How a feminist comedy came to rule China’s box office

The movie calls out stigmas against female sexuality and stereotypes about single mothers. It name-drops feminist scholars, features a woman recalling domestic violence and laments Chinese censorship.

This is not some indie film, streamed secretly by viewers circumventing China’s internet firewall. It is China’s biggest movie right now — and has even garnered praise from the ruling Communist Party’s mouthpiece.

The success of Her Story, a comedy that topped China’s box office for the past three weeks, is in some ways unexpected, at a time when the government has cracked down on feminist activism, encouraged women to embrace marriage and childbearing and severely limited independent speech.

The film’s reception reflects the unpredictable nature of censorship in the country, as well as the growing appetite for female-centred stories. Discussion of women’s issues is generally allowed so long as it does not morph into calls for rights. Her Story, which some have called China’s answer to Barbie, cushions many of its social critiques with jokes.

The director of Her Story, Shao Yihui, has emphasised at public appearances that she is not interested in provoking “gender antagonism,” an accusation that official media has sometimes lobbed against feminists.

At a time of sluggish growth and anaemic ticket sales, movie producers — and perhaps government regulators — have been eager to attract female audience members, an increasingly important consumer base. Other recent hit movies have also been directed by and starred women, including the year’s top box office performer, YOLO.

Still, Her Story, the second feature from Shao, 33, was not expected to reach anywhere near this level of success. It was low-budget and at first released only in a few major cities.

It follows two women who become neighbors in Shanghai: Xiao Ye, a free-spirited but emotionally vulnerable singer, and Wang Tiemei, a no-nonsense former journalist and single mother to 9-year-old Molly. As their friendship develops, the women team up to raise Molly; encourage each other professionally; and laugh at their clueless suitors, who try to outdo each other in quoting feminist theory and declaring their “original sin” of being born male.

Ticket sales were initially slow, but the women who did watch became fervent evangelists. The film soon became ubiquitous. It now has a 9.1 rating out of 10 on the Chinese film-rating site Douban and has taken in more than $77 million, according to Maoyan, which tracks ticket sales. It is projected to be one of China’s top 15 highest-grossing films of the year.

Among young women it has spawned memes, podcast episodes and T-shirts.

Xu Tianyi, a student in the central Chinese city of Luoyang, said she had never seen a movie that directly addressed so many topics women cared about. She cited a scene in which Tiemei is shamed online for writing about her sex life, by people who suggest she’s a bad mother.

But the film’s heartwarming story made it accessible for people new to feminism too, said Xu, who counted herself among that group. “This movie is gentle, but it also has a little edge.” She and her friends had been quoting lines from the movie to each other. “It shows that feminism is spreading.”

The movie has its critics, including some who griped that the men in the movie are portrayed as inept or clownlike. On Hupu, a sports forum popular with male users, the movie has a rating of 4.9.

But generally, the response has been positive — even from somewhat unexpected quarters.

A commentary in People’s Daily, the Communist Party’s mouthpiece, praised the movie’s depiction of “humorous and absurd” aspects of daily life. It did not explicitly acknowledge specific women’s issues the movie raised, such as domestic violence but it said that directors should, like Shao, reflect what audiences cared about.

Xiaoning Lu, a scholar of Chinese cinema at the University of London, said that authorities often left room for people to vent their frustrations, so long as they didn’t cross political lines.

Female-centered storytelling was not inherently anathema to the state, she added, noting that an actress in “Her Story” also recently starred in a television drama about a real-life female principal, a party member, who helps impoverished rural schoolgirls.

“There are many faces of feminism in China,” Lu said. “It’s for the artist or director to find a balance. What is the limit? How much can you push the boundaries?”

Some of the movie’s sharpest references were not about feminism, but about censorship or people using accusations of political disloyalty to settle personal grudges (a classmate of Molly’s tries to report her to their teacher when she outperforms him academically). But those scenes were fleeting.

Still, even as the director has been careful to avoid accusations of radicalism, she has defended so-called “extreme feminists.” At a question-and-answer session with audience members last month, she said that she simply may not be as brave as others who spoke out more pointedly.

“It’s only because of extreme voices that people pay attention,” Shao said. “If everyone’s voice was very mild, it’s actually similar to having no voice.”