image of laboring people and revolutionary
soldiers.23
Mao’s criticism of the film had deep ideological motivations, rang-
ing from the promotion of the class struggle line to the consolidation of
unquestionable supremacy of politics over art. These motivations have
been discussed in both Chinese and English scholarship.24 A riddle that
remains unsolved, however, is why the private studio film artists, so actively
adapting to the new culture, fell victim to the campaign. The Shanghai
artists never questioned the CCP’s authority. Most of them uncondi-
tionally followed the Yan’an doctrine. Their films could have effectively
disseminated the CCP’s ruling ideas. What spurred the nationwide struggle
against them?
I argue that the need to economically transform the film industry was
a crucial reason for this apparently ideological campaign. As manifested
by the initial positive response from the CCP, the ideological transforma-
tion the Shanghai private studio artists made had in fact met the CCP’s
expectation. The great success of their films in terms of both box office
records and political evaluation, however, promised to challenge the com-
ing economic nationalization. It could have revived the private studios and
empowered national capitalists and petty bourgeois artists both econom-
ically and politically. Private studios would have continued dominating
the film industry. The fledgling state-owned studios would have had lit-
tle chance to win the competition. The CCP would have found it much
more challenging to secure economic and, by extension, political control
of cinema, the most important art in their view.
This economic concern can be seen most clearly in the fact that
Shanghai film artists were attacked only selectively. Those Shanghai artists
who worked at the state-owned studios, such as veteran directors Tang
Xiaodan and Sang Hu and movie stars Feng Zhe, Sun Daolin, and
Zhang Hongmei, transitioned to the new film industry quite smoothly.
As Chapter 2 discusses, even Shi Dongshan, who was an exception among
Shanghai directors for publicly casting doubt on the implementation of
the Party line, avoided the bulk of the campaign’s furor because he was
working at the state-owned Beijing Film Studio. The campaign against The
Life of Wu Xun targeted exclusively those working for private studios, to
34 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

the extent that “virtually every private studio production was followed by
a wave of criticism.”25 Journalist Yao Fangzao’s article was representative of
this wholesale criticism:

Among the total 58 films [the private studios] have produced since the
[1949] liberation, 11 are not yet released, so we cannot estimate the con-
sequences they may cause. As for the remaining 47 released films, it is not
difficult to see that an overwhelming majority of them are problematic, mis-
taken, or lacking in positive educational value! These films have caused a
waste of twenty billion yuan. Moreover, an overwhelming majority of them
disseminate the influence of bourgeois or petty bourgeois thoughts, and play
a negative role in the people’s revolutionary cause.26

After the campaign interrupted the path to political security and economic
revival, the private studios could not sustain themselves. In September
1951, the Kunlun Studio, which produced The Life of Wu Xun and Between
a Married Couple, merged with the joint state-private Changjiang Stu-
dio. In 1952, the remaining six private studios were all integrated into
the Changjiang-Kunlun Studio. The ownership went to the state, and the
studio name was changed to the Shanghai United Film Studio. In early
1953, the Shanghai United Film Studio was integrated into the state-owned
Shanghai Film Studio, thereby completing the process of nationalization in
the film industry three years earlier than in other sectors. A new order was
established.
In this new order, the Party-state gained tighter control of the film
industry. With full economic control of all the studios, the state established
a vertically structured film production system and practiced heavy censor-
ship. Mao’s People’s Daily editorial set up a precedent for CCP authorities
to interfere with filmmaking affairs. Although attaining significant polit-
ical power in return, film critics lost their critical distance from the CCP,
and film reviews became often indistinguishable from political statements.
Criticism of literature and art began to directly reflect the CCP’s intense
factional conflicts and shifting ruling lines. Filmmakers became vulnerable
to critics’ writings.
The CCP’s apparently overwhelming domination, however, was not
unchallenged or unified. As Chapter 3 discusses in detail, a significant
number of critics emerged to oppose the CCP’s film censorship in 1956 and
1957. Even in the seemingly quiet early 1950s, factional struggles within
the CCP produced rifts and multiple interpretations of subject matter
and politico-cultural policy within the broader film community. Disagree-
ment between Mao and other high-level CCP leaders, for example, became
apparent in their different attitudes toward The Life of Wu Xun.
 FROM THE LIFE OF WU XUN TO CAREER OF SONG JINGSHI 35

Shanghai private studio artists were certainly losers in this round of cir-
culation of power. Among others, Sun Yu, Zheng Junli, and Shi Hui all
performed public self-criticism. Their private studio filmmaking legacy
was in crisis. But their rational adaptation to revolutionary culture did not
stop. By making the film Song Jingshi, they would soon take a further step
in rewriting their artistic legacy, hoping to catch up with the CCP’s norms
and regain their elite status.

The Initial Version of Song Jingshi: Satisfying Multiple Users

In July 1951, an investigation team of 13 people finished their fieldwork

in and around Wu Xun’s hometown Liulin in Shandong. Mao’s wife Jiang
Qing and film critic Zhong Dianfei were two core members of the team.
Their task was to expose Wu Xun’s reactionary history. Through distor-
tion of villager interviews and historical records, the team more than
achieved their goal. They published a long report that claimed not only
that Wu Xun was a money-grubbing hooligan (an ironic agreement with
the Recommended Man Zhang) turned exploitative landlord but also
that among Wu’s fellow villagers was a local peasant revolutionary Song
Jingshi. According to the report, Wu and Song contrasted each other in
every way:

There were two entirely different figures in the same place and at the same
time. One submitted to the landlord class and feudal rulers, the other
engaged in a revolution against the landlord class and feudal rulers; one was
consistently cultivated, whitewashed, and eulogized by the contemporary
and succeeding reactionary ruling class, the other was slandered, suppressed,
and murdered by the contemporary reactionary ruling class; one has been
despised and detested by the laboring people since his time, the other has
been supported, respected, and loved by the laboring people since his time.
The former was Wu Xun, and the latter Song Jingshi.27

The message was unequivocal: instead of the reactionary Wu, it was Song
who should have appeared on the revolutionary silver screen to repre-
sent the peasants. Immediately after the publication of the investigation
report, the Ministry of Propaganda of the CCP’s Central Committee
decided to shoot a biographical film of Song Jingshi. Scriptwriting started
in September 1951, and the shooting in 1953. The film cost the new state an
astronomical seven billion yuan at a time when the average cost of a well-
funded film was 1.2 billion yuan.28 And, the initial version of the film was
not completed until the end of the Nationalization Period in 1955, which
was a long time for production at the time.
36 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

CCP authorities and critics wanted to use Song Jingshi to meet the
urgent need for a “correct” peasant figure on the screen of worker/peasant/
soldier cinema. When criticizing Wu Xun’s “distortion” of the portrayal
of peasants, they were not able to cite any film depicting a peasant in the
“feudal society” of imperial China “correctly.” Because peasants were con-
sidered less revolutionary than workers and soldiers, film artists working in
the CCP-controlled industry gave peasant subject films the least preference.
Authorities needed a figure like Song Jingshi to fill this vacuum.
Certain CCP authorities and critics were particularly enthusiastic about
the promotion of Song Jingshi for more practical reasons. As the Wu Xun
investigation team’s “discovery,” Song was closely connected to Jiang Qing’s
political ascension. She actively intervened in the scriptwriting process and
also pushed to produce a Beijing opera on Song Jingshi’s life.29 The film’s
success would have also further privileged critics like Jia Ji and Zhong
Dianfei, who quickly rose to prominence for their active contributions to
the criticism of private studio productions and to the investigation of Wu
Xun. Jia was appointed as one of the scriptwriters of Song Jingshi. He also
published a biography of Song Jingshi.30 Zhong was a member of a small
team inspecting and revising the film script.31
Song Jingshi provided a desperately needed chance for all three major
directors criticized during the campaign against The Life of Wu Xun. They
all actively sought a chance to work for the film in order to get themselves
on the correct side of the campaign. Sun Yu, now working for the state-
owned Shanghai United Film Studio, was “very excited” upon learning that
a draft script of Song Jingshi had been completed in 1952. “As the director
under criticism for The Life of Wu Xun,” he writes in a memoir, “how could
I not strive for a chance . . . to be the director of the film and redeem a bit
of my previous mistakes?”32 His active application was approved in 1953.
Sun was originally the only director of the film. But Zheng Junli, the direc-
tor of Between a Married Couple, soon attained a co-director position. In
his memoir, Sun hints that Zheng did so by working through his high-level
connections in Beijing.33 In 1954, Zheng replaced Sun as the only cred-
ited director of the film allegedly due to Sun’s health problems. Shi Hui,
the director of Platoon Commander Guan, was also deeply involved with
directing the film.34
In addition to the three directors, Song Jingshi also provided a chance
for scriptwriter Chen Baichen to “correct” his writing on Qing peasant
rebellions. Chen was a renowned progressive scriptwriter and one of the
founding artists of the Kunlun Studio. Before being appointed as the main
scriptwriter of Song Jingshi, Chen had completed one script on the Taiping
rebellion for the new film industry. It had been shelved, however, for
political errors.35
 FROM THE LIFE OF WU XUN TO CAREER OF SONG JINGSHI 37

Many former private studio actors, especially those who had worked for
the criticized films, made every effort for a chance to join the Song Jingshi
crew. The crew selection was highly competitive. The final cast included
Wu Yin, Zhang Yi, and Sha Li, all of whom were former private studio
film stars. Both Wu Yin and Zhang Yi played important roles in The Life
of Wu Xun. Wu Yin also worked with Zheng Junli in Between a Married
Couple. Sha Li used to work for the state-private Changjiang Studio, and
was the leading actor in The March of a Couple (Fufu jinxingqu, dir. Hong
Mo, 1951). During the campaign against The Life of Wu Xun, the People’s
Daily criticized The March of a Couple explicitly a total of four times.36
Zhong Dianfei condemned The March of a Couple as “a twin with Between
a Married Couple” and focused his harsh criticism specifically on Sha Li’s
character, a petty bourgeois young lady.37 All the former stars “wanted to
use this film to wash away their political stains.”38
It may appear ironic that the CCP would approve such a film crew to
make this important film, given the harsh political condemnation visited
upon so many crew members. This irony further suggests that the most
important reason for the criticism against private studio artists was not
their political stance but their economic position. CCP authorities offered
chances at redemption the moment these artists switched their economic
position from private studios to state-owned studios.
None of the Shanghai artists, however, was offered the protagonist role
of Song Jingshi. Working again through his Beijing connections, Zheng
Junli invited the Yan’an artist Cui Wei to play this role.39 At the time, Cui
was not even a film actor. He had been a stage actor in Yan’an and was now
the chief of the South China Cultural Bureau. He accepted the invitation
and became the central figure of the cast primarily composed of former
private studio movie stars.
Inviting the high-level CCP authority Cui was an important move to
further secure the political correctness of the film. With Cui at the cen-
ter of the performance, Song Jingshi simultaneously told two stories: In
the diegetic world, the late Qing peasants closely follow the revolution-
ary leader Song to fight against landlords and foreign invaders. In the
film production and revision process, the former private studio film artists
similarly gathered around the CCP to revolutionize their artistic legacy.
Song Jingshi’s story starts with the peasant rebel’s initial uprising against
the grain taxation imposed by the Mongol prince Sengge Rinchen (played
by Shi Hui). While Wu Xun does not appear in the film, his hometown
Liulin is presented as the reactionary base against Song.40 The story is struc-
tured around Song’s several attempts to capture Liulin. He eventually fails
in this regard, but attains a grander victory in the end: he joins the Taiping
army and kills Sengge Rinchen in a battle.
38 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

From the very moment Song Jingshi appears in the film, he is presented
as a savior superior to all other characters. The film reserves its first dra-
matic climax for Song to strike his pose. At this point, local authorities are
forcing grain taxation on Song’s fellow villagers and have arrested many
who cannot afford to pay. These villagers, shot at eye-level, lurch forward
in ropes and heavy chains. The beating of gongs, signifying that some-
one is blocking the way, suddenly breaks this dismal atmosphere. Both
the villagers and the Qing soldiers look up. In a low-angle shot, Song
Jingshi appears on top of an arch bridge with some armed followers. Unlike
the helpless villagers, he is not fettered but comes in as a free agent. His
steadfast face, terse words, and low-pitch voice stand in sharp contrast
against the agitated army official presented unflatteringly in high-angle
shots (Figure 1.2).
The result of the fight between them is predictable from this moment.
Quite easily, Song defeats the Qing soldiers with the support of all the
villagers.
Song’s first appearance sets the tone for his presentation throughout the
film. He is consistently portrayed as superior revolutionary elite, and an
educator enlightening the other peasants of the correct revolutionary goals
and strategies. A typical example is a sequence that takes place after Song

Figure 1.2 Song Jingshi appears as a savior

 FROM THE LIFE OF WU XUN TO CAREER OF SONG JINGSHI 39

captures the county government and kills the magistrate. After the battle,
the peasants gather the seized grain on a square. A series of shots show their
exultant joy and complete concentration on the grain. Apparently, they are
not thinking at all beyond the immediate, short-term benefits. One of them
happily decides to take some grain home for his mother. Many follow and
the newly gathered peasant force is about to disband. Having observed this
situation, Song jumps on a cart and asks the peasants what they shall do
after the revolt. Some immediately answer: “Go back home!” Some are
against this idea. Some are not even clear that they have already begun a
revolt. Soon all the peasants speak at once. The film then again places Song
in low-angle shots and the others in high-angle and eye-level shots. In a
short speech that quiets all the chaos, Song echoes the dominant CCP dis-
course at the time of the film production (though the story is set 60 years
before the CCP was established), and educates the peasants of the impor-
tance of taking up arms and joining a larger-scale peasant war against all
landlords and power-holders. Immediately convinced, the peasants happily
throw back the grain.
Song’s position as spokesman of the CCP becomes still more appar-
ent toward the end of the film. Song single-handedly convinces all the
other peasant generals that they should temporarily put aside their per-
sonal grievances against the Liulin landlords and join the Taiping army.
He even points out that it takes a united peasant rebellion to overthrow
the collaborative oppression of the local landlords, the Qing rulers, and
the foreign invaders. The film suggests that this peasant rebel of the 1860s
thought like Mao, who would call more than 80 years later for the Chinese
people to unite and dig up “the two big mountains” of imperialism and
feudalism.41
Depicting Song as such an elegant speaker with revolutionary foresight,
the former private studio artists created a peasant model contrary to their
own artistic legacy. Peasant characters had usually been depicted as emo-
tional, illiterate, and unintelligent in the 1930s and the 1940s. Progressive
films that presented peasant characters as positive protagonists were no
exception. These films portrayed peasants as inferior to petty bourgeois
intellectuals, needing the intellectuals’ education to transform themselves
for a better and more meaningful life. Private studio artists already made
careful adjustments to this legacy by representing peasant figures as polit-
ically more advanced than the petty bourgeoisie in their post-1949 films.
However, these figures continued to appear culturally inferior, emotion-
ally immature, and unrefined and clumsy in their speech. The campaign
against The Life of Wu Xun harshly criticized such characters as distortions
of peasants. By establishing Song as a figure of superior political, cultural,
and emotional maturity, former private studio artists expressed submission
40 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

to the CCP’s intervention in their art practice. At the same time, how-
ever, precisely by exalting Song/the CCP to an exceptionally lofty position,
former private studio artists managed to retain part of their legacy. The
film inserted Song, the sole figure who radically broke the peasant stereo-
types, in a conventional progressive framework juxtaposing enlightened
elites against an unintelligent peasant mass.
The initial version of Song Jingshi was poised to satisfy multiple par-
ties’ interests. Fluently articulating the CCP’s language and equipping his
peasant army with the most radical revolutionary theory possible, Song
Jingshi could have been the perfect peasant model for CCP authorities and
critics to further criticize the “distortions” of the private studio produc-
tions. A concentration of former stars in the film, and the costly battle
scenes could have attracted audiences and promoted the new peasant
model. Had this new model been established, those who discovered and
promoted Song Jingshi would have all gained considerable political cap-
ital. At the same time, this new peasant model would have benefited the
former private studio artists, who used this film to adapt their criticized
artistic legacy to the new film culture. The success of this film could have
alleviated, or even ended, the marginalization of these artists. The rapidly
changing political climate, however, precluded these users from obtaining
such advantages. Dramatic conflicts further complicated the uses of the
film, inserted contradictory voices in it, and finally destroyed its possible
success.

Revisions of Song Jingshi: “A Temporary, Strategic Compromise”

Song Jingshi was originally scheduled to premiere in a “New Film Exhibi-

tion” running in 33 cities from March to April 1956.42 But the screening
was cancelled at the last minute. The film was taken back to studio for
revisions and the release date deferred until June 1957.43 Several accounts
testify to the dramatic turn that delayed the release of Song Jingshi. Zheng
Junli mentions in a 1957 article that “some comrades raised the issue that
the peasant rebel Song Jingshi fundamentally betrayed the people.”44 Chen
Hong, daughter of Chen Baichen, describes this incident in rather color-
ful language: “an influential high-ranked army official questioned in stern
voice how Song Jingshi could be extolled and eulogized so much while hav-
ing serious blemishes in his records.”45 “Stern” or not, the voice had serious
consequences. According to Chen Baichen’s memoir, after the army official
launched the attack, “it looked very likely that the film would be banned
and that the scriptwriters and directors would be suspended from their
jobs and asked to perform self-criticism.”46
 FROM THE LIFE OF WU XUN TO CAREER OF SONG JINGSHI 41

That Song had “serious blemishes” in his historical records is hardly

surprising and was not a secret at the time. Like any peasant rebel
leader, the actual Song failed to meet even the lowest acceptable standards
of the revolutionary silver screen. During his rebellion, Song surrendered
to the Qing government twice. He was a loyal follower of the Qing official
who captured him and fought for the Qing until the official was removed.
Far from being someone who envisioned a united peasant rebellion, Song
fought with local militia for personal grievance and actively participated in
suppression of other peasant uprisings to earn official rank. How to deal
with this record was a thorny issue for the investigation team. By chang-
ing and omitting historical records, they covered Song’s suppression of
other peasant uprisings.47 As for the record of his surrender, which was
too obvious to cover, they explained it away as “a temporary, strategic
compromise.”48
To accept this excuse or not was also a temporary, strategic choice for
each user of the film. All appeared to accept it during the Nationalization
Period, when the need to use Song Jingshi to criticize Wu Xun was over-
whelming. According to Chen Hong’s memoir, when Chen Baichen asked
for instructions on how to deal with Song’s surrender before writing the
script, Jiang Qing and Zhou Yang, the vice Minister of Culture, emphasized
that the surrender was a necessary revolutionary strategy. All the cultural
authorities and historians Chen Baichen consulted at the time agreed with
this view.49 In early 1956, however, campaign policy of the Nationalization
Period was becoming a past issue. The film was now more connected to
the political influence of the members of the Wu Xun investigation team,
especially Jiang Qing. Their political influence at this point proved not to
be powerful enough to continue justifying the excuse. Historical accounts
suggest that there were high-level CCP and army leaders strongly oppos-
ing her participation in politics. As a result, Jiang held the most important
position she attained in the 1950s, head of the secretariat of the General
Office of the CCP’s Central Committee, only for a few weeks.50 After that,
she played a role in the 1954 campaign against the well-known intellectual
Yu Pingbo,51 but then retired from politics until 1963.
The final result of the emergency meetings about Song Jingshi was also
a temporal, strategic compromise. After a long silence, Zhou Yang made
a closing speech that surprisingly saved the film. Chen Hong hints in
her biography of Chen Baichen that it was Mao himself who was back-
ing Zhou.52 I can find no other records confirming this. In any case, the
balance of the intricate power struggles gave the film a chance to sur-
vive, but the condition was that it must go through further revisions, of
which Zheng Junli’s above-mentioned 1957 article is the most detailed
account.
42 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

The sequence depicting Song’s surrender, for example, went through at

least three major revisions. The first print was rejected because it did not
glorify Song enough to meet the need of those who wanted to promote him
as a revolutionary exemplar. In this print, the sequence started with a scene
in Song’s camp, where soldiers are dejected and generals sink into despair
after falling under the siege of the Qing troops for two days. Song Jingshi
accepts full responsibility for the defeat through self-criticism. He decides
to “reconcile” with the Qing official and sends back a captive with his con-
ditions of negotiation. In Zheng’s words, the problem with this sequence
was that it “creates an impression that Song is easily paralyzed once the
struggle turns complicated.” After an internal discussion, the film crew
“reconfirmed that the major task of this film is to exalt the revolutionary
task of Song,” and decided to shoot a second rush.53
The second rush was also denied because it failed to meet the need of
those who opposed the glorification of Song. In this print, the duration
of the siege was changed from two days to one month, and the dismal
scene in Song’s camp was taken off. Song’s self-criticism was replaced by
his furious condemnation of the insidious landlords and his uplifting claim
that at least his army has not lost any battle on the fighting ground. Two
scenes were added in. One shows that the Qing official finds himself in a
desperate situation for having falsely reported his achievement of captur-
ing Song. The other sends Song himself with his reconciliation conditions
to the Qing camp, presenting the negotiation as a complete victory for
him. The awe-inspiring peasant general insists on keeping his flag, accepts
no troop reorganization, and refuses to be dispatched by the government,
while the Qing official, alarmed and frightened, has to fully accept all these
conditions. It was this version, completely turning Song’s surrender into a
victory, that was scheduled to premiere in 1956 and cancelled at the last
minute.
The third rush Zheng describes in the article is close to the final ver-
sion. It took the crew another year after the emergency meetings about the
film to complete this revision. On the thorny issue of surrender, the film
strove for a balanced position between criticism and exoneration. On the
one hand, the film had to “criticize his surrender,” and could not “con-
fuse it anymore with reconciliation.” On the other hand, it still wanted to
give Song “a positive assessment,” because “he did not intentionally betray
the people.”54 The result was a self-contradictory plotline. Song’s victori-
ous visit to the Qing camp stayed in the film, and he still states firmly that
he is not surrendering, but the film removed all references to “reconcili-
ation.” After this meeting that is neither surrender nor reconciliation, the
film suddenly jumps to a heavy-hearted Song, who will move his troops
600 miles under the command of the Qing official. In an added scene, other
 FROM THE LIFE OF WU XUN TO CAREER OF SONG JINGSHI 43

peasant generals blame Song for essentially surrendering, and Song admits
his mistake. The only excuse for this abrupt, illogical turn is an ambiguous
mentioning of some “trap” set by the official, who however appears to have
absolutely no resource with which to confront Song throughout the film.
In June 1957, Song Jingshi was finally released. The show time, how-
ever, was eerily brief. Despite all those painful revisions, criticism against
the film’s “groundless idealization” of Song Jingshi still appeared in the
press.55 Soon the checkered career of the film ended up on the archive
shelf.56 Among all the parties whom the film failed, the former private stu-
dio film artists suffered the most frustrating setback. Their first attempt to
recover from the campaign against The Life of Wu Xun fell through, and
their agonizing marginalization went on.
Both the criticism against The Life of Wu Xun and the controversy
about Song Jingshi were integral to a heavy debate of the meaning and
political role of the peasant throughout the early 1950s. In 1955, when
this nationwide debate reached a climax, Mao gave a series of speeches to
emphasize the revolutionary agency of peasants and to promote a quick-
paced agricultural collectivization. “As things stand now,” Mao judged,
“it is the [peasant] mass movement [promoting agricultural cooperation]
which is running ahead, while the leadership cannot keep pace with it.”57
Both the non-revolutionary Wu Xun and the exceptionally revolutionary
leader Song Jingshi proved not to be in line with this judgment. As one
of the discursive results of the failure of these two characters, peasant sub-
ject films produced in early and mid-1950s usually stuck to contemporary
issues and featured a revolutionary peasant majority against a few non-
revolutionary and anti-revolutionary elements. And the non-revolutionary
elements always included certain CCP leaders who lag behind the rev-
olutionary masses. The politically correct way of screening the peasants
evolved into a reverse of the Shanghai legacy: it now depicted the peas-
ant masses as always advanced and conscious, and some elites as utterly
unenlightened. Applying this formula to a peasant subject film became
necessary for its political safety.
But this formula was not enough to guarantee political safety in the
continuous policy vacillations, factional conflicts, and redefinitions of
ideological correctness and wrongness during the revolutionary cycles.
Chapter 2 examines how the next revolutionary cycle failed a Yan’an direc-
tor Guo Wei, despite his best efforts to follow the CCP’s changing norms
in both agricultural and cultural spheres.
 2

From Revolutionary Canon

to Bourgeois White Flag:
Blooming Flowers and the Full
Moon (1958) in the Maoist
Campaigns

I n the spring of 1950, a young man in rustic dress rushed into the art
section of the Film Bureau, located in a former Beijing upper-level hotel.
He came for new personnel registration. Regarding himself as a “rustic
CCP” (tu balu) for having spent more than a decade in the CCP-controlled
rural areas, he still had no idea why the CCP recently assigned him a post
in the “cosmopolitan film” (yang dianying) industry.1 His name, Guo Wei,
did not have the slightest connection to Chinese cinema until then. When
a registration cadre asked if he had any previous experience in filmmaking,
he bluntly replied: “I have never even seen a movie camera.”2
It turned out that the CCP transferred Guo to the new post upon the
request of the director Shi Dongshan, who at the time worked for the
newly established, state-owned Beijing Film Studio. Shi chose Guo to be his
assistant director for New Heroes and Heroines (Xin ernü yingxiong zhuan
1951), mainly for Guo’s familiarity with the wartime CCP-controlled areas
that served as the sites of the film’s story. Guo’s rich experiences as a stage
actor and director in the CCP’s art troupes also informed Shi’s decision.
New Heroes and Heroines may have been Guo’s first filmmaking expe-
rience, but in merely four years he would rise to prominence in PRC
cinema for having independently directed two highly successful films:
Taking Mount Hua by Strategy (Zhiqu Huashan 1953) and Dong Cunrui
(1955).
46 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

Guo’s quick success in the Nationalization Period partially stemmed

from the Yan’an dominance over Shanghai, or the dominance of cadres and
artists from the wartime CCP- controlled areas over artists from the private
film studios. Guo’s pre-PRC background was typically Yan’an. As early as
1938, still a middle school student, Guo made his way to Yan’an and joined
the CCP. While working in the CCP’s art troupes, Guo regarded himself as
a soldier and saw his performances not as art, but part of his revolutionary
propaganda work. He described Mao’s Talks at the Yan’an Forum on Liter-
ature and Art as the sole guidance for his work on the stage.3 Such strong
adherence to the Party line led to Guo’s quick promotion. Before transfer-
ring to the Beijing Film Studio, he was the head of the Art Troupe of the
Hebei province, a high-level position for a 26-year-old. In the new order
of the film industry after the Campaign against The Life of Wu Xun, Guo
benefited from his strong political background and the lack of competition
with the artistically more experienced Shanghai filmmakers.
Guo’s status as a typical Yan’an filmmaker, however, did not exclude
him from the sophisticated interrelations among film artists from differ-
ent pre-PRC backgrounds. In a 1980 republication preface to A History of
the Development of Chinese Cinema, Chen Huangmei writes that early PRC
Cinema was essentially a continuation of Shanghai left-wing cinema in the
1930s.4 One of the reasons for such continuity, according to Chen, was
that the Shanghai film artists made significant contributions to the culti-
vation of the first generation of PRC filmmakers. Guo was one supporting
example of this argument. Shi Dongshan, the director who changed Guo’s
career path and led him into the film industry, was a veteran progressive
Shanghai private studio director. Guo recalls in a memoir that he learned
filmmaking skills from Shi “like a sponge absorbing water,” emphasizing
with deep appreciation that Shi’s detailed instructions and generous sup-
port “had a crucial impact on [his] life-long career of film scripting and
directing.”5
Nor should Guo’s strong political background obscure the fluidity of
his positions in the radical and unpredictable changes of the revolution-
ary cycles. Closely following the Party line could earn him political trust
in one campaign, but could also render him vulnerable to abrupt policy
changes in another. As one of the vanguard practitioners of the ruling
line in the 1956 Hundred Flowers Campaign, he would be attacked as a
Rightist in the 1957 Anti-Rightist Campaign. Together with a good number
of other Yan’an filmmakers, Guo would find his political allegiance useless
to protect him from losing his privileges.
The complexities of Guo’s background and the dramatic changes in his
career path contributed to the multivocality of his third film, Blooming
Flowers and the Full Moon. The film was an adaptation of Zhao Shuli’s
 FROM REVOLUTIONARY CANON TO BOURGEOIS WHITE FLAG 47

1955 novel Sanliwan Village, which was considered as a part of the revo-
lutionary canon at the time of its publication. Guo began to make this film
at the height of his career, but did not complete it until after his downfall.
Stories of both the novel and the film are about the transformation of the
village of Sanliwan during the Campaign for Agricultural Collectivization.
Yet the film told the story in a very different way from the novel in order to
closely follow the latest development in the vacillating policy of the cam-
paign. This film blurred the Yan’an versus Shanghai dichotomy, which had
been fully established since the Campaign against The Life of Wu Xun. As
many other Yan’an filmmakers’ works, the film stuck to the requirements
of the worker/peasant/soldier cinema in terms of subject (ticai) and theme
(zhuti). At the same time, however, it showed a strong artistic connection
to the Shanghai filmmaking style advocated by Shi Dongshan. Institutional
reforms in the Hundred Flowers Campaign allowed Guo more artistic
freedom and urged him to make the film commercially appealing for effec-
tive propaganda. But the Anti-Rightist Campaign saw the film released
only “for criticism” and the immediately following Campaign to Wrench
out White Flags designated it as a “bourgeois White Flag on the silver
screen” that needed to be “resolutely wrenched out.”6 Blooming Flowers
and the Full Moon constituted a polyvocal microcosm metonymically con-
nected with layers of changes and conflicts in campaign politics. This
chapter examines it as a key case that clearly demonstrates the close con-
nections between the uses of films and the power dynamics of Maoist
campaigns.

The Transformative Struggle in the Novel

The novel Sanliwan Village is set in 1952. At the time of the story, the
Campaign for Agricultural Collectivization was at its early stage, trans-
forming mutual-aid teams to primary cooperatives. Major conflicts in
this story, in the words of the author Zhao Shuli, are between the vil-
lage CCP branch leading “the people with socialist consciousness to the
course of agricultural collectivization,” and “the people with bourgeois
thoughts” opposing the course.7 At the time of its publication, critics nor-
mally regarded the theme of the novel as the “two-line struggle” (liangtiao
luxian de douzheng) between the socialist course and the capitalist.8 Zhao
generally accepted this common view, but proposed his own definition of
the two-line struggle:

We say that . . . [the people with socialist consciousness and the people with
bourgeois thoughts] are “on two different courses.” This is just a figure of
speech for convenience. In fact, it is not so easy to see the difference of the
48 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

two divisions of people as [those who are] fighting [against each other] or
walking [on opposite roads]. In the two-line struggles, members of the same
family, who are working and eating together, or even a couple, may still not
be on the same side. The same person may also stand on this side today and
turn to the other tomorrow, or stand on this side on this matter and turn to
the other on another . . .9

According to Zhao’s definition, the two-line struggle is not about sim-

ple, clear-cut oppositions and violent conflicts. In the village of Sanliwan,
parental, fraternal, and marital relationships frequently transgress the
boundary between the two political sides, political relationship and kin-
ship are interweaved together, and irreconcilable extremes are nowhere to
be found. Different from revolutionary radicalism, the two-line struggle
Zhao proposes does not seek to uproot the established social structure.
Instead, through persuasion, debate, and criticism, the struggle weaves new
ideas into and gradually transforms the social fabric in everyday affairs,
with peasants’ voluntary compliance based on their calculations of tangible
benefits.
The peasants’ tangible benefits were precisely what inspired Zhao to
write Sanliwan Village. The novel was based on Zhao’s experience when
participating in primary cooperative experiments in two villages in the
Changzhi district of the Shanxi province in 1951 and 1952 (the Changzhi
experiments). Before the Changzhi experiments, he had observed two
problems in the work of mutual-aid teams. One, “the production increas-
ing advantages of the mutual-aid teams had been exhausted after years of
practice,” and the peasants were about to “lose interest in being organized
for the lack of new ways to further increase production.” Two, “a small
number of people had attained the conditions to become rich peasants.”
They could gain control of labor and resources with their capital and
initiate exploitation and polarization. The success of the Changzhi exper-
iments showed Zhao a possible solution to both problems. The primary
cooperatives not only “increased production efficiency in land, labor, and
investment through unified management” but also ensured an “increase
of income for all the members by prorating dividends based on land and
labor.” The peasants accepted this new way of production.10
The question at the center of Sanliwan Village is, to quote the sum-
mary of Qian Liqun, “whether or not Chinese peasants could gain tangible
benefits in the social transformation led by the CCP.”11 Zhao gave a pos-
itive answer to this question not out of a blind acceptance of lofty ideals
and abstract theory, but his in-depth participation, careful observation,
and meticulous calculation that testified to such tangible benefits in the
Changzhi experiments. This was why Zhao, in the words of Deng Hanbin,
 FROM REVOLUTIONARY CANON TO BOURGEOIS WHITE FLAG 49

“devoted pages [in Sanliwan Village] to let peasants . . . carefully calculate

their gains and losses” before they are convinced of the advantages of
agricultural cooperation.12
The village irrigation ditch project, essential for the development of
the cooperative, is a case in point for demonstrating how the calculation
works. When mobilizing villagers to support the project, local CCP cadres
do not resort to any abstract “communist consciousness,” but three paint-
ings respectively entitled “Sanliwan Today,” “Sanliwan Tomorrow,” and
“A Socialist Sanliwan.” The peasants are most interested in the second of
the three, which shows immediate benefits of the project, ranging from
irrigating land to eliminating the need to carry water. It is based on such
tangible benefits that the local cadres’ promotion of the socialist course
wins support of the majority.13
As for the minority who oppose the project, their reasons are also based
on calculations of tangible benefits. The village head Fan Denggao has
earned enough to begin a retail business, thanks to the fertile land that he
attained with his political power during the land reform.14 Ma Duoshou,
a wealthy peasant, already has a large amount of irrigated land. Neither of
them needs the ditch in the short run. Moreover, they believe that the ditch
will attract more villagers to join the cooperative and make it difficult for
them to hire labor for more profits. These calculations are no secret in the
village of Sanliwan.
In Sanliwan Village, differentiation between the socialist course and the
capitalist is based on such open and concrete calculations. For common
villagers, the capitalist course means that only economically privileged
families like the Mas can get their land irrigated, and that politically
privileged cadres like Fan can turn their power into capital. By contrast,
the socialist course means that ultimately “your income depends not on
your land but your work.”15 It also means the possibility of much-needed
large-scale projects benefiting all, such as digging the irrigation ditch,
clearing off sand from the field, and turning low-output hilly land into
orchards.
Since the beginning of the Campaign for Agricultural Collectiviza-
tion, the proponents of agricultural collectivization held two opposing
opinions on how to deal with the privileged few: to let them grow into
rich peasants and then use “revolutionary expropriation,” or to gradu-
ally transform them into cooperative members.16 Zhao and the leaders
of the Changzhi experiments proposed gradual transformation, believing
that the cooperative would eventually win over the privileged by educating
them to look beyond their short-term interests. Sanliwan Village reflects
this view. Toward the end of the novel, Ma decides to join the cooperative
because a careful calculation of his gains and losses in the long run—which
50 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

includes an examination of the help and care he will need after household
division and when he grows old—persuades him that the cooperative will
ultimately improve his quality of life. Fan initially joins the cooperative
just to protect his CCP membership. He assumes superiority for being a
veteran cadre and boasts about his economic contribution to the coopera-
tive. A non-CCP cooperative member Niu Wangzi offers a rebuttal against
his misguided motives and short-term calculation:

I’ve no patience with the way Fan showed off about turning his two mules
over to the cooperative! . . . As if our cooperative needed his charity! The
last two years, we old cooperative members have planted all those trees and
cleared all that land to encourage you others to take the socialist road. We
don’t drive a hard bargain with new members. Yet he talks of turning in two
mules as if it were an act of charity! We all know his nickname—Fly High.
Well, if those of us in the hill team had flown as high as he did in the land
reform, we could each have had a mule! When the cooperative takes live-
stock, it pays the full price plus one percent dividend, so what favor does he
think he’s doing us? He’s simply doing the right thing now by joining—but if
he does not want to join, he can keep his mules and go on toward capitalism.
Can’t we borrow money at one percent from the bank to buy ourselves two
mules? After listening to him, I feel he hasn’t faced up to his faults at all. I
doubt very much whether he will work honestly in the cooperative.17

Niu’s calculation urges Fan to look beyond his short-term privileges, which
are being challenged by the cooperative members as a collective. Not only
can the new collective purchase the production equipments that used to be
affordable only to the wealthy like Fan, but they can and have already car-
ried out agricultural projects that are well beyond Fan’s means. As such,
the cooperative is not in need of Fan’s help. Instead, it is Fan who will
benefit economically from joining the cooperative. In the short run, the
economic benefits Fan receives from the cooperative may appear smaller
than he would attain by running his private business. According to the
long-term plan, however, the collective productive and bargaining power
of the cooperative will modernize the village and bring to all villagers,
including Fan, the prosperity that no small-scale peasant economy can pro-
duce. Until the wealthy realize this, Niu does not want them to join the
cooperative. Niu’s reasoning, like that of the other characters, is also eco-
nomic. In the Sanliwan village, a member’s contribution to the cooperative
is measured with his or her labor rather than capital. If a member bears a
grudge against the cooperative, he or she cannot work for it honestly and
will compromise all the other members’ economic interests. Through Niu’s
meticulous calculation, Zhao expressed his own view that cooperatives did
 FROM REVOLUTIONARY CANON TO BOURGEOIS WHITE FLAG 51

not need to push the wealthy, or anyone, to join, and that those who joined
a cooperative against their will could only harm it.
The emphasis on peasants’ voluntary compliance led to Zhao’s disap-
proving characterization of the village deputy head Zhang Yongqing, who
tends to force peasants into cooperatives. Zhao gave Zhang a nickname
“big guns” (dapao) and characterized him as a well-intentioned yet reckless
cadre. Carelessly using ideological terms to blame non-cooperative mem-
bers, Zhang impedes the promotion of the cooperative several times. On
one occasion, he calls the cooperative “the way of Chairman Mao” and
those who do not join Chiang Kai-shek’s “roaders.” In response, a villager
claims that, “if everyone in the cooperative was like him, I’d sooner die than
join.” In the novel, every time Zhang “let[s] off [his] big guns,” other cadres
always criticize him and make him apologize for his impetuous working
methods.18
Ultimately, however, Zhang’s actions best reflected the actual develop-
ment of the Campaign for Agricultural Collectivization. When Guo Wei
adapted the novel into film in 1957, the campaign had completely turned
away from the gradual transformation as seen in Sanliwan Village. On the
one hand, the film tried to stay relatively faithful to the original story. On
the other hand, it also had to meet the new ideological requirements. Such
conflicting needs created incoherence in the film.

The Struggle of Good against Evil in the Film

With continuous policy vacillations, the PRC’s Campaign for Agricultural

Collectivization underwent three stages. The first stage of the campaign
centered on expansion of mutual-aid teams and experiments of primary
agricultural cooperatives. It began after the Changzhi experiments gener-
ated a six-month-long intense debate among high-level CCP authorities
from April to September, 1951. Favoring the experiments, Mao Zedong
intervened and ended the debate. A resolution on mutual aid and coop-
eration in agricultural production, which embodied Mao’s view on the
issue, was drafted in September 1951, discussed and revised for three
months, and placed into trial implementation in December of the same
year. After his first participation in the Changzhi experiments in the
spring of 1951, Zhao attended one of the high-level CCP meetings dis-
cussing the draft of the resolution. He generally agreed with the draft, but
pointed out that it overestimated peasants’ enthusiasm about mutual aid
and cooperation. Zhao’s opinion was well received and reflected in the
revisions.19 Similar to Zhao’s view as seen in Sanliwan Village, the revised
52 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

resolution emphasized peasants’ voluntariness and a “gradual” approach

to convince the peasants of the advantages of agricultural cooperation over
“isolated individual economy.” Guided by this resolution, the campaign
attempted to follow “the principle of steady development according to
practical conditions” from 1951 to 1953.20 In March 1953, the CCP’s Cen-
tral Committee saw this attempt compromised by excessive promotion of
collectivization on the news media and local CCP authorities’ urge for
quick collectivization achievements. They issued a series of directives try-
ing to slow down the development of agricultural cooperation and stop the
tendency of “impetuous advance.”21
In the fall of 1953, however, Mao began to think that the CCP’s Cen-
tral Committee slowed down the development of agricultural cooperation
“in a rush” and “brought down a number of agricultural producers’
co-operatives that should have survived.” He also lost patience with the
“steady development,” which he believed was just an euphemism for
“mark[ing] time without making any advance.”22 On October 15 and
November 4, Mao expressed his view in two talks. The talks soon led
the campaign to its second stage, which centered on a nationwide fast
expansion of primary cooperatives. The Resolution of the CCP’s Central
Committee on Developing Agricultural Production Cooperatives, issued
on December 16, 1953, drew up a plan such that “the number of agri-
cultural production cooperatives nationwide . . . shall reach 35,800 by the
time of the fall harvest in 1954.”23 Going far beyond the plan, the actual
number reached 100 thousand in the fall of 1954 and continued increas-
ing dramatically.24 The campaign veered into the direction of coercive
collectivization.
By the beginning of 1955, the reckless expansion of cooperatives had
stirred enough resistance against and created enough problems for the
CCP’s Central Committee to force them to adjust their policy. On Jan-
uary 10, 1955, the Central Committee issued a circular to acknowledge
“failure and disbandment of newly established cooperatives” and urge
local CCP authorities to slow down, stop, or reverse the expansion of
cooperatives.25 Following the circular, the campaign retreated from the
sweeping collectivization for a brief period from January to April. It was
precisely in these four months that the CCP’s core literary journal Peo-
ple’s Literature (Renmin wenxue) published in four installments the novel
Sanliwan Village, which embodies the original, moderate direction of the
campaign.
After an inspection tour in southern China in April 1955, Mao changed
his position again. Once more advocating to accelerate collectivization,
Mao entered into a clash with the vice Prime Minister Deng Zihui, who
was in charge of agricultural policies.26 Coincidentally, Mao also used “big
 FROM REVOLUTIONARY CANON TO BOURGEOIS WHITE FLAG 53

guns” as a metaphor when he said angrily to Deng, “[I] need big guns to
remove your [erroneous] thoughts!”27 Contrary to the way Zhao had used
it in Sanliwan Village, in Mao’s words the metaphor stood for the righteous
revolutionary force. On July 31, 1955, Mao gave a talk on the cooperative
transformation to provincial and municipal level CCP authorities. In the
talk he pungently criticized “some . . . comrades” for “tottering along like
a woman with bound feet,” “lag[ging] behind the mass movement,” and
committing Rightist-Deviationist mistakes.28 For the fear of being labelled
as the so-called tottering women, the CCP authorities criticized themselves
for their Rightist-Deviationist thoughts and changed the plans for cooper-
ative development in their areas. The campaign of agricultural cooperation
entered its third stage, which centered upon rapid establishment and
expansion of advanced cooperatives through radical collectivization. By
the end of September 1956, advanced cooperatives had been established
throughout China. In June 1957, 93 percent of all peasant households
in the country had joined advanced cooperatives, thereby substantially
completing the process of nationwide agricultural collectivization.29
Compared to the gentle transformation proposed by Zhao, the radical
collectivization was also based on calculations of interests, but not for the
peasants. Mao stated in the 1955 talk:

If we cannot basically solve the problem of agricultural co-operation within

roughly three five-year plans . . . then we shall fail to resolve the contradic-
tion between the ever-increasing need for commodity grain and industrial
raw materials and the present generally low output of staple crops, and we
shall run into formidable difficulties in our socialist industrialization and be
unable to complete it.

He then reminded CCP authorities that large funds had to be accumulated

through agriculture to accomplish national industrialization.30 This mode
of calculation turned cooperatives into a channel for the state to attain its
primitive accumulation of industrial capital and materials. It demanded
peasants to sacrifice their interests for industrial and urban development.
Along with this policy change, mainstream literature and art began to
promote new peasant heroes and heroines, who no longer strive to mate-
rially benefit peasants through careful and meticulous calculation. Instead,
they spare nothing to defend the “correct” ideological position and mer-
cilessly strike any “class enemy” standing in the way of the state’s interest.
The two-line struggle departed from Zhao’s definition and became a clear-
cut conflict of good against evil. These changes were apparent in the 1958
film Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon. When adapting Sanliwan Village
into the film, Guo Wei resorted to elision, alteration, interpolation, and
54 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

cinematic techniques to bring the village into an irreconcilable ideological

duel between the socialist line and the capitalist line.
In terms of elision, the film completely removed the meticulous calcu-
lations embodied in the three paintings and done by characters like Fan,
Ma, and Niu. In the film, there are only two passing mentions of tangible
interests, which together last for merely 10 seconds. One is that Fan will
receive certain compensation from the cooperative for his mules, and the
other that joining the cooperative will not make Ma harvest less. Unlike
the novel, the film mentioned neither the amount of the compensation
nor the reason for the assumed income security. The film also removed
Zhao’s criticism of Zhang Yongqing, as well as Zhang’s nickname “big
guns.” Many characters in the original novel, including both the positive
and negative ones, have their casual nicknames because Zhao believed that
colorful nicknames could embody peasants’ wisdom and make the charac-
ters more recognizable.31 By contrast, the film did away with the nicknames
of cooperative members and only kept the nicknames of Fan, Ma, and other
“backward” characters. Nicknames in the film served to ridicule the ideo-
logical enemy and to clearly differentiate them from those who are on the
socialist course.
Along with the elisions, the film reduced the comprehensive and
transformative struggle in Sanliwan Village to simple clashes of politi-
cal positions. A CCP rectification meeting, where Fan debates against
the other CCP members, epitomizes this alteration. In the novel, Fan’s
opponents best him in argument by doing a detailed calculation of the sub-
stantial interests Fan has seized from the other villagers with his political
power.32 The film replaced the open, meticulous calculation with a bom-
bardment of terse and threatening questions, such as in what ideology Fan
believes and for what party he stands. The economic reasons behind the
furious political attack remain hidden. Likewise, the film changed Ma’s rea-
son to join the cooperative from economic persuasion to political pressure.
In the film, Ma joins the cooperative only because the CCP has soundly
defeated his villainous scheme against the socialist course and leaves him
with no other choice.
Through cinematic techniques, the film painted people like Fan and Ma
as menacing capitalist line practitioners clandestinely opposing the social-
ist course. It interpolated a conflict to the original story, using it as the
opening sequence to establish a strong visual contrast of good against evil.
The sequence starts with a tense confrontation between Fan and a cooper-
ative proponent Yusheng. Riding his mule, Fan the retailer is about to leave
the village and replenish his stock of merchandise. But Yusheng believes
that Fan, as the village head, should stay for a meeting to discuss the irri-
gation ditch project. Yusheng holds on to the mule and attempts to stop
 FROM REVOLUTIONARY CANON TO BOURGEOIS WHITE FLAG 55

Fan while Fan urges the mule to run forward. Agitated by the push and
drag, the mule flings Fan to the ground. Their dispute disturbs the whole
village. Many rush to the scene and try to stop the fight. Ma, however, tells
his family to pretend that they do not see anything and keep working in the
field.
Mise-en-scene of this sequence evidently contradicts Zhao’s definition
of the two-line struggle. Whereas Zhao writes that the two lines are not in
as sharp an opposition as people moving in opposite directions or fighting
each other, Fan and Yusheng, as representatives of the two lines in the film,
are precisely in such a sharp opposition. The sequence establishes the same
visual contrast between Ma and the other villagers. The villagers all enter
the frame from the left side and run forward from left to right, except for
Ma, who enters from the lower-right and moves backward from right to left
with an alert face. When Fan calls Ma to support him in the quarrel, Ma
enters the frame even more secretively from below the camera, presumably
standing up from a squatting position. From this starting point, the film
went against Zhao’s recognition of the close personal and familial con-
nections crossing different political sides. It divided the village according
to people’s approaches to the cooperative, depicting those with a negative
attitude as isolated and furtive outsiders.
Later in the film, low-key lighting plays a crucial role in coloring these
outsiders as a sinister and menacing force. The film added to the origi-
nal story several scenes of the Mas conspiring against the cooperative in
late night meetings. These scenes present Ma’s faint oil lamp as the only
light source, which casts heavy shadows in his murky house and creates a
gloomy and frightening atmosphere. When the two-line struggle reaches
its climax, the film does not even bother to offer a realistic light source for
the shadows. At an open hearing held in the village council’s office, Manxi,
a member of Ma’s mutual-aid team, accuses the Mas of exploitation. The
film then features a close-up of each of the Mas to show their grim faces.
In these close-ups, the high-key lighting of the office suddenly becomes
extremely low-key, which yields dramatic, chiaroscuro effects that cannot
be explained by any light source in the scene (Figure 2.1).
By contrast, the cooperative proponents perform in an open, upright
manner and regularly receive bright high-key lighting. One dramatic
example is Yusheng and the female protagonist Lingzhi’s encounter at the
village militia’s office. While the time is 4:30 a.m. and the only light source
in the scene is an oil lamp, the entire room is brightly and evenly lit. The
same oil lamp is seen again in a conversation between Fan and Wang
Jinsheng, the village CCP authority. Holding the lamp, Wang questions
Fan’s political position and warns him for being “further and further away
from the Party.” This gesture, combined with Mao’s images and words,
56 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

Figure 2.1 Close-up of a member of the Mas

which are frequently placed side by side with the cooperative proponents,
makes the lamp an obvious reference to Mao. Similar to that of the
better-known and still brighter and redder lamp in The Legend of the Red
Lantern (Hongdengji, 1963, rev. 1970), the shining light of the lamp unmis-
takably symbolizes the bright future of the way of Chairman Mao that will
prevail over darkness (Figure 2.2).
Presenting such a battle between light and dark, Guo Wei created
difficulties for himself in keeping the plot adaptation coherent. The novel
criticizes the opponents of cooperative for being short-sighted and cov-
etous, but never characterizes them as sinister villains. In the novel, the
opponents learn to look beyond short-term interests and join the cooper-
ative one by one. The irreconcilable ideological demarcation in the film,
however, does not allow this sort of gradual transformation for each indi-
vidual. Until the last scene, the opponents show only hatred toward the
cooperative and frustration at their defeated conspiracies against it, so
much so that a strike against them would serve as a logical ending for the
film. But that would result in a complete alteration of the essential plot of
the original story, a move that Guo was not willing to make. He had to end
the film with an interpolated welcome ceremony, in which all the oppo-
nents gleefully join the cooperative together. This happy ending is utterly
abrupt and disconnected to the rest of the film, which offers no explana-
tion as to what makes these characters change their positions and feelings
 FROM REVOLUTIONARY CANON TO BOURGEOIS WHITE FLAG 57

Figure 2.2 Wang Jinsheng criticizes Fan with an oil lamp in his hand

so dramatically and simultaneously. Clumsy as it may look in terms of plot

adaptation, the disconnection shows Guo’s shrewd political adaptation to
the newest changes of the Party line as a seasoned CCP member.
The conflicting approaches to agricultural collectivization were only
part of what made Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon a polyvocal
microcosm of campaign politics. Guo’s strong artistic connection to
Shanghai, which was marginalized by the Campaign against The Life of Wu
Xun, as well as the dramatic change of his position in the Anti-Rightist
Campaign, would further complicate the discursive meanings of the film.

The Political Struggle and the Commercial Appeal

In contrast to Guo’s political allegiance, his highly admired mentor Shi

Dongshan was probably the most distanced from the Party line among the
established Shanghai directors. Facing the Yan’an-derived dictum that lit-
erature and art must serve the workers, peasants, and soldiers, Shi, unlike
many of his fellow Shanghai artists, refused to abandon his “petty bour-
geois backwardness.” Instead, he explicitly argued for a space for the bour-
geoisie in the worker/peasant/soldier cinema.33 In terms of subject matter,
58 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

Shi believed that the new cinema should praise the petty bourgeoisie and
the national bourgeoisie as allies of workers, peasants, and soldiers. In
terms of filmmaking styles, Shi advocated for a market-oriented approach:

You are free to use any form to illustrate the theme [of defending the inter-
ests of workers, peasants, and soldiers]. If the audience likes to watch some
fierce fights, then we may as well show them some fierce fights. If the
audience likes to see some [spectacular] settings and special effects, then
we may as well present some [spectacular] settings and use some special
effects. If the audience likes us to represent day-to-day family life, then we
may as well show struggles in day-to-day family life. If the audience likes
to watch amusing acting in a film [ . . . ] then we may as well insert one
or two funny figures [ . . . ] into the story, or just use these funny charac-
ters to complete a comedy. We may even combine romance and revolution
in a story and let these two elements add passion to one another [ . . . ] I
always hope that our [filmmakers] can make films more entertaining [ . . . ]
Overcautious filmmaking would eventually bore the audiences that have
long been accustomed to diverse film styles.34

As a contemporary critic pointed out, the audience Shi primarily consid-

ered was the urban bourgeoisie because at the time, only they could afford
to watch films regularly and develop a taste for diverse film styles.35 Despite
the new additional claim to defend the interests of workers, peasants, and
soldiers, Shi’s approach to filmmaking styles continued to follow the logic
he was most familiar with, namely that of pre-PRC Shanghai commercial
cinema serving the entertainment needs of the bourgeois audience. Taking
this standpoint, Shi made it quite clear that he believed the Yan’an-derived
dictum was, at least in its implementation, “too simplistic and narrow-
minded.”36 In the circle of Shanghai artists, critics, and writers, Shi was a
representative voice and the only outspoken film artist among those who
cast doubt on the dictum.37 The Campaign against The Life of Wu Xun
suppressed the doubting voices, accusing Shi of making arguments from a
bourgeois perspective.38
Yet Shi avoided the bulk of the campaign’s furor because it primarily
targeted private studio artists. Working for the state-owned Beijing Film
Studio since 1949, Shi was not a focus of the campaign. Unlike the pri-
vate studio artists, Shi encountered relatively respectful criticism directed
only at his articles and speeches.39 As a filmmaker he continued to enjoy
celebrity status, during his lifetime and posthumously, until the Cultural
Revolution Period.40 Even his critics claimed that New Heroes and Heroines
made considerable contributions to the worker/peasant/soldier cinema.41
For Guo Wei, this meant that he did not need to distance himself from Shi,
personally or artistically.
 FROM REVOLUTIONARY CANON TO BOURGEOIS WHITE FLAG 59

Because Guo did not have to reject his mentor, he could combine
Shanghai artistic style with Yan’an political orthodoxy in his films. Taking
Mount Hua by Strategy (Zhiqu huashan 1953) and Dong Cunrui (1955),
the first two films Guo directed independently, both exalted CCP war
heroes. In terms of film subject and theme, he strictly adhered to the
requirements of worker/peasant/soldier cinema. Artistically, however, Guo
followed Shi’s advocacy of “mak[ing] films more entertaining” by adding to
the films commercial elements such as “fierce fights,” “spectacular setting,”
and “amusing acting.”
Shooting Taking Mount Hua by Strategy as a thriller (jingxian pian), Guo
took advantage of the notoriously precipitous slopes of Mount Hua and
presented a legendary raid full of suspense, surprise, and thrill.42 Guo also
invited Li Lili, who had been a highly popular sex symbol in Republican
Shanghai, to play a supporting character in the film. This was to be Li’s only
screen performance in the generally puritanical revolutionary film culture.
By making this unusual casting choice and presenting exciting battle and
adventure, Guo made the film inviting to urban moviegoers, who expected
excitement and adventure in films.
Having succeeded in this directorial debut, Guo was transferred from
the Beijing Film Studio to the Changchun Film Studio. At Changchun
he accepted the appointment to shoot Dong Cunrui after several direc-
tors turned down the original script for its didactic plot and unconvincing
idealism. He completely revised the script and made yet another unusual
choice: to cast a new film actor, Zhang Liang, as Dong Cunrui. This
choice surprised many, including Zhang himself, because he was com-
monly regarded as being too plain-looking to play a war hero.43 Yet Guo
precisely wanted to characterize Dong first as an amusing common peasant
boy before turning him into a serious and heroic soldier. Zhang’s cheerful
performance in the beginning of Dong Cunrui, where Guo inserted a series
of light comedic vignettes, contributed significantly to the dramatic effects
of the film. Many audiences found the hero amiable and approachable and
were therefore deeply touched by his self-sacrifice at the end. This was a
bold artistic choice at the time when most directors avoided comedy for
the political risks associated to it. Platoon Commander Guan had been con-
demned as a film “trifling with” the soldiers and “distorting” them in a
“vulgar” and “petty bourgeois humanitarian” way, precisely because it uses
a very similar combination of comedic vignettes and sentimental drama.44
Guo’s strong Yan’an background, however, secured the political acclaims of
Dong Cunrui.
As shown above, Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon maintained Guo’s
strict adherence to the ideological orthodoxy. At the same time, compared
to Taking Mount Hua by Strategy and Dong Cunrui, the film manifested
60 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

Shi Dongshan’s artistic influences on Guo still more clearly. In addition

to the political and commercial success of his previous two films, radical
reforms of the film institution echoing the Hundred Flowers Campaign
policy also motivated Guo to move further in the Shanghai direction. In
December 1956, a strong wave of criticism against the Party-state’s rigid
control of cinema, which Chapter 3 further discusses, pushed the Film
Bureau to initiate a dramatic reform. This reform centered upon a new
policy called “three zi and one center” (sanzi yi zhongxin), namely that
directors (instead of cultural bureaucrats, as it was implied) should wield
central control over all aspects of film production (yi daoyan wei zhongxin),
and that filmmakers could freely choose their film subjects (zixuan ticai)
and artistic collaborators (ziyou jiehe), while taking sole responsibility for
the profit and loss of their films (zifu yingkui).45 The Changchun Film
Studio launched this reform with several experimental “creative teams”
(chuangzuo jiti) organized and led by the studio’s most successful directors.
Guo’s team for Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon was one of them. Being
independent throughout the filmmaking process from the stage of attain-
ing bank loans to that of film distribution, the team’s only obligation to the
studio was to sign a contract to pay the filmmaking costs and to turn in a
tiny portion (1 percent or 0.1 percent) of profits. If the film indeed made
profits, the team would deposit part of the profits to designated filmmaking
foundations, and share all the remaining profits among its members. If the
film turned out to be a box-office failure, the team had to take full responsi-
bility, although the foundations would help them cover the financial loss.46
Before this reform, the film policy had been described and criticized as
“administration centered.” Now it abruptly shifted gear into a considerably
market-oriented mode. Guo took advantage of these changes, using more
commercial elements in Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon to reap larger
box-office success. Just as he did in the agricultural sphere, Guo attempted
to benefit by closely following the development of the vacillating campaign
policies in the cultural sphere.
Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon featured plenty of “amusing act-
ing” and comedic elements by caricaturizing three main characters, Fan,
Ma, and Manxi. In the novel, only Ma’s character is lightly comic. In the
film, all three engage in exaggerated, clownish performances. Fan makes
an exhibition of himself from the very beginning. In addition to falling off
from the mule in the opening sequence, he also hangs merchandise all over
his body, ranging from five thermos bottles to a dozen plates. Ma frequently
opens his mouth wide, pretending not to hear and feigning ignorance. Not
being able to fool anyone, he only makes himself a laughingstock. Manxi is
an outspoken, warm-hearted, and smart young man in the novel. But the
film changed him to a rash individual who generates humor everywhere he
goes for being careless and insensitive. The three characters’ performances
 FROM REVOLUTIONARY CANON TO BOURGEOIS WHITE FLAG 61

are so eye-catching that present-day discourses often categorize the film as

a “comedy,” despite the fiery ideological struggles it depicts.47
Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon significantly enhanced the plot-
line of love in the novel. It turned the original story that completely centers
upon agricultural collectivization into a combination of “romance and rev-
olution [that] add passion to one another.” The above-mentioned early
morning encounter of Lingzhi and Yusheng is an example. In the novel,
this encounter takes place in an utterly unromantic and even formidable
setting:

Near the gate to Flagstaff Compound, someone made [Lingzhi] jump by

flashing a torch into her face. There was a guard post between the threshing-
floor and Flagstaff Compound [ . . . ] This militiaman challenged Lingzhi,
and then let her pass. Inside the compound she saw lights in the east and
west wings.
[...]
“Who’s there?” called a voice from the east room, and she heard the click of
a safety catch.
“It’s Lingzhi!” was her hasty reply.
She walked in and saw Yusheng standing behind the desk, holding a gun
which he put down when he saw her.48

The film removed the flashing torch and the click of the safety catch, as
well as the sense of darkness suggested by both. As mentioned above,
the militia’s office is filled with light in the film. In addition to its politi-
cal symbolism, the light also creates a romantic atmosphere for Yusheng
and Lingzhi’s budding relationship. The two young people make their first
eye contact in a point-of-view shot of Lingzhi, in which Yusheng smiles
and shows her the time by illuminating a clock with the shining oil lamp
(Figure 2.3).
Lingzhi smiles back: “Alas! It’s just 4:30! I wanted to complete a chart of
accounts here as early as possible, but I came too early!”
When Lingzhi and Yusheng look at each other affectionately, they also
tenderly look at the two ideologically charged props. The oil lamp and the
clock signify their eagerness to follow the light of Chairman Mao and seize
every minute to work for the cooperative. Their gaze of love blends with
their gaze of political loyalty to the revolutionary campaign. The former
romanticizes the latter, and the latter justifies the former.
The title of the film, Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon, also manifests
this mutually supporting cycle in which “romance and revolution . . . add
passion to one another.” A Chinese phrase, the title is a metaphorical
expression of perfect conjugal bliss. By extension, it also refers to the
62 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

Figure 2.3 Yusheng shows Lingzhi the clock

supposedly bright future of agricultural collectivization. Departing from

the original story, the film connects its six young characters through four
love triangles. To find their true love in the complicated relationships, they
must first find the direction of their life by taking the correct political posi-
tion in the two-line struggle. The opening sequence of the film ends with
Fan’s acerbic comment that it is impossible for the young people to make
the cooperative as perfect as “blooming flowers and the full moon.” In
the end, when everyone joins the cooperative and the six young charac-
ters become three happy couples, Fan comments again: “We will open the
channel and expand the cooperative, and the young people will get married
and start their career. Now everything about the cooperative is indeed as
perfect as blooming flowers and the full moon!” In applauds and upbeat
music, the camera cuts to a huge image of Mao, rendering the already
apparent combination of conjugal and ideological bliss even clearer.
Despite the fact that the novel sets the story in a drought-ridden moun-
tain village under the threat of land desertification, the film places a great
amount of colorful flowers in the setting against the young people to
symbolize hope and love. For example, in the early morning encounter
sequence, chrysanthemums and orchids are conspicuously placed by the
window to decorate the young people’s smiling faces. Later when Lingzhi
decides to confess her affection, she leads Yusheng to a twig fence covered
 FROM REVOLUTIONARY CANON TO BOURGEOIS WHITE FLAG 63

with morning glories. The love confession then cuts to two close-ups of
huge and bright chrysanthemums. Such mise-en-scene arrangements are
in line with Shi’s filmmaking style that emphasizes “formal beauty.”49 They
also remind Chinese viewers of another phrase that often goes together
with the film title “in front of flowers and under the moon” (huaqian
yuexia), which depicts a romantic setting for a couple in love.
The romantic passion and the pursuit of beauty developed into a bold
attempt in the generally puritanical film culture: the film teased its audi-
ences with sexually attractive female bodies. When directing the film, Guo
made it clear that costumes of female characters should noticeably show
their body curves.50 Just by reading the script, Zhao Shuli noticed an
important difference between the film and his novel in this regard:

. . . [In the script] there is one “shot” that is not clear to me. It seems that
Xiaojun shows Yusheng the new vest she bought from Fan Denggao by trying
it on. This “shot” stands out visually.. It stresses Xiaojun’s wearing of the
vest, drawing the audience’s attention to her. [I wonder] if it will distract the
audience from understanding Yusheng’s feeling at this moment.51

Xiaojun is one of the six young characters in the film. In the novel, she does
not try on the vest in front of Yusheng, but shows it to him so quickly that
Yusheng only “[catches] a glimpse of something red.”52 In the film, Xiaojun
takes off her loose cotton-padded jacket twice, tries on the tightly fit vest,
and looks at herself in the mirror. The display of the vest is simultaneously
a display of her body curves. Xiaojun even kisses Yusheng before trying on
the vest for the second time, charging the scene with a sexual undertone.
Indeed as Zhao worried, this scene would “distract” the audience’s atten-
tion from Yusheng to Xiaojun. But such a “distraction” also added to the
commercial appeal of the film.
When trying on the red vest, Xiaojun is still on the capitalist side of
the two-line struggle. Her political conversion will come much later in the
film. Although the PRC’s revolutionary film culture was generally puri-
tanical, it was actually not so rare to see politically problematic female
characters like Xiaojun appear in a sexually attractive way. Presenting the
sex appeal of these characters was relatively safe for the filmmakers because
the audiences were supposed to view that sexuality as a political and moral
disgrace that the films condemned. For example, Taking Mount Hua by
Strategy featured Li Lili as the antagonist’s concubine, and a number of
other revolutionary films featured attractive female KMT spies. But Bloom-
ing Flowers and the Full Moon took one step further by also suggesting
the sensual glamour of the female protagonist Lingzhi. There is one obvi-
ously missed shot in the copies of the film available today, probably due to
64 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

post-production censorship. Both the “literary script” (wenxue juben) and

the shooting script of the film describe this scene, which is not seen in the
original novel:53

Youyi runs down from the river bank slope and shouts “Lingzhi! Lingzhi!”
[ . . . ] Lingzhi wears a tightly fit underwear and washes her hair in the river.
She is afraid that Youyi will see her “secret” and hastily takes her coat to block
the view of her breasts. “Don’t come here!” she shouts [ . . . ]54

Guo stated in an interview right before shooting Blooming Flowers and the
Full Moon, “It is very difficult to [ . . . ] separate box-office value, political
value, and artistic value from one another. [ . . . ] A film can hardly have
any political or artistic value if the audience does not go watch it.”55 For
his strong Yan’an background and familiarity with the Shanghai methods,
Guo seemed to have good reasons to believe that he could use Blooming
Flowers and the Full Moon to effectively propagate policies of agricultural
collectivization in a commercially appealing way. It appeared quite likely
that this new film would, as his previous two films, achieve a box-office,
political, and artistic triple success.
Turbulences of the Maoist campaigns, however, soon destroyed this
bright future. The Anti-Rightist Campaign dissolved the Yan’an versus
Shanghai dichotomy in 1957. Some Yan’an and Shanghai filmmakers were
denounced as Rightists, while other Yan’an and Shanghai filmmakers
condemned the Rightists and survived the campaign. Now, whether a film-
maker was from Yan’an or Shanghai mattered much less than one’s political
and factional positions in the current campaign. For his factional position
against a CCP authority of the Changchun Film Studio and his vanguard
position in the Hundred Flowers Campaign, Guo was designated as a
Rightist and a core member of an “anti-Party clique.”56 Critics wrote off
his Yan’an background and 18 years of CCP membership at one stroke by
claiming that he was not a CCP member at all “in his thoughts.”57 At the
time, Guo had not yet completed Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon.
After Guo completed Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon as a Rightist,
the film was released to be criticized.58 A critic wrote, “It was the Rightist
Guo Wei who adapted Sanliwan Village into film. Of course this would
lead to a deterioration of the original novel.”59 Under this premise, critics
targeted the commercial elements of the film as poisonous “deteriora-
tion.” They criticized the clownish performances of Fan as a vilification
of the CCP and the enhanced triangular romances as “farces filled with
vulgar petty bourgeois multi-angular love.”60 They condemned the scenes
in which Xiaojun tries on her vest and Lingzhi washes her hair as being
“obscene.”61 They also labeled Guo’s pursuit of formal beauty, especially
his frequent uses of flowers in the mise-en-scene, as a bourgeois deviation:
 FROM REVOLUTIONARY CANON TO BOURGEOIS WHITE FLAG 65

In Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon, a film shot by the Rightist Guo Wei,
the setting is supposed to be a mountain village in north China. But the film
goes as far as to have flowers bloom all year around in such an area, and it
even places bright red flowers at the edges of peasants’ brick-beds. To pursue
the “beauty” of image, the film lugs those peasants in love in a setting “in
front of flowers and under the moon,” turning them into a group of idly
upper-class dandies and ladies.62

The critics viewed the change of the title from Sanliwan Village to Bloom-
ing Flowers and the Full Moon, the phrase associated with conjugal bliss,
as a reflection of the change of theme in the filmic adaptation.63 They
claimed that Guo “castrated” the subject of the two-line struggle in the
original novel with his “vulgar” and “obscene” romance.64 This was con-
trary to the actual differences between the novel and the film adaptation.
As discussed above, Guo strongly strengthened the two-line struggle theme
by turning Zhao’s gradual transformation into a clear-cut conflict of good
against evil. This change was so apparent that the critics who condemned
Guo for weakening the two-line struggle theme also criticized him for
strengthening it in this way. They criticized the conflict of good against
evil as yet another “distortion” for “exaggerating contradictions within the
Party,” “denying that the middle peasants have a [good] side leading to
[positive] transformation,” and “distorting the Party’s policy of ideological
remolding, which advocates constructive, life-saving criticism.”65
The twisted charges against both the commercial and the political ele-
ments of Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon epitomized the fundamental
dilemma of the revolutionary cinema between political agenda and com-
mercial appeal. As discussed in the introduction, an ironic result of this
dilemma was that the more propagandistically effective a film was, the
more vulnerable it would be to potential political attacks. Singling out
which films to attack was usually decided based on the changing political
needs and shifting power balances during the campaigns. Blooming Flow-
ers and the Full Moon was such a contingently chosen target. In February
1957, when Guo’s political status was secure, the Film Bureau director,
Chen Huangmei, still used the box-office record of Dong Cunrui to acclaim
achievements of the worker/peasant/soldier cinema.66 Only about one year
later, Guo’s similar attempt to make Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon
commercially appealing, and his argument that box-office, political, and
artistic values are inseparable, both became evidence of how “mercenary”
he was as an “ugly bourgeois Rightist.”67 Designated by no other than Chen,
Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon became a major “bourgeois” “White
Flag onscreen” that needed to be “resolutely wrenched out.”68
The dramatic changes that Sanliwan Village and Blooming Flowers and
the Full Moon experienced during the revolutionary campaigns did not end
66 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

with the White Flag designation of the latter. Just one year later, the Chinese
Writers’ Union targeted Zhao Shuli, who had until then been regarded as a
leading figure in worker/peasant/soldier literature, for his dissenting views
on agricultural collectivization in a closed-door rectification campaign. To
Zhao’s critics, his works no longer belonged to the revolutionary canon
that could not be “castrated” or “distorted,” but became representations
of “the world view of narrow-minded peasants.”69 Meanwhile, the urgent
need to produce popular films for the tenth anniversary of the PRC pushed
the Film Bureau to back off from their White Flag designations. Chen
Huangmei acknowledged that “it was inappropriate to call all the films
with erroneous thoughts ‘White Flags’.”70 Guo Wei was allowed to continue
his filmmaking career as a lower ranked director. In 1962, campaign poli-
tics changed again after the famine caused by agricultural collectivization
and the Great Leap Forward. The Chinese Writers’ Union revoked their
criticism against Zhao Shuli. The Ministry of Culture urged local govern-
ments to resume distributing Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon, if they
had banned the film “on their own initiative.”71 Only four years later, the
two-line struggle during the Cultural Revolution Period turned Sanliwan
Village and Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon together into products of a
“reactionary black line in literature and art.”72 They became two “big Poi-
sonous Weeds,” or “two poisonous melons successively grown on the same
black vine.”73 Zhao was tortured to death and Guo sent to a labor camp.
Such complicated and incessant changes of the uses of these two works
constantly rewrote their meanings.
Most films designated as White Flags in 1958 followed trajectories sim-
ilar to that of Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon during the succeeding
campaigns. There was one exception: The Unfinished Comedies directed by
Lü Ban in 1957. This film was the earliest “Poisonous Weed” film in the
revolutionary cinema and the only one that was officially condemned as
such among all the White Flags in 1958. The CCP’s furious charges against
the film, such as “utterly anti-Party and anti-Socialist” and “unbearably
vulgar,” never changed until after the Cultural Revolution Period.74 The
CCP found the film so horrendous because it epitomized voices against the
CCP’s control more radically than any other film during the entire Maoist
period. The next chapter discusses this film as a key case during the short-
lived but consequential Hundred Flowers Period, when major debates on
artistic doctrines and filmmaking practices went hand in hand with the
drastic changes in the creative practices of film and theater.
 3

From “a Hundred Flowers” to

“a Poisonous Weed”:
Dangerous Opportunities for
Satirical Comedies, 1955–1958

O n a sunny day, the entrance guards of the Changchun Film studio

see two people approach the studio’s front gate. They look familiar
because they both used to be popular Shanghai movie stars before the
Campaign against The Life of Wu Xun. Just their difference in size—one
overweight, and the other skinny—is enough to remind many of their
long-time successful partnership in slapstick comedies. But both stars have
disappeared from the silver screen since the campaign. Working in differ-
ent cities, the partners, formerly close, have not even seen each other for
quite some years, let alone appeared together at a film studio. The guards’
faces show both cheerful surprise and doubt. One of them hides his excite-
ment and asks in stern voice: “Where are you from? Who are you looking
for?” The two former stars look at each other, smile knowingly, and reply
together in verse:

We are looking for cinema,

And cinema is looking for us (wo men)
If you ask what our names are,
(Han:) I am Han Lan’gen.
(Yin:) And I am Yin Xiucen.

“I have looked up to your names.” The guard smiles, bows, and invites them
to enter the studio.
Described above is a pivotal scene in the 1957 film The Unfinished
Comedies. The overweight Yin and the skinny Han play themselves as
68 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

protagonists in the film based on their real experiences. This was their
first cooperative effort since The Troubled Couple (Huannan fuqi, 1951),
a Shanghai private studio film produced just before the Campaign against
The Life of Wu Xun. The campaign marked the beginning of their exile
from the film industry. During his exile, Yin relocated to different cities
and worked in several theatrical troupes. In 1954, he was transferred to the
Northeast Film Studio, but only used occasionally as a dubbing actor.1 Han
went to Suzhou and worked in a theatrical troupe until 1957.
Among the many Shanghai movie stars troubled by the Campaign
against The Life of Wu Xun, Han and Yin were particularly marginalized
due to their specialty in slapstick comedies. Representing the furor of the
campaign against this type of films, Yao Fangzao condemned comedies as
“ridiculous, vulgar, lowbrow, and senseless,” and “the worst” films.2 As a
result, no comedies were produced during the Nationalization Period, and
only a very small number of directors (including Guo Wei, as discussed in
Chapter 2) were privileged and bold enough to include some light comedic
vignettes in their films. Slapstick was unthinkable, and therefore so was the
possibility for Han and Yin to appear on the silver screen.
The Unfinished Comedies, however, represented a dramatic turn. The
ostracized Shanghai slapstick stars returned to the film industry and
entered the Changchun (formerly Northeast) Studio, the CCP’s first film
studio established by the Yan’an artists in 1946. Yin reappeared on screen
in 1956, playing a supporting part in a comedy The Man Unconcerned with
Details (Bujuxiaojie de ren, 1956). Han was transferred to the Changchun
studio the following year. He starred together with Yin in The Unfinished
Comedies. Both films were Changchun productions. Han and Yin’s cheer-
ful self-introduction indicated an on-going mutual searching process. On
the one hand, the marginalized Shanghai artists were “looking for” every
chance to regain their status in revolutionary cinema; on the other hand,
revolutionary cinema was also “looking for” a way to use the Shanghai
artists to increase its popularity. The beginning of the film seemed to
suggest a happy ending for this mutual search.
This apparently sudden turn had brewed beneath the surface for years.
The CCP’s film bureaucracy and the Yan’an doctrines yielded low film
output, alienated audiences, and caused industry-wide frustration dur-
ing the Nationalization Period. The Hundred Flowers Campaign policy,
which encouraged open expression of opinions about the regime, caused
an explosion of mass criticism of the film industry. Radical institu-
tional reform began as a result of this disturbance, leading to significant
changes in filmmaking practices that included the revival of comedy. The
Nationalization Period ended, and a new order was taking shape.
 FROM “A HUNDRED FLOWERS” TO “A POISONOUS WEED” 69

But the Hundred Flowers Campaign was short-lived. The subsequent

Anti-Rightist Campaign soon turned Hundred Flowers vanguards, includ-
ing both Yan’an and Shanghai filmmakers, into “Rightists.” The Yan’an
versus Shanghai dichotomy dissolved. A Yan’an background could offer
no protection for filmmakers once they were designated as Rightists. In
fact, the most vicious filmmaker Rightist in the CCP’s eyes was Lü Ban,
a veteran Yan’an filmmaker who made the two comedies casting Han
and Yin.
This chapter focuses on Lü Ban’s three comedies, Before the New Bureau
Chief Arrives (Xin juzhang daolai zhiqian, 1956), The Man Unconcerned
with Details, and The Unfinished Comedies, as key cases during the revo-
lutionary cycle from 1956 to 1958. Major conflicts over the contested uses
of the films were crucially linked to the circulation of power among film
artists, CCP authorities, critics, and audiences in three successive cam-
paigns during this cycle: the Hundred Flowers Campaign, the Anti-Rightist
Campaign, and the Campaign to Wrench out White Flags. In particular,
The Unfinished Comedies not only represented the mass criticism of the
institution and the challenge to the Yan’an doctrines more clearly than
any other revolutionary film but also, through its title and dialogue, eerily
prophesied its own future in the campaign politics. The first section of this
chapter reviews Lü Ban’s connections to the Shanghai filmmaking legacy
and his attempts to gain more artistic freedom and make comedies dur-
ing the Nationalization Period. The second section discusses the policy
turnaround in the Hundred Flowers Campaign and how it opened doors
for change in the film industry. The third section examines how the mass
criticism of the film industry, epitomized by a film discussion hosted by a
Shanghai newspaper, set up ripe conditions for Lü Ban to make comedies
and openly manifest his connections to Shanghai. The last section analyzes
the discursive meanings of Lü’s comedies generated before and after his
political downfall.

