Convergent Chinese Television Industries: An Ethnography of Chinese Production Cultures (Palgrave Global Media Policy and Business) 303091755X, 9783030917555

Table of contents :
Contents
Abbreviations
List of Figures
List of Tables
Chapter 1: Introduction
Redefining Television: From on Air to Online
Research Design: Three Levels of Analysis
Chapter Outlines
Concluding Remarks
Bibliography
Chapter 2: Production Ecology in Chinese Television Industries
Chinese Television Periodisations: From Central Planned Economy to Marketisation
State-Led Convergence in China
Situating CCTV (TVI/Scarcity), HBS (TVII/Availability) and Tencent Video (TVIII/Plenty) Into the Chinese Television History
Technology: From Flow to Streaming
Broadcast-Digital Dynamics
State Censorship
Concluding Remarks
Bibliography
Chapter 3: Convergent Production Strategies: CCTV and HBS
CCTV and CNTV
HBS and Mango TV
Convergence Production: Opportunity and Dilemma
Concluding Remarks
Bibliography
Chapter 4: Digital Fiefdoms: The Rise of Chinese Internet-Distributed Television
Chinese Internet-Distributed Television
The Convergent Data-Driven Model at Tencent Group
Tencent Video: The Rise of Chinese Digital Fiefdoms
Tencent Originals: From ‘Publisher’ to ‘Producer’
Concluding Remarks
Bibliography
Chapter 5: Production Cultures and Convergent Screen Forms: CCTV and HBS
Chinese Broadcast Production Values
CNTV (CCTV)
360-Degree Convergent Television Forms5
Case Study: DGLDQ
Case Study: Waiting for Me
Mango TV (HBS)
TES Upgrade Culture
Case Study: Perfect Holiday
Concluding Remarks
Bibliography
Chapter 6: Streaming Screen Forms and Aesthetics: Tencent Video
SVOD Production Cultures
Streaming Screen Forms
Data Visualisation and Data-Driven Online Programmes
Live Streaming as a New Genre
PUGC and UGC
Small-Screen Aesthetics
Concluding Remarks
Bibliography
Chapter 7: Walking a Tightrope? Producers’ Fears and Precarity in China
Articulation of Fears
Fears of Censorship
Self-Censorship as ‘Political Awareness’ and ‘Professionalism’
Fears of Commercial Failure and Exploitation
Concluding Remarks
Bibliography
Chapter 8: Creative Freedoms and Autonomy in Convergent Chinese Television
Creativity and Creative Labours in Chinese Television Industries
The Emergence of the ‘Product Manager’: Serving the Public Versus Producers’ Autonomy
Concluding Remarks
Bibliography
Chapter 9: Playing Edge Ball in the Grey Area
Edge Ball: Creativity Within Boundaries
Alternative Narratives and Edge Ball Forms
Creative Compliance Versus Edge Ball
Concluding Remarks
Bibliography
Chapter 10: Conclusion: Towards Technologically Empowered Creative Freedoms in Convergent Chinese Television
Bibliography
Appendix A: List of Interviewees (Pseudonym)
Appendix B: Sample Questions for Semi-structured Interviews
Appendix C: Glossary of Chinese Characters
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

PALGRAVE GLOBAL MEDIA POLICY AND BUSINESS

Convergent Chinese Television Industries An Ethnography of Chinese Production Cultures Lisa Lin

Palgrave Global Media Policy and Business Series Editors Petros Iosifidis Department of Sociology City University London, UK Jeanette Steemers Culture, Media & Creative Industries King’s College London London, UK Gerald Sussman Urban Studies & Planning Portland State University Portland, OR, USA Terry Flew Creative Industries Faculty Queensland University of Technology Brisbane, QLD, Australia