Lü Ban from 1951 to 1955: Conceiving the Unthinkable Comedies

Lü Ban’s connection to Shanghai was more direct than that of Guo Wei.
Like many other quintessential Yan’an film artists, Lü moved from the
Shanghai film circle to the CCP- controlled areas.3 When making his way to
Yan’an in 1938, Lü had studied and worked in the Shanghai film industry
for eight years. His slapstick performance in Crossroads (Shizi jietou, 1937)
had earned him such flattering newspaper commentaries as “the oriental
Chaplin.”4 He had a good relationship with many Shanghai movie stars,
and was a sworn brother of Yin Xiucen and Zhao Dan.5
70 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

Lü’s decision to go to Yan’an led to a career path very different from

those of his Shanghai friends. Instead of pursuing stardom in Shanghai,
Lü devoted himself to creating revolutionary propaganda in art troupes
during wartime and joined the CCP in 1942. He joined the Northeast Stu-
dio soon after its establishment and played in The Bridge (Qiao, 1949), the
CCP’s first full-length feature film. Lü began directing films as an assistant
director of The Invisible Frontline (Wuxing de zhanxian, 1949) and a joint
director of Heroes on Lüliang Mountain (Lüliang yingxiong zhuan, 1950)
and New Heroes and Heroines. He then independently directed Gate No.
6 (Liu hao men, 1952) and Heroic Driver (Yingxiong siji, 1954). These five
films marked Lü as one of the most prolific directors of this period, at a
time when his long-time friends Yin and Zhao had been driven out of the
film industry and marginalized for playing Wu Xun, respectively.
Lü’s past in Shanghai, however, repeatedly created problems for him.
During his Yan’an years, Lü was investigated on the suspicion of being an
enemy agent due to his connections to Shanghai.6 In 1951, the Campaign
against The Life of Wu Xun pushed him to publish a harsh self-criticism
of the “erroneous thoughts” he acquired during his Shanghai years. Lü
claimed that his experiences in the circle of film and theater in Shanghai,
“where the majority’s lifestyle was very crooked,” turned him into a “petty
bourgeois individualist extremely lax in discipline.” In particular, Lü criti-
cized his comedic performances in Shanghai for catering to “the low taste
of the urban petty bourgeoisie.” He also mentioned one comedic scene that
he added to Heroes on Lüliang Mountain to show how his “vulgar tricks”
diluted seriousness of the heroic battle.7 As a Yan’an artist, veteran CCP
member, and state-owned studio filmmaker, Lü was not a major target dur-
ing the Campaign against The Life of Wu Xun. His self-criticism was harsh
but enough to pass the political test and prevent, for the time being, further
trouble for Lü and his films. Lü was also careful not to incorporate comedic
elements when directing the didactic political melodrama Gate No. 6.
Yet Lü’s self-criticism did not mean that he was actually willing to
accept all the charges. When performing the self-criticism, Lü hinted at
his political bona fides several times, ranging from his progressive art
against the KMT during the Shanghai years to his contributions to the
worker/peasant/soldier cinema. After passing the political test, he actively
attempted to end the political doubts and artistic restrictions on him.
The New Three-Anti Campaign, launched by Mao at the beginning
of 1953, provided Lü with his first chance to do so. In the spirit of
“anti-bureaucratism” and “anti-commandism” of this campaign, the Film
Bureau convened the first National Conference on the Creation of Film
Scripts and the Work of Film Art from February 26 to March 17.8 CCP
authorities solicited opinions about their leadership at this closed-door
 FROM “A HUNDRED FLOWERS” TO “A POISONOUS WEED” 71

conference. The nationalization of the Chinese film industry, which had

just been completed in February, was already generating intense con-
flict. Representatives from all the three studios, Northeast, Beijing and
Shanghai, complained about the film bureaucracy. The Shanghai represen-
tatives spoke only in a reserved manner, manifesting aftershock of the harsh
political condemnation visited upon many artists in this studio. The Yan’an
artists at the Northeast studio, especially Lü Ban, were the most active
critics, even though the current film institution actually benefited them
by eliminating private studios and marginalizing their Shanghai competi-
tors. More chances to make films, however, meant more conflict with the
bureaucratic restrictions and interventions. The political credit they gained
in Yan’an probably also made the Yan’an artists more willing to speak out
relative to the Shanghai artists. Directly mentioning names, Lü criticized
the CCP authorities for censoring films with little to no understanding of
the scripts, neglecting directors’ opinions, and arbitrarily intervening in
film production. In a concluding talk at the conference and another talk in
May, Zhou Yang twice approved all the criticism and promised a reform.9
Minor changes occurred following Zhou’s talks. For example, the “Draft
Plan of the Suggestions on the Themes and Subjects of Feature Films from
1954 to 1957,” issued in October, appeared to have slightly more flexibility
than before, as it emphasized that it was drafted only to provide the film
artists with “suggestions.” Yet this long draft, written mostly in an author-
itative voice, went into great detail on what subjects and themes would
be appropriate and how to appropriately write scripts on them, indicating
the general lack of progress in the promised reform.10 Lü Ban nonetheless
attempted to add a supporting comedic character to his film Heroic Driver.
Most of the character’s part was censored.11
Changes in the cultural life of the Soviet Union, which had signifi-
cant impacts on China, provided Lü with the second chance to gain more
artistic freedom and return to comedy. In October 1952, the Central Com-
mittee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union called for Soviet
versions of Gogol and Saltykov-Sčedrin, namely satirical writers “who with
the fire of satire would eliminate from our lives everything negative.”12 The
death of Stalin in March 1953 and the following Khrushchev’s Thaw led to
the lift of many restrictions on satirical comedies. These changes at the cen-
ter of the socialist camp placed Chinese cultural authorities in a dilemma.
They did not dare quickly follow suit and loosen controls, but their desire
to maintain control conflicted with the spirit of the on-going, heated Cam-
paign to Learn from the Soviet Union. Moreover, they also realized that
the spiritless Chinese literary and art circles needed revitalization after the
waves of campaigns in the early half of the 1950s. In April 1955, the Min-
istry of Culture finally added satirical comedies to their film production
72 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

plan.13 In this context, Lü Ban worked twice through his high-level connec-
tions, including his long-time friend Zhong Dianfei, to apply to establish a
comedy film group. The group was met with mixed reactions. In the spring
of 1955, Zhou Yang denied Lü’s application for a large comedy group of
20 people. Yet in April, Chen Huangmei partially approved Lü’s second,
less ambitious application, which was for a smaller group that began with
five people and a humble budget. Lü was hoping that the group could run
independently from the Changchun Studio, but Chen denied this request.
In May, Lü established “The Spring Comedy Society.” The name hinted his
ambition to begin a Chinese Thaw.
But the Spring Comedy Society soon met setbacks due to the vacillat-
ing attitudes of CCP authorities. Lü and the scriptwriter He Chi, as the
main creative members of the society, were very careful when drafting their
comedy scripts. They followed the advice of the authoritative critic Zhong
Dianfei and only leveled satire at the so-called “culturati,” i.e. their own
circle. For example, one of their first scripts, The Man Unconcerned with
Details, set its story in Tianjin, He Chi’s home city, and mocked a satir-
ical writer without manners. But Chen Huangmei denied all the scripts
they submitted. He was particularly unhappy with The Man Unconcerned
with Details for its “defamatory” caricature of the Tianjin Municipal Fed-
eration of Literary and Art Circles, who give the writer a warm reception
in the script. The society members’ efforts to make their scripts appear
self-mocking were in vain, as criticism of any Party-state institutional
members, which included the “culturati,” would ultimately direct “the fire
of satire” at the ruling system. The authorities were sensitive enough to
detect this potential.
Chen’s disapproval soon led to the disbandment of the short-lived
Spring Comedy Society. Lü had to return to the Changchun Studio,
and comedies seemed untouchable for this old-time comedian. Changes
quickly unfolding in and beyond the film industry, however, would soon
give Lü a third chance.

The CCP in 1956: Handling the Unrest

While Lü’s “Spring” ended prematurely, Khrushchev’s Thaw continued to

influence Chinese literature and art. From May to July, 1955, the Chinese
journal Scripts (Juben) consecutively published Chinese and Soviet articles
to advocate the creation of satirical comedies. Alexei A. Surkov, head of the
Soviet Writers’ Union, was invited to introduce the Russian tradition of
satirical plays during his visit to China.14 A new type of drama—whose
scripts were called “the fourth kind of scripts” for being different from
the conventional worker, peasant, and soldier subject plays—flourished
 FROM “A HUNDRED FLOWERS” TO “A POISONOUS WEED” 73

in Chinese theaters around 1956. Many of these plays used acute sar-
casm to criticize bureaucratism, corruption, Party-line didacticism, and
administration ridden with sycophancy.
For the CCP leaders, these changes were only part of the international
and domestic turmoil challenging their rulership at the time. In 1956,
the entire socialist camp was in chaos. In February, Khrushchev delivered
his “secret speech” against Stalin, a milestone in the Thaw. In June, Pol-
ish workers protested in Poznań, leading to the installation of Gomułka’s
less Soviet-controlled government in October. The Hungarian Revolution
also broke out in October and was crushed by the Soviet invading army
in November. One day after the end of the revolution, Tito delivered his
Pula speech in Yugoslavia calling for a re-assessment of the Stalinist polit-
ical system. While still paying lip service to support the Soviet Union and
the socialist alliance during these events, the CCP also faced increasing fric-
tion with the Soviet Union and some Eastern European states.15 Domestic
social problems were boiling at the same time. As reflected in two separate
investigations in 1956 by journalists Dai Huang and Liu Binyan, the living
conditions of Chinese peasants and workers had deteriorated to an alarm-
ing degree. Both Dai and Liu attributed the problem to the CCP’s hierarchy,
which exploited the poor to feed the politically privileged. They wrote let-
ters directly to Mao and the CCP’s Central Committee to warn them that
bureaucrats had begun to create a “new aristocracy” all over the country.16
Official records confirm that the “new aristocracy” faced quicklyincreasing
resistance In 1956, at least 10,000 workers went on strike, at least 10,000
students boycotted classes17 and in at least eight provinces, peasants rioted
to withdraw from the cooperatives.18
As dissenting voices turned loud across the nation, Mao repeatedly
mentioned in his talks the “disturbances,” the protests, and the popular-
ity of Gomułka and Tito among intellectuals.19 Mao claimed that the CCP
should anticipate “the worst possibilities,” which would include “nation-
wide riots, or a ‘Hungarian incident,’ with several million people rising up
against us, occupying a few hundred counties and advancing on Beijing.”
“We have already lived in Beijing for seven years,” Mao asked, “and what if
we are requested to return to Yan’an in the eighth?”20
Facing this possibility of a mass unrest, Mao warned the CCP author-
ities not to “try to keep a lid on everything,” but to follow his mass line
leadership in four steps: they should first have “the queer remarks, strange
happenings and contradictions [ . . . ] exposed,” then “work well among
those involved in disturbances to split them,” then win over the majority
“middle section” step by step, and finally isolate the riot leaders from the
masses and “use them as teachers by negative example.”21 These steps con-
stituted a key agenda in Mao’s plan of the Hundred Flowers Campaign,
74 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

which began by relaxing ideological control, welcoming diverse artistic

practices, and encouraging open expression of political opinions. On April
28 and May 2, 1956, Mao introduced the new campaign policy in two
unpublished talks. Lu Dingyi, the Minister of Propaganda, conveyed Mao’s
message that “a hundred flowers shall bloom in art and a hundred schools
shall contend in science” in a talk on May 26.22 Lu’s speech, published with
Mao’s revisions in the People’s Daily on June 13, formally announced the
beginning of the Hundred Flowers Campaign.
Mao initiated the Hundred Flowers Campaign on a calculation that, by
exposing contradictions, his leadership would win over the majority of the
masses to fight against the few genuine enemies of the regime. But the
risks associated with this move were significant. To use Mitch Meisner’s
term discussed in the introduction, Mao’s ambivalent mass line leader-
ship made a sharp “democratic” turn. Mao went as far as to say that the
masses would “have good reason to wage a revolution and remove” all
those bureaucrats who “practice[d] bureaucracy, ma[de] no effort to solve
their problems, scold[ed] them, tyrannize[d] over them and never tr[ied]
to make amends.”23 When the contradictions to be exposed were primar-
ily between the privileged bureaucrats and the underprivileged masses,
such a move risked pushing the situation closer to the above-mentioned
“worst possibilities” in Mao’s mind. Far from building a closer connection
to the CCP and isolating the riot leaders, the masses took advantage of their
newly gained authority and turned the campaign against the bureaucratic
dictation of the CCP.
Such risks were not apparent, however, at the early stage of the cam-
paign. The aftershock of previous campaigns still lingered, and many
artists and intellectuals felt reluctant to speak up. Among other measures,
the CCP’s Central Committee restarted the Shanghai-based Wenhui Daily
(Wenhui bao) to enliven the atmosphere. Before the founding of the PRC,
the Wenhui Daily had been a major progressive news outlet. In 1953,
when the nationalization of the Chinese film industry was completed, the
privately run Wenhui Daily also went under joint state and private man-
agement. On the eve of the Hundred Flowers Campaign, the Wenhui Daily
ceased its publication.24 But the CCP’s Central Committee soon decided
to restart it. In August 1956, Deng Tuo, the editor-in-chief of the Peo-
ple’s Daily, explained to Xu Zhucheng, the reinstated editor-in-chief of the
Wenhui Daily:

We have tried every means to encourage intellectuals to air their views. But
the intellectuals still seem to have misgivings and cannot speak up with-
out reservation. The Wenhui Daily has long earned the trust of intellectuals.
You should first persuade intellectuals to discard their misgivings and say
 FROM “A HUNDRED FLOWERS” TO “A POISONOUS WEED” 75

whatever they want to say. Only after the intellectuals eliminate the obstacles
in their thoughts can they work to the best of their ability.25

To fulfill this task, the Wenhui Daily decided upon its resumption to
“organize a discussion to help advance the Hundred Flowers Campaign.”26
Encouraged by Zhong Dianfei, Yao Fangzao, as a correspondent of the
newspaper, suggested the editorial board choose film as the discussion
topic.27 The editorial board accepted the suggestion and organized the
discussion in Shanghai, the home city of the progressive legacy of both
the newspaper and the marginalized former private studio artists. They
straightforwardly entitled the discussion “Why Are There So Few Good
PRC-Made Films?” (the Few Good discussion).
Film, the most important art in the CCP’s view, was also the most trou-
bled art at the time. The Nationalization Period had kept “a lid” on too
many problems for too long. The new campaign opened doors for the Few
Good discussion to quickly develop into a widely participated, sharp crit-
icism of the CCP’s tight control of cinema. This discussion was the first
event in the Hundred Flowers Campaign that revealed the mass opposi-
tion to the bureaucracy. When the discussion reached its climax, responses
to the new campaign policy in other fields were still cautious and reserved.
Once again, revolutionary cinema was at the forefront of a revolutionary
campaign.
As bureaucratic authority weakened at this forefront, the marginalized
Shanghai artists attempted to make a comeback. Unlike the making of
Song Jingshi, this time they did not struggle alone but had a wide range
of supporters. This shift in power foreshadowed the full-scale circulation
of power in the Hundred Flowers Campaign and was particularly relevant
to the making of The Unfinished Comedies.

Shanghai in 1956: Discussing the Unpopular Cinema

From November 14 to December 22, the Few Good discussion contin-

ued for more than a month with near-daily publications. Contributors
ranged widely from crew and cast members to a great variety of audiences.
Together they questioned why the PRC’s film industry yielded unaccept-
ably low quality films at a low production rate. They reached a clear
consensus that a key reason for this frustrating situation was the so-called
“administration [read: Party-state bureaucracy] centered” production and
distribution mode.
Scriptwriters complained about the heavy and messy restrictions on
their writing. The film bureaucracy regulated scriptwriters on script
themes and subjects, treating scriptwriters as order takers to fulfill
76 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

production plans.28 The script inspection procedure was long and multi-
level, where each level marked a fresh beginning of new opinions that were
often contradictory to the earlier ones.29 Immediately after the Campaign
against The Life of Wu Xun, the Film Bureau denied as many as 43 scripts
and forced a number of other scripts to be revised repeatedly, and, in many
cases, abandoned entirely. As a result, for roughly a year there were no new
scripts available for filming.30 The annual production rate dropped dra-
matically from 26 new feature releases in 1950 and 20 in 1951 to 8 in 1952
and 10 in 1953.31 Although the censorship somewhat relaxed later, the fate
of scripts continued to be subject to bureaucrats’ offhand remarks, which
were often as vague as “the characters are not adorable” or “the characters
are not typical.”32
The bureaucratic-centered production mode equally frustrated direc-
tors, art designers, and audio engineers. They often had to undertake
unsuitable projects and work with uncooperative colleagues, because
bureaucrats, rather than the filmmakers themselves, had the power to
choose or approve crew members.33 They also had to follow the nonsen-
sical orders of the bureaucrats, who frequently intervened in filmmaking.
An art designer of the film Youth Garden (Qingchun de yuandi, 1955) men-
tioned several examples, including one order to remove a Pekinese dog
from the film for its alleged association with bourgeois lifestyle and another
to remove a pair of black-rimmed glasses for no clear reason.34
The bureaucratic-centered production mode cut off the connection
between directors and actors. Actor Sun Jinglu mentioned one vivid exam-
ple. At the Shanghai studio, several directors wrote a comedy skit for some
actors, who had heard the news and were happy for the opportunity to
perform comedic roles. Before they could begin the project, however, the
directors were required to send a formal request letter to the actors through
approving bureaucrats. Later, the letter disappeared somewhere in the
bureaucracy, and the actors never saw the script.35 Due to this bureaucratic
barrier, it could be difficult for directors to even get to know the actors. A
Beijing studio actor mentioned two examples: a director appreciated the
performance of a character in New Heroes and Heroines and thought the
actor was Japanese. He expressed regret that his new film could not fea-
ture the actor because “he must have gone back to Japan.” The actor was
in fact Chinese, worked at the same studio with the director, and had been
waiting for a casting chance for a long time. Another director asked an
actor, who had worked at his studio for seven years, whether she was a
schoolteacher.36 Given their unfamiliarity with the studio-owned actors,
the directors saw no advantage to casting them and turned to temporarily
hired non-professional actors. The non-professionals, whose wage stan-
dard was low, could save a film crew expenditure from their allocated fund.
 FROM “A HUNDRED FLOWERS” TO “A POISONOUS WEED” 77

But, since the allocated fund was also from the state and the studio-owned
actors would not stop receiving their regular salary for not performing, the
state ended up paying double wages for both the non-professionals and the
professionals.37 Contributors to the Few Good discussion testified to such
talent and financial “waste” at all major studios.38 Former Shanghai movie
stars, who found themselves busy attending political study sessions rather
than performing in films, felt particularly frustrated and desperate.39
Film distribution was also bureaucratic-centered. The Film Bureau
was in full control of film releases through the monopoly of the state-
owned China Film Management Company, which purchased films from
studios at uniform acquisition prices. Box-office records, relevant to nei-
ther the acquisition prices nor film evaluation, were even kept away from
filmmakers. This system caused frequent box-office failures for cutting off
the connection between filmmakers and audiences.40 Theater manager Li
Xing wrote that a worker subject film The Great Beginning (Weida de qid-
ian, 1954) ironically sold only 49 tickets on International Workers’ Day,
and that they had to cancel the screening of another worker subject film On
the Way Forward (Zai qianjin de daolu shang, 1950) due to zero box-office
income. Li complained that film posters with a lathe or a factory would
make the audiences immediately decide not to enter the movie theater.41
What Li witnessed at his theater reflected the general situation. At the
time there was a witty couplet incorporating two film titles to comment
on the box-office records of many worker subject films. Traditionally used
on doorways, all Chinese couplets include two lines posted on both sides
of the door and a horizontal scroll hanging from the top. In this couplet,
the first line was the title of the film The Great Beginning, and the second
was the title of a 1954 film The Unlimited Potential (Wuqiong de qianli).
The couplet juxtaposed the titles of these two films, which respectively
caused a deficit of 68,653 yuan and 299,459 yuan in the cities, with the
horizontal scroll: “except for box-office records.”42 Many peasant subject
films, especially those on agricultural cooperation, also encountered miser-
able box-office failures. For example, Marching Forward (Ren wang gaochu
zou, 1954), Spring Breeze Reaches the Nuomin River (Chunfeng chui dao
Nuomin he, 1954), Tangerines Turn Red along the Min River (Minjiang juzi
hong, 1955), The Earth (Tudi, 1954), and A Draft Resolution (Yijian ti’an,
1954) respectively caused a deficit of 195,617, 286,877, 223,947, 364,852
and 245,581 yuan in the cities.43 More than 70 percent of the Chinese
films produced between 1953 and June 1956 did not recoup investment.
Some could hardly recover their advertisement expenditure.44 The average
box-office rate of Chinese films was only 30 percent to 40 percent.45
While box-office statistics may only reflect the taste of those audiences
who went to movie theaters, the worker/peasant/soldier films were also
78 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

unpopular in the open-air or makeshift screening rooms. The CCP had

begun developing mobile projection teams since the years in Yan’an, and
dramatically increased their number after the founding of the PRC.46 These
teams brought films to factories, villages, and military camps, but the films
were poorly received precisely by the worker/peasant/soldier audiences at
such places. A projectionist participant of the Few Good discussion wrote
about his embarrassment at seeing worker movie viewers steal away, one
by one, minutes into the screening or for having to defend the boring film
on his projector in front of an unsatisfied audience.47 In December 1956,
the journal Film Projection (Dianying fangying) hosted a discussion entitled
“Why Is the Turnout of Rural Mobile Film Projections So Low?” Discussion
participants attributed the problem to the quality of films, among other
issues.48 A 1956 report indicated that 16mm copies of peasant subject films,
which were used primarily by projection teams on the countryside, “also
caused great deficits of money.”49
The Few Good discussion offered a broad variety of audiences, includ-
ing college students, teachers, workers’ union cadres, postmen, bank clerks,
and even schoolchildren, with their first chance to voice discontent with the
worker/peasant/soldier films. These diverse groups of audiences reached
a critical consent that most of these films were, in two Chinese phrases
they used, “largely identical despite minor differences” (datongxiaoyi) and
“mechanically formulaic” (taoyong gongshi). Such unflattering comments
were hardly surprising, as audiences had signaled their opinions using
their feet before they could by words. The box-office records of PRC films
marked an embarrassing contrast to those of the films imported from
outside the socialist camp. During the Nationalization Period, occasional
releases of these films, such as the Italian film The Bicycle Thief (Ladri
di biciclette, 1948), already proved to be highly popular.50 From the end
of the Nationalization Period, Chinese audiences revealed their prefer-
ence even more clearly at a series of non-socialist national film festivals.
From October 17 to 23, 1955, the Indian Film Week attracted around
three million viewers in 20 major cities. Many movie theaters sold out
tickets before the opening day of the festival. People rushed to purchase
tickets in advance, bought standing-room tickets, requested additional
screenings, and watched the same film several times.51 Chinese audiences
responded to the following Japanese, French, and Italian Film Weeks with
equal enthusiasm.52 Shortly before the Few Good discussion, for exam-
ple, the French Film Week attracted around three million viewers in ten
major cities and saw an average box-office rate of 89.7 percent. Among
them Fan-Fan the Tulip (Fanfan la tulipe, 1952) earned a record high 97.9
percent.53
Newspapers at the time described the films shown at these film festivals
as “progressive films,” the same word for the pre-PRC works of then
 FROM “A HUNDRED FLOWERS” TO “A POISONOUS WEED” 79

marginalized Shanghai filmmakers. The popularity of foreign progressive

films reminded many of the popularity that Chinese progressive films had
once achieved. The Spring River Flows East (Yijiang chunshui xiang dong liu,
1947–1948), for example, set a record for continuously running in theaters
for three months and attracting 712,874 viewers.54 The Hundred Flowers
Campaign brought about nationwide re-releases of a number of Chinese
progressive films in November 1956, the same month that the Few Good
discussion began.55 One discussion participant mentioned that hundreds
of students in his school walked for miles in wind and rain just to watch
The Spring River Flows East, and that “many were moved into tears” by the
film.56
The sharp contrast between the popular progressive films and the
unpopular worker/peasant/soldier films encouraged the Shanghai artists
to demand an end of their marginalization in the Few Good discussion.
A wide range of discussion participants supported them. Throughout
the discussion, contributors repeatedly emphasized the achievements of
the Shanghai progressive cinema, suggesting that the marginalized artists
could have made at least equally successful films as the foreign imports.
Their language could be as emotional as the following passage written by
Chen Baichen, the scriptwriter of Song Jingshi:

The Shanghai Film Studio had all the best Shanghai film artists in the
past . . . they all used to win the acclaim and appreciation of audiences
nationwide with their artistic skills . . . But today, some say that they can
achieve nothing that can be compared to [the imported progressive films].
Is this possible? I do not believe it!!!57

Emotional as their language may have been, most Few Good discussion
participants cautiously avoided directly challenging the CCP’s parlance.
Like in 1950, the Shanghai artists, as well as their supporters, attempted
to express their demands in ideologically correct language. The discussion
participants claimed that “the masses,” or “the people,” especially the peas-
ants and the workers, wanted to see a revival of the Shanghai legacy. The
theater manager Li Xing, for example, quoted a former “destitute hired
peasant” (in other words, member of a class considered politically righ-
teous) as expressing his wish to see the old-time Shanghai film “stars”
again. Li was cautious enough to put in scare quotes the word “star,” a
key concept of the pre-PRC commercial cinema, to indicate that he might
not accept the positive way the peasant used it. But he made it clear that
the peasant’s inquiry was just one example showing that the former stars
had a strong “mass foundation.”58 Han Fei, who had been a comedian star
before the PRC but worked primarily as a dubbing actor in the new film
industry, quoted workers’ opinions to support a return of his comedic
80 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

performance to screen. According to Han, after seizing a rare chance to

play in a comedy on stage, he received highly positive responses from
the worker audiences that his performance was realistic and educational,
and that the comedy should be adapted into film.59 Other Shanghai for-
mer stars argued that it was “the people’s need” to see them reappear on
screen, warning that a waste of their talent was a waste of “the people’s
money.”60
If “the people” supported a revival of the Shanghai legacy, then “the
people’s cinema” should not exclude this legacy. It was a prevailing view
during the Nationalization Period that the “people’s cinema” originated
exclusively in the Northeast Studio, and that the Shanghai private studio
productions all “served the petty bourgeoisie and the bourgeoisie.”61 The
Few Good discussion gave the Shanghai artists a long-awaited chance to
rebut this view and reinterpret the “people’s cinema” to their advantage.
Sun Yu, the director of The Life of Wu Xun, argued that the Shanghai
progressive cinema “ideologically represented the anti-imperialist and
anti-feudal demand of the people, and artistically satisfied the basic emo-
tional and aesthetic needs of the people.”62 Shi Hui, another major target
of criticism during the Campaign against The Life of Wu Xun, listed the
achievements of Shanghai film artists and argued, “The people’s cinema
cannot all of a sudden grow out of thin air. To stride ahead it has to absorb
traditions from its past.”63
While Shi rhetorically described the marginalization of the Shanghai
legacy as something “hard to understand,”64 the Few Good discussion par-
ticipants had clearly attributed it to the dogmatism and sectarianism of the
CCP’s bureaucracy. They did not make these two charges by coincidence;
in his talk announcing the beginning of the Hundred Flowers Campaign,
Lu Dingyi claimed that dogmatism and sectarianism in the CCP’s work
were major issues that the campaign opposed.65 In his talks in August
and September 1956, Zhou Yang also listed dogmatism and sectarianism
as main obstacles of the Hundred Flowers Campaign.66 This new turn in
the CCP’s parlance provided the Few Good discussion participants with an
apparently safe and powerful way to criticize the discrimination against
the Shanghai artists. Sun Yu, for example, contended that the bureaucratic
interferences and the distrust he faced were examples of what Zhou meant
by dogmatism and sectarianism. To correct the dogmatism and sectarian-
ism, he argued that directors should be the “commanders-in-chief ” in film
production.67
While most discussion participants cautiously avoided challenging the
CCP’s parlance directly when criticizing dogmatism and sectarianism, one
participant went one step further. On December 21, 1956, “Gongs and
Drums at the Movies,” signed by a “commentator of the Literary Gazette,”
 FROM “A HUNDRED FLOWERS” TO “A POISONOUS WEED” 81

appeared in the Wenhui Daily and the Literary Gazette simultaneously. The
article not only supported all the major demands of the discussion partici-
pants but also criticized the very concept of worker/peasant/soldier cinema
for being “obviously dogmatic and sectarian.” According to the article,
the dogma of the leadership was responsible for “severing the connection
between film and audiences” and the source of the sectarianism against all
the pre-PRC films and the Shanghai artists.68
This article was written by Zhong Dianfei, who had been a key figure in
the changing force of the Chinese film industry since the Campaign against
The Life of Wu Xun. As mentioned in Chapter 1, Zhong actively joined
the attack of private studio productions, co-led the investigation team of
the history of Wu Xun with Jiang Qing, and supervised the script of Song
Jingshi. As mentioned in this chapter, however, he was also a key consul-
tant of Lü Ban’s Spring Comedy Society and helped initiate the Few Good
discussion. “Gongs and Drums at the Movies,” which concluded the Few
Good discussion with particularly direct criticism, signified that Zhong had
become the most outspoken critic of the very order he had helped establish
and the most radical supporter of the very artists he had once criticized.
Dramatic as it was, such a turnaround was also a continuation of Zhong’s
vanguard positions in the Maoist mass campaigns.
Zhong was not the only one who followed and contributed to the
fast and extreme policy vacillations during the campaigns. The Wenhui
Daily correspondent Yao Fangzao, for example, made a similar turnaround
from attacking the private studios’ films, especially comedies (discussed in
chapters 1 and 2), to initiating the Few Good discussion. Other campaign
participants did not necessarily go as far as Zhong and Yao, but they all
took pains to match their views, or the ways to express their views, with
the frequently redefined standards of political correctness.
Similar to the converging viewpoints of critics like Zhong and Yao ver-
sus the Shanghai artists, the perspectives of the Yan’an filmmakers and the
Shanghai filmmakers also blurred during the Hundred Flowers Campaign.
Chapter 2 has discussed how the Yan’an filmmaker Guo Wei significantly
moved in the Shanghai direction while making Blooming Flowers and the
Full Moon. Guo’s manifestation of his connections to the Shanghai legacy,
however, was not nearly as direct and confrontational as that of Lü Ban in
The Unfinished Comedies.

Lü Ban from 1956 to 1957: Making the Unfinished Comedies

The Thaw and the Hundred Flowers Campaign gave Lü Ban his third
chance to make comedies and openly manifest his connections to the
Shanghai legacy. The flourish of plays based on “the fourth kind of scripts”
82 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

in theater brought about a trend to adapt them into films in 1956. The
Changchun Studio appointed Lü as the director of two of these film adap-
tations: Before the New Bureau Chief Arrives and Playing a Vertical Bamboo
Flute Horizontally (Dongxiao hengchun).
Before the New Bureau Chief Arrives marked the beginning of Lü’s return
to comedy. This film, made by artists of the Changchun Studio, leveled
an acute satire at the corruption and sycophancy seen in the bureaucracy.
Trying to please the new bureau chief who will soon arrive, the chief of
the general affairs section, Niu, orders to empty a cement storage room
and extravagantly redecorate it as the new chief ’s office. Niu also takes
the original chief ’s office as his own and purchases expensive furniture
for both the new chief and himself. He covers all the costs with public
funds and, at the same time, refuses to repair young workers’ dilapidated
dorms. The young workers’ conflicts with Niu and his sycophant assistant
become intense when a coming rainstorm is about to ruin the cement
left in the open air and flood the dorms. It is at this moment that the
new bureau chief unexpectedly arrives. In a comedy of errors, he has a
chance to closely observe all the conflicts before revealing his true identity
and removing Niu and his assistant. The film represented the new bureau
chief, the highest-level CCP authority in the story, as an upright, exem-
plary character. But the poignant satire of the CCP’s bureaucracy was still
unprecedented. The plot development of the new chief ’s undercover inves-
tigation relies heavily on incredible coincidences. That the bureaucratic
corruption is so difficult to uncover implied that it was the unchallenge-
able norm. As the first satirical comedy in revolutionary cinema, the film
passed the censors in the same month as the Hundred Flowers Campaign
began.
Lü made a bolder attempt when adapting Playing a Vertical Bamboo
Flute Horizontally. He dramatically radicalized the satire of CCP author-
ities in the original script and added in many slapstick vignettes. The
changes were so audacious that the original scriptwriter, Hai Mo, protested
halfway through the project. Chen Huangmei also asked Lü to revise
the film. Refusing to give in, Lü abandoned the project, which caused
the Changchun Studio difficulties in fulfilling its annual film production
plan.69 He then turned this urgency into a second chance for The Man
Unconcerned with Details, whose satire is only mild compared to that of
Before the New Bureau Chief Arrives. This time Chen Huangmei gave his
approval for Lü to make the film on condition that he revise the original
script. Lü made some minor revisions, including removing the name of
the city where the story takes place. But the film still clearly mocked the
bureaucracy, especially by announcing that the writer without manners is
an honored guest of the Federation of Literary and Art Circles every time
 FROM “A HUNDRED FLOWERS” TO “A POISONOUS WEED” 83

he violates social norms or makes a fuss in public. The film was completed
late in 1956 and released in early 1957.
Lü’s filmmaking experiences in 1956 indicated the ways in which the
Hundred Flowers Campaign emboldened filmmakers. Toward the end of
1956, support for their views appeared to be at its highest as the Film
Bureau, as mentioned in Chapter 2, initiated the radical reform that cen-
tered on the “three zi and one center” policy. Pushed by the Few Good
discussion, the Film Bureau publicly announced in the Wenhui Daily essen-
tial points of the reform plan on December 23, before it was formally
approved by the CCP’s Central Committee.70 Encouraged by these changes,
Lü attempted to re-organize the Spring Comedy Society. Much more ambi-
tious than in 1955, this time he began by proposing a group of 30 people
from all three studios. This initial proposal gained support from several
CCP authorities, including the heads of the Shanghai and Changchun Stu-
dios. Further encouraged, Lü updated his plan to a new comedy film studio
that began with 100 people.
Just as Lü’s ambition reached its peak, however, the discourse sur-
rounding films began to change. On December 25, 1956, without any
explanation, the Wenhui Daily replaced the Few Good discussion with a
much less frequently published “Discussion on the Film Issue” (Dianying
wenti taolun). This change was due to an order from the CCP’s Shanghai
municipal committee, led by Ke Qingshi (who is discussed in Chapter 6).
They criticized the original title for “leading the discussion participants
to focus solely on problems and ignore achievements.”71 From January
23, 1957, CCP authorities, including Chen Huangmei and the head of
the Shanghai Studio, Yuan Wenshu, began to join the discussion. They
defended the worker/peasant/soldier cinema and harshly criticized Zhong
Dianfei.
CCP authorities singled out Zhong because his criticism was the most
radical in the Few Good discussion. Zhong’s argument that the concept
of the worker/peasant/soldier cinema was “both dogmatic and sectarian”
directly challenged the ideological foundation of revolutionary cinema.
That the KMT in Taiwan used Zhong’s article for their propaganda also
made him a target. On January 15, 1957, Hong Kong Times (Xianggang
shibao), a KMT’s institutional newspaper, published an essay of the Taiwan
Tatao News Agency. Quoting a great deal from “Gongs and Drums at the
Movies,” the essay concludes with a statement that “all the film workers
trapped in the mainland have been persecuted and oppressed for so long
that they are now beating gongs and drums against the despotic regime.”72
High-level CCP authorities immediately noticed the essay;Mao mentioned
it in a talk in February.73 By all standards, Zhong was now the enemy that
Mao had intended to isolate by initiating the Hundred Flowers Campaign.
84 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

Notably, Mao designated Zhong as a Rightist in the talk, months before the
Anti-Rightist Campaign even began.74
But Mao did not want a counter-wave against the Few Good discussion
in general yet. At this point, he appeared to believe that dogmatism and
sectarianism, or the Leftist deviation against the Hundred Flowers Cam-
paign, was a much more serious problem. Immediately after criticizing
Zhong the Rightist, he singled out some Leftists and spent much more time
attacking them.75 The pressure Mao put on the Leftists was so heavy that
one of them, Ma Hanbing, committed suicide. On March 6, Mao openly
confirmed that the two discussions hosted by the Wenhui Daily provided
“very beneficial” criticism that “the Film Bureau must accept.” He also said
that he did not like most films made at the time, either.76 On April 9, Yao
Fangzao’s interview with Zhou Yang made a headline in the Wenhui Daily
and gave a summary of the discussions. Following Mao, Zhou positively
evaluated the film discussions in general and isolated Zhong from “the
majority [ . . . ] who published good opinions.” He criticized the Leftists’
“dogmatic eyes” and “sectarian mood,” promising that the Hundred Flow-
ers policy would remain unchanged. According to Zhou, the policy might
only become unnecessary in the communist society, which would be “so
many years ahead that one does not need to talk about it now.”77
These quick back-and-forth changes had mixed effects on Lü Ban’s
pursuit of comedy. Along with their attack on Zhong, CCP authorities
stopped Lü from establishing the comedy film studio. Lü had to perform
a self-criticism for the attempt and return to the Changchun Studio.78
His efforts to re-organize the Spring Comedy Society failed at the same
time. But, under the seemingly unchangeable Hundred Flowers policy, he
was able to wield central control when directing his next satirical com-
edy, entitled The Unfinished Comedies. He was also able to transfer Han
Lan’gen to the Changchun Studio for the project, and cast him and Yin
Xiucen for their first important characters since the Campaign against
The Life of Wu Xun. In The Unfinished Comedies, Lü created the clearest
cinematic expression of the two central demands of the Few Good discus-
sion: to remove the bureaucratic restrictions and to restore the Shanghai
legacy.
The film begins by celebrating the return of slapstick and lamenting the
ostracism the genre underwent. As in their real-life experience, Yin waits
at the Changchun Rail Station for Han, who comes to do his old job as a
slapstick comedian in the new film industry. The moment they see each
other, Han and Yin quickly exchange exaggerated facial expressions from
anxiety to excitement, joy, sorrow, and then tears. Overdramatically, Han
throws away his briefcase and the two throw their arms around each other.
A chorus deploring their long-time parting emphasizes their grief and
 FROM “A HUNDRED FLOWERS” TO “A POISONOUS WEED” 85

Figure 3.1 Excited to see the sign of the Changchun Film Studio, Han Lan’gen
jumps into Yin Xiucen’s arms

implied grievance non-diegetically. Diegetically, however, their signature

clownish and childish embrace makes other passengers laugh.
Han and Yin then make the triumphant entrance into the Changchun
Studio described at the beginning of this chapter. Shortly after entering the
gates, Han sees the sign of the Changchun Studio and becomes so excited
that he suddenly jumps into Yin’s arms. Yin acts startled and clumsy.
Together they make a bold return to their old-time slapstick performing
style, which often features a boisterous Han and a foolish Yin (Figure 3.1).
A group of Changchun artists catch sight of this scene. They laugh,
applaud, and approach in every direction to warmly greet the two. The sign
of the Changchun Studio remains conspicuously in the background, mak-
ing clear the welcome gesture from the Yan’an-originated revolutionary
cinema to the once-purged Shanghai legacy (Figure 3.2).
Their happiness, however, is soon disturbed by the appearance of the
antagonist, who is an “authoritative critic” representing the bureaucratic
restrictions. Lü caricatured the critic as a highly myopic pedant with a zany
haircut, speaking in shrill voice. He also named the critic Yi Bangzi. The
name was a pun on the Chinese expression “a [fatal] blow with a club”
(yi bangzi [da si]), referring to authorities’ arbitrary and complete nega-
tion of an artistic work, artist, or critic.79 Particularly, Yi Bangzi referenced
86 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

Figure 3.2 A group of Changchun artists welcome Han Lan’gen and Yin Xiucen.
The sign of the Changchun Film Studio is in the background

the attack at Zhong Dianfei. When the Film Bureau mobilized CCP mem-
ber directors to condemn Zhong, Lü commented, “This is like handing
out clubs (fa bangzi).”80 Quite tellingly, when introducing the critic’s name
to Han and Yin in the film, a Changchun director emphasizes that a
component of the Chinese character bang ( ) is bing ( , soldier) as in
gongnongbing (worker/peasant/soldier).
Han and Yin’s brief conversation with Yi mockingly reflected the
unequal negotiation between the Shanghai artists and authorities under
the dominance of the worker/peasant/soldier cinema. Like the Few Good
discussion participants, Han and Yin attempt to use the most updated,
politically correct language to defend their art. Han emphasizes that it is
the CCP’s new Hundred Flowers policy that allows him to resume his film
career. Yin praises his partner’s use of this new term as a sign demon-
strating his “huge ideological improvement.” Their fluency in the CCP’s
parlance, however, cannot be compared to that of Yi. In a condescending
manner, Yi congratulates Han and Yin’s reunion and attributes it to the
Hundred Flowers policy that has turned all the “negative factors” into
“positive ones.” But he immediately warns the comedians that they may
be “beaten” when taking the “dangerous, tortuous, and rocky road” of
satirical comedy. And he expresses a willingness to “babysit” and protect
 FROM “A HUNDRED FLOWERS” TO “A POISONOUS WEED” 87

them. Yi demonstrates his way of “babysitting” in the rest of the film, in

which Han and Yin play in three slapstick shorts, as films within a film, for
collective inspection at the studio.
The first short is similar to Before the New Bureau Chief Arrives in that it
also includes a bureaucrat (a high-level manager of a state-owned com-
pany played by Yin Xiucen) and a sycophant assistant (played by Han
Lan’gen) who are extravagant with public funds. This time, however, the
story presents no upper level CCP authority to constrict their corrupt
power, daringly implying that there may not be any. When the bureaucrat
leaves for a medical trip to cure his obesity, his assistant gathers a send-
off team at the train station. The team members wave their fists and shout
slogans to express admiration for the bureaucrat, mocking treatment all
higher-level CCP authorities enjoyed, especially Mao. Through a comedy
of error, the assistant wrongly thinks that the bureaucrat dies in an acci-
dent on the trip. He redecorates their workplace as a grand mourning hall.
In low-key lighting, the hall is filled with wreaths and flatteringly worded
funeral scrolls sent by other bureaucrats. Its darkness clearly indicated Lü’s
view of the entire bureaucratic system.
The second and third shorts, which satirize braggers and unfilial sons,
respectively, appear to be less politically direct. One of the unfilial sons
(played by Yin), however, acts like a CCP bureaucrat, having a busy sched-
ule full of meetings and earning a high salary. The other unfilial son (played
by Han) claims at one point that he has a new job at “the [CCP’s] Central
[Committee],” and clarifies only later that he means “the Central Barber
Shop.” The “Central” barber speaks in the CCP’s parlance fluently. He jus-
tifies the heavy household work he gives to his mother, for example, with
the CCP’s claim that labor is glorious and educational. When his mother
cannot endure his torture and decides to leave, the son sighs, “How difficult
the ideological reform is!”
Leveling this political satire at the new system, the three shorts
artistically returned to the pre-PRC Shanghai. Han and Yin fully restored
the legacy of their slapsticks. Their boisterous actions ranged from get-
ting flour thrown in their faces to mimicking little children, monkeys, and
bears. In addition, the second short presented a party where a colorfully
dressed girl sings about “a beautiful scene on a bright day,” including “fra-
grant winds,” “flying butterflies,” “singing birds,” and “happy couples by
the lake.” The tenderness of the lyrics and the melody was unusual at the
time, and so was the absence of any promotion of the CCP’s ideology.
In fact, this unusual song stylistically resembled a music genre banned by
the CCP for being “yellow” or “obscene:” the “modern songs (shidai qu)”
made popular in pre-PRC Shanghai by Li Jinhui, a musician discussed in
Chapter 4.
88 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

Most participants of the collective inspection, representing “the people,”

enjoy watching the three shorts. Yi Bangzi, of course, is the only excep-
tion. He throws out CCP dogmas and furiously charges the shorts with a
series of political mistakes, ranging from their “vicious slander” of the CCP
cadres to their “vulgar obscenities.” The other viewers all argue against him,
insisting that it is not fair to give the shorts such a “fatal blow,” and that the
audience should be the final judge. Leaving angrily, Yi runs smack into a
loose column, and a fallen club hits him on the head. The film concludes
with this retaliatory blow at the Party-line critic.
What the Few Good discussion participants argued in words, Lü, Han,
and Yin contended through directing and performing: to make the new
cinema popular, the old-time tradition had to be revived, but such a revival
would not be possible without removing the Party-line critics and, by
extension, the censorious bureaucrats. Emboldened by the institutional
reform in the new discursive context of the Hundred Flowers Campaign,
the Yan’an and Shanghai artists used the film to ridicule those who once
had unchallengeable superiority over them.
The film was an integral part of not only the mass criticism of the film
institution but also the nationwide challenge against the CCP’s rulership.
The Hundred Flowers Campaign reached its climax while Lü was mak-
ing the film. Having been encouraged by the CCP repeatedly, intellectuals
nationwide began to speak out at various symposiums organized by the
CCP to let them “fully air their views.” Similar to the Few Good discussion
participants, they argued that revolutionary history should be rewritten
with a greater emphasis on the contributions of progressive intellectu-
als, that the intellectuals disgraced during previous campaigns should be
rehabilitated, and that discrimination against non-CCP personnel should
end. These arguments soon developed into a call for decentralization of
the CCP’s control. Chu Anping, the editor-in-chief of the Guangming
Daily (Guangming ribao), directly questioned Mao’s “sectarianism” and
contended that the CCP’s leadership “should not entail the CCP’s own-
ership of the country.” Representing many others’ views, he succinctly and
poignantly summarized the problems of the CCP’s rulership with three
Chinese characters: dang tianxia (the CCP rules all under the heaven),81
which reads particularly ironic if one compares it with Zhou Da and Wu
Xun’s line in The Life of Wu Xun, “One day the poor will rule all under the
heaven.” At the same time, college students aired their views by flooding
campuses with posters. They protested against a range of issues. In a lan-
guage more direct than that of Dai Huang and Liu Binyan, some warned
that the CCP was developing into a new exploitative class and referred to
them as “the emperor and the nobles.” They openly directed the fire at the
“emperor:” “Is the labor of Chairman Mao [ . . . ] so precious? [ . . . ] Few
 FROM “A HUNDRED FLOWERS” TO “A POISONOUS WEED” 89

peasants across the country would think so.”82 Students also began to make
speeches protesting the CCP, link up with students from different schools,
and plan collective boycotting of classes.83 Even more worrying for CCP
authorities, factory unrest continued to spread across the country. In April
and May 1957, Liu Binyan observed in Shanghai that “strikes occurred
every week,” and that “every day 30 to 40 groups of workers marched to
the municipal Party headquarters to petition.”84
Mao no doubt understood what a combination of students and
proletarian protests meant. He was particularly worried that students
would go back to their hometowns and villages to mobilize workers and
peasants, as the summer vacation was approaching.85 He sent out agents
to collect information on college campuses daily to “determine the extent
of the influence of the Hungarian incident.”86 Obviously, Mao realized that
the Hundred Flowers Campaign could not eliminate the domestic “worst
possibility” as he had hoped, but rather rendered it even more likely. He
shifted his position once again.
Mao began to reverse the Hundred Flowers policy roughly five weeks
after Zhou Yang promised that it would remain unchanged. He wrote an
article on May 15, entitled “Things Are Beginning to Change,” and cir-
culated it as an inner-CCP directive on June 12. The article warned that
Rightists “both inside and outside the CCP” were engaged in “[a] spate
of wild attacks” at the CCP.87 On June 8th, by Mao’s decree, the Peo-
ple’s Daily published an editorial, entitled “What Is the Reason Behind All
This?” On the same day, Mao delivered another inner-Party directive enti-
tled “Muster Our Forces to Repulse the Rightists’ Wild Attacks.” The two
documents marked the official beginning of the Anti-Rightist Campaign,
which lasted almost one year and designated 552,877 to 1.02 million peo-
ple as Rightists.88 The above-mentioned Dai Huang, Liu Binyan, and Chu
Anping all became major Rightists.
The Wenhui Daily was one of the first targets of Mao’s counter-attack.
On June 14th, the newspaper published a self-criticism for “the remnants
of bourgeois ideas of journalism in [its editors’] minds,” but was unable
to assuage Mao. On July 1, Mao quoted the self-criticism and rebutted in
an article, entitled “The Wenhui Daily’s Bourgeois Orientation Should be
Criticized:”

No, here “remnants” should read “abundance.” For several months the
paper served as the mouthpiece of the reactionaries who mounted unbri-
dled attacks against the proletariat, and it changed its orientation to one
of opposing the Communist Party, the people and socialism, that is, to
the bourgeois orientation—could it manage all that with just some odd
remnants of bourgeois ideas? What sort of logic is this?89
90 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

The Few Good discussion became a strong piece of evidence that the news-
paper served as “the mouthpiece of the reactionaries.” On July 28, an
editorial of the journal Chinese Cinema (Zhongguo dianying) described the
discussion as “the first bombardment of the Rightists in their wild attack
on the socialist cultural and educational work led by our Party.”90 The
organizers and a number of active participants of the discussion, includ-
ing the above-mentioned Xu Zhucheng, Yao Fangzao, and Shi Hui, were
designated as Rightists.
The Anti-Rightist Campaign terminated the film industry’s institutional
reform and sealed the fate of Lü Ban and his comedies. From the van-
guard of the changes in the previous campaign, Lü with his friend Zhong
Dianfei became among the most targeted enemies in the current one. In
August, mass struggle sessions at the Changchun Studio designated Lü as
a Rightist, an “anti-Party, anti-socialist, and mercenary element extremely
corrupt deep in his soul,” and a core member of two “anti-Party cliques,”
the Spring Comedy Society and a directors’ “clique” together with Guo
Wei. The vicious Lü’s wildest attempt to “satirize and slander the new soci-
ety” was making The Unfinished Comedies.91 The film was not theatrically
released, but widely distributed to struggle sessions as the strongest evi-
dence of Lü’s crime.92 In other words, the film was distributed to suppress
the very criticism and demands it was made to express. The conflicting
uses of The Unfinished Comedies were crucially related to the power strug-
gles from the Hundred Flowers Campaign to the Anti-Rightist Campaign.
As a result, the film was not only reflective of the political context in
which it was produced but also prophetic of its own future in the cam-
paign politics, except for one important detail: whom the club hits at
the end.
Through Yi Bangzi’s words, the film predicted the furious condemna-
tion it would encounter. The prediction was so accurate that critics often
paraphrased or even quoted directly from Yi to support their attacks on the
film.93 Yet the most insightful prophecy in the film is given by Han and Yin
in their following dialogue with Yi:

Yi: Now that you two have met again after the long separation and will coop-
erate with director Li, we shall see another new flower in the garden, the
flower of comedy. Bloom! Bloom! May it fully bloom! People are waiting
for you!
Han: We are just afraid that our plant turns out to be not a flower . . .
Yin: . . . but some wild weed!

Ominously, these lines conclude what Han and Yin have to say in the film.
From this point on, they only speak as characters in the three shorts and
remain silent as themselves. When Yi Bangzi furiously attacks their works,
 FROM “A HUNDRED FLOWERS” TO “A POISONOUS WEED” 91

the two, sitting nearby, appear terrified and wordless. Yi’s “reassurance”
after hearing their concern may still linger in their mind:

Yi: Don’t worry. Here we have [ . . . ] fertile land and plenty of sunshine.
The conditions are good enough for a hundred flowers to bloom. Indeed,
it’s a bit too cold here in the winter, but that coldness gives the winter
character!

Having had rich experiences during the campaigns, Lü probably already

felt the characteristic coldness that lurked in Mao’s following remark on
January 18, 1957:

Let a hundred flowers blossom—I think we should go on doing that. Some

comrades hold that only fragrant flowers should be allowed to blossom and
that poisonous weeds should not be allowed to grow. This approach shows
little understanding of the policy of letting a hundred flowers blossom and
a hundred schools of thought contend. [ . . . ] [I]f [counter-revolutionary
statements] are made [ . . . ] in a revolutionary guise, you will have to allow
them. That will help us see these statements for what they are and wage
struggles against them. [ . . . ] Weeds are useful in a way—when ploughed
under they can be turned into manure. [ . . . ] The peasants must wage strug-
gles against weeds in the fields year in [and] year out, and so must the writers,
artists, critics and professors of our Party against weeds in the ideological
field.94

Soon after Mao made these remarks, Zhong Dianfei was singled out as the
first Rightist and Lü’s attempt to re-organize the Spring Comedy Society
failed. These changes were obviously enough for him to sense that The
Unfinished Comedies might become a Poisonous Weed, and his suspicions
unfortunately came true. The Unfinished Comedies became the first Poi-
sonous Weed of revolutionary cinema. A number of other films were also
attacked during the Anti-Rightist Campaign and labeled bourgeois White
Flags during the following Campaign to Wrench out White Flags. None
of them, however, was officially labeled as a Poisonous Weed,95 and all of
them would be rehabilitated in 1962 with the exception of The Unfinished
Comedies. Despite all the radical changes in campaign politics, the CCP’s
furious condemnation of this Poisonous Weed remained consistent.
The opportunity for satirical comedy, which Lü could not resist, was
indeed dangerous, and he, as well as Han Lan’gen and Yin Xiucen, would
pay dearly for taking it. The CCP’s intervention rendered Lü’s two-fold
pursuit of satirical and slapstick comedies, exactly as the film title says,
unfinished. No comedies would again direct a confrontational satire at the
CCP’s bureaucracy. Slapstick would wait for five years before it was revived
92 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

in a new wave of comedies. But Han and Yin would no longer have a chance
to appear on the silver screen. Lü’s film career was of course also finished
prematurely. He was forced to become a cleaner, sent down to the coun-
tryside, and tortured during the Cultural Revolution Period. He died in
October 1976, about three years before the CCP restored his reputation.96
The Hundred Flowers Campaign and the Anti-Rightist Campaign
dissolved the dichotomy of Yan’an versus Shanghai. Some Yan’an and
Shanghai film artists advocated for changes through articles and films
together and fell in together politically. Other Yan’an and Shanghai
filmmakers, cautious during the former campaign, condemned the
Rightists and survived the latter one. The most “vicious” Rightist film-
maker, Lü, turned out to have a strong Yan’an background, and Zheng
Junli, a leading critic of the Rightists in film circles, was a veteran Shanghai
director.97 Ironically, Zheng was a major victim of the Campaign against
The Life of Wu Xun and a co-director of the highly popular progressive film
The Spring River Flows East. As mentioned above, the Few Good discussion
participants, many of whom became Rightists, used this film as an impor-
tant example to support their call for a revival of the Shanghai legacy.98
Precisely by attacking the Rightist supporters of their legacy, Zheng and
some other Shanghai film artists ended their long marginalization. Chapter
4 discusses their empowerment after the Anti-Rightist Campaign and how
their rational calculations continued to complicate revolutionary cinema.
 4

From Revolutionary
Romanticism to Petty
Bourgeois Fanaticism: The
Great Leap Forward and
Filmmakers’ Stylistic Return to
the Past, 1958–1960

I n 1958, China was becoming a nation of poetry. On April 14, the People’s
Daily called for a nationwide “deep drilling of the land of poetry” and
anticipated “a blowout of popular verses, folk poems and ballads.”1 The
New Folk Poetry Campaign soon reached its height.2 CCP authorities
mobilized peasants, workers, and soldiers at all literacy levels to write
poems in extremely large quantities. The Anhui Province CCP committee,
for example, claimed that they collected almost 30,000 folk poems within
just one month.3 But this was still a modest sum compared to the regional
CCP committee of the Inner Mongolia, which set up a five year plan to
collect ten million folk poems, or over 166 thousand per month.4 Once
again, Mao’s words sparked the fanaticism. Interested by a few folk poems
praising agricultural collectivization and farmland irrigation, he repeatedly
remarked in the spring of 1958 that everyone should write poems and that
every township should publish an anthology of poems.5 These new poems,
he particularly noted, should combine realism with romanticism, because
“one cannot write poetry with too much realism.”6
This remark applied not only to poetry. At the time, one could not set
up production plans “with too much realism,” either. In 1956, some mem-
bers of the CCP’s Central Committee saw danger in excessive economic
94 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

development goals, advocating against “impetuous advances” in a People’s

Daily editorial published on June 20.7 Mao was unhappy with the editorial,
believing that it aimed a sharp criticism at him.8 After getting the situ-
ation under control through the Anti-Rightist Campaign, he launched a
counter-attack. On October 27 and November 13, 1957, the People’s Daily
published two editorials to propagate the Revised Draft Outline of the
Nation’s Agricultural Development from 1956 to 1957, supervised by Mao.
Both editorials proclaimed that production planning would make “a great
leap forward,” announcing the beginning of the GLF. The latter editorial
updated Mao’s 1955 metaphor for the moderate policy makers—“a woman
with bound feet”—with a still slower “snail” that has “a disease of Rightist
deviationism and conservatism.”9 A wave of articles echoed the new policy.
Mao then unleashed a furious attack on the 1956 People’s Daily editorial.10
Alerted, CCP authorities at all levels engaged in a keen competition of
increasingly unrealistic plans and practices for rapid industrialization, dra-
matic growth of agricultural output, and sweeping transformation into a
communist society. At the same time, they collected the enormous num-
ber of new poems to romanticize the frenzied “leaps.” The GLF was in full
swing.
Underlying this apparent fanaticism was the rational calculation to
avoid political danger. After the fervor of the Anti-Rightist Campaign, no
one wanted to be stained with “Rightist deviationism.” Enthusiastically
promoting romantic ideals became the only practical way to remain on
the politically correct side. Zhou Yang, one of the most powerful cultural
bureaucrats, had this practical sense. He knew exactly what to do when
Mao prompted him with the following question at the Second Session of
the Eighth CCP Congress in May 1958:

Our work needs a combination of revolutionary passion, revolutionary

ideals, and practicality. In the field of literature and art, this means a combi-
nation of Revolutionary Romanticism and Revolutionary Realism. Comrade
Zhou Yang, you are a theorist of literature and art. Do you think I am
correct?11

Merely answering “yes” to the chairman would not have been good
enough. Zhou soon published an article in praise of the New Folk Poetry
Campaign, claiming that Mao’s “combination of Revolutionary Realism
and Revolutionary Romanticism” (2RR) “is a scientific summary of all the
lessons drawn from the entire history of literature and an absolutely correct
view based on the characteristics and needs of the present times.”12
The veteran theorist Zhou, who had deeply engaged in discussions and
debates on realism and romanticism since the 1930s, must have clearly
 REVOLUTIONARY ROMANTICISM TO BOURGEOIS FANATICISM 95

known that Mao’s oxymoron was just a reiteration of Andrey Zhdanov’s

interpretation of Socialist Realism (SR) made at the first Congress of
Soviet Writers in August 1934. Zhdanov emphasized that SR, as the “basic
method” of the Soviet literature and literary criticism, must represent “a
combination of . . . practical work with a supreme spirit of heroic deeds and
magnificent future prospects.” Therefore, it must integrate “Revolutionary
Romanticism . . . as a component part” to depict the “tomorrow [that] is
already being prepared for today by dint of conscious planned work.”13 The
official definition of SR made at the congress followed Zhdanov’s interpre-
tation and emphasized that SR must combine “truthfulness and historical
concreteness [ . . . ] with the task of influencing the working people’s ideas
and educating them in the spirit of socialism.”14 2RR offered nothing new
to socialist literary theory.
Significant and complex discursive changes in Chinese literature and
art, however, would take place after the chairman recycled the classi-
cal interpretation of SR, gave it a new name, and turned Revolutionary
Romanticism from an inherent component of the dogma to an explicit
theme. This chapter first reviews the historical causes of this important
discursive turn and then its mixed consequences in the GLF. Films in both
extremely low and exceptionally high artistic quality, featuring new artis-
tic experiments or stylistically returning to the past, all appeared in the
name of 2RR. As discursive products of filmmakers’ strategic moves dur-
ing changing political times, these films deeply reflected their individual
ideologies and agendas.

Departing from the Soviet Banner

In December 1952 and January 1953, when the Campaign to Learn

from the Soviet Union was reaching its climax, Zhou Yang published an
essay simultaneously in the People’s Daily and the Soviet journal Ban-
ner (Znamya), claiming that Zhdanov’s SR was “the banner” under which
Chinese literature was “advancing.”15 But the banner soon began to change.
In March, Stalin died. In 1954, at the Second Congress of Soviet Writers,
Konstantin Simonov criticized the 1934 definition of SR for its emphasis
on “combination:”

Socialist realism demands that the artist [ . . . ] must combine his portrayal
of reality with the task of ideologically influencing people in the spirit of
socialism; that is, truthfulness and concreteness, it is assumed, can or cannot
be combined with this task. In other words, not every truth and not every
historical concreteness can serve this purpose. Such is the arbitrary read-
ing of this formulation, particularly in postwar years, among those of our
96 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

writers and critics who have sought to “embellish reality” under the pretext
of helping along development.16

What Simonov critiqued as “the arbitrary reading” was in fact the logical
interpretation of SR. SR approved of only constructions of a priori reality
according to the “magnificent future prospects.” As Zhou Yang interpreted
in 1952, “the main consideration [of SR] is not whether [a literary work]
reflects socialist reality, but whether it describes real life in its revolutionary
development from a socialist standpoint.”17 By making a romantic percep-
tion of a socialist future a required standpoint from which one depicts the
present, SR deprived realism of its ideological resistance to idealization and
reduced it to a stylistic technique that gave artistic verisimilitude to oth-
erwise unimaginable and unconvincing political ideals. Literature and art
that “embellish reality” were not, as Simonov tactfully suggested, an excess
of Zhdanovist SR, but its intended product.
The congress endorsed Simonov’s criticism and adopted his revision of
the definition of SR, which removed the clause requiring the combination.
After this revision, SR only demanded of artists “a true expression of real-
ity in its revolutionary development.”18 They no longer needed to be the
educator of ideological ideals. The congress also furthered the on-going
criticism of the Theory of Conflictlessness, which, as a logical extension of
Zhdanov’s SR, “insisted on eliminating the depiction of conflicts in Soviet
society.”19 This theoretical turn was crucial in moving the post-Stalin Thaw
forward.
The congress must have triggered a feeling of frustrating déjà vu for
Zhou. The veteran CCP cultural authority had found it difficult to fol-
low the banner of Soviet literary theory since the 1930s. In 1932, the
Communist Party of the Soviet Union disbanded and denounced the
Russian Association of Proletarian Writers (Rossiyskaya assotsiatsiya pro-
letarskikh pisateley, RAPP). Stalin and Ivan Gronsky, editor-in-chief of a
major Soviet literary journal New World (Novy mir), coined SR to eliminate
residual influences of RAPP’s “Dialectical-Materialist Creative Method.”20
This change put Zhou and the CCP-sponsored League of Chinese Left-
Wing Writers under his leadership in an awkward position, as the league
had been closely modeling and following RAPP, and Zhou had been a
major Chinese advocate of the “Dialectical-Materialist Creative Method.”21
Zhou had to immediately turn against RAPP and quickly embrace SR
based on his own interpretation of this new dogma. He thought that SR
demanded writers to be truthful to observations in real life, even when
these observations counter their political standpoints. He also assumed
that SR subordinated Revolutionary Romanticism to realism.22 But he soon
had to reverse this initial understanding as it turned out to be exactly the
opposite of Zhdanov’s interpretation at the 1934 congress.
 REVOLUTIONARY ROMANTICISM TO BOURGEOIS FANATICISM 97

Two decades later, history repeated itself. The 1954 congress once again
repaid Zhou’s loyal advocacy of Soviet dogma by putting him in an awk-
ward position. The new official interpretation of SR was in fact similar
to Zhou’s initial understanding of the term. But Zhou had long negated
that understanding in order to follow Zhdanov. Now he had to publicly
admit that his 1952 essay, advocating Zhdanov’s doctrine, “may contain
some errors.”23
From the 1930s to the 1950s, whenever the unpredictable changes in
Moscow forced Zhou to contradict himself and shift to an opposite posi-
tion, he would emphasize the foreignness of the Soviet Union to China. In
1933, Zhou ended his quickly written criticism of RAPP by emphasizing
that the advocacy of SR was “based on the current conditions of the Soviet
Union” and that “it would be a great danger if we blindly apply this slogan
to China.”24 In August 1956, he similarly warned:

[Regarding SR], is there dogmatism? Yes. [There are Chinese people tak-
ing a dogmatic approach to SR], including myself. And there are even more
[such people] in the Soviet Union. [ . . . ] We should be thankful to the Soviet
Union [ . . . ] But we have also indiscriminately learned from the Soviet
Union without realizing some of what we learned is dogmatic [ . . . ] The
Chinese dogmatic approaches in art theory are all imported from the Soviet
Union. As for those East European countries, they are even more indiscrim-
inate than we are. They almost imitate the Soviet Union at every step. So we
have to be careful. Our approach to SR must avoid the mire of dogmatism.25

Zhou’s criticism of “dogmatism” was double-edged. Apparently, he per-

formed a self-criticism for having contributed to the Chinese “indiscrim-
inate” acceptance of Zhdanov’s SR. By warning that the Chinese should
not “imitate the Soviet Union at every step,” however, he also expressed
his reservation and concern about the Soviet-initiated change of SR and
its possible politically disturbing impacts on China. One month later, the
concern became a reality as the People’s Literature published a provocative
article by Qin Zhaoyang (under the pseudonym of He Zhi), its executive
editor. Qin not only hailed the revision of SR but proposed to replace SR
with “realism of the socialist era,” because “it is difficult to draw an absolute
boundary between literature of new and old eras in terms of characteristics
of realistic literature.”26 This proposal aimed to restore the critical legacy of
realism and completely free it from SR’s political limitations. In December,
an essay by Zhou Bo, an editor of the Yangtze Literature and Art, made this
purpose more explicit:

. . . There is no difference, and it is impossible that there is ever any, between

realism before the socialist era and realism of the socialist era in terms of
creative method. [ . . . ] Realism of the socialist era, as a creative method,
98 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

needs neither to discard its principles in the past [ . . . ] nor to formulate any
new principles.27

Qin and Zhou contributed to the changes in Chinese literature and

art under the influence of the Soviet Thaw. Their articles stimulated a
great theoretical debate, disturbed the dominance of SR, and encouraged
the creative practice of critical realism, which culminated in The Unfin-
ished Comedies as discussed in Chapter 3. The Anti-Rightist Campaign
suppressed their challenge, designated them as major Rightists, and pro-
duced collections of essays, including one series that was literally entitled
Defending Socialist Realism, to defend the authority of Zhdanov’s SR.28
Such a defense, however, was not a good solution to the crisis of dogma
in literature and art. Having been criticized, SR had lost its original author-
ity. Countering the Zhdanovist orthodoxy in its country of origin, the
term was also a potential source of unwanted ideological confusion for the
CCP. Most importantly, at the time the CCP was increasingly unwilling to
continue claiming loyalty to the Soviet Union. In 1958, conflicts over mil-
itary cooperation had widened the Sino-Soviet rift opened by ideological
contradictions.29 The rift did not become public until later, but the Cam-
paign to Learn from the Soviet Union was cooling down. It was becoming
politically unwise to insist on the authority of a Soviet-imported doctrine.
Zhou Yang’s lauding of Mao’s wisdom in literary theory, therefore, went
beyond plain sycophancy and was indeed “based on the characteristics and
needs of the present times” in terms of the CCP’s politics. The praise sup-
ported Mao’s monopoly over the ultimate authority on literary doctrines,
which he had used to share with the Soviet leaders. It marked the Chinese
departure from the Soviet “banner” in literature and art and justified
the replacement of SR with 2RR. By explicitly emphasizing Revolutionary
Romanticism, 2RR closed the door to critical realism, helped quell the dis-
turbance stimulated in the debates on SR, effectively prevented a Chinese
Thaw, and led literature and art into a fanfare celebrating the fanatic GLF.
Similar to SR, however, 2RR, especially its newly emphasized romantic
component, was open to various interpretations. Artists and critics who
interpreted and invoked the new dogma for their own purposes would
soon open a window to possibilities they had not been able to explore
under the dominance of SR.

Leaping in Film Production Quantity

With the massive increase in production of romantic poems and the new
goals to achieve romantic leaps in production,30 it was only fitting that
filmmaking not be constrained by the slow hands of professionals at a few
 REVOLUTIONARY ROMANTICISM TO BOURGEOIS FANATICISM 99

established film studios. Wang Lanxi, head of the Film Bureau, made this
GLF ideology clear in July 1958. He demanded filmmakers to follow the
General Line of Socialist Construction (the General Line), which was raised
in May, with an emphasis on the slogan “more, faster, better, and more
economical.” And, he criticized the “myth” that only “slow and expen-
sive” production can ensure the quality of a film. Instead, Wang argued,
“films can be made with whatever is available” and “must be made in good
quantity to improve quality.”31
Wang gave these guidelines during an on-going leap in the quantity
of film production. Since February, film studios and professionals had
engaged in a keen competition on making more films at faster speed
and lower cost. They announced extremely high goals for production at
GLF mobilization meetings, but often found their radical decisions were
“turned conservative overnight” by others’ more radical ones.32 In March,
the competition resulted in a national plan to produce twice as many fea-
ture films (gushi pian, also called at the time yishu pian, or “art film”) as
were produced in 1957 and a cut in half of the budget and the shoot-
ing time of an average feature film.33 After the mobilization, news about
the new records of production rates frequently appeared. In April, for
example, the Chinese Cinema reported that the records of effective length
of footage filmed per day were updated four times from 206 feet to 413
feet, and that the records of work print developing time were updated
three times, from 32 hours to 7.75 hours.34 In May, the Film Bureau
announced a radical plan to establish film studios in all the provinces,
direct-controlled municipalities, and autonomous regions within two
years.35 In 1958, the total number of these provincial-level administra-
tive regions was 27,36 and only three, namely Jilin (Changchun), Shanghai,
and Beijing, had film studios.37 Five, namely Guangdong, Shaanxi, Hu’nan,
Xinjiang, and Inner Mongolia, had been preparing to establish film stu-
dios. None of the other 19 administrative regions had plans for making
film studios.38
The great leap in quantity rendered the budgets too low, the time too
short, and the working conditions too rough for filmmakers to complete
regular feature films. They needed a simpler and quicker way of filmmaking
to fulfill the production plan. Prime Minister Zhou Enlai’s remarks pro-
vided them with an idea. On April 18, Zhou encouraged filmmakers to
“make more documentaries, if no good feature films can be made.”39 On
May 1, he made a more explicit demand: “[filmmakers should] make
some artistic documentaries (yishuxing de jilupian) to immediately reflect
the GLF.”40 No one was clear about what the Prime Minister meant by
“artistic documentaries.” Seven years later, Zhou would claim that he
actually meant documentaries that are made in a more artistic way than
100 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

plain newsreels.41 In1958, however, the pressure of making enough feature

films was so great that cultural authorities and filmmakers saw in this
ambiguous term not fine documentaries, but newsreel-quality feature
films. Using the term with their own interpretation, they soon reversed it
into “documentary-style art film” (jiluxing yishupian).42 Chen Huangmei,
a major advocate of the reversed term, praised it for providing film art with
the flexibility and promptness of a “living newspaper play” (huobao ju),43
a type of street performance, often hastily created, to propagate the latest
dicta of the CCP.
The documentary-style art films were produced hastily indeed. These
films usually feature quickly drafted, formulaic stories of how GLF heroes
achieve miracles in production despite suspicion and obstruction from
some conservative minds. Shooting of the films was incredibly fast. In June,
an average crew of a documentary-style art film could complete around
30 shots daily. This speed, three to four times faster than before the GLF,
made some think that the limit was already reached. But from August to
November the record was continuously updated to 53 shots, over 60 shots,
and 100 shots within ten hours. Crews of those feature films not offi-
cially listed as documentary-style joined this heated competition as well.
In October, for example, the film New Story of An Old Soldier (Laobing
xinzhuan, 1958) was shot at a speed of 69 shots per day, despite being shot
on wide screen film in color and involving more complicated technology.44
At the final climax of this competition, a crew completed 161 shots on
a single day and finished the entire film within eight and a half days.45
Such competitions yielded 103 feature films in 1958, far outnumbering all
the other years in revolutionary film history. Documentary-style art films
constituted almost half of the output.46
Even in the heat of the GLF, however, there was no lack of crit-
icism of the quality of these hastily made films. Such criticism often
indirectly found its way into the media through the voices of advocates
of documentary-style art films. Chen Huangmei, for example, criticized
some for being “obviously suspicious of the documentary-style art films,
thinking that these films are ‘neither fish nor fowl’ ” (bulunbulei). Yan
Jizhou, director of the documentary-style art film A Thousand Miles A Day
(Yiriqianli), quoted some questioning him if the film would attract any
audience at all. Even the advocates had to acknowledge that at least “some”
documentary-style art films were “formulaic,” “monotonous,” “shallow” in
both story and performance, and even “unbearable” to watch.47
Facing the criticism, some CCP authorities and critics invoked 2RR to
praise and defend the documentary-style art films. They hailed the new
genre as the first and a promising practice of 2RR in filmmaking. In Chen
Huangmei’s words,
 REVOLUTIONARY ROMANTICISM TO BOURGEOIS FANATICISM 101

We should begin exploring Revolutionary Realism and Revolutionary

Romanticism in film art by making documentary-style art films. [ . . . ] The
primary [task] of documentary-style art films is to reflect the present-day
reality. And our reality in itself reflects the communist characteristics of
the people, who combine revolutionary spirit with practicality and create
miracles through hard work. Our present-day reality is in itself a represen-
tation of Revolutionary Realism and Revolutionary Romanticism. It is the
largest and richest foundation of our artists’ imagination. Precisely because
documentary-style art films are somewhat “neither fish nor fowl,” they are
unrestricted. [Artists] can play freely, experiment progressively, explore and
create a new way that is suitable to represent the present-day reality.48

The first half of this passage recycled Zhdanov’s classical interpretation

of SR and repeated its demand for art to embellish reality. As indicated
in the second half of the passage, however, the same dogma opened a
new discursive space after being renamed 2RR. The space was of course
not “unrestricted” as Chen claimed. There is no question about the
strict ideological control of 2RR, which directly led to the monotony of
documentary-style art films. But the renewed emphasis on romanticism,
interpreted in the GLF fervor for radical breakthrough, actually encour-
aged some filmmakers’ imaginations. Moreover, at the time no one knew
exactly how to make a film that embodied Revolutionary Romanticism,
especially when it was already half documentary. The confusion opened a
window for the artists to explore a few new possibilities in the name of
fitting the new genre to the new slogan. For being “neither fish nor fowl,”
documentary-style art films could indeed break certain past norms and
combine formulaic stories with some new stylistic experiments.

Fantasizing the Communist Future

One example of this peculiar combination is the film Rhapsody of the

Shisanling Reservoir, an adaptation of an eponymous play. The play and the
film are both about the construction of the Shisanling reservoir, a highly
symbolic GLF project. The Shisanling reservoir is known in Chinese as a
three-bian project (bian kance, bian sheji, bian shigong, or surveying the
site, designing the project, and initiating the actual construction all at the
same time). According to the original plan, the project was to begin with
funds from the state during the third five-year plan (from 1963 to 1968),49
and be completed in several years. But the actual construction began with
local people’s labor and money in January 1958, when the GLF generated
a frenzy of building massive water conservancy and irrigation projects.50
The new plan was to complete the reservoir within months. Ill-prepared,
102 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

the project ran into difficulties at the very beginning. In the cold win-
ter, local peasants made little progress in building the reservoir dam with
their simple tools.51 From February, the central government mobilized over
10,000 volunteer laborers and soldiers to support the project.52 Despite
their round-the-clock construction, the dam still would not have been
completed in time to protect the entire project from being destroyed by
the summer floods.53 Moreover, on-site surveys revealed that the location
was a bad choice. There was no sufficient natural water source to support
the reservoir, and the geological features would cause serious leakage.54
The bad location for construction, however, was politically critical. The
reservoir site was among the tombs of the Ming dynasty emperors, only 25
miles from the center of Beijing. In 1954, Zhou Enlai initiated the plan-
ning of the reservoir, clearly stating that the reason was its location: “The
Ming tombs are a must-see attraction for foreign visitors. It is a pity that
there are only bare hills [in the surrounding area]. A reservoir with a large
water surface would make it more beautiful.” In 1958, the project attracted
international attention for its privileged location, as well as international
suspicion on its claimed completion time. CCP authorities directly related
the project to the image of both the PRC and the GLF. They could not
allow a public failure. The project went on with a makeshift solution to
the leakage problem and, in Zhou’s words, “whatever it [took].”55 A heated
campaign to support the project mobilized nearly 400 thousand volunteer
laborers.56 The campaign reached an emotional climax when members of
the CCP’s Central Committee, including Mao and Zhou, all participated
in the labor on May 25.57 On July 1, the CCP’s anniversary, the project was
declared successfully completed.58
The great number of volunteer laborers turned the reservoir into a
major propaganda site for the GLF. The government frequently invited for-
eign diplomats and delegations to visit the reservoir site, and diplomats of
communist countries also participated in the construction.59 At the same
time, Chinese artists flocked to Shisanling. They performed for the vol-
unteers, labored on different projects, and collected materials for artistic
works in praise of the heroic laborers.60
Among the artists was the 60-year-old Tian Han, a veteran CCP mem-
ber who had long established his fame as a multi-genre prolific author.
He was best known for writing scripts of “spoken dramas” (huaju), or
Western-influenced Chinese plays primarily featuring spoken dialogue as
opposed to the traditional singing operas. Working as a high-level cultural
bureaucrat, however, he did not create any spoken dramas from 1949 to
1957. In March 1958, Tian claimed that his GLF plan was to complete ten
new scripts, including spoken drama scripts, within one year.61 In addition
to the campaign fervor, the turn to 2RR also spirited the old writer. Tian
 REVOLUTIONARY ROMANTICISM TO BOURGEOIS FANATICISM 103

began his writing career as an enthusiastic advocate of Neo-Romanticism

in the 1920s.62 In 1930, he joined the League of Chinese Left-Wing Writ-
ers, performed a self-criticism of his “romantic inclination that surpassed
rationality,” and turned to realism.63 He understood that Revolutionary
Realism was “not against romanticism,”64 but was also keenly aware that
his reputation as a romanticist was “not a favorable evaluation” under
the dominance of what was called realism.65 Tian’s long-time friend Guo
Moruo, who followed a similar trajectory in politics and literature, claimed
in 1958 that he finally could declare with a light heart that he was a roman-
ticist, because Mao “restored reputation for romanticism.”66 Tian probably
felt the same. When advocating 2RR, he emphasized that romanticism was
integral to great works of all times,67 and that Revolutionary Romanticism
was essential for representations of “the spirit and ideal of our great era.”68
The Shisanling project particularly demanded a romantic representa-
tion, according to Tian, because “one can see romanticism everywhere at
our construction site.”69 In June 1958, Tian collaborated with the veteran
director, Jin Shan, and completed a 13-act play to convey this romanticism.
The two were back into the work mode for creating living newspaper plays
in the pre-PRC Shanghai: Jin took each page of the script to the rehearsal
hall the moment Tian completed it. They gave this work mode a new name
of the GLF style. Like the reservoir, Tian claimed, the play was also a three-
bian project. And they completed it at GLF speed: within 10 days, including
several sleepless nights.70
The first 12 acts of the play follow a goodwill delegation of writers and
artists as they visit the reservoir site. The writers and artists witness the
enthusiastic construction, participate in the labor, get to know the vol-
unteers, and learn about their miraculous production achievements. Tian
wrote the script in his favorite style of “spoken drama plus singing,”71
inserting many rhymes into the story. The laborers and visitors frequently
sing and recite poems to glorify the iconic Shisanling project. To introduce
some tension to the plot, Tian also put two negative members, a conserva-
tive professor and a morally corrupt writer, in the delegation. The agon of
this play, however, is minimal, as the praising songs easily silence the notes
of discord. The original title of the play, Praising Songs of the Shisanling
Reservoir (Shisanling shuiku gegongji),72 accurately reflects the content and
style of these acts.
Had Tian not written the 13th and the last act, the play would have
offered little more than a newsreel-style representation of the GLF. It would
have been indistinguishable from all the other formulaic stories abundant
in theater and film at the time. For example, another documentary-style
art film, which Tian praised in an article,73 is highly similar to the 12
acts in terms of subject matter and style. This film also sets its story at
104 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

the construction site of Shisanling and features many praising songs. It

even has an almost identical title: Songs at the Reservoir (Shuiku shang de
gesheng).
The 13th act, however, epitomized Tian’s unique understanding of how
to combine newsreel realism with Revolutionary Romanticism. The 12th
act transitions to the 13th through a cloud of smoke. At first, it is the smoke
of mountain blasting at the construction site, but then it becomes the
smoke left by a rocket launched from the reservoir 20 years in the future,
when, according to Tian, “China of course will have long entered [upper-
stage] communism,” the classless society based upon common ownership
by the entire people and with a superabundance of material wealth.74 A
communist heaven depicting the reservoir area appears on stage. The “pas-
senger rocket” to the moon is the first futuristic technological wonder to
be displayed in this heaven. Other wonders include a rocket launch sta-
tion, an interstellar airport and academy, nuclear-powered boats, family
helicopters, and new model cars. Many characters wear silk and satin,
suggesting a sericultural harvest all over the country. A tour guide of the
reservoir, who was a model laborer of the Shisanling project, tells a group
of children that Shisanling has been changed into a scenery area that yields
superabundant agricultural products. The material superabundance makes
it difficult for the children to imagine the simple tools and humble foods
used by the laborers 20 years before. Their political loyalty to the CCP,
however, is just as strong as the older generation’s, and they are eager to
learn how the (still on-going) GLF began. They thank the CCP and Mao
for everything and consider the soil that Mao once worked on holy, feel-
ing hesitant to sit on it. The 20 years have brought political changes only
to the CCP’s enemies. Taiwan has been “liberated.” Institutional imperi-
alism has been eliminated. Some “residual thoughts” of imperialism, as
well as bourgeois individualism, are as “stinky” and rare as the now almost
extinct rats, flies, mosquitoes, and sparrows, the “four pests” targeted in
one GLF hygiene campaign. The perfect ideological cleanliness has also
made all religions disappear. Nevertheless, the president of the interstel-
lar academy points out that it is still necessary to regularly “examine and
quarantine the [contagious] thoughts,” especially at the academy, so that
harmful thoughts can spread neither on Earth nor to the moon.75
The 13th act set the play apart from the usual “praising songs.” Follow-
ing a theater director’s suggestion, Tian changed the title to Rhapsody of
the Shisanling Reservoir.76 For the first time on the revolutionary stage, the
“rhapsody” ecstatically visualized the teleological future that is, as Zhdanov
claims, “already being prepared for today.” In the name of Revolutionary
Romanticism, it combined the didactic narrative of SR with science-fiction
elements. Before Tian wrote the play, the genre of science fiction had
 REVOLUTIONARY ROMANTICISM TO BOURGEOIS FANATICISM 105

proved appealing to PRC readers of translated literature, thanks to the

works of Grigory Adamov, Konstantin Tsiolkovsky, Vladimir Obruchev,
H. G. Wells, and Jules Verne, among others. The particular popularity of
Verne’s works made a reader write to a journal in 1958, requesting PRC
writers to publish “communist science-fiction novels [ . . . ] in the style of
Revolutionary Romanticism,” “describe the miracles created in the GLF,”
and “replace bourgeois science-fiction and adventure novels.”77 Apparently,
Tian turned to science fiction at the proper time.
The initial reception of the last act of the play was enthusiastic. At a
forum held after the premiere of the play at the reservoir construction
site, for example, the laborers repeatedly mentioned how impressive they
found the act to be, saying that the magnificent prospect “moved many to
tears.”78 For a brief period, more communist science-fiction plays followed
suit. Beijing’s Tomorrow (Beijing de mingtian) sets the story five years in
the future and builds a palace-like subway station on stage.79 In Flying Out
of the Earth (Feichu diqiu qu), a group of Young Pioneers of Communism
discover a uranium mine on the moon.80
The seemingly promising beginning of communist science fiction in
theater indicated a new direction for documentary-style art film, which
was in urgent need of figuring out how to embody 2RR. Adapting Rhap-
sody of the Shisanling Reservoir into film was a natural start. Jin Shan, the
director of the play, completed the adaptation on September 30, after just
29 days of shooting and four days of post-production.81 The film largely
followed the plot of the play, but took one step further in the direction of
2RR as Jin understood it.
The ideological content of the film is even more didactic than
in the play. For example, while the original motivation of the
construction—impressing (foreign) tourists—is still fairly clear in the play,
the film completely obscures it. It begins with documentary footage of
pre-PRC floods (obviously taking place elsewhere) to illustrate how the
peasants in the Shisanling area suffered from disastrous floods “for thou-
sands of years.” The depressing scenes end with a close-up of the CCP’s flag,
accompanied by passionate music. A voice-over introduces the Shisanling
reservoir as a merit of “the CCP and Chairman Mao,” who will save the
people from their long-term misery.
The science-fiction imagination of the film is similarly more roman-
tic than the play. The 13th act of the play is extended to one third of
the film’s length, and with cinematic techniques, the film visualizes a sig-
nificant number of additional science-fiction spectacles that are hard to
display with the same level of verisimilitude on stage. The first eye-catching
spectacle is a huge tree grown on the soil on which Mao once worked.
It simultaneously bears all kinds of fruits during all seasons. When the
106 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

tour guide (also the head of the Shisanling Communist Commune in the
film) introduces the tree to the children, the camera tilts up, slowly cir-
cles it, and demonstrates all the colorful fruit.82 This extreme low-angle
shot pays reverence to the tree as a symbol of the miraculous leadership
of Mao. At the same time, it produces an intriguing and visually pleas-
ing picture for the audience. Just as intriguing are a variety of futuristic
electronic devices showcased in the film, including a big screen color TV
set,83 a portable video message receiver, and a wireless visual telephone.
These fancy devices deliver news of GLF triumphs from the Shisanling area,
Taiwan, and inside a “passenger rocket.” Landing on the moon, an exciting
recent success in the play, becomes a long-past accomplishment in the film;
the new destination of the rocket is Mars.
Despite such efforts in presenting the science-fiction spectacles in a
politically correct way, the new theatrical and filmic genre soon encoun-
tered criticism. In August, Theater Gazette published five articles to discuss
Rhapsody of the Shisanling Reservoir and Beijing’s Tomorrow as examples of
new theatrical practices of 2RR. Four of the five articles expressed skepti-
cism about the vision of the future depicted in the two plays. The title of
one of the articles revealed the key question: “Is the Future So Peaceful?”
The article emphasized that “struggles [against nature, backward thoughts,
and enemies] will forever exist as the momentum to make progress in
our lives.” It criticized the plays’ science-fiction imaginings for “breaking
away from reality and seeing no more struggle in the life of the future.”84
The last act of Rhapsody of the Shisanling Reservoir particularly fell under
this criticism for portraying the conservative professor as a friend of the
protagonists.85 The film met with harsher criticism. In October, the Lit-
erary Gazette published an article that disapproved of its “incorrect and
vulgar understanding” of communism:

Only one act of the play is about “20 years from now,” so the problem is
not that serious yet. The film, by contrast, spends one third of its length to
describe the future, but only shows off the creature comforts in the future. It
fails to represent the communist spirit of the people 20 years from now. This
is a serious damage to the positive meaning of its theme.86

This article initiated a debate. From November 1958 to January 1959, the
Mass Cinema and the Literary Gazette consecutively published nine reviews
of the film. Of these, six reviews made similar charges against the film.
According to them, the last one-third of the film revealed “vulgar bour-
geois taste” of happiness,87 focused on displaying “food, amusement, and
comforts,”88 and failed to represent the Marxist vision that “labor will
be the communist new people’s prime want.”89 They implicitly directed
 REVOLUTIONARY ROMANTICISM TO BOURGEOIS FANATICISM 107

much of the criticism at the play as well. The other three articles defended
the film as a good example of 2RR, arguing that the political condem-
nation was over-the-top. Two of these, however, also acknowledged that
the lack of “direct representation” of labor and struggles in the future was
indeed a “shortcoming.”90 At the same time as the debate, the Mass Cinema
published Jin Shan’s account of the filmmaking process. Jin performed a
self-criticism in the account, admitting that his understanding of commu-
nism was “not in-depth at all.”91 The debate clearly revealed that visualizing
the communist future was a tricky and risky business. As a result, Chinese
communist science-fiction films died a nascent death.
There was another contributing factor to the quick disappearance of sci-
ence fiction: the GLF was slowing down. The campaign had caused serious
problems and had begun to force CCP leaders, especially Mao, to adjust
their policies. In November, after an inspection tour in the Hebei and
He’nan provinces, Mao convened a meeting of high-level authorities in the
city of Zhengzhou. At the meeting Mao made yet another dramatic turn by
criticizing the People’s Commune of the County of Xushui in Hebei.
Mao’s own enthusiastic praise of Xushui during an inspection on August
4 had initiated its radical experiment in pushing wholesale collectivization
by merging advanced cooperatives into People’s Communes. On August
22, county leaders formulated a plan to enter upper-stage communism in
1963.92 From August 23 to September 1, the People’s Daily published in
six installments a long report entitled “In Praise of the People’s Commune
of Xushui.” Similar to the Rhapsody of the Shisanling Reservoir, the report
ended with an ecstatic vision that “the People’s Commune of Xushui will
soon bring all its members to the best wonderland in human history,” the
communist “kingdom of freedom.”93 Xushui represented the direction of
the GLF. A resolution of the CCP’s Central Committee, published in the
People’s Daily on September 10, claimed that it would take at most six years
for China to complete its transition to “common ownership by the entire
people.”94
At the Zhengzhou meeting in November, however, Mao described the
Xushui “kingdom” in a drastically different way: a “separate kingdom”
that arrogantly disobeyed higher-level leadership, relied on extensive vio-
lence to coerce obedience, blatantly falsified achievements, and failed to
satisfy the basic material needs of the commune members. Mao appeared
to understand that Xushui was in fact not a “separate” case in terms of
these GLF problems. He mentioned several other areas in his criticism,
disapproved of “inflated and boastful” reports of production, asked the
People’s Daily to “cool down” its propaganda, and emphasized that China
was still in a “commodity economy” and should not complete the transi-
tion to common ownership by the entire people “in a rush.” He even grew
108 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

tired of the great number of poems published in newspapers, saying that

these poems revealed that “the GLF has made people rather out of their
minds, [ . . . ], thinking that they could fly to heaven.”95
At a series of meetings after Zhengzhou, Mao acknowledged that the
campaign had yielded unrealistic plans and falsified reports,96 admit-
ted that the relationship between the peasants and the CCP was “rather
intense” because “we took too much from them,”97 and repeatedly stressed
that the GLF should slow down. If not prepared, he warned, the People’s
Communes, as well as the CCP’s rulership, could “completely collapse.”98
Following Mao, the CCP’s Central Committee issued a series of direc-
tives to downsize the 1959 production plans and partially reverse the
collectivization process.99
The film industry reflected this policy turn immediately. In Novem-
ber 1958, the Chinese Cinema published an article by critic Huang Gang
that opposed some “wrong arguments made in the GLF of the film work.”
A major target of this article was Wang Lanxi’s above-quoted guideline
that films “must be made in good quantity to improve quality.” Wang was
“erroneous and one-sided,” according to Huang, because he neglected the
“better” component in the General Line and failed to realize that “[mean-
ingful] quantity of film production [ . . . ] means the quantity within a
certain range of quality.”100 Huang’s examples of low-quality films were
those condemned in the Anti-Rightist Campaign, obvious straw man
targets as none of them were made after the release of Wang’s guidelines.
The real target became clearer one month later, when Chinese Cinema
published another article criticizing documentary-style art films. The arti-
cle argued that documentary-style art films lacked depth and were low in
artistic quality, and that filmmakers’ attempts to implement 2RR when
making these films showed their “one-sided understanding” of this cre-
ative method. In particular, the article criticized Rhapsody of the Shisanling
Reservoir as one major example of erroneous understandings of Revolu-
tionary Romanticism. It concluded by stressing that filmmakers needed
to contribute “films worthy of our great times” to the celebration of the
coming 10th National Day of the PRC (October 1, 1959).101
“Create Films Worthy of Our Times” was also the title of the editorial in
this issue of the Chinese Cinema. The editorial began with the CCP’s Cen-
tral Committee’s call for “at least seven to ten color feature films worthy of
our times” to celebrate the National Day. When defining “films worthy of
our times,” it mentioned neither “more,” nor “faster,” nor “more econom-
ical,” but rather emphasized “better”; the films could not be a “rush job”
and should be “three times better” in terms of content, artistic style, and
film technology.102 The change of policy focus from quantity to quality was
obvious.
 REVOLUTIONARY ROMANTICISM TO BOURGEOIS FANATICISM 109

Asking filmmakers to use 2RR as the creative method for the “three
times better” films, the editorial claimed that Revolutionary Romanticism
was not a component that could be added “superficially and externally,”
but must be inherent in the characterization of revolutionary heroes of
the films. It clearly suggested that documentary-style art films were, if not
unworthy of the great times, a failure in implementing 2RR accurately and
with sufficient depth. Such films would not qualify as what were called
“gift presentation films” (xianli pian), or films officially recognized as gifts
presented to the CCP on the National Day. Certain documentary-style art
films continued to receive favorable reviews in these two issues of Chinese
Cinema, but the revolutionary film industry was evidently phasing out this
genre.
2RR, therefore, remained an abstract and confusing oxymoron. Neither
Mao’s directives nor critics’ lengthy double-talk could show film artists how
to follow the dogma in practice. The lack of clarity, however, also continued
to allow the artists, in the name of implementing 2RR, to explore possibil-
ities that went beyond past norms. The specific discursive context of 1959,
a combination of the retreat from radical politics and the urgent need for
artistically satisfying “gift presentation films,” helped such exploration and
yielded a number of exceptionally popular films. Nie Er is one of them.

Calculating the Best Move

Complaining that too many PRC films were about revolution and war, vice
Minister of Culture Xia Yan urged a departure from such “cliché” subjects
at the national meeting of feature film studio directors on July 21, 1959.
This view might have reminded some of Guo Wei’s political downfall less
than two years before. One of Guo’s Rightist “crimes” was that he mocked
himself as a “warmonger” for having made only war films before Bloom-
ing Flowers and the Full Moon.103 Xia’s remark bore uncanny similarity to
Guo’s Rightist opinion. Indeed, as Xia half-seriously acknowledged at the
meeting, his view could be considered “deviant and rebellious.”104
Yet the discursive context of the first half of 1959 differed greatly from
that of the second half of 1957. “Deviant and rebellious” as the remark
might have appeared to some, it was a natural step after a series of film
policy adjustments made to slow down the GLF, relax political constric-
tions, diversify movie styles, and improve artistic quality. In January, the
Film Bureau performed a self-criticism of the “fanaticism” of its leader-
ship in 1958, deciding to make a cautious production plan to improve
film quality.105 In March, the Ministry of Culture suggested the CCP’s
Central Committee withdraw from the plan to establish film studios in
all provincial-level regions, reporting that the rapid increase of studios
110 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

had caused a serious shortage of resources.106 In April, Zhou Enlai con-

vened a private meeting with a few selected film artists, promising them
a relaxed political environment for artistic creation. In May, Zhou reiter-
ated the promise at a public meeting with artists, reassuring them that they
would no longer be pressured to accomplish high production numbers and
emphasizing the importance of ensuring artistic quality. Xia, who was in
charge of arranging and inspecting the production of “gift presentation
films,” had completely shifted from his 1958 position as an enthusiastic
advocate of quicker film production.107 From January to July of 1959, he
repeatedly emphasized artistic quality, skills, and diversity. On July 19, two
days before he made the “deviant and rebellious” remark, the Ministry of
Culture sent a report to the CCP’s Central Committee. The report summa-
rized the production of feature films in 1958 as “seriously” problematic
for “feeling content with quantity but neglecting quality” and “empha-
sizing ‘political’ [requirements] but overlooking artistic characteristics.” It
proposed to completely rearrange feature film production plan.108
Director Zheng Junli and actor Zhao Dan attended the private meet-
ing, during which Zhou promised a more relaxed political environment for
film production. Zheng and Zhao were close friends, had collaborated for
several films, and followed similar trajectories in their political and artis-
tic development. Both joined the League of Left-Wing Dramatists (Zuoyi
julian, a sister organization of the League of Chinese Left-Wing Writers
mentioned above, LLWD) early in their career.109 Both were prominent
Shanghai progressive film artists in the 1930s and the 1940s, and both were
major targets during the Campaign against The Life of Wu Xun for respec-
tively directing Between a Married Couple and playing both Wu Xun and
the male protagonist of Between a Married Couple. Finally, both tried hard
to redeem themselves but progressed slowly during the Nationalization
Period. Zheng’s efforts in directing Song Jingshi, as discussed in Chapter 1,
did not pay well in the complex political struggles. Meanwhile, Zhao disap-
peared from the silver screen for several years. In 1954, he finally attained a
chance to play for the film For Peace (Weile heping, 1956), but delivered an
awkward performance under the stress to ensure political correctness.110
The Hundred Flowers Campaign alleviated this political pressure. Their
collaboration film at the Kunlun studio, Crows and Sparrows (Wuya yu
maque, 1949), was one of the nationally re-released progressive films in
November 1956. It was also the only private studio production that won
a First-Class Excellent Film Award (1949–1955) issued by the Ministry of
Culture in May 1957.111
Both Zheng and Zhao, however, took a cautious approach to joining the
criticism of the film institution. Neither of them directly participated in the
outspoken Few Good discussion. With several other artists and critics, they
 REVOLUTIONARY ROMANTICISM TO BOURGEOIS FANATICISM 111

co-signed an article published in Chinese Cinema early in January 1957;

the article echoed several points raised by the Few Good discussion par-
ticipants, but in a much milder tone. It repeatedly expressed appreciation
of the CCP’s leadership, making clear that the purpose of the article was
to suggest improvements rather than to criticize or challenge.112 In the
Film Issue discussion, Zheng published a non-critical article celebrating
the Ministry of Culture’s recent decision to divide the Shanghai studio into
three sub-studios: Tianma, Haiyan, and Jiangnan. While praising the stu-
dio division as part of the on-going institutional reform, Zheng carefully
emphasized that he saw the reform as a way to “improve and strengthen”
the CCP’s leadership rather than weaken it.113 Zhao’s reluctance to engage
in criticism became apparent when three outspoken film artists—Shi Hui,
Wu Yin, and Wu Yonggang—used his name to co-sign a critical article,
which was published as the last piece of the discussion.114 Zhao immedi-
ately reported to CCP authorities that this was done without his permission
and against his will.115 During the Anti-Rightist Campaign, Shi Hui, Wu
Yin, and Wu Yonggang were all designated as major Rightists. Zheng and
Zhao, on the other hand, harshly denounced Rightists, especially Shi, who
used to be a major target of the Campaign against The Life of Wu Xun
together with them.116 Apparently, Zheng and Zhao learned their lesson
from the campaign while Shi did not. In 1957, Shi committed suicide; in
1957 and 1958, respectively, Zhao and Zheng joined the CCP.
Newly accepted by the CCP, Zheng and Zhao participated enthusiasti-
cally in the GLF. In April 1958, they declared their GLF projects. Zheng
planned to direct seven films, draft four screen scripts, publish two books,
teach three young comrades to master directing, participate in labor for
one year, and closely read five books by Marx, Engels, and Lenin, all within
five years.117 Zhao’s plan contained even more goals.118
Zheng and Zhao began to fulfill their romantic plans with an Opium
War epic Lin Zexu, their first-time collaboration since the criticized
Between a Married Couple. Despite the large number of tasks they had
assigned themselves, they did not follow the trend for faster filmmaking.
Indeed, they did not have to. In July, Zhou Enlai visited the shooting site of
Lin Zexu and emphasized artistic quality. Backed by Zhou, the project pro-
gressed at normal speed.119 The two experienced artists’ careful efforts paid
off. In 1959, Lin Zexu was widely acclaimed as an exception to most 1958
films. With this success, Zheng and Zhao fully recovered from the Cam-
paign against The Life of Wu Xun, and their career quickly rebounded. In
March 1959, Zheng and Zhao collaborated again in Nie Er, a biography film
of the deceased composer whose 1934 work “March of the Volunteers” was
used as the national anthem of the PRC. The film premiered in October
1959 and won popular success and critical acclaim.120 The Ministry of
112 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

Culture recognized both Lin Zexu and Nie Er as unquestionable “three

times better” films to celebrate the 10th National Day.121
Made by Zheng and Zhao at the pinnacle of their PRC career, Nie Er
marked the former private studio artists’ best adaptation to revolutionary
film culture after nearly a decade of political vicissitudes. In The Sublime
Figure of History: Aesthetics and Politics in Twentieth-Century China, Wang
Ban has provided an insightful analysis of how this film promoted the
dominant ideology of the CCP:

The choice of Nie Er, the composer of the national anthem, as the film’s pro-
tagonist was obviously an ideologically inspired choice, if “ideology” means
an established system of shared beliefs rather than the truism that everybody
has his or her own ideology. The dominant ideology of modern Chinese his-
tory has framed the way the individual should stand vis-a-vis the history of
the nation. As the composer of national stature, Nie Er is a convenient way
of showing the individual as part of history.122

Focusing only on “an established system of shared beliefs,” however, Wang

leaves two important questions unanswered: First, why did the creators of
Nie Er, when conceiving the film, believe that it could serve their interests
rather than bring them trouble? Second, what did they do when actually
making the film to improve their chances of success and lessen their risks?
To understand revolutionary filmmaking in its historical context, one can-
not overlook such questions about individuals’ ideologies and strategies.
To have a better chance of success or even just survive the fierce and dra-
matically changing revolutionary struggles, each individual had to clearly
understand his or her political position and carefully calculate the most
successful strategy to preserve their self-interests. Artists working in the
film industry, which was at the center of these struggles, were particularly
aware of the high stakes they faced while making each move.
To its creators, the risks of the project of Nie Er were much more obvious
than people today tend to imagine. Indeed, the film presents its protago-
nist as a highly symbolic figure of the dominant ideology. But so do many
films that were deemed politically problematic and even serving the bour-
geoisie during the campaigns, including Zheng’s own films Song Jingshi
and Between a Married Couple. As discussed later in this chapter, Nie Er
was similar to Song Jingshi in that he too was imperfect with “blem-
ishes” from an ideological standpoint. Worse than the peasant hero, Nie
shared with the male protagonist of Between a Married Couple (also played
by Zhao Dan) an intellectual background. Under the dominance of the
worker/peasant/soldier cinema, films featuring intellectuals as protagonists
were very limited in number and often repeated the political failure of
 REVOLUTIONARY ROMANTICISM TO BOURGEOIS FANATICISM 113

Between a Married Couple for the alleged bourgeois nature of intellectu-

als. For example, virtually all of the intellectual subject films made during
the Hundred Flowers Period were designated as White Flags, according
to Chen Huangmei’s summary, for “making every endeavor to represent
and promote petty bourgeois and bourgeois feelings.”123 Moreover, polit-
ical troubles had disturbed the scriptwriting of Nie Er in particular. In a
1959 article, Yu Ling, the primary scriptwriter of Nie Er, wrote that he
began working on the script in January 1955 but made little progress until
October 1958 due to “repeated illness.”124 He was in fact under investiga-
tion for his Shanghai background, in particular his friendship with Pan
Hannian, who was the leader of the CCP’s wartime intelligence in Shanghai
and had been accused as a “traitor” in 1955.125 Working on Nie Er was
not an obvious or convenient way to ensure political correctness for the
Shanghai artists. In fact, the film would be deemed one of their “reac-
tionary conspiracies” during the Cultural Revolution Period, partially due
to the political problems mentioned above.
The specific discursive context from October 1958 to July 1959, how-
ever, also gave Yu, Zheng, and Zhao at least three strong reasons to believe
that their gains from the project could justify the risks as long as they
made the film in the proper way. First, the relatively “deviant and rebel-
lious” policy adjustments temporarily alleviated the pressure on limiting
artistic representation of petty bourgeois intellectuals. Two incidents epit-
omized this change. One was a debate dubbed “the battle defending Song
of the Youth”126 in the Chinese Youth (Zhongguo qingnian) and the Literary
Gazette at the beginning of 1959. It was initiated by the worker Guo Kai’s
article criticizing the 1958 novel Song of the Youth (Qingchun zhi ge), for
embellishing its petty bourgeois intellectual protagonist. The debate con-
cluded that Guo’s criticism was inappropriate and that the novel truthfully
represented petty bourgeois intellectuals’ development into revolutionar-
ies. The clear direction of this debate encouraged adaptation of the novel
into an eponymous “gift presentation film.”127 The other incident was an
open exchange of letters between Yuan Wenshu, the vice Minister of Pro-
paganda in Shanghai, and Chen Huangmei in the People’s Daily in March
1959. Yuan contended that Chen exaggerated the political problems in
most of the films designated as White Flags in 1958, including all the intel-
lectual subject films. Chen accepted the criticism, acknowledging that it
was inappropriate to call those films White Flags.128
Second, Zheng’s and Zhao’s political and artistic success, combined with
the direct support they received from Zhou Enlai and other high-level
authorities, boosted their confidence to make a bold film like Nie Er. The
scriptwriting of Nie Er began to make real progress in October 1958, when
Zheng got deeply involved in the writing by Yu Ling’s demand and through
114 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

Yuan Wenshu’s arrangement. From this point on, cultural authorities in

Beijing and Shanghai, including Zhou Yang, Xia Yan, Chen Huangmei, and
Yuan Wenshu, gave a great deal of specific advice to help the artists avoid
political trouble.129
Third, the film was an inviting chance for its main creators to rectify the
tarnished image of their Shanghai background. As an LLWD member and
a prolific film song composer, Nie had had close political, collaborative,
and personal relationships with Yu, Zheng, and Zhao.130 Successfully char-
acterizing this fellow Shanghai progressive artist as a revolutionary hero
would strongly rebut the political discrimination these artists had endured
for nearly a decade. After the Anti-Rightist Campaign undermined Yan’an
filmmakers’ ideological superiority, the Shanghai artists who had made a
comeback saw a long-awaited opportunity to portray their legacy as equally
revolutionary as that of Yan’an. Fully taking this opportunity, Yu, Zheng,
and Zhao made the film to mythicize Nie Er as part of the CCP’s revolu-
tionary history. This myth worked for not only the CCP’s propaganda but
also these creators’ own political agenda. In Nie Er, promotion of the domi-
nant ideology of the CCP and glorification of the Shanghai artists’ political
and artistic legacy went hand in hand.

Mythicizing the Revolutionary History

Set during the period from 1930 to 1935, Nie Er constructed its story on the
basis of a great exaggeration of the CCP’s authority in pre-PRC Shanghai.
Weak at the time, the CCP struggled to survive the KMT government’s mil-
itary Encirclement Campaigns (weijiao) and eventually lost its base area
in rural Jiangxi. CCP members did infiltrate urban cultural institutions,
but they possessed very limited power and, even Mao acknowledged, were
“utterly defenseless.”131 In the private film studios, according to Xia Yan, the
CCP members’ task was just to learn how to make films. On their own ini-
tiative, he and some left-wing filmmakers occasionally attempted “to add
a couple of lines of dialogue that have [leftist] ideological meaning,” but
seldom succeeded under the censorship.132 Nie Er, however, portrayed the
CCP as a victorious revolutionary leader in all-out political and cultural
struggles against capitalism, imperialism, and the KMT government.
Overstating the CCP’s leadership made it possible for the film to praise
Nie Er and his fellow artists as the CCP’s brave soldiers. One sequence
epitomized this attempt, when the Music Group of the Soviet Union
Friendly Association, of which Nie is a member, meets in Shanghai in 1933.
Kuang Wentao, the highest CCP authority in the group, declares that the
CCP plans to seize the film industry from capitalists and compradors. He
arranges for Nie to work in a private film studio as a vanguard to fulfill this
 REVOLUTIONARY ROMANTICISM TO BOURGEOIS FANATICISM 115

plan. Zheng Leidian, Nie’s fictional girlfriend, brings news from Jiangxi
of a recent victory against the KMT’s military Encirclement Campaigns.
She also describes artistic activities in the CCP’s Red Army. Nie comments
excitedly, “This is the real battle!” Zheng immediately replies, “Aren’t you
(nimen, the plural ‘you’) fighting, too?” Kuang follows and emphasizes that
“we” are in combat against the KMT’s “Cultural Encirclement Campaigns”
(a term Mao used in his 1940 talk “On New Democracy”), differing from
the Red Army soldiers only in the way of fighting. He then hands Nie an
opera script entitled Yangtze River Tempest (Yangzijiang baofengyu), asking
him to compose music for this “first bombardment” launched by the CCP
through the LLWD.
The film made the denotation of the “you” and “we” fairly clear. Kuang’s
prototype is Tian Han, who organized the Music Group of the Soviet
Union Friendly Association. As scriptwriter and lyricist, he collaborated
with Nie on several works, including Yangtze River Tempest and “March of
the Volunteers.” Like Tian in real life, Kuang wears a beret and favors spicy
food, making the connection more obvious.133 The LLWD, led by Tian, was
the umbrella organization of the music group.134 Yu Ling, Zheng Junli, and
Zhao Dan were all LLWD members. Yu also played a major role in intro-
ducing Nie to the LLWD.135 Representing Tian and Nie as the leader and the
vanguard of the CCP’s cultural army, respectively, Nie Er helped Yu, Zheng,
and Zhao bracket their circle together with authoritative and heroic figures,
identify themselves as revolutionary soldiers, and justify their legacy as
truthful and righteous. As discussed in Chapter 1, Shanghai’s progressive
artists, represented by Zhao and Huang Zongying, attempted to achieve
exactly the same three objectives immediately after the establishment of
the PRC. After waves of campaigns, the surviving Shanghai artists revived
their frustrated hopes through Nie Er. It was probably not a coincidence
that Huang, who had practically quit her acting career after The Life of Wu
Xun, also played a character in the film.136
To glorify Nie as a revolutionary vanguard, the film had to remove
his “blemishes.” The first “blemish” was Nie’s relationship with his most
important music teacher Li Jinhui. Li’s soft love tunes, known as the “mod-
ern songs” and popular at nightclubs, were labeled by leftist critics as
“a vulgar capitulation to commerce at the expense of the imperatives of
national salvation” in the 1930s.137 During the 1950s, Li was marginal-
ized for having been a “yellow” musician,138 who “catered to the perverted
taste of the comprador bourgeoisie and the urban petty bourgeoisie under
the influence of decadent capitalist jazz music.”139 Similar to Huang’s 1950
article “Two Cultures,” the film attempted to draw a simple and clear
line between Nie’s circle of revolutionary artists and the “yellow” artists
represented by Li.
116 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

For the historical Nie, entering Li’s Bright Moon Song and Dance
Troupe in April 1931 marked the beginning of a “new life” and a “mar-
velously quick” improvement of music skills.140 His diary written from
September 1931 to June 1932 shows that he was close to Li, frequented Li’s
home, and had long and inspiring conversations there. Influenced by the
leftist ideology, however, Nie grew unsatisfied with the entertainment ori-
entation of Li’s music and began to distance himself from him by the end
of June 1932.141 In a short article published in July, he acknowledged that
Li’s art was “anti-feudalist” and exposed certain social problems, but criti-
cized it for being “erotic and sensuous” in content and “soft” in ideological
standing.142 Although Nie intended to hide his identity with a pseudonym,
the secret did not last long; the troupe isolated him and expelled him in
August. Nie expressed contradictory feelings about this change in his diary.
On the one hand, he saw the conflicts initiated by his article as a chance for
new art and believed that a revolutionary like him should no longer work
in troupes like the Bright Moon. On the other hand, however, he hoped
that he would not have to leave and felt depressed after knowing that he
must. In a private conversation with Li after the disclosure of his author-
ship, Nie “made a confession,” admitting that he should not have written
“in a frivolous way” and explaining in vain that his article meant well. In
January 1933, Nie wrote in his diary that he was not qualified at all to crit-
icize Li. In an emotional and regretful language, Nie blamed himself for
attacking Li’s works, which his own works could not match in quality.143
Drastically different from his historical prototype, Nie in the film detests
the vulgar performance of the Five Flowers Song and Dance Troupe (an
obvious reference to the Bright Moon) from the first day he enters it. He
tries to suggest some changes to Zhao Meinong, Li’s incarnation in the film.
Arrogant and mercenary, Zhao is not interested in listening to him. The
people with whom Nie has inspiring conversations are the fictional Zheng
Leidian, a determined revolutionary, and Su Ping, whose prototype is an
amalgam of several CCP member acquaintances of Nie, including Yu Ling
and Xia Yan.144 Guided by Zheng and Su, Nie performs for workers and
secretly posts anti-imperialist and pro-CCP slogans. These fictionalized
activities color Nie as a growing revolutionary getting ready to stand up
against Zhao. Their opposition becomes sharply clear when the Five Flow-
ers troupe goes to a field hospital to entertain the Chinese army defending
Shanghai against the Japanese. This sequence juxtaposes Zhao’s aversion
to the wounded soldiers with Nie’s genuine respect, as well as their oppo-
site ways of performing for the army. When the Five Flowers troupe sings
“Peach Blossom River” (Taohua jiang), a representative love song by Zhao
in the film and actually written by Li, the film intercuts their performance
with close-ups of soldiers. The soft tune and flirtatious lyrics annoy the
 REVOLUTIONARY ROMANTICISM TO BOURGEOIS FANATICISM 117

soldiers so much that one of them throws his crutch to the ground and cuts
the performance short. Having stood aside silently, Nie now steps forward
and sings “La Marseillaise.” The anthem begins to attract the soldiers, but
Nie’s lone voice does not sound powerful enough. Precisely at this moment,
Kuang and Su lead their group into the hospital and join the singing. Their
mighty chorus wins an enthusiastic applause.
Zheng Junli, Zhao Dan, and their creative team revised this sequence
several times.145 Each revision turned the sequence further away from
the original historical fact that Nie went to the warfront to entertain the
army with several fellow Bright Moon artists.146 The fictionalized part
of the sequence, the performance of “La Marseillaise” and the appear-
ance of the CCP members, highlighted the theme of the film: Nie was an
art soldier fighting under the leadership of the CCP against the “yellow”
musicians. The film emphasized Kuang/Tian Han’s central place in the
CCP’s leadership immediately after the performance. In a close-up, Kuang
remarks, “ ‘La Marseillaise’ is good indeed, but we shall have a Chinese
Marseillaise!” He then leads Nie to get closer to the warfront through
Japanese bombardment, quoting a line from the lyrics of “March of the
Volunteers,” “Brave the enemy’s fire!” Deeply impressed by this experi-
ence, Nie soon braves the “yellow” musicians’ fire: he composes a patriotic
song against Zhao Meinong’s warning not to meddle with politics.147 Nie
also publishes an essay to lambaste Zhao’s music, dauntlessly announces
that he is the author in front of the entire troupe, and decisively leaves
even when half of the troupe members support him and want him
to stay.
Having drawn a neat line between Nie and the “yellow” music, the film
focused on removing his second “blemish.” Despite having felt angry about
the Japanese invasion and having composed music for several nationalist
songs, the historical Nie was a strong admirer of Japan. After being expelled
from the Bright Moon troupe in August 1932, he went to Beiping (the
name of Beijing at the time) and hoped to find a new direction there. After
failing the entrance exam of the Art School of Beiping University, he wrote
in his diary that he began to “constantly dream and talk about going to
Japan.” For a time his active preparation got him excitingly close to fulfill-
ing the dream. To his dismay, however, the plan failed for financial reasons
in October. In April 1935, he finally went to Japan and enjoyed a happy and
fulfilling time for three months. As reflected in his diary written in Japan,
Nie appreciated the propaganda music of Manchukuo, the puppet state
Japan had installed in China. Ironically similar to Zhao Meinong in Nie
Er, when chatting with a Japanese person on the Sino-Japanese relation-
ship, he remarked that artists should not care about international political
conflicts.148
118 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

These thorny historical records could (and would actually during the
Cultural Revolution Period) not only disqualify Nie from being a revolu-
tionary hero but also incur charges of “betrayal of the nation.”149 Nie Er
dealt with them by replacing Nie’s dream to go to Japan with two revolu-
tionary dreams. The first dream is to fight the Japanese as a real soldier.
In the film, Nie goes to Beiping to find Su, who he eagerly hopes, can
introduce him to the volunteer armies against Japanese and Manchukuo
forces. He does not become a soldier only because the CCP considers him
more useful as an artist in Shanghai. The second dream is to go to the
Soviet Union. The historical Nie never mentioned any interest in going
to the Soviet Union in his diary until July 15, 1935, two days before he
drowned while swimming with his Japanese friends. On that day he stated
that he would begin studying Russian in preparation to “travel to Europe.”
At the time Nie had invested a lot of time in English and Japanese, both of
which he used to write his diary. The diary describes his plan of traveling
abroad consistently as “America and Europe through Japan.”150 The Soviet
Union was likely just one stop in Europe. In contrast, the film followed the
PRC’s official historiography to claim that the CCP arranged for Nie to go
to Japan en route to the Soviet Union, his final destination. To support this
claim, the film depicted Nie as a Sovietphile as early as 1930. In a conver-
sation with an ocean-liner crew member, Nie asks about the Soviet Union
and exclaims how good it would be to visit there. Zhao Dan, 41 years old,
plays the 19- year- old Nie like a yearning child, showing a great admiration
for the Soviet Union in a close-up (Figure 4.1).
As for the pleasant time Nie spent in Japan, the film conveniently omit-
ted it by ending the story at the time Nie leaves China. In the film, Nie’s
embarkation is highly reluctant. He wants to stay and fight against the

Figure 4.1 Nie Er exclaims: “How good would it be to visit the Soviet Union!”
 REVOLUTIONARY ROMANTICISM TO BOURGEOIS FANATICISM 119

KMT government, but has to leave only because the CCP, for his safety,
orders him to do so.
With a montage sequence, the film concluded its efforts to turn Nie
from a Shanghai artist with historical “blemishes” to a patriotic and revo-
lutionary hero. On the departing ship, Nie first looks back at Shanghai and
bids a sad farewell to his motherland. Then he looks at a rising sun. This
symbol of hope for his motherland cuts to a grandiose rendition of the
song “March of the Volunteers.” Accompanied by the national anthem, an
apparently CCP-led peasant army resists Japanese invaders on the Marco
Polo Bridge (where the Second Sino-Japanese War broke out in 1937 and
the Japanese only encountered resistance from the KMT’s regular army).
The PLA Army captures a city and marches on the street during the final
phase of the civil war (between 1947 and 1949), and, finally, a parade
celebrates the founding of the PRC with a huge statue of Mao.
This montage connected Nie to the founding of the PRC on the politi-
cal basis that, in Yu Ling’s words in a 1960 article, Nie was “the founder
of Chinese proletarian musical art.”151 This was a bold claim. For hav-
ing composed the national anthem and supposedly sacrificed his life for
the revolution, Nie was indeed an exceptionally celebrated Shanghai pro-
gressive artist. Before the film, however, he had only been praised as
“the founder of the New Music,” “a realistic musician,” and “a great
musician for the people.”152 It was difficult to call Nie a member of the
proletariat, the most revolutionary class in the communist ideology, for
obvious reasons. The three main identities Nie held during his lifetime,
an accountant (his first job in Shanghai),153 a high school graduate who
could afford to go to college, and a musician working in commercial
troupes and private companies, all fit in the category of the petty bour-
geoisie by the revolutionary standard. Moreover, if one were to apply
Mao’s standard expressed on the eve of the Anti-Rightist Campaign, Nie
would be considered bourgeois just like any other intellectual who had
received “a bourgeois education” before the establishment of the PRC.154
To turn Nie into a proletarian, the film completely rewrote his identi-
ties and education: Nie’s first job in Shanghai is serving as a coolie, he
is too poor to get into college, and he fights against commercial troupes
and private companies while performing for workers. The film did not
cover his school education and reduced his music education to one fab-
ricated scene in which he becomes a student of a peasant musician. It
also constantly highlighted him as an excellent political student of the
CCP and the proletariat in the revolutionary struggles. Following the
success of such a rewriting and the publication of Yu’s article in the Peo-
ple’s Daily, many, including Zheng Junli, began to call Nie a proletarian
musician.155
120 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

The escalation of Nie’s political identity reflected the film creators’

attempt to blur the boundary between the petty bourgeoisie and the revo-
lutionary proletariat, which had been clearly set since the campaign against
The Life of Wu Xun. Yu’s article, for example, described another important
character in the film, Zheng Leidian, as a “young female intellectual taking
part in the revolution from a petty bourgeois origin and with strong petty
bourgeois enthusiasm.” Such a petty bourgeois intellectual, Yu claimed,
would most likely “completely turn into a real proletarian soldier after
being trained in long-term revolutionary struggles and practices.”156 This
claim served to remove the film creators’ own original sin of their petty
bourgeois background. Zhao Dan’s article, published in 1963, made this
attempt still clearer. He wrote about two specific scenes between Nie and
Zheng Leidian. In one scene, the two meet at the height of the KMT gov-
ernment’s White Terror. Zheng Leidian intentionally dresses in red, the
revolutionary color, to “demonstrate against the reactionaries.” Deeply
impressed, Nie calls Zheng Leidian a “hong hai’er (red child).” Later in
the film, Nie uses Red Child as his pseudonym when criticizing Zhao
Meinong (whereas the actual pseudonym of the historical Nie was Black
Angel, or hei tianshi). Zhao wrote that red, as a revolutionary color, was
the favorite of “some young progressive intellectuals . . . with petty bour-
geois enthusiasm,” including himself and members of Zheng Junli’s South
China Society (Nanguo she, founded by Tian Han in 1926). He particularly
mentioned that he changed his original given name to Dan, which means
red, because of his revolutionary passion. In the other scene, Nie, Zheng
Leidian, and their comrades post revolutionary slogans on the street. Zhao
wrote that this was “a creation based on our own experiences in the past,”
detailing how he himself had posted slogans and cleverly dealt with the
police.157
Depicting Nie almost as their own revolutionary incarnation in pre-
PRC Shanghai, Zheng Junli and Zhao Dan confidently returned to their
private studio artistic legacy. Zhao’s characterization of Nie, for exam-
ple, is clearly reminiscent of his performances in the two films initiating
his star career, namely Street Angel (Malu tianshi, 1937) and Crossroads
(Shizi jietou, 1937). Like the young trumpeter Zhao plays in Street Angel,
Nie is penniless but optimistic, warm-hearted, and popular with girls.
The trumpeter in Street Angel cherishes his only asset, a trumpet. In one
scene, he cheerfully plays the trumpet for his friends and landlady, while
playfully marching back to his cramped attic apartment. In Nie Er, Nie
spends all his money on a used violin. He dances the way to his cramped
attic apartment with the newly bought violin, playing it for his house-
mates and landlady at the same time. In the ending scene of Crossroads
and the scene after Nie posts the revolutionary slogans, Zhao delivers
 REVOLUTIONARY ROMANTICISM TO BOURGEOIS FANATICISM 121

Figure 4.2 Left, Zhao Dan in Nie Er (first from left). Right, Zhao Dan in
Crossroads (second from right)

dramatically similar performances. In both scenes, Zhao’s character glee-

fully and childishly walks down the street arm-in-arm with his lover and
friends (Figure 4.2). Zheng’s and Zhao’s return to their private studio roots,
with Zhao’s signature playful and romantic performances, contributed to
Nie Er’s popular success and helped in adding a revolutionary aura to their
artistic legacy.
Although the political situation favored Yu Ling, Zheng Junli, and Zhao
Dan around 1959, such a bold stylistic return still met with mixed critical
reception. Some critics disagreed with Yu and Zhao’s argument that intel-
lectuals with petty bourgeois enthusiasm were promising candidates for
proletarian soldiers. They viewed this enthusiasm as fanaticism destructive
to revolution.158 Specifically, they criticized the scenes in which Nie meets
with the “red child” Zheng Leidian and walks with his friends arm-in-arm
after posting revolutionary slogans. According to the critics, both scenes
demonstrated the “petty bourgeois fanaticism” and distorted the reality
of White Terror, under which “CCP comrades would not even be able to
greet each other in public, let alone pleasantly loaf about on the street
after posting slogans.”159 This charge followed the same logic as the one
against Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon, as discussed in Chapter 2, for
representing revolutionary peasants as “upper-class dandies and ladies.”160
Unlike Guo Wei in the Anti-Rightist Campaign, Zheng Junli during the
GLF period was politically privileged and had a new ideological weapon
to defend his film. In response to such criticism, Zheng wrote that they
created the scenes based on the Revolutionary Romantic character of Nie
and his young comrades,

Nie Er was a person filled with the spirit of Revolutionary Realism and
the character of Revolutionary Romanticism. The songs he composed also
122 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

combine Revolutionary Realism and Revolutionary Romanticism. The film

reflects him as such.161

Experienced with the campaigns, Zheng knew how to defend his work.
As mentioned in the last section, the CCP had just recently demanded
that Revolutionary Romanticism be inherent in the characterization of
revolutionary heroes. By emphasizing that Nie Er accurately reflected its
protagonist as an embodiment of 2RR, Zheng meant that the film, includ-
ing the two scenes in question, followed this newest Party line faithfully. In
this sense Zheng treated Nie like he had written Song Jingshi, making both
follow Mao’s words decades before these words were ever spoken. In both
Song Jingshi and Nie Er, such anachronism was key in justifying not only
the political escalation of the protagonists to the new standard but also the
stylistic return to the old legacy in their characterization.
Receiving a better response than Song Jingshi, Nie Er was enthusiastically
backed by a number of cultural authorities. They repeatedly praised the
film for its Revolutionary Romanticism.162 Indeed, these cultural authori-
ties were in urgent need of “three times better” films like Nie Er to fill not
only the quota of “gift presentation films” but also the vacuum of satisfy-
ing film examples of 2RR. Political nibbling could wait. The newest artistic
doctrine in the GLF, therefore, ironically served as a protective umbrella for
the decisive stylistic return to the past. What would have been condemned
as petty bourgeois distortion of reality was now perfectly revolutionary.
Like most other myths created in revolutionary cinema, however, Nie
Er would eventually be smashed by the revolution itself. During the Cul-
tural Revolution Period, creators of the film and the CCP authorities who
supported it, among many others, would all be deemed practitioners of
“a black anti-Party and anti-socialist line” stemming from the 1930s to
1966. Among them, Zheng Junli and Tian Han would be tortured to death.
“March of the Volunteers” would be played only without Tian’s lyrics. Nie
Er would become a Poisonous Weed for “exaggerating Nie Er’s role in order
to brag about [the film creators and supporters’] own merits,” supporting
Tian “to usurp the leadership of the Chairman’s thoughts,” and “charac-
terizing Nie Er in a frivolous way.” Revolutionary Romanticism could no
longer justify the obvious distance between the historical Nie and the fab-
ricated Nie. The claim that Nie was a vanguard in proletarian art would
be derided as “nonsense that no one with a little historical common sense
would believe.” The charge of fanaticism against Nie Er would escalate to
another level. Unfortunately for Nie Er, Nie’s years in Shanghai significantly
overlapped with the years Mao’s political enemy, Wang Ming, dominated
the CCP’s leadership. The film’s efforts to glorify the CCP would there-
fore all become evidences of its conspiracy to support Wang, characterized
 REVOLUTIONARY ROMANTICISM TO BOURGEOIS FANATICISM 123

in the PRC’s historiography as, among other things, a fanatical leader of

“adventurism.”163
Before the Cultural Revolution Period began, however, the disas-
trous consequences of the GLF, including the nearly waterless Shisanling
reservoir,164 would first force the CCP’s Central Committee to acknowl-
edge, albeit tacitly, that their own leadership had become fanatical and
must be cooled down. In this policy shift, the “hundred flowers” would
attempt to bloom in the film industry once again.
 5

From Disaster to Laughter:

Making Comedies in a
Changing Political Landscape,
1959–1963

1959 and 1962 saw two important CCP conferences that mirrored each
other. Both conferences were unexpectedly prolonged and both achieved
the opposites of their original objectives. The former intensified ideolog-
ical struggles and protracted the GLF. The latter completed the CCP’s
U-turn away from the campaign and significantly relaxed the political
atmosphere.
As the first conference in 1959 was held at Mount Lu (Lushan in
Chinese), it is usually referred to as the Lushan Conference.1 It included
the Enlarged Meeting of the Politburo of the CCP’s Central Committee
(from July 2 to August 1) and the Eighth Plenary Session of the Eighth
CCP’s Central Committee (from August 2 to 16). The original objective of
the conference, which had originally been scheduled to only include the
former meeting and end on July 15, was to continue cooling down the
excessive GLF fervor and containing the Leftist elements of the campaign.
The conference abruptly changed course on July 14 after Defense Minister
Peng Dehuai sent a private letter to Mao to express his opinions about the
GLF. Mao saw the letter as an attack from a class enemy within the CCP.2
He significantly prolonged the conference and initiated the Anti-Rightist-
Deviation Campaign. The campaign denounced Peng and his supporters
as an “anti-Party clique” and designated over three million CCP mem-
bers as “Rightist Deviationists.”3 Along with this ideological battle, the
CCP coercively reversed the nearly nine-month-long practical retreat from
the GLF.
126 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

The letter’s dire consequences may tempt one to exaggerate its aggres-
siveness and radicalness. Maurice Meisner, for example, describes the letter
as the culmination of Peng’s “wholesale attack” on the GLF and a straight-
forward condemnation on “the ‘petty bourgeois fanaticism’ of Maoists.”4
It was neither. Peng worded the letter cautiously and subtly. He repeat-
edly praised both the “unquestionable” achievements of the GLF and Mao’s
leadership. He concurred with Mao that the GLF had a bright future and
would surely achieve all its major goals. Most, if not all, of the prob-
lems Peng mentioned were what Mao himself had pointed out since the
Zhengzhou meeting. Even the only possible exception, petty bourgeois
fanaticism, was what Mao would probably have covered in a talk in Decem-
ber 1958, had he had enough time.5 Peng described the problems as a
necessary cost to pay, attributing them to CCP cadres’ lack of experience
and failure to carry through Mao’s policies. He did not charge Mao, or
Maoists, with petty bourgeois fanaticism. Instead, he used the term to crit-
icize himself, as a representative of many, for forgetting about the Maoist
mass line and misunderstanding the chairman’s directives. The letter did
not even ring any alarm bells when Mao distributed it among conference
attendees. For several days it was discussed as another common conference
document. And a majority of the attendees basically agreed with it until the
soon-to-be-confirmed rumor about Mao’s attitude became widely spread.6
The reason that the letter led to yet another dramatic policy turn of
Mao was not textual, but discursive: Mao deeply suspected its purpose.
Peng repeatedly explained that the letter grew out of his concerns that the
Lushan Conference, scheduled to end soon, had not met its original objec-
tive. He wrote it for Mao’s own reference only and simply hoped that Mao
could place a renewed emphasis on the correction of Leftist tendencies.7
Mao, however, had long seen Peng as a threat to his authority.8 He was
particularly sensitive to this threat when the problematic GLF made him
worry about a collapse of his leadership. Peng’s recent visit to the Soviet
Union and meeting with Khrushchev, who had shown opposition to the
People’s Communes since the end of 1958,9 added to Mao’s suspicions. He
insisted that Peng had intended to publish the letter, attempted to win over
mass and military support, prepared for a major upheaval, and colluded
with Khrushchev.10 Of course, none of these charges were grounded, but
they enabled Mao to finally remove Peng as a pain in the neck.
In 1962, the new Defense Minister, Lin Biao, delivered a talk at the
Enlarged Working Conference Convened by the CCP’s Central Commit-
tee, held in Beijing from January 11 to February 7. The conference is
commonly referred to as the Seven Thousand People Conference for the
unprecedented number of attendees, who were leading cadres at the level
of the CCP’s county committee and above. The portion of Lin’s talk on the
 FROM DISASTER TO LAUGHTER 127

CCP’s work was similar to Peng’s letter in that it repeatedly praised the GLF
and Mao’s leadership, described the problems of the GLF as a necessary
cost to pay, and attributed them to the failure of following Mao closely.11
Lin even repeated Peng’s much-attacked word order when evaluating the
GLF: he mentioned its losses before gains.12 Mao, however, was extremely
appreciative of the talk.13 Differences between the two texts—Peng’s letter
devoted more space to analyze the problems while Lin’s talk devoted more
space to praise Mao—are not significant enough to explain Mao’s dras-
tically different attitudes toward them. The reason was again discursive:
Mao saw Lin’s talk as an effort to defend his authority at a time of great
pressure.
At the Seven Thousand People Conference, some local cadres bitterly
complained that the GLF fanaticism for communist communes (gongchan
feng) “cut out the peasants’ flesh in 1958 and scraped their bones in
1960.”14 Such a blunt statement reflected two consequences of the pro-
tracted GLF: serious socio-economic crisis and intense contradictions
between central and local governments. The GLF hit the countryside par-
ticularly hard. Massive and poorly executed projects diverted labor and
resources from agriculture and harmed the environment. Based on drasti-
cally inflated harvest reports, forced agricultural levies caused a widespread
deadly famine. The food-rationing system, which kept urban areas from
mass starvation, was under great stress. Having administratively reduced
urban population in 1961, the CCP’s Central Committee still found it
extremely difficult to sustain cities’ food supplies. The Central Commit-
tee’s urgent agricultural procurement needs encountered passive resistance
from local governments, which were trying to alleviate the food crisis in
their areas first. Originally, one key objective of the Seven Thousand Peo-
ple Conference was to dispel the so-called “dispersionism” (fensan zhuyi)
and persuade local cadres to cooperate with the central government.15 The
cadres, however, went to Beijing with their pent-up frustrations under the
pressure of both the central government and, in the words of an open letter
signed by three peasant CCP members in the spring of 1962, the “boiling
resentment of the people.”16 They demanded investigations of higher-
ranking cadres, arguing that the top-down coercion of arbitrary policies
instead of “dispersionism” was the source of all the problems they had
to face. They particularly criticized the Anti-Rightist struggles for being
“over-the-top and too long,” and silencing different opinions. Not surpris-
ingly, virtually none of the cadres was willing or daring to openly criticize
Mao. Many repeated the rhetoric used by both Peng and Lin to attribute
problems to misunderstandings of Mao’s thoughts.17 But the rumbles of
discontent clearly placed a great pressure on Mao and the CCP’s Central
Committee.
128 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

Under this pressure, the CCP’s Central Committee changed the agenda
of the conference. Its main focus moved from dispelling “dispersionism”
to critically examining the GLF.18 Over the course of the conference, the
CCP’s Central Committee made an increasingly clear acknowledgment of
its prime responsibility for the crisis. Mao declared on January 29, once
again just one day before the scheduled ending date, that the conference
would be prolonged for the cadres to “vent whatever and however much
frustration.”19 On January 30, Mao made a gesture to the cadres by per-
forming a self-criticism that he was responsible, directly or indirectly, for
all the mistakes that the CCP’s Central Committee had made.20 High-
level officials followed suit amid a spirited wave of criticism from their
subordinates.
Along with his self-criticism, Mao stressed the importance of “democ-
racy of the people and within the Party,” classifying 95 percent of the entire
population, including the petty bourgeoisie and the patriotic bourgeoisie,
as the people with whom the CCP should unite.21 The percentage per se
did not vary much from Mao’s earlier arbitrary estimations, for instance,
as one to ten percent of the non-CCP intellectuals were Rightists.22 But it
had a different discursive message. Instead of isolating a political enemy,
now the emphasis was on uniting and granting democratic rights to the
overwhelming majority, including those usual targets of revolutionary
campaigns. After the conference, a majority of the White Flags and Rightist
Deviationists were quickly rehabilitated.23 Although the Rightists were not
rehabilitated, many of them were “uncapped” (zhai mao), which meant
they attained a relatively higher status than the “full” Rightists, or those
who still had the so-called “Rightist caps” on their heads. Political pres-
sure on intellectuals and artists was significantly alleviated. Mao, who was
primarily responsible for the political pressure, signaled a withdrawal from
directly managing Party and state affairs, or what he called “the first line”
of the CCP’s leadership, to “the second line.”24 For many, the conference
ushered in hope for a new era.
In the fast-changing discursive context, filmmaking changed quickly as
well. This chapter reviews the winds of political change in the film indus-
try and the industry’s commercial turn after the GLF. It particularly focuses
on a wave of popular comedies made in 1962, including The Adventures of
a Magician (Moshushi de qiyu), Two Good Brothers (Geliahao), Big Li, Lit-
tle Li, and Old Li (Da li, xiao li, he laoli), Woman Barber (Nü lifashi), Li
Shuangshuang, and Better and Better (Jinshangtianhua). These comedies
are key to analyzing the fine balance between the obvious and the subtle,
the explicit and the implicit, and political correctness and artistic trans-
gression that filmmakers needed to strike during the current revolutionary
cycle, which I call the Second Hundred Flowers Period.
 FROM DISASTER TO LAUGHTER 129

Winds of Political Change

The Anti-Rightist-Deviation Campaign swept over the film institutions

immediately after the Lushan Conference. Among the deposed cadres and
Rightist Deviationists in the film circle, Yuan Wenshu and Hai Mo were
two representative figures. Yuan had criticized Chen Huangmei’s attack
on the White Flag films. In the capacity of head of the Shanghai Film
Bureau, he had significantly contributed to the adjustments of filmmaking
policy since the end of 1958. Removing Yuan from his office reflected,
once again, the degree to which the CCP’s vacillating policies negated each
other. Yuan’s “mistakes” were precisely what the CCP had promoted before
the Lushan Conference, namely granting directors more control over film
production and prioritizing the “better” component of the General Line
over “more, faster, and more economical.”25 Yuan’s active participation in
the attack on the first Rightist Zhong Dianfei added another layer to the
irony of his own political downfall in this round of anti-Rightist struggle.26
The Anti-Rightist-Deviation Campaign targeted not only Yuan and other
CCP cadres who had retreated from the GLF but also artists and intellec-
tuals who allegedly should have been designated as Rightists during the
Anti-Rightist Campaign but had “slipped through the net” (louwang). The
scriptwriter Hai Mo, who had survived the Anti-Rightist Campaign par-
tially by refusing Lü Ban’s adaptation of his Playing a Vertical Bamboo Flute
Horizontally (discussed in Chapter 3) and furiously denouncing Zhong
Dianfei,27 was attacked as an overlooked Rightist. The mills of revolution-
ary campaigns now ground Playing a Vertical Bamboo Flute Horizontally as
an “anti-Party, anti-socialist Poisonous Weed,”28 together with all the other
plays and films based on the fourth kind of scripts.29
As usual, the furious attack on the Rightists went hand in hand with
apparently passionate praise of the Party line. In November 1959, Zhou
Enlai acclaimed PRC cinema and theater as two of the “most beautiful
flowers of the GLF,” encouraging filmmakers to “leap forward, leap for-
ward, and make a greater leap forward.” Reporting to the CCP’s Central
Committee in the same month, the Ministry of Culture abandoned their
only four-month-old critical annual summary of 1958. They hailed the
GLF achievements of film production and celebrated the leap in quantity.
Xia Yan also stopped making “deviant and rebellious” remarks, shifting
focus in his talks to filming achievements of the General Line, the GLF, and
the People’s Communes, or the so-called “Three Red Banners.”30
The anti-Rightist struggle and the GLF in the film industry, after the
Lushan Conference, however, paled in comparison to those before the end
of 1958. The Anti-Rightist-Deviation Campaign did not attack films like
Song of the Youth and Nie Er, which as discussed in Chapter 4 were as
130 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

politically vulnerable as the White Flag films in terms of subject, content,

and style. Annual feature film production did not make a great leap for-
ward in quantity, but decreased from 80 in 1959 to 66 in 1960, and then
sharply to 28 in 1961.31 Documentary-style art films reappeared, but only
briefly and in a very limited number.
In addition to the morale of cultural cadres and filmmakers, which
could not possibly be high after the random and rapid policy vacillations
amid the GLF catastrophe, practical factors contained the scale of the Anti-
Rightist-Deviation Campaign and the protracted GLF in the film industry.
One of the factors was that the abrupt political change in July 1959 left
no time to make new films for the National Day in October. To attack
the existing ones would have ruined the celebration. The Ministry of Cul-
ture’s official recognition of “gift presentation films” in September would
shield these films against political criticism as long as this ministry was
still in power, namely until the Cultural Revolution Period. Another factor
was that film stock was in serious shortage. In July 1960, the increasingly
intense Sino-Soviet conflicts terminated the Soviet supply of film stock
to China. Having no capacity to produce film stock domestically, China
had to turn to capitalist countries for importation, but could not afford
much due to its economic crisis. On September 22, the Ministry of Cul-
ture ordered studio heads to contain film production and decrease release
prints. From September 26 to 28, a meeting of studio heads re-emphasized
quality control in filmmaking.32
This renewed emphasis on quality was also directly related to Mao’s
directives. In June 1960, the colossal damage of the GLF forced Mao to
state at a conference in Shanghai, “Having focused on quantity in 1958 and
1959, this year [we] should emphasize quality.” He also urged an adjust-
ment of unrealistic production plans.33 Following this latest change of the
chairman, the CCP’s Central Committee adopted on September 30 a new
policy, dubbed “the Eight-Character Policy” for these Chinese characters
at its center: “tiao zheng, gong gu, chong shi, ti gao” (adjustment, consoli-
dation, filling out, and improvement).34 This policy initiated a new retreat
from the GLF.
Until the Seven Thousand People Conference, as the then head of the
state Liu Shaoqi admitted, the Eight-Character Policy was not satisfactorily
implemented in many sectors.35 But the film industry was an exception, as
cultural authorities hoped to make the best use of the limited amount of
film stock they had. They were eager to resume the atmosphere of the early
half of 1959, which was considered a miracle year in PRC filmmaking for
the popular “gift presentation films.” They convened a series of film policy
meetings that focused on implementation of the Eight-Character Policy,
re-advocating the same policy adjustments that had led to Xia’s “deviant
 FROM DISASTER TO LAUGHTER 131

and rebellious” remark made in July 1959. As a culmination of these con-

ferences, the Forum on the Party Work in Literature and Art and the
Conference on the Creation of Feature Films were held jointly in Beijing’s
Xinqiao Hotel from June to July 1961. Dubbed the Xinqiao Conference, it
marked the formal beginning of the Second Hundred Flowers Period. CCP
authorities, including Zhou Yang, Zhou Enlai, Chen Huangmei, and Xia
Yan, re-emphasized the Hundred Flowers policy by once again promising
a relaxed political environment, re-granting directors central control over
film production, and criticizing the films made during the GLF as “simple-
minded, inartistic, excessive, and rough.” The conference upgraded the
“three times better” expectation to “four times better,” including “better
story, better performers, better cinematography, and better music.”36 On
July 2, the day that the Xinqiao Conference ended, the Ministry of Cul-
ture and the Ministry of Propaganda added a two-day meeting with all
the conference attendees from the Changchun Studio, except for the studio
heads. As a small-scale preview of the Seven Thousand People Conference,
the meeting encouraged the obviously disgruntled Changchun comrades
to “vent frustrations and grievances” about the CCP’s leadership of the
studio. On July 10, Xia Yan, Yuan Wenshu (who had practically regained
power), and Zhou Enlai had a similar meeting with attendees from the
Shanghai Studio.37
Following these conferences were a series of directives. In May 1961,
the Ministry of Culture issued a directive to stop distributing 11 films
made at the height of the GLF, most of which were documentary-style
art films. This was just the beginning of a series of directives against the
GLF films. In the coming year, nearly 50 more GLF films, including Rhap-
sody of the Shisanling Reservoir, would be banned for “violating the spirit
of current policy.”38 On August 1, 1961, the proposed draft of “Opinions
Concerning Current Work in Literature and Art of the Ministry of Propa-
ganda,” dubbed the Ten Articles on Work in Literature and Art, emerged
from a five-month-long discussion and revision. Zhou Yang, who clearly
instructed drafters of this important directive to mention neither SR nor
the “achievements” of the past campaigns, described it as “the first docu-
ment to correct the ‘Leftist’ deviations in literature and art.” The articles
criticized political restrictions on artistic creation, trying to draw a clear
line between political and artistic issues, which had been indistinguishable
since the Campaign against The Life of Wu Xun.39 In November, the Min-
istry of Culture issued “Opinions on Strengthening the Leadership of the
Creation and Production of Art Films,” dubbed the 32 Articles on Work in
Film. This directive, which also had been revised for months, spelled out a
concrete plan to implement the spirit of both the Xinqiao Conference and
the Ten Articles in the film industry.40
132 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

The Seven Thousand People Conference and Mao’s shift in position

spurred substantial progress in alleviating the political pressure on film
artists. In January 1962, Playing a Vertical Bamboo Flute Horizontally
was rehabilitated. In March, the National Conferences on Science and of
Playwrights, dubbed the Guangzhou Conferences, positively re-evaluated
Playing a Vertical Bamboo Flute Horizontally as well as several other plays
and films based on the fourth kind of scripts.41 At the Guangzhou Con-
ferences, intellectuals and artists saw a clear hope to be no longer treated
as usual suspects of “bourgeois thoughts,” especially in two talks deliv-
ered by Foreign Minister Chen Yi. Chen’s talks followed the spirit of two
earlier talks by Zhou Enlai, delivered respectively in February and at this
conference, but were much more straightforwardly worded. Regretting the
intellectuals and artists’ fear to express their true opinions in the GLF,
Chen acknowledged that it had been “very stupid” to put a bourgeois
“cap” on them. He declared that they were, instead, not only “revolution-
ary,” “socialist,” “proletarian,” and “the laboring people’s” intellectuals and
artists but also “masters of the country” who had the right to express
their criticism. Just like Xia Yan in July 1959, Chen half-jokingly stated
that he was making some “Rightist remarks.”42 Meanwhile, many of those
attacked during the Campaign to Wrench out White Flags and the Anti-
Rightist-Deviation Campaign, including Yuan Wenshu and Hai Mo, were
rehabilitated. Some were “psychologically compensated” with apologies
from CCP authorities.43 Many Rightists in the film circle were “uncapped,”
including Zhong Dianfei.44 In July, the Ministry of Culture rehabilitated all
but one (The Unfinished Comedies) White Flag films, including Blooming
Flowers and the Full Moon, Before the New Bureau Chief Arrives, and The
Man Unconcerned with Details.45

“Innovations” for Commercial Appeal

The state’s quick political relaxation and urgent economic needs brought
about its expectations of the commercial value of film. Chen Yi was again
the most straightforward about these expectations. At the Guangzhou
Conferences, he urged film work cadres and filmmakers to “learn from the
capitalists” how to manage business, account costs, and make profits, so
that they could help alleviate the economic burden of the state. He even
said that he would “kowtow hard thrice and hail” to those who could do
that.46 Although reform measures openly emphasizing box-office value did
not fully reappear, the commercial turn was still clear enough in a series of
directives by the Ministry of Propaganda and the Ministry of Culture. The
Ministry of Propaganda advocated production of more entertaining and
less didactic films. It boldly stated in the Ten Articles that “we need not
 FROM DISASTER TO LAUGHTER 133

only works with strong political messages but also works with little polit-
ical content but offering wisdom of life and aesthetic enjoyment.”47 The
Ministry of Culture repeatedly emphasized that the film industry should
“try its best to accumulate funds for the state,” promising that the state
would pay higher acquisition prices for films of better quality.48
In this commercial turn, the CCP encouraged “innovating” (chuangxin)
in film production. Some technical innovations appearing during this
period were truly new in China. In June 1962, for example, the Shanghai
Tianma Studio produced the first Chinese 3D feature film, The Adventures
of a Magician. It was the final achievement of a series of technical innova-
tions since early 1959, including development of China’s first-generation
3D movie cameras (a combination of imported technology and indige-
nous wisdom), production of the first Chinese 3D documentaries and the
first Chinese 3D animation, and construction of the earliest 3D movie the-
aters in China.49 As the only 3D feature film in revolutionary cinema and
an entertaining light comedy, The Adventures of a Magician set a record
by consecutively running for four years and attracting about four million
viewers.50
Many other technical “innovations” had actually been long imported
to China and were used to create special effects in photography and cine-
matography during the Republican era. They had become dormant in the
new regime as attracting audiences with special effects had been deemed
politically problematic. The Second Hundred Flowers Period saw them
reappear as novelties. For example, director Yan Jizhou’s Two Good Broth-
ers (with Zhang Liang as twin brothers) and Wild Fires and Spring Winds
Struggling in an Old City (Yehuo chunfeng dou gucheng, 1963, with Wang
Xiaotang as twin sisters) are the first two PRC films that use double-
exposure to have two characters played by the same actor appear and
interact in the same frame (Figure 5.1).
This special effect, fresh to many PRC moviegoers’ eyes, aroused a
strong interest. The People’s Daily specifically published an article to
explain to curious readers how it was done.51 But double-exposure (as well
as multiple-exposure), as an imported technique, had become prevalent
in Chinese photography as early as in the 1920s. A picture employing this
technique to present the same person twice (or more times) in often differ-
ent poses was commonly called a “two-self picture” (er wo tu), a “separate
body photograph” (fenshen xiang), or, when one kneels before oneself, a
“self-begging picture” (qiu ji tu). In 1924, this photographic genre was
annoyingly cliché enough that the famous writer Lu Xun wrote an essay
satirizing it.52 In 1933, Dong Keyi, known for his trick cinematography,
used this special effect in the film Twin Sisters (Zimei hua, with Hu Die as
twin sisters). The indelible impression Twin Sisters left on Yan Jizhou, who
134 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

Figure 5.1 Protagonists of Two Good Brothers, Erhu (left) and Dahu (right), are
played by the same actor Zhang Liang

watched it at a young age in Shanghai, made him bring back the special
effect to Chinese cinema when he was encouraged to “innovate.”53
Likewise, during this period, the call apparently for artistic “innova-
tions” largely pushed filmmakers to revive pre-PRC artistic legacies and
borrow ideas from foreign cinemas, essentially to “learn from the cap-
italists.” Qu Baiyin’s “A Monologue on Film Innovation,” published in
June 1962, epitomized this discursive turn.54 The article followed Zhou
Yang’s talk, delivered in February 1961,55 to urge film artists to depart
from “clichés.” It repeated many points that had been raised in 1956 by
the Rightists, including Shi Hui, whom Qu himself had attacked in furi-
ous language.56 Repeating clichés, wrote Qu, had been the artists’ only
choice under political restrictions on film subject, structure, content, and
style.57 To make artistic innovations beyond the cliché-ridden PRC cinema,
they needed to learn from “achievements of the predecessors,” including
those of Shanghai progressive cinema, Chinese traditional performing arts,
and foreign classic films. In the capacity of associate head of the Shanghai
Film Bureau, Qu organized a series of forums to discuss how to innovate
and inherit, particularly inviting veteran Shanghai filmmakers and former
private studio managers to attend.58 In September 1961, the Association
 FROM DISASTER TO LAUGHTER 135

of Chinese Film Artists decided to publish The History of the Develop-

ment of Chinese Cinema,59 the PRC’s first book on Republican-era Chinese
film history.60 The two-volume book, completed in 1962 and published
in February 1963, included painstaking research on Shanghai progressive
cinema. It highlighted selected Shanghai filmmakers as part of the suppos-
edly CCP-led anti-imperialist, anti-feudal, and anti-KMT cultural force,
partially fulfilling the wish of those who called for a re-evaluation of the
Shanghai legacy in 1956.61 In the meantime, a wave of articles discussing
the achievements of Chinese traditional performing arts and foreign films
appeared in film journals, serving as references for the PRC filmmakers to
“innovate.”62
Another reference to help make PRC films commercially appealing was
less pronounced in the CCP’s documents and the press, but it entailed
a change more conspicuous to common moviegoers. The star culture,
eliminated in the beginning years of revolutionary cinema, was reborn
in China. Chapter 1 has discussed how Republican-era movie stars, such
as Huang Zongying and Zhao Dan, vowed to transition to “art soldiers”
in the nascent PRC. By late 1951, official use of the Chinese word “star”
(mingxing) had completed its quick and dramatic transformation from
ubiquitous to marginal and from positive to negative.63 In most cases after
this change,64 as Xiaoning Lu and Krista Van Fleit Hang point out, the word
“carried a spectrum of negative connotations: corrupted lifestyles, lofti-
ness, individualism and liberalism,” and for these “capitalist connotations,”
it was replaced by “film workers” (dianying gongzuozhe), an appellation
that “demonstrates a particular socialist ethnic—to work is glorious.”65
But scholars, including Lu and Hang in their research of stardom in the
1962 film Li Shuangshuang, often neglect that the Second Hundred Flowers
Period was considerably exceptional to this general situation. This excep-
tion was partially a consequence of a continuously positive (albeit largely
colloquial) use of the word “star” from around 1950 all the way to 1961.
During those years, Chinese movie theaters always hung large-sized pic-
tures of Soviet actors. Many Chinese, including Zhou Enlai, often referred
to them as “pictures of the Soviet stars.” In a conversation with high-level
cultural authorities at the Xinqiao Conference, Zhou Enlai asked to replace
the pictures, 22 at the time, with those of “our own stars.”66 This decision
openly moved China a step further away from the Soviet Union. At the
same time, it tacitly indicated a willingness to learn another business tip
from the capitalist world, in which star power is often exploited to market
films. Zhou Yang’s talk at the conference, following Zhou Enlai, expressed
the latter purpose more explicitly, “We [ . . . ] still need stars. [ . . . ] [In for-
eign countries] crazy movie fans must go watch films featuring certain
actors. [We] should [also] cultivate such strongly attractive actors.”67 In
136 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

April 1962, pictures of 22 Chinese actors, commonly referred to as the

“22 Big Stars of New China,” replaced those of the Soviet stars in movie
theaters. The sales volume of pocket-size copies of the same pictures man-
ifested their star power; the Beijing Fine Arts Company alone sold 714,638
copies within just six months.68
This revival of star culture came with some restrictions. Before advo-
cating for the cultivation of Chinese stars, Zhou Yang briefly spoke out
against what he called “star-ism” (mingxing zhuyi). The term is ambigu-
ous, but the discursive purpose of his warning was clear: production and
promotion of movie stars must be fully controlled by the state. Although
popularity was likely an important standard of consideration, the selec-
tion of the 22 stars was a top-down decision. The decision-making was so
opaque that, when the 22 actors were told to take portrait pictures, many of
them were not even aware of the purpose. No official promotion of the 22
stars was seen in the press. Positive use of the word “star” remained largely
colloquial.69
Compared to the 22 stars, the annual Hundred Flowers Film Awards
were a more transparent change. The Association of Chinese Film Artists
and the Mass Cinema magazine established these awards in October 1961
and presented them for the first time in May 1962. They were the PRC’s
first national film awards selected by an audience poll.70 Although ballots
were only available in the Mass Cinema magazine, the contest still attracted
nearly 120,000 votes.71 By stimulating interest in comparing and evaluating
films, this event helped movie theaters attract a bigger audience.
The very naming of these awards suggested the on-going political
change. Some proposed to name them Worker/Peasant/Soldier Awards.72
But this politically restricted concept, which Zhong Dianfei had criti-
cized in the Hundred Flowers Campaign for being “obviously dogmatic
and sectarian,”73 would not have fit the political atmosphere of the Sec-
ond Hundred Flowers Period. Nor would it have helped the commercial
angle. The unanimous final decision to name them the Hundred Flow-
ers Awards worked in concert with the CCP’s renewed expectation of
artistic diversity, which cultural authorities repeatedly stressed along with
innovation.74
The promotion of artistic diversity also revived comedy, the politically
troubled genre. In November 1960, Qu Baiyin organized a comedy forum
at the Shanghai Studio.75 From November 1960 to December 1961, the
Wenhui Daily and Film Art (Dianying yishu, formerly Chinese Cinema),
among other newspapers and journals, solicited a wave of articles dis-
cussing comedy. In February 1961, Zhou Yang urged for more comedies
in a talk on film innovation and diversity, “Everyone is tired and strained.
[We all] need relaxation.”76 Indeed, comedies made following this call reg-
ularly elicited laughter from audiences, relaxing their minds at a difficult
 FROM DISASTER TO LAUGHTER 137

time. For the filmmakers, however, these comedies came with stressing
challenges that compelled them to perform a careful balancing act on a
political highwire.