The Palgrave Global Media Policy and Business Series has published over 22 books since its launch in 2012. Concentrating on the social, cultural, political, politicaleconomic, institutional, and technological changes arising from the globalization and digitization of media and communications industries, the series considers the impact of these changes on business practice, regulation and policy, and social outcomes. The policy side encompasses the challenge of conceiving policy-making as a reiterative process that recurrently addresses such key challenges as inclusiveness, participation, industrial-labor relations, universal access, digital discrimination, and the growing implications of AI in an increasingly globalized world, as well as local challenges to global media business and culture. The business side encompasses a political economy approach that looks at the power of transnational corporations in specific contexts and the controversies associated with these global conglomerates. The business side considers as well the emergence of small and medium media enterprises, and the role played by nation-states in promoting particular firms and industries. Based on a multi-disciplinary approach, the series tackles three key questions: • To what extent do new developments in platforms, and approaches to personal data require radical change in regulatory philosophy and objectives towards the media? • To what extent do technologies, datafication and transforming media consumption require fundamental changes in business practices and models? • To what extent do privatisation, datification, globalisation, and commercialisation alter the creative freedom, cultural and political diversity, values and public accountability of media enterprises? • To what extent does the structure of global communications contribute to (in)equality within the Global South? Series Editors: Professor Petros Iosifidis, City, University of London, UK, [email protected] Professor Jeanette Steemers, King’s College London, UK, jeanette.steemers@ kcl.ac.uk Professor Gerald Sussman, Portland State University, USA, [email protected] Professor Terry Flew, The University of Sydney, Australia, [email protected] Book proposals should be submitted to [email protected]

More information about this series at https://link.springer.com/bookseries/14699

Lisa Lin

Convergent Chinese Television Industries An Ethnography of Chinese Production Cultures

Lisa Lin Anglia Ruskin University Cambridge, UK

ISSN 2634-6192     ISSN 2634-6206 (electronic) Palgrave Global Media Policy and Business ISBN 978-3-030-91755-5    ISBN 978-3-030-91756-2 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-91756-2 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Contents

1 Introduction  1 2 Production Ecology in Chinese Television Industries 23 3 Convergent Production Strategies: CCTV and HBS 51 4 Digital Fiefdoms: The Rise of Chinese InternetDistributed Television 75 5 Production Cultures and Convergent Screen Forms: CCTV and HBS 93 6 Streaming Screen Forms and Aesthetics: Tencent Video127 7 Walking a Tightrope? Producers’ Fears and Precarity in China145 8 Creative Freedoms and Autonomy in Convergent Chinese Television177 9 Playing Edge Ball in the Grey Area199

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10 Conclusion: Towards Technologically Empowered Creative Freedoms in Convergent Chinese Television221 Appendix A: List of Interviewees (Pseudonym)233 Appendix B: Sample Questions for Semi-­structured Interviews235 Appendix C: Glossary of Chinese Characters239 Bibliography243 Index265

Abbreviations

BBC CAC CCTV CGTV CLGCA CNNIC CPC DAUs HBS HSTV IP IPTV MAU MIIT MOC NRTA OED OTT PGC PRC SAPPRFT

British Broadcasting Corporation Cyberspace Administration of China China Central Television China Global Television Network Central Leading Group for Cyberspace Affairs China Network Information Centre Communist Party of China Daily Active Users Hunan Broadcasting System Hunan Satellite TV Intellectual Property Internet Protocol Television Monthly Active Users Ministry of Industry and Information Technology Ministry of Culture National Radio and Television Administration Oxford English Dictionary Over the Top Professionally Generated Content People’s Republic of China State Administration of Press, Publication, Radio, Film and Television SMG Shanghai Media Group Tencent OMG Tencent Online Media Group UGC User Generated Content VR Virtual Reality

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List of Figures

Fig. 2.1 Fig. 3.1 Fig. 3.2 Fig. 3.3 Fig. 3.4 Fig. 3.5 Fig. 3.6 Fig. 3.7 Fig. 4.1 Fig. 4.2 Fig. 4.3

Administrative hierarchies of Chinese media regulators and ministry-­level state agencies 42 CCTV’s homepage (website screenshot as of 09/02/2018) 55 Road signs (China Dream) and outdoor tables outside Mango TV in the Joyous City area 57 Blackboard in the staff canteen at Mango TV with a slogan ‘come and make full use of your brain cells for creation’ (the Author’s field photo) 59 Five types of innovation cash rewards for innovation initiatives 60 Google Map showing Fuxing old headquarters to the new CCTV headquarters 64 Mango TV reality television Finding Mr. Right, with e-shopping pop-­up window (screenshot as of 11 April 2019) 71 Mango TV in-house e-shopping merchandising website (screenshot as of 11 April 2019) 71 Timeline for the business development of Tencent (1998–2015). (Collected from Tencent public-facing strategic promotion events) 80 Tencent Mind’s logo in Tencent’s Sigma Plaza in Beijing. (The Author’s fieldwork photo, 2017) 82 (a) 24-hour live streaming from regional broadcasters (Heilongjiang Satellite Channel, Guangdong Satellite Channel, Yunnan Satellite Channel); (b) Tencent original live streaming of cultural events and current affairs (Daxing Forest Fire Live, Fin-tech Forum at Guangdong-Hong Kong-Macau Greater Bay Area)84

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List of Figures

Fig. 4.4

Tencent production office in Beijing with silk banner entitled ‘Tencent OMG Significant Production Innovation Awards’ 86 Fig. 4.5 Tencent Video Web interface. (Screenshot as of June 2021) 87 Fig. 5.1 (A–C) Screenshots of the online interface of The Road: Looking Back to 1921100 Fig. 5.2 (A–B) CNTV (screenshot as of 6 April 2018) 103 Fig. 5.3 (A–B) Programme website of A Bite of China Season Two (screenshots from 10 July 2019) 104 Fig. 5.4 (A–B) Online interactive survey and its results for A Bite of China Season Two (screenshots from 10 July 2019) 106 Fig. 5.5 Virtual audiences on the big screen during the live studio production, with the presenter holding the phone and chatting with the users 110 Fig. 5.6 (A) Studio production of Waiting for Me in October 2016 with missing children’s photos on the screen. (B) Studio production of Waiting for Me in October 2016 with 14 helpline staff answering real-time phone calls (Fieldwork Photos, 2016) 112 Fig. 5.7 Official website of Waiting for Me (screenshot as of 2 March 2018)113 Fig. 5.8 (A) A compilation of official Weibo accounts that covered the stories from Waiting for Me, as of 25 June 2018. (B) A compilation of mainstream media portals that featured Waiting for Me, as of 25 June 2018 114 Fig. 5.9 (A–B) Waiting for Me’s weekly live streaming on Tencent Video at 7:30 pm every Sunday during May and June 2017 115 Fig. 5.10 (A–C) Mango TV logo posters in a corridor at Mango TV headquarter119 Fig. 5.11 Twenty-four-hour live streaming of Perfect Holiday House, with seven venues for online users to choose from. (A) The video shows the space from the main camera angle, with live comments on the right-hand side as well as on top of the live streams (same content). (B) The video shows the girls’ bedroom from the camera angle, with live comments on the right-hand side 121 Fig. 6.1 Tencent staff lobby with basketball stands and a promotional banner for Tencent’s original reality show Super Penguin Basketball Celebrity Game130 Fig. 6.2 Audience data visualisation at the bottom of Waiting for Me live streaming page on Tencent Video (incl. region, age, gender and astrological sign) 132 Fig. 6.3 (A) Timecoded survey questions on the side of streaming videos of My Agent and I, including whether you will cook for

  List of Figures 

Fig. 6.4 Fig. 6.5 Fig. 6.6 Fig. 7.1

Fig. 9.1 Fig. 9.2

Fig. 9.3

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yourself after a busy day? will you hide your job roles from your parents? (B) One survey question ‘will you cook yourself in the busy life?’ A. No, I will mainly eat takeaway food. B. Yes, I will keep a life and work balance. C. It depends 135 We15 casting call with the logos of Tencent Video and Dragon TV 136 Satirical news commentary by the presenter identified as Wang Nima. Scrolling marquee comments on the top of the screen are numerous due to its online popularity on Tencent Video 138 (A–D) Mobile vertical portrait version of In Conversation with Strangers (Tencent, 2017–). This episode features Chen’s interview with a bus thief about his daily life 141 (A–D) (from left to right): Mango TV reception office; Lunchbox; Mango TV open-plan office; digital editors prepare portable beds next to their desks for a quick nap during their shift169 The homepage of Vistopia on Youku website, featuring the profile images of six leading cultural figures in China under the slogan ‘Looking at the dreams: finding another possibility’ 208 Slide from the multiplatform proposal I produced for the executive producer, aiming at attracting potential advertising through social media engagement for the 2017 fiscal year. (Purple: Detective game app (inviting online users to participate in the search for lost people); Yellow: WFM social media platform (A social media platform with personal profiles for volunteers across the country that can build up a social media network of volunteers and the ones who seek help); Orange (Centre): CCTV’s convergence platform on CNTN; Blue: Weibo (professional live streaming from the frontline, real-time uploading video highlights); Green: WFM WeChat account (daily posts about the search diary and behind-the-scenes)) 212 Programme poster of fifteen villagers seated around a campfire with the slogan ‘a social experiment with fifteen strangers living together every day and night’ 214