Comedies as Highwire Acts

In August 1962, Film Art published scriptwriter Zheng Hong’s open letter
congratulating Yan Jizhou for the success of his Two Good Brothers, a sol-
dier subject comedy produced by the PLA’s August First Studio. The letter
expressed Zheng’s ambivalence toward comedy:

I love the genre of comedy, but I am also a bit “afraid” of it. [ . . . ] I am afraid
of [ . . . ] the difficulties in dealing with contradictions among the people.
If [a comedy] sharpens the contradictions, it tends to distort its criticized
characters and cause negative side effects. If it handles them gently, it tends
to blunt the contradictions and result in a “lack of drama.” The audience will
not want to watch it, nor will the actors want to play in it.77

Political struggles against satirical comedies were obviously the cause of

Zheng’s dilemma. Government attitudes toward film in the PRC at this
time supported Robertson Davies’ statement that “[c]ountries that are
not always sure of their own identity are understandably suspicious of
satirists.”78 The Maoist campaigns, which constantly altered foreign and
domestic policies, blurred not only the identity of the country, but also
the connotation and extension of key terms of its ruling ideology, such as
“the people.” “Contradictions among the people,” a Maoist concept taking
shape in a series of talks and documents in 1956, originally served the pur-
pose of uniting the majority during the Hundred Flowers Campaign. In his
talk which formally put forth this concept in February 1957, Mao defined
“the people” as all those who “favor, support and work for” socialism,
extending the category broadly enough to include striking workers, rioting
peasants, and students boycotting classes. Contradictions among all those
who met this apparently lenient standard, Mao emphasized, should only be
settled “by the democratic method [ . . . ] and not by the method of coer-
cion or repression.”79 Encouraged by such promises, filmmakers practiced
their democratic rights as members of “the people” by engaging in satiri-
cal critiques in their comedies. In cases like Lü Ban’s comedies, the satirical
edge was sharp enough to ridicule bureaucrats and the CCP’s parlance.
But the following Anti-Rightist Campaign soon suppressed the satirists as
the enemy of “the people,” which became a much more restrictive concept
to protect against any potential threat to the CCP’s authority. A charge
frequently used against these satirists was precisely, in Chen Huangmei’s
words, “distorting the image and the life of the laboring people.” The
138 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

“distortion,” Chen pronounced the CCP’s judgment, aimed “to attack the
new society and oppose the leadership of the Party.”80
During the first retreat from the GLF in 1959, cultural authorities
began to advocate “lighthearted” comedies.81 Having experienced the Anti-
Rightist Campaign, filmmakers clearly understood the terrifying hazards
of satirical comedy. They created a new genre, dubbed “praising comedy”
(gesongxing xiju), to ensure political safety. The earliest, and strictly speak-
ing the only two “praising comedies,” are Today is My Day Off (Jintian
wo xiuxi, 1959) and Five Golden Flowers (Wu duo jinhua, 1959). As sum-
marized in a forum in April 1960, the two films “do not have a single
negative character” and “do not use satire at all.”82 Their effects of light
comedy exclusively rely on coincidences and innocent misunderstandings.
A male character’s name Ailan, for example, causes such misunderstand-
ings in Today is My Day Off because its common interpretation, “to love
(ai) orchids (lanhua),” makes it sound like a female name. It turns out that
the character changes his original name to Ailan in order to express his
love of Lanzhou, the city where he works, although it is far from and sig-
nificantly inferior, in living conditions, to his hometown Shanghai. This
misunderstanding was intended to elicit some smiles from the audience,
while its clarification preached to them to work wholeheartedly wherever
the country needs them. The name Jinhua (Golden Flower) in Five Golden
Flowers served the same two functions. Confusingly shared by five charac-
ters, it causes a series of misunderstandings at the center of the comedy’s
plot. What remains clear throughout the story, however, is that all these
“Golden Flowers” devote themselves to socialist construction. Light come-
dies of this kind were acclaimed for “using laughter as a way to affirm and
praise” and marking a “fundamentally revolutionary” departure from “the
old comedies in the past, which could only use satire to expose and criticize
the ugliness of old things and old people.”83
Despite such compliments, no more comedies were produced in 1960
and 1961. The Anti-Rightist-Deviation Campaign intensified the political
atmosphere once again and discouraged filmmakers from experimenting
further with this risky genre. Third Sister Liu (Liu sanjie, 1961) epitomized
their caution. Its eponymous protagonist is a Tang dynasty (618–907) folk
singer whose legend is well known throughout today’s southern China. In
1959, a Guangxi caidiao opera featuring her attracted strong political and
popular acclaim and initiated a great wave of stage and film adaptations.84
The opera’s political correctness was multi-fold. By claiming Third Sis-
ter Liu as a character in the Zhuang ethnic group’s folklore, the opera
propagated the PRC’s official recognition of the Zhuang nationality and
celebrated the recent establishment of the Guangxi Zhuang autonomous
region.85 The opera followed The White-Haired Girl, a revolutionary classic
 FROM DISASTER TO LAUGHTER 139

on stage and the silver screen, by positioning its poor peasant heroine
against a tyrant landlord who attempts to marry her by force. But it
took a significant step further in Revolutionary Romanticism: While the
white-haired girl is victimized by the landlord before turning revolution-
ary, Third Sister Liu prevails over the landlord throughout the story. The
opera also echoed the CCP’s efforts in “collecting and organizing” tradi-
tional folk songs, a task especially emphasized since the New Folk Poetry
Campaign.86 The purpose of such “collection and organization,” (in fact,
with a great deal of revision and creation) was to construct an imagined,
revolutionary folk song legacy. The opera particularly visualized this imag-
ination in a singing competition scene, in which Third Sister Liu leads
the peasants to ridicule the landlord and his hangers-on with her impro-
vised folk songs.87 But such apparently perfect political correctness did not
satisfy the opera’s adapters, who sought additional safety measures dur-
ing the Anti-Rightist-Deviation Campaign. They were mainly concerned
with the scene of the singing competition. Liu’s witty songs made the
scene popular, but could also be problematic for producing too much
comedic effect. The original purpose of the competition—deciding if Liu
should accept the landlord’s marriage proposal—also did not appear revo-
lutionary and serious enough. In the 1960 musical version that was staged
in front of Mao and other CCP leaders, Liu enters the competition not
only to wittily protect her individual happiness, but also to fight for the
peasants’ rights of harvesting on a tea hill that the landlord claims to be
his.88 The 1961 film completely removed the marriage proposal, repre-
senting the competition as a struggle solely for collective interest of the
oppressed class. In December 1961, a critic regretfully pointed out that the
film turned the singing competition into an indignant “[CCP] organized
land reform struggle” and failed to tap into its comedic potentials.89 More
criticism of the unconvincing “modernization” of the legend appeared in
1962.90
As reflected in such criticism, excessive political escalation at the
expense of entertainment value became unwelcome during the Sec-
ond Hundred Flowers Period. CCP authorities once again called for
“lighthearted” comedies. Filmmakers, however, shared the ambivalence
expressed in the above-quoted article by Zheng Hong. On the one hand,
they needed to avoid satirical comedy that could incur political trouble. On
the other hand, they clearly saw the artistic awkwardness of the “praising
comedy” style, which was crippled by being confined to political authority
and social norms. Today is My Day Off, for example, shunned exploring
the transgressive comedic potential of the gender-misleading name and
cracked no jokes on gender norms. Less than 30 seconds after Ailan intro-
duces himself to a confused policeman, the film shifts focus to his nearly
140 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

tearful gratitude toward the policeman, who helps him find a lost wallet.
Five minutes later, Ailan begins to explain his love of Lanzhou, turning
the name into an embodiment of political correctness and seriousness.
Without transgressions, praising comedies relied on the overuse of coin-
cidences and innocent misunderstandings to generate comedic effects. As
soon as this comedy genre emerged, some of the coincidences and mis-
understandings were criticized for being excessive, unconvincing, and not
funny.91 After the turn to the Eight-Character Policy, the very concept of
praising comedy began to be challenged for its “narrowness.” Some critics
argued that filmmakers should use much more diverse comedic tech-
niques, including “well-intentioned” satire, rather than just coincidence
and misunderstanding.92
Facing this dilemma, filmmakers created a third kind of comedy in
revolutionary cinema. The new genre featured stories about how posi-
tive characters overcame their shortcomings in socialist construction. Like
praising comedy, it had no negative characters and idealized PRC society.
At the same time, however, it transgressed political and social norms in a
variety of comedic ways.
Yan Jizhou’s Two Good Brothers, which Zheng Hong praised for being
“adequately dramatic without distorting its characters,”93 is an example of
the new comedic style. The film is an adaptation of a six-act light-comedy
play entitled I Am a Soldier (Wo shi yige bing), which was premiered at the
end of 1961.94 Both the play and the film represent the PLA as a caring
and educating big family through a story about how a pair of twin-brother
recruits, especially the mischievous, younger one, Erhu, grow into model
soldiers. Departing from the original light comedy, however, Yan wanted
the film to be a “comedy with slapstick flavor.” For this purpose, he changed
the title into the much less serious “two good brothers,” a phrase com-
monly used in Chinese drinking games.95 He cast Zhang Liang, the leading
actor of Guo Wei’s Dong Cunrui (discussed in Chapter 2), as the twin
brothers after having seen Zhang’s potential for slapstick in Dong Cunrui.96
Yan also created a number of transgressive slapstick vignettes for the film
adaptation.
In one such vignette, Erhu is not satisfied with the rifle that the army
distributes to him, thinking that it is too plain-looking. The film turns his
verbal objection in the play into hilarious actions. Taking advantage of their
similar appearance, Erhu sneaks into his twin brother Dahu’s squad and
steals Dahu’s submachine gun, which is a similar model to one held by an
awe-inspiring PLA soldier in his favorite poster. A point-of-view (POV)
shot of Erhu then shows his ludicrous poses with the submachine gun in a
mirror, which also reflects the poster that he awkwardly attempts to mimic
(Figure 5.2).
 FROM DISASTER TO LAUGHTER 141

Figure 5.2 Erhu awkwardly poses in front of a mirror, which also reflects the
poster of the model soldier whom he attempts to mimic

To use the Altmanian terms that the introduction chapter has discussed,
this POV shot epitomizes two important forks of the comedy’s generic
crossroads. Each fork provided the 1962 audience with a distinct comedic
pleasure of transgression. They could take one fork by siding with the
model soldier in the poster, or the other, following the perspective of the
troublemaker Erhu.
Siding with the political authority embodied in the poster, the audience
would see the shot as a so-called “well-intentioned” satire at Erhu. Crit-
icizing Erhu’s vanity and indiscipline, the satire apparently only affirmed
the political correctness at the time. Tacitly, however, it transgressed long-
existing norms to represent PLA soldiers. As the revolutionary and heroic
characters at the center of the worker/peasant/soldier cinema, PLA soldiers
had never been the subject of any comedy film before Two Good Brothers.97
They were occasionally portrayed in a lightly comedic way, but only in
vignettes supporting the dramatic effects of often tear-jerking melodramas
and war epics. As seen in the case of Platoon Commander Guan, even such
vignettes risked being attacked for “distorting” the image of the soldiers.
Until Two Good Brothers, it had been unimaginable for any soldier charac-
ter, in the PLA uniform, to act clownishly as the target of however mild a
142 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

satire on the silver screen. The shot in this sense made a taboo joke, which
nevertheless appeared adequately excused and inoffensive in the relaxed
political atmosphere of 1962.
The POV shot also made the perspective of Erhu, who cannot see disci-
plinary and hierarchical boundaries, inviting to the 1962 audience. Only
by embracing Erhu’s undisciplined perspective could the audience fully
enjoy his pranks against the behavior code, which, as a manifestation of
the state power, regulated not only the soldiers in the film but also each
and every member of the audience. When taking this fork, the audience
would probably find that Erhu’s most titillating transgression was not act-
ing clownishly in the army uniform but daring to disobey the authority’s
order and secretively enjoy what he truly wants.
The film titillated the audience to take the latter fork by diluting the
seriousness of political authority through Erhu’s POV shots. The shots
can reveal Erhu’s unrestricted imagination, such as one that turns the
awe-inspiring soldier in the poster into a smiling young fellow childishly
flaunting his submachine gun (Figure 5.3).
They can also reflect Erhu’s physical transgressions beyond the
disciplinary limits. In one slapstick vignette created for the film, for

Figure 5.3 In a POV shot of Erhu, the model soldier changes from an awe-
inspiring figure into a smiling young fellow childishly flaunting his submachine gun
 FROM DISASTER TO LAUGHTER 143

Figure 5.4 In a POV shot of Erhu, his squad leader appears upside-down

example, Erhu breaks the army’s nap time rules, sneaks out of his dorm
room, and climbs a tree to get bird eggs for fun.98 On the tree, Erhu catches
sight of his squad leader, who hurries out of the dorm to search for him.
As Erhu shifts position, his POV turns the squad leader, an enforcer of the
discipline, hilariously upside-down (Figure 5.4).
Yan must have thought that such “upside-down,” transgressive, and
even slightly subversive spectacles, rather than the norms, were what most
audiences truly wanted to see. He discarded the last two acts of the play,
which detail Erhu’s efforts in becoming a model soldier and his applica-
tion for CCP membership. As a result, Two Good Brothers presents Erhu’s
“improvements” perfunctorily, ending just one minute after he stops being
the funny troublemaker.
But the 1962 audience must succumb to the titillation secretively or
subconsciously. And the film must keep its apparent focus on how the
revolutionary education “corrects” Erhu and pushes him to emulate the
convenient model, his well-behaved twin brother. It frequently entertained
the audience with Erhu’s pranks, but each time allowed them to revel
with Erhu only briefly before the lecturing authorities resumed control.
This apparent focus may appear boring to a present-day viewer. In 1962,
however, it was integral to the audience’s enjoyment of the comedy as a
144 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

safeguard against political risks. The comedy could only elicit laughter
from a split subjectivity, in which the audience straddled the transgres-
sions, which made them feel amused enough to laugh, and the norms,
which made them feel safe enough to laugh.
The filmmakers who produced the comedy also experienced such a
split subjectivity. Erhu, as an undisciplined yet loyal soldier, was almost
a metaphorical self-portrait of Yan Jizhou and Zhang Liang. Working as
artists in the military system, they both used to be primary targets of the
CCP and the PLA’s disciplinary actions. Yan was a veteran CCP member
who frequently encountered political troubles. Before the establishment
of the PRC, the CCP had briefly expelled him twice and given him one
inner-Party warning. Films he made in the PRC often caused political con-
troversies, especially The Coldness Before Dawn (Wugeng han, 1957) and
The Intrepid Hero (Yingxiong hudan, 1958). For defending Peng Dehuai
after the Lushan Conference, he was expelled from the CCP for the third
time and sent as a soldier to the front to fight the Tibetan Chushi Gangdruk
Volunteer Force.99 Zhang participated in the criticism of the army’s bureau-
cratic leadership of artistic work during the Hundred Flowers Campaign.
He also defended Guo Wei, who had initiated his film career, during
the Anti-Rightist Campaign. Consequently, the People’s Daily published a
long-winded attack on Zhang in April 1958.100 The CCP placed him on a
two-year (later extended to three-year) probation within the party, and the
army demoted him to the lowest rank for re-education.101 Both Yan and
Zhang had just been rehabilitated when making Two Good Brothers thanks
to the changes of the Second Hundred Flowers Period. The comedic trans-
gressions probably served as a cathartic release of the artists’ grievances
about their ostracism, but they were by no means defiant. Desiring to make
the film but worrying about the political risks, they tested the water by
adapting the film script back to a play and performing it for the public and
the army. Only after the play received highly positive evaluations did they
begin producing the film.102
Around 1962, comedy filmmakers all tiptoed the fine line as seen in the
case of Two Good Brothers. Empowered by the new political changes, they
made hilariously transgressive slapsticks, taboo jokes, and satires. At the
same time, they cautiously framed the comedic transgressions within sto-
ries adhering to the norms. Big Li, Little Li, and Old Li, for example, went
as far as to cast a clown actor of the huaji comedy (a theatrical genre
originated from a combination of Shanghai area, traditional operas, and
Western drama in Republican China) as Old Li, the head of a state-owned
slaughter factory workshop and the highest-level bureaucratic authority
in the film. In one slapstick scene, the skinny Old Li and his overweight
assistant are accidentally locked in cold storage, where they hide to avoid
 FROM DISASTER TO LAUGHTER 145

participating in work-break exercises. The two are forced to move and

jump wildly to keep themselves a little warmer, or a little more active, than
the frozen pigs hung around them. The scene bears striking resemblance
to, and in terms of comedic transgression is even bolder than, Lü Ban’s
satire of bureaucrats in The Unfinished Comedies (discussed in Chapter 3),
which features the skinny Han Lan’gen and the overweight Yin Xiucen.
But its political criticism is not nearly as strong. The film characterizes
Old Li as an excellent leader with only one minor shortcoming to be cor-
rected: he neglects the work of mass physical education and hates physical
exercises. His son, Little Li, happens to be the most active advocator of
physical education in the factory and the one who unintentionally locks
him in the cold storage. Like Two Good Brothers, Big Li, Little Li, and Old
Li frames its main dramatic contradictions within a “family.” Literally, it
is the Li family. Metaphorically, it stands for “big families” of factories,
the army, all other organizations and communities, and the entire socialist
society. Contradictions in such a “family” can all be solved happily with-
out any change of its power structure. The film, therefore, ends at the scene
in which Old Li enthusiastically practices tai chi with his colleagues. Hav-
ing completely changed his attitude toward physical education, he stays in
power as a perfect leader. This happy ending sharply contrasts with the way
Lü Ban ends his comedies. Before the New Bureau Chief Arrives (discussed
in Chapter 3), for example, does not bother to give its satirized bureau-
crat, the chief of the general affairs, any chance to redeem himself. It ends
by declaring through the mouth of the new bureau chief that it is time for
the corrupt bureaucrat to end his performance and “step down from the
stage.”
Woman Barber reflects a direction in which the new comedy genre
would likely have developed had the Second Hundred Flowers Period lasted
long enough. The film is closer to, albeit still different from, the satiri-
cal comedies of the Hundred Flowers Period than all the other comedies
made in 1962. Its main dramatic contradictions are also framed within a
family, which is a small one of just a couple. Because of his male chauvin-
ism and contempt for workers in the service sector, the husband wants to
keep the wife at home doing housework and prevents her from working as
a barber. The film carefully notes that the husband, a low-level cadre in a
state-owned enterprise, used to be a business manager before the establish-
ment of the PRC. Its satire appears to target the cadre’s residual capitalist
thoughts instead of the bureaucracy he represents. Always speaking in the
CCP’s parlance about gender and professional equity, however, the cadre
acts in a similarly hypocritical manner as does the barber whom the third
short of The Unfinished Comedies uses as an allusion to CCP bureau-
crats. Moreover, the film does not fully resolve the contradiction within
146 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

the family. Toward the end, the myopic cadre is astonished to find that a
mask-wearing woman barber, whom he has just encouraged to fight her
husband for her right to work, is none other than his wife. His hypocrisy is
exposed in front of his and her colleagues. In everyone’s laughter, the cadre
dejectedly points at his distorted reflection in a dirty mirror and states
that “he” is the husband of the woman barber, as if this indirect acknowl-
edgment could somehow relieve his embarrassment. The film ends with a
close-up of the reflection, places the cadre on the border between positive
and negative characters, and shows nothing about if and how he corrects
his shortcomings. The last shot, while not as darkly sarcastic, is reminis-
cent of two comedies directed by Lü Ban. The first short of The Unfinished
Comedies shows similar reflections of the bureaucrat and his assistant in
distorting mirrors. Before the New Bureau Chief Arrives also ends with a
close-up of the crestfallen bureaucrat. Like the cadre in Woman Barber, he
is debunked as the true identity of another important character (the new
chief) is revealed.
Li Shuangshuang and Better and Better reflect another likely direction of
the comedies. In the revival of pre-PRC legacies, both films subtly drew on
China’s rich folk tradition of sexually charged performances to entertain
the audience. In his analysis of Li Shuangshuang, Chen Sihe points out that
the film based banters between the female protagonist and her husband
upon a popular mode of traditional folk performance, known as the “two-
person” mode. In this mode, a female character and a male clown engage in
a comedic and teasing dialogue and performance “to ease [the audiences’]
sexual starvation and repression.”103 Better and Better also borrowed this
“two-person” mode. It hilariously transgressed the taboo of sex in a dia-
logue on “this situation” between a male character and a female production
team leader, who have long felt mutual but unconfessed love. By “this situ-
ation,” the man means the woman’s approval for a collective construction
to use an electric generator that belongs to her team. But the woman has
been misled to believe that he comes to propose marriage. The man shows
a politically and morally perfect passion for the construction: he chases her
around, tries eagerly to talk to her eye to eye, and keeps saying that he can-
not sleep well for desiring “this situation” and that he often dreams about
“this situation.” To the shyly dodging woman and the knowing audience,
however, “this situation” can refer to both marriage and sex. “Two-person”
folk performances, most of which were deemed vulgar and “yellow,” were a
major target in the CCP’s attempt to purge “toxins” out of traditional cul-
ture. Both Hundred Flowers periods, however, saw banned “two-person”
folk performances, such as a yong opera Ma the Flaneur (Ma langdang)
and a Beijing opera A Distracting Talk (Shiba che), reappear in the name of
learning from tradition for innovation and diversity, at times with direct
 FROM DISASTER TO LAUGHTER 147

support from high-level authorities, such as Kang Sheng, a member of the

Central Politburo.104 Li Shuangshuang and Better and Better took advan-
tage of this change and increased their commercial appeal through sexually
charged comedic transgressions.
In addition to the entertaining stories and performances, star power also
significantly contributed to the popularity of the comedies made in 1962.
These comedies all featured stars, including the Big Stars of New China
(Wang Xin’gang in Two Good Brothers, Wang Danfeng in Woman Barber,
and Zhang Ruifang in Li Shuangshuang),105 former Shanghai private stu-
dio stars (Guan Hongda and Jiang Tianliu in Big Li, Little Li, and Old Li,
Cheng Zhi in The Adventures of a Magician, and the comedy star Han Fei
as protagonists in The Adventures of a Magician, Woman Barber, and Bet-
ter and Better),106 and huaji comedy stars (Fan Haha, Liu Xiasheng, and
Wen Binbin in Big Li, Little Li, and Old Li).107 Epitomizing the commercial
success of these comedies, Two Good Brothers made a net profit of more
than double its production cost and solved the August First Studio’s fiscal
crisis.108 In 1963, Two Good Brothers and Li Shuangshuang won five major
Hundred Flowers Awards, including Best Feature Film, Best Scriptwriter,
Best Male Actor, Best Female Actor, and Best Supporting Actor.109
Also in 1963, however, the political environment began to change again.
A new revolutionary cycle, the Cultural Revolution Period, was approach-
ing. Comedy production quickly waned. Three huaji comedy adaptations
yielded in this year, Satisfied or Not (Manyi bu manyi), Such Parents (Ruci
die’niang), and Seventy-Two Tenants (Qishier jia fangke), marked the end
of comedy genre in revolutionary cinema. During the Cultural Revolution
Period, comedies were unable to remain balanced on the political highwire
and became Poisonous Weeds. In 1966, Jiang Qing particularly condemned
Two Good Brothers as “filled with vulgar interests.”110 Yan Jizhou was
deemed a “counterrevolutionary element” and tortured in struggle ses-
sions. But he found one thing rather amusing. The sessions regularly
screened his Poisonous Weed films as targets of mass criticism, but never
showed Two Good Brothers. He later learned about the reason: the film was
considered too funny for a struggle session.111 In other words, the “vulgar”
transgressions would have elicited laughter, soundly defeating the attempt
to direct hatred toward the film and its creators. Most other Poisonous
Weed films, of course, did not have such comedic power to openly resist
the attack on them. But the audiences’ honest reactions to these films, as
discussed in the next chapter, were equally uncontrollable.
 6

From Conflicting Authorities

to Diverse Masses: Early Spring
in February (1964) as
“Sugarcoated Poison”

M ao’s gestured withdrawal to “the second line” in February 1962 did

not relax the political environment for long. Those who wielded the
most power at “the first line,” including Liu Shaoqi, Zhou Enlai, and Deng
Xiaoping (the Secretary General of the Secretariat of the CCP’s Central
Committee at the time) were cautious in changing past policies. They did
not forget to solicit Mao’s approval when making important decisions, but
their attempts to remedy the economy, enliven the cultural atmosphere,
and adjust foreign relations still implicitly challenged the correctness of a
series of policies Mao had set up since 1958. Just six months into his par-
tial abdication, Mao ran out of patience with such challenges. In August, he
made a sharp comeback at a work conference of the CCP’s Central Com-
mittee held in Beidaihe, initiating a political storm in the scenery beach
resort area reserved for high-level officials and state-recognized figures.1
The chairman shifted his position once again to urgently stop what he
called three kinds of “wind.” The first, the “wind of individual farming”
(dan’gan feng), referred to a controversial experiment that had regained
momentum in his absence: assigning responsibility for agricultural pro-
duction to peasant households and giving them economic incentives for
efficient production. Deng Zihui, who represented those in favor of the
experiment, argued that the CCP needed to adopt the responsibility system
to rescue the post-GLF rural economy.2 Mao, however, saw the system as a
dangerous capitalist retrogression against agricultural collectivization. He
excoriated Deng and once again condemned his “bourgeois [ . . . ] position”
150 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

on agricultural collectivization in the 1950s.3 More alarming than the long-

term nuisance of Deng’s position, Mao was concerned that the major first
line leaders were all moving toward a position in support of Deng. To
Mao, such a tendency would lead the CCP to “take the capitalist road” and
become the KMT or the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, deemed
the “revisionist” traitor of Marxism at the time. The second wind was
the trend to remove Rightist “caps” and rehabilitate Rightist Deviationists.
This trend was so strong that it even spurred Peng Dehuai to write a long
apologia requesting rehabilitation in June.4 Peng’s letter indicated to Mao
that too many “correct verdicts” had been “reversed” (fan’an). The third
“wind of darkness” (heian feng) also deeply disturbed Mao: he believed
that the first line leaders overstated the problems of the post-GLF economy
and caused despair among CCP cadres.
At the Beidaihe conference and the following Tenth Plenum of the
Eighth CCP’s Central Committee, Mao warned his colleagues that the
bourgeoisie still existed as a class in socialist states and would pose a threat
to socialism for a long time. He stressed that the socialist revolution must
routinely wage class struggles “for ten thousand years” against the threat.5
He smashed the hopes of intellectuals and artists of ever escaping the bour-
geois label, remarking that bourgeois intellectuals might appear on the
revolutionary side but still possessed “evil spirits.” He also made it clear that
the 10,000 years of class struggle would be waged against far beyond just
intellectuals and artists, asserting that there were a great number of utterly
“bad” or politically dubious CCP members, whose existence within the
Party indicated that the revolution had “not yet [been] thorough” enough.6
Soon after these two meetings, the Socialist Education Campaign began.
It initially aimed at local level CCP cadres deemed reactionary, revision-
ist, corrupt, or overly bureaucratic, but would soon prepare the mills of a
“thorough” revolution to grind officials of all levels.
This signal was ominous to many CCP authorities. During previous
campaigns, they had caused or contributed to the dramatic political down-
falls of many who had previously been in power, so they had no difficulty
in seeing their own vulnerability in this new wave of more radical cam-
paigns. Many of them passively resisted this turn and subtly maneuvered
to keep the political atmosphere relaxed. In 1962 and 1963, contradic-
tions among CCP authorities reached an unprecedented level. The cultural
sphere reflected these contradictions through conflicting policy signals on
literature and art.
In 1964, Mao’s repeated interventions eliminated this passive resistance
and completely ended the Second Hundred Flowers Period. In the distur-
bance of bringing down cultural authorities and condemning Poisonous
Weed films and plays, a new revolutionary cycle, the Cultural Revolution
 FROM CONFLICTING AUTHORITIES TO DIVERSE MASSES 151

Period, began in film and theater circles. Rather than simply banning the
Poisonous Weed films, authorities widely distributed them with the expec-
tation of performing mass criticisms. The masses, however, attended the
viewing sessions for diverse purposes and watched the films in various
ways, often to the dismay of the authorities.
As a nationwide expansion of what had been taking place in the film
circle, the GPCR began in May 1966. It marked the highest climax of the
revolutionary cycles in the PRC. The campaign prompted an unmatched
level of mass participation, brought down an unprecedented number of
CCP authorities, and overthrew the political and cultural establishment
of the PRC to a degree that had never been reached before. In this cli-
max, the revolution devoured its own cinema, turning most PRC films into
Poisonous Weeds. Politically ruined films, however, did not disappear yet.
As their predecessors, many of the “poisonous” films continued acquiring
new meanings, thanks to their wide circulation “for criticism” among the
diverse masses.
This chapter focuses on the case of Early Spring in February to demon-
strate how authorities’ interventions and mass participation complicated
the meanings of a major Poisonous Weed film. The first section offers a
historical review of high-level conflicts from the Second Hundred Flow-
ers Period to the beginning of the Cultural Revolution Period. The second
section analyzes how these conflicts shaped the checkered career of Early
Spring in February. The third section reveals how this seemingly doomed
Poisonous Weed, which was furiously attacked in the press, ironically
gained its popularity thanks to the mass campaign conducted against it.

Authorities and Conflicts

On April 30, 1962, after nine months of revision, the CCP’s Central Com-
mittee approved “Opinions Concerning Current Work in Literature and
Art of the Ministry of Propaganda.” The approved version was signifi-
cantly different from the original draft, which had been dubbed the Ten
Articles on Work in Literature and Art. The ten articles became eight.
Gone were the two articles that, as discussed in Chapter 5, had stressed
the boundary between political and artistic issues and called for “works
with little political content but offering wisdom of life and aesthetic enjoy-
ment.” The approved draft included new emphasis on the fight against
Poisonous Weeds. Part of its statement of the function of literature and
art also changed from “enriching the people’s cultural life and satisfying
their diverse needs” to “striking at the enemy and wiping them out.”7
The approved version epitomized the cautiousness of the CCP’s Central
Committee in changing past policies during Mao’s absence. It was an early
152 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

example of the conflicting policy signals on literature and art during the
Second Hundred Flowers Period.
The conflicts became increasingly clear after Mao stormed back to the
first line. At roughly the same time as the Beidaihe conference in August,
the Chinese Writers’ Union held a forum on writing short stories on rural
subjects in Dalian. Unaware of the changes in Beidaihe, Zhou Yang praised
Zhao Shuli’s views on agricultural collectivization and revoked the criti-
cism against him.8 He also claimed that it was not necessary to mention
the CCP’s leadership in every story, encouraging writers to write more
diversely and bravely about their true observations. Zhou’s talk reflected
the forum’s emphasis on writing truthfully and less restrictively as opposed
to the boastful GLF-style romanticism.9 Only a month later, Mao warned
that there were “novels written for anti-Party purposes,” initiating an attack
on the novel Liu Zhidan, which Zhou had just praised at the Dalian
forum.10 In December, Mao expressed his dissatisfaction that traditional
stories of “emperors, ministers, talents, and beauties” dominated the opera
stage. He stressed that on the stage “the East Wind” must prevail over “the
West Wind,” two metaphors he had used since 1957 for revolutionary and
reactionary forces, respectively.11 Among his audience, the most powerful
member was the Shanghai and Eastern China Regional First Secretary, Ke
Qingshi. On January 4, 1963, Ke developed Mao’s idea into an advocacy of
“writing prolifically on the 13 years” from 1949, the year of the establish-
ment of the PRC, claiming that he would not watch any play or film set
during pre-PRC periods.
In this strong “East Wind,” one major traditional opera genre, ghost
plays, soon fell under attack. On March 29, 1963, the CCP’s Central Com-
mittee approved the Ministry of Culture’s report requesting a ban on
ghost plays. The report particularly condemned a kun opera Li Huiniang,
scripted by Meng Chao, and an essay “Some Ghosts are Harmless,” writ-
ten by Liao Mosha.12 A 1961 adaptation of one plot thread of a Ming
dynasty opera, Li Huiniang featured an eponymous ghost heroine who
seeks vengeance from her murderer, a treacherous and despotic high offi-
cial. It received high acclaim from both CCP authorities and common
audiences after its premiere in August 1961. Despite the CCP’s long-term
anti-superstition rhetoric, the opera’s form as a ghost play was not a prob-
lem at this early point of the Second Hundred Flowers Period. Liao’s
essay, published on August 30, particularly argued that lauding “a good
ghost” like Li Huiniang was politically correct, because she “represents the
oppressed” and “encourages resistance against oppression.”13 Liao thought
he could base his argument on Mao’s statement that the CCP did not need
to forbid “ghosts and monsters” (niugui sheshen, a Buddhist term partic-
ularly referring to ox-headed demons and serpent gods) on the stage.14
 FROM CONFLICTING AUTHORITIES TO DIVERSE MASSES 153

When making that statement toward the end of the Hundred Flowers Cam-
paign, however, Mao did not say that “ghosts and monsters” could be
“good.” He only meant that the CCP should be somewhat more patient
before moving to wipe them out, as well as all the “perverse and ugly
phenomena” and “erroneous ideas” on and off the stage, because “a little
of [each] helps people learn to struggle against them better.”15 As during
the Hundred Flowers Period, even this level of patience ran out quickly
during the Second Hundred Flowers Period. In May 1963, Ke Qingshi
and Jiang Qing organized in the press a wave of furious attack on Li
Huiniang and “Some Ghosts are Harmless.”16 This attack marked Jiang’s
return to the political stage after her long absence since 1954. It also
ignited the disturbance that would terminate the Second Hundred Flowers
Period.
One authority, Kang Sheng, was particularly adept in riding the turbu-
lence. An advocate of political relaxation at the beginning of the Second
Hundred Flowers Period, he swiftly changed his position and brought
Mao’s attention to the “anti-Party” novel, Liu Zhidan, in September 1962.17
He joined Ke and Jiang in leading the attack on Li Huiniang, which he
himself had helped revise and enthusiastically recommended to high-level
officials.18 In September 1963, Kang charged the film Turbulent Waves of the
Red River (Honghe jilang, 1963) of being a cinematic “variation of the novel
Liu Zhidan,” although the novel and the film were in fact not related to each
other.19 Turbulent Waves of the Red River became a Poisonous Weed that
served as a prelude to the massive attack on films during the approaching
Cultural Revolution Period.
Kang was by no means an exception among high-level CCP authorities
for reversing his political stance to follow changing campaign politics. In
1962 and 1963, however, most of the authorities did not make their U-turn
quite as quickly. To them, this round of policy turn was too ominous to fol-
low, especially with Ke and Jiang’s political ascension. Rivalry between Ke
and Zhou Enlai, for example, had existed for a long time. At the Nanning
conference in January 1958, Mao furiously criticized Zhou’s opposition to
“impetuous advance,” questioning why he could not match Ke in his sup-
port of the GLF. Sensing that Mao had the intention to replace him with
Ke, Zhou performed a long self-criticism at a major conference in May. His
position as Prime Minister was in question until a collective decision of the
Secretariat of the CCP’s Central Committee, of which Deng Xiaoping was
in charge, saved him in June.20 But the decision probably added to Mao’s
dislike of the political environment in Beijing and his clear preference for
Shanghai, where Ke was in charge.21 In 1962, Ke opposed distribution of
Zhou and Chen Yi’s Guangzhou talks in Shanghai.22 In March 1963, he
ordered the Shanghai Studio to halt its production plan of Ji Hongchang,
154 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

which Zhou had particularly encouraged in January, because the film was
set in Republican China.23 Zhou was reportedly very angry at Ke.24
But no authorities, not even Zhou Enlai himself, engaged in any open
opposition to Ke and Jiang, who were clearly backed by Mao. They could
resist only subtly. For example, Zhou Enlai used Mao’s GLF rhetoric to
advocate that literature and art should “stress the present, not the past.”25
But he implicitly opposed Ke and even Mao’s radical move by emphasiz-
ing the Hundred Flowers policy throughout 1963. He tried to clarify to the
confused writers and artists, albeit probably to little avail, that good literary
and artistic works set during pre-PRC periods, including some traditional
operas featuring “emperors, ministers, talents, and beauties” or “ghosts
and monsters,” would actually contribute to the emphasis on the present.
In April 1963, Zhou Enlai expressed his disagreement with the all-out ban
on ghost plays at a work conference on literature and art, which was once
again held at the Xinqiao hotel. This Xinqiao conference also saw a major-
ity of high-level cultural bureaucrats, including Zhou Yang, express their
reservations about the slogan of “writing prolifically on the 13 years.”26 On
May 29, Zhou Yang remarked at a conference of feature film studio heads
that films should not be “all about intense class struggles,” and that “some
light-hearted films” were necessary as well.27 On the same day, authori-
ties, including Zhou Enlai, Chen Yi, and Xia Yan, gathered at the ceremony
announcing the 1963 Hundred Flowers Film Awards.28 Li Shuangshuang
and Two Good Brothers, two of the 1962 comedies epitomizing the pol-
icy turn of the Second Hundred Flowers Period, swept five major awards.
Two other awards went to Third Sister Liu, which was set during a pre-PRC
period. An opera film adaptation and an animation adaption of the clas-
sic novel Journey to the West, which was filled with ghosts and monsters,
won awards as well.29 In August, when speaking at a conference on work
of traditional opera, Zhou Yang tried to justify adaptations of Journey to
the West, among other works, as “deity plays.” Different from “ghost plays”
propagating “superstition,” according to Zhou Yang, “deity plays” featured
politically acceptable “myths.”30 This recategorization, which made little
sense and more likely caused confusion, was however the best compro-
mise Zhou Yang could reach: he wanted to express his reservations about
the all-out ban on ghost plays but could only do so obliquely via this
clumsy recategorization. From October to December, with the approval
of the Ministry of Culture, the China Film Archives organized an exhibi-
tion of “excellent films made in the 1930s.”31 A déjà vu of the re-releases
of Chinese progressive films during the Hundred Flowers Period, the exhi-
bition clearly conflicted with the slogan of “writing prolifically on the 13
years.”32
 FROM CONFLICTING AUTHORITIES TO DIVERSE MASSES 155

The resistance, however subtle, could not last long. In November 1963,
Mao further tightened the political atmosphere by condemning the jour-
nal Theater Gazette (Xiju bao) for “being filled with ghosts and monsters.”
He lashed out at the Ministry of Culture, claiming a readiness to rename
it “the Ministry of Emperors, Ministers, Talents, and Beauties,” among
other “dead people,” if its failure to oppose the “feudal and backward ele-
ments” continued.33 On December 12, he commented on Ke Qingshi’s
report on “the revolutionary reform of traditional opera and folk arts in
Shanghai:”34

Problems abound in all forms of art [ . . . ], and the people involved are
numerous; in many departments very little has been achieved so far in social-
ist transformation. The “dead” still dominate in many departments. [ . . . ]
Isn’t it absurd that many Communists are enthusiastic about promoting
feudal and capitalist art, but not socialist art?35

These two remarks led to a complete reversal of the Second Hundred Flow-
ers policy. One day after Mao made the remark quoted above, Ke initiated
a public attack on Qu Baiyin and his “A Monologue on Film Innovation.”36
He particularly condemned Qu for “stifling the 13 years by [promoting the
legacy of] the 30 years [from the May Fourth Movement to the establish-
ment of the PRC].”37 The progressive artistic legacy was now an enemy to
socialist art. From the end of 1963 to March 1964, the Ministry of Culture
consecutively convened seven meetings to “thoroughly examine the work
on culture and art in recent years.” A rectification campaign of the National
Federation of Literary and Art Circles began in March and lasted three
months.38 One of its results was an indefinite delay of the announcement of
the 1964 Hundred Flowers Film Awards, which would be eventually can-
celled in February 1965.39 The campaign did not assuage Mao. In June,
he charged “most” journals and “basically all” the authorities of the Fed-
eration of not following the CCP’s policy “during the 15 years” since the
establishment of the PRC.40 From July to November, he made a series of
similar accusations.41 At the same time, a much more radical rectification
campaign swept the entire cultural bureaucracy, bringing down a number
of cultural authorities. Zhou Yang, who had changed his political stance
just in time, was a major leader of the campaign, whereas Xia Yan and
Chen Huangmei were two of its major targets. The latter two became,
in the words of Chen’s “confession” made in January 1965, leaders of “a
complete, systematic, revisionist, anti-Party, and anti-socialist line” in the
cinema that had “stubbornly opposed the Party line and Chairman Mao’s
direction of literature and art for many years.”42
156 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

In the same month that Chen made this confession, the CCP’s Central
Committee issued a directive on the Socialist Education Campaign, which,
in Mao’s eyes, was developing problematically under the direct leadership
of Liu Shaoqi. Supervised by Mao, the directive changed the main target
of the campaign from local level authorities to “people who are in power
within the Party and take the capitalist road,” which would later be abbre-
viated to “capitalist roaders” (zouzipai).43 The directive also changed the
original top-down approach to the leadership of the campaign, claimed
that “capitalist roaders” and their supporters existed everywhere from the
masses to the CCP’s Central Committee, and urged a “bold and unre-
stricted mobilization of the masses” to expose, isolate, and fight them.44
Xia and Chen’s crime-ridden film work leadership qualified them to be two
of the first “capitalist roaders.”45 Correspondingly, workers, mid-level CCP
cadres, and artists in film studios were among the first to be mobilized. The
mobilization led to intense, free-for-all factional struggles.46
The upheaval in the film industry brought down a significant number of
state-level and studio-level authorities, attacking dozens of films, including
Nie Er and Big Li, Little Li, and Old Li, as Poisonous Weeds.47 Once again,
disturbance in the film industry foreshadowed what would happen nation-
wide. Beginning in May 1966, the GPCR turned all Chinese cities into fierce
and tangled battlefields.48 Liu Shaoqi, Zhou Yang, and many other author-
ities in charge of previous campaigns all fell from power and were tortured
as major “capitalist roaders” and “ghosts and monsters” in real life. Most
PRC-made films became Poisonous Weeds, or products of an “anti-Party
and anti-socialist black line” in literature and art.49
Early Spring in February was conceived, revised, produced, and dis-
tributed in all these dramatic changes. It was regarded as “the most
poisonous weed” and “ironclad proof ” of Xia Yan’s “black line.”50 Indeed,
Xia was deeply engaged in the revision process of this film—all in the vain
effort to protect it during the violently changing political times.

Ambiguity and Revolutionary Adaptation

At the 1961 Xinqiao conference, a young director working at the Beijing

Studio, Xie Tieli, reached the first high point of his career. Authorities,
such as Xia Yan and Zhou Yang, highly praised his film The Storm (Baofeng
zhouyu, 1961). For this achievement, the Beijing Studio awarded Xie a
vacation in Beidaihe. Feeling “spirited,” Xie spent the vacation conceiving a
new film. He searched extensively in his favorite literature, the Republican-
era progressive literature, and selected a 1929 novella February (Eryue).
Xie found the novella appealing and distinctive in its content and style,
believing that it would serve as an excellent basis for a film answering
 FROM CONFLICTING AUTHORITIES TO DIVERSE MASSES 157

the call of the 1961 Xinqiao conference: more artistic sophistication and
diversity. Moreover, the author of the novella, Rou Shi, had revolutionary
credentials. Rou joined the CCP in 1930 and was executed by the KMT
in 1931. Lu Xun, whom Mao glorified as the “chief commander of [the
Republican] China’s cultural revolution,”51 appreciated Rou as his close
student, colleague, and friend, wrote a preface to February in 1929, and
later repeatedly lamented Rou’s death.52 Probably for the same artistic and
political reasons, Chen Huangmei approved Xie’s proposal to adapt the
novella into an eponymous film. In the summer of 1962, Xie completed
a draft of a literary script in Beijing.53 Xie Fang, the leading female actor of
the film, happened to bring the script back to Beidaihe, where she met Xia
Yan and showed it to him. Xia thought highly of the script.54
But it was also in Beidaihe during this summer that Mao began to
change the political climate. On August 24, the day that the Beidaihe
conference ended, Xia and Chen visited the Beijing Studio specifically
to discuss February’s script. Xia advised a thorough revision in order to
protect the film. At this point, neither Rou’s martyrdom nor Lu’s aura
could assure Xia of the film adaptation’s political safety. What particularly
worried him was the “ambiguity” of the novella.55
February centers on a morally ambiguous love triangle. Its protagonist,
Xiao Jianqiu, is a young intellectual “drift[ing] about, travelling all over
China’s vast land.”56 He takes a temporary teaching job in a small town of
the Zhejiang province, which initially looks like a scenic land of peace. But
Xiao soon finds himself in tormenting and gossip-provoking relationships
with both Tao Lan, the school principal’s sister, and Wen, a young widow
who lives a destitute life after the death of her husband. He is emotionally
attracted to Tao, but insists on distancing himself from romantic ties by
calling her his “younger brother” (didi, not even meimei, or younger sister).
He frequently helps Wen out of sympathy, but feels “not entirely sure”
about his true feelings toward her, especially when “exposed to the flying
spume of [her] emotions.”57 A cinematic representation of this ambigu-
ous relationship, which invites envy, jealousy, and ugly rumors in the story,
was also vulnerable to moral charges in the revolutionary culture. Many
earlier films, including Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon, as discussed in
Chapter 2, had been condemned for featuring “vulgar” romance triangles.
Compared to the emotional and moral ambiguity, the political ambi-
guity of February concerned Xia even more. The story begins in early
February 1927.58 In this month (or, more precisely, from January 27 to
February 19), the National Revolutionary Army, led by the KMT-CCP
alliance, achieved a series of victories in Zhejiang and took over the
entire province during its Northern Expedition to overthrow the Beiyang
warlords.59 The CCP’s historiography considers this period a revolutionary
158 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

climax, stressing the CCP’s role in the (in fact KMT-dominated) alliance.
Despite having been written by a would-be CCP member and based on his
own experiences in Zhejiang at the time,60 February shows only a remote
interest in the revolution, mentioning it in just one conversation between
Xiao and a colleague, Fang Mou. Ironically, it is Fang, an antagonist in the
story, who supports the revolution unreservedly and does all the talking.
Xiao is silent not only about the revolution but also about his ideologi-
cal principles. When asked by his colleagues, who have all enthusiastically
declared their lofty principles with words that end with zhuyi (-ism), Xiao
simply remarks that he has none, and that zhuyi is useless when it is too
far removed from reality. Later the persistent colleagues nonetheless find a
zhuyi label for him: pessimism. Xiao refuses the label, but describes him-
self as not far from it, “I’m like a spark from a stove on a winter’s night that
glows for an instant and then is gone.” Indeed, Xiao sees no hope in politics
and does not participate in any type of political activity.
Xiao’s only act that can be interpreted as aiming to ameliorate the soci-
ety around him—helping Wen—proves as feeble and useless as the warmth
of a spark. After the death of Wen’s son, her only hope for the future, Xiao
painfully decides to rescue her by a “proper method”: marrying her. This
decision does nothing but agonize Tao, his “younger brother,” and Wen
never finds out his decision before she commits suicide under financial
and moral pressures. Xiao poignantly blames himself and the “countryside
gossiping masses” for Wen’s death. He laments, full of hatred, “the minds of
the masses, the words they speak (qunzhong di xin, qunzhong di kou) . . . ”61
And he “flee[s]” from the traumatic town to Shanghai, notifying Tao by a
farewell letter only after his departure. The story ends with Tao’s decision
to find Xiao, though she has no clue where he is “among all those millions
of people.”62
The story reflects the confusion, agony, and despair Rou and many other
intellectuals experienced during this chaotic time in China’s history. One
particular reason for Xie Tieli adapting this story was that Xiao reminded
him of his eldest brother. Xia Yan, Chen Huangmei, and Shen Yanbing, the
Cultural Minister, all mentioned that they saw themselves in Xiao.63 Pre-
cisely for the depth and accuracy of this reflection, however, its distance
from Party-line propagandistic expectations was obvious. In the political
atmosphere after the Beidaihe conference, Xia clearly sensed that such a
distance would incur problems. At the August meeting in the Beijing Stu-
dio, he offered detailed guidelines on how to revise the literary script. In
November, he revised and commented on over 160 of the 474 shots in the
shooting script. From March to August 1963, he suggested further revisions
after watching raw footage. Many of his revisions aimed to bring the story
closer to the moral and political standards at the time.
 FROM CONFLICTING AUTHORITIES TO DIVERSE MASSES 159

To clear up the moral ambiguity, Xia carefully trimmed one side of the
triangular relationship, removing from the script every possible suggestion
that Xiao and Wen’s feelings toward each other may go beyond sympathy
and gratitude. On one night scene in which Xiao visits Wen, he commented
that Xiao should visit Wen only during the daytime to “avoid arousing sus-
picion.” Xia also simply deleted a “suspicious” scene from the novella. In
this scene, after Wen’s little daughter innocently invites Xiao to stay at night
and sleep with them in the same bed, Xiao and Wen blush, smile, and lower
their heads.
The new title Xia gave the film, Early Spring in February, epitomized
his efforts to clear up the political ambiguity of the story. Referring to a
season in which sudden warmth, though followed by cold weather, is a
harbinger of the coming springtime weather, “early spring” metaphorically
highlighted a politically correct way to understand the film story, in which
a revolutionary intellectual suffers a setback but will soon regain momen-
tum and return to the revolutionary mainstream. Framing the story in
this way, Xia changed Xiao from an apolitical intellectual to a temporarily
retired political activist. In the novella, Xiao only has a vague impression
of Wen’s late husband, Li, who was his schoolmate and a martyr of the
National Revolutionary Army.64 In Xia’s revision, Li is a student leader
whom Xiao admires, and together they engage in the 1919 May Fourth
Movement (a major revolutionary movement in the CCP’s historiogra-
phy). Xia wrote an important line for Xiao to explain his changes after the
movement:

The stormy May Fourth Movement had passed by that time. While some
students were expelled from schools, others became officials and found their
“success.” I felt deeply hesitant, not knowing the right thing to do.

Xie Tieli deeply appreciated this line, claiming that he was too young and
inexperienced to write such a line himself. But he was adept in implement-
ing Xia’s guidelines to improve the moral and political acceptability of the
film. Xie cast an actor in her 40s as Wen, because he believed a younger
looking Wen might arouse suspicion regarding her relationship with Xiao.
Through Tao’s words, the film stressed that Xiao wants to marry Wen out of
sympathy, not love. To depict Xiao’s passion for political changes, Xie inter-
polated one sequence presenting Xiao as an avid reader of the progressive
journals published after the May Fourth Movement, and another in which
Xiao and Tao enthusiastically read and discuss a new issue of the New Youth
(Xin qingnian) magazine, the most revolutionary magazine of the May
Fourth Period according to the CCP’s historiography. Xiao’s teaching activ-
ities, to which the novella gives only a passing mention, become important
160 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

in the film for demonstrating his political position. To the dismay of the
conservative teachers, Xiao plays the Western-imported basketball with
Tao and students of both genders. Against his opponents’ insidious efforts
to expel him from the school, Xiao insists on teaching and criticizes the
tyranny of unjust rulers in the classroom. The film added a poor peasant
child, Wang Fusheng, as Xiao’s favorite student, to give Xiao another rea-
son to grieve at the end of the story: Wang has to quit school to support his
family after his father accidentally breaks his leg. This new reason trans-
forms the cause of Xiao’s trauma from the suicide of an emotionally close
woman to the realization of his powerlessness, as an individual intellec-
tual, to help those suffering in an unjust society. Correspondingly, the film
replaced Xiao’s bitter comment about the “masses,” which clearly opposed
the CCP’s mass line propaganda, with a new one, “the minds of the evil
people, the words they speak (xiaoren zhi xin, xiaoren zhi kou)!” This new
remark could be interpreted as targeting the oppressors of the society, since
in the film “the evil people” against Xiao are either family members or
supporters of local elites.
This transformation changed Xiao’s motives for leaving the small town.
Following Xia Yan’s advice, Xie Tieli completely rewrote Xiao’s farewell let-
ter to make this new motive explicit. Gone were Xiao’s complicated feelings
toward Wen and Tao that he describes at length in the original letter. The
new letter turned the flight of this aimless “lone wanderer” into a decisive
departure for a revolutionary future:

Wen’s suicide and Wang Fusheng’s quitting school were like two iron clubs
that beat hard at my head and made me dizzy. But they also woke me up,
stopped my wavering, and helped me find the road I should take. I will throw
myself to the raging torrent of the times!

The time during which the novella sets its ending, however, is inconve-
nient for Xiao to find this “torrent”: Xiao departs for Shanghai at the end
of “sanyue,” which can mean either March or the third lunar month (April
2–30, 1927).65 In either case, it is too close to April 12, when severe conflicts
in the KMT-CCP alliance led to the beginning of the KMT’s bloody purge
of the CCP in Shanghai. What was “raging” there and then, in the CCP’s
eyes, was not any revolutionary torrent but the White Terror. To solve this
problem, the film not only removed the mention of Shanghai but re-set
the story one year earlier by interpolating and altering several time ref-
erences. For example, while in the novella Fang enthusiastically reports
to Xiao that the Northern Expedition is already reaching Zhejiang,66 in
the film he neutrally predicts that Zhejiang “will be a war zone within a
year” if the Northern Expedition begins “as scheduled [in summer 1926].”
 FROM CONFLICTING AUTHORITIES TO DIVERSE MASSES 161

This change of time excuses Xiao’s silence about the supposedly CCP-led
Northern Expedition, allowing the film to imply that he may join it.
Along with the comprehensive “improvement” of Xiao’s character, Xie
Tieli also carefully purified Tao according to the revolutionary expecta-
tions. A strong-willed young lady yearning for love and freedom, Tao
would have appeared as an excellent model of the progressive women
during the May Fourth Period, had the political relaxation of the Sec-
ond Hundred Flowers Period continued. As the atmosphere was tight-
ening, however, her “flaws” became increasingly problematic morally and
politically.
It was morally unacceptable that Tao, as she herself confesses, “toyed
with people the way [she]’d play with a kitten.”67 In the novella, the game
takes an unpleasant turn when Tao’s mother undertakes an engagement for
her with Xiao’s colleague Qian Zhengxing, one of the “kittens,” based on
the terms that she herself offers, “any man who’ll give her three thousand
silver dollars a year and let her go abroad for three years she’ll marry on
her return—whether he’s blind, [lame], sixteen or sixty.” Of course, Qian
is careful enough to modify the terms, demanding a marriage first and then
a trip with her to America. The travesty ends with Tao’s refusal in tears and
Qian’s furious resignation from the school.68 Xie simply removed the prob-
lematic confession, but could not do the same to the incident altogether,
which was crucial for both the plot development and the characterization
of Tao and Qian, the key antagonist of the story. Following the original
story, Xie’s adaptation stressed that Qian comes from an influential family,
trying to turn this morally problematic dispute into a politically justifiable
reflection of social and gender oppression. It also interpolated a repeated
emphasis that Tao is “only joking” when she offers the terms.
Like Xiao, Tao has little to say about politics in the novella. Her only
remark in the conversation about zhuyi, however, was troublesome enough
for Xie to handle, “I’m for selfish individualism, with myself as the cent[er]
of society. What’s profitable I take, what’s unprofitable I reject.”69 Her
intention, as shown in the context of the novella, is to satirize those who
hypocritically talk about lofty principles. But her wording sounded too
politically incorrect at the time of the film production. Xie revised the
statement in order to highlight its satirical intention and tone down its
emphasis on individualism, “I can’t speak in such fine words as you do. I’m
for individualism and only care about myself.”
All these efforts proved to no avail. On November 1, 1963, cultural
authorities gathered to watch the completed film. While most of them
praised it, Zhou Yang, who had the deciding power, said that February
was not a “suitable” novella for film adaptation and that he felt “very
uncomfortable” seeing parts of the original story appear in the film without
162 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

proper changes or criticism. Particularly worrisome to the filmmakers and

other authorities, Zhou connected the film to The Life of Wu Xun. Xiao’s
decision to marry Wen, Zhou contended, resembled “Wu Xun’s spirit.” On
the next day of the meeting, Shen Yanbing sent Xia Yan several sugges-
tions of further revisions that he hoped could save the film. But it was
no longer safe for Xia to say anything about the “problematic” adapta-
tion to which he had contributed so much. Chen Huangmei took over the
work, organizing three urgent meetings to brainstorm a revision plan. On
November 30, Xie Tieli completed devising the plan and began working on
the revision.
Also in this month, however, Mao further tightened the political atmo-
sphere by attacking the Theater Gazette. As a result, Xie soon received a
notification that the film was no longer allowed to be revised. From this
point on, he could only wait for the film to be distributed for thorough crit-
icism. The original plan was to distribute it in eight major cities. In August
1964, Mao remarked that Early Spring in February, among other films,
should also be “screened [ . . . ] and publicly exposed in dozens to over a
hundred mid-size cities.”70 In this way, the film reached a large number of
viewers.
Mao was probably confident that public exposure would only help a
“bold and unrestricted” mass mobilization against the film. Indeed, from
September 1964 to the end of 1965, over 700 articles appeared in the press,
constituting an overwhelming wave of attack on the film.71 Compared to
the virtually univocal print criticism, however, neither “the minds of the
masses” nor even “the words they speak” were as easy to control.

The “Poison” and Its “Sugarcoating”

Critics of Early Spring in February were as persistent as Xiao Jianqiu’s

colleagues in the novella. They finally found a zhuyi label for Xiao: human-
itarianism (rendaozhuyi), an ideology that was considered bourgeois, hyp-
ocritical, and counterrevolutionary. With a language of typical Cultural
Revolution style, for example, a 1964 article wrote that “the towering
stench of the film Early Spring in February” came from “two abscesses.”
One was Xiao’s “hypocritical sympathy for the poor” and “imaginary [ . . . ]
self-sacrifice.” The other was Tao Lan’s “individual liberation and freedom
of love.” These two “abscesses,” the article argued, were “the main content
of the so-called ‘humanitarianism.’ ”72
Critics were aware that “the film adaptors intentionally removed the
emotional relationship between Xiao and Wen.” They viewed this change
as an awkward effort to make Xiao more “humanitarian,” which only
 FROM CONFLICTING AUTHORITIES TO DIVERSE MASSES 163

exposed “Xiao’s hypocrisy more thoroughly.” They questioned why Xiao

must regard marrying Tao as contradictory to rescuing Wen, why he can-
not help Wen through Tao and must visit her himself, and why he does
not help Wang Fusheng the way he helps Wen, especially when Wang
quits school. To them, Xiao’s helping Wen and his decision to marry
her, which were ostensibly “altruistic” and “self-sacrificing,” actually rep-
resented “deceivingly veiled bourgeois individualism,” because “acting as a
‘savior’ ” allowed Xiao to simultaneously “enjoy an orgy of narcissism [ . . . ]
and cover his desire for Wen.”73 Compared to Xiao, Tao was an even easier
target. Xie’s revisions did not pose any difficulties for the critics to describe
her as “a naked individualist” and “a wanton bourgeoisie,” whose pursuit of
freedom was “just a search for thrill driven by her spiritual emptiness.”74 In
particular, Tao’s marriage promise to her travel sponsor “most typically”
reflected her “preoccupation with money, fickleness, and bourgeois view
of love.”75
The two characters with humanitarian “abscesses” appeared as revo-
lutionary candidates in the film. To the critics, this was an outrageous
“distortion.” To rebut the film, one critic took the effort to visit the National
Museum of the Chinese Revolution, wrote at length about the historical
display in the museum, and concluded:

If we compare the historical artifacts on display [ . . . ] with the film Early

Spring in February, we can clearly see that the film completely distorts the
reality of China in the 1920s. The 1920s was an era of climax in the anti-
imperialist, anti-feudal revolutionary movement; the “vast land” of China
where Xiao Jianqiu “drifted about” was in a boiling revolutionary upwelling.
But the script writers and the director of the film completely disregarded this
historical fact. They did not try to grasp the mainstream issues of the times,
nor did they adequately reflect the heated mass struggles [ . . . ]. Instead, with
their ulterior motives, they turned [revolutionary China] into a “scenic land
of peace” filled with bourgeois leisure and comforts. Instead of rightfully
criticizing the coward Xiao Jianqiu, who is terrified by the revolutionary
upwelling, they comprehensively embellished him, claiming that he “will
throw [himself] to the raging torrent of the times.” This is a dose of poison
for today’s youth.76

Many other critics made similar charges against the film. They asked why
the film was set during a time of revolutionary climax but did not present
any class struggle. In their eyes, the gossip of the “evil people” against Xiao
and their attempts to expel him were not about class oppression but a jeal-
ous “storm in a teacup” caused by two fighting “jackals of the same lair,”
“egoism of the exploiting class [wrongly] shown as individual ‘evilness’, and
[Xiao’s] hypocritical bourgeois humanitarianism.” Since Wen’s son dies of
164 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

illness and Wang’s father breaks his leg by accident, the critics contended,
these incidents were not about class oppression, either.77 They also asked
why Xiao “flees from the revolutionary upwelling” to this land of exclusion
from “class contradictions, class struggle, and the people’s revolutionary
movement,” quoting Xia Yan’s interpolated line about Xiao’s hesitation
after the May Fourth Movement as evidence that Xiao was a frightened
deserter of the revolution. In conclusion, they considered Xiao as bad as an
“extreme KMT Rightist.”78
Based on this conclusion, critics dismissed Xiao’s and Tao’s teaching
activities and their discussion of the New Youth as a thin “disguise” of
the film’s “reactionary” nature. In the words of one critic, their teaching
activities and the conservatives’ objection appeared “as momentarily as a
flash in the pan, serving no purpose in the plot and character develop-
ment.” Xiao’s criticism of tyranny in the classroom was also dismissed as
Xiao “just muttering some complaints” about his “rivals in love.”79 Another
critic attacked the discussion of the New Youth as “nonsense,” pointing out
that the journal was actively published only between 1915 and 1922. In
1926, according to the critic, the New Youth had long passed its prime, and
the pioneering journal in China was the CCP’s institutional newspaper the
Guide Weekly (Xiangdao zhoubao). That Xiao and Tao read the New Youth
rather than the Guide Weekly “as the newest stuff ” precisely reflected their
backwardness.80
Reminiscent of the logic used by the investigation team into the history
of Wu Xun, which denounced The Life of Wu Xun for featuring the reac-
tionary Wu rather than the revolutionary Song Jingshi, critics condemned
Early Spring in February for promoting Xiao instead of Li, Wen’s martyr
husband. They furiously wrote that it was “an insult to revolutionary mar-
tyrs and their families” to present Xiao, an intellectual “belonging to the
exploitative class,” as a savior of Li’s family. Critics questioned why the
film highlighted Wen and her children’s miserable situation rather than
their “unyielding fighting spirit and high-level class consciousness.” Their
answer was that the film featured another poisonous zhuyi: “pacifism”
(hepingzhuyi). “Stressing the horror of revolutionary war,” one critic wrote,
the filmmakers attempted to “promote pacifism and corrode the masses’
revolutionary will power.”81
Such a “poisonous” story had to have a “poisonous” title. Early Spring
in February, the title Xia Yan had hoped to help protect the film, ironically
reminded the critics of “the Rightists’ demands for a ‘Thaw’ [in China fol-
lowing the Soviet Union’s example].”82 To the critics, the title compared
“revolutionary struggle to frigid winter,” indicating that “Xiao flees from
the revolutionary upwelling to seek a living environment as gentle as early
spring in February.”83
 FROM CONFLICTING AUTHORITIES TO DIVERSE MASSES 165

To complete their efforts to expose the “poison” of the film, the crit-
ics did not forget to note that Rou Shi was not yet a CCP member when
writing the original novella, and that even CCP members’ works might
reflect a bourgeois view.84 As for Lu Xun, they reinterpreted with ease
his preface to February, which shows a reserved appreciation of Xiao’s
character, as an outright condemnation of Xiao’s “reactionary nature.”85
The print criticism was virtually univocal. Among the hundreds of arti-
cles, only a few defended the film, and they served the purpose of “leading
the discussion to a deeper level,”86 i.e., an escalated attack on both the film
and its defenders. In this overwhelmingly one-sided “discussion,” however,
attackers of the film did not claim an easy victory. Instead, they repeat-
edly described the film as “sugarcoated poison” (guozhe tangyi de duyao)
or a “sugarcoated bullet” (tangyi paodan), warning that its “sugarcoating”
could “captivate” many people.87 Not surprisingly, no critics extensively
described the “captivating” taste of the film’s “sugarcoating” in the press.
They always inundated their mentioning of some of the film’s “lures” with
lengthy attacks on its political evilness and artistic awkwardness, making
it almost illogical that such a film could attract anyone among the suppos-
edly righteous and wise masses. By contrast, unpublished materials, such as
minutes of local level meetings discussing the film and investigation reports
of the film’s reception, show its appeal to the masses much more clearly.
Speaking to only a limited number of people often of the same politi-
cal ranking at the local level meetings, critics of Early Spring in February
tended to be more straightforward about the challenges of mobilizing
the masses against the film. For example, at two meetings organized by
the Shanghai Youth Palace on September 5 and 6, 1964, worker, student,
teacher, local resident, and Youth League cadre viewers, who had been
selected to watch the film earlier than the general audiences, either opposed
or expressed their concerns about its further distribution. One repeat-
edly warned that “watching this film one time may totally destroy the
long-term, repeated education [about the correct way] to remember [the
revolution].” Those who agreed with a further distribution “unanimously”
cautioned that screenings of the film needed to be strictly organized,
should not “sell tickets to individuals,” should be done “only a few times,”
and should be coordinated with educational efforts to thoroughly expose
its “poison.” In language that ironically sounded flattering, participants
of the two meetings warned that the film’s “sugarcoating” was “tremen-
dously thick,” because it showed “extremely delicate and brilliant artistry”
and used “first-rate actors, film stock of the best quality, the best settings,
the best props, vivid language, and beautiful mise-en-scene.” Of course,
none of the viewers who felt nervous about this film stated that it had
just “destroyed” their own education. But they made it clear that “some”
166 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

people “were already desperately waiting to watch it.” And they predicted
dire consequences should the film go public:88

The novella February has been lent out everywhere. Because this film is in
color, features popular actors, and tells a story about the 1920s, [it interests
many.] Its film stills in the Mass Cinema magazine [published in January
1963] have captivated some people, especially young students. Feeling that
literary and artistic works of revolutionary content are formulaic and boring,
they have long hoped to watch a film about family, love, and peaceful and
comfortable life. Therefore, should the film go public, many young students
would likely welcome it and watch it passionately. They would say that this
film is a true piece of “high art.”89
[The film] would lead young people to seek comfortable, quiet, free, and
unrestricted life. [ . . . ] They would feel that today we do not have freedom
to choose what subject to study or what profession to take, that we do not
even have freedom of love, and that we live in an era even worse than the
May Fourth Period.
The human nature, humanity, and humanitarianism advocated in the film
would make it even harder for those young people who already lack class
consciousness to recognize class enemy and understand class struggle. They
would doubt our on-going class struggle: “Why should human relations be
so intense?” They would take Xiao Jianqiu as a good person. [ . . . ] The film
would teach young people about the bourgeois view and behavior of love.
They would deal with love in an incorrect way. And they would imitate the
film characters’ costumes and hair styles, wear the same shawl as Tao Lan
does, learn to hum the tune “Hesitation” [that Xiao plays in the film], and
date [at romantic places] on riverside or under the moon.

Despite such warnings, Mao’s order to screen and publicly “expose” the
film had to be followed. In Shanghai, the municipal government was cau-
tious enough to limit organized viewing sessions to college students, school
teachers, and mid-level factory cadres, and explicitly indicated that high
school students and common workers should not be assembled to watch
the film. But Mao’s order prevented them from restricting individuals from
watching the film. Statistics not counting the organized viewing sessions
show an ironic box-office success: within just two months (September and
October 1964) the film was screened 364 times for 410,665 viewers at 17
movie theaters in Shanghai alone.
The warnings proved well-grounded. Many individual viewers, espe-
cially young people, welcomed the film passionately. A high school Youth
League cadre reported that almost every student in the school was talk-
ing about the film. They remarked that the film was “more popular than
those Hong Kong imports,” that it was a “rare wonder,” and that it was a
“must-see for having a touching plot, dramatic love, unique personalities
 FROM CONFLICTING AUTHORITIES TO DIVERSE MASSES 167

nowhere to find today, popular actors, rich colors, and extremely beauti-
ful costumes, props, settings, and music.” Reports from other high schools
quoted outspoken students as opposing the criticism of the film. One ques-
tioned why the critics expected so much from Xiao, “who is neither a
Party member nor a Youth League member.” Another predicted, “Better
be careful. They will denounce just about everything in the future.”
Organized viewing sessions apparently produced more disciplined dis-
cussions than the casual conversations among individual viewers. In
September and October 1964, for example, Shanghai Jiao Tong University
and Shanghai First Medical College carefully coordinated their screenings
of the film (for over 4,000 and over 1,500 students, respectively) with study
and discussion sessions. Before the screenings, all the students had to read
print criticism of the film and listen to lectures by school CCP authori-
ties to learn how to watch it in the correct way. After the screenings, they
were required to participate in class-based discussion sessions, which were
of course dominated by voices against the film.
A smoothly running discussion session after all these efforts, however,
did not necessarily mean a true “elimination of [the film’s] pernicious
influence” (xiaodu). An investigation done at the end of 1964 disclosed
that about four fifths of the sessions simply “went through the motions.”
Rather than “revealing [their true] thoughts,” discussion participants per-
functorily criticized the film by repeating or just reading the arguments
they found in newspaper and journal articles. The sessions usually ended
within one hour with neither questions asked nor discussions developed.
After the sessions, the concerned investigators added, there were students
who closed their dorm doors and asked everyone to comment on the film
“in all conscience.”
The remaining one fifth of the sessions, which did reveal some of
the students’ true thoughts—their “conscience”—worried the investiga-
tors even more. Some participants “defended the film as if it had been
wronged,” arguing that it did not deserve “a fatal blow with a club.”90
Believing that the film reflected “the true situation of the 1920s,” some
contended, “it was OK for Xiao Jianqiu to not participate in the revolution,
because revolutionaries were after all only in a minority at the time.” Oth-
ers thought that the film was “good” and contained “no poison,” because it
already stated that “humanitarianism is not the correct way” by presenting
Wen’s suicide and Wang’s quitting school. And yet some others appreciated
Xiao and Tao’s progressive teaching activities as “anti-feudal.”
Such attitudes represented a significant number of students in the
classes that the investigators sampled. In class 75021 of Shanghai Jiao Tong
University, “a majority” agreed that the film had its “positive side.” In
class 82022, 8 out of 16 students contended that Xiao helps Wen “out of
his sympathy for laboring people rather than individualism.” 11 out of
168 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

32 in these two classes regarded Xiao as a “good” or even “great” per-

son. Some “burst into tears” for him when watching the film. Some asked
“what would be the use if Xiao just talked about revolutionary ideals” with
Wen instead of helping her “practically” as he did in the film. In class
14031, 5 out of 15 stated that they understood neither the term “bour-
geois humanitarianism” nor the reason that Xiao was criticized for being
“humanitarian.” Some bluntly remarked that they did not know how Xiao
was different from Lei Feng (a model PLA soldier characterized in an on-
going campaign as selfless and devoted to the revolution). Five in this
class liked Tao for her “great personality.” There were also students who
particularly appreciated Tao’s “courage” to declare that she is an individ-
ualist. They saw Tao as a “pure” person compared to those who were too
hypocritical to admit their individualism.
Moreover, this investigation, as well as another investigation done at
East China Normal University, confirmed that “an overwhelming major-
ity” of the thousands of student viewers thought that Early Spring in
February was “artistically first-rate,” despite all of its political problems.
Students of East China Normal University listed keen observations of a
number of mise-en-scene, cinematographic, and editing details that they
found innovative and impressive. In the sequence that Xiao tells Tao about
his decision to marry Wen, for example, they “saw for the first time” how
backlit shots could create beautiful silhouette effects (Figure 6.1).91
Students of Shanghai Jiao Tong University and Shanghai First Medical
College praised Early Spring in February as a “five times better” (wu hao)
film, referring to “better close-ups, better scenic settings, better exposure
techniques, better narrative, and better costumes.” Ironically, this meant
that the film would have exceeded the CCP’s expectations for excellent
films, dubbed as “three times better” in 1958 and later “four times better”
in 1961,92 had the political atmosphere not changed.
Elegantly appearing in close-ups in their costumes, the two main actors
of Early Spring in February crucially contributed to the “captivating” power
of this “five times better” film. Sun Daolin, who plays Xiao, and Xie Fang,
who plays Tao, had been two of the “22 Big Stars of New China.”93 Although
the Film Bureau had issued a directive to remove the 22 pictures from
movie theaters on September 27,94 their popularity remained high. In class
75021 of Shanghai Jiao Tong University, an “admirer” of Xiao’s “attrac-
tive demeanor” “openly imitated” Xiao right after a discussion session,
“and not a single student stopped him.” A student of East China Nor-
mal University expressed his passion for Tao, “Tao Lan deeply touched
me with her eyes. Every movement of her eyes struck a chord with my
heart.” A sequence including close-ups of both Xiao and Tao, who exchange
amorous looks and words, proved particularly popular. It begins with a
 FROM CONFLICTING AUTHORITIES TO DIVERSE MASSES 169

Figure 6.1 A back-lit shot in Early Spring in February

close-up of a mirror, which reflects Xiao’s gaze at Tao (Figure 6.2), and then
cuts to a close-up of Tao, who suddenly turns to Xiao to ask, “Why are you
looking at me like this?” In a reverse close-up shot, Xiao answers, “Because
I have never looked at you like this before.” “Some male and female stu-
dents,” according to a CCP authority’s talk at the Shanghai Film Studio in
March 1965, loved re-enacting this scene.95 No matter how “pernicious”
the film looked on paper, its “tremendously thick sugarcoating” proved
difficult to resist. The mass campaign against the film ironically provided a
welcome chance for many to enjoy it.
Analyzing key cases from The Life of Wu Xun to Early Spring in February,
this book has delineated how Maoist campaign politics and revolutionary
films interacted with each other. Mao remained the ultimate authority of
the campaign politics. He was usually the initiator of the arbitrary polit-
ical changes that many attempted but eventually failed to follow. But no
one, not even the charismatic leader Mao, could maintain control dur-
ing the “raging” revolutionary cycles that secured neither consistent policy
nor stable elites. The shifting ruling lines and mass mobilization created
a vast amount of uncertainties. Film artists, CCP authorities, critics, and
audiences, among other agents, all attempted to ride the uncertainties for
often competing purposes. The competition led to dramatically diverse and
170 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

Figure 6.2 A mirror reflecting Xiao Jianqiu and Tao Lan

clashing ways to use revolutionary films, constantly generating new and

contradictory meanings from the planning and scripting stage through
distribution and reception. The films in turn further complicated their
discursive contexts, in most cases, at two steps: first, reifying and, if given
the chance, propagating political correctness during one revolutionary
cycle; second, exemplifying political wrongness during another. Both steps
could be either productive or counterproductive. After the GPCR, dozens
of new films would appear in order to fill the void of political correctness
on the silver screen. But this established pattern of discursive interaction
would remain constant until the end of the revolution.
 Conclusion: From the Ebb of
the Revolution to the End of
Revolutionary Cinema,
1967–1979

O n October 3, 1967, the Prime Minister of the Republic of the Congo,

Ambroise Noumazalaye, praised the on-going GPCR in a conversa-
tion with Mao. But Mao was not as enthusiastic about the campaign as
Noumazalaye was:

Noumazalaye: I have seen the great victory of the Chinese GPCR. It has
significantly raised Chinese people’s political awareness.
Mao: It has also significantly encouraged anarchism.
Noumazalaye: Maybe, but we have not seen that.
Mao: Having this ideological trend exposed is good for [us to correct
through] education. [ . . . ] After disturbance comes order. [ . . . ] It is now
about the time [to re-establish order]. We plan to allow the disturbance
to continue for one more year.1

Noumazalaye’s assessment of the GPCR is exactly the opposite of the main-

stream view today: that the vast number of participants in the campaign
were “brainwashed” and blindly followed Mao.2 Ironically, though, both
Noumazalaye and the current mainstream perspective believed that the
campaign smoothly implemented Mao’s will.
Mao, however, did not see such an easy victory. In October 1966, when
militant Red Guards were storming the nation to answer the call of the
GPCR, Mao described a series of his own actions that had mobilized them
as the cause of “havoc” in an unusually apologetic tone at a work confer-
ence of the CCP’s Central Committee. “I myself had not foreseen that [ . . . ]
the whole country would be thrown into turmoil,” he said to the commit-
tee members, “[so] it is understandable if you have some bitter words for
me.” What shocked Mao was not only the intensity of the “turmoil” but
172 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

that “[i]t all happened within a very short period, less than five months”
beginning in May, the month that the GPCR began.3 Among other things,
Mao had underestimated the extent of long existing popular resentment
against Party-state bureaucratic elites and the rapid development of fac-
tionalism in a mass struggle for power. Propelled by the two forces, as
Maurice Meisner points out, “the mass movement that Mao had called into
being had acquired a radical life of its own, and much of it was no longer
under anyone’s control or direction.”4
Mao began to oppose the spontaneous radicalness of the GPCR after it
reached a climax in Shanghai. In January 1967, a loose alliance of workers’
rebel factions, the Headquarters of the Revolutionary Revolt of Shanghai
Workers (Shanghai gongren geming zaofan zong silingbu, a.k.a. the Work-
ers’ Headquarters or Gongzongsi), overthrew the CCP’s existing municipal
apparatus through a two-month long revolution and bloody fights against
another workers’ alliance.5 Their proclaimed objective was to establish in
this city a proletarian rulership following the model of the 1871 Paris Com-
mune, which had been praised by Marx. Mao and the CCP had repeatedly
paid lip service to this model and claimed in 1966 that it was necessary to
“institute a system of general elections, like that of the Paris Commune, for
electing members to the cultural revolutionary groups and committees and
delegates to the cultural revolutionary congress.”6 The actual establishment
of the Shanghai People’s Commune on February 5, however, had little to do
with this revolutionary ideal. By February 5, top authorities of the Central
Cultural Revolution Group (Zhongyang wenge xiaozu, the top power organ
of the GPCR, CCRG), Zhang Chunqiao and Yao Wenyuan, had come to
terms with Wang Hongwen, head of the Worker’s Headquarters, and taken
over the commune’s leadership. They consolidated power through police
and military suppression of those workers against them. But even such a
nominal establishment of the commune seriously concerned Mao for hav-
ing the potential for radicalism. He met with Zhang and Yao three times
from February 12 to 18 and objected the commune:

I think we should be more stable and should not change the name to [com-
mune.] This is because this would give rise to the question of changing the
political system, to the question of the state system, and to the question
of the name of the country. If the whole of China sets up People’s Com-
munes, should the People’s Republic of China change its name to “People’s
Commune of China?” [ . . . ] If everything were changed into commune,
then what about the party? Where would we place the party? [ . . . C]an the
commune replace the party?7

Facing the possibility that a full-scale revolution would completely

overthrow the Party-state, Mao began to retreat from his own radical mass
 CONCLUSION 173

mobilization against the establishment. It was the established ruling sys-

tem that had given him the ultimate political and military power. For
promising, in Marx’s words, a “really democratic” “self-government of the
producers” that destroys “the old centralized government,” “the standing
army,” and “state functionarism,”8 the commune model directly threatened
the basis of Mao’s rulership, even when it existed only as an empty name.
The Shanghai People’s Commune ceased to exist on February 24, just six
days after Mao finished his meetings with Zhang and Yao. In total, it lasted
20 days.9
Rather than the commune, Mao needed a ruling organization that could
help resume order. He directed Zhang and Yao to form a “revolution-
ary committee” (geming weiyuanhui) led by a “triple alliance” (san jiehe)
of representatives of the PLA, “revolutionary cadres,” and “revolution-
ary masses.”10 In March, the Red Flag journal published Mao’s directive
to establish revolutionary committees throughout the nation. The PLA,
which would be the main force to terminate the GPCR, acquired the most
power in these committees.
In the same month, Mao also made it clear that the disruption against
the CCP’s rulership was only a “temporary condition,” and that nei-
ther the mass organizations nor the revolutionary committees could
replace the CCP. Most CCP cadres, he now repeatedly remarked, were
good and reliable.11 Following Mao, Zhou Enlai orchestrated the concrete
work to rehabilitate CCP cadres and restore the legitimacy of Party-state
apparatus.
At the meetings with Zhang and Yao, Mao particularly reminded them
that their suppression of “counterrevolutionaries” should not be “too
weak.”12 At this point, the “counterrevolutionaries” in Mao’s eyes were
actually radical revolutionaries. The slogan these revolutionaries had put
forward in August and September 1966, “doubt everything and overthrow
everything,” had been as they had believed “the essence of Maoism.”13 The
first half of the slogan was also Marx’s motto.14 Now the chairman, who
switched his position once again, declared this slogan “reactionary.”15 In a
series of talks, he repeatedly opposed “anarchism,” stressing “alliance” and
“discipline.”16 Words alone, of course, would have been “too weak.” In the
name of supporting true revolutionaries, military suppression of radical
Maoist organizations began in February 1967.
But the revolutionary flame was difficult to quench. The army’s inter-
vention and the resurrection of those much-hated CCP cadres often
further intensified the conflicts. Plus, Mao continued his vacillations, wor-
rying that a too blunt GPCR would not sink Liu Shaoqi, the main enemy he
wanted to remove with this campaign, in eternal infamy.17 The result was
more chaos, fights, and blood in what Mao later described as an “all-round
civil war.”18 As Mao acknowledged, the situation was particularly out of
174 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

hand in the summer of 1967.19 In Wuhan, complex and violent struggles

among regional military power, authorities from Beijing, and opposing
mass organizations even compromised Mao’s own political and personal
safety.20 From the end of August, Mao purged some radical authorities
of the CCRG and further enforced top-down military oppression of rad-
ical mass organizations. As Maurice Meisner points out, “[w]hile groups
of virtually all political orientations resorted to violence during the Cul-
tural Revolution, most of the lives taken during the upheaval were not
the work of ‘radical Maoists,’ as conventionally assumed, but rather the
work of the army, with radicals as their usual victims.”21 As Mao roughly
predicted in his conversation with Noumazalaye, the bloody suppres-
sion lasted intensely for about another year until September 1968, when
the PLA-dominated revolutionary committees regained a semblance of
order nationwide.22 The GPCR lost its momentum to continue as a mass
campaign against the established power structure. The Maoist revolution
passed its last climax and began to ebb.
Except for newsreel documentaries, new film production ceased during
the disruption of the GPCR. But “for-criticism” screenings of those old
Poisonous Weeds continued widely. On the one hand, attack on these films
was even more violent than what Early Spring in February had encountered
in 1964. Public humiliation and physical torture of the artists responsible
for these films were now an integral part of the attack. On the other hand,
however, criticism of these films was much less organized. CCP authorities,
themselves overthrown, could no longer coordinate film distribution with
pre-screening lectures and post-screening discussion sessions. As reflected
by a directive the CCRG issued on April 14, 1968, mass organizations on
their own initiative aimed to take, or “seize” (qiangduo) Poisonous Weed
films for “casual screenings.” They often did not even bother to go through
the motions of criticism when watching the films.23
As Mao’s faith in the masses to wage the revolution proved transient, so
did his reliance on them to expose the “poison” of the films. The CCRG’s
directive firmly ordered all organizations to turn in the Poisonous Weed
films in their possession to the revolutionary committees and the army.
Screenings of these films were no longer allowed without the CCRG’s
approval. In the CCP’s usual language of double-talk, the CCRG stated that
this confiscation was for a “unified deployment” of thorough criticism of
the films.24 In fact, it did not “deploy” any screening, and the CCRG itself
would cease to operate in September 1969.25 The revolutionary masses
were now forbidden from watching most of the previously made revolu-
tionary films. The ban would last nearly a decade.26 For a shorter period
of time, it even extended to films not explicitly condemned as Poisonous
Weeds.27
 CONCLUSION 175

As the new order was emerging from the diminishing disruption,

production of new feature-length films began. On August 15, 1968, the
Beijing Studio began to shoot Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy (Zhiqu
weihushan, 1970).28 This film, as well as all the following feature-length
films that reached the Chinese audience between 1970 and 1973, were stage
documentaries (wutai yishupian) of the so-called “model performances”
(yangbanxi),29 which included revolutionary operas and ballets.30 Regu-
lar feature films (gushipian), not adaptations of the model performances,
began to reach the audience in January 1974.31 A total of over 90 new fea-
ture films, including both stage documentaries and regular feature films,
were produced between 1970 and 1976, the year when the disruption
ending the Cultural Revolution Period began.32
Major artists involved in the power struggles in the film industry, how-
ever, were not new. The expertise required in filmmaking forced Jiang Qing
and other authorities, who planned to make model performance films, to
parole selected film professionals from their political sentence as early as
in 1967. Xie Tieli, director of “the most poisonous weed” Early Spring in
February, was one of the first to get the parole.33 Adding to the irony, a main
reason for his “luck” was that Jiang Qing, like those uncooperative mass
viewers in the organized campaign against Early Spring in February, also
appreciated the artistic skills demonstrated in the film.34 Xie directed five
model performance films, including the first one Taking Tiger Mountain by
Strategy. He described these films as “both easy and difficult to shoot.” On
the one hand, CCP authorities, especially Jiang Qing, gave him unreserved
financial and material support. On the other hand, they incessantly inter-
vened by censoring and changing aspects of the films, wasting a significant
amount of time and resources.35 Making these films, Xie gained consider-
able power. He became a cultural authority in the State Council and the
head of the revolutionary committee of the Beijing Film Studio.36 But his
newly earned status was flimsy. As a main figure in the creative team of the
(regular) feature film Haixia (1974), he was caught at the center of a four-
year long, fierce power struggle involving some of his fellow filmmakers
and almost all factions of high-level CCP authorities. The struggle eventu-
ally led to his political downfall as an enemy of Jiang Qing in early 1976.
A large-scale struggle session against him and the Poisonous Weed Haixia
was scheduled on October 12, 1976.37 Xie was fully prepared to be exiled to
remote areas of northeast China.38 Xie represented many other film artists,
who attempted to take full advantage of the CCP’s reliance on their pro-
fessional skills and find the best survival position in the factional conflicts,
but usually failed at one point or another.
The waning revolution downplayed the masses’ role in film criticism.
Radical authorities like Jiang Qing, who still attempted to mobilize the
176 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

masses against “poisonous” films, found themselves in an awkward posi-

tion between uncooperative local leaders and an unsupportive Mao. In
June 1974, Jiang ordered the release of the stage documentary of Song of
a Teacher (Yuanding zhi ge, 1973), a Hu’nan opera she deemed reactionary,
in order to criticize it. Local authorities from Hu’nan province tried every
means to delay, lessen, and stop the criticism, including recommending
that Mao watch the film when he visited Hu’nan for a winter retreat. No
longer interested in mass campaigns against films, Mao praised Song of a
Teacher. His attitude led to a hasty stop of the half-hearted mobilization
of mass criticism, although high-level conflicts around the film would still
continue until the end of the Cultural Revolution Period.39
Moreover, even the radical authorities did not have full confidence in
the capacity of the masses to resist “poisonous” films. In 1972, two years
after the PRC established diplomatic relations with Italy, the renowned
Italian filmmaker Michelangelo Antonioni was allowed to shoot a docu-
mentary in China. The documentary, entitled Zhong Guo, China (Chung
Kuo, Cina), released in Italy and worldwide in 1973, angered Jiang Qing,
Zhang Chunqiao, and Yao Wenyuan. In their eyes, the documentary is
“extremely vicious” and “anti-CCP” for “intentionally vilifying Chinese
people and the socialist China.” In January 1974, they initiated a nation-
wide criticism of the documentary. Unlike in the previous campaigns
against films such as Early Spring in February, however, the grassroots
masses were not allowed to see the target with their own eyes. The doc-
umentary was only “internally screened” (neibu fangying) for those whose
political rankings were high enough.40 Such “internal screenings” of “poi-
sonous” films for “criticism” or “reference,” including PRC-made films
and a good number of imports from the capitalist world, were an increas-
ingly standard practice of film distribution during the Cultural Revolution
Period. Watching “poisonous” films became a privilege.
In 1976, the PRC saw for the first time that a major mass move-
ment against the established order had broken out without the CCP’s
mobilization. On January 8, Zhou Enlai died. His high-level factional
opponents, primarily Jiang Qing, Zhang Chunqiao, Yao Wenyuan, and
Wang Hongwen, or whom Mao had disapprovingly named the “Gang of
Four,”41 worsened the mass hatred toward their leadership by trying to
limit the public mourning of the beloved Prime Minister. Mass mourning
and protests began in March and reached a climax at Tiananmen Square
in April. On April 5, with Mao’s approval, public security forces forcibly
dispersed the masses from the square with clubs and arrested 388 peo-
ple. On the following day, again with Mao’s approval, the forces were fully
prepared to engage in a bloody suppression of this “counterrevolutionary
riot” (fan’geming baoluan), but the masses did not return to the square for
 CONCLUSION 177

any major protest.42 This suppression of the grassroots, spontaneous move-

ment known later as the April Fifth Movement, marked the final divorce of
Mao and the CCP from uprising masses.
The April Fifth Movement also initiated the disruption that ended the
Cultural Revolution Period. On September 9, Mao, central figure of the
revolutionary cycles, died. On October 6, high-level political and military
authorities organized a coup d’état and arrested the Gang of Four. Like their
many predecessors, the Gang of Four became the enemy of the revolution
after being in the vanguard of a revolutionary campaign. In an extreme
irony, they were condemned as “ultra-rightist,” “revisionist” “counterrevo-
lutionaries,” who represented all the “domestic and foreign class enemies”
in their attempt to “restore capitalism.”43 In August 1977, nine years after
Mao suppressed the campaign that had quickly gone beyond his control,
his designated successor Hua Guofeng declared that the “11-year-long”
GPCR ended. But the Cultural Revolution Period was not over yet. Accord-
ing to Hua, the loyal Maoist who rose to power during this period, the
GPCR had been “victorious” and should be repeated “many times” in the
future. He stressed in typical Maoist language that “the victorious end-
ing of the first GPCR in no way means the ending of class struggles, nor
does it mean the ending of the continuous revolution under proletarian
dictatorship.”44 For insisting on the Maoist line, Hua came under fire from
senior political and military authorities and was quickly ousted. Taking
over control of the CCP’s leadership in December 1978, Deng Xiaoping
began his reform era rulership, under which the GPCR would soon be
“completely negated” (chedi fouding) for having caused a decade-long
“chaos” (dongluan) and “disaster” (haojie) from 1966 to 1976. The CCP’s
future campaigns would only serve to reinforce, rather than disrupt, the
established order. The Maoist revolution was over.
Like the previous disruptions, this last revolutionary disruption brought
about dramatic changes to filmmakers and films. The fall of the Gang of
Four, about one week before the scheduled struggle session against Xie
Tieli, saved him from being sent to the northeast. His scheduled struggle
session, which emphasized his conflicts with Jiang Qing, saved him from
being designated as a follower of the Gang of Four. Despite having been a
major film artist working with Jiang, Xie was now one of the “revolutionary
workers of literature and art” that had been “persecuted” under the Gang of
Four’s “bourgeois dictatorship of culture.”45 Haixia also lost its Poisonous
Weed status and became a revolutionary film. By contrast, the cinematog-
rapher of Early Spring in February, Li Wenhua, and his film Repulse (Fanji,
1976) were not nearly as “lucky.” Like Xie, Li was also appreciated by Jiang
Qing for his artistic skills demonstrated in Early Spring in February. During
the Cultural Revolution Period, he worked for a series of films, including
178 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

directing Repulse. The film was made for the Campaign to Repulse the
Rightist-Deviationist Wind of Verdict Reversals (fanji youqing fan’anfeng),
initiated in November 1975 by Mao’s criticism of Deng Xiaoping. The Gang
of Four attempted to use the campaign to attack Zhou Enlai as well. This
last campaign of Mao encountered strong resistance rather than mass sup-
port. Despite Hua Guofeng’s attempt to continue it, the campaign ended
in July 1977, just nine months after the fall of the Gang of Four.46 In those
nine months, Li Wenhua was already deemed to be a follower of the Gang
of Four and an enemy of Zhou Enlai, and he faced the same litany of attacks
as those that had permeated all the revolutionary cycles.47 In January 1977,
Repulse was distributed as a “reactionary” Poisonous Weed for almost the
same kind of criticism as what its predecessors had encountered.48 A 1977
collection of articles against the film, for example, quoted Mao’s 1957 and
1962 remarks about the necessity to attack “Poisonous Weeds,” “ghosts and
monsters,” and “novels written for anti-Party purposes.” It called upon the
“broad revolutionary masses,” who supposedly had already “exposed” the
“reactionary” film, to defeat the Gang of Four more completely by, again
in Mao’s 1957 terms, turning this Poisonous Weed into “manure.” But the
book also showed an important difference that separated the criticism of
Repulse from that of most of its predecessors: the film was for “organized
internal screenings” only, and the “broad revolutionary masses” actually
had no access to it.49
But Li and the so-called “Conspiracy Films,” which supposedly had been
part of the Gang of Four’s “villainous conspiracy to usurp Party and state
power,”50 did not have to endure the attack for long, as it soon ended
with the Maoist revolution. From November 1977 to February 1979, at an
amazing speed, the Ministry of Culture “re-examined” (fushen) 605 fea-
ture films and approved the re-release of 582. The Ministry of Culture
made it particularly clear that even those remaining 23, which were, for
various reasons, still deemed unsuitable for re-release, were not Poisonous
Weeds, and that “all the filmmakers who had been investigated or impli-
cated for these films should be rehabilitated.”51 Some of the remaining
films, including Nie Er and Two Good Brothers, would be re-released in
a short period of time.52 Although the Conspiracy Films were not on the
re-examination list, the attack on these films and the responsible artists
wound down as the term Poisonous Weed was phased out. Li, for exam-
ple, had resumed working and directed Tear Stains (Leihen, 1979),53 in his
own words, “to prove that [he] had nothing to do with the Gang of Four”
and “to oppose the Gang of Four.”54 In March 1979, the Ministry of Pro-
paganda and the Ministry of Culture also repudiated the Maoist terms that
had been used to attack cultural authorities, film artists, and films dur-
ing the Cultural Revolution Period, including “the Ministry of Emperors,
 CONCLUSION 179

Ministers, Talents, and Beauties” and the “black line,” as part of the Gang of
Four’s “conspiracy,”55 although those phrases were either Mao’s own words
or based on Mao’s ideas. From this point on, production, distribution, and
reception of films would no longer follow the Maoist revolutionary logic.
Chinese revolutionary cinema came to a clear conclusion.
The destiny of a small number of revolutionary films, however, would
still remain unclear for many years to come. Their production years ranged
widely, indicating long-term lingering problems during virtually every
revolutionary cycle. Most of these films were simply put aside from the
re-examination list. They included the three major targets of the campaign
that initiated revolutionary cinema: The Life of Wu Xun, Between a Mar-
ried Couple, and Platoon Commander Guan; the first Poisonous Weed, The
Unfinished Comedies, and the last crop of Poisonous Weeds, the Conspir-
acy Films. Shelved, these films waited for, to borrow Lu Xun’s metaphor, the
“savior of forgetfulness” to descend,56 so that it would no longer be neces-
sary to explain all the thorny issues concerning them. But it was not that
easy to forget some of the films, especially the particularly (in)famous The
Life of Wu Xun. From 1980 to 1981, voices calling for a re-evaluation of Wu
Xun and the Campaign against The Life of Wu Xun appeared in the press.
A majority of the participants of this call still confirmed the correctness
and necessity of the criticism of the film, requesting only an examination
of where it went too far. Despite the modesty of the request, the discussion
was cut off.57 The CCP authorities did not break their silence about the
campaign until 1985, when Hu Qiaomu, a member of the CCP’s Politburo,
publicly remarked on it. Made in a twisted language, Hu’s remark indicated
an important change of the CCP’s attitude: “[We] cannot consider the
criticism [of Wu Xun and the film] completely correct, not even basically
correct.”58 This change encouraged a new wave of articles that “basically,” if
not “completely,” rehabilitated Wu Xun and the film.59 But no CCP author-
ities bothered to officially lift the ban on The Life of Wu Xun. The film
remained shelved until “internally screened” in Shanghai to commemorate
the 90th anniversary of the birth of Zhao Dan (who died in 1980) in 2005.
Those who missed this one-time show would need to wait for just seven
more years. Ironically, thanks to the messy process of privatization of the
state film industry, the film mysteriously appeared on the Chinese DVD
market in 2012.60 At this point, the privatization had made The Unfinished
Comedies and a few Conspiracy Films available to the market for some
years. Even today, however, it is still difficult to get access to Between a
Married Couple and Platoon Commander Guan.
On the re-examination list, one 1958 documentary-style art film also
faced an unclear destiny. While virtually all documentary-style art films
passed re-examination, Rhapsody of the Shisanling Reservoir was eventually
180 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

deemed too “problematic in its content” to be re-released in February

1979.61 In fact, Rhapsody was too ironic to be re-released; as discussed in
Chapter 4, the film vividly visualizes a Chinese communist heaven that
descends on Earth well before 1978. Tian Han, who wrote the original
play on which the film is based, did not even have a chance to actually
see his prediction fail. Accused of being a leader of the “black line”, he
was tortured to death in 1968. One year before he died, under military
interrogation, he had to acknowledge that the play was a “failure,” pri-
marily because he “sank into the mire of revisionism” when writing it.
At the same time, he attempted to blame much of the “poisonous” fan-
tasy in the film on its director Jin Shan, who was also being persecuted.62
While no longer condemned as “revisionist” or “poisonous” after the Cul-
tural Revolution Period, the play and the film continued to be seen as
a definite “failure,” for example, by the rehabilitated Xia Yan.63 For most
other people, they simply disappeared into oblivion. The film followed the
same trajectory as that of The Life of Wu Xun, The Unfinished Comedies
and the Conspiracy Films: it was shelved until the messy privatization of
the state film industry. On today’s market, the colorful communist fantasy
appears monochrome: the film was originally shot in color,64 but the mas-
ter copy that the Video CD and DVD producers have used is a subsequent,
lower-cost, black-and-white print.
After a brief review of the film Rhapsody of the Shisanling Reservoir in
her 2013 book Literature the People Love: Reading Chinese Texts from the
Early Maoist Period (1949–1966), Krista Van Fleit Hang asks how we can
“stop from laughing, bitterly, perhaps, at the utopian images of ‘the future,
1978’ ” presented in the film:

[T]he tragedies and sacrifices so outweighed the benefits that symbols of

that time can only remain for us as the butt of a cruel joke of history. But
what does that mean to the people who produced those visions, and the
people for whom they structured their understanding of daily life? And what
about those of our students who find meaning and excitement in the utopian
narratives? How do we teach them to understand that moment, rather than
telling them not to?65

Hopefully, this book contributes to a search for answers to such meaningful

questions. I have tried to offer a nuanced historical understanding of “that
moment” and other revolutionary moments, and draw readers’ attention
to the fact that all these moments belonged to a time of radical changes
following a pattern that cycled from disruption to order to another disrup-
tion. During these cycles, meanings of the visions on the silver screen were
in flux under the constantly shifting ruling lines and violently changing
 CONCLUSION 181

power structures. As shown in this study, films produced for the revolu-
tion could be denounced even before their completion, could encounter
severe criticism shortly after their distribution, and most likely would be
condemned as “reactionary” and “poisonous” at least once and later reha-
bilitated at least once. Ironically, the more appealing a revolutionary film
was to the general audiences, the more checkered its career would usually
be. Furious criticism often discredited the political correctness of precisely
those films that could have created effective propaganda. But the diverse
audiences of the films also had their agency. They could answer the call
to criticize films, sincerely or not, for their own security or benefits. They
could also, even at the same time, disregard the fickle political evaluations
privately or publicly, or resist them passively or actively. These changes,
conflicts, contradictions, tensions, and negotiations complicate the con-
ventional understanding of a monolithic and top-down propagandistic
machine running smoothly at all times.
The question is not only how we understand those historical moments
but how we understand our own time. Perhaps the most dramatic irony
shown in this study is not that the utopian narratives have been so bru-
tally transformed into laughingstocks of history but that these narratives
were in fact produced amid unmistakably dystopian power struggles: the
narratives were produced for status and power, and then attacked for the
same reason. From marginalized Shanghai filmmakers to paroled Cultural
Revolution filmmakers, CCP authorities, and critics, the participants of the
power struggles strove and fought for their distinct and conflicting inter-
ests, but their narratives, criticism, arguments, demands, and orders were
all expressed in the same ideologically correct language permeated with
glorious words such as “Chairman Mao,” “revolution,” “communism,”
“the proletariat,” “the people,” and “the masses.” Is this irony idiosyn-
cratic to the Maoist revolution? What do we usually do in the name of
the present-day political ideals, ranging from “freedom” and “democracy”
to “harmonious society” (hexie shehui)? Are they less utopian in nature?
Which one of them has not been invoked for dystopian violence? More-
over, can we live without political ideals? Do some of the ideals advocated
either today or during the Maoist period have unfulfilled potential that
could lead to actual positive social change? If so, how can we use them
meaningfully, so that, hopefully, our visions and actions can look better
than another cruel joke in the eyes of future generations?
Historical investigations of the Maoist revolutionary culture can reveal
the parallels and disparities between then and now that are concealed or
distorted by the cultural hegemony of today. For this purpose, I refrained
from making quick judgments on where the revolutionary films “failed”
or “succeeded” according to present-day values, but tried to delineate
182 REVOLUTIONARY CYCLES IN CHINESE CINEMA

the complex history of their production and reception. Having primarily

focused on the negotiation of power among film artists, CCP authorities,
critics, and audiences, I look forward to seeing future research that either
covers more types of film users or focuses on other negotiations at the
center of Chinese revolutionary film history: for example, the negotiation
among heterogeneous but not necessarily incompatible aesthetic forms
derived from traditional folk arts, the Hollywood, the pre-PRC Shanghai
cinema, the Soviet cinema, and, of course, the arts of Yan’an.
A comprehensive and unbiased understanding of history is itself a
utopia. But seeking to contribute to that end is precisely the kind of
ideal that has led to countless positive developments in historical analy-
sis. Engaging in the multipartite negotiation on how to inch closer to this
faraway ideal, scholars have tremendously enriched our understanding of
history. A Chinese idiom, “blind people touching an elephant” (mangren
mo xiang), may be accurate to describe this situation if interpreted in a
new way. The idiom derives from the well-known Indian fable in which six
blind men each touch a different part of the elephant and come up with a
different conclusion on what the elephant looks like. In Chinese, the idiom
is commonly used to criticize narrow-minded and ignorant people. But, if
history is the elephant and we are the men, how much can we touch when
trying to guess it? Can we ever see the elephant, beyond the parts we can
reach, as a moving whole? Throughout this research, the sheer complexities
of the history of Chinese revolutionary film have often made this age-old
idiom pop up in my mind. It constantly reminds me of how limited my
knowledge is. I nonetheless have made my efforts to describe and analyze
this history from a perspective as sophisticated as I can reach, like a blind
man trying his best to paint an elephant that, as an inexhaustible source of
awe and inspiration, can never be perfected.
 Notes

Introduction

1. Xiaosheng Liang, Yi ge hongweibing de zibai (Confession of a Red Guard)

(Beijing: Wenhuayishu chubanshe, 2006), 216. The English translation is a
slightly revised version of Ban Wang, The sublime figure of history: Aesthetics
and politics in twentieth-century China (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University
Press, 1997), 198. Liang does not make the date clear in his account, which
however matches the situation of Mao’s sixth inspection on the Red Guards
on November 3, 1966. For details of this inspection, see Hong Zeng, ed.
Tiananmen wangshi zhuizong baogao (Accounts of the past events at Tiananmen
square) (Beijing: Zhongyang wenxuan chubanshe, 2010), 402–03.
2. Wang, The sublime figure of history: Aesthetics and politics in twentieth-century
China, 201, 17.
3. Many revolutionary rituals were as half-hearted as the political study sessions
that Su Xiu, a dubbing actor and director, experienced at the Shanghai Film
Studio during the Cultural Revolution Period. Wang sees such study sessions
as an integral part of “a high tide of rituals and rites” that the Chinese engaged
in “with an enthusiasm that was as blind as it was sincere, as irrational as it
was earnest” (ibid., 215–16.). According to Su’s account, however, no one took
these sessions seriously. They made good use of the boring time by secretly
or openly playing games; Xiu Su, Wo de peiyin shengya (My dubbing career)
(Shanghai: Wenhui chubanshe, 2005), 20–21. This book, especially in chapter
six, discusses more examples of the rituals that simply went through motions
or even invited dissidence.
4. My narrative of Liang’s experience in this section is based on Liang, Yi ge
hongweibing de zibai (Confession of a red guard), 159–223.
5. Ibid., 164.
6. Ibid., 163.
7. Ibid., 215–17.
8. Ibid., 163.
9. Ibid., 218.
10. “Propaganda” (xuanchuan) was a highly positive word in the revolutionary
context.
11. I capitalize the word “Rightist,” because being “Rightist” or “Leftist” had its
specific meaning in the revolutionary context. In Michael M. Sheng’s words,
184 NOTES

being Rightist meant “being less committed to the revolution or uncertain

about one’s communist identity,” while being Leftist meant “being less tact-
ful or having too much revolutionary zeal to be patient;” Michael M. Sheng,
Battling Western imperialism: Mao, Stalin, and the United States. (Princeton,
N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1997), 12–13.
12. NCNA, “Shanghai renda yubei huiyi douzheng Zhang Luo lianmeng zai
Shanghai de zhuyao gugan, Sun Dayu mianhongerchi choutaibilu (At the
preparatory meeting of the Shanghai People’s Congress, [people] fought
against a core member of the Zhang [Bojun] and Luo [Longji] Coalition, Sun
Dayu, who flushed with shame and completely acted like a fool),” Renmin ribao
(People’s daily), August 22 1957.
13. J. R. Townsend, Political participation in communist China (Berkeley: Univer-
sity of California Press, 1969) 74.
14. Shaoguang Wang, Failure of charisma: The cultural revolution in Wuhan
(Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 1995) 21.
15. Zedong Mao and Tse-tung Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung, vol. III
(Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1967) 119.
16. Mitch Meisner, “Dazhai: The mass line in practice,” Modern China, 4, no. 1
(1978): 57.
17. Mao and Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung, vol. III, 12, 315. Zedong Mao
and Tse-Tung Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung, vol. V (Beijing: Foreign
Languages Press, 1977) 184.
18. “Zhongguo gongchandang zhongyangweiyuanhui guanyu wuchanjieji wen-
huadageming de jueding (Decision of the CCP’s Central Committee concerning
the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily),
August 9, 1966.
19. Yibo Bo, Ruogan zhongda juece yu shijian de huigu (Reflections on certain
major policy decisions and events) (Beijing: Zhonggong zhongyang dangx-
iao chubanshe, 1991), 263. Mao and Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung,
vol. V 168.
20. Marc Blecher, “Consensual politics in rural Chinese communities: The mass
line in theory and practice,” Modern China, 5, no. 1 (1979): 105–126.
21. Jianguo yilai Mao Zedong wengao (Writings of Mao Zedong since the establish-
ment of the People’s Republic of China) vol. 12 (Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian
chubanshe, 1998), 71.
22. Stuart R. Schram, The Thought of Mao Tse-Tung (Cambridge (Cambridgeshire);
New York: Cambridge University Press, 1989) 145. Skinner and Winckler’s
original model falls short in recognizing the agency of the masses. It char-
acterizes the masses as passively responding to leaders’ initiatives, having
choices only on a continuum from compliance to passive resistance. But the
disturbance-order cycle is still a precise term to describe power dynamics
played out under the Maoist rulership.
23. M. Oksenberg, “Occupational groups in Chinese society and the cultural revo-
lution,” in The Cultural revolution: 1967 in review, four essays, Edited by Chang,
Chun-shu, James Crump, and Rhoads Murphey (University of Michigan:
Center for Chinese Studies, 1968), 2.
 NOTES 185

24. Words often attributed to Lenin in Maoist China.

25. The Gang of Four is the name given to the political faction officially blamed
for the Cultural Revolution. For more about them, see the concluding chapter.
26. Qing Jiang, “Lin Biao tongzhi weituo Jiang Qing tongzhi zhaokai de budui
wenyigongzuo zuotanhui jiyao (Summary of the forum on the work in literature
and art in the armed forces with which comrade Lin Biao entrusted comrade
Jiang Qing),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), May 29, 1967.
27. Laikwan Pang, Building a new China in cinema: The Chinese left-wing cinema
movement, 1932–1937 (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2002), 142.
28. Rick Altman, Film/Genre (London: BFI Publishing, 1999), 144–65.
29. Qing Jiang, “Guanyu dianying wenti (On the film Issue) (May 1966),” in
Fandong yingpian Wu Xun Zhuan Liao Yuan pipan cailiao (Criticism mate-
rials of reactionary films The Life of Wu Xun and The Ablaze Prairie),
Edited by Beijing dianyingxueyuan jinggangshan wenyibingtuan hongdaihui
(Beijing: Beijing dianyingxueyuan jinggangshan wenyibingtuan hongdaihui,
May 1967), 17.
30. In the field of history, Franz Schurmann noticed the limitation that the adjec-
tive “communist” may place on our understanding of China as early as in
1968. In the wake of the Cultural Revolution, he amended his influential work
Ideology and Organization in Communist China and claimed,

If I were to give the book a new title today, I would call it Ideology, Organiza-
tion, and Society in China. The original title testifies to the weight I assigned
ideology and organization, and to China’s Communist character. However,
due weight must now be given to the resurgence of the forces of Chinese
society;

Franz Schurmann, Ideology and organization in communist China, 2d ed.

(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968), 504.
31. In Chinese, a commonly used term for this cinema happens to be also
“revolutionary cinema” (geming dianying). But like “communist cinema” in
English, “revolutionary cinema” in Chinese is usually associated with a static
understanding, namely that the cinema transmits a definite “revolutionary”
ideology. If the “communist” world is the other to the capitalist, then the “revo-
lutionary” period is the other to the post-revolutionary era in China. The book
seeks to reveal precisely the complexities, diversities, and dynamics obscured
and concealed by such otherness.
32. Debo Ma and Guangxi Dai, “Chen Huangmei zai shiqi nian, jian ping ‘zhuan-
jiapai’ yu ‘zuo’ pai de luxianzhizheng (Chen Huangmei during the 17 years:
On the conflicts between the ‘specialists’ and the ‘Leftists’),” Dangdai dianying
(Contemporary cinema), no. 2 (1993): 62.
33. W. J. F. Jenner, “Book review: Chinese cinema: Culture and politics since 1949
by Paul Clark,” The China quarterly, no. 121 (1990): 140.
34. Wang, The sublime figure of history: Aesthetics and politics in twentieth-century
China 123.
186 NOTES

35. Paul Clark, Chinese cinema: Culture and politics since 1949, Cambridge studies
in film (Cambridge [Cambridgeshire]; New York: Cambridge University Press,
1987), 24–55.
36. Paul Pickowicz, China on film: A century of exploration, confrontation, and
controversy (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 2012), 189–212.
37. Clark, Chinese cinema: Culture and politics since 1949, 117.
38. Pickowicz, China on film: A century of exploration, confrontation, and contro-
versy, 195, 206, 08.
39. Zhang Yingjin also points out this issue in his comments on the book; Yingjin
Zhang, Screening China: Critical interventions, cinematic reconfigurations, and
the transnational imaginary in contemporary Chinese cinema (Ann Arbor,
Mich.: Center for Chinese Studies, 2002), 53.
40. Pickowicz, China on film: A century of exploration, confrontation, and contro-
versy 209.
41. Oksenberg, “Occupational groups in Chinese society and the Cultural Revolu-
tion,” 2.
42. Gina Marchetti, “Action-Adventure as ideology,” in Cultural politics in con-
temporary America, ed. Ian H. Angus and Sut Jhally (New York: Routledge,
1989), 185.
43. Yomi Braester, “The political campaign as genre: Ideology and iconogra-
phy during the Seventeen Years Period,” Modern language quarterly, 69, no.
1 (2008): 119–140. Tina Mai Chen, “Textual communities and localized
practices of film in Maoist China,” in Film, history and cultural citizenship:
Sites of production, ed. Tina Mai Chen and David S. Churchill (New York:
Routledge, 2007): 61–80. Paul Clark, The Chinese cultural revolution: A history
(Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008).
44. Altman, Film/Genre, 15.
45. Ibid., 215.
46. Stuart Hall, Representation: Cultural representations and signifying practices
(London; Thousand Oaks, Calif.: Sage in association with the Open University,
1997), 45.
47. Altman, Film/Genre 214.
48. Michel Gordon Colin Foucault, Power/Knowledge: Selected interviews and other
writings, 1972–1977 (New York: Pantheon Books, Edition: 1st American ed.,
1980), 98.
49. Yomi Braester has done a pioneering work to introduce the Altmanian model
to the study of revolutionary cinema; Braester, “The political campaign as
genre: Ideology and iconography during the Seventeen Years Period.”
50. Anita Chen, “Dispelling misconceptions about the Red Guard Movement: The
necessity to re-examine cultural revolution factionalism and periodization,”
Journal of contemporary China, 1, no. 1 (1992): 61–85.
51. For more details about these official claims, see the concluding chapter.
52. Yomi Braester and Tina Mai Chen, “Film in the People’s Republic of
China, 1949–1979: The missing years?,” Journal of Chinese Cinemas, 5, no. 1
(2011): 7.
 NOTES 187

Chapter 1

1. Yanyuan is gender-neutral, and so is the word “actor” in this book. When

necessary, I use “female actor” or “male actor” to indicate gender.
2. Andrew Jones has an insightful discussion of this usage of the word “yellow” in
Chinese media culture. See Andrew F. Jones, Yellow music: Media culture and
colonial modernity in the Chinese Jazz age (Durham: Duke University Press,
2001).
3. Zongying Huang, “Liang zhong wenhua (Two cultures),” Dazhong dianying
(Mass cinema), June 1, 16, July 5, 1950.
4. Chaoguang Wang, “Zhongguo yingping zhong de meiguo dianying, 1895–
1949 (American films in Chinese movie reviews, 1895–1949),” Meiguo yanjiu
(American Studies Quarterly), no. 2 (1996): 78–92. Jishun Zhang, “Cultural
consumption and popular reception of the West in Shanghai, 1950–1966,” The
Chinese historical review, 12, no. 1 (2005): 97–126.
5. Zhang, “Cultural consumption and popular reception of the West in Shanghai,
1950–1966,” 107.
6. In a 2008 interview, Huang stated that she quit because she “was not able to
play worker/peasant/soldier characters well.” See Yisheng Luo, “Ting Huang
Zongying laoren tan wangshi (Listen to Madame Huang Zongying tell past
stories),” Qilu wanbao (Qilu evening news), November 17, 2008.
7. Shaoguang Wang, Failure of charisma: The Cultural revolution in Wuhan
(Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 1995), 21.
8. The actual line between “the two kinds of cinema” was of course much more
blurred than Huang claims in the essay. For a discussion of the deep and
complex interconnections between the Chinese progressive cinema and what
Huang calls the “yellow cinema,” see Laikwan Pang, Building a new China
in cinema: The Chinese left-wing cinema movement, 1932–1937 (Lanham:
Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2002).
9. Zhao’s autobiography in Dazhong dianying (Mass cinema), January 1,
1951, 30.
10. The Imperial Bank of China, The Ningbo Commercial Bank, The National
Industrial Bank of China, The Jianye Bank, and The Sin Hua Bank:
Banking Services. Advertisement. Dazhong dianying (Mass cinema), April
25, 1951.
11. Paul Pickowicz is one of the few scholars who have ever mentioned Song
Jingshi. Yet he quickly dismisses the film as “quite forgettable,” and believes
that “Zheng Junli clearly passed the test by mastering the CCP’s official posi-
tion on the actual peasant rebellion led by Song Jingshi”; Paul Pickowicz, China
on film: A century of exploration, confrontation, and controversy (Lanham:
Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 2012), 195.
12. Scholars have used different terms, such as “the Leftists” and “the specialists”
(zhuanjia pai), to describe the dichotomy of Yan’an versus Shanghai or a sim-
ilar dichotomy of politics versus art. See, for example, Debo Ma and Guangxi
Dai, “Chen Huangmei zai shiqi nian, jian ping ‘zhuanjiapai’ yu ‘zuo’ pai de
188 NOTES

luxianzhizheng (Chen Huangmei during the 17 years: On the conflicts between

the ‘specialists’ and the ‘Leftists’),” Dangdai dianying (Contemporary cinema),
no. 2 (1993): 56–62.
13. Paul Clark, Chinese cinema: Culture and politics since 1949, Cambridge studies
in film (Cambridge (Cambridgeshire); New York: Cambridge University Press,
1987), 190.
14. The Talks listed the four parts of revolutionary literature and art as literature,
theater, music and painting. Film received merely a passing mention in the
Talks when Mao compared the living Lenin with Lenin in film. This trivial
comparison was deleted from the Talks in 1953.
15. Zhonggong zhongyang wenjian xuanji (Selected documents of the CCP’s Central
committee), vol. 17 (Beijing: Zhonggong zhongyang dangxiao chubanshe,
1992), 421.
16. Yaping Ding, ed. Bainian zhongguo dianying lilun wenxuan (Selected articles on
film theory during the recent one hundred years), 2 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing: Wenhua
yishu chubanshe, 2002), 346.
17. Zhonggong zhongyang wenjian xuanji (Selected documents of the CCP’s Central
Committee), vol. 18 (Beijing: Zhonggong zhongyang dangxiao chubanshe,
1992), 420.
18. The narrative of the shooting and revision process of The Life of Wu Xun in this
section is based on Sun’s account; Yu Sun, Dalu zhi ge (Song of the highway)
(Taipei: Yuanliu chuban gongsi, 1990), 179–205.
19. Ibid., 181–83.
20. Ibid., 193–96.
21. One month later, this article was reprinted in the People’s Daily. Ji Jia,
“Buzuweixun de Wu Xun (Wu Xun shall not be exemplary),” Renmin ribao
(People’s daily), May 17, 1951.
22. “Yinggai zhongshi wuxun zhuan de taolun (We should pay attention to discus-
sion of the film The Life of Wu Xun),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), May 20,
1951. The editorial appeared anonymously, but it was widely known that it was
written by Mao.
23. See, for example, Yulu Ke, “Ping dianying Guan lianzhang (A review of the
film Platoon Commander Guan),” Wenyi bao (Literary gazette), 4, no. 5
(1951): 20–21; Xuexing Zhang, “Ping Guan lianzhang (A review of Platoon
Commander Guan),” Wenyi bao (Literary gazette), 4, no. 5 (1951).
24. See, for example, Clark, Chinese cinema: Culture and politics since 1949, 48–52;
Yingjin Zhang, Chinese national cinema (New York: Routledge, Edition: 1st
ed., 2004), 194–99; Kei Shu, “Cangsang renjian sishi nian: Sun Yu yu Wu Xun
Zhuan (Ups and downs during the forty years: Sun Yu and The Life of Wu
Xun),” in Dalu zhi ge (Song of the highway), (Taipei: Yuanliu chuban gongsi,
1990): 259–269.
25. Dafeng Zhong and Xiaoming Shu, Zhongguo dianying shi (A history of Chinese
cinema) (Beijing: Zhongguo guangbo dianshi chubanshe, 1995), 89.
26. Qizhi, Mao Zedong shidai de renmin dianying (People’s cinema during the
Maoist era) (Taipei: Xiuwei zixun keji gufen youxiangongsi, 2010), 96.
 NOTES 189

27. Di Wu, ed. Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese cin-
ema): 1949–1979, 3 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing: Wenhua yishu chubanshe, 2006), 124.
28. Ibid., 169, 225.
29. Yonglie Ye, Jiang Qing zhuan (Biography of Jiang Qing) (Beijing: Zuojia chuban-
she, 1993), 221. Ross Terrill, Madame Mao: The white boned demon, Rev. ed.
(Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1999), 181.
30. Ji Jia, Song Jingshi qiyi gushi (Stories of Song Jingshi’s rebellion) (Beijing:
Zhongguo qingnian chubanshe, 1956).
31. Sun, Dalu zhi ge (Song of the highway), 205.
32. Ibid., 203.
33. Ibid., 205.
34. Hairuo Zeng, “TV Documentary on Song Jingshi,” in Dianying chuanqi (Film
legends), (2007).
35. Baichen Chen, “Congying jilue (A brief memoir on my film career),” Dushu
(Reading), July 10, 1982.
36. See People’s Daily August 24, 1951:3; August 28, 1951:3; September 11, 1951:2;
January 14, 1952:3.
37. Dianfei Zhong, “Fufu jinxingqu shi yi bu huai dianying (The march of a couple
is a Bad Film),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), August 28, 1951, p. 3.
38. Dali Zheng and Jing Li, “Wo de fuqin Zheng Junli (My father Zheng Junli),”
Sanlian shenghuo zhoukan (Sanlian life weekly), January 2008. Zeng, “TV
Documentary on Song Jingshi.”
39. Zeng, “TV Documentary on Song Jingshi.”
40. There was a plan to ask Zhao Dan to play Wu Xun again in Song Jingshi as a
reactionary antagonist. But at the last minute Chen Baichen removed Wu Xun
from the script with the approval of Jiang Qing. The alleged reason was that
Wu was born much later than Song and therefore could not have met him;
Wu, Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese cinema):
1949–1979, vol. 1, 169.
41. See Mao’s speech in Zedong Mao and Tse-tung Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-
Tung., vol. III (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1967), 271–74. Mao gave this
speech on June 11, 1945. The historical investigation of Wu Xun claims that
Song Jingshi joined the Taiping army around 1863.
42. NCNA, “Wenhuabu jiang zai sanshisan ge chengshi juban xinpianzhanlanzhou
(The Ministry of Culture will hold ‘New Film Exhibition Weeks’ in 33 cities),”
Renmin ribao (People’s daily), Feburary 23, 1956.
43. Bo Chen, ed. Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of
Chinese cinema: Records of the overall development), 2 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing:
Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe, 2005), 430.
44. Junli Zheng, “Women zai tansuo zhong qianjin (We are advancing by trial and
error),” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 3 (1957): 16.
45. Wu, Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese cinema):
1949–1979, vol. 1, 169. Chen does not mention the name of the official, who
should be Mo Wenhua, vice president of the Political College of the PLA.
See Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese
cinema: Records of the overall development), vol. 1, 430.
190 NOTES

46. Chen, “Congying jilue (A brief memoir on my film career).”

47. Wu, Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese cinema):
1949–1979, vol. 1, 163–68.
48. Ibid., 127.
49. Ibid., 169.
50. Terrill, Madame Mao: The white boned demon, 178–80.
51. Ye, Jiang Qing zhuan (Biography of Jiang Qing), 223–28.
52. Wu, Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese cinema):
1949–1979, vol. 1, 170.
53. Zheng, “Women zai tansuo zhong qianjin (We are advancing by trial and
error),” 15–16.
54. Ibid., 16–17.
55. Bing Xiao, “Dianying juben de yinmu tixian: ping dianying juben he dianying
Song Jingshi (The way to film a script: A review of the film script and the film
Song Jingshi) (1957),” in Chen Baichen ping zhuan (A critical biography of Chen
Baichen), ed. Hong Chen (Chongqing: Chongqing chubanshe, 1998), 397–402.
56. Zheng and Li, “Wo de fuqin Zheng Junli (My father Zheng Junli).” Zeng, “TV
Documentary on Song Jingshi.”
57. Zedong Mao and Tse-Tung Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung, vol. V
(Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1977), 185.

Chapter 2

1. The literal meaning of yang is “foreign.” But in Chinese this word is used as
an antonym of “rustic.” It conveys a cosmopolitan vision rather than simply
referring to foreignness.
2. Wei Guo, “Wo zenyang zoujin yingtan de damen: huiyi wo de laoshi Shi
Dongshan (How I entered the gate of film industry: Remembering my mentor
Shi Dongshan),” in Shidongshan yingcun (Remembering Shi Dongshan and his
films), ed. Li Daoxin Zhao Xiaoqing (Beijing: Zhongguo dianying chubanshe,
2003), 405.
3. Zhao Yigong’s interviews with Guo Wei (April 24 and July 28, 2003). My thanks
to the production team of the TV documentary series Film Legends (Dianying
chuanqi), and particularly their primary correspondent Zhao Yigong and their
team leader Cui Yongyuan, for allowing me to use the interviews.
4. Jihua Cheng, Shaobai Li, and Zuwen Xing, Zhongguo dianying fazhanshi (A his-
tory of the development of Chinese cinema), 2nd ed., 2 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing:
Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 1963; repr., 2005), 11.
5. Guo, “Wo zenyang zoujin yingtan de damen: huiyi wo de laoshi Shi Dongshan
(How I entered the gate of film industry: Remembering my mentor Shi
Dongshan),” 415, 31.
6. Huangmei Chen, “Jianjue ba diao yinmu shang de baiqi:1957 nian dianying
yishupian zhong cuowu sixiang qingxiang de pipan (Resolutely wrench out the
White Flags on the silver screen: A critique of mistaken ideological tendencies
in 1957 films),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), December 2, 1958.
 NOTES 191

7. Shuli Zhao, Zhao Shuli wenji (Selected works of Zhao Shuli) (Beijing: Gongren
chubanshe, 1980), 1723.
8. The idea of the two-line struggle can be traced back to Lenin’s 1915 article “On
the Two Lines in the Revolution.” The extensive use of this phrase in the CCP’s
parlance began in the Yan’an Rectification Movement (1942–1944). A book
entitled The Two Lines (Liangtiao luxian), for example, was a required study
material for all CCP members in Yan’an in 1943.
9. Zhao, Zhao Shuli wenji (Selected works of Zhao Shuli), 1724.
10. Ibid., 1482.
11. Liqun Qian, 1948: tiandixuanhuang (1948: The sky is black and the earth is
yellow) (Jinan: Shandong jiaoyu chubanshe, 1998), 236.
12. Hanbin Deng, “Sanliwan: dui nongcun hezuoshe zhi minjian ke’nengxing de
zhenmi shuxie (Sanliwan village: Meticulous writing on the grassroots pos-
sibilities of agricultural cooperation),” (2005), http://ows.cul-studies.com/
Article/literature/200503/972.html.
13. Shuli Zhao and Shu-li Chao, Sanliwan village, trans. Gladys Yang (Beijing:
Foreign Languages Press, 1964), 193–97.
14. Corruption of the CCP cadres who have gained their power during the land
reform is a major concern that Zhao repeatedly expresses in his works, includ-
ing the 1943 novella The Tale of Li Youcai’s Rhymes (Li Youcai banhua) and the
1948 novella The Upright Need Not Fear the Crooked (Xie bu ya zheng).
15. Zhao and Chao, Sanliwan Village, 257.
16. Huamin Gao, Nongye hezuohua yundong shimo (A history of the cam-
paign for agricultural collectivization) (Beijing: Zhongguo qingnian chubanshe,
1999), 42.
17. Zhao and Chao, Sanliwan village: 200–01. Translation slightly revised accord-
ing to the Chinese original and American spelling norms.
18. Ibid., 238–39.
19. For more details about the debate over the Changzhi experiments and Mao
and Zhao’s interventions, see Gao, Nongye hezuohua yundong shimo (A history
of the campaign for agricultural collectivization), 35–45.
20. Nongye jitihua zhongyao wenjian huibian (A compendium of important docu-
ments on agricultural collectivization): 1949–1981, vol. 1 (Beijing: Zhonggong
zhongyang dangxiao chubanshe, 1982), 37–44.
21. Ibid., 104–09. “Zhongguo gongchandang zhongyang weiyuanhui guanyu chun-
geng shengchan gei ge ji dangwei de zhishi (Directive on spring sowing by the
CCP’s Central Committee to Party committees of all levels),” Renmin ribao
(People’s daily), March 26, 1953.
22. Zedong Mao and Tse-Tung Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung, vol. V
(Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1977), 135, 38.
23. Nongye jitihua zhongyao wenjian huibian (A compendium of important docu-
ments on agricultural collectivization): 1949–1981, vol. 1, 225.
24. Mao and Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung, vol. V, 186.
25. Nongye jitihua zhongyao wenjian huibian (A compendium of important docu-
ments on agricultural collectivization): 1949–1981, vol. 1, 277–79.
192 NOTES

26. For details of the changes of Mao’s view during this period and his clash
with Deng, see Yibo Bo, Ruogan zhongda juece yu shijian de huigu (Reflections
on certain major policy decisions and events) (Beijing: Zhonggong zhongyang
dangxiao chubanshe, 1991), 326–75.
27. Ibid., 345.
28. Mao and Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung, vol. V, 184, 85, 90.
29. Gao, Nongye hezuohua yundong shimo (A history of the campaign for agricul-
tural collectivization), 287.
30. Mao and Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung, vol. V, 196–97.
31. Zhao, Zhao Shuli wenji (Selected works of Zhao Shuli), 1891.
32. Zhao and Chao, Sanliwan village, 181–82.
33. Dongshan Shi, “Guanyu jinhou yige shiqi nei dianying de zhuti he gongzuo de
judian (On the subjects of films and the focus of film work from now on),”
Renmin ribao (People’s daily), July 6, 1949. Dongshan Shi, “Muqian dianying
yishu de zuofa (Present methods of filmmaking),” Renmin ribao (People’s
daily), August 7, 1949.
Dagong, Zai juying zhouhui shang ting Shi Dongshan baogao ceji (Lis-
tening to Shi Dongshan’s talk at a weekly meeting of film and stage play
artists), Shidongshan yingcun (Remembering Shi Dongshan and His Films),
vol. 2 (Beijing: Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 2003), 50–52.
34. Shi, “Muqian dianying yishu de zuofa (Present methods of filmmaking).”
35. Gang Huang, Zai dianying gongzuo gangwei shang (At the post of film work),
(Shanghai: Xinwenyi chubanshe, 1952), 59.
36. Shi, “Muqian dianying yishu de zuofa (Present methods of filmmaking).”
37. A three-month long nationwide debate on the question, “whether or not [we]
can write about the petty bourgeoisie” in new literature and art, initiated by
the Shanghai based Wenhui Daily (Wenhui bao) in August 1949, made the
doubting voices very clearly heard.
38. Huang, “Dui zai dianying gongzuo zhong guanche Mao Zhuxi wenyi fangxiang
bixu you zhengque lijie (The implementation of Chairman Mao’s direction of
literature and art in film work must be understood correctly),” 52.
39. The criticism of Shi’s articles and speeches has led scholars to believe that
Shi was not credited for directing New Heroes and Heroines. See, for example,
Tony Rayns and Scott Meek, Electric Shadows: 45 Years of Chinese Cinema, BFI
dossier (London: British Film Institute, 1980), Biography (bio). B8. Shi’s name
in fact appears in large font in opening credits of the film as the scriptwriter
and director. For directing this film, Shi won a special Honorary Director
Award at the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival in 1951 and, posthu-
mously, a 1949–1955 Excellent Film Award issued by the Ministry of Culture
in 1957. Articles written at the time of the release of the film all credited it
to Shi.
40. Shi died in 1955. At the time he was holding several high-level positions in
cultural and political institutions, and was about to be appointed the first
president of the Beijing Film Academy. It has long been suspected that Shi
committed suicide to protest against the pressure on him to denounce his long-
time friend Hu Feng. But that was politics behind closed doors. The official
 NOTES 193

press announced his death as due to illness, offering him condolence and high
respect.
41. Huang, “Dui zai dianying gongzuo zhong guanche Mao Zhuxi wenyi fangxiang
bixu you zhengque lijie (The implementation of Chairman Mao’s direction of
literature and art in film work must be understood correctly),” 59.
42. Guo Wei emphasized in an interview: “[Taking Mount Hua by Strategy]
would have been a film about a group of indistinguishable characters if
I had not shot it as a thriller. When making revisions, I realized that I
must solve the problem [of the original film] by turning it into thriller.”
See Hairuo Zeng, “TV Documentary on Taking Mount Hua by Strategy,” in
Dianying chuanqi (Film Legends) (2005). Guo mentioned “revisions” here,
because he shot Taking Mount Hua by Strategy twice. Inspectors of the
Film Bureau considered the first version of the film an artistic and tech-
nical failure. They ordered Guo to revise it heavily. Shi Dongshan offered
Guo much-needed support and helped him with the revisions. See Guo, “Wo
zenyang zoujin yingtan de damen: huiyi wo de laoshi Shi Dongshan (How I
entered the gate of film industry: Remembering my mentor Shi Dongshan),”
430–31.
43. Shadan, “Dong Cunrui: Zhenshi chuangzao de jingdian (Dong Cunrui: A classic
film based on true stories),” Dazhong dianying (Mass cinema), no. 8 (2006):
36–39.
44. Xuexing Zhang, “Ping Guan lianzhang (A review of Platoon Commander
Guan),” Wenyi bao (Literary gazette), 4, no. 5 (1951): 18. Yulu Ke, “Ping
dianying Guan lianzhang (A review of the film Platoon Commander Guan),”
Wenyi bao (Literary gazette), 4, no. 5 (1951): 20–21. Qizhi, Mao Zedong shidai
de renmin dianying (People’s cinema during the Maoist era) (Taipei: Xiuwei
zixun keji gufen youxiangongsi, 2010), 97–98.
45. Qizhi, Mao Zedong shidai de renmin dianying (People’s cinema during the
Maoist era): 283–86; “Guanyu gaijin dianying zhipian gongzuo ruogan wenti
de baogao (A report on the improvement of several issues in the film produc-
tion work),” (Beijing: Wenhua bu dianying ju (the Film Bureau of the Ministry
of Culture), 1957). Before this reform, filmmakers at the state-owned studios
did not need to worry about financial gains and losses of their films at all. For
details, see Chapter 3.
46. Su Hu, “Yigu fandang anliu de fanlan—chi yi Sha Meng weishou de fandan-
gjituan (An overflowing anti-Party undercurrent: Denouncing the anti-Party
group led by Sha Meng),” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 9 (1957):
13–16.
47. See, for example, Hairuo Zeng, “TV Documentary on Blooming Flowers and
the Full Moon,” in Dianying chuanqi (Film Legends), (2004).
48. “Lingzhi” and “Yusheng” are spelled as “Ling-chih” and “Yu-sheng” in the
original translation. Zhao and Chao, Sanliwan Village, 190–91.
49. For a discussion on Shi Dongshan’s pursuit of formal beauty in filmmaking,
see Xiao’ou Shu, “Shi Dongshan de zaoqi dianying chuangzuo yu ‘weimeizhuyi’
(Shi Dongshan’s early filmmaking career and ‘aestheticism’),” Dianying yishu
(Film art), no. 4 (1996): 59–63.
194 NOTES

50. Qizhi, Mao Zedong shidai de renmin dianying (People’s cinema during the
Maoist era), 343.
51. Zhao, Zhao Shuli wenji (Selected works of Zhao Shuli) 1888.
52. Zhao and Chao, Sanliwan village, 31.
53. Literary scripts are, as Paul Clark explains, “hybrid literary versions of what
will be or has been filmed.” (Paul Clark, “The Film Industry in the 1970s,” in
Popular Chinese literature and performing arts in the People’s Republic of China,
1949–1979, ed. Bonnie S. McDougall and Paul Clark (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1984), 189.) Publication of literary scripts was popular in
early PRC because it satisfied the need of those who wanted to watch a film
but did not have a chance to watch it in the movie theatre.
54. This is a combined quote from the following three sources: Wei Guo,
“Huahaoyueyuan dianying wenxue juben (Literary script of Blooming Flowers
and the Full Moon),” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 6 (1957): 45.
Wei Guo, Huahao yueyuan dianying wancheng jingtou juben (Shooting script of
Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon) (Changchun: Chuangchun Film Studio
(Mimeograph with no clear date), circa. 1957), 9. Wentao, “Lichang, fencun he
quwei (Position, propriety and taste),” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema),
no. 4 (1959): 70.
55. Shen, “Dianying gongzuozhe 1957 nian de dongxiang (Interviews with people
working in film on their plans in 1957),” Dazhong dianying (Mass cinema),
no. 1 (1957): 10.
56. NCNA, “Changying ‘xiaobailou’ fandang jituan qiongxunji’e, Sha Meng Guo
Wei Lü Ban shuaidui xiang dang chongfeng, tichu yitao zibenzhuyi gangling
wangxiang ba dianying shiye tuixiang qitu (The ‘anti-Party clique in the Lit-
tle White Building’ of the Changchun Film Studio is extremely vicious; Sha
Meng, Guo Wei, and Lü Ban are leading their team to charge against the Party;
in the vain hope of pushing the film cause to a wrong path, they have proposed
a set of capitalist programs.),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), September 3,
1957.
57. Hanwei Dang dui dianying shiye de lingdao xubian (Defend the leadership of the
Party in the film work: Continuation). (Beijing: Zhongguo dianying chubanshe,
1958), 52.
58. As explained in the introduction, the Maoist mass line policy enforcers needed
to mobilize the masses to denounce the politically erroneous PRC-made films.
Rather than controlling the accessibility of the films, they sought instead to
direct audiences’ thoughts about them. For this reason, the Maoist period
often saw films released to be criticized. Chapter 6 discusses this practice in
detail.
59. Dun Tao, “Huahaoyueyuan pipan (Criticism of Blooming Flowers and the Full
Moon),” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 3 (1959): 68.
60. Ibid. Qin Su, “Gaoju hongqi, dapo dali (Holding the red flag high, let great
demolition lead to great establishment),” Wenyi bao (Literary gazette), no. 17
(1958): 32.
 NOTES 195

61. Wentao, “Lichang, fencun he quwei (Position, propriety and taste),” 69, 70.
62. Su, “Gaoju hongqi, dapo dali (Holding the red flag high, let great demolition
lead to great establishment),” 32.
63. Tao, “Huahaoyueyuan pipan (Criticism of Blooming Flowers and the Full
Moon),” 68.
64. Su, “Gaoju hongqi, dapo dali (Holding the red flag high, let great demolition
lead to great establishment),” 32.
65. Tao, “Huahaoyueyuan pipan (Criticism of Blooming Flowers and the Full
Moon),” 68; Wentao, “Lichang, fencun he quwei (Position, propriety and taste),”
69. Both Fan and Ma fall into the category of the “middle peasants” in the
CCP’s land reform and collectivization. A classical definition of the “middle
peasants” can be found in Vladimir Il’ich Lenin, Collected Works, vol. 29
(Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1972), 246–47.
66. Huangmei Chen, “Jianchi dianying wei gongnongbing fuwu de fangzhen (Insist
on the policy that film must serve the workers, the peasants, and the soldiers),”
Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), February 25, 1957.
67. Hanwei Dang dui dianying shiye de lingdao xubian (Defend the leadership of the
Party in the film work: Continuation), 49.
68. Chen, “Jianjue ba diao yinmu shang de baiqi:1957 nian dianying yishupian
zhong cuowu sixiang qingxiang de pipan (Resolutely wrench out the White
Flags on the silver screen: a critique of mistaken ideological tendencies in 1957
films).”
69. Tushou Chen, “1959 nian dongtian de Zhao Shuli (Zhao Shuli during the winter
of 1959),” in Bujin weile ji’nian (Not only for commemoration) (Beijing: Sanlian
shudian, 2007), 530.
70. Huangmei Chen and Wenshu Yuan, “Dui 1957 nian yixie yingpian de pingjia
wenti (On the evaluation of some films produced in 1957),” Renmin ribao
(People’s daily), March 4, 1959.
71. Di Wu, ed. Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese cin-
ema): 1949–1979, 3 vols., vol. 2 (Beijing: Wenhua yishu chubanshe, 2006),
411–12.
72. Qing Jiang, “Lin Biao tongzhi weituo Jiang Qing tongzhi zhaokai de budui
wenyigongzuo zuotanhui jiyao (Summary of the forum on the work in literature
and art in the armed forces with which comrade Lin Biao entrusted comrade
Jiang Qing),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), May 29, 1967.
73. “Yizhu fandui nongcun shehuizhuyi geming de da ducao (A big Poisonous
Weed opposing the socialist revolution on the countryside),” in Dianying
geming (Film revolution) (Jilin: Jilinsheng gongnongbing dianying geming
lianluozhan, 1968), 8.
74. Chen, “Jianjue ba diao yinmu shang de baiqi:1957 nian dianying yishupian
zhong cuowu sixiang qingxiang de pipan (Resolutely wrench out the White
Flags on the silver screen: A critique of mistaken ideological tendencies in 1957
films).” Chen and Yuan, “Dui 1957 nian yixie yingpian de pingjia wenti (On the
evaluation of some films produced in 1957).”
196 NOTES