List of Tables

Table 2.1 Table 2.2

Comparisons of television periodisations in Chinese and Anglo-­American contexts Historical development and merges of media regulatory agencies and government departments in China since 1998

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CHAPTER 1

Introduction

People have lost trust in Chinese broadcasters due to the strict regulations which engender a notorious reputation about their offerings. Even if there was no digital media, we have lost trust in state media outlets. —The author’s interview with one digital media executive at Tencent Video who resigned from CCTV in 2016, IV11, 15/05/2016, Beijing

Ming expressed his disappointment during his role as a chief editor at CCTV1. Shortly after this interview, he resigned from the state broadcaster and joined Tencent Video as a media executive in factual production in August 2016. The loss of trust in broadcast offerings among both media practitioners and audiences has shifted the discursive power from broadcasters to digital platforms in the recent decade. During my production experience as a factual producer and documentary filmmaker across the UK, Singapore and China, I was fascinated by the distinct production circumstances and cultures where producers must navigate the tensions and negotiate a creative space which is subject to commercial, political and institutional pressures in their daily production mentalities and practices. I wondered how a thick description of the production cultures can inform our understanding Chinese television industry—one that supplements and potentially challenges the western-originated scholarships in the current © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 L. Lin, Convergent Chinese Television Industries, Palgrave Global Media Policy and Business, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-91756-2_1

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moment of Chinese television. This introductory chapter will set out the research questions and illuminate how production studies enables a thick description of the production cultures and hidden discourses in the current moment of convergent Chinese television. After elaborating on the significance of this research project, this chapter will finally conclude by outlining the remaining chapters. I started this research project on the shifting production cultures and daily practices in Chinese television in 2015—a transitional period which sees the convergence of production, distribution and consumption in Chinese television industries. Before embarking on my research journey, I was drawn to the complexity of production cultures in different media markets, from the nuanced decision-making process behind a specific production to the complex institutional relationships between networks and independent production companies, broadcasters and digital players. I sought to find out whether Chinese producers have been empowered with more creative freedoms upon the ephemeral technologically empowered production culture and newly emerged online space for in contemporary China. However, my ethnography revealed a far more complicated picture than my original hypothesis—or the dominant rhetoric of the Chinese television industry itself—could capture. Scholars have analysed and theorised audiences, programmes and national policy in the current moment of Chinese television. Western-­ based scholars largely take a political economy approach to understanding current developments in Chinese television industry and posit the social shaping perspective. Upon the 40th anniversary of China’s Reform and Opening-up policy (1978–2018), many observers labelled the Chinese economic boom ‘miraculous’, raising China from being a relatively poor and backward country to the world’s second-largest economy in just 40 years (e.g. Mackerras, 2018). Taken as a whole, a considerable number of Chinese television scholars have embraced macro-level political economy and meso-level industry studies: These scholarships include the commercialisation of Chinese television (Yang, 2012; Zhong, 2010), cultural industries policy analysis (Keane & Zhao, 2014; Flew, 2016a, b), political economic studies on Chinese Internet economy (Li, 2016; Hong, 2017) as well as platform capitalism (Keane & Fung, 2018). These scholarships show a wave of post-socialist television studies and criticism that has emerged in the field of Chinese media studies with an emphasis on the negotiation between the market and the party state.