Chapter 3

1. Fang Song, “TV Documentary on The Man Unconcerned with Details,” in

Dianying chuanqi (Film legends) (2006).
2. Qizhi, Mao Zedong shidai de renmin dianying (People’s cinema during the
Maoist era) (Taipei: Xiuwei zixun keji gufen youxiangongsi, 2010), 96.
3. Other Shanghai film artists who went to Yan’an around the same time include
Yuan Muzhi, Chen Bo’er, Wu Yinxian, Tian Fang, Wang Bing, Qian Xiaozhang,
Wang Yang, and Xu Xiaobing.
4. Di Wu, ed. Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese
cinema): 1949–1979, 3 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing: Wenhua yishu chubanshe,
2006), 220.
5. Interview of Lü Ban’s son, Lü Xiaoban, in Song, “TV Documentary on The
Man Unconcerned with Details.”
6. Ibid.
7. Wu, Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese cinema):
1949–1979, vol. 1, 222.
8. Bo Chen ed., Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonghe juan (Annals of Chinese
cinema: Comprehensive records) 2 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian
chubanshe, 2005), 6.
9. Daoxin Li, “Cansheng de tizhi he jianbai de ren (The bitterly victorious insti-
tution and the gradually defeated people),” Dianying yishu (Film Art), no. 5
(2012): 112–13. This article cites a number of internal, hard-to-find docu-
ments of the Changchun Film Studio. It informs my historical narrative of this
conference and Lü Ban’s later efforts to organize and re-organize the Spring
Comedy Society.
10. Wu, Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese cinema):
1949–1979, vol. 1, 348–61.
11. Hanwei Dang dui dianying shiye de lingdao xubian (Defend the leadership of the
party in the film work: Continuation) (Beijing: Zhongguo dianying chubanshe,
1958), 88–89.
12. English translation in Peter Kenez, Cinema and Soviet society from the
revolution to the death of Stalin (London and New York: I.B. Tauris,
2001), 219.
13. For details of the plan, see Bo Chen, ed. Zhongguo dianying biannian
jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese cinema: Records of the overall devel-
opment), 2 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe, 2005),
401–02.
14. See Xingliang Hu, “1949–1976 zhong wai xiju jiaoliu gailun (A survey of the
exchange activities in theater between China and other countries from 1949 to
1976),” Wenyi zhengming (Contentions in literature and art), no. 3 (2006): 118.
15. For more details of these frictions, see Mercy Kuo, Contending with contradic-
tions: China’s policy toward Soviet Eastern Europe and the origins of the Sino-
Soviet split, 1953–1960 (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2001); Lengxi Wu,
Shi nian lunzhan: 1956–1966 zhong su guanxi huiyilu (Ten years of debate: A
 NOTES 197

memoir on the Sino-Soviet relationship from 1956 to 1966) (Beijing: Zhongyang

wenxian chubanshe, 1999).
16. Huang Dai, Jiusiyisheng: wo de “Youpai” li cheng (Surviving all perils: My expe-
riences as a Righitst) (Beijing: Zhongyang bianyi chubanshe, 1998), 27–58.
Binyan Liu, A higher kind of loyalty: A memoir by China’s foremost journalist
(New York: Pantheon Books, 1990), 62–77.
17. Jianguo yilai zhongyao wenxian xuanbian (Selected important documents since
the establishment of the PRC), 20 vols., vol. 10 (Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian
chubanshe, 1994), 154.
18. Nongye jitihua zhongyao wenjian huibian (A compendium of important docu-
ments on agricultural collectivization): 1949–1981, vol. 1 (Beijing: Zhonggong
zhongyang dangxiao chubanshe, 1982), 655–64.
19. Zedong Mao and Tse-Tung Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung, vol. V
(Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1977), 332–421.
20. Ibid., 373. “Beijing” is spelled as “Peking,” and “Yan’an” is spelled as “Yenan”
in the original English translation.
21. Ibid., 374–75.
22. Dingyi Lu, “Baihua qifang, baijia zhengming (Let a hundred flowers bloom, let
a hundred schools contend),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), June 13, 1956.
23. Mao and Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung, vol. V, 345. This English trans-
lation translates Mao’s word “ge diao,” which means “to remove through a
revolution,” only partially as “to remove.”
24. Sanmu, “Cisheng cangmang: guanyu Pu Xixiu (A life in the mist: on Pu Xixiu),”
Wenshi jinghua (Selected readings on literature and history), no. 11 (2004):
30–31.
25. Zhucheng Xu, “Yang mou: 1957 (Open scheming: 1957),” in Jingji lu: jiyi zhong
de fan youpai yundong (A thorny road: Memoirs on the Anti-Rightist Campaign),
ed. Han Niu and Jiuping Deng (Beijing: Jingji ribao chubanshe, 1998), 269.
26. Fangzao Yao, “ ‘Dianying luogu’ da fengbo (The great disturbance of the ‘gangs
and drums at the movies’),” in Jingji lu: jiyi zhong de fan youpai yundong (A
thorny road: Memoirs on the Anti-Rightist Campaign), ed. Han Niu and Jiuping
Deng (Beijing: Jingji ribao chubanshe, 1998), 394.
27. Ibid., 394–95. Xuepeng Luo, “Zhong Dianfei he dianying de luogu (Zhong
Dianfei and gongs and drums at the movies),” Yanhuang chunqiu (China
through the ages), no. 12 (2001).
28. In 1951, for example, the Film Bureau planned to produce 18 films, among
which three to four were to be of “battle subjects,” four to five of “construc-
tion subjects,” two were to “represent the land reform,” one to two were to
represent “new inventions,” two were to be on world peace and against U.S.
imperialism, two were to “represent internationalism,” one was to “represent
ethic issues,” one was to represent “cultural construction,” one was to be “on
the children,” one was to be on history, and on cadres’ working style “there
can be one as well.” See Qizhi, Mao Zedong shidai de renmin dianying (People’s
cinema during the Maoist era): 46. In May 1953, Zhou Yang acknowledged that
“the leadership on the creation of film scripts has violated the law of creation
198 NOTES

by ordering [scriptwriters] to write on given topics and setting a time limit for
them to fulfill their writing assignments;” Wu, Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao
(Research materials of Chinese cinema): 1949–1979, vol. 1, 346.
29. Zhenchang Tang, “Gaijin shengao zhidu (Improve the film script inspection
system),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), November 17, 1956.
30. Chuan Shi, “ ‘Shiqinian’ shiqi zhongguo dianying tizhi yu guanzhong xuqiu
(Chinese film institution and the needs of Chinese audience during the period
of the ‘seventeen years’),” Dianying yishu (Film Art), no. 4 (2004): 49.
31. See the film title list in Jingliang Chen and Jianwen Zou, eds., Bai nian
zhongguo dianying jingxuan (The best of centennial Chinese cinema), vol. 2, 1
(Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 2006), 361–66. I do not count
some of the listed films because they are too short to be considered feature-
length.
32. Fangyu Shi, “Xuyao hehu yishu guilü de lingdao (We need a leadership that
obeys the law of art),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), November 17, 1956.
33. Liting Chen, “Daoyan yinggai shi yingpian shengchan de zhongxin huan-
jie (Directors should work at the center of film production),” Wenhui bao
(Wenhui daily), November 23, 1956. Jingbo, “Baozheng dianying jishu de zhil-
iang (Ensure the technical quality of films),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily),
November 26, 1956. Shangyi Han et al., “Mianxiang yishu (For art),” Wenhui
bao (Wenhui daily), November 27, 1956.
34. Mubai, “Paishe guocheng zhong de qingguijielü (Restrictions in the shooting
process),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), November 26, 1956.
35. Jinglu Sun, “Zui zhongyao de shi guanxin ren (Caring for the people is the most
important),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), November 20, 1956.
36. Leyan, “Yanyuan de kunao (Actors’ frustration),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily),
December 10, 1956.
37. Sun, “Zui zhongyao de shi guanxin ren (Caring for the people is the most
important).”
38. While many professional actors, especially the former movie stars, had valid
reasons to believe such preference for non-professionals created “waste,” some
new talents did emerge among the non-professionals. The losses and gains of
the Chinese cinema for having the new faces in lieu of the old ones deserve
a separate examination. This research focuses instead on the consequences of
the professionals’ frustration for what they saw as a “waste” of their talent.
39. Yunzhu Shangguan, “Rang wushu maicang de zhubao faguang (Let the buried
treasures shine),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), November 21, 1956. Shi Shu,
“Wo de yaoqiu (My demands),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), November 21,
1956. Fei Han, “Meiyou xiju keyan (No comedy to play in),” Wenhui bao
(Wenhui daily), November 30, 1956.
40. Chen, “Daoyan yinggai shi yingpian shengchan de zhongxin huanjie (Directors
should work at the center of film production).”
41. Xing Li, “Guanzhong xuyao kan shenmeyang de yingpian (What films does the
audience want to watch?),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), December 17, 1956.
42. The couplet is quoted in Yi ( ) Chen, “Wo ye xiangdao dianying de wenti (I am
too thinking about the film issue),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), January 23,
 NOTES 199

1957. The deficit amount is quoted from Bo Chen ed., Zhongguo dianying
biannian jishi: faxing fangying juan (Annals of Chinese cinema: Distribu-
tion and projection), 3 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe,
2005), 24.
43. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: faxing fangying juan (Annals of
Chinese cinema: Distribution and projection) vol. 1, 24.
44. Dianfei Zhong, “Dianying de luogu (Gongs and drums at the movies),” Wenhui
bao (Wenhui daily), December 21, 1956. The article appeared as written by a
“commentator of Literary Gazette (Wenyibao pinglunyuan).”
45. “Weishenmo hao de guochanpian zheyang shao? (Why are there so few
good PRC-made films?),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), November 14,
1956.
46. Producing films in the remote mountainous area of Yan’an, early CCP film
artists and workers relied exclusively on a mobile film projection team to
show films to soldiers and peasants. See Zhuqing Wu, Zhongguo dianying de
fengbei: Yan’an dianyingtuan gushi (A monument of Chinese cinema: Stories of
the Yan’an film group) (Beijing: Zhongguo renmin daxue chubanshe, 2008),
116–32. The Northeast Studio had 17 mobile projection teams showing films
for peasants and soldiers in 1948. See Renmin ribao (People’s daily), June 22,
1948, 2. There were about 100 mobile projection teams in 1949. The num-
ber reached 1076 in 1953. See Renmin ribao (People’s daily) March 1, 1950, 3;
January 12, 1954, 3.
47. Tao Zhou, “Fangyingyuan de yijian he kunao (Opinions and frustrations of a
projectionist),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), December 8, 1956.
48. Bo Chen, ed. Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: faxing fangying juan (Annals of
Chinese cinema: Distribution and projection), 3 vols., vol. 2 (Beijing: Zhongyang
wenxian chubanshe, 2005), 806.
49. Ibid., 1, 24.
50. The Bicycle Thief was released in China in October 1954; Zuguang Wu,
“Dongrenxinxian de yingpian: Yidali jinbu yingpian ‘Tou zixingche de ren’ guan-
hou (A touching film: a review of the Italian progressive film Bicycle Thief ),”
Renmin ribao (People’s daily), October 25, 1954.
51. “Yindu dianying zhou jiang zai wo guo ershi ge chengshi juxing (The Indian Film
Week will be held in 20 cities of our country),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily),
April 1, 1955. “Yindu gongheguo dianying zhou shengli jieshu (Film Week of the
Republic of India ended victoriously),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), October
24, 1955.
52. Ten major Chinese cities hosted the Japanese and the French Film Weeks
respectively in June and October 1956, and Beijing hosted the Italian Film
Week from October to November in 1957. “Shi da chengshi jiang juxing ‘Riben
dianying zhou’ (The Japanese Film Week will be held in ten major cities),”
Renmin ribao (People’s daily), May 23, 1956. “Wo guo ge da chengshi jiang juxing
Faguo dianyingzhou (The French Film Week will be held in major cities of our
country),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), October 10, 1956. “Yidali dianying
zhou jijiang zai jing juxing (The Italian Film Festival will be held in Beijing),”
Renmin ribao (People’s daily), October 26, 1957.
200 NOTES

53. “ ‘Faguo dianying zhou’ guanzhong da sanbanwan renci; faguo dianying daib-
iaotuan dao shanghai fangwen (Audiences of the French Film Week reached
three million; the French Film Delegation is visiting Shanghai),” Renmin ribao
(People’s daily) November 4, 1956. “Guochan yingpian shangzuolü qingkuang
buhao (The box-office records of the PRC-made films are not good),” Wenhui
bao (Wenhui daily), November 14, 1956.
54. Jihua Cheng, Shaobai Li, and Zuwen Xing, Zhongguo dianying fazhanshi (A
history of the development of Chinese cinema), 2nd ed., 2 vols., vol. 2 (Beijing:
Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 1963; repr., 2005), 222.
55. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: faxing fangying juan (Annals of
Chinese cinema: Distribution and projection), vol. 1, 26.
56. Yihai Ding, “Guochan yingpian de quedian (Problems of PRC-made films),”
Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), November 14, 1956. Several other articles in
the Few Good discussion also mention the popularity of re-screened Chinese
progressive films.
57. Baichen Chen, “Cong he shuo qi (Where should I start?),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui
daily), December 13 1956. Chen’s original wording for “the imported progres-
sive films” is “films like Spring (Chun) and Autumn (Qiu),” both of which are
Hong Kong imported progressive films (made in 1953 and 1954, respectively)
that achieved significant box-office success in the PRC in 1956.
58. Li, “Guanzhong xuyao kan shenmeyang de yingpian (What films does the audi-
ence want to watch?).” Chen Baichen used the word “star” in a similar way in
his above-mentioned contribution to the discussion. Chapter 5 discusses the
star culture in the PRC further.
59. Han, “Meiyou xiju keyan (No comedy to play in).”
60. Shangguan, “Rang wushu maicang de zhubao faguang (Let the buried treasures
shine).”; Sun, “Zui zhongyao de shi guanxin ren (Caring for the people is the
most important).”
61. Gong Wang, “Dianying shiye zouguo de yiduan wanlu (A wrong way for the
development of cinema),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), November 28, 1956.
62. Yu Sun, “Zunzhong dianying de yishu chuantong (Respect the Legacy of Film
Art),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), November 29, 1956.
63. Hui Shi, “Zhongshi zhongguo dianying de chuantong (Value the legacy of
Chinese film),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), December 3, 1956.
64. Ibid.
65. Lu, “Baihua qifang, baijia zhengming (Let a hundred flowers bloom, let a
hundred schools contend).”
66. Yang Zhou, Zhou Yang wenji (Collected works of Zhou Yang), 5 vols., vol. 2
(Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1984), 408. Yang Zhou, “Rang wenxue
yishu zai jianshe shehuizhuyi weida shiye zhong fahui juda de zuoyong (Let lit-
erature and art play a huge role in the great task of socialist construction),”
Renmin ribao (People’s daily), September 25, 1956.
67. Sun, “Zunzhong dianying de yishu chuantong (Respect the Legacy of Film Art).”
68. Zhong, “Dianying de luogu (Gongs and drums at the movies).”
69. Director Lu Ren at the Shanghai studio took over the project and com-
pleted the adaptation in 1957. For a description of Lü Ban’s adaptation of
 NOTES 201

Playing a Vertical Bamboo Flute Horizontally and the conflicts it generated, see
Anping Zhu, “Dongxiao hengchui duo kanke (The checkered career of Playing
a Vertical Bamboo Flute Horizontally),” Dazhong dianying (Mass cinema), June
15, 2010.
70. Fangzao Yao, “Gaijin dianying shiye de zhongda cuoshi (Important measures to
improve the film work),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), December 23, 1956. The
CCP’s Central Committee approved the reform plan on February 5, 1957; see
the internal document cited in Qizhi, Mao Zedong shidai de renmin dianying
(People’s cinema during the Maoist era): 286.
71. Yao, “ ‘Dianying luogu’ da fengbo (The great disturbance of the ‘gangs and
drums at the movies’),” 398.
72. Xuepeng Luo, “Zhong Dianfei yu ‘dianying de luogu’ (Zhong Dianfei and ‘gongs
and drums at the movies’),” Bai nian chao (Hundred-year changes), no. 5
(2008): 57–60.
73. Zedong Mao et al., The secret speeches of Chairman Mao: From the hun-
dred flowers to the great leap forward, Harvard contemporary China series
(Cambridge, Mass.: Council on East Asian Studies/Harvard University: Dis-
tributed by Harvard University Press, 1989), 168.
74. Ibid., 167.
75. Ibid., 168–70.
76. Ibid., 253.
77. Fangzao Yao and Yang Zhou, “Zhou Yang tongzhi da benbao jizhe wen (Inter-
view of comrade Zhou Yang by a staff corrspondent),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui
daily), April 9, 1957.
78. Hanwei Dang dui dianying shiye de lingdao xubian (Defend the leadership of the
Party in the film work: Continuation), 103, 07.
79. Mao used this expression to criticize CCP authorities’ suppression of criticism
in a talk delivered in March 1957; Mao and Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-
Tung, vol. V, 432.
80. Hanwei Dang dui dianying shiye de lingdao xubian (Defend the leadership of the
Party in the film work: Continuation), 103.
81. “Tongzhan bu zhaokai de minzhu renshi zuotanhui zuotian jixu juxing (The
symposium of democratic party representatives, convened by the United
Front Work Department, continued yesterday).”, Renmin ribao (People’s daily),
June 2, 1957.
82. Quotes are taken from Zhou Dajue’s poster “lun ‘jieji’ de fazhan (On the devel-
opment of ‘class’),” printed in Han Niu and Jiuping Deng, eds., Yuan shang
cao: Jiyi zhong de fan youpai yundong (Wild grass: Remembering the anti-rightist
campaign) (Beijing: Jingji ribao chubanshe, 1998), 166–71. A number of other
posters aired the same view. See, for example, the posters written by Shen Dike
and Qian Ruping in the same book.
83. Jieying Zhong, “Wo yu Luo Lan zai dafengchao zhong (Luo Lan and I in
the big unrest),” in Jiyi (Remembering), ed. Xianzhi Lin and Dening Zhang
(Beijing: Gongren chubanshe, 2002), 62, 64. Zheng Zhu, 1957 nian de xiaji:
cong baijiazhengming dao liang jia zhengming (The summer of 1957: From
a hundred schools to two schools) (Zhengzhou: He’nan renmin chubanshe,
202 NOTES

1998). 299. Shu Ding, “Beida zai 1957 (Beijing University during 1957),”
http://www.usc.cuhk.edu.hk/wk_wzdetails.asp?id=4279.
84. Liu, A higher kind of loyalty: A memoir by China’s foremost journalist, 76. Trans-
lation slightly revised according to the original Chinese version; Binyan Liu,
Liu Binyan zizhuan (An autobiography of Liu Binyan) (Hong Kong: Xingguang
Press, 1990), 97.
85. Mao noted at the time: “Summer vacation is approaching. College students in
Beijing, Shanghai and other cities will go back home. Some of them will run
here and there to make troubles. You should take initiative and get ready to
appropriately deal with them”; Jianguo yilai Mao Zedong wengao (Writings of
Mao Zedong since the establishment of the People’s Republic of China), vol. 6
(Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe, 1998), 492.
86. Xianzhi Pang and Chongji Jin, Mao Zedong zhuan:1949–1976 (Biography of
Mao Zedong: 1949–1976) (Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe, 2004), 696.
87. Mao and Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung, vol. V, 440–41.
88. 552,877 is the post-Mao official figure, which some argue is an underestima-
tion. See Henry Yuhuai He, Dictionary of the political thought of the People’s
Republic of China (Armonk, N.Y.: M.E. Sharpe, 2001). 115.
89. Mao and Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung, vol. V, 455. This translation
transliterates the Wenhui Daily as Wen Hui Pao.
90. “Dongyuan qilai, tou ru zhandou! (Get mobilized to fight!),” Zhongguo dianying
(Chinese cinema), no. 7 (1957): 1.
91. NCNA, “Lü Ban shi ge fandang daoyan (Lü Ban is an anti-Party direc-
tor),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), August 20, 1957. NCNA, “Changying
‘xiaobailou’ fandang jituan qiongxunji’e, Sha Meng Guo Wei Lü Ban shuaidui
xiang dang chongfeng, tichu yitao zibenzhuyi gangling wangxiang ba dianying
shiye tuixiang qitu (The ‘anti-Party clique in the Little White Building’ of the
Changchun Film Studio is extremely vicious; Sha Meng, Guo Wei, and Lü
Ban are leading their team to charge against the Party; in the vain hope of
pushing the film cause to a wrong path, they have proposed a set of capitalist
programs.),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), September 3, 1957.
92. See a partial record in Hanwei Dang dui dianying shiye de lingdao xubian
(Defend the leadership of the Party in the film work: Continuation), 67.
93. See a summary of the criticism in ibid., 71–86.
94. Mao and Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung, vol. V, 359.
95. Chen Huangmei confirms this in Huangmei Chen and Wenshu Yuan, “Dui
1957 nian yixie yingpian de pingjia wenti (On the evaluation of some films
produced in 1957),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), March 4, 1959.
96. Bo Chen ed., Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of
Chinese cinema: Records of the overall development), 2 vols., vol. 2 (Beijing:
Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe, 2005), 637.
97. Zheng particularly made a furious attack at two fellow Shanghai directors, Wu
Yonggang and the above mentioned Shi Hui. Both Wu and Shi were active Few
Good discussion participants calling for a revival of Shanghai. Hanwei Dang
dui dianying shiye de lingdao xubian (Defend the leadership of the Party in the
film work: Continuation), 14–24. Junli Zheng, “Tan Shi Hui de fandong yishu
 NOTES 203

guandian (On the reactionary artistic views of Shi Hui),” Zhongguo dianying
(Chinese cinema), no. 1 (1958).
98. The other co-director of the film, Cai Chusheng, was also a leading critic of the
Rightists, especially Lü Ban and Zhong Dianfei. Among other articles and talks,
he waged a long-winded, down-to-detail attack at The Unfinished Comedies,
and was particularly sensitive to Lü’s attempt to revive Shanghai “yellow” cin-
ema and music; Hanwei Dang dui dianying shiye de lingdao xubian (Defend the
leadership of the Party in the film work: Continuation), 67–100. Unlike Zheng
and other fellow Shanghai directors, Cai became a high-level cultural bureau-
crat immediately after the founding of the PRC. He was a powerful official
rather than a marginalized Shanghai artist, and did not direct any films in the
PRC until 1962.

Chapter 4

1. “Da guimo de shouji quanguo min’ge (Extensively collect folk poems nation-
wide),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), April 14, 1958.
2. Although a literal translation of the Chinese word min’ge is “folk songs,” “folk
poetry/poems” is more accurate in this context, because most of the poems
were not set to music.
3. “Anhui sheng souji min’ge jin san wan (Almost thirty thousand folk poems
have been colleced in the Anhui province),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily),
June 9, 1958.
4. “Min’ge zhi hai Neimenggu yao souji qianwan shou minge (Ten million folk
poems will be collected in the Inner Mongolia, known as the ‘sea of folk
poems’),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), June 9, 1958.
5. Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long live the thoughts of Mao Zedong)
1958–1960 (Wuhan: Gang’ersi Wuhandaxue zongbu, Zhongnanminyuan
geweihui xuanchuanbu, and Wuhanshiyuan geweihui xuanchuanbu, 1968),
41, 63, 84.
6. Ibid., 42.
7. “Yao fandui baoshou zhuyi, ye yao fandui jizao qingxu (It is necessary to oppose
both impetuosity and conservatism),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), June 20,
1956.
8. Lengxi Wu, Yi Mao Zhuxi: wo qinshen jingli de ruogan zhongda lishi shijian
pianduan (Remembering Chairman Mao: Fragments of certain major histori-
cal events which I personally experienced) (Beijing: Xinhua chubanshe, 1995),
49–50.
9. “Jianshe shehuizhuyi nongcun de weida gangling (A great program for the con-
struction of socialist countryside),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), October 27,
1957. “Fadong quanmin, taolun sishi tiao gangyao, xianqi nongye shengchan de
xin gaochao (Mobilize all people, discuss the 40 programs, and create a new
peak of agricultural productions),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), November
13, 1958. Before these two editorials, the phrase “(great) leap forward” was
used mainly to praise past achievements. See, for example, “Da yuejin de
204 NOTES

yinian (A year of great leap forward),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), June 29,
1957.
10. Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long live the thoughts of Mao Zedong) 1958–1960,
6–9, 30, 42, 341–42.
11. Zhiyuan Cui, “Guanyu liangjiehe chuangzuo fangfa de lishi kaocha yu fansi
(A reflective history of the creative method of the combination of Revolution-
ary Romanticism and Revolutionary Realism),” Hebei shifan daxue xuebao:
zhexue shehui kexue ban (Journal of the Hebei Normal University: Philosophy
and Social Sciences), 27, no. 1 (2004): 44. This remark and its slight variations
are quoted in a number of Chinese and English scholarly articles and books.
Yang Lan’s article “ ‘Socialist Realism’ versus ‘Revolutionary Realism Plus
Revolutionary Romanticism,’ ” in In the CCP Spirit: Socialist realism and lit-
erary practice in the Soviet Union, East Germany and China, ed. Hilary Chung
and Falchikov Michael (Amsterdam; Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 1996), for exam-
ple, quotes a marginally different version of this remark from Yafu Wang,
Hengzhong Zhang, and Lifan Ding, Zhongguo xueshujie dashi ji (A chron-
icle of events in Chinese academic circles): 1919–1985 (Shanghai: Shanghai
shehui kexueyuan chubanshe, 1988). Zhou Yang’s article also confirms that
Mao made a remark of this sort. The original source, however, remains
unclear.
12. Yang Zhou, “Xin min’ge kaichuang le shige de xin daolu (New folk poems have
opened a new path for poetry),” Hong qi (Red flag), no. 1 (1958): 35.
13. Andrey Zhdanov, “Soviet literature: The richest in ideas, the most advanced
literature,” in Soviet Writers’ Congress 1934: The debate on socialist realism and
modernism in the Soviet Union. Edited by Gorky, Maksim and H G. Scott
(London: Lawrence and Wishart, 1977), 21–22.
14. Hilary Chung and Falchikov Michael eds., In the Party spirit: Socialist real-
ism and literary practice in the Soviet Union, East Germany and China
(Amsterdam; Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 1996). 16. Both this official definition
of SR and its revision discussed later in this chapter emerged amid clashes
among multiple positions taken by Soviet politicians, writers and critics. Due
to the scope of this research, I cannot discuss those debates in detail.
15. Yang Zhou, China’s new literature and art: Essays and addresses (Beijing: For-
eign Languages Press, 1954), 87–88. The Chinese original was published in
the People’s Daily on January 1, 1953.
16. Chung and Michael, In the Party spirit: Socialist Realism and literary practice
in the Soviet Union, East Germany and China, 16. Emphases original.
17. Zhou, China’s new literature and art: Essays and addresses, 95. Emphasis
added.
18. Chung and Michael, In the Party spirit: Socialist Realism and literary practice
in the Soviet Union, East Germany and China, 16.
19. Marek Bartelik, “Concerning Socialist Realism: Recent publications on
Russian art,” Art journal, 58, no. 4 (1999): 92.
20. Katerina Clark et al., Soviet culture and power: A history in documents, 1917–
1953, Annals of Communism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007),
162–64.
 NOTES 205

21. See, for example, Yang Zhou, Zhou Yang wenji (Collected works of
Zhou Yang), 5 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1984),
58–73.
22. Ibid., 105–06, 10, 12–14.
23. Ibid., 2: 409–10.
24. Ibid., 1: 114. Emphases original.
25. Ibid., 2: 408.
26. Shehuizhuyi xianshizhuyi lunwenji (Selected essays on socialist realism), 2 vols.,
vol. 1 (Shanghai: Xinwenyi chubanshe, 1958), 493. Emphasis original.
27. Ibid., 526.
28. Yiwenshe ed., Baowei shehuizhuyi xianshizhuyi (Defending Socialist Realism)
(Beijing: Zuojia chubanshe, 1958).
29. Xiancai Yang ed., Gongheguo zhongda shijian jishi (A record of the major
events in the PRC), 3 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing: Zhonggong zhongyang dangxiao
chubanshe, 1998), 640–48.
30. Mao first announced this goal during his visit to the Soviet Union in
November, 1957. See Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long live the thoughts
of Mao Zedong) 1949–1957. (Wuhan: Gang’ersi Wuhandaxue zongbu,
Zhongnanminyuan geweihui xuanchuanbu, and Wuhanshiyuan geweihui
xuanchuanbu, 1968), 251–52.
31. Lanxi Wang, “Yingjie dianying shiye de xin shiqi (To meet the new period of
film work),” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 7 (1958): 9.
32. “Ji dianying zhipian shengchan cujin huiyi (A report on the meeting to
promote film production),” Dazhong dianying (Mass cinema), March 26,
1958.
33. Benkan pinglunyuan. “Women de dianying luogu qiao qilai le (We have begun
beating gongs and drums at movies),” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema),
no. 4 (1958): 2. Qizhi, Mao Zedong shidai de renmin dianying (People’s cinema
during the Maoist era) (Taipei: Xiuwei zixun keji gufen youxiangongsi, 2010),
359–61.
34. “Women de dianying luogu qiao qilai le (We have begun beating gongs and
drums at movies),” 3.
35. Wang, “Yingjie dianying shiye de xin shiqi (To meet the new period of film
work),” 8.
36. I do not count the Tibet region (difang) and its adjacent Chamdo region
(diqu) in the 27. The PRC regarded both as provincial-level administra-
tive regions but called and treated them differently than the provinces,
direct-controlled municipalities, and autonomous regions. Given the PRC’s
troubled control over Tibet and Chamdo at the time, it was also unlikely
the plan would include them. I do not count Taiwan, which the PRC of
course claimed to be one of its provinces. I count Tianjin, which was how-
ever downgraded from a direct-controlled municipality to a prefecture-level
city in 1958.
37. These three studios changed from organs of the Ministry of Culture to
those of their respective provincial/municipal governments in 1957 and 1958;
Chuan Shi, “ ‘Shiqinian’ shiqi zhongguo dianying tizhi yu guanzhong xuqiu
206 NOTES

(Chinese film institution and the needs of Chinese audience during the period
of the ‘seventeen years’),” Dianying yishu (Film art), no. 4 (2004).
38. See annals of Chinese film studios in Bo Chen ed., Zhongguo dianying bian-
nian jishi: zhipian juan (Annals of Chinese cinema: Film production) (Beijing:
Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe, 2006).
39. Di Wu ed., Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese
cinema): 1949–1979, 3 vols., vol. 2 (Beijing: Wenhua yishu chubanshe,
2006), 185.
40. Huangmei Chen and Fangyu Shi eds., Dangdai zhongguo dianying (Con-
temporary Chinese cinema), 2 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing: Zhongguo shehuikexue
chubanshe, 1989), 171.
41. Zhou made the claim when giving a talk on August 11, 1965. See a tran-
script of the talk in Wu, Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials
of Chinese cinema): 1949–1979, vol. 2, 496.
42. Some also referred to this new genre as the “new art film.” The three terms
were used interchangeably after Zhou’s talks. In September, on a forum
hosted by the journal Chinese Cinema, Chen Huangmei and most other par-
ticipants made clear that the term should be “documentary-style art film.”
Some openly expressed their doubt about the term “artistic documentary:”
“Are there non-artistic documentaries?” After this forum, “documentary-
style art film” became the standard term. See “Dangqian dianying chuangzuo
wenti zuotanhui (Discussion forum on the issue of film creation at the present
time),” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 10 (1958): 4–9. Zhou’s
attitude toward such reversion was unclear in 1958. In the 1965 talk, he
would criticize Chen’s “distortion” of his original meaning. But at the time
Chen could be easily blamed for many wrongdoings for having already been
brought down.
43. Ibid.
44. Yuxin Chen, Rongkui Ren, and Yi Xin, “Tan yingpian shezhizu zhong dang
de gongzuo (On the Party’s work in film crews),” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese
cinema), no. 1 (1959): 3.
45. Sangchu Xu and Chuan Shi, Ta bian qingshan ren wei lao: Xu Sangchu koushu
zizhuan (Crossing these green hills adds nothing to one’s years: An oral memoir of
Xu Sangchu) (Beijing: Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 2006), 154. Mingsheng
Tang, Kuayue shiji de meili: Qin Yi zhuan (A cross-century beauty: Biography
of Qin Yi) (Beijing: Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 2005), 184–86.
46. Wu, Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese cinema):
1949–1979, vol. 2, 271.
47. “Dangqian dianying chuangzuo wenti zuotanhui (Discussion forum on the
issue of film creation at the present time).”
48. Ibid., 4.
49. As a result of the GLF, the actual third five-year plan began three years later
than planned.
50. “Shisanling shuiku: shoudu renmin dayuejin de biaozhi (The Shisanling
reservoir: A symbol of the Great Leap Forward of the people of the capital),”
Shuili fadian (Hydraulic electrogenerating), no. 13 (1958).
 NOTES 207

51. Zhenkui Gao, “Manhua Shisanling shuiku jianshe kaifa licheng (On the con-
struction and development process of the Shisanling reservoir),” Beijing shuili
(Beijing water resources), no. 3 (1995): 45.
52. Youlin Li, “Chunjie bu tinggong, jiajin gan gongcheng (Work non-stop dur-
ing the spring festival to speed up the construction),” Renmin ribao (People’s
daily), February 17, 1958.
53. Ran Wei, “Zhou zongli yu Shisanling shuiku jianshe (Prime Minister Zhou and
the construction of the Shisanling reservoir),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily),
February 24, 1991.
54. Gao, “Manhua Shisanling shuiku jianshe kaifa licheng (On the con-
struction and development process of the Shisanling reservoir),” 46–47.
Tongli Xu, “Rizhenwanshan de Shisanling shuiku (The gradually perfected
Shishanling reservoir),” Beijing shuili (Beijing water resources), no. 1 (1996):
51–52.
55. Xu, “Rizhenwanshan de Shisanling shuiku (The gradually perfected
Shishanling reservoir),” 51–52; Wei, “Zhou zongli yu Shisanling shuiku jianshe
(Prime Minister Zhou and the construction of the Shisanling reservoir).”
56. Zhen Peng, “Zai Shisanling shuiku luocheng dianli dahui shang Peng Zhen
shizhang de jianghua (Mayor Peng Zhen’s talk at the commissioning ceremony
of the Shisanling reservoir),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), July 2, 1958.
57. NCNA, “Mao Zhuxi he quanti zhongwei canjia laodong (Chairman Mao and
all the Central Committee members partipated in the labor),” Renmin ribao
(People’s daily), May 26, 1958.
58. “Shisanling shuiku jiben jiancheng, jinri xiawu juxing shengda luocheng dianli
(The Shisanling reservoir has been basically completed. A grand commission-
ing ceremony will be held this afternoon.),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily),
July 1, 1958.
59. “Geguo zhuhua shijie deng canguan Shisanling shuiku gongdi (Foreign diplo-
mats visited the Shisanling reservoir construction site),” Renmin ribao (Peo-
ple’s daily), March 6, 1958; “Bolan guibin canguan Shisanling shuiku gongdi
(Honored visitors from Poland visited the Shisanling reservoir construction
site),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), March 23, 1958; “Luoma’niya zhengfu
daibiaotuan canguan Shisanling shuiku gongdi (Delegation of the goverment
of Romania visited the Shisanling reservoir construction site),” Renmin ribao
(People’s daily), April 5, 1958; “A Lian junshi youhao fanghua daibiaotuan
canguan dianziguan chang, tanke xuexiao he Shisanling shuiku gongdi (United
Arab Republic Military Friendship Delegation to China visited the factory of
electron tubes, the tank school, and the construction site of the Shisanling
reservoir),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), April 7, 1958; “Sulian deng xiongdi
guojia waijiao renyuan dao Shisanling shuiku gongdi canjia yiwu laodong
(Diplomas of the Soviet Union and other brother countries participated
in the voluntary labor at the Shisanling reservoir),” Renmin ribao (People’s
daily), June 1, 1958.
60. “Weiwen Shisanling shuiku de yiwu laodongzhe (Salute to the volunteer labor-
ers at the Shisanling reservoir),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), May 21,
1958.
208 NOTES

61. Benkan jizhe. “Chuangzuo reqing si chunchao pengpai (Creative enthusiasm is

surging as the spring tide),” Xiju bao (Theater gazette), no. 5 (1958).
62. Han Tian, Tian Han quanji (Complete works of Tian Han), 20 vols., vol. 14
(Shijiazhuang: Huashan wenyi chubanshe, 2000), 157–90.
63. Ibid., 15, 185, 87–89. ibid., 16: 418.
64. Tian, Tian Han quanji (Complete works of Tian Han), vol. 15, 368–70.
65. Ibid., 16: 95–99.
66. Moruo Guo, Guo Moruo quanji: wenxue bian (Completed works of Guo Moruo:
Collection of literary works), vol. 17 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe,
1989). 10.
67. Tian, Tian Han quanji (Complete works of Tian Han), vol. 16, 97.
68. Ibid., 18: 159.
69. Han Tian, “Shisanling shuiku changxangqu (Rhapsody of the Shisanling reser-
voir),” Juben (Scripts), no. 8 (1958): 40.
70. Tian, Tian Han quanji (Complete works of Tian Han), vol. 16, 408–09, 15.
71. Ibid., 409.
72. Han Tian, “Ershi nian hou de shuiku songge (Praising songs of the reser-
voir in 20 years),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), June 13, 1958. “ ‘Shisanling
Shuiku Gegongji’ jiang gongyan (‘Praising Songs of the Shisanling Reservoir’ will
perform in public),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), June 24, 1958.
73. Tian, Tian Han quanji (Complete works of Tian Han), vol. 18, 158–60.
74. Han Tian, “Shisanling shuiku changxangqu houji (Postscript of Rhapsody of
the Shisanling Reservoir),” Juben (Scripts), no. 8 (1958).
75. Tian, “Shisanling shuiku changxangqu (Rhapsody of the Shisanling reservoir),”
70–77.
76. Tian, Tian Han quanji (Complete works of Tian Han), 16, 409.
77. Bensheng Hu, “Duo chuban gongchanzhuyi de kexuehuanxiang xiaoshuo
(Publish more communist science-fiction novels),” Dushu (Reading), October
13, 1958.
78. Fuji Zhang, “Shuiku gongdi de yingxiong men zuotan ‘Shisanling Shuiku
Changxiangqu’ de yanchu (Heroes at the reservoir construction site discuss
the performance of Rhapsody of the Shisanling Reservoir),” Juben (Scripts), no.
8 (1958): 86–87.
79. Jiabiao Gao et al., “Huaju Beijing de mingtian guanhougan (A review of the
spoken drama Beijing’s Tomorrow),” Xiju bao (Theater gazette), no. 15 (1958):
29. Construction of the Beijing subway began in 1965. The first line was
opened in 1969, but was not opened to the general public until 1981.
80. See Mo Chen, “Ke’ai de kexuehuanxiang ju ‘feichu diqiu qu’ (Flying out of the
earth: A lovely science-fiction play),” Xiju bao (Theater gazette), no. 17 (1958):
28–29.
81. Shan Jin, “Dianying Shisanling shuiku changxiangqu de paishe (The shooting
of Rhapsody of the Shisanling Reservoir),” Dazhong dianying (Mass cinema),
November 11, 1958.
82. The film was originally shot in color. Copies of its black-and-white print,
however, are more widely available today.
 NOTES 209

83. Chinese television broadcasting began in March 1958. TV sets were very rare
and all monochrome at the time.
84. Chu Fang, “Weilai shi zheyang pingjing de ma? (Is the future so peaceful?),”
Xiju bao (Theater gazette), no. 16 (1958): 23.
85. Zheng Lü, “Tantan changxiang (On ‘free imagination’),” Xiju bao (Theater
gazette), no. 15 (1958): 28.
86. Yizu Zhu, “Zenyang zhanwang gongchanzhuyi de mingtian (How to look
ahead into the communist tomorrow),” Wenyi bao (Literary gazette), no. 19
(1958): 22.
87. Gang Chen, “Yinggai xiechu renmen de gongchanzhuyi jingshenpinzhi (The
communist spirit of the people must be represented),” Wenyi bao (Literary
gazette), no. 22 (1958): 33.
88. Lang Ding, “Changxiang he ren (Free imagination and the people),” Wenyi
bao (Literary gazette), no. 22 (1958): 35.
89. Ji Jia, “Yao yi gongchanzhuyi sixiang changxiang weilai (Immagination of the
future must follow the communist thoughts),” Wenyi bao (Literary gazette),
no. 1 (1959): 27. Marx expresses this vision in his Critique of the Gotha
Program.
90. Shaobo Ma, “Weile geng meihao de weilai (For a more beautiful future),”
Dazhong dianying (Mass cinema), November 11, 1958. Shaoyou Wang,
“Buyao chuimaoqiuci (Do not be censorious),” Wenyi bao (Literary gazette),
no. 24 (1958).
91. Jin, “Dianying Shisanling shuiku changxiangqu de paishe (The shooting of
Rhapsody of the Shisanling Reservoir),” 12.
92. Yushan Zhao, “Xushui xian gongchanzhuyi shidian dashiji (A record of major
events in the communist experiment in Xushui),” in Hebei dangshi ziliao
(Materials of the Party’s history in Hebei) (Shijiazhuang: Zhonggong hebei
shengwei dangshi yanjiushi, 1994): 360–370. The first People’s Commune in
Xushui was established on the same day as Mao’s inspection. On August 10, all
the cooperatives in Xushui turned into People’s Communes. On August 17,
these communes were merged into seven major ones. Later the seven were
nominally merged into one, namely the People’s Commune of Xushui.
93. Zhuo Kang, “Xushui renmingongshe song (In praise of the People’s Commune
of Xushui),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), September 1, 1958.
94. “Zhonggong zhongyang guanyu zai nongcun jianli renmingongshe de jueyi
(the CCP’s Central Committee’s resolution on the establishment of People’s
Communes in rural areas),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), September 10,
1958.
95. Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long live the thoughts of Mao Zedong) 1958–1960,
141–55.
96. Ibid., 158–68, 78–79.
97. Ibid., 208.
98. Ibid., 179–80, 90–91.
99. Yang, Gongheguo zhongda shijian jishi (A record of the major events in the
PRC), vol. 1, 505–06.
210 NOTES

100. Gang Huang, “Fandui dianying shiye yuejin zhong de cuowu lundiao (Oppos-
ing the erroneous arguments in the Great Leap Forward of film work),”
Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 11 (1958): 33–35.
101. Wei Chen, “Cong xin yishupian kan geming de xianshizhuyi he geming de
langmanzhuyi de jiehe (On the combination of Revolutionary Realism and
Revolutionary Romanticism in new art films),” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese
cinema), no. 12 (1958): 16–17.
102. “Chuangzao wukuiyu women shidai de yingpian (Create films worthy of
our times),” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 12 (1958): 2–3. The
“three times better” requirement was made by Zhou Yang at a Film Bureau
meeting from November 1 to 7, 1958; Bo Chen ed., Zhongguo dianying
biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese cinema: Records of the over-
all development), 2 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe,
2005), 448.
103. Qizhi, Mao Zedong shidai de renmin dianying (People’s cinema during the
Maoist era), 342–43.
104. Yaping Ding ed., Bainian zhongguo dianying lilun wenxuan (Selected articles
on film theory during the recent one hundred years), 2 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing:
Wenhua yishu chubanshe, 2002), 475, 77.
105. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese
cinema: Records of the overall development). vol. 1, 452.
106. Wu, Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese cinema):
1949–1979, vol. 2, 258–60.
107. See, for example, Yan Xia, “Duo kuai hao sheng dayuejin (Making a Great
Leap Forward in a more, faster, better, and more economical way),” Zhongguo
dianying (Chinese cinema) no. 4 (1958): 4–5.
108. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese
cinema: Records of the overall development) vol. 1, 452–60.
109. Zheng was a leading figure in the league and highly influenced Zhao.
110. See Zhao’s account in Dan Zhao, Yinmu xingxiang chuangzao (Creating char-
acters on the silver screen) (Beijing: Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 1980),
47–53.
111. The Ministry of Culture initially awarded the film a Second-Class Excellent
Film. Zhou Enlai reportedly intervened, criticizing that the Ministry of Cul-
ture was unfair to former private studio artists. On May 22, the Ministry of
Culture published a self-criticism and declared to change the award for the
film to First-Class; “Youxiu yingpian pingjiang you yanzhong quedian (Deci-
sions on the Excellent Film Awards are seriously problematic),” Renmin ribao
(People’s daily), May 22, 1957.
112. Junli Zheng et al., “Lubian yehua (Fireside chats),” Zhongguo dianying
(Chinese cinema), no. 1 (1957): 31–35. The article nonetheless brought them
some trouble during the Anti-Rightist Campaign; Sangchu Xu and Zhai Di,
“Fengyu shiqinian: fang Xu Sangchu (Trails and hardships of the seventeen
years: An interview with Xu Sangchu),” Dangdai dianying (Contemporary
cinema), no. 4 (1999): 80.
 NOTES 211

113. Junli Zheng, “Guanyu ‘he’ yu ‘fen’ (On merging and separating),” Wenhui bao
(Wenhui daily), December 26, 1956.
114. Hui Shi et al., “Women jianyi . . . (We suggest . . . ),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui
daily), March 24, 1957.
115. Zhao had only allowed the three to use his name for a talk at a meeting, and
he had given this permission under a CCP authority’s specific instruction to
encourage the three to fully air their soon-to-be-attacked view: a common
Maoist strategy to lure the enemy in deep; Wu, Zhongguo dianying yanjiu
ziliao (Research materials of Chinese cinema): 1949–1979, vol. 2, 157–58.
116. Ibid., 159. Baiyin Qu and Dan Zhao, “Shi Hui ‘gun’ de zhexue he ta de
‘caineng’ (On Shi Hui’s philosophy of ‘rolling around’ and his ‘talent’),”
Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), December 13, 1957. Junli Zheng, “Lun Shi Hui de
fandong yishu guandian (On Shi Hui’s reactionary artistic views),” Zhongguo
dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 1 (1958): 43–48. Hanwei Dang dui dianying
shiye de lingdao xubian (Defend the leadership of the Party in the film work:
Continuation). (Beijing: Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 1958), 14–24.
117. “Yuejin zhong de shangying jiankuang (A brief report on the Shanghai Studio
in the Great Leap Forward),” Dazhong dianying (Mass cinema), April 11, 1958.
118. “Renren you guihua, gege zheng shangyou (Everyone has a plan, every-
one strives for higher goals),” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 4
(1958): 80.
119. Xu and Di, “Fengyu shiqinian: fang Xu Sangchu (Trails and hardships of
the seventeen years: An interview with Xu Sangchu),” 80. Chen, Zhongguo
dianying biannian jishi: zhipian juan (Annals of Chinese cinema: Film produc-
tion) 164–65.
120. The film was then further revised and formally released in 1960.
121. The film studios began to make production plans of 1959 “gift presentation
films” in October 1958. The Ministry of Culture officially recognized an ini-
tial list of “gift presentation films” early in September 1959. The list then went
through some changes. Lin Zexu and Nie Er remained stable on the list. See
a detailed review of the changes in Anping Zhu, “Xin Zhongguo chengli shi
zhounian ‘xianli pian’ bianzheng (A correction of the historical records of
the ‘gift presentation films’ for the 10th annivesary of the PRC),” Dangdai
dianying (Contemporary cinema), no. 5 (2010): 64–69.
122. Ban Wang, The sublime figure of history: Aesthetics and politics in twentieth-
century China (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1997), 139.
123. Huangmei Chen, “Jianjue ba diao yinmu shang de baiqi:1957 nian dianying
yishupian zhong cuowu sixiang qingxiang de pipan (Resolutely wrench out the
White Flags on the silver screen: A critique of mistaken ideological tendencies
in 1957 films),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), December 2, 1958.
124. Nie Er: cong juben dao yingpian (Nie Er: From script to film). (Beijing:
Zhongguo dianying chunbanshe, 1963), 102.
125. Zhonggong Shanghai shiwei dangshi yanjiushi, ed., Pan Hannian zai
Shanghai (Pan Hannian in Shanghai) (Shanghai: Shanghai renmin chuban-
she, 1995), 429, 82–91, 520. Yu’s illness was the official excuse to depose him
212 NOTES

from the position as head of the Shanghai Film Studio during this investiga-
tion; Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zhipian juan (Annals of Chinese
cinema: film production) 153. Like Zheng and Zhao, Yu’s political situation
was better after the Anti-Rightist Campaign, in which he actively attacked
the Rightists, such as Wu Yonggang; Hanwei Dang dui dianying shiye de ling-
dao xubian (Defend the leadership of the party in the film work: Continuation),
1–14.
126. Xiyan Wang, “Duanlian duanlian he fanying renminneibumaodun (Temper-
ing and the representation of contradictions among the people),” Wenyi bao
(Literary gazette), no. 10 (1959): 5.
127. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese cin-
ema: Records of the overall development), vol. 1, 453. Xing Fan ed., Yongyuan
de hongse jingdian: hongse jingdian chuangzuo yingxiang shihua (The forever
red classics: Historcial studies of the creation and influences of the red classics)
(Wuhan: Changjiang wenyi chubanshe, 2008), 229–30.
128. Huangmei Chen and Wenshu Yuan, “Dui 1957 nian yixie yingpian de pingjia
wenti (On the evaluation of some films produced in 1957),” Renmin ribao
(People’s Daily), March 4, 1959. The only film that was appropriately desig-
nated as White Flag and Poisonous Weed, according to Yuan and Chen, was
The Unfinished Comedies. Yuan of course also seconded Chen’s condemnation
of the Rightists.
129. Both Yu and Zheng mentioned this advice in their essays. See Nie Er: cong
juben dao yingpian (Nie Er: From script to film), 103, 261, 318–19. A Red
Guard publication during the Cultural Revolution Period quoted much of
the advice from internal documents. See Chedi pipan fandong yingpian Nie Er
(Thoroughly criticize the reactionary film Nie Er). (Shanghai: Shanghai yinyue
xueyuan shanghai hongqi dianying zhipianchang hongqi geming zaofan
bingtuan pi Nie Er lianluozhan, 1967), 25–27.
130. Yanzhao Ding, “Huashuo Yu Ling (On Yu Ling),” Shiji (Century), July 15,
1995. Yan Xia, “Xuexi Nie Er de geming jingshen (Learn the revolution-
ary spirit of Nie Er),” Renmin yinyue (People’s music), no. 7 (1980): 2.
Nie Er: cong juben dao yingpian (Nie Er: From script to film), vol. 266, 71,
320–27.
131. Zedong Mao and Tse-tung Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung., vol. II
(Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1975), 376.
132. Yan Xia, “Wo de yixie jingyan jiaoxun (Some of my experiences and lessons),”
in Lun Xia Yan (On Xia Yan), ed. Chunfa Tan and Xueming Wang (Beijing:
Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 1989), 441–42.
133. See Gao Bo (actor of Kuang Wentao)’s Cultural Revolution “confession”
quoted in Chedi pipan fandong yingpian Nie Er (Thoroughly criticize the reac-
tionary film Nie Er), 30. Wen Zichuan’s memoir confirms Gao’s description
of Tian Han. See Zichuan Wen, Wenren de lingyimian (The other side of the
writers) (Guilin: Guangxi shifandaxue chubanshe, 2004), 180.
134. Historical records all confirm the association of Nie’s music group with the
LLWD, although they differ in details as to if and when the group was for-
mally named the Music Group of the LLWD. See, for example, the following
 NOTES 213

references: Ji Lü, “Huiyi Zuoyijulianyinyuexiaozu (A memoir on the Music

Group of the League of the Left-Wing Dramatists),” Renmin yinyue (People’s
music), no. 4 (1980): 3–6. Yan Xia, “Guanyu Sulianzhiyousheyinyuezu wenti
Xia Yan zhi Zhou Weizhi han (Xia Yan’s letter to Zhou Weizhi on the issue
of the Music Group of the Soviet Union Friendly Association),” Xin wenhua
shiliao (Historical materials of the new culture), no. 6 (1994): 11. Jinzao Lü
and Yuefang Han, “Zhongguo ershishiji shangbanye yinyueshetuan biannian
jishi (Annual records of Chinese music groups in the first half of the 20th
century),” Yinyue aihaozhe (Music lovers), no. 2 (1992): 39.
135. Ding, “Huashuo Yu Ling (On Yu Ling),” 26.
136. As mentioned in Chapter 1, Huang states that she quit because she “was not
able to play worker/peasant/soldier characters well.” Between The Life of Wu
Xun and Nie Er, she delivered only one film performance for a supporting
character in Family (Jia, 1956) at the time of the Hundred Flowers Campaign.
137. Andrew F. Jones, Yellow Music: Media Culture and Colonial Modernity in the
Chinese Jazz Age (Durham: Duke University Press, 2001), 74.
138. Feng Zhao, “Kaituozhe de Nie Er (Nie Er as the vanguard),” Renmin ribao
(People’s daily), July 30, 1950.
139. Wei Qu, “Jinian xinyinyue de kailu xianfeng Nie Er (Commemorate Nie Er,
vanguard of the new music),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), July 17, 1949. Li
was rehabilitated in the Hundred Flowers Campaign, but only partially and
briefly.
140. Er Nie, Nie Er riji (Diary of Nie Er) (Zhengzhou: daxiang chubanshe, 2004).
140–41. At the time, the Lianhua Film studio integrated the troupe and
renamed it “the School of Music and Dance of the Lianhua Film studio.”
In March 1932, the troupe’s name was changed back to Bright Moon. See
Maochun Liang and Jinguang Li, “Li Jin’guang caifang jilu ji xiangguan
shuoming (Interviews of Li Jinguang and notes on the interviews),” Tianjin
yinyuexueyuan xuebao (Journal of the Tianjin Conservatory of Music), no. 1
(2013): 55.
141. Nie, Nie Er riji (Diary of Nie Er), 172, 83, 90, 207, 20, 46, 50–53, 59, 74, 84,
306, 25, 27.
142. Er Nie, “Zhongguo gewu duanlun (A short review of Chinese songs and
dances),” Renmin yinyue (People’s music), no. 9 (1955): 5.
143. Nie, Nie Er riji (Diary of Nie Er). 341–49, 98.
144. Nie Er: cong juben dao yingpian (Nie Er: From script to film), 284. Also see
Zheng Junli’s directorial statement on Nie Er quoted in Chedi pipan fandong
yingpian Nie Er (Thoroughly criticize the reactionary film Nie Er), 15.
145. Nie Er: cong juben dao yingpian (Nie Er: From script to film), 299, 304–05,
46–47.
146. See the interview of Li Jinguang, Li Jinhui’s brother and Nie’s fellow artist in
the performance; Liang and Li, “Li Jin’guang caifang jilu ji xiangguan shuom-
ing (Interviews of Li Jinguang and notes on the interviews),” 56. Zheng Junli’s
account also confirms this event, see Nie Er: cong juben dao yingpian (Nie Er:
From script to film), 299. For the historical Nie, however, it was not likely an
important performance. His diary does not even mention it.
214 NOTES

147. Nie actually composed the song, entitled “Sing-Song Girls under the Iron
Hoof ” (Tieti xia de genü), in 1935, about three years after he was expelled
from the Bright Moon. The film intentionally changes the time of the com-
position to highlight Nie’s fighting spirit against Zhao Meinong. See Nie Er:
cong juben dao yingpian (Nie Er: From script to film), 291–93.
148. Nie, Nie Er riji (Diary of Nie Er). 173–74, 77, 361, 63, 66, 68–69, 72, 77–84,
86, 89–90, 435–59
149. Chedi pipan fandong yingpian Nie Er (Thoroughly criticize the reactionary film
Nie Er), 34.
150. Nie, Nie Er riji (Diary of Nie Er), 380, 450, 59.
151. Nie Er: cong juben dao yingpian (Nie Er: From script to film), 264.
152. Qu, “Jinian xinyinyue de kailu xianfeng Nie Er (Commemorate Nie Er, van-
guard of the new music).” Sheng Bai, “Wendai ji Ping shi yinyuejie jihui jinian
Nie Er (The Congress of Writers and Artists and musicians from the Beiping
city gather to commemorate Nie Er),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), July 18,
1949.
153. Nie, Nie Er riji (Diary of Nie Er): 102–33. Qiu Hong, “Nie Er nianbiao chugao
(First draft of a chronicle of Nie Er),” Renmin yinyue (People’s music), no. 8
(1955): 6.
154. Zedong Mao and Tse-Tung Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung, vol. V
(Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1977), 427.
155. Nie Er: cong juben dao yingpian (Nie Er: From script to film), 267.
156. Ibid., 263.
157. Ibid., 330–31. Zhao does not make it clear what slogans he posted. Since he
was not a CCP member until 1957, the slogans he posted were unlikely those
shown in the film, such as “Long Live the CCP.”
158. They use the same word kuangre as Yu and Zhao. In Chinese, kuangre can
mean either enthusiasm or fanaticism, depending on context.
159. Nie Er: cong juben dao yingpian (Nie Er: From script to film), 285–86.
160. Qin Su, “Gaoju hongqi, dapo dali (Holding the red flag high, let great demo-
lition lead to great establishment),” Wenyi bao (Literary gazette), no. 17
(1958): 32.
161. Nie Er: cong juben dao yingpian (Nie Er: From script to film), 279, 85.
162. Ibid., 394–419.
163. Chedi pipan fandong yingpian Nie Er (Thoroughly criticize the reactionary film
Nie Er), epigraph, 3, 5–8.
164. Statistics in 1995 show that, in 23 of the 37 years since the reservoir was built,
the annual highest water level was below the level of dead water. In five years
the reservoir was completely dry. Xu, “Rizhenwanshan de Shisanling shuiku
(The gradually perfected Shishanling reservoir).”

Chapter 5

1. The Lushan Conference can refer to multiple high-level CCP conferences held
at Mount Lu. Among these conferences the one discussed here is the most
widely known.
 NOTES 215

2. Zedong Mao. Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long live the thoughts
of Mao Zedong) 1958–1960. (Wuhan: Gang’ersi Wuhandaxue zongbu,
Zhongnanminyuan geweihui xuanchuanbu, and Wuhanshiyuan geweihui
xuanchuanbu, 1968), 248–49.
3. The number of Rightist Deviationists is quoted from Rui Li, Lushan huiyi
shi lu (A record of the Lushan Conference) (Zhengzhou: He’nan renmin
chubanshe, 1994), 329.
4. Maurice J. Meisner, Mao’s China and after: A history of the People’s Republic,
2nd ed. (New York, NY: The Free Press, 1986), 244.
5. Mao’s manuscript of the talk’s outline indicates that he intended to cover “the
danger of petty bourgeois fanaticism,” followed by a promotion of “the com-
bination of revolutionary spirit and practicalness.” A Chinese character wan
(the end), however, is marked several passages before these two points. See
Jianguo yilai Mao Zedong wengao (Writings of Mao Zedong since the establish-
ment of the People’s Republic of China), 13 vols., vol. 7 (Beijing: Zhongyang
wenxian chubanshe, 1998), 641. The mark’s position matches where the
extant transcript of the actual talk ends. See Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long
live the thoughts of Mao Zedong) 1958–1960, 181.
6. Li, Lushan huiyi shi lu (A record of the Lushan Conference), 104–22.
7. Dehuai Peng, Peng Dehuai zizhuan (Autobiography of Peng Dehuai) (Beijing:
Jiefangjun wenyi chubanshe, 2002), 280–87.
8. In his long-winded attack on Peng at the conference, Mao traced Peng’s threat
to his leadership all the way back to 1935. From that time to 1959, according
to Mao, Peng only cooperated with him “30 percent of the time.” See tran-
scripts of two top-level CCP meetings in Li, Lushan huiyi shi lu (A record of
the Lushan conference), 177–208.
9. For a detailed account of the Soviet Union’s responses to the GLF and the
People’s Commune, see Zhihua Shen, “Sulian dui dayuejin he renmingong-
she de fanying ji qi jieguo: guanyu zhong su fenlie yuanqi de jinyibu sikao
(The Soviet Union’s responses to the Great Leap Forward and the People’s
Commune and the consequences of these responses: Further thoughts on
the causes of the Sino-Soviet split),” http://data.book.hexun.com.tw/chapter-
671-1-4.shtml. This article also appears in the first issue of the journal
Materials of the CCP’s History (Zhonggong dangshi ziliao) in 2003, but is
significantly shortened, according to the webpage, for political reasons.
10. Mao made the first three charges at the Lushan conference. His condemna-
tion of Peng for sharing the same vision with Khrushchev soon escalated to
the last charge in September. Li, Lushan huiyi shi lu (A record of the Lushan
Conference), 192–94.
11. Suhua Zhang, Bianju: qiqianrendahui shimo (Change in the situation: The
beginning to end of the Seven Thousand People Conference) (Beijing: Zhongguo
qingnian chubanshe, 2006), 142–45.
12. In Chinese, the phrase youshiyoude (there are losses and gains) is usually
interchangeable with youdeyoushi (there are gains and losses). But Mao, fol-
lowed by many (including Lin), alleged that the former phrase in Peng’s
letter was an insinuation that losses of the GLF were greater than its gains.
Li, Lushan huiyi shi lu (A record of the Lushan Conference), 133–34, 211. Lin
216 NOTES

talked about losses and gains in the same order as Peng did, “We have both
losses and gains [in the GLF]. We can clearly see the losses now. But for the
time being we are not yet able to see the gains clearly”; Zhang, Bianju: qiqian-
rendahui shimo (Change in the situation: The beginning to end of the Seven
Thousand People Conference) 144.
13. Jianguo yilai Mao Zedong wengao (Writings of Mao Zedong since the establish-
ment of the People’s Republic of China), 13 vols., vol. 10 (Beijing: Zhongyang
wenxian chubanshe, 1998), 62.
14. Zhang, Bianju: qiqianrendahui shimo (Change in the situation: The beginning
to end of the Seven Thousand People Conference), 83.
15. Jianguo yilai zhongyao wenxian xuanbian (Selected important documents since
the establishment of the PRC), 20 vols., vol. 14 (Beijing: Zhongyang wenx-
ian chubanshe, 1997), 364–74, 412–18. Zhang, Bianju: qiqianrendahui shimo
(Change in the situation: The beginning to end of the seven thousand people
conference), 18–22.
16. Weiming Yang, Yiyezhiqiu: Yang Weiming wencun (A small sign can indicate a
great trend: Collected works of Yang Weiming) (Beijing: Shehuikexue wenxian
chubanshe, 2004), 2.
17. Zhang, Bianju: qiqianrendahui shimo (Change in the situation: The beginning
to end of the Seven Thousand People Conference), 62–86.
18. The CCP’s Central Committee decided in the conference to increase grain
importation to alleviate the food crisis and the procurement burden of local
governments. Ibid., 260.
19. Xianzhi Pang and Chongji Jin, Mao Zedong zhuan (Biography of Mao
Zedong), 1949–1976, vol. 2 (Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe, 2003),
1198–99.
20. Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long live the thoughts of Mao Zedong) 1961–1968.
(Wuhan: Gang’ersi Wuhandaxue zongbu, Zhongnanminyuan geweihui
xuanchuanbu, and Wuhanshiyuan geweihui xuanchuanbu, 1968), 17.
21. Ibid., 14–19.
22. Zedong Mao and Tse-Tung Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung, vol. V
(Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1977), 441.
23. Even Peng Dehuai saw hope and wrote to the CCP’s Central Committee
to request rehabilitation. His request was denied for imaginable political
calculations. But Liu Shaoqi’s oral report at the Seven Thousand People Con-
ference had already made clear that Peng’s “problem” was not writing the
letter, which the CCP’s Central Committee now acknowledged was correct
“in many concrete issues,” but his “plot” to “usurp the Party.” Zhang, Bianju:
qiqianrendahui shimo (Change in the situation: The beginning to end of the
Seven Thousand People Conference), 137, 271. Roderick MacFarquhar, The
coming of the cataclysm, 1961–1966, The origins of the Cultural Revolution
(Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press and Columbia University Press,
1997), 163–64.
24. Mao proposed to divide the CCP’s leadership into “the first line” and “the
second line” in 1953 and occasionally claimed that he would withdraw to
“the second line.”He did not make a clear gesture of such a withdrawal until
 NOTES 217

after the Seven Thousand People Conference. Even this gestured withdrawal,
as Chapter 6 discusses, did not last long. See more details in Houwen Peng,
“Wenge qian zhonggong zhongyang zuigao lingdaoceng fen yixian erxian zhidu
kao (A historical investigation of the division of ‘the first line’ and ‘the second
line’ in top-level leadership of the CCP’s Central Committee before the Cul-
tural Revolution),” Dangshi yanjiu yu jiaoxue (Research and teaching on the
CCP’s history), no. 3 (2007): 33–38.
25. Bo Chen ed., Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zhipian juan (Annals of
Chinese cinema: Film production) (Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe,
2006), 167–68.
26. Wenshu Yuan, “Jianchi dianying wei gongnongbing fuwu de fangzhen (Insist on
the policy that film must serve the workers, peasants, and soldiers),” Zhongguo
dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 1 (1957): 20–25.
27. Mo Hai, “Bu yunxu ba gongnongbing ganchu lishi wutai (It is not allowed
to drive the workers, peasants, and soldiers out of the historical stage),”
Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 2 (1957): 9–11.
28. Zifei Wang, “Choulianghuanzhu: pipan Hai Mo de dongxiao heng chui (Per-
petrating a fraud: A repudiation of Hai Mo’s Playing a Vertical Bamboo Flute
Horizontally),” Dianying yishu (Film art), no. 12 (1960): 63.
29. This campaign saw a great number of articles attack “the fourth kind of
scripts.” See, for example, Ming Bian, “Chi ‘disizhong juben’ (A repudiation
of ‘the fourth kind of scripts’),” Juben (Scripts), no. 1 (1960): 49–50.
30. Bo Chen ed., Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of
Chinese cinema: Records of the overall development), 2 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing:
Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe, 2005), 462–63, 65, 70. According to Xu
Sangchu’s memoir, Xia was criticized behind closed doors for his remarks.
See Sangchu Xu and Zhai Di, “Fengyu shiqinian: fang Xu Sangchu (Trails and
hardships of the seventeen years: An interview with Xu Sangchu),” Dangdai
dianying (Contemporary cinema), no. 4 (1999): 81.
31. See a list of the film titles in Huangmei Chen and Fangyu Shi, eds., Dangdai
zhongguo dianying (Contemporary Chinese cinema), 2 vols., vol. 2 (Beijing:
Zhongguo shehuikexue chubanshe, 1989), 429–33.
32. Bo Chen ed., Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: faxing fangying juan (Annals
of Chinese cinema: Distribution and projection), 3 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing:
Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe, 2005), 47. Chen, Zhongguo dianying bian-
nian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese cinema: Records of the overall
development), vol. 1, 471.
33. Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long live the thoughts of Mao Zedong) 1958–1960,
291–93.
34. Jianguo yilai zhongyao wenxian xuanbian (Selected important documents since
the establishment of the PRC), 20 vols., vol. 13 (Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian
chubanshe, 1996), 609.
35. Shaoqi Liu, Liu Shaoqi xuanji (Selected works of Liu Shaoqi), vol. 2 (Beijing:
Renmin chubanshe, 1981), 357.
36. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese
cinema: Records of the overall development), vol. 1, 475–77, 79–80. Chen,
218 NOTES

Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zhipian juan (Annals of Chinese cin-

ema: Film production), 172–73. Di Wu, ed. Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao
(Research materials of Chinese cinema): 1949–1979, 3 vols., vol. 2 (Beijing:
Wenhua yishu chubanshe, 2006), 315–36.
37. The two-day meeting turned out to be not long enough for the Changchun
Studio attendees to vent their frustrations. An eight-day-long meeting was
held at the Changchun Studio in August as its continuation. Chen, Zhongguo
dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese cinema: Records of
the overall development), vol. 1, 481. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi:
zhipian juan (Annals of Chinese cinema: Film production), 45.
38. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese cin-
ema: Records of the overall development), vol. 1, 479. Wu, Zhongguo dianying
yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese cinema): 1949–1979, vol. 2,
408–13.
39. Zhi Li, Wentan fengyun lu (The literary circle amid the winds of change)
(Zhengzhou: He’nan renmin chubanshe, 1998), 266–300. Yibo Bo, Ruogan
zhongda juece yu shijian de huigu (A review of certain major decisions and inci-
dents), 2 vols., vol. 2 (Beijing: Zhonggong zhongyang dangxiao chubanshe,
1993), 1004–05.
40. Wenhua gongzuo wenjian ziliao huibian (Collected documents of work in
culture), 2 vols., vol. 2 (Beijing: Zhonghua renmin gongheguo wenhuabu
bangongting, 1982), 170–81.
41. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese
cinema: Records of the overall development), vol. 1, 486–87.
42. Yi ( ) Chen, “Chen Yi guanyu zhishifenzi wenti de liang pian jianghua (Two
talks by Chen Yi on the issue of intellectuals)” Dang de wenxian (Historical
documents of the party), no. 2 (2002): 3–12.
43. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zhipian juan (Annals of Chinese cin-
ema: Film production). 175. Laogui, Muqin Yang Mo (My mother Yang Mo)
(Wuhan: Changjiang wenyi chubanshe, 2005), 150.
44. Zhong was offered a new job with the Association of Chinese Film Artists. See
Mingyuan Chen, Zhishifenzi yu renminbi shidai (Intellectuals and the RMB
era) (Shanghai: Wenhui chubanshe, 2006), 137–38.
45. Wu, Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese cinema):
1949–1979, vol. 2, 411–12.
46. Chen, “Chen Yi guanyu zhishifenzi wenti de liang pian jianghua (Two talks by
Chen Yi on the issue of intellectuals),” 9.
47. Bo, Ruogan zhongda juece yu shijian de huigu (A review of certain major
decisions and incidents), vol. 2, 1005.
48. Wenhua gongzuo wenjian ziliao huibian (Collected documents of work in
culture), vol. 2, 63–64, 182–83. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi:
faxing fangying juan (Annals of Chinese cinema: Distribution and projection),
vol. 1, 51.
49. Shimeng Wang, “Woguo litidianying de fazhan (Development of the PRC’s 3D
films),” Yingshi jishu (Film and TV technology), no. 10 (1995).
 NOTES 219

50. Qingrui Guo, “Zhongguo dianying danshengdi: daguanlou yingcheng (the

birthplace of Chinese cinema: The Daguanlou movie theater),” Beijing ribao
(Beijing daily), December 4, 2012.
51. Jinke Zhao and Shiyin Zhang, “Tan Geliahao zhong de teji (On the special
effects in Two Good Brothers),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), October 7, 1962.
52. Xun Lu, Lu Xun quanji (Complete works of Lu Xun), 18 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing:
Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 2005). 190–200. Zhen Zhang, An Amorous His-
tory of the Silver Screen: Shanghai Cinema, 1896–1937 (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 2005), 161–69.
53. Jizhou Yan, Wangshiruyan: Yan Jizhou zizhuan (Gone with the wind: An auto-
biography of Yan Jizhou) (Beijing: Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 2005),
88–89.
54. Baiyin Qu, “Guanyu dianying chuangxin wenti de dubai (A monologue on
film innovation),” Dianying yishu (Film art), no. 3 (1962): 50–57.
55. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zhipian juan (Annals of Chinese
cinema: Film production), 172.
56. Baiyin Qu and Dan Zhao, “Shi Hui ‘gun’ de zhexue he ta de ‘caineng’ (On Shi
Hui’s philosophy of ‘rolling around’ and his ‘talent’),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui
daily), December 13, 1957.
57. Qu himself had actively contributed to implementation of such restrictions.
In 1958, for example, he delivered a talk to attack the comedy Trouble on
the Playground (Qiuchang fengbo, 1957) precisely for its “bourgeois” subject,
structure, content, and style. See Baiyin Qu, “Dui yingpian Qiuchangfengbo de
fenxi (An analysis of the film Trouble on the Playground),” Zhongguo dianying
(Chinese cinema), no. 7 (1958): 39–43.
58. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese
cinema: Records of the overall development), vol. 1, 490–91.
59. Bo Chen ed., Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonghe juan (Annals of Chinese
cinema: Comprehensive records), 2 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian
chubanshe, 2005), 35.
60. According to Li Shaobai, one of the authors of the book, it is also the PRC’s
first history book on a type of art. Mo Chen and Shaobai Li, “Li Shaobai
fangtan lu (An interview with Li Shaobai),” Dangdai dianying (Contemporary
cinema), no. 10 (2009): 43.
61. Jihua Cheng, Shaobai Li, and Zuwen Xing, Zhongguo dianying fazhanshi (A
history of the development of Chinese cinema), 2nd ed., 2 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing:
Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 1963; repr., 2005). The fulfillment was only
partial because the book exclusively glorified those Shanghai filmmakers who
enjoyed high political status at the time of 1962. Some of the most active
advocates of the re-evaluation, such as Shi Hui, Lü Ban, and Wu Yonggang,
had been designated as Rightists. The book either barely mentioned them or
portrayed them as “backward” or “reactionary elements.”
62. Two representative examples are Changlin Xu, “Xiang chuantong wenyi
tanshengqiubao (Searching for treasures in traditional literature and art),”
Dianying yishu (Film art), 11–25 (issue 1), 36–45 (issue 2), 28–40 (issue 4),
220 NOTES

28–42 (issue 5) (1962): 11–25. Xihe Chen, “Dianying yuyan zhong de jizhong
goucheng yuansu (Several types of components of the cinematic language),”
Dianying yishu (Film art), 2–19 (issue 5), 43–57 (issue 6) (1962). Only the
first half of Chen Xihe’s article was published at the time. The political turn
in 1963, which Chapter 6 discusses, delayed the publication of the latter half
until after the Cultural Revolution Period.
63. On September 11, 1951, the People’s Daily criticized some “Shanghai-based
newspapers” for running a few Hong Kong film advertisements that used
the word “star” positively. In October 1951, Qingqing Cinema (Qingqing
dianying), the only remaining Republican-era film magazine, stopped publi-
cation. These two incidents marked a full stop of the positive use of the word
“star” in the press.
64. As mentioned in Chapter 3, the Hundred Flowers Campaign briefly encour-
aged some, such as the Few Good discussion participants Li Xing and Chen
Baichen, to shed a more positive light on the word “star.” But they still
placed the word in scare quotes. Despite the cautiousness, their attempt to
redeem the evilness of the word “star” completely failed during the follow-
ing Anti-Rightist Campaign. The Shanghai Studio Pictorial, for example, was
condemned for excessively publishing large-sized close-ups of female actors
and reporting on their private lives in 1958. The critic asked, “How is this
different from the way the bourgeois press promotes ‘stars?’ ” See Ruo Mi,
“Shangying huabao de fangxiang shi shenmo? (What is the direction of the
Shanghai Studio Pictorial?),” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese Cinema), no. 10
(1958): 71.
65. Xiaoning Lu, “Zhang Ruifang: modelling the socialist Red Star,” in Chinese
film stars, ed. Mary Ann Farquhar and Yingjin Zhang (London; New York,
NY: Routledge, 2010), 98–99. Krista Van Fleit Hang, “Zhong Xinghuo: com-
munist film worker,” in Chinese film stars, ed. Mary Ann Farquhar and Yingjin
Zhang (London; New York, NY: Routledge, 2010), 108.
66. Yang Dong, “Shei zhizao le ershier da mingxing (Who made the ‘22 big stars’),”
Wenshi cankao (References for historcial study), no. 17 (2012): 25–28.
67. Wu, Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese cinema):
1949–1979, vol. 2, 362.
68. Dong, “Shei zhizao le ershier da mingxing (Who made the ‘22 big stars’).”
69. Ibid. My 2010 interview with Yu Lan, one of the 22 stars, also confirmed the
opaqueness of the top-down selection.
70. Before the Hundred Flowers Awards, there were only local polls of audience.
The first retreat from the GLF, for example, saw local media in Beijing initi-
ate an annual poll of popular Chinese-made films. See Jinyue Wang, “Benbao
‘zui shou huanying de guochan dianying’ pingxuan Dang de Nü Er huo zui-
jia,Tian Hua wushisi nian hou jieshou ben bao caifang (An interview with
Tian Hua 54 years after the film Daughter of the Party won the Most Pop-
ular Chinese-made Film Award issued by this newspaper),” Beijing wanbao
(Beijing evening), March 28, 2013.
71. Duoyu Li ed., Zhongguo dianying bainian (One hundred years of Chinese
cinema) (Beijing: Zhongguo guangbo dianshi chubanshe, 2005), 324.
 NOTES 221

72. Ibid.
73. Dianfei Zhong, “Dianying de luogu (Gongs and drums at the movies),”
Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), December 21, 1956.
74. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese
cinema: Records of the overall development), vol. 1, 475–76. Chen, Zhongguo
dianying biannian jishi: zhipian juan (Annals of Chinese cinema: Film produc-
tion), 171.
75. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zhipian juan (Annals of Chinese
cinema: Film production), 171.
76. Ibid., 172.
77. Hong Zheng, “Cong Geliahao xuexi dao de (What I learned from Two Good
Brothers),” Dianying yishu (Film art), no. 4 (1962): 43.
78. Harry Levin, “The wages of satire,” in Literature and society, ed. Edward W.
Said (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1980), 1.
79. Mao and Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung, vol. V, 385, 89, 414. Transla-
tion slightly revised according to American spelling norms.
80. Huangmei Chen, “Jianjue ba diao yinmu shang de baiqi:1957 nian dianying
yishupian zhong cuowu sixiang qingxiang de pipan (Resolutely wrench out
the White Flags on the silver screen: A critique of mistaken ideologi-
cal tendencies in 1957 films),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), December 2,
1958.
81. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese
cinema: Records of the overall development), vol. 1, 452.
82. Chusheng Cai et al., “Jintian wo xiuxi zuotanhui (Forum on Today is My
Day Off ),” Dianying yishu (Film art), no. 6 (1960): 35, 40. Certain partici-
pants of this forum also mentioned films like The Spring is Always Colorful
(Wanziqianhong zong shi chun, 1959) as “broadly defined” praising come-
dies. But these films are in fact just melodramas with a limited number of
light-hearted vignettes.
83. Ibid., 34, 40.
84. For a description of the wave of adaptations, see the interview with Fu Jinhua
in Haipeng Song, “TV Documentary on Third Sister Liu,” in Dianying chuanqi
(Film legends) (2006).
85. Scholars have persuasively argued that the Zhuang is a largely state-created
nationality. See, for example, Katherine Palmer Kaup, Creating the Zhuang:
Ethnic politics in China (Boulder, Colo.: L. Rienner, 2000).
86. See Zhou Yang’s emphasis on this task in Yang Zhou, “Xin min’ge kaichuang
le shige de xin daolu (New folk poems have opened a new path for poetry),”
Hong qi (Red flag), no. 1 (1958): 38.
87. This singing competition, as “the most splendid scene,” was excerpted
with a synopsis of the opera in the journal Scripts in September 1959.
Fanping Deng et al., “Liu Sanjie (Third Sister Liu),” Juben (Scripts), no. 9
(1959): 47–51.
88. Script of the adapted musical was published in the journal Scripts in Septem-
ber 1960. “Liu Sanjie (Third Sister Liu),” Juben (Scripts), nos. 8, 9 (1960):
70–90.
222 NOTES

89. Lanqing, “Xu yu shi: Liu Sanjie de yishu chuli (Fantasy and reality: On the
artistic treatment of Third Sister Liu),” Dianying yishu (Film art), no. 6
(1961): 31.
90. For a detailed summary of the criticism published in 1962, see Eddy U, “Third
Sister Liu and the making of the intellectual in socialist China,” The journal of
Asian studies, 69, no. 1 (2010): 75–76.
91. Cai et al., “Jintian wo xiuxi zuotanhui (Forum on Today is My Day Off ),” 35,
36, 39.
92. Wenyi, “Wenhui bao dui xiju wenti zhankai taolun (The Wenhui Daily is orga-
nizing a discussion on comedy),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), January 13,
1961.
93. Zheng, “Cong Geliahao xuexi dao de (What I learned from Two Good
Brothers),” 43.
94. For the script of the play, see Wen Bai and Yunping Suo, “Wo shi yige bing
(I am a soldier),” Juben (Scripts), no. 1 (1962): 4–34.
95. Jizhou Yan, “Geliahao de xiaosheng (Laughters of Two Good Brothers),”
Dazhong dianying (Mass cinema), December 2006, 40.
96. Yan, Wangshiruyan: Yan Jizhou zizhuan (Gone with the wind: An autobiogra-
phy of Yan Jizhou), 84.
97. This is the case even in Three Comrades in Arms (San ge zhanyou, 1958), the
only comedy produced by the August First Studio before Two Good Brothers.
The studio usually produced soldier subject films. But Three Comrades in
Arms, while just lightly comedic and very softly satirical, instead featured
peasant veterans. It is a practically peasant subject film. The veterans only
wear army uniforms once in a short flashback, in which they all act seriously
and heroically.
98. In the play, Erhu also climbs a tree but does not break any rule. In fact, he
climbs the tree to do a good deed: getting a bird egg for an elderly woman
whom he tries to help.
99. Yan, Wangshiruyan: Yan Jizhou zizhuan (Gone with the wind: An autobiog-
raphy of Yan Jizhou), 34–38, 49–50, 53, 70, 74, 78–83. Yan, “Geliahao de
xiaosheng (Laughters of Two Good Brothers),” 40.
100. Hong Ding, “Yi ge qingnian yanyuan de qilu (The corruption of a young
actor),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), April 25, 1958.
101. Liang Zhang, Qing ai bu lao (Ageless affection) (Guangzhou: Huacheng
chubanshe, 2005), 119–66.
102. Yan, “Geliahao de xiaosheng (Laughters of Two Good Brothers).” Zhang, Qing
ai bu lao (Ageless affection), 161–64.
103. Sihe Chen, Zhongguo dangdai wenxueshi jiaocheng (A course in the history of
modern Chinese literature) (Shanghai: Fudan daxue chubanshe, 1999), 49–50.
Li Shuangshuang has received much attention in Chinese and English schol-
arship. In particular, Richard King has done an in-depth research revealing
how Li Zhun, writer of the original tale of Li Shuangshuang and the script
of the film adaptation, made its plot as “malleable” as possible to strike a
fine balance during the changing political times from 1959 to 1962; Richard
 NOTES 223

King, Milestones on a golden road: Writing for Chinese socialism, 1945–80

(Vancouver, BC: UBC Press, 2013), 71–92.
104. Jingtai Cui, “Shanghai yanchu jumu hunluan xianxiang yanzhong: zai ‘chuan-
tong jumu’ huangzi xia, huangse xi chong deng wutai (Arrangements for opera
performances are seriously disorganized in Shanghai: disguised as ‘tradi-
tional operas,’ yellow operas reappear on stage),” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily),
December 6, 1956. Li, Wentan fengyun lu (The literary circle amid the winds
of change), 279–80, 98. Xin Mu, “Guixi Li Huiniang, yuan’an hua shang juhao
(The ghost play Li Huiniang: the end of an unjust case),” Yanhuang chunqiu
(China through the ages), October 1994, 39.
105. Xie Tian, one of the 22 stars, also participated in the comedy production as a
scriptwriter and director.
106. As mentioned in Chapter 3, Han Fei worked primarily as a dubbing actor
and had no chances to play in a suitable film, let alone comedy, during the
Nationalization Period, as he subtly complained in the Few Good discussion.
In 1962, obviously, his situation was completely different.
107. Before Big Li, Little Li, and Old Li, Fan, Liu, and Wen had made their screen
debut in Sanmao Learns Business (Sanmao xue shengyi, 1958), the first film
adaptation of a huaji comedy.
108. Interview with Yan Jizhou in Rong Li, “TV documentary on Yan Jizhou,” in
Dianying chuanqi (Film Legends) (2007).
109. For a complete list of the award winners, see Bo Chen, ed. Zhongguo dianying
biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese cinema: Records of the overall
development), 2 vols., vol. 2 (Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe, 2005),
1135–36.
110. Qing Jiang, “Guanyu dianying wenti (On the film Issue) (May 1966),”
in Fandong yingpian Wu Xun Zhuan Liao Yuan pipan cailiao (Criticism
materials of reactionary films The Life of Wu Xun and The Ablaze Prairie)
(Beijing: Beijing dianyingxueyuan jinggangshan wenyibingtuan hongdaihui,
May 1967), 19.
111. Yan, “Geliahao de xiaosheng (Laughters of Two Good Brothers),” 41.

Chapter 6

1. Yibo Bo, Ruogan zhongda juece yu shijian de huigu (A review of certain

major decisions and incidents), vol. 2 (Beijing: Zhonggong zhongyang dangxiao
chubanshe, 1993), 1047–77. Roderick MacFarquhar, The coming of the cata-
clysm, 1961–1966, The origins of the Cultural Revolution (Oxford; New York:
Oxford University Press and Columbia University Press, 1997), 263–83.
2. For details of Deng’s arguments, see MacFarquhar, The coming of the cataclysm,
1961–1966, 226–33.
3. Jianguo yilai Mao Zedong wengao (Writings of Mao Zedong since the establish-
ment of the People’s Republic of China), vol. 10 (Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian
chubanshe, 1998), 137. See Chapter 2 for Mao and Deng’s conflict in the
1950s.
224 NOTES

4. Peng wrote another letter to the CCP’s Central Committee for the same pur-
pose in August. For a description of the two letters and Mao’s anger toward
them, see Bo, Ruogan zhongda juece yu shijian de huigu (A review of certain
major decisions and incidents), vol. 2, 1091–93. The 1981 book Peng Dehuai
zishu (A personal statement of Peng Dehuai), whose title is changed to Peng
Dehuai zizhuan (Autobiography of Peng Dehuai) in subsequent versions, is
primarily based on the two letters. See Dehuai Peng, Peng Dehuai zizhuan
(Autobiography of Peng Dehuai) (Beijing: Jiefangjun wenyi chubanshe, 2002),
297–98.
5. Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long live the thoughts of Mao Zedong)
1961–1968. (Wuhan: Gang’ersi Wuhandaxue zongbu, Zhongnanminyuan
geweihui xuanchuanbu, and Wuhanshiyuan geweihui xuanchuanbu, 1968),
29–37.
6. Ibid., 32.
7. Bo, Ruogan zhongda juece yu shijian de huigu (A review of certain major
decisions and incidents), vol. 2, 1004–05.
8. See Chapter 2 for Zhao Shuli’s views on agricultural collectivization and the
criticism against him.
9. Yang Zhou, Zhou Yang wenji (Collected works of Zhou Yang), 5 vols., vol. 4
(Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1984), 201–08. Zhi Li, Wentan fengyun
lu (The literary circle amid the winds of change) (Zhengzhou: He’nan renmin
chubanshe, 1998), 345–47. The forum soon came under fire supposedly for
advocating the so-called “theory of middle characters.” This fabricated charge
has misled scholars to believe that this “theory” was truly a focus of discus-
sion at the forum. MacFarquhar, for example, writes that both Zhou Yang
and the Writers’ Union’s Party secretary, Shao Quanlin, “advocat[ed] the hon-
est portrayal of ‘middle characters’ (zhongjian zhuangtaide renwu), the great
majority of the population, with all their faults and prejudices.” (MacFarquhar,
The coming of the cataclysm, 1961–1966), 248. In fact, Zhou never mentioned
the issue. And Shao gave it only two passing mentions. (Quanlin Shao, Shao
Quanlin pinglun xuanji (Selected works of Shao Quanlin), 2 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing:
Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1981), 393, 403.) But these passing mentions,
which acknowledged the importance of writing about those characters, were
enough for the leaders of the Ministry of Propaganda, including Zhou, to use
Shao as a scapegoat when the forum was under attack. For more details of the
attack on Shao, see Li, Wentan fengyun lu (The literary circle amid the winds of
change), 352–54.
10. Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long live the thoughts of Mao Zedong) 1961–1968,
36. Li, Wentan fengyun lu (The literary circle amid the winds of change), 347.
11. Bo, Ruogan zhongda juece yu shijian de huigu (A review of certain major
decisions and incidents), 2, 1225. When using the two metaphors for the
first time, Mao specifically referred to the forces of the socialist camp
and the capitalist camp, see Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long live the
thoughts of Mao Zedong) 1949–1957. (Wuhan: Gang’ersi Wuhandaxue zongbu,
Zhongnanminyuan geweihui xuanchuanbu, and Wuhanshiyuan geweihui
xuanchuanbu, 1968), 250.
 NOTES 225

12. Jianguo yilai zhongyao wenxian xuanbian (Selected important documents since
the establishment of the PRC), vol. 16 (Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe,
1997), 248.
13. Mosha Liao, Liao Mosha wenji (Collected works of Liao Mosha), vol. 2 (Beijing:
Beijing chubanshe, 1986), 110–11.
14. Xin Mu, “Guixi Li Huiniang, yuan’an hua shang juhao (The ghost play Li
Huiniang: The end of an unjust case),” Yanhuang chunqiu (China through the
ages), October 1994, 36.
15. Zedong Mao and Tse-Tung Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung, vol. V
(Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1977), 434.
16. See Jiang Qing’s own account in Qing Jiang, Jiang Qing tongzhi jianghua xuan-
bian (Selected talks of Jiang Qing) (Guangzhou: Renmin chubanshe, 1968),
18–19. The Shanghai based Wenhui Daily initiated this attack on May 6 with
an article entitled almost the same as its critical target: “[On] ‘Some Ghosts are
Harmless’ ”(“Yougui wuhai” lun).
17. Li, Wentan fengyun lu (The literary circle amid the winds of change), 356–57.
18. For more details, see Mu, “Guixi Li Huiniang, yuan’an hua shang juhao (The
ghost play Li Huiniang: the end of an unjust case).”
19. Mingxing Xia, “Dianying Honghe jilang zaoshou ‘fenglang’ shimo (An account
of the ‘turbulent waves’ the film Turbulent Waves of the Red River encoun-
tered.),” Dangshi zongheng (The Party’s history), 5(2009): 43.
20. Liping, Kaiguo zongli Zhou Enlai (Zhou Enlai, the first Prime Minister of the
PRC) (Beijing: Zhonggong zhongyang dangxiao chubanshe, 1994), 353–63.
21. Qiaomu Hu, Hu Qiaomu tan zhonggong dangshi (Hu Qiaomu on the CCP’s
history) (Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 1999), 138.
22. See Chapter 5 for a discussion of the Guangzhou talks. Ke remains a contro-
versial figure to this day. Historical accounts conflict on many issues about
him, including whether he forbade distribution of the talks in Shanghai. It was
likely the case, according to my reading of the accounts, that other authorities
managed to distribute the talks in Shanghai despite Ke’s opposition. Following
are four examples of the conflicting accounts. MacFarquhar, The coming of the
cataclysm, 1961–1966, 247, 80. Li, Wentan fengyun lu (The literary circle amid
the winds of change), 325–26. Weizhi Deng, “Ruhe pingjia Ke Qingshi (How to
evaluate Ke Qingshi),” Dangshi zonglan (The Party’s history), no. 9 (2003): 41.
Yonglie Ye, Zhang Chunqiao zhuan (Biography of Zhang Chunqiao) (Beijing:
Zuojia chubanshe, 1993), 114.
23. Ping Yan, Chen Huangmei zhuan (Biography of Chen Huangmei) (Beijing:
Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 2006), 176. Bo Chen ed., Zhongguo dianying
biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese cinema: Records of the over-
all development), 2 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe,
2005), 498.
24. See, for example, Haixing Fang, “Gongheguo lishi shang de Ke Qingshi (Ke Qing
in the history of the PRC),” Yanhuang chunqiu (China through the ages), no. 10
(2008): 39.
25. At the Chengdu conference in March 1958, Mao highly praised Chen
Boda, one of his secretaries, for using this phrase to advocate the
226 NOTES

GLF spirit in a speech. See Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long live the
thoughts of Mao Zedong) 1958–1960 (Wuhan: Gang’ersi Wuhandaxue zongbu,
Zhongnanminyuan geweihui xuanchuanbu, and Wuhanshiyuan geweihui
xuanchuanbu, 1968), 39.
26. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese cin-
ema: Records of the overall development), vol. 1, 503. Li, Wentan fengyun lu (The
literary circle amid the winds of change), 383–85.
27. Zhou, Zhou Yang wenji (Collected works of Zhou Yang), vol. 4, 288.
28. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese
cinema: records of the overall development) vol. 1, 504.
29. For a complete list of the awards, see ibid., vol. 2, 1135–36.
30. Zhou, Zhou Yang wenji (Collected works of Zhou Yang), vol. 4, 310–15.
31. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese
cinema: Records of the overall development), vol. 1, 507.
32. See Chapter 3 for a discussion of the re-releases of Chinese progressive films
during the Hundred Flowers Period.
33. Dianying zhanxian liang tiao luxian douzheng dashiji yijiusiba-yijiuliuqi (Major
events of the two-line struggle on the battlefront of cinema: 1948–1967)
(Shanghai: Renmin wenxue chubanshe shanghai fenshe fanxiu zhandouban
cailiaozu, 1967), 34.
34. Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long live the thoughts of Mao Zedong) 1961–
1968, 70.
35. Zedong Mao, Five Documents on Literature and Art (Beijing: Foreign Lan-
guages Press, 1967). 10–11.
36. See Chapter 5 for a discussion of Qu and this article.
37. Chuangxin dubai yu Qu Baiyin (‘A Monologue on Film Innovation’ and Qu
Baiyin) (Beijing: Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 1982), 112.
38. Qizhi, Mao Zedong shidai de renmin dianying (People’s cinema during the
Maoist era) (Taipei: Xiuwei zixun keji gufen youxiangongsi, 2010), 473.
39. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese
cinema: Records of the overall development), vol. 1, 515–16.
40. Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long live the thoughts of Mao Zedong) 1961–
1968, 136.
41. Qizhi, Mao Zedong shidai de renmin dianying (People’s cinema during the
Maoist era), 476.
42. Yan, Chen Huangmei zhuan (Biography of Chen Huangmei), 188.
43. Jianguo yilai zhongyao wenxian xuanbian (Selected important documents since
the establishment of the PRC), vol. 20 (Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe,
1998). 21.
44. Ibid., 21, 23–24.
45. Yongzhi Yang, “Yang Yongzhi tongzhi de jianghua (Talks of comrade Yang
Yongzhi),” (Shanghai Municipal Archives (Archive number: B177-1-39),
1965).
46. Ibid. Xiaobang Zhou, Beiying sishi nian (Forty years of the Beijing film studio)
(Beijing: Wenhua yishu chubanshe, 1997), 178–80. Jinfu Yang ed., Shanghai
 NOTES 227

dianying bainian tushi (A pictorial history of the film [industry] in Shanghai)

(1905–2005) (Shanghai: Wenhui chubanshe, 2006), 233.
47. Yang, Shanghai dianying bainian tushi (A pictorial history of the film [industry]
in Shanghai) (1905–2005), 233.
48. On December 15, 1966, the CCP’s Central Committee issued a directive to
expand the campaign to the countryside; Xuan Xi and Chunming Jin, Wenhua
dageming jianshi (A brief history of the Cultural Revolution), 3rd ed. (Beijing:
Zhonggong dangshi chubanshe, 2006), 114. But the campaign did not impact
on the countryside as profoundly as the cities.
49. Qing Jiang, “Lin Biao tongzhi weituo Jiang Qing tongzhi zhaokai de budui
wenyigongzuo zuotanhui jiyao (Summary of the forum on the work in literature
and art in the armed forces with which comrade Lin Biao entrusted comrade
Jiang Qing),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), May 29 1967.
50. Ming Wu, “Zui du de ducao: yingpian Zaochun eryue (The most poisonous
weed: The film Early Spring in February),” Shan hua (Mountain flowers),
nos. 11, 12 combined issue (1964): 75. Xiaoming Wang ed,. Xie Tieli tan
dianying yishu (Xie Tieli on film art) (Chongqing: Chongqing daxue chuban-
she, 1999), 209.
51. Zedong Mao and Tse-tung Mao, Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung., vol. II
(Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1975), 372.
52. Xun Lu, Lu Xun quanji (Complete works of Lu Xun), vol. 4 (Beijing: Renmin
wenxue chubanshe, 2005), 285–91, 493–502. ibid., 6: 517–32.
53. See endnote 53 of Chapter 2 for an explanation of the term “literary script.”
54. The historical narrative of the scripting, production, and revision process of
Early Spring in February in this passage and later parts of this section is based
on my interview with Xie Tieli on July 19, 2010, as well as Xie’s accounts from
the following sources: Wang, Xie Tieli tan dianying yishu (Xie Tieli on film art),
199–212. Zhiyuan Shen and Chunqiao Wei, “Zaochun eryue dansheng shimo
(An account of the birth of Early Spring in February),” Dazhong dianying (Mass
cinema), December 2004. Tieli Xie and Xiaohong Fu, “Zha’nuanhuanhan de
zaochun eryue (Early spring in February, a time coldness persists after a sudden
warmth),” Dazhong dianying (Mass cinema), January 1, 2006.
55. Wang, Xie Tieli tan dianying yishu (Xie Tieli on film art), 200.
56. Shi Rou, Threshold of Spring, trans. Sidney Shapiro and Peiji Zhang (Beijing:
Foreign Languages Press, 1980), 5.
57. Ibid., 28, 40, 130. I have revised the translation according to the Chinese orig-
inal in Shi Rou, Rou Shi xuanji (Selected works of Rou Shi), ed. Hongzhi Yue
(Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1986).
58. The novella gives a contradictory time reference in its first sentence, which
reads “it was early in the second lunar month, shortly after Lichun.” Based on
two reasons, I believe that “the second lunar month” (yinli eryue) is a typo
of “the solar [Gregorian] February” (yangli eryue), which might be caused by
the similarity between the only Chinese characters that differentiate these two
terms, yin ( , lunar) and yang ( , solar). The first reason is the time of
the Chinese solar term Lichun, which falls on, at the latest, the 15th day of the
228 NOTES

first lunar month. In any year, it is at least one other solar term apart from the
second lunar month. In 1927, the early days of the second lunar month were
mostly two other solar terms apart from Lichun. By contrast, Lichun always falls
between February 3 and 5 on the Gregorian calendar (adopted in China since
1912). It therefore makes much more sense to use Lichun as a time reference
for early days in February on the Gregorian calendar. Endnote 66 discusses the
second and more important reason.
59. Xianlin Zeng, Chenggui Zeng, and Xia Jiang, Beifa zhanzheng shi (A history of
the war of Northern Expedition) (Chengdu: Sichuan renmin chubanshe, 1990),
229–35.
60. For a detailed analysis of the close connections between February and Rou’s
own experiences, see Jianjun Zheng, “Rou Shi xiaoshuo Eryue yu Zhenhai de
yuanyuan (The historical connections between Rou Shi’s novella February and
Zhenhai),” Ningbo wanbao (Ningbo evening), January 24, 2010.
61. Rou, Threshold of Spring: 61, 111. I have revised the translation according to
the Chinese original.
62. Ibid., 15, 32, 49, 102, 12, 32.
63. Yan, Chen Huangmei zhuan (Biography of Chen Huangmei), 183. Wang, Xie
Tieli tan dianying yishu (Xie Tieli on film art), 208.
64. According to the novella’s description of Li’s way of death, his prototype is
likely Liu Yaochen, a regimental commander of the National Revolutionary
Army.
65. See endnotes 58 and 66.
66. Rou, Threshold of Spring: 32. This remark is the second reason that “lunar”
must be a typo of “solar” in the beginning sentence of the novella. It was in
late January and early February that the National Revolutionary Army fought
to enter Zhejiang. If the conversation took place in the second lunar month,
which began on March 4 in 1927, then Fang would already be celebrating the
National Revolutionary Army’s takeover of the entire province.
67. Ibid., 30.
68. Ibid., 41–42.
69. Ibid., 16.
70. Xie and Fu, “Zha’nuanhuanhan de zaochun eryue (Early spring in February, a
time coldness persists after a sudden warmth),” 43.
71. Qizhi, Mao Zedong shidai de renmin dianying (People’s cinema during the
Maoist era), 487.
72. Tianqi Qian, “Youguan rendaozhuyi de ji ge wenti: cong Zaochun eryue de taolun
zhong suo xiangqi de (Some issues regarding humanitarianism: On the discus-
sion of Early Spring in February),” Kaifeng shifanxueyuan xuebao (Journal of
Kaifeng normal Univesity), no. 2 (1964): 16, 21.
73. Wenshi Jing, “Zaochun eryue yao ba renmen yin dao nar qu (Where does Early
Spring in February intend to lead people?),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily),
September 15, 1964. Jingshan Wang and Guoying Liu, “Bodiao Xiao Jianqiu de
san chong waiyi (Stripping off three layers of Xiao Jianqiu’s masks),” Qianxian
(The frontline), no. 20 (1964): 16. Yu Cui, Guanghua Lou, and Yi Yi, “Sixia Xiao
Jianqiu de jinbu waiyi (Stripping off Xiao Jianqiu’s progressive mask),” Shan
 NOTES 229

hua (Mountain flowers), no. 11, 12 combined issue (1964): 79. Ming Zhao,
“Xiao Jianqiu neng toushen dao shidai hongliu zhong qu ma? (Can Xiao Jianqiu
throw himself to the raging torrent of the times?),” Kaifeng shifanxueyuan
xuebao (Journal of Kaifeng normal Univesity), no. 2 (1964): 37.
74. Jing, “Zaochun eryue yao ba renmen yin dao nar qu (Where does Early Spring
in February intend to lead people?).” Zhongwenxi liusannianji sanban sanzu,
“Jiduan de gerenzhuyizhe: Tao Lan (Tao Lan, an extreme individualist),” Kaifeng
shifanxueyuan xuebao (Journal of Kaifeng normal Univesity), no. 2 (1964): 35.
Shouqian Jiang and Zekui Deng, “Zaochun eryue de bianhuzhe men beili le
wuchanjieji de lichang guandian (Defenders of Early Spring in February have
deviated from the proletarian position),” Wenxue pinglun (Literary reviews),
no. 6 (1964): 52.
75. Sangtong, “Guozhe tangyi de duyao (The sugarcoated poison),” Dianying yishu
(Film art), no. 4 (1964): 19.
76. Bowen, “Zhongguo geming bowuguan diyici guonei geming zhanzheng shiqi
chenlie can’guanji: bo yingpian Zaochun eryue dui ershi niandai lishi de waiqu
(A visit to the display on the period of the First Revolutionary Civil War in the
Museum of the Chinese Revolution: A retort against the historical distortion
of the 1920s in the film Early Spring in February),” Wenwu (Historical artifacts),
no. 2 (1965): 6.
77. Yibing Pu, “Ducao zen neng tu fenfang (How can a Poisonous Weed be
fragrant?),” Fudan daxue xuebao: Zhexue shehui kexue (Journal of Fudan Uni-
versity: Philosophy and social sciences), no. 2 (1964): 18. Bin Hong, “Zaochun
eryue fanying le shenmo maodun chongtu (What kind of conflicts does Early
Spring in February reflect?),” Xueshu yuekan (Academic monthly), no. 1 (1965):
31–32.
78. Wu, “Zui du de ducao: yingpian Zaochun eryue (The most poisonous weed:
The film Early Spring in February),” 76. Hong, “Zaochun eryue fanying le
shenmo maodun chongtu (What kind of conflicts does Early Spring in Febru-
ary reflect?),” 33. Pu, “Ducao zen neng tu fenfang (How can a Poisonous Weed
be fragrant?),” 18.
79. Hong, “Zaochun eryue fanying le shenmo maodun chongtu (What kind of
conflicts does Early Spring in February reflect?),” 32.
80. Wu, “Zui du de ducao: yingpian Zaochun eryue (The most poisonous weed:
The film Early Spring in February),” 76.
81. Jiaze Shen, “Zhe shi dui geming zhanzheng de moda wumie (This is the utmost
vilification of revolutionary war),” Shan hua (Mountain flowers), nos. 11, 12
combined issue (1964): 82.
82. See Chapter 3 for a discussion of the Soviet Thaw and its influences in China.
83. Wu, “Zui du de ducao: yingpian Zaochun eryue (The most poisonous weed: the
film Early Spring in February),” 77.
84. Jing, “Zaochun eryue yao ba renmen yin dao nar qu (Where does Early Spring
in February intend to lead people?).”
85. Baolin Fu, “Guibian yu huangyan: Zaochun eryue pipan (Sophistry and lies:
a criticism of Early Spring in February),” Zhengzhou daxue xuebao (Journal of
Zhengzhou University), no. 4 (1964): 59.
230 NOTES

86. “Baozhi shang dianying Zaochun eryue de taolun zheng zai shenru zhong (Dis-
cussion of the film Early Spring in February in the newspapers is reaching a
deeper level),” Xinwen yewu (Work of news reporting), nos. 10,11 combined
issue (1964).
87. Sangtong, “Guozhe tangyi de duyao (The sugarcoated poison),” 14. Pu, “Ducao
zen neng tu fenfang (How can a Poisonous Weed be fragrant?),” 23.
88. Quotes and statistics in this passage and the remaining part of this section,
unless otherwise noted, are all from “Shanghai shi qingniangong guanyu qing-
nian zai yishixingtai douzheng zhong dui yixie pipan zuopin de qingkuang
huibao ji zuotan jilu deng (Reports, discussion minutes, and other materials
about the [atttitudes of] the youth to some criticized works in the idelogi-
cal struggle, provided by the Shanghai Youth Palace),” (Shanghai: Shanghai
Municipal Archives (Archive number: C26-2-113), 1964).
89. The last two sentences are crossed out, but legible.
90. This was exactly the language that Lü Ban had used to refer to authori-
ties’ arbitrary and complete negation of an artistic work, artist, or critic. See
Chapter 3.
91. Comparable lighting effects actually had existed in earlier PRC films. For
example, Youth in the Flames of War (Zhanhuo zhong de qingchun, 1959), a
film shot by an innovative cinematographer Wang Qimin, had taken a similarly
delicate approach to lighting. But such films were indeed only in a minority of
revolutionary films.
92. See chapters 4 and 5 for discussions of the “three times better” and “four times
better” expectations, respectively.
93. See Chapter 5 for a discussion of the “22 Big Stars of New China.”
94. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese
cinema: Records of the overall development), vol. 1, 520.
95. Yang, “Yang Yongzhi tongzhi de jianghua (Talks of comrade Yang Yongzhi).”

Conclusion

1. Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long live the thoughts of Mao Zedong) 1961–
1968 (Wuhan: Gang’ersi Wuhandaxue zongbu, Zhongnanminyuan geweihui
xuanchuanbu, and Wuhanshiyuan geweihui xuanchuanbu, 1968), 340.
2. The current version of the entry of the Chinese term Hongweibing
(the Red Guards) in Wikipedia epitomizes the mainstream understand-
ing of the GPCR in its statements, such as the following: “The Red
Guards departed for all parts of the country after receiving Mao’s decree.
They had utter devotion to Mao, worshiping him more fanatically than
a religious figure. Mao organized a team (later called the Gang of
Four) to determine a multi-dimensional, comprehensive marketing mix
[for the Red Guards], ranging from overall promotion strategy to var-
ious forms of propaganda.” ( , ,
( ) ,
). Wikipedia contributors, “Hongweibing (the Red
 NOTES 231

Guards),” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, http://zh.wikipedia.org/wiki/%

E7%BA%A2%E5%8D%AB%E5%85%B5.
3. Zedong Mao and Stuart R. Schram, Mao Tse-tung unrehearsed: Talks and letters,
1956–71, Pelican Books (Harmondsworth etc.: Penguin, 1974), 271.
4. Maurice J. Meisner, Mao’s China and after: A history of the People’s Republic,
2nd ed. (New York, NY: The Free Press, 1986), 358.
5. For a detailed account of this “January Storm” (Yiyue
fengbao) in Shanghai, see Roderick MacFarquhar and Michael Schoenhals,
Mao’s last revolution (Cambridge, Mass: Belknap Press of Harvard University
Press, 2006), 155–69.
6. William Theodore de Bary and Richard Lufrano eds., Sources of Chinese tra-
dition, 2nd ed., 2 vols., vol. 2 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999),
475. In January 1967, Mao also unofficially expressed his support of the idea
of “Shanghai Commune,” even remarking that he was also contemplating to
establish a “Beijing Commune.” See MacFarquhar and Schoenhals, Mao’s last
revolution, 168.
7. Mao and Schram, Mao Tse-tung unrehearsed: Talks and letters, 1956–71, 278.
Zedong Mao and Tse-tung Mao, “Talks at three meetings with comrades Chang
Ch’un-ch’iao and Yao Wen-yuan,” http://www.marxists.org/reference/archive/
mao/selected-works/volume-9/mswv9_73.htm#b1. I have slightly revised
quotes from the second source according to the Chinese original: Mao Zedong
sixiang wansui (Long live the thoughts of Mao Zedong) 1961–1968, 291. The
second source states, “It was based on the tape-recorded draft of Zhang
Chunqiao’s speech at the Shanghai People’s Square on 24 February and on
some pertinent handbills. Whether every word is Mao’s original word is
difficult to ascertain, and so this is for reference only.”
8. Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, The civil war in France (New York: Interna-
tional publishers, 1940), 58, 60.
9. Xuan Xi and Chunming Jin, Wenhua dageming jianshi (A brief history of the
cultural revolution), 3rd ed. (Beijing: Zhonggong dangshi chubanshe, 2006),
122.
10. Mao and Mao, “Talks at three meetings with comrades Chang Ch’un-ch’iao
and Yao Wen-yuan”.
11. Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long live the thoughts of Mao Zedong) 1961–1968,
293–95, 97–98, 327, 34.
12. Mao and Mao, “Talks at three meetings with comrades Chang Ch’un-ch’iao
and Yao Wen-yuan”.
13. Qinghuadaxue dongfanghongnanxiagemingzhandoudui, “Geming de huaiyi
yiqie wansui! (Long live the revolutionary [spirit] doubt everything!),” in
Wenhua geming zhong de yiduan sichao (Heterodox thoughts during the Cultural
Revolution), ed. Yongyi Song and Dajin Sun (Hong Kong: Tianyuan shuwu,
1997), 228.
14. Karl Marx and Frederick Engels, Marx and Engels: 1864–68 (Moscow: Progress
Publ. [u.a.], 1987), 568.
15. Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long live the thoughts of Mao Zedong) 1961–
1968, 290.
232 NOTES

16. Ibid., 294, 98, 302, 07, 09, 19, 22, 30.
17. Ibid., 300–01.
18. In both Chinese and English, Mao described the GPCR as an “all-round civil
war” to American journalist Edgar Snow in December 1970; Jianguo yilai
Mao Zedong wengao (Writings of Mao Zedong since the establishment of the
People’s Republic of China). vol. 13 (Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe,
1998), 163.
19. Ibid.
20. For a detailed account of the Wuhan Incident, see MacFarquhar and
Schoenhals, Mao’s last revolution: 199–216.
21. Meisner, Mao’s China and after: A history of the People’s Republic, 351.
22. For the establishment time of all provincial revolutionary committees, see Xi
and Jin, Wenhua dageming jianshi (A brief history of the Cultural Revolution),
167–69.
23. Bo Chen ed., Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of
Chinese cinema: Records of the overall development), 2 vols., vol. 1 (Beijing:
Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe, 2005), 558.
24. Ibid.
25. MacFarquhar and Schoenhals, Mao’s last revolution, 297.
26. Enforcement of the ban was not always strict and effective. On September 28,
1973, for example, the State Council issued a directive to stop “an ill trend
appearing in some regions, where people are vying to watch the shelved (feng-
cun, read: banned) films;” Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang
juan (Annals of Chinese cinema: Records of the overall development) vol. 1, 585.
The ban was certainly not equally enforced to everyone. See the explanation of
“internal screenings” below.
27. Heroic sons and daughters (Yingxiong ernü, 1964) and Striking at the invaders
(Daji qinlüezhe, 1965), re-released in October 1970, were the first two pre-
GPCR PRC films that reached the Chinese audience after the ban took effect;
ibid., 575. Neither film had been explicitly condemned as a Poisonous Weed.
28. Ibid., 560.
29. For the origin of the term “model” and an in-depth analysis of the
creation, promulgation, refinement, expansion, and film adaptations of
the model performances, see Paul Clark, The Chinese Cultural Revolu-
tion: A history (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008),
10–108, 23–34.
30. The model performances also included music works. Stage documentaries
of the music works range from 20 to 50 minutes, and are thus not typically
feature-length.
31. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese
cinema: Records of the overall development), vol. 1, 587.
32. For a list of the films, see Huangmei Chen and Fangyu Shi eds., Dangdai
zhongguo dianying (Contemporary Chinese cinema), 2 vols., vol. 2 (Beijing:
Zhongguo shehuikexue chubanshe, 1989), 438–42.
33. Interview with Xie Tieli, Beijing, July 19, 2010.
 NOTES 233

34. Ibid. Xie also confirms this point in several published interviews. See, for
example, Tieli Xie and Yu Zhang, “Xie Tieli fangtan ji (Interview with Xie
Tieli),” Dangdai dianying (Contemporary cinema), no. 1 (1999), 33–34.
35. Tieli Xie and Xiangxing Guo, “Xie Tieli gushipian beihou de gushi (The stories
behind Xie Tieli’s feature films),” Dangdai dianshi (Contemporary television),
no. 5 (1995), 12.
36. Di Di, “Haixia shijian benmo (Ins and outs of the Haixia affair) “Dianying yishu
(Film art) 3 (June), 4 (August)(1994): 65. Interview with Xie Tieli, Beijing, July
19, 2010.
37. For a detailed historical account of this so-called “Haixia Affair,” see ibid.
38. Interview with Xie Tieli, Beijing, July 19, 2010.
39. For further details, see Zhenxiang Li, “Weirao xiangju Yuanding zhi ge de jianrui
douzheng (A sharp struggle around the Hu’nan opera Song of a Teacher),” Xiang
chao (The CCP’s history in the province of Hu’nan), no. 5 (2007).
40. For further details of the campaign against the documentary, see Zhengquan
Yang, “Andongni’aoni yu yingpian Zhong Guo de fengbo (Antonioni and the
trouble that the film Chung Kuo, Cine encountered),” Bai nian chao (Hundred-
year changes), no. 3 (2010).
41. This title would go public after their political downfall; Zhongguo gongchan-
dang di shiyi ci quanguodaibiaodahui wenjian huibian (Collection of docu-
ments of the eleventh national congress of the CCP), (Renmin chubanshe,
1977), 10, 12.
42. Xi and Jin, Wenhua dageming jianshi (A brief history of the cultural revolution),
293–99. The CCP would acknowledge that these protests were in fact “revolu-
tionary” in 1978, but would describe the Tiananmen Square protests of 1989
once again as a “counterrevolutionary riot.”
43. Zhongguo gongchandang di shiyi ci quanguodaibiaodahui wenjian huibian
(Collection of documents of the eleventh national congress of the CCP), 17.
44. Ibid., 36.
45. “Shixing zichanjieji wenhua zhuanzhizhuyi de tiezhe: jiefa pipan Sirenbang
weijiao dianying Haixia de zuixing (Ironclad evidence of the bourgeois dic-
tatorship of culture: exposing the Gang of Four’s crime to attack the film
Haixia),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), February 27, 1977.
46. For details of this campaign, see MacFarquhar and Schoenhals, Mao’s last
revolution, 409–30, 52.
47. For details of the attack, see Li’s own account in Wenhua Li and Qizhi,
“Li Wenhua fangtanlu (Interview with Li Wenhua),” Dianying wenxue (Film
literature), no. 5 (2010).
48. Bo Chen ed., Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of
Chinese cinema: Records of the overall development) 2 vols., vol. 2 (Beijing:
Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe, 2005), 638–39.
49. Pipan fandong dianying Fanji (Criticizing the reactionary film Repulse).
(Ürümqi: Xinjiang weiwuer zizhiqu dianying gongsi, 1977), second title
page, 2.
50. Ibid., 2.
234 NOTES

51. Chen, Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese cin-
ema: Records of the overall development), vol. 2, 644–59. Di Wu, ed. Zhongguo
dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese cinema): 1949–1979, 3
vols., vol. 3 (Beijing: Wenhua yishu chubanshe, 2006), 542–43.
52. Xiaoming Lü, “Re-Exhibition of Chinese films made before 1966 as a social
event in the late 1970s,” Dangdai dianying (Contemporary cinema), no. 3
(2006): 91. Wu, Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese
cinema): 1949–1979, vol. 3, 603.
53. Bo Chen ed., Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zhipian juan (Annals of Chinese
cinema: Film production) (Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe, 2006),
126–27.
54. Li and Qizhi, “Li Wenhua fangtanlu (Interview with Li Wenhua),” 163.
55. Wu, Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese cinema):
1949–1979, vol. 3, 543–44.
56. Xun Lu, Lu Xun quanji (Complete works of Lu Xun), vol. 3 (Beijing: Renmin
wenxue chubanshe, 2005), 290.
57. A selection of the articles on Wu Xun and the film published at the time can
be found in Ming Zhang, ed. Wu Xun yanjiuziliao daquan (A comprehensive
collection of materials for the research of Wu Xun) (Ji’nan: Shandong daxue
chubanshe, 1991), 771–809.
58. Ibid., 808.
59. A selection of the articles on Wu Xun and the film published after Hu made
the remark can be found in ibid., 808–949.
60. For a newspaper account of this “incident,” see Jingjing Wang, “Wu Xun Zhuan
jiedong shifang le shenmo xinhao (What the thaw on The Life of Wu Xun
signals),” Zhongguo qingnianbao (Chinese youth), March 28, 2012.
61. Wu, Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese cinema):
1949–1979, vol. 3, 542.
62. Han Tian, Tian Han quanji (Complete works of Tian Han), 20 vols., vol. 20
(Shijiazhuang: Huashan wenyi chubanshe, 2000), 552–53. Charges against the
play and the film during the Cultural Revolution Period were an escalation of
the criticism they encountered in 1958, which has been discussed in Chapter 4.
63. Wu, Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese cinema):
1949–1979, vol. 3, 580.
64. Shan Jin, “Dianying Shisanling shuiku changxiangqu de paishe (The shooting
of Rhapsody of the Shisanling Reservoir),” Dazhong dianying (Mass cinema),
November 11, 1958, 11.
65. Krista Van Fleit Hang, Literature the people love: Reading Chinese texts from the
early Maoist period (1949–1966) (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 156.
Hang translates the title of the film as Song for the Ming Tombs Reservoir.
 Bibliography

Altman, Rick. Film/Genre. London: BFI Publishing, 1999.

“Anhui sheng souji min’ge jin san wan (Almost thirty thousand folk poems have
been colleced in the Anhui province).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (June 9,
1958).
Bai, Sheng. “Wendai ji Ping shi yinyuejie jihui jinian Nie Er (The congress of writers
and artists and musicians from the Beiping city gather to commemorate Nie Er).”
Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (July 18, 1949): 2.
Bai, Wen, and Yunping Suo. “Wo shi yige bing (I am a soldier).” Juben (Scripts),
no. 1 (1962): 4–34.
“Baozhi shang dianying Zaochun eryue de taolun zheng zai shenru zhong (Discussion
of the film Early Spring in February in the newspapers is reaching a deeper level).”
Xinwen yewu (Work of news reporting), no. 10.11 combined issue (November
1964): 39.
Bartelik, Marek. “Concerning socialist realism: Recent publications on Russian art.”
Art journal, 58, no. 4 (Winter99 1999): 90–95.
Benkan jizhe. “Chuangzuo reqing si chunchao pengpai (Creative enthusiasm is surg-
ing as the spring tide).” Xiju bao (Theater gazette), no. 5 (March 15, 1958):
13–15.
Bian, Ming. “Chi ‘disizhong juben’ (A repudiation of ‘the fourth kind of scripts’).”
Juben (Scripts), no. 1 (1960): 49–50.
Blecher, Marc. “Consensual politics in rural Chinese communities: The mass line
in theory and practice.” Modern China, 5, no. 1 (1979): 105–126.
Bo, Yibo. Ruogan zhongda juece yu shijian de huigu (A review of certain major deci-
sions and incidents). 2 vols. Vol. 1, Beijing: Zhonggong zhongyang dangxiao
chubanshe, 1991.
——. Ruogan zhongda juece yu shijian de huigu (A review of certain major deci-
sions and incidents). 2 vols. Vol. 2, Beijing: Zhonggong zhongyang dangxiao
chubanshe, 1993.
“Bolan guibin canguan Shisanling shuiku gongdi (Honored visitors from Poland vis-
ited the Shisanling reservoir construction site).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily),
(March 23, 1958).
Bowen. “Zhongguo geming bowuguan diyici guonei geming zhanzheng shiqi chenlie
can’guanji: bo yingpian Zaochun eryue dui ershi niandai lishi de waiqu (A visit to
the display on the period of the first revolutionary civil war in the museum of
the Chinese revolution: A retort against the historical distortion of the 1920s in
236 BIBLIOGRAPHY

the film Early Spring in February).” Wenwu (Historical artifacts), no. 2 (February
1965): 1–10.
Braester, Yomi. “The political campaign as genre: Ideology and iconography dur-
ing the seventeen years period.” Modern language quarterly, 69, no. 1 (2008):
119–140.
Braester, Yomi, and Tina Mai Chen. “Film in the People’s Republic of China, 1949–
1979: The missing years?” Journal of Chinese cinemas, 5, no. 1 (2011): 5–12.
Cai, Chusheng, Shaobo Ma, Han Tian, Jianwu Li, Mu Feng, Bing Xin, Mo Chen, et
al. “Jintian wo xiuxi zuotanhui (Forum on Today is my day off ).” Dianying yishu
(Film art), no. 6 (June 1960): 34–46.
CCP’s Central Committee. “Zhongguo gongchandang zhongyang weiyuanhui
guanyu chungeng shengchan gei ge ji dangwei de zhishi (Directive on spring sow-
ing by the CCP’s Central Committee to Party committees of all levels).” Renmin
ribao (People’s daily), (March 26, 1953).
Chedi pipan fandong yingpian Nie Er (Thoroughly criticize the reactionary film
Nie Er). Shanghai: Shanghai yinyue xueyuan shanghai hongqi dianying zhipi-
anchang hongqi geming zaofan bingtuan pi Nie Er lianluozhan, 1967.
Chen, Anita. “Dispelling misconceptions about the Red Guard Movement: The
necessity to re-examine Cultural Revolution factionalism and periodization.”
Journal of contemporary China, 1, no. 1 (1992): 61–85.
Chen, Baichen. “Cong he shuo qi (Where should I start?).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui
daily) (December 13, 1956).
——. “Congying jilue (A brief memoir on my film career).” Dushu (Reading), (July
10, 1982): 99–104.
Chen, Bo, ed. Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: faxing fangying juan (Annals of
Chinese cinema: Distribution and projection). 3vols, Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian
chubanshe, 2005.
——, ed. Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonggang juan (Annals of Chinese cin-
ema: Records of the overall development). 2vols, Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian
chubanshe, 2005.
——, ed. Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zonghe juan (Annals of Chinese cinema:
Comprehensive records). 2 vols, Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe, 2005.
——, ed. Zhongguo dianying biannian jishi: zhipian juan (Annals of Chinese cinema:
Film production). Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe, 2006.
Chen, Gang. “Yinggai xiechu renmen de gongchanzhuyi jingshenpinzhi (The com-
munist spirit of the people must be represented).” Wenyi bao (Literary gazette),
no. 22 (1958): 33–34.
Chen, Huangmei. “Jianchi dianying wei gongnongbing fuwu de fangzhen (Insist on
the policy that film must serve the workers, the peasants, and the soldiers).”
Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), (February 25, 1957).
——. “Jianjue ba diao yinmu shang de baiqi: 1957 nian dianying yishupianzhong
cuowu sixiang qingxiang de pipan (Resolutely wrench out the white flags on
the silver screen: A critique of mistaken ideological tendencies in 1957 films).”
Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (December 2, 1958).
Chen, Huangmei, and Fangyu Shi, eds. Dangdai zhongguo dianying (Contemporary
Chinese cinema). 2 vols. Vol. 2, Beijing: Zhongguo shehuikexue chubanshe, 1989.
 BIBLIOGRAPHY 237

——, eds. Dangdai zhongguo dianying (Contemporary Chinese cinema). 2 vols.

Vol. 1, Beijing: Zhongguo shehuikexue chubanshe, 1989.
Chen, Huangmei, and Wenshu Yuan. “Dui 1957 nian yixie yingpian de pingjia wenti
(On the evaluation of some films produced in 1957).” Renmin ribao (People’s
Daily), (March 4, 1959).
Chen, Jingliang, and Jianwen Zou, eds. Bai nian zhongguo dianying jingxuan (The
best of centennial Chinese cinema). Vol. 2.1, Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue
chubanshe, 2006.
Chen, Liting. “Daoyan yinggai shi yingpian shengchan de zhongxin huanjie (Direc-
tors should work at the center of film production).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily)
(November 23, 1956).
Chen, Mingyuan. Zhishifenzi yu renminbi shidai (Intellectuals and the RMB era).
Shanghai: Wenhui chubanshe, 2006.
Chen, Mo. “Ke’ai de kexuehuanxiang ju ‘feichu diqiu qu’ (Flying out of the earth:
A lovely science-fiction play).” Xiju bao (Theater gazette), no. 17 (September 14,
1958): 28–29.
Chen, Mo, and Shaobai Li. “Li Shaobai fangtan lu (An interview with Li Shaobai).”
Dangdai dianying (Contemporary cinema), no. 10 (October 1, 2009): 38–43.
Chen, Sihe. Zhongguo dangdai wenxueshi jiaocheng (A course in the history of
modern Chinese literature). Shanghai: Fudan daxue chubanshe, 1999.
Chen, Tina Mai. “Textual communities and localized practices of film in Maoist
China.” In Film, history and cultural citizenship: Sites of production, edited
by Tina Mai Chen and David S. Churchill. 61–80. New York: Routledge,
2007.
Chen, Tushou. “1959 nian dongtian de Zhao Shuli (Zhao Shuli during the win-
ter of 1959).” In Bujin weile ji’nian (Not only for commemoration). Edited by
Dushuzazhi. 523–535. Beijing: Sanlian shudian, 2007.
Chen, Wei. “Cong xin yishupian kan geming de xianshizhuyi he geming de lang-
manzhuyi de jiehe (On the combination of revolutionary realism and revolution-
ary romanticism in new art films).” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 12
(December 8, 1958): 16–17.
Chen, Xihe. “Dianying yuyan zhong de jizhong goucheng yuansu (Several types of
components of the cinematic language).” Dianying yishu (Film art), no. 5, 6
(1962): 2–19 (issue 5), 43–57 (issue 6).
Chen, Yi ( ). “Wo ye xiangdao dianying de wenti (I am too thinking about the film
issue).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), (January 23, 1957).
Chen, Yi ( ). “Chen Yi guanyu zhishifenzi wenti de liang pian jianghua (Two talks
by Chen Yi on the issue of intellectuals).” Dang de wenxian (Historical documents
of the Party), no. 2 (2002): 3–12.
Chen, Huangmei, Qiao Ding, Weijin Gao, Zongjiang Huang, Jizhou Yan, and
Bo Chen. “Dangqian dianying chuangzuo wenti zuotanhui (Discussion forum
on the issue of film creation at the present time).” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese
cinema), no. 10 (October 8, 1958): 4–9.
Chen, Yuxin, Rongkui Ren, and Yi Xin. “Tan yingpian shezhizu zhong dang de
gongzuo (On the Party’s work in film crews).” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese
cinema), no. 1 (January 1959): 2–4.
238 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Cheng, Jihua, Shaobai Li, and Zuwen Xing. Zhongguo dianying fazhanshi (A history
of the development of Chinese cinema). 2nd ed. 2 vols, Beijing: Zhongguo dianying
chubanshe, 1963, 2005.
Chuangxin dubai yu Qu Baiyin (“A Monologue on Film Innovation” and Qu Baiyin).
Beijing: Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 1982.
“Chuangzao wukuiyu women shidai de yingpian (Create films worthy of our times).”
Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 12 (December 8, 1958): 2–3.
Chung, Hilary, and Falchikov Michael, eds. In the party spirit: Socialist realism
and literary practice in the Soviet Union, East Germany and China: Amsterdam;
Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 1996.
Clark, Katerina, E. A. Dobrenko, Andre˙ı̆ Artizov, and Oleg V. Naumov. Soviet cul-
ture and power: A history in documents, 1917–1953. Annals of Communism. New
Haven: Yale University Press, 2007.
Clark, Paul. “The film industry in the 1970s.” In Popular Chinese literature and
performing arts in the People’s Republic of China, 1949–1979, edited by Bonnie S.
McDougall and Paul Clark. p. xvi, 341. Berkeley: University of California Press,
1984.
——. Chinese cinema: Culture and politics since 1949. Cambridge studies in film.
Cambridge Cambridgeshire; New York: Cambridge University Press, 1987.
——. The Chinese cultural revolution: A history. Cambridge; New York: Cambridge
University Press, 2008.
Cui, Jingtai. “Shanghai yanchu jumu hunluan xianxiang yanzhong: zai ‘chuantong
jumu’ huangzi xia, huangse xi chong deng wutai (Arrangements for opera perfor-
mances are seriously disorganized in Shanghai: Disguised as ‘traditional operas,’
yellow operas reappear on stage).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), (December 6,
1956): 2.
Cui, Yu, Guanghua Lou, and Yi Yi. “Sixia Xiao Jianqiu de jinbu waiyi (Stripping
off Xiao Jianqiu’s progressive mask).” Shan hua (Mountain flowers), no. 11.12
combined issue (December 1964): 78–80.
Cui, Zhiyuan. “Guanyu liangjiehe chuangzuo fangfa de lishi kaocha yu fansi
(A reflective history of the creative method of the combination of revolution-
ary romanticism and revolutionary realism).” Hebei shifan daxue xuebao: zhexue
shehui kexue ban (Journal of the Hebei Normal University: Philosophy and social
sciences) 27, no. 1 (2004): 44–52.
“Da guimo de shouji quanguo min’ge (Extensively collect folk poems nationwide).”
Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (April 14, 1958): 1.
Dagong. “Zai juying zhouhui shang ting Shi Dongshan baogao ceji (Listening to Shi
Dongshan’s talk at a weekly meeting of film and stage play artists).” Shidongshan
yingcun (Remembering Shi Dongshan and his Films), vol. 2 (Beijing, Zhongguo
dianying chubanshe, 2003), 50–52.
Dai, Huang. Jiusiyisheng: wo de “Youpai” li cheng (Surviving all perils: My experi-
ences as a Righitst). Beijing: Zhongyang bianyi chubanshe, 1998.
de Bary, William Theodore, and Richard Lufrano, eds. Sources of Chinese tradition.
2nd ed. 2 vols. Vol. 2, New York: Columbia University Press, 1999.
Deng, Fanping, Xiu Niu, Yongsha Huang, Bangrong Gong, and Zhaowen Zeng.
“Liu Sanjie (Third sister Liu).” Juben (Scripts), no. 9 (September 1959): 47–51.
 BIBLIOGRAPHY 239

Deng, Hanbin. “Sanliwan: dui nongcun hezuoshe zhi minjian ke’nengxing de zhenmi
shuxie (Sanliwan village: Meticulous writing on the grassroots possibilities of
agricultural cooperation).” In, (2005). Published electronically March 29, 2005.
http://ows.cul-studies.com/Article/literature/200503/972.html.
Deng, Weizhi. “Ruhe pingjia Ke Qingshi (How to evaluate Ke Qingshi).” Dangshi
zonglan (The CCP’s history), no. 9 (2003): 36–43.
Di, Di. “Haixia shijian benmo (Ins and outs of the Haixia affair).” Dianying yishu
(Film art) 3 (June), 4 (August) (1994): 61–69 (Part I), 79–90 (Part II).
Dianying zhanxian liang tiao luxian douzheng dashiji yijiusiba-yijiuliuqi (Major
events of the two-line struggle on the battlefront of cinema: 1948–1967). Shanghai:
Renmin wenxue chubanshe shanghai fenshe fanxiu zhandouban cailiaozu,
1967.
Ding, Hong. “Yi ge qingnian yanyuan de qilu (The corruption of a young actor).”
Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (April 25 1958): 7.
Ding, Lang. “Changxiang he ren (Free imagination and the people).” Wenyi bao
(Literary gazette), no. 22 (1958): 34–35.
Ding, Shu. “Beida zai 1957 (Beijing University during 1957).” http://www.usc.cuhk.
edu.hk/wk_wzdetails.asp?id=4279.
Ding, Yanzhao. “Huashuo Yu Ling (On Yu Ling).” Shiji (Century), (July 15, 1995):
26–28.
Ding, Yaping, ed. Bainian zhongguo dianying lilun wenxuan (Selected articles on film
theory during the recent one hundred years). 2 vols. Vol. 1, Beijing: Wenhua yishu
chubanshe, 2002.
Ding, Yihai. “Guochan yingpian de quedian (Problems of PRC-made films).”
Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), (November 14, 1956).
Dong, Yang. “Shei zhizao le ershier da mingxing (Who made the ‘22 big stars’).”
Wenshi cankao (References for historcial study), no. 17 (2012): 25–28.
“Dongyuan qilai, tou ru zhandou! (Get mobilized to fight!).” Zhongguo dianying
(Chinese cinema), no. 7 (July 28, 1957): 1–2.
“Fadong quanmin, taolun sishi tiao gangyao, xianqi nongye shengchan de xin
gaochao (Mobilize all people, discuss the 40 programs, and create a new peak of
agricultural productions).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (November 13, 1958).
“ ‘Faguo dianying zhou’ guanzhong da sanbanwan renci; faguo dianying daibiaotuan
dao shanghai fangwen (Audiences of the French Film Week reached three million;
the French Film Delegation is visiting Shanghai),” Renmin ribao (People’s daily),
November 4 1956.
Fan, Xing, ed. Yongyuan de hongse jingdian: hongse jingdian chuangzuo yingxiang
shihua (The forever red classics: Historcial studies of the creation and influences of
the red classics). Wuhan: Changjiang wenyi chubanshe, 2008.
Fang, Chu. “Weilai shi zheyang pingjing de ma? (Is the future so peaceful?).” Xiju
bao (Theater gazette), no. 16 (August 29, 1958): 23.
Fang, Haixing. “Gongheguo lishi shang de Ke Qingshi (Ke Qing in the history of the
PRC).” Yanhuang chunqiu (China through the ages), no. 10 (2008): 35–40.
Foucault, Michel Gordon Colin. Power/Knowledge: Selected interviews and other
writings, 1972–1977. New York: Pantheon Books, Edition: 1st American ed.,
1980.
240 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Fu, Baolin. “Guibian yu huangyan: Zaochun eryue pipan (Sophistry and lies:
A criticism of Early Spring in February).” Zhengzhou daxue xuebao (Journal of
Zhengzhou University), no. 4 (1964): 55–64.
Gao, Huamin. Nongye hezuohua yundong shimo (A history of the Campaign for
Agricultural Collectivization). Beijing: Zhongguo qingnian chubanshe, 1999.
Gao, Jiabiao, Zhinian Shi, Hongji Sun, and Yongyi Gao. “Huaju Beijing de ming-
tian guanhougan (A review of the spoken drama Beijing’s Tomorrow).” Xiju bao
(Theater gazette), no. 15 (August 14, 1958): 29.
Gao, Zhenkui. “Manhua Shisanling shuiku jianshe kaifa licheng (On the construc-
tion and development process of the Shisanling reservoir).” Beijing shuili (Beijing
water resources), no. 3 (1995): 45–48.
“Guanyu gaijin dianying zhipian gongzuo ruogan wenti de baogao (A report on the
improvement of several issues in the film production work).” Beijing: Wenhua
bu dianying ju (the Film Bureau of the Ministry of Culture), 1957.
Guo, Moruo. Guo Moruo quanji: wenxue bian (Completed works of Guo Moruo:
collection of literary works). Vol. 17, Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe,
1989.
Guo, Qingrui. “Zhongguo dianying danshengdi: daguanlou yingcheng (the birth-
place of Chinese cinema: The Daguanlou movie theater).” Beijing ribao (Beijing
daily), (December 4, 2012): 12.
Guo, Wei. Huahao yueyuan dianying wancheng jingtou juben (Shooting script of
Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon). Changchun: Chuangchun Film Studio
(Mimeograph with no clear date), circa. 1957.
——. “Huahaoyueyuan dianying wenxue juben (Literary script of Blooming Flowers
and the Full Moon).” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 6 (June 28, 1957):
43–77.
——. “Wo zenyang zoujin yingtan de damen: huiyi wo de laoshi Shi Dongshan (How
I entered the gate of film industry: Remembering my mentor Shi Dongshan).”
In Shidongshan yingcun (Remembering Shi Dongshan and his films), edited by Li
Daoxin Zhao Xiaoqing. 403–431. Beijing: Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 2003.
“Guochan yingpian shangzuolü qingkuang buhao (The box-office records of the
PRC-made films are not good).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), (November 14,
1956): 2.
Hai, Mo. “Bu yunxu ba gongnongbing ganchu lishi wutai (It is not allowed to
drive the workers, peasants, and soldiers out of the historical stage).” Zhongguo
dianying (Chinese Cinema), no. 2 (1957): 9–11.
Hall, Stuart. Representation: Cultural representations and signifying practices.
London; Thousand Oaks, Calif.: Sage in association with the Open University,
1997.
Han, Fei. “Meiyou xiju keyan (No comedy to play in).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily),
(November 30, 1956): 2.
Han, Shangyi, et al. “Mianxiang yishu (For art).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily),
(November 27, 1956).
Hang, Krista Van Fleit. “Zhong Xinghuo: Communist film worker.” In Chinese film
stars, edited by Mary Ann Farquhar and Yingjin Zhang. 108–118. London; New
York, NY: Routledge, 2010.
 BIBLIOGRAPHY 241

——. Literature the people love: Reading Chinese texts from the early Maoist period
(1949–1966). New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013.
Hanwei Dang dui dianying shiye de lingdao xubian (Defend the leadership of the
Party in the film work: Continuation). Edited by Zhongguo dianying chubanshe.
Beijing: Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 1958.
He, Henry Yuhuai. Dictionary of the political thought of the People’s Republic of
China. Armonk, N.Y.: M.E. Sharpe, 2001.
Hong, Bin. “Zaochun eryue fanying le shenmo maodun chongtu (What kind of con-
flicts does Early Spring in February reflect?).” Xueshu yuekan (Academic monthly),
no. 1 (January 1965): 29–34.
Hong, Qiu. “Nie Er nianbiao chugao (First draft of a chronicle of Nie Er).” Renmin
yinyue (People’s music), no. 8 (1955).
Hu, Bensheng. “Duo chuban gongchanzhuyi de kexuehuanxiang xiaoshuo (Pub-
lish more communist science-fiction novels).” Dushu (Reading), (October 13,
1958): 35.
Hu, Qiaomu. Hu Qiaomu tan zhonggong dangshi (Hu Qiaomu on the CCP’s history).
Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 1999.
Hu, Su. “Yigu fandang anliu de fanlan—chi yi Sha Meng weishou de fandan-
gjituan (An overflowing anti-Party undercurrent: Denouncing the anti-Party
group led by Sha Meng).” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 9 (1957):
13–16.
Hu, Xingliang. “1949–1976 zhong wai xiju jiaoliu gailun (A survey of the exchange
activities in theater between China and other countries from 1949 to 1976).”
Wenyi zhengming (Contentions in literature and art), no. 3 (2006): 116–124.
Huang, Gang. Zai dianying gongzuo gangwei shang (At the post of film work),
(Shanghai: Xinwenyi chubanshe, 1952): 43–60.
——. “Fandui dianying shiye yuejin zhong de cuowu lundiao (Opposing the erro-
neous arguments in the great leap forward of film work).” Zhongguo dianying
(Chinese cinema), no. 11 (November 8, 1958): 33–35.
Huang, Zongying. “Liang zhong wenhua (Two cultures).” Dazhong dianying (Mass
cinema), June 1, 16, July 5 (1950): 9–10, 25, 19–20.
Jenner, W. J. F. “Book review: Chinese cinema: Culture and politics since 1949 by
Paul Clark.” The China quarterly, no. 121 (1990): 140–141.
“Ji dianying zhipian shengchan cujin huiyi (A report on the meeting to promote film
production).” Dazhong dianying (Mass cinema), (March 26, 1958): 22.
Jia, Ji. “Buzuweixun de Wu Xun (Wu Xun shall not be exemplary).” Renmin ribao
(People’s daily), (May 17, 1951): 3.
——. Song Jingshi qiyi gushi (Stories of Song Jingshi’s rebellion). Beijing: Zhongguo
qingnian chubanshe, 1956.
——. “Yao yi gongchanzhuyi sixiang changxiang weilai (Immagination of the future
must follow the communist thoughts).” Wenyi bao (Literary gazette), no. 1
(1959): 26–29.
Jiang, Qing. “Guanyu dianying wenti (On the film Issue) (May 1966).” In Fandong
yingpian Wu Xun Zhuan Liao Yuan pipan cailiao (Criticism materials of reac-
tionary films The Life of Wu Xun and The Ablaze Prairie). 17–22. Beijing: Beijing
dianyingxueyuan jinggangshan wenyibingtuan hongdaihui, May 1967.
242 BIBLIOGRAPHY

——. “Lin Biao tongzhi weituo Jiang Qing tongzhi zhaokai de budui wenyigongzuo
zuotanhui jiyao (Summary of the forum on the work in literature and art in
the armed forces with which comrade Lin Biao entrusted comrade Jiang Qing).”
Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (May 29, 1967).
——. Jiang Qing tongzhi jianghua xuanbian (Selected talks of Jiang Qing).
Guangzhou: Renmin chubanshe, 1968.
Jiang, Shouqian, and Zekui Deng. “Zaochun eryue de bianhuzhe men beili le
wuchanjieji de lichang guandian (Defenders of Early Spring in February have devi-
ated from the proletarian position).” Wenxue pinglun (Literary reviews), no. 6
(December 1964).
Jianguo yilai zhongyao wenxian xuanbian (Selected important documents since the
establishment of the PRC). Edited by Zhongyang wenxian yanjiushi (Research
office of documents of the CCP’s Central Commttee). 20 vols, Beijing:
Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe, 1996.
“Jianshe shehuizhuyi nongcun de weida gangling (A great program for the con-
struction of socialist countryside).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (October 27
1957): 1.
Jin, Shan. “Dianying Shisanling shuiku changxiangqu de paishe (The shooting
of Rhapsody of the Shisanling Reservoir).” Dazhong dianying (Mass cinema),
(November 11, 1958), 11–12.
Jing, Wenshi. “Zaochun eryue yao ba renmen yin dao nar qu (Where does Early
Spring in February intend to lead people?).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily),
(September 15, 1964).
Jingbo. “Baozheng dianying jishu de zhiliang (Ensure the technical quality of films).”
Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), (November 26, 1956).
Jones, Andrew F. Yellow music: Media culture and colonial modernity in the Chinese
Jazz age. Durham: Duke University Press, 2001.
Kang, Zhuo. “Xushui renmingongshe song (In praise of the People’s Commune of
Xushui).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (September 1, 1958).
Kaup, Katherine Palmer. Creating the Zhuang: Ethnic politics in China. Boulder,
Colo.: L. Rienner, 2000.
Ke, Yulu. “Ping dianying Guan lianzhang (A review of the film Platoon Commander
Guan).” Wenyi bao (Literary gazette), 4, no. 5 (June 1951): 20–21.
Kenez, Peter. Cinema and Soviet society from the revolution to the death of Stalin.
London and New York: I.B. Tauris, 2001.
King, Richard. Milestones on a Golden Road: Writing for Chinese socialism, 1945–
1980. Vancouver, BC: UBC Press, 2013.
Kuo, Mercy. Contending with contradictions: China’s policy toward Soviet Eastern
Europe and the origins of the Sino-Soviet split, 1953–1960. Lanham, Md.:
Lexington Books, 2001.
Lanqing. “Xu yu shi: Liu Sanjie de yishu chuli (Fantasy and reality: On the artistic
treatment of Third Sister Liu).” Dianying yishu (Film art), no. 6 (December 1961):
30–32.
Laogui. Muqin Yang Mo (My mother Yang Mo). Wuhan: Changjiang wenyi chuban-
she, 2005.
 BIBLIOGRAPHY 243

Lenin, Vladimir Il’ich. Collected works. Vol. 29, Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1972.
Levin, Harry. “The wages of satire.” In Literature and society, edited by Edward W.
Said. 1–14. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1980.
Leyan. “Yanyuan de kunao (Actors’ frustration).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily),
(December 10, 1956).
Li, Daoxin. “Cansheng de tizhi he jianbai de ren (The bitterly victorious institution
and the gradually defeated people).” Dianying yishu (Film art), no. 5 (2012):
111–121.
Li, Duoyu, ed. Zhongguo dianying bainian (One hundred years of Chinese cinema).
Beijing: Zhongguo guangbo dianshi chubanshe, 2005.
Li, Rong. “TV documentary on Yan Jizhou.” In Dianying chuanqi (Film Legends),
2007.
Li, Rui. Lushan huiyi shi lu (A record of the Lushan conference). Zhengzhou: He’nan
renmin chubanshe, 1994.
Li, Wenhua, and Qizhi. “Li Wenhua fangtanlu (Interview with Li Wenhua).”
Dianying wenxue (Film literature), no. 5 (2010): 160–164.
Li, Xing. “Guanzhong xuyao kan shenmeyang de yingpian (What films does
the audience want to watch?).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), (December 17,
1956).
Li, Youlin. “Chunjie bu tinggong, jiajin gan gongcheng (Work non-stop during the
spring festival to speed up the construction).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily),
(February 17, 1958).
Li, Zhenxiang. “Weirao xiangju Yuanding zhi ge de jianrui douzheng (A sharp strug-
gle around the Hu’nan opera Song of a Teacher).” Xiang chao (The CCP’s history
in the province of Hu’nan), no. 5 (2007): 33–36.
Li, Zhi. Wentan fengyun lu (The literary circle amid the winds of change).
Zhengzhou: He’nan renmin chubanshe, 1998.
Liang, Maochun, and Jinguang Li. “Li Jin’guang caifang jilu ji xiangguan shuoming
(Interviews of Li Jinguang and notes on the interviews).” Tianjin yinyuexueyuan
xuebao (Journal of the Tianjin Conservatory of Music), no. 1 (2013): 55–71.
Liang, Xiaosheng. Yi ge hongweibing de zibai (Confession of a Red Guard). Beijing:
Wenhuayishu chubanshe, 2006.
Liao, Mosha. Liao Mosha wenji (Collected works of Liao Mosha). Vol. 2, Beijing:
Beijing chubanshe, 1986.
Liping. Kaiguo zongli Zhou Enlai (Zhou Enlai, the first Prime Minister of the PRC).
Beijing: Zhonggong zhongyang dangxiao chubanshe, 1994.
Liu, Binyan. A higher kind of loyalty: A memoir by China’s foremost journalist. New
York: Pantheon Books, 1990.
——. Liu Binyan zizhuan (An autobiography of Liu Binyan). Hong Kong: Xingguang
press, 1990.
Liu, Shaoqi. Liu Shaoqi xuanji (Selected works of Liu Shaoqi). Vol. 2, Beijing: Renmin
chubanshe, 1981.
Liuzhou Liu Sanjie juben chuangzuo xiaozu (Creative team of the script of Third
Sister Liu in Liuzhou). “Liu Sanjie (Third Sister Liu).” Juben (Scripts), no. 8, 9
(September 1960): 70–90.
244 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Lu, Dingyi. “Baihua qifang, baijia zhengming (Let a hundred flowers bloom, let a
hundred schools contend).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (June 13, 1956).
Lü, Ji. “Huiyi Zuoyijulianyinyuexiaozu (A memoir on the music group of the league
of the left-wing dramatists).” Renmin yinyue (People’s music), no. 4 (April 30,
1980).
Lü, Jinzao, and Yuefang Han. “Zhongguo ershishiji shangbanye yinyueshetuan
biannian jishi (Annual records of Chinese music groups in the first half of
the 20th century).” Yinyue aihaozhe (Music lovers), no. 2 (April 30, 1992):
38–39.
Lü, Xiaoming. “Re-Exhibition of Chinese films made before 1966 as a social event
in the late 1970s.” Dangdai dianying (Contemporary cinema), no. 3 (2006):
89–91.
Lu, Xiaoning. “Zhang Ruifang: Modelling the socialist Red Star.” In Chinese film
stars, edited by Mary Ann Farquhar and Yingjin Zhang. 97–107. London; New
York, NY: Routledge, 2010.
Lu, Xun. Lu Xun quanji (Complete works of Lu Xun). 18 vols. Beijing: Renmin
wenxue chubanshe, 2005.
Lü, Zheng. “Tantan changxiang (On “free imagination”).” Xiju bao (Theater
gazette), no. 15 (August 14, 1958): 28.
Luo, Xuepeng. “Zhong Dianfei he dianying de luogu (Zhong Dianfei and gongs
and drums at the movies).” Yanhuang chunqiu (China through the ages), no. 12
(2001): 32–35.
——. “Zhong Dianfei yu “dianying de luogu” (Zhong Dianfei and “gongs and drums
at the movies”).” Bai nian chao (Hundred-year changes), no. 5 (2008): 57–60.
Luo, Yisheng. “Ting Huang Zongying laoren tan wangshi (Listen to madame Huang
Zongying tell past stories).” Qilu wanbao (Qilu evening news), (November 17,
2008): B06–B07.
Ma, Debo, and Guangxi Dai. “Chen Huangmei zai shiqi nian, jian ping ‘zhuan-
jiapai’ yu ‘zuo’ pai de luxianzhizheng (Chen Huangmei during the 17 years:
on the conflicts between the ‘specialists’ and the ‘Leftists’).” Dangdai dianying
(Contemporary cinema), no. 2 (1993): 56–62.
Ma, Shaobo. “Weile geng meihao de weilai (For a more beautiful future).” Dazhong
dianying (Mass cinema), (November 11, 1958), 10–11.
MacFarquhar, Roderick. The coming of the cataclysm, 1961–1966. The origins of the
cultural revolution. Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press and Columbia
University Press, 1997.
MacFarquhar, Roderick, and Michael Schoenhals. Mao’s last revolution. Cambridge,
Mass: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2006.
Mao, Zedong. Five documents on literature and art. Beijing: Foreign Languages
Press, 1967.
——. Jianguo yilai Mao Zedong wengao (Writings of Mao Zedong since the estab-
lishment of the People’s Republic of China). 13 vols, Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian
chubanshe, 1998.
Mao, Zedong, Roderick MacFarquhar, Timothy Cheek, Eugene Wu, Merle
Goldman, and Benjamin I. Schwartz. The secret speeches of Chairman Mao: From
 BIBLIOGRAPHY 245

the hundred flowers to the great leap forward. Harvard contemporary China
series. Cambridge, Mass.: Council on East Asian Studies/Harvard University:
Distributed by Harvard University Press, 1989.
Mao, Zedong, and Tse-Tung Mao. Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung. Vol. III, Beijing:
Foreign Languages Press, 1967.
——. Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung. Vol. II, Beijing: Foreign Languages Press,
1975.
——. Selected works of Mao Tse-Tung. Vol. V, Beijing: Foreign Languages Press,
1977.
——. “Talks at three meetings with comrades Chang Ch’un-ch’iao and Yao Wen-
yuan.” http://www.marxists.org/reference/archive/mao/selected-works/volume-
9/mswv9_73.htm – b1.
Mao, Zedong, and Stuart R. Schram. Mao Tse-tung unrehearsed: Talks and letters,
1956–71. Pelican books. Harmondsworth etc.: Penguin, 1974.
Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long live the thoughts of Mao Zedong) 1949–
1957. Wuhan: Gang’ersi Wuhandaxue zongbu, Zhongnanminyuan geweihui
xuanchuanbu, and Wuhanshiyuan geweihui xuanchuanbu, 1968.
Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long live the thoughts of Mao Zedong) 1958–
1960. Wuhan: Gang’ersi Wuhandaxue zongbu, Zhongnanminyuan geweihui
xuanchuanbu, and Wuhanshiyuan geweihui xuanchuanbu, 1968.
Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long live the thoughts of Mao Zedong) 1961–
1968. Wuhan: Gang’ersi Wuhandaxue zongbu, Zhongnanminyuan geweihui
xuanchuanbu, and Wuhanshiyuan geweihui xuanchuanbu, 1968.
Marchetti, Gina. “Action-Adventure as ideology.” In Cultural politics in contem-
porary America, edited by Ian H. Angus and Sut Jhally. 182–197. New York:
Routledge, 1989.
Marx, Karl, and Friedrich Engels. The Civil War in France. New York: International
Publishers, 1940.
Marx, Karl, and Frederick Engels. Marx and Engels: 1864–68. Moscow: Progress
Publ. [u.a.], 1987.
Meisner, Maurice J. Mao’s China and after: A history of the People’s Republic. 2nd ed.
New York, NY: The Free Press, 1986.
Meisner, Mitch. “Dazhai: The mass line in practice.” Modern China 4, no. 1 (1978):
27–62.
Mi, Ruo. “Shangying huabao de fangxiang shi shenmo? (What is the direction of
the Shanghai studio pictorial?).” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese Cinema), no. 10
(October 8, 1958): 71–72.
Mu, Xin. “Guixi Li Huiniang, yuan’an hua shang juhao (The ghost play Li Huiniang:
The end of an unjust case).” Yanhuang chunqiu (China through the ages),
(October 1994), 38–43.
Mubai. “Paishe guocheng zhong de qingguijielü (Restrictions in the shooting pro-
cess).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), (November 26, 1956).
NCNA. “Wenhuabu jiang zai sanshisan ge chengshi juban xinpianzhanlanzhou (The
ministry of culture will hold ‘New Film Exhibition Weeks’ in 33 cities).” Renmin
ribao (People’s daily), (Feburary 23, 1956): 2.
246 BIBLIOGRAPHY

——. “Geguo zhuhua shijie deng canguan Shisanling shuiku gongdi (Foreign diplo-
mats visited the Shisanling reservoir construction site).” Renmin ribao (People’s
daily), (March 6, 1958): 4.
——. “Luoma’niya zhengfu daibiaotuan canguan Shisanling shuiku gongdi (Delega-
tion of the goverment of Romania visited the Shisanling reservoir construction
site).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (April 5, 1958): 4.
——. “A Lian junshi youhao fanghua daibiaotuan canguan dianziguan chang, tanke
xuexiao he Shisanling shuiku gongdi (United Arab Republic Military Friendship
Delegation to China visited the factory of electron tubes, the tank school, and
the construction site of the Shisanling reservoir).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily),
(April 7, 1958): 4.
——. “Min’ge zhi hai Neimenggu yao souji qianwan shou minge (Ten million folk
poems will be collected in the inner Mongolia, known as the ‘sea of folk poems’).”
Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (June 9, 1958): 7.
——. “Changying ‘xiaobailou ’fandang jituan qiongxunji’e, Sha Meng Guo Wei Lü
Ban shuaidui xiang dang chongfeng, tichu yitao zibenzhuyi gangling wangxiang ba
dianying shiye tuixiang qitu (The ‘anti-Party clique in the Little White Building’
of the Changchun film studio is extremely vicious; Sha Meng, Guo Wei, and
Lü Ban are leading their team to charge against the party; in the vain hope of
pushing the film cause to a wrong path, they have proposed a set of capitalist
programs.).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (September 3, 1957).
——. “Lü Ban shi ge fandang daoyan (Lü Ban is an anti-party director).” Renmin
ribao (People’s daily), (August 20, 1957).
——. “Shanghai renda yubei huiyi douzheng Zhang Luo lianmeng zai Shanghai de
zhuyao gugan, Sun Dayu mianhongerchi choutaibilu (At the preparatory meet-
ing of the Shanghai people’s congress, [people] fought against a core member
of the Zhang [Bojun] and Luo [Longji] coalition, Sun Dayu, who flushed with
shame and completely acted like a fool).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (August
22, 1957): 1.
——. “Mao Zhuxi he quanti zhongwei canjia laodong (Chairman Mao and all the
central committee members partipated in the labor).” Renmin ribao (People’s
daily), (May 26, 1958).
Nie, Er. “Zhongguo gewu duanlun (A short review of Chinese songs and dances).”
Renmin yinyue (People’s music), no. 9 (1955): 5.
——. Nie Er riji (Diary of Nie Er). Zhengzhou: daxiang chubanshe, 2004.
Nie Er: cong juben dao yingpian (Nie Er: From script to film). Beijing: Zhongguo
dianying chunbanshe, 1963.
Niu, Han, and Jiuping Deng, eds. Yuan shang cao: Jiyi zhong de fan youpai yun-
dong (Wild grass: Remembering the Anti-Rightist Campaign). Beijing: Jingji ribao
chubanshe, 1998.
Nongye jitihua zhongyao wenjian huibian (A compendium of important docu-
ments on agricultural collectivization): 1949–1981. Vol. 1, Beijing: Zhonggong
zhongyang dangxiao chubanshe, 1982.
Oksenberg, M. “Occupational groups in Chinese society and the cultural revolu-
tion.” In The Cultural revolution: 1967 in review, four essays. Edited by Chang,
 BIBLIOGRAPHY 247