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Existing debates have centred on the issues of ideological control, political economy and the globalisation of Chinese media rather than nuanced production cultures and practices. Although scholars such as Michael Keane (2001, 2009a, 2015), Michael Curtin (2003, 2007, 2012, 2016), Terry Flew (2016a, b), Anthony Fung (2008), Yuezhi Zhao (2008) and Ying Zhu (2009, 2012) have provided insightful political economy study and macro-level industry examination on the Chinese television industry, we know little about the production cultures behind industry strategies and structural transformation and we know rather less about daily production cultures in Chinese television industries. Micro-level studies which unveil the hidden discourses of production cultures and practices among Chinese media workers have been absent at the time of this research. An enquiry into Chinese television cannot gain insights without studying nuanced daily production realities, from corporate strategies to production cultures and daily practices. By examining daily production practices, this book challenges this western-originated binary picture: one of creative freedoms in the west but a straitjacket socialist ideology in China. In particular, this book poses three challenges to Western scholarship: (1) that individual producers have greater creative freedoms and autonomy than are currently perceived; (2) that the CPC government is not always the site of concerns for Chinese media workers and (3) that technological determinism in the Chinese context can be more liberating than what western ideals allow for. During my fieldwork between 2016 and 2017, I travelled across broadcast and digital production sites in Beijing and Hunan, from the renowned 1600-m2 studio of the state broadcaster CCTV to the entertainment television foregoer Hunan Broadcasting System and the fast-developing digital streaming player Tencent Video. The amount of access I secured through my industry connection afforded a genuine opportunity for an immersion in the production atmosphere and the possibility of grasping hidden discourses across strategic, programming and individual worker levels which are finely poised between opportunities for innovation and creative autonomy and prevalent political interference. My research journey brought me to places that are behind Chinese television programmes: from an ambitious multiplatform production meeting with CCTV executives in a zen restaurant in Chaoyang CBD to an art deco café on the top floor of Sigma building in Chinese Silicon Valley; from the 24-hour running production offices at Mango TV to a female staff dormitory at Golden Eagle Film and Television Cultural Cluster in Hunan; from a

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high-profile sponsorship night full of celebrities and brand promotion at HBS to the programme and format trade fair with thought-provoking panel discussions at the 2016 Asia TV Forum and Market in Singapore. With an empirical focus, this book takes an ethnographic approach to examine how Chinese broadcasters adapt to the changing media landscape and the constant migrations of viewers from channels to platforms, and how digital streaming services inherited and rejuvenated production strategies and forms from the broadcast predecessors. Television is a mirror of sentiments, anxiety and excitement in one nation. Though the television industry falls under the auspices and watchful eyes of the Chinese one-party socialist ideology, it would be a caricature to adopt the notion that there is no creative freedom in the Chinese media industry due to pervasive state surveillance. The logic of censorship in a post-socialist media system is complex, albeit with loose and fluid boundaries (Bai, 2015, p.  12). My study seeks to explore how these boundaries are maintained, challenged, negotiated or even redefined by Chinese television producers in the daily production practices. There is no doubt that China’s reintegration into the global economy, allied with technological developments in the mass communication, has brought tremendous changes to the national media landscape. This book aims to provide a thick description of the shifting production cultures and convergence strategies in a way that challenges established understandings of how the convergence-era television market operates (e.g. Doyle, 2002, 2010, 2013, 2015; Bennett, 2008, 2011, 2016; Lotz, 2017, 2018; Jenkins, 2006, 2010, 2011).

Redefining Television: From on Air to Online Scholars have analysed and theorised the recent transformations in organisational structures, industry strategies and programming practices of media industries across the global, highlighting the new business models and strategies in the post-broadcast era. It is necessary to redefine what television and television channel connote. Kompare (2010, p. 80) postulates that television exists primarily as a metaphor rather than ‘a fixed medium, a particular configuration of technologies and practices, or a corporate oligopoly’. In so doing, he refers to television as ‘professionally produced video programmes in standardized forms and genres’ and ‘a model of centralized, networked transmission and reception with prevailing formal and cultural expectations and standards’ (ibid., p. 80). Similarly,

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Lotz (2017) foregrounds the consistency of television’s defining attributes regardless of the development of a new mechanism of distribution technologies, from broadcast signals, cable wires to internet protocols. Conventional television technologies, once constituting an effective and powerful network, have now been outclassed by the internet (Bruns, 2008). Internet technologies have dislodged television from ‘the characteristics of the flow model’ to on-demand portal libraries which Lotz (2017) terms the ‘channel’ of internet-distributed television. Under the four-tier radio and television broadcasting structure at the county, city, provincial and national levels, the Chinese television landscape comprises a limited number of broadcast and satellite channels with international satellite and cable channels