Chun-shu, James Crump, and Rhoads Murphey. 1–44 University of Michigan:

Center for Chinese Studies, 1968.
Pang, Laikwan. Building a new China in cinema: The chinese left-wing cinema
movement, 1932–1937. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2002.
Pang, Xianzhi, and Chongji Jin. Mao Zedong zhuan (Biography of Mao Zedong),
1949–1976. Vol. 2, Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe, 2003.
——. Mao Zedong zhuan:1949–1976 (Biography of Mao Zedong: 1949–1976).
Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian chubanshe, 2004.
Peng, Dehuai. Peng Dehuai zizhuan (Autobiography of Peng Dehuai). Beijing:
Jiefangjun wenyi chubanshe, 2002.
Peng, Houwen. “Wenge qian zhonggong zhongyang zuigao lingdaoceng fen yixian
erxian zhidu kao (A historical investigation of the division of ‘the first line’ and
‘the second line’ in top-level leadership of the CCP’s Central Committee before
the Cultural Revolution).” Dangshi yanjiu yu jiaoxue (Research and teaching on
the CCP’s history), no. 3 (2007): 33–38.
Peng, Zhen. “Zai Shisanling shuiku luocheng dianli dahui shang Peng Zhen shizhang
de jianghua (Mayor Peng Zhen’s talk at the commissioning ceremony of the
Shisanling reservoir).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (July 2, 1958).
Pickowicz, Paul. China on film: A century of exploration, confrontation, and contro-
versy. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 2012.
Pipan fandong dianying Fanji (Criticizing the reactionary film Repulse). Ürümqi:
Xinjiang weiwuer zizhiqu dianying gongsi, 1977.
Pu, Yibing. “Ducao zen neng tu fenfang (How can a poisonous weed be fra-
grant?).” Fudan daxue xuebao: Zhexue shehui kexue (Journal of Fudan University:
Philosophy and social sciences, no. 2 (1964): 17–23.
Qian, Liqun. 1948: Tiandixuanhuang (1948: The sky is black and the earth is yellow).
Jinan: Shandong jiaoyu chubanshe, 1998.
Qian, Tianqi. “Youguan rendaozhuyi de ji ge wenti: cong Zaochun eryue de taolun
zhong suo xiangqi de (Some issues regarding humanitarianism: On the discussion
of Early Spring in February).” Kaifeng shifanxueyuan xuebao (Journal of Kaifeng
Normal Univesity), no. 2 (December 1964): 16–21.
Qinghuadaxue dongfanghongnanxiagemingzhandoudui. “Geming de huaiyi yiqie
wansui! (Long live the revolutionary [spirit] doubt everything!).” In Wenhua
geming zhong de yiduan sichao (Heterodox thoughts during the Cultural Revolu-
tion), edited by Yongyi Song and Dajin Sun. 228–230. Hong Kong: Tianyuan
shuwu, 1997.
Qizhi. Mao Zedong shidai de renmin dianying (People’s cinema during the Maoist
era). Taipei: Xiuwei zixun keji gufen youxiangongsi, 2010.
Qu, Baiyin. “Dui yingpian Qiuchangfengbo de fenxi (An analysis of the film Trouble
on the Playground).” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 7 (1958): 39–43.
——. “Guanyu dianying chuangxin wenti de dubai (A monologue on film innova-
tion).” Dianying yishu (Film art), no. 3 (1962): 50–57.
Qu, Baiyin, and Dan Zhao. “Shi Hui ‘gun’ de zhexue he ta de ‘caineng’ (On Shi Hui’s
philosophy of ‘rolling around’ and his ‘talent’).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily),
(December 13, 1957).
248 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Qu, Wei. “Jinian xinyinyue de kailu xianfeng Nie Er (Commemorate Nie Er,
vanguard of the new music).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (July 17, 1949): 4.
Rayns, Tony, and Scott Meek. Electric Shadows: 45 Years of Chinese Cinema. BFI
dossier. London: British Film Institute, 1980.
Ren, Rongkui. “Yuejin zhong de shangying jiankuang (A brief report on the
Shanghai Studio in the Great Leap Forward).” Dazhong dianying (Mass cinema),
(April 11, 1958): 15.
“Renren you guihua, gege zheng shangyou (Everyone has a plan, everyone strives for
higher goals).” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 4 (April 10, 1958): 80.
Rou, Shi. Threshold of Spring. Translated by Sidney Shapiro and Peiji Zhang.
Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1980.
——. Rou Shi xuanji (Selected works of Rou Shi), Edited by Hongzhi Yue. Beijing:
Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1986.
Sangtong. “Guozhe tangyi de duyao (The sugarcoated poison).” Dianying yishu
(Film art), no. 4 (August 1964): 14–23.
Sanmu. “Cisheng cangmang: guanyu Pu Xixiu (A life in the mist: On Pu Xixiu).”
Wenshi jinghua (Selected readings on literature and history), no. 11 (2004): 29–35.
Schram, Stuart R. The thought of Mao Tse-Tung. Cambridge (Cambridgeshire); New
York: Cambridge University Press, 1989.
Schurmann, Franz. Ideology and organization in communist China. 2nd ed.
Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968.
Shadan. “Dong Cunrui: Zhenshi chuangzao de jingdian (Dong Cunrui: A classic film
based on true stories).” Dazhong dianying (Mass cinema), no. 8 (2006): 36–39.
Shangguan, Yunzhu. “Rang wushu maicang de zhubao faguang (Let the buried
treasures shine).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), (November 21, 1956).
“Shanghai shi qingniangong guanyu qingnian zai yishixingtai douzheng zhong dui
yixie pipan zuopin de qingkuang huibao ji zuotan jilu deng (Reports, discussion
minutes, and other materials about the [atttitudes of] the youth to some criti-
cized works in the idelogical struggle, provided by the Shanghai Youth Palace).”
Shanghai: Shanghai Municipal Archives (Archive number: C26-2-113), 1964.
Shao, Quanlin. Shao Quanlin pinglun xuanji (Selected works of Shao Quanlin).
2 vols. Vol. 1, Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1981.
Shehuizhuyi xianshizhuyi lunwenji (Selected essays on socialist realism). 2 vols. Vol.
1, Shanghai: Xinwenyi chubanshe, 1958.
Shen. “Dianying gongzuozhe 1957 nian de dongxiang (Interviews with people work-
ing in film on their plans in 1957).” Dazhong dianying (Mass cinema), no. 1
(1957): 8–10.
Shen, Jiaze. “Zhe shi dui geming zhanzheng de moda wumie (This is the utmost vilifi-
cation of revolutionary war).” Shan hua (Mountain flowers), nos. 11.12 combined
issue (December 1964): 81–82.
Shen, Zhihua. “Sulian dui dayuejin he renmingongshe de fanying ji qi jieguo:
guanyu zhong su fenlie yuanqi de jinyibu sikao (The Soviet Union’s responses
to the Great Leap Forward and the People’s Commune and the consequences
of these responses: Further thoughts on the causes of the Sino-Soviet split).”
http://data.book.hexun.com.tw/chapter-671-1-4.shtml.
 BIBLIOGRAPHY 249

Shen, Zhiyuan, and Chunqiao Wei. “Zaochun eryue dansheng shimo (An account
of the birth of Early Spring in February).” Dazhong dianying (Mass cinema),
(December 2004): 42–43.
Sheng, Michael M. Battling Western imperialism: Mao, Stalin, and the United States.
Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1997.
Shi, Chuan. “ ‘Shiqinian’ shiqi zhongguo dianying tizhi yu guanzhong xuqiu (Chinese
film institution and the needs of Chinese audience during the period of the
‘seventeen years’).” Dianying yishu (Film art), no. 4 (2004): 49–54.
“Shi da chengshi jiang juxing ‘Riben dianying zhou’ (The Japanese film week will be
held in 10 major cities).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (May 23, 1956).
Shi, Dongshan. “Guanyu jinhou yige shiqi nei dianying de zhuti he gongzuo de judian
(On the subjects of films and the focus of film work from now on).” Renmin ribao
(People’s daily), (July 6, 1949).
——. “Muqian dianying yishu de zuofa (Present methods of filmmaking).” Renmin
ribao (People’s daily), (August 7, 1949).
Shi, Fangyu. “Xuyao hehu yishu guilü de lingdao (We need a leadership that obeys
the law of art).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), (November 17, 1956).
Shi, Hui. “Zhongshi zhongguo dianying de chuantong (Value the legacy of Chinese
film).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), (December 3, 1956).
Shi, Hui, Yin Wu, Yonggang Wu, and Dan Zhao. “Women jianyi . . . (We sug-
gest . . . ).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), (March 24, 1957).
“ ‘Shisanling Shuiku Gegongji’ jiang gongyan (‘Praising Songs of the Shisanling
Reservoir’ will perform in public).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (June 24, 1958).
“Shisanling shuiku jiben jiancheng, jinri xiawu juxing shengda luocheng dianli (The
Shisanling reservoir has been basically completed. A grand commissioning cer-
emony will be held this afternoon.).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (July 1,
1958).
“Shisanling shuiku: shoudu renmin dayuejin de biaozhi (The Shisanling reservoir:
A symbol of the great leap forward of the people of the capital).” Shuili fadian
(Hydraulic electrogenerating), no. 13 (1958).
“Shixing zichanjieji wenhua zhuanzhizhuyi de tiezhe: jiefa pipan Sirenbang weijiao
dianying Haixia de zuixing (An ironclad evidence of the bourgeois dictatorship
of culture: Exposing the Gang of Four’s crime to attack the film Haixia).” Renmin
ribao (People’s daily), (February 27, 1977).
Shu, Kei. “Cangsang renjian sishi nian: Sun Yu yu Wu Xun Zhuan (Ups and downs
during the forty years: Sun Yu and The Life of Wu Xun).” In Dalu zhi ge (Song
of the highway). Edited by Shu, Kei and Zhuotao Li. 259–269. Taipei: Yuanliu
chuban gongsi, 1990.
Shu, Shi. “Wo de yaoqiu (My demands).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), (November
21, 1956).
Shu, Xiao’ou. “Shi Dongshan de zaoqi dianying chuangzuo yu ‘weimeizhuyi’ (Shi
Dongshan’s early filmmaking career and ‘aestheticism’).” Dianying yishu (Film
art), no. 4 (1996): 59–63.
Song, Fang. “TV Documentary on The Man Unconcerned with Details.” In Dianying
chuanqi (Film Legends), 2006.
250 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Song, Haipeng. “TV Documentary on Third Sister Liu.” In Dianying chuanqi (Film
legends), 2006.
Su, Qin. “Gaoju hongqi, dapo dali (Holding the red flag high, let great demoli-
tion lead to great establishment).” Wenyi bao (Literary gazette), no. 17 (1958):
30–35.
Su, Xiu. Wo de peiyin shengya (My dubbing career). Shanghai: Wenhui chubanshe,
2005.
“Sulian deng xiongdi guojia waijiao renyuan dao Shisanling shuiku gongdi canjia
yiwu laodong (Diplomas of the Soviet Union and other brother countries partic-
ipated in the voluntary labor at the Shisanling reservoir).” Renmin ribao (People’s
daily), (June 1, 1958).
Sun, Jinglu. “Zui zhongyao de shi guanxin ren (Caring for the people is the most
important).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), (November 20, 1956).
Sun, Yu. “Zunzhong dianying de yishu chuantong (Respect the legacy of film art).”
Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), (November 29, 1956).
——. Dalu zhi ge (Song of the highway). Taipei: Yuanliu chuban gongsi, 1990.
Tang, Mingsheng. Kuayue shiji de meili: Qin Yi zhuan (A cross-century beauty:
Biography of Qin Yi). Beijing: Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 2005.
Tang, Zhenchang. “Gaijin shengao zhidu (Improve the film script inspection
system).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), (November 17, 1956).
Tao, Dun. “Huahaoyueyuan pipan (Criticism of Blooming Flowers and the Full
Moon).” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 3 (1959): 68–69.
Terrill, Ross. Madame Mao: The White Boned Demon. Rev. ed. Stanford, Calif.:
Stanford University Press, 1999.
Tian, Han. “Ershi nian hou de shuiku songge (Praising songs of the reservoir in
20 years).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (June 13, 1958).
——. “Shisanling shuiku changxangqu (Rhapsody of the Shisanling reservoir).” Juben
(Scripts), no. 8 (1958): 38–77.
——. “Shisanling shuiku changxangqu houji (Postscript of Rhapsody of the
Shisanling Reservoir).” Juben (Scripts), no. 8 (1958): 87.
——. Tian Han quanji (Complete works of Tian Han). Edited by Weizhi Zhou,
Damin Wang and Dian Fang, 20 vols. Shijiazhuang: Huashan wenyi chubanshe,
2000.
“Tongzhan bu zhaokai de minzhu renshi zuotanhui zuotian jixu juxing (The sym-
posium of democratic party representatives, convened by the United front work
department, continued yesterday).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (June 2, 1957).
Townsend, J. R. Political participation in communist China. University of California
Press, 1969.
U, Eddy. “Third Sister Liu and the making of the intellectual in socialist China.” The
journal of Asian studies, 69, no. 1 (March 2, 2010): 57–83.
Wang, Ban. The sublime figure of history: Aesthetics and politics in twentieth-century
China. Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1997.
Wang, Chaoguang. “Zhongguo yingping zhong de meiguo dianying, 1895–1949
(American films in Chinese movie reviews, 1895–1949).” Meiguo yanjiu
(American Studies Quarterly), no. 2 (1996): 78–92.
 BIBLIOGRAPHY 251

Wang, Gong. “Dianying shiye zouguo de yiduan wanlu (A wrong way for
the development of cinema).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), (November 28,
1956).
Wang, Jingjing. “Wu Xun Zhuan jiedong shifang le shenmo xinhao (What the thaw
on The Life of Wu Xun signals).” Zhongguo qingnianbao (Chinese youth), (March
28, 2012).
Wang, Jingshan, and Guoying Liu. “Bodiao Xiao Jianqiu de san chong waiyi (Strip-
ping off three layers of Xiao Jianqiu’s masks).” Qianxian (The frontline), no. 20
(October 1964): 15–17.
Wang, Jinyue. “Benbao ‘zui shou huanying de guochan dianying’ pingxuan Dang de
Nü Er huo zuijia,Tian Hua wushisi nian hou jieshou ben bao caifang (An interview
with Tian Hua 54 years after the film Daughter of the Party won the most popular
Chinese-made film award issued by this newspaper).” Beijing wanbao (Beijing
evening), (March 28, 2013): A5.
Wang, Lanxi. “Yingjie dianying shiye de xin shiqi (To meet the new period of film
work).” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 7 (July 8, 1958): 8–11.
Wang, Shaoguang. Failure of charisma: The Cultural Revolution in Wuhan. Oxford;
New York: Oxford University Press, 1995.
Wang, Shaoyou. “Buyao chuimaoqiuci (Do not be censorious).” Wenyi bao (Literary
gazette), no. 24 (1958): 38–39.
Wang, Shimeng. “Woguo litidianying de fazhan (Development of the PRC’s 3D
films).” Yingshi jishu (Film and TV technology), no. 10 (1995): 2–10.
Wang, Xiaoming, ed. Xie Tieli tan dianying yishu (Xie Tieli on film art). Chongqing:
Chongqing daxue chubanshe, 1999.
Wang, Xiyan. “Duanlian duanlian he fanying renminneibumaodun (Tempering and
the representation of contradictions among the people).” Wenyi bao (Literary
gazette), no. 10 (May 1959).
Wang, Yafu, Hengzhong Zhang, and Lifan Ding. Zhongguo xueshujie dashi ji
(A chronicle of events in Chinese academic circles): 1919–1985. Shanghai: Shanghai
shehui kexueyuan chubanshe, 1988.
Wang, Zifei. “Choulianghuanzhu: pipan Hai Mo de dongxiao heng chui (Perpe-
trating a fraud: A repudiation of Hai Mo’s Playing a Vertical Bamboo Flute
Horizontally).” Dianying yishu (Film art), no. 12 (1960): 63–65.
Wei, Ran. “Zhou zongli yu Shisanling shuiku jianshe (Prime Minister Zhou and
the construction of the Shisanling reservoir).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily),
(February 24, 1991).
“Weishenmo hao de guochanpian zheyang shao? (Why are there so few good PRC-
made films?).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), (November 14, 1956).
“Weiwen Shisanling shuiku de yiwu laodongzhe (Salute to the volunteer laborers at
the Shisanling reservoir).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (May 21, 1958): 4.
Wen, Zichuan. Wenren de lingyimian (The other side of the writers). Guilin: Guangxi
shifandaxue chubanshe, 2004.
Wenhua gongzuo wenjian ziliao huibian (Collected documents of work in culture).
Vol. 2, Beijing: Zhonghua renmin gongheguo wenhuabu bangongting, 1982.
Wentao. “Lichang, fencun he quwei (Position, propriety and taste).” Zhongguo
dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 4 (1959): 69–70.
252 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Wenyi. “Wenhui bao dui xiju wenti zhankai taolun (The Wenhui Daily is orga-
nizing a discussion on comedy).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (January 13,
1961): 7.
Wikipedia contributors. “Hongweibing (the Red Guards).” Wikipedia, The Free
Encyclopedia, http://zh.wikipedia.org/wiki/%E7%BA%A2%E5%8D%AB%
E5%85%B5.
“Wo guo ge da chengshi jiang juxing Faguo dianyingzhou (The French Film Week will
be held in major cities of our country).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (October
10, 1956).
“Women de dianying luogu qiao qilai le (We have begun beating gongs and drums
at movies).” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 4 (April 1958): 2–5.
Wu, Di, ed. Zhongguo dianying yanjiu ziliao (Research materials of Chinese cinema):
1949–1979. 3 vols. Beijing: Wenhua yishu chubanshe, 2006.
Wu, Lengxi. Yi Mao Zhuxi: wo qinshen jingli de ruogan zhongda lishi shijian piand-
uan (Remembering Chairman Mao: Fragments of certain major historical events
which I personally experienced). Beijing: Xinhua chubanshe, 1995.
——. Shi nian lunzhan: 1956–1966 zhong su guanxi huiyilu (Ten years of debate: A
memoir on the Sino-Soviet relationship from 1956 to 1966). Beijing: Zhongyang
wenxian chubanshe, 1999.
Wu, Ming. “Zui du de ducao: yingpian Zaochun eryue (The most poisonous weed:
The film Early Spring in February).” Shan hua (Mountain flowers), no. 11.12
combined issue (December 1964).
Wu, Zhuqing. Zhongguo dianying de fengbei: Yan’an dianyingtuan gushi (A mon-
ument of Chinese cinema: Stories of the Yan’an film group). Beijing: Zhongguo
renmin daxue chubanshe, 2008.
Wu, Zuguang. “Dongrenxinxian de yingpian: Yidali jinbu yingpian ‘Tou zixingche
de ren’guanhou (A touching film: A review of the Italian progressive film Bicycle
Thief ).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (October 25, 1954).
Xi, Xuan, and Chunming Jin. Wenhua dageming jianshi (A brief history of
the Cultural Revolution). 3rd ed. Beijing: Zhonggong dangshi chubanshe,
2006.
Xia, Mingxing. “Dianying Honghe jilang zaoshou ‘fenglang ’shimo (An account of
the ‘turbulent waves’ the film Turbulent Waves of the Red River encountered).”
Dangshi zongheng (The Party’s history), 5 (2009): 43–46.
Xia, Yan. “Duo kuai hao sheng dayuejin (Making a great leap forward in a more,
faster, better, and more economical way).” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema)
(April 10, 1958): 4–5.
——. “Xuexi Nie Er de geming jingshen (Learn the revolutionary spirit of Nie Er).”
Renmin yinyue (People’s music), no. 7 (July 29, 1980): 2–3.
——. “Wo de yixie jingyan jiaoxun (Some of my experiences and lessons).” In Lun
Xia Yan (On Xia Yan), edited by Chunfa Tan and Xueming Wang. 440–443.
Beijing: Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 1989.
——. “Guanyu Sulianzhiyousheyinyuezu wenti Xia Yan zhi Zhou Weizhi han (Xia
Yan’s letter to Zhou Weizhi on the issue of the Music Group of the Soviet
Union Friendly Association).” Xin wenhua shiliao (Historical materials of the new
culture), no. 6 (December 15, 1994): 11.
 BIBLIOGRAPHY 253

Xiao, Bing. “Dianying juben de yinmu tixian: ping dianying juben he dianying
Song Jingshi (The way to film a script: A review of the film script and the film
Song Jingshi) (1957).” In Chen Baichen ping zhuan (A critical biography of Chen
Baichen), edited by Hong Chen. 397–402. Chongqing: Chongqing chubanshe,
1998.
Xie, Tieli, and Xiaohong Fu. “Zha’nuanhuanhan de zaochun eryue (Early spring in
February, a time coldness persists after a sudden warmth).” Dazhong dianying
(Mass cinema), (January 1, 2006): 41–43.
Xie, Tieli, and Xiangxing Guo. “Xie Tieli gushipian beihou de gushi (The stories
behind Xie Tieli’s feature films).” Dangdai dianshi (Contemporary television), no.
5 (May 1995): 8–14.
Xie, Tieli, and Yu Zhang. “Xie Tieli fangtan ji (Interview with Xie Tieli).” Dangdai
dianying (Contemporary cinema), no. 1 (January 1999): 31–36.
Xu, Changlin. “Xiang chuantong wenyi tanshengqiubao (Searching for treasures in
traditional literature and art).” Dianying yishu (Film art), no. 1, 2, 4, 5 (1962):
11–25 (issue 1), 36–45 (issue 2), 28–40 (issue 4), 28–42 (issue 5).
Xu, Sangchu, and Chuan Shi. Ta bian qingshan ren wei lao: Xu Sangchu koushu
zizhuan (Crossing these green hills adds nothing to one’s years: An oral memoir of
Xu Sangchu). Beijing: Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 2006.
Xu, Sangchu, and Zhai Di. “Fengyu shiqinian: fang Xu Sangchu (Trails and hard-
ships of the seventeen years: An interview with Xu Sangchu).” Dangdai dianying
(Contemporary cinema), no. 4 (1999): 73–76.
Xu, Tongli. “Rizhenwanshan de Shisanling shuiku (The gradually perfected
Shishanling reservoir).” Beijing shuili (Beijing water resources), no. 1 (1996):
51–52.
Xu, Zhucheng. “Yang mou: 1957 (Open scheming: 1957).” In Jingji lu: jiyi zhong
de fan youpai yundong (A thorny road: Memoirs on the Anti-Rightist Campaign),
edited by Han Niu and Jiuping Deng. 265–281. Beijing: Jingji ribao chubanshe,
1998.
Yan, Jizhou. Wangshiruyan: Yan Jizhou zizhuan (Gone with the wind: An autobiog-
raphy of Yan Jizhou). Beijing: Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 2005.
——. “Geliahao de xiaosheng (Laughters of Two Good Brothers).” Dazhong dianying
(Mass cinema), (December 2006): 40–41.
Yan, Ping. Chen Huangmei zhuan (Biography of Chen Huangmei). Beijing:
Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 2006.
Yang, Jinfu, ed. Shanghai dianying bainian tushi (A pictorial history of the film
[industry] in Shanghai) (1905–2005). Shanghai: Wenhui chubanshe, 2006.
Yang, Weiming. Yiyezhiqiu: Yang Weiming wencun (A small sign can indicate a
great trend: Collected works of Yang Weiming). Beijing: Shehuikexue wenxian
chubanshe, 2004.
Yang, Xiancai, ed. Gongheguo zhongda shijian jishi (A record of the major events in
the PRC). 3 vols. Vol. 1, Beijing: Zhonggong zhongyang dangxiao chubanshe,
1998.
Yang, Yongzhi. “Yang Yongzhi tongzhi de jianghua (Talks of comrade Yang Yongzhi).”
Shanghai Municipal Archives (Archive number: B177-1-39), 1965.
254 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Yang, Zhengquan. “Andongni’aoni yu yingpian Zhong Guo de fengbo (Antonioni

and the trouble that the film Chung Kuo, Cine encountered).” Bai nian chao
(Hundred-year changes), no. 3 (2010): 55–59.
“Yao fandui baoshou zhuyi, ye yao fandui jizao qingxu (It is necessary to oppose
both impetuosity and conservatism).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (June 20,
1956).
Yao, Fangzao. “Gaijin dianying shiye de zhongda cuoshi (Important measures
to improve the film work).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), (December 23,
1956).
——. “ ‘Dianying luogu’ da fengbo (The great disturbance of the ‘gangs and drums
at the movies’).” In Jingji lu: jiyi zhong de fan youpai yundong (A thorny road:
Memoirs on the Anti-Rightist Campaign), edited by Han Niu and Jiuping Deng.
394–400. Beijing: Jingji ribao chubanshe, 1998.
Yao, Fangzao, and Yang Zhou. “Zhou Yang tongzhi da benbao jizhe wen (Interview
of comrade Zhou Yang by a staff corrspondent).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily),
(April 9, 1957): 1–2.
Ye, Yonglie. Jiang Qing zhuan (Biography of Jiang Qing). Beijing: Zuojia chubanshe,
1993.
——. Zhang Chunqiao zhuan (Biography of Zhang Chunqiao). Beijing: Zuojia
chubanshe, 1993.
“Yidali dianying zhou jijiang zai jing juxing (The Italian film festival will be held in
Beijing).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (October 26, 1957).
“Yindu dianying zhou jiang zai wo guo ershi ge chengshi juxing (The Indian Film
Week will be held in 20 cities of our country).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily),
(April 1, 1955).
“Yindu gongheguo dianying zhou shengli jieshu (Film week of the republic of India
ended victoriously).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (October 24, 1955): 1.
“Yinggai zhongshi wuxun zhuan de taolun (We should pay attention to discussion of
the film The Life of Wu Xun).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (May 20, 1951): 1.
Yiwenshe, ed. Baowei shehuizhuyi xianshizhuyi (Defending Socialist Realism).
Beijing: Zuojia chubanshe, 1958.
“Yizhu fandui nongcun shehuizhuyi geming de da ducao (A big Poisonous Weed
opposing the socialist revolution on the countryside).” In Dianying geming (Film
revolution). 8–13. Jilin: Jilinsheng gongnongbing dianying geming lianluozhan,
1968.
“Youxiu yingpian pingjiang you yanzhong quedian (Decisions on the Excellent Film
Awards are seriously problematic).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (May 22,
1957).
Yu, Jian. “Da yuejin de yinian (A year of great leap forward).” Renmin ribao (People’s
daily), (June 29, 1957): 4.
Yuan, Wenshu. “Jianchi dianying wei gongnongbing fuwu de fangzhen (Insist on
the policy that film must serve the workers, peasants, and soldiers).” Zhongguo
dianying (Chinese Cinema), no. 1 (1957): 20–25.
Zeng, Hairuo. “TV Documentary on Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon.” In
Dianying chuanqi (Film legends), 2004.
 BIBLIOGRAPHY 255

——. “TV Documentary on Taking Mount Hua by Strategy.” In Dianying chuanqi

(Film legends), edited by Yongyuan Cui, 2005.
——. “TV Documentary on Song Jingshi.” In Dianying chuanqi (Film legends),
2007.
Zeng, Hong, ed. Tiananmen wangshi zhuizong baogao (Accounts of the past events at
Tiananmen Square). Beijing: Zhongyang wenxuan chubanshe, 2010.
Zeng, Xianlin, Chenggui Zeng, and Xia Jiang. Beifa zhanzheng shi (A history of the
war of Northern Expedition). Chengdu: Sichuan renmin chubanshe, 1990.
Zhang, Fuji. “Shuiku gongdi de yingxiong men zuotan ‘Shisanling Shuiku
Changxiangqu’ de yanchu (Heroes at the reservoir construction site discuss the
performance of Rhapsody of the Shisanling Reservoir).” Juben (Scripts), no. 8
(1958): 86–87.
Zhang, Jishun. “Cultural consumption and popular reception of the West in
Shanghai, 1950–1966.” The Chinese historical review, 12, no. 1 (2005): 97–126.
Zhang, Liang. Qing ai bu lao (Ageless affection). Guangzhou: Huacheng chubanshe,
2005.
Zhang, Ming, ed. Wu Xun yanjiuziliao daquan (A comprehensive collection of
materials for the research of Wu Xun). Ji’nan: Shandong daxue chubanshe, 1991.
Zhang, Suhua. Bianju: qiqianrendahui shimo (Change in the situation: The beginning
to end of the Seven Thousand People Conference). Beijing: Zhongguo qingnian
chubanshe, 2006.
Zhang, Xuexing. “Ping Guan lianzhang (A review of Platoon Commander Guan).”
Wenyi bao (Literary gazette), 4, no. 5 (June 1951): 18.
Zhang, Yingjin. Screening China: Critical Interventions, Cinematic Reconfigurations,
and the Transnational Imaginary in Contemporary Chinese Cinema. Ann Arbor,
Mich.: Center for Chinese Studies, 2002.
——. Chinese National Cinema. New York: Routledge, Edition: 1st ed., 2004.
Zhang, Zhen. An amorous history of the silver screen: Shanghai cinema, 1896–1937.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005.
Zhao, Dan. Yinmu xingxiang chuangzao (Creating characters on the silver screen).
Beijing: Zhongguo dianying chubanshe, 1980.
Zhao, Feng. “Kaituozhe de Nie Er (Nie Er as the vanguard).” Renmin ribao (People’s
daily), (July 30, 1950): 5.
Zhao, Jinke, and Shiyin Zhang. “Tan Geliahao zhong de teji (On the special effects
in Two Good Brothers).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (October 7, 1962): 6.
Zhao, Ming. “Xiao Jianqiu neng toushen dao shidai hongliu zhong qu ma? (Can Xiao
Jianqiu throw himself to the raging torrent of the times?).” Kaifeng shifanxueyuan
xuebao (Journal of Kaifeng Normal Univesity), no. 2 (December 1964): 36–38.
Zhao, Shuli. Zhao Shuli wenji (Selected works of Zhao Shuli). Beijing: Gongren
chubanshe, 1980.
Zhao, Shuli, and Shu-li Chao. Sanliwan village. Translated by Gladys Yang. Beijing:
Foreign Languages Press, 1964.
Zhao, Yushan. “Xushui xian gongchanzhuyi shidian dashiji (A record of major
events in the communist experiment in Xushui).” In Hebei dangshi ziliao
(Materials of the Party’s history in Hebei). Edited by Zhonggong hebei shengwei
256 BIBLIOGRAPHY

dangshi yanjiushi, Zhonggong xushui xianwei dangshi yanjiushi (Party history

research offices of the CCP committees of the Hebei province and the Xushui
county). 360–370. Shijiazhuang: Zhonggong hebei shengwei dangshi yanjiushi,
1994.
Zhdanov, Andrey. “Soviet literature: The richest in ideas, the most advanced lit-
erature.” In Soviet Writers’ Congress 1934: The debate on socialist realism and
modernism in the Soviet Union. Edited by Gorky, Maksim and H G. Scott London:
Lawrence and Wishart, 1977.
Zheng, Dali, and Jing Li. “Wo de fuqin Zheng Junli (My father Zheng Junli).” Sanlian
shenghuo zhoukan (Sanlian life weekly), (January 2008): 96–97.
Zheng, Hong. “Cong Geliahao xuexi dao de (What I learned from Two Good
Brothers).” Dianying yishu (Film art), no. 4 (August 1962): 43–46.
Zheng, Jianjun. “Rou Shi xiaoshuo Eryue yu Zhenhai de yuanyuan (The historical
connections between Rou Shi’s novella February and Zhenhai).” Ningbo wanbao
(Ningbo evening), (January 24, 2010): A12.
Zheng, Junli. “Guanyu ‘he’ yu ‘fen’ (On merging and separating).” Wenhui bao
(Wenhui daily), (December 26, 1956).
——. “Women zai tansuo zhong qianjin (We are advancing by trial and error).”
Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 3 (March 28, 1957): 13–18.
——. “Lun Shi Hui de fandong yishu guandian (On Shi Hui’s reactionary artistic
views).” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 1 (1958): 43–48.
——. “Tan Shi Hui de fandong yishu guandian (On the reactionary artistic views of
Shi Hui).” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 1 (1958): 43–48.
Zheng, Junli, Qiong Liu, Dan Zhao, Tao Xu, Xin Ge, and Baiyin Qu. “Lubian yehua
(Fireside chats).” Zhongguo dianying (Chinese cinema), no. 1 (January 8, 1957):
31–35.
Zhonggong Shanghai shiwei dangshi yanjiushi, ed. Pan Hannian zai Shanghai (Pan
Hannian in Shanghai). Shanghai: Shanghai renmin chubanshe, 1995.
Zhong, Dafeng, and Xiaoming Shu. Zhongguo dianying shi (A history of Chinese
cinema). Beijing: Zhongguo guangbo dianshi chubanshe, 1995.
Zhong, Dianfei. “Fufu jinxingqu shi yi bu huai dianying (The March of a Couple is a
Bad Film).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (August 28, 1951): 3.
——. “Dianying de luogu (Gongs and drums at the movies).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui
Daily), (December 21, 1956).
Zhong, Jieying. “Wo yu Luo Lan zai dafengchao zhong (Luo Lan and I in the
big unrest).” In Jiyi (Remembering), edited by Xianzhi Lin and Dening Zhang.
Beijing: Gongren chubanshe, 2002.
“Zhonggong zhongyang guanyu zai nongcun jianli renmingongshe de jueyi (the CCP’s
Central Committee’s resolution on the establishment of people’s communes in
rural areas).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (September 10, 1958).
Zhonggong zhongyang wenjian xuanji (Selected documents of the CCP’s Central
Committee). Vol. 17, Beijing: Zhonggong zhongyang dangxiao chubanshe, 1992.
Zhonggong zhongyang wenjian xuanji (Selected documents of the CCP’s Central
Committee). Vol. 18, Beijing: Zhonggong zhongyang dangxiao chubanshe,
1992.
 BIBLIOGRAPHY 257

Zhongguo gongchandang di shiyi ci quanguodaibiaodahui wenjian huibian (Col-

lection of documents of the eleventh national congress of the CCP). Renmin
chubanshe, 1977.
“Zhongguo gongchandang zhongyangweiyuanhui guanyu wuchanjieji wen-
huadageming de jueding (Decision of the CCP’s Central Committee concerning
the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily),
(August 9, 1966).
Zhongwenxi liusannianji sanban sanzu. “Jiduan de gerenzhuyizhe: Tao Lan (Tao
Lan, an extreme individualist).” Kaifeng shifanxueyuan xuebao (Journal of
Kaifeng Normal Univesity), no. 2 (1964): 33–35.
Zhou, Tao. “Fangyingyuan de yijian he kunao (Opinions and frustrations of a
projectionist).” Wenhui bao (Wenhui daily), (December 8, 1956).
Zhou, Xiaobang. Beiying sishi nian (Forty years of the Beijing Film Studio). Beijing:
Wenhua yishu chubanshe, 1997.
Zhou, Yang. China’s new literature and art: Essays and addresses. Beijing: Foreign
Languages Press, 1954.
——. “Rang wenxue yishu zai jianshe shehuizhuyi weida shiye zhong fahui juda
de zuoyong (Let literature and art play a huge role in the great task of socialist
construction).” Renmin ribao (People’s daily), (September 25, 1956).
——. “Xin min’ge kaichuang le shige de xin daolu (New folk poems have opened a
new path for poetry).” Hong qi (Red flag), no. 1 (June 1, 1958): 33–38.
——. Zhou Yang wenji (Collected works of Zhou Yang). Edited by Junceng Luo 5
vols, Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1984.
Zhu, Anping. “Dongxiao hengchui duo kanke (The checkered career of Playing a
Vertical Bamboo Flute Horizontally).” Dazhong dianying (Mass cinema), (June 15,
2010): 42–43.
——. “Xin Zhongguo chengli shi zhounian ‘xianli pian ’bianzheng (A correction of
the historical records of the ‘gift presentation films’ for the 10th annivesary of
the PRC).” Dangdai dianying (Contemporary cinema), no. 5 (2010): 64–69.
Zhu, Yizu. “Zenyang zhanwang gongchanzhuyi de mingtian (How to look ahead into
the communist tomorrow).” Wenyi bao (Literary gazette), no. 19 (1958): 22.
Zhu, Zheng. 1957 nian de xiaji: cong baijiazhengming dao liang jia zhengming (The
summer of 1957: From a hundred schools to two schools). Zhengzhou: He’nan
renmin chubanshe, 1998.
 Index

Note: Letter ‘f ’, ‘n’, ‘t’ followed by the locators refer to figure, notes, and table
respectively.

A Distracting Talk (Shiba che), 146 Yan’an-Shanghai dichotomy and, 69

A Thousand Miles a Day Zhong Dianfei and, 8
(Yiriqianli), 100 Anti-Rightist-Deviation
actors, non-professional, 77, Campaign, 129
198n38 comedy and, 138–9
Adamov, Grigory, 105 constraints on, 130
Adventures of a Magician, The Mao’s initiation of, 125
(Moshushi de qiyu), 128, 147 onset of, 129
agricultural collectivization targets of, 129
Mao and, 43, 51–3, 192n26 Antonioni, Michelangelo, 176
opposing views of, 49–50 April Fifth Movement, 177
agricultural development, Great Leap artistic documentaries, 99, 206n42
Forward and, 94 audience
see also Great Leap Forward for Few Good discussion, 78
Altman, Rick, 9–10, 14–15, 141, lack of, 77
186n49 see also viewing sessions
American films authority, Mao’s types of, 6
criticism of, 26
import of, 26 Bathing Beauty, 25
Anti-Rightist Campaign, 5, 17, 19 Before the New Bureau Chief Arrives
Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon (Xin juzhang daolai zhiqian),
and, 18 145–6
Changchun Studio and, 194n56 rehabilitation of, 132
criticism of, 127 story line of, 82
and end of Yan’an-Shanghai Beidaihe Conference, 149–50, 152
dichotomy, 64 and Mao’s policy shifts, 157
Guo Wei and, 46, 64–5 Beijing, subway construction in,
numbers targeted by, 89, 202n88 208n79
onset of, 89 Beijing’s Tomorrow (Beijing de
satirical comedy and, 137–8 mingtian), 105, 106
targets of, 111 Better and Better (Jinshangtianhua),
Xia Yan and Chen Huangmei and, 21 128, 146–7
260 INDEX

Between a Married Couple (Women fufu Campaign to Learn from the Soviet
zhijian), 29, 34, 36 Union, 71, 95
post-GPCR fate of, 179 Campaign to Wrench out White Flags,
Bicycle Thief, The (Ladri de 17, 19, 69, 91
biciclette), 78 Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon
Big Li, Little Li, and Old Li (Da li, xiao and, 18, 47
li, he laoli), 128, 144–5, 147, rehabilitated targets of, 132
223n107 censorship, opposition to, 34
attacks on, 156 Chamdo region, 205n36
Blecher, Marc, 6 Changchun Commune, 2–3
Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon Changchun Film Studio, 59, 60,
(Huyahao yueyuan), 46–7, 81, 109 194n56
commercial elements in, 60–2 comedy productions and, 68
condemnation of, 157 meeting at, 218n37
ideological adaptations of, 53–7 Changchun Red Guards, 3
rehabilitation of, 132 Changjiang Studio, 34
revisions of, 56–7 Changzhi experiments, 48–51
revolutionary cycles and, 17–18 Chen, Anita, 21, 23
versus Sanliwan Village, 18, 62–3 Chen Baichen, 36, 40, 41, 79, 200n58,
scenes from, 56f, 57f, 62f 220n64
stylistic devices in, 55–6 Song Jingshi and, 189n40,
two-line struggle and, 62–4 189n45
Braester, Yomi, 13, 23, 186n49 Chen Boda, 225n25
Bridge, The (Qiao), 70 Chen Bo’er, 27, 196n3
Bright Moon Song and Dance Troupe, Chen Hong, 40, 41
116, 213n140 Chen Huangmei, 46, 65, 72, 83, 113,
114, 202n95, 206n42
Cai Chusheng, 27, 203n98 attacks on, 156
Campaign against The Life of Wu Xun, on charges against satirists, 137–8
8–9, 18, 28–35, 67–8, 80, 92 “confession” of, 155
and debate over peasant role, 43 documentary-style art films and,
economic factors in, 17 100–1
film production rate and, 76 Early Spring in February and,
impacts of, 16 157, 162
Lü Ban and, 70 political downfall of, 21
Zhao Dan and, 110–11 Second Hundred Flowers Period
Zheng Junli and, 110–11 and, 131
see also Life of Wu Xun, The Chen, Tina Mai, 13, 23
Campaign for Agricultural Chen Xihe, 146, 219n62
Collectivization, 18 Chen Yi, 154
coercive phase of, 52 Cheng Zhi, 147
opposing views in, 49–50 Chengdu Conference, 225n25
Sanliwan Village and, 47–8 China, television broadcasting in,
stages of, 51–2 209n83
 INDEX 261

Chinese Communist Party Cultural Revolution

film industry and, 7 comedy and, 147
first and second lines of leadership controversy over length of, 21–2
in, 149–50 countryside expansion of, 227n48
KMT’s purge of, 160 end of, 177
and power of cinema, 9 film production during, 174
Chu Anping, 88 humiliation and torture of film
cinema artists during, 174
yellow, 25, 187n2, 187n8 Liang Xiaosheng’s memoir of, 1-4
see also entries under film; Poisonous Mao’s description of, 232n18
Weeds; revolutionary cinema, Mao’s misgivings about, 171–3
White Flag films motivations of participants in, 27
Clark, Paul, 12–13, 17, 22, 194n53, onset of, 21, 150–1
232n29 Poisonous Weeds and, 151, 156, 174
Coldness Before Dawn, The (Wugeng urban impacts of, 156
han), 144 Wikipedia/mainstream
comedy, 125–47 understanding of, 230n2
commercial successes of, 147
condemnation of, 68 Dai Huang, 73, 88
Cultural Revolution and, 147 Dai Jinhua, 12
as highwire acts, 137–47 Davies, Robertson, 137
huaji, 144, 147 deity plays, 154
Lü Ban and, 82 Deng Hanbin, 48–9
Lushan Conference and, 125 Deng Tuo, 74
Ministry of Culture’s policy change Deng Xiaoping, 149–50, 153, 178
and, 71–2 and end of Cultural Revolution, 22
political reactions to, 18 rulership of, 177
praising, 138, 140, 221n82 Deng Zihui, 149, 192n26
Second Hundred Flowers Campaign agricultural collectivization and,
and, 136 52–3
star culture and, 147 dispersionism, opposition to, 127–8
third kind of, 140 dissent, Mao’s response to, 73–4
see also satirical comedy disturbance-order cycles, 7
commercialization, 9, 22–3, see also revolutionary cycles
132–3 documentaries, artistic, 99, 206n42
commune model, as threat to Mao’s documentary-style art films, 19–20,
leadership, 172–3 100, 206n42
Congress of Soviet Writers, criticisms of, 108
95–6 post-GPCR fate of, 179–80
Conspiracy Films, 178, 179 2RR and, 100–1
Crossroads (Shizi jietou), 69, 120 see also Rhapsody of the Shisanling
Crows and Sparrows (Wuya yu maque), Reservoir
110, 210n111 dogmatism, Zhou’s criticism of, 97
Cui Shuqin, 12 Dong Cunrui, 45, 59, 65, 140
Cui Wei, 37 Shanghai influences in, 59–60
262 INDEX

Dong Keyi, 133 Film Bureau

Draft Resolution, A (Yijian ti’an), 77 national film conference and, 70–1
production rate and, 76–7
Early Spring in February (Zaochun provincial film studios and, 99, 110
eryue) and reversal of GLF policy, 20
authorities and conflicts and, 151–6 self-criticism and, 109, 125
critics’ responses to, 162–4 star culture and, 168
fears about influence of, 165–6 subjects chosen by, 197n28
interventions and mass participation Taking Mount Hua by Strategy and,
and, 151 193n42
lighting effects in, 168, 230n91 three zi and one center reform and,
Mao and, 162 60, 83
as Poisonous Weed, 21, 156 White Flag designations and, 66
private opinions about, 167–8 film distribution, bureaucratic control
of, 77
revision of script for, 158–9
film genres, historicizing, 14
scenes from, 169f, 170f
film industry
viewing sessions of, 166–7
bureaucratic direction of, 76–7
Earth, The (Tudi), 77
CCP’s view of, 7
East Wind–West Wind metaphor, 152,
commercial turn in, 20
224n11
economic versus ideological factors
Eight-Character Policy, 130–1, 140
affecting, 33–4
Excellent Film Awards, 110, 192n39,
Few Good discussion of, 75–81
210n111
Great Leap Forward policy shifts
and, 108
famine, GLF and, 127 insecurity of, 9
Fan Haha, 147, 223n107 market-oriented mode in, 60,
Fan-Fan the Tulip (Fanfan la tulipe), 78 193n45
February (Eryue), 156–7 nationalization of, 16–17, 34, 71
plot of, 157 and negative impacts of CCP
political ambiguity of, 157–8 policies, 68–9
time reference in, 227n58, 228n66 New Era of, commercialization
see also Early Spring in February and, 22
(Zaochun eryue) privatization of, 22–3, 179
Feng Zhe, 33 Talks at the Yan’an Forum on
Few Good discussion, 75–81 Literature and Art (Mao), 29
Mao and, 84 film meanings, Foucault and, 14–15
replacement of, 83 film production
film(s) after Cultural Revolution, 175–80
gift presentation, 211n121 Great Leap Forward and, 94, 98–104;
see also American films; Poisonous see also Great Leap Forward
Weeds; progressive films; film studios
revolutionary cinema; specific nationalization of, 8
films; White Flag films provincial, 99, 110, 205n37
film artists, vulnerability of, 9 film users, film meanings and, 14–15
 INDEX 263

Five Golden Flowers (Wu duo Seven Thousand People Conference

jinhua), 138 and, 128
Flying Out of the Earth (Feichu diqiu Shisanling Reservoir and, 102
qu), 105 Soviet responses to, 215n9
folk arts, Ke Qingshi’s report on, 155 third five-year plan and, 101,
folk performances, “two-person” 206n49
mode, 146 as third revolutionary cycle, 19
folk songs, CCP collection of, 139 Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution
For Peace (Weile heping), 110 (GPCR). see Cultural Revolution
foreign films Gronsky, Ivan, 96
borrowing from, 134 Guan Hongda, 147
festivals of, 199n52 Guangxi Zhuang autonomous
import of, 78–9 region, 138
Foucault, Michel, on circulation of Guangzhou Conferences, 132
power, 14–15 commercial values and, 132–3
fourth kind of scripts, 18–19, 72–3, Guangzhou talks, 132, 153, 225n22
81–2, 132, 217n29 Guerrillas on the Railway (Tiedao
Fu Jinhua, 221n84 youjidui), 10
Guo Kai, 113
Gang of Four, 176 Guo Wei, 17–18, 19, 43, 69, 121, 140
arrest and fall of, 22, 177 and adaption of Sanliwan Village, 51
verdict reversal campaign and, 178 Anti-Rightist Campaign and, 46,
Gate No. 6 (Liu hao men), 70 64–5, 194n56
generic crossroads, 9–10 charges against, 202n91
ghost plays comedy ban and, 68
attacks on, 152–3 commercial elements and, 59–60,
Mao and, 155 193n42
Zhou Enlai and, 154 downfall of, 109
see also opera early filmmaking experience, 45–6
gift presentation films, 211n121 Hundred Flowers Campaign and, 46
Goddard, Paulette, 25 pre-PRC background of, 46
“Gongs and Drums at the Movies,” Sanliwan Village adaptations and,
80–1 53–4
Great Beginning, The (Weida de Shanghai connection of, 18
qidian), 77 Shanghai legacy and, 81
Great Leap Forward Shi Dongshan and, 58–9
catastrophe of, 20 Yan’an background of, 18
cinematic approaches during, 19–20 Yan’an-Shanghai dichotomy
film industry and, 108 and, 59
grain imports and, 216n18 Zhang Liang’s defense of, 144
Mao’s policy shifts on, 125
Mao’s reversal on, 108 Hai Mo
previous uses of expression, 203n9 rehabilitation of, 132
protracted consequences of, 127 Rightist designation of, 129
retreat from, 130, 138 Haixia, 175, 177
264 INDEX

Han Fei, 79–80, 147, 223n106 ideological education, cinema’s role in,
Han Lan’gen, 27, 87, 145 13–14
exile of, 67 intellectuals
in Unfinished Comedies, 67–8, 84–7, Anti-Rightist-Deviation Campaign
90–1 and, 129
Harbin Red Guards, 2–3 Beidaihe Conference and, 150
He Chi, 72 film portrayals of, 39, 112–13
Headquarters of the Revolutionary Guangzhou Conferences and, 132
Revolt of Shanghai Workers, 172 Hundred Flowers Campaign and,
Heroic Driver (Yingxiong siji), 74–5, 88
70, 71 lessened pressure on, 128
Heroic Sons and Daughters (Yingxiong Mao’s denunciation of, 150
ernü), 232n27 Nie Er and, 119–20
Highway, The (Da lu), 25, 27 during 1920s, 158
Hu Die, 133 in 1930s film movement, 26
Hu Feng, 192n40 Seven Thousand People conference
Hu Qiaomu, 179 and, 128
Hua Guofeng, 177, 178 Intrepid Hero, The (Yingxiong
huaji comedy, 144, 147 hudan), 144
Huang Gang, 108 Invisible Frontline, The (Wuxing de
zhanxian), 70
Huang Zongying, 25–7, 32, 115, 135,
187n6, 213n136
Hundred Flowers Campaign, 17 Jenner, W. J. F., 11
Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon Ji Hongchang, 153–4
and, 18 Jia Ji, 32, 36
climax of, 88 Jiang Qing, 7, 81
film policies and, 69 ghost plays and, 153
Life of Wu Xun and, 8
Guo Wei and, 46, 60
Mao’s backing of, 154
Lü Ban and, 81–2
and parole of artists, 175
Mao’s reversal of, 89
Song Jingshi (historical figure) and,
open criticism and, 8
35-36
and re-release of progressive films,
Song Jingshi and, 41, 189n40
79, 110
Two Good Brothers and, 147
and rise of mass opposition, 75
and waning interest in mass
see also Second Hundred Flowers
campaigns against films, 175–6
Period
Wu Xun and, 35
Hundred Flowers Film Awards, 136,
Jiang Tianliu, 147
154, 220n70
Jin Shan, 19–20, 103
cancellation of, 155
persecution of, 180
complete list of, 223n109 self-criticism of, 107
Jin Yan, 27
I Am a Soldier (Wo shi yige bing), 140 Jones, Andrew, 187n2
ideological correctness, rapid Journey to the West, awards for
shifts in, 9 adaptations of, 154
 INDEX 265

Kang Sheng, 146–7, 153–4 scene from, 31f

Ke Qingshi, 83, 152, 153–4 shooting and revision process of,
controversy over, 225n22 30–2, 188n18
report on opera and folk arts, 155 story line of, 30
King, Richard, 222n103 see also Campaign against The Life of
KMT government White Terror, 120 Wu Xun
KMT military Encirclement Lin Biao, 126–7
Campaigns, 114–15 Peng Dehuai and, 215n12
KMT-CCP alliance, 157–8, 160 Lin Zexu, 111–12, 211n121
Krushchev, Nikita literary scripts, publication of, 64,
anti-Stalin speech of, 73 194n53
Peng Dehuai’s meeting with, 126 Liu Binyan, 73, 88–9
Thaw of, 71, 72 Liu Shaoqi, 130, 149
kuangre, translation of, 214n158 downfall of, 156
Kunlun Studio, 7, 32, 34, 36 Mao and, 173–4
Peng Dehuai and, 215n23
Laikwan Pang, 9 Socialist Education Campaign
League of Chinese Left-Wing Writers, and, 156
96, 110 Liu Xiasheng, 147, 223n107
League of Left-Wing Dramatists Liu Zhidan, 152
(LLWD), 110, 115 Lü Ban, 145, 146, 219n61
left-wing cinema movement, 9 from 1951 to 1955, 69–72
Li Huiniang, 152, 153 from 1956 to 1957, 81–92
Li Jinguang, interview of, 213n140, Anti-Rightist Campaign and, 194n56
213n146 charges against, 202n91
Li Jinhui, 87, 115–16, 213n146 comedies of, 69; see also Before the
Li Lili, 27, 59, 63 New Bureau Chief Arrives; Man
Li Shaobai, 219n60 Unconcerned with Details, The;
Li Shuangshuang, 128, 135, 146–7 Unfinished Comedies, The
awards for, 154 downfall and death of, 19, 69, 90–2
scholarly treatments of, 222n103 policy changes and, 84–5
Li Wenhua, 22, 177–8 Rightist designation of, 129
Li Xing, 77, 79, 220n64 satire in films of, 137
Li Zhun, 222n103 self-criticism of, 70
Liang Xiaosheng, 1–4 Shanghai legacy and, 19, 69, 81
Liao Mosha, 152 Spring Comedy Society and, 72,
Life of Wu Xun, The (Wu Xun 196n9
zhuan), 88 Yan’an and, 19, 70
cast of, 37 Lu Dingyi, 74
criticism of, 31–3, 188n22 Few Good discussion and, 80
historical background of, 29–30 Lu Ren, 200n69
ideological expectations and, 7–8 Lu, Xiaoning, 135
Mao and, 33 Lu Xun, 133, 157, 165, 179
post-GPCR fate of, 179 Lushan Conference, 125, 126, 214n1
revisions of, 30–2 political change following, 129
266 INDEX

Ma Hanbing, 84 “March of the Volunteers,” 111, 115,

Ma the flaneur (Ma langdang), 146 117, 119, 122
Man Unconcerned with Details, The Marching Forward (Ren wang gaochu
(Bujuxiaojie de ren), 68, 72 zou), 77
rehabilitation of, 132 Mass Cinema (Dazhong dianying), 25
revisions of, 82–3 mass criticism, viewing sessions and,
Mao Zedong, 27 10–11, 166–7, 194n58
agricultural collectivization and, mass line politics
51–3 agendas and interests in, 6–7
Changzhi experiments and, 51 Mao’s definition of, 6
death of, 177 mass mind, 1–2
Early Spring in February and, 162 masses, Mao’s characterization of, 6
Few Good discussion and, 84 Meek, Scott, 192n39
Meisner, Maurice, 126, 172, 174
and first and second lines of
leadership, 149, 216n24 Meisner, Mitch, 6, 74
Meng Chao, 152
GLF rhetoric of, 154, 225n25
Meng Yue, 12
Life of Wu Xun and, 8
middle characters, theory of, 224n9
misgivings about Cultural
min’ge, translation of, 203n2
Revolution, 171–3
Ministry of Culture
Peng Dehuai and, 215n8, 215n10,
films banned by, 131
224n4
and rehabilitation of pre-GPCR
Peng Dehuai’s letter and, 125–7
films, 22
on role of peasants, 43
and re-release of feature films, 178
self-criticism of, 128 Ministry of Propaganda
Seven Thousand People Conference and emphasis on less didactic films,
and, 217n24 132–3
student/worker protests and, 89, Talks formulation and, 29
202n85 Mo Wenhua, 189n45
Sun Dayu and, 5 model performance films, 175, 232n29,
talk on petty bourgeois fanaticism, 232n30
215n5 Most Popular Chinese-made Film
Xushui Commune and, 107–8, Award, 220n70
209n92 mutual-aid teams, 48
Maoist China
assumptions about, 13 National Conference on the Creation
cinema’s role in, 13–14 of Film Scripts and the Work of
Maoist revolution, utopian narratives Film Art, 70–1
of, 181 Nationalization Period
Maoist revolutionary campaigns comedy during, 18, 68
Tiananmen Square as emblem of, defined, 16–17
4–5 economic factors in, 17
see also specific campaigns Song Jingshi and, 41
March of a Couple, The (Fufu “New Era” (Xin shiqi), 22
jinxingqu), 37 New Folk Poetry Campaign, 93–4, 139
 INDEX 267

New Heroes and Heroines (Xin ernü party-state hierarchy

yingxiong zhuan), 45, 58, 70, 76 contesting agendas/interests and, 6–7
New Story of an Old Soldier (Laobing Sun Dayu and, 5
xinzhuan), 100 peasants
New Three-Anti Campaign, 70–1 in Blooming Flowers, 195n63
Nie Er (historical figure) depictions in Song Jingshi, 39–40
and composition of patriotic songs, film depictions of, 77, 222n97
117, 214n147 living conditions of, 73
film re-characterization of, 115–20 middle, 195n63
historical background of, 112–13, mutual aid and, 51–2
117–18 in Sanliwan Village, 48–9
lifetime identities of, 119 Peng Dehuai, 125–7, 150
LLWD and, 212n134 letters of, 215n12, 224n4
Nie Er, 19–20, 109, 111–22, 129 Mao’s condemnation of, 215n10
attacks on, 156 and request for rehabilitation,
critical reception of, 121–2 216n23
Cultural Revolution and, 122 Yan Jizhou’s defense of, 144
gift presentation list and, 211n121 People’s Commune, Soviet responses
ideological correctness of, 112 to, 215n9
and mythicizing of revolutionary People’s Liberation Army (PLA)
history, 114–23
and termination of GPCR, 173
Poisonous Weed designation of, 122
Tiananmen Square demonstration
political risks of, 112–13, 114–15
and, 4
re-release of, 178
People’s Republic of China
revisions of, 117, 211n120
monolithic view of, 13
and revisions of historical Nie’s life,
see also Maoist China
115–19
personal identities, transformation of,
scenes from, 118f, 121f
1–2
Shanghai legacy and, 20
Pickowicz, Paul G., 12–13, 187n11
Noumazalaye, Ambroise, 171, 174
Platoon Commander Guan (Guan
lianzhang), 3, 29
Obruchev, Vladimir, 105 post-GPCR fate of, 179
Oksenberg, Michael, 7, 13 Shanghai influences in, 59–60
opera Playing a Vertical Bamboo Flute
comedy adaptations of, 144–5 Horizontally (Dongxiao hengchun),
Jiang Qing and, 176 201n69
Ke Qingshi’s report on, 155 Lü Ban’s abandonment of, 82
political correctness in, 138–9 rehabilitation of, 132
revolutionary, 175 Plunder of Peach and Plum (Tao li jie),
traditional, adaptations of, 152–5 25, 27
see also ghost plays poetry initiative, 93–4
point-of-view (POV) shots, in Two
Pan Hannian, 113 Good Brothers, 140–3, 141f,
Paris Commune (1871) model, 171 142f, 143f
268 INDEX

poisonous films, internal screenings Foucauldian-Altmanian model of, 15

of, 176 generalizations about, 11–12
Poisonous Weeds, 21 historical contexts and, 15–16
during Cultural Revolution, 147 increased production in, 98–101
Cultural Revolution and, 151, lack of audiences for, 77
156, 174 major players in, 15
GCRG ban of, 174, 232n26, 232n27 prevailing assumptions about, 11–12
Ten Articles on Work in Literature
and revival of pre-PRC films, 146
and Art and, 151–2
revolutionary cycles and, 9–11
Unfinished Comedies as, 91
and shift from quantity to quality,
political ideals, in Mao’s China versus
109–10
societies, 181–2
Yan’an-Shanghai dichotomy and,
power, Foucault and, 14–15
28–9; see also Yan’an-Shanghai
privatization, 22–3, 179
dichotomy
progressive films
CCP and, 29 see also left-wing cinema movement
examples of, 25–7 revolutionary culture, complexity of,
foreign, 78–9 2–5
import of, 200n57 revolutionary cycles, 5–7
re-release of, 110, 200n56 film and, 7–8
propaganda films, attacks on, 9 generic crossroads and, 10
provincial film studios, 99, 110, 205n37 Revolutionary Realism and
public opinion, efforts to direct, 10–11 Revolutionary Romanticism
see also viewing sessions (2RR), 94–5, 98
documentary-style art films and,
Qian Liqun, 48 100–1
Qian Ruping, 201n82 ideological control of, 101
Qian Xiaozhang, 196n3 Rhapsody of the Shisanling Reservoir
Qin Zhaoyang (He Zhi), 97–8 and, 101–9
Qing peasant rebellion, 36, 42–3 Revolutionary Romanticism, Nie Er
Qu Baiyin, 134, 136, 155, 219n57 and, 20, 122
Rhapsody of the Shisanling Reservoir
Rayns, Tony, 192n39
(Shisanling shuiku changxiangqu),
red classics, 15
19–20
Red Detachment of Women, The
banning of, 131
(Hongse niangzijun), 12
Red Guards (Hongweibing), 230n2 copies of, 208n82
factionalism in, 2–4 criticisms of, 106–7, 108
Repulse (Fanji), 177–8 play versus film versions of, 105–6
revolutionary cinema, 7–11 post-GPCR fate of, 179–80
analytical framework for, 13–16 2RR and, 101–9
complex meanings of, 14 science fiction elements in, 104–5
conventional literary and historical Rightist Deviationists, rehabilitation
approaches to, 12–13 after Seven Thousand People
critical viewings of, 10–11, 166–7, Conference, 128
194n58 Rou Shi, 157, 158, 165, 228n60
 INDEX 269

rural economy, responsibility system Sha Meng

for rescue of, 149–50 Anti-Rightist Campaign and, 194n56
Russian Association of Proletarian charges against, 202n91
Writers (RAPP), 96–7 Shanghai artists/studios, 12–13
advantages of, 16
Sang Hu, 33 and Campaign against Life of Wu
Sanliwan Village Xun, 35
film adaptation of, 17–18, 47 economic versus ideological factors
gradual transformation in, 50–1 affecting, 33–4, 37
socialist-capitalist differentiation Few Good discussion and, 79–80
in, 49 learning from, 134–5
transformative struggle in, 47–51 Nie Er and, 20
two-line struggle in, 47–8, 53–5 reevaluation of, 135, 219n61
Sanmao Learns Business (Sanmao xue shift to Yan’an by, 196n3
shengyi), 223n107 see also Yan’an-Shanghai dichotomy
satirical comedy (fengcixing xiju) Shanghai People’s Commune, 172–3
hazards of, 138–40 Mao’s support of, 231n6
in Lü Ban’s films, 137
Shanghai workers, revolt of, 172
political struggles against, 137–8
Shao Quanlin, “middle characters”
targeting of, 18–19
and, 224n9
see also comedy
Shen Dike, 201n82
Satisfied or Not (Manyi bu manyi), 147
Shen Yanbing, February revisions
Schram, Stuart R., 7
and, 162
science fiction
Shenyang Red Guards, 3
discrediting of, 107
Shi Dongshan, 33, 45, 47
manifestations of, 104–5
awards and criticism of, 192n39
scripts, fourth kind of, 18–19, 72–3,
81–2, 132, 217n29 death of, 192n40
Second Hundred Flowers Period, 128 film ideology and, 57–8, 192n37
commercial innovations in, 132–3 Guo Wei and, 193n42
end of, 150 and pursuit of beauty, 193n49
ghost plays and, 152–3 Shi Hui, 12, 35, 80, 90, 111, 134,
initiation of, 131 202n97, 219n61
and initiation of Cultural Rightist designation of, 111
Revolution, 21 Song Jingshi and, 36
policy changes in, 20, 155 Shisanling Reservoir
reversals of, 153 construction and politics of, 101–2
technical innovations in, 133–4 see also Rhapsody of the Shisanling
see also Hundred Flowers Campaign Reservoir (Shisanling shuiku
Seven Thousand People Conference, changxianqu)
20, 126–7 Simonov, Konstantin, 95–6
impacts of, 131–2 Sinckler, Edwin A., 7
Seventy-Two Tenants (Qishier jia Sino-Soviet relations, 19, 98, 130
fangke), 147 see also Soviet Union
Sha Li, Song Jingshi and, 37 Skinner, G. William, 7
270 INDEX

slapstick comedies, condemnation Spring Comedy Series, 83

of, 68 Spring Comedy Society, The, 72
Socialist Education Campaign, 156 Spring is Always Colorful, The
reactions to, 150 (Wanziqianhong zongshichun),
socialist nations, chaos in, 73 221n82
Socialist Realism, 95, 204n11 Spring River Flows East, The (Yijiang
definition of, 204n14 chunshui xiang dong liu), 79, 92
Mao’s renaming of, 19 Stalin, Josef, death of, 71, 95
reinterpretation of, 97 star culture, 200n58
Simonov’s critique of, 95–6 cautious approval of, 220n64
2RR as replacement for, 98 comedies and, 147
Zhdanov’s definition of, 101 criticism of, 26
Song Jingshi (historical figure) “liberation” from, 25
historical background of, 35, rehabilitation of, 20, 135–6
40–1 rejection of, 220n63
Taiping army and, 189n41 Storm, The (Baofeng zhouyu), 156
Song Jingshi, 8, 79, 110 Street Angel (Malu tianshi), 120
crew selections for, 37 strikes, participation in, 73
and debate over peasant role, 43 Striking at the Invaders (Daji
directors of, 36 qinlüezhe), 232n27
initial version of, 35–40 student protests, 88–9, 201n82
nationalization and, 17 subway, Beijing, construction of,
peasant characters in, 39–40 208n79
release of, 43 Such Parents (Ruci die’niang), 147
revisions of, 40–3 Sun Daolin, 33, 168
scene from, 38f Sun Dayu, denunciation of, 5, 6, 8
story line of, 37–40 Sun Jinglu, 76
as worker/peasant/soldier film, 36 Sun Yu, 7–8, 35
Song of a Teacher (Yuanding zhi ge), Few Good discussion and, 80,
release of, 176 188n18
Song of the Fishermen (Yu guang qu), The Highway and, 27
25, 27 Life of Wu Xun and, 30, 32
Song of the Youth (Qingchun zhi ge), 12, Song Jingshi and, 36
113, 129 Surkov, Alexei A., 72
Soviet Thaw, 98
Soviet Union Taiwan, PRC claim to, 205n36
changes in, 71–2 Taking Mount Hua by Strategy (Zhiqu
Great Leap Forward and, 215n9 huashan), 45, 59, 63
influences of, 95–8 Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy
Thaw era in, 18, 71, 74 (Zhiqu weihushan), 175
Soviet Union-China relations, 19 Talks at the Yan’an Forum on Literature
special effects, 133–4 and Art (Mao), 29, 46, 188n14
spoken dramas, 102–3 Tang Xiaodan, 33
Spring Breeze Reaches the Nuomin River Tangerines Turn Red along the Min
(Minjiang juzi hong), 77 River (Minjiang juzi hong), 77
 INDEX 271

Tear Stains (Leihen), 178 two-line struggle

technical innovations, 133–4 Blooming Flowers and the Full Moon
television, Chinese, 209n83 and, 62–4, 65
Ten Articles on Work in Literature and Zhao’s definition of, 47–8, 53–5
Art, Poisonous Weeds and, “two-person” folk performances, 146
151–2 2RR. see Revolutionary Realism and
Thaw era, 18, 71, 72, 74, 81, 96 Revolutionary Romanticism (2RR)
Theory of Conflictlessness, 96
theory of middle characters, 224n9 Unfinished Comedies, The (Meiyou
Third Sister Liu (Liu sanjie), 138–9, wancheng de xiju), 19, 67–8, 81,
221n87 84–8, 145–6
awards for, 154 attacks on, 203n98
Three Comrades in Arms (San ge casting in, 84
zhanyou), 222n97 as Poisonous Weed, 91
three kinds of wind, 149–50 post-GPCR fate of, 179
three zi and one center, 60, 83, 193n45 satire of, 84–7
Tian Fang, 196n3 scenes from, 85f, 86f
Tian Han, 102–5, 115, 117 Shanghai influences on, 87–8
denunciation and death of, 122, 180 White Flag/Poisonous Weed
Gao Bo’s description of, 212n133 designations of, 212n128
Tiananmen Square, demonstrations in, Unlimited Potential, The (Wuqiong de
1–5, 176–7, 233n42 qianli), 77
Tianjin, 205n36
Tibet region, 205n36 Van Fleit Hang, Krista, 135, 180
Today is My Day Off (Jintian wo xiuxi), Verne, Jules, 105
138, 139–40 viewing sessions, 10–11, 166–7,
Townsend, James, 5 194n58
Trouble on the Playground (Qiuchang
fengbo), 219n57 Wang Ban, 1–2, 12
Troubled Couple, The (Huannan Wang Bing, 196n3
fuqi), 68 Wang Chaoguang, 26
“true believers,” stereotype of, 27 Wang Danfeng, 147
Tsiolkovsky, Konstantin, 105 Wang Hongwen, 172, 176
Turbulent Waves of the Red River Wang Lanxi, 99, 108
(Honghe jilang), 153 Wang Ming, 122
Twin Sisters, 133–4 Wang Shaoguang, 5–6, 27
Two Good Brothers (Geliahao), 128, Wang Xiaotang, 133
133, 137, 140–1, 147 Wang Xin’gang, 147
awards for, 154 Wang Yang, 196n3
Jiang Qing and, 147 Wells, H. G., 105
point-of-view (POV) shots in, Wen Binbin, 147, 223n107
140–3, 141f, 142f, 143f Wen Zichuan, 212n133
re-release of, 178 Wenhui Daily, 74-75, 81, 83-84, 89–90,
scenes from, 134f, 141f, 142f 136, 192n37, 225n16
272 INDEX

White Flag films Xie Tian, 223n105

intellectual subjects and, 113 Xie Tieli, 22, 156–7
rehabilitation of, 128, 132 author interview of, 227n54
White Terror, 160 and fall of Gang of Four, 177
White-Haired Girl, The (Bai mao nü), model performance films of, 175
12, 138–9 parole of, 175
Wild Fires and Spring Winds Struggling script adaptations of, 158, 161
in an Old City (Yehuo chunfeng dou Xinqiao Conference, 131, 135, 156
gucheng), 133 Xu Sangchu, 217n30
wind, three kinds of, 149–50 Xu Xiaobing, 196n3
Woman Barber, 145–6, 147 Xu Zhucheng, 74–5, 90
worker strikes, 89 Xushui Commune, Mao and, 107–8,
worker/peasant/soldier cinema 209n92
box office and, 77
defense of, 83 Yan Jizhou, 100, 133–4, 137, 140,
dominance of, 112–13 143, 147
promotion of, 29–30 film history of, 144
Shi Dongshan and, 58 political history of, 144
Two Good Brothers and, 141–2 Yan Wenshu, rehabilitation of, 132
unpopularity of, 77–8 Yan’an artists/studios, 12–13
Wu Xun advantages of, 16
historical background of, 30 production equipment and,
investigation of, 35–6, 41, 81, 199n46
189n41 Yan’an-Shanghai dichotomy
see also Campaign against The Life of Anti-Rightist Campaign and, 6
Wu Xun; Life of Wu Xun, The limitations of, 28–9
Wu Yin, 111 other terms for, 187n12
Rightist designation of, 111 versus previous collaborations, 28–9
Song Jingshi and, 37 Shi Dongshan and, 57–8
Wu Yinxian, 196n3 yang, translation of, 190n1
Wu Yonggang, 111, 202n97, 219n61 see also Shanghai artists/studios
attacks on, 212n125 yanyuan, 187n1
Rightist designation of, 111 Yao Fangzao, 68, 81, 84, 90
Yao Wenyuan, 172–3, 176
Xia Yan, 29, 114, 116, 129, 132, 154, yellow cinema, 25, 187n2, 187n8
155, 156, 180, 217n30 yi bangzi, 85, 90, 201n79
attacks on, 156 Yin Xiucen, 69, 87, 145
“cliché” subjects and, 109–10 exile of, 67, 70
Early Spring in February and, in Unfinished Comedies, 67–8, 84–7,
159–60 90–1
February revisions and, 162 Youth Garden (Qingchun de yuandi), 76
political downfall of, 21 Yu Lan, 220n69
Second Hundred Flowers Period Yu Ling, 113, 116, 121
and, 131 and advice on avoidance of political
Xie Fang, 157, 168 trouble, 114, 212n129
 INDEX 273

investigation of, 113, 211n125 films of, 112; see also Between a
LLWD and, 115 Married Couple; Song Jingshi
Yu Pingbo, 41 GLF projects of, 111–12
Yuan Muzhi, 27, 196n3 and lessons from Campaign against
Yuan Wenshu, 83, 113, 114 The Life of Wu Xun, 27, 110–11
Rightist designation of, 129 LLWD and, 115, 210n109
political situation of, 212n125
Zhang Chunqiao, 172–3 Shanghai legacy and, 120–1
speech of, 231n7 Song Jingshi and, 36, 40–2, 110
Zhang Hongmei, 33 Zhong Dianfei, 36, 37, 72, 136, 218n44
Zhang Jishun, 26 Anti-Rightist Campaign and, 8
Zhang Liang, 59, 133, 134f, 140, 144 denunciations of, 83–4, 90, 129
Zhang Ruifang, 147 Few Good discussion and, 75, 81,
Zhang Yi, 27 83, 86
Song Jingshi and, 37 Life of Wu Xun and, 8
Zhao Dan, 27, 69, 117, 118, 120, 121, rehabilitation of, 132, 218n44
135, 214n157 Rightist designation of, 21
CCP and, 111 turnaround of, 81
celebration of, 179 Unfinished Comedies and, 8t
collaborations with Zheng Junli, 110; Zhong Guo, China (Chung Kuo,
see also Between a Married Couple; Cina), 176
Nie Er Zhou Bo, 97–8
GLF projects of, 111–12 Zhou Da, 88
and lessons from Campaign against Zhou Enlai, 149
The Life of Wu Xun, 27, 110–11 death of, 176
LLWD and, 115, 210n109 Excellent Film Awards and, 210n111
misuse of name and, 111, 211n115 film production and, 99–100,
political situation of, 212n125 110–11, 206n41, 206n42
Shanghai legacy and, 120–1 Life of Wu Xun and, 7–8
Song Jingshi, 189n40 and praise of GLF
Wu Xun and, 30 cinema/theater, 129
Zhao Meinong, 117, 214n147 rehabilitation of CCP cadres and, 173
Zhao Shuli, 17–18, 46–9, 63, 152 and rivalry with Ke Qingshi, 153–4
gradual collectivization and, 51–3 Second Hundred Flowers Period
Zhdanov, Andrey, 95, 101, 104 and, 131
Zheng Hong, 137, 139 Seven Thousand People Conference
Zheng Junli, 12–13, 19–20, 27, 35, 92, and, 132
117, 119, 121, 187n11, 202n97 Shisanling Reservoir and, 102
and advice on avoidance of political star culture and, 135–6
trouble, 114, 212n129 and support of Zheng Junli and Zhao
CCP and, 111 Dan, 113
collaborations with Zhao Dan, 110; Zhou Yang, 41, 71, 84, 89, 114, 131,
see also Between a Married Couple; 134, 136, 152, 154, 155, 156,
Nie Er 197n28, 204n11, 221n86
denunciation and death of, 122 downfall of, 156
274 INDEX

Zhou Yang—continued and promotion of romantic ideals,

February adaptation and, 94–5
161–2 Second Hundred Flowers Period
Few Good discussion and, 131
and, 80 Socialist Realism and, 95–7
“middle characters” and, Zhuang ethnic group, recognition of,
224n9 138, 221n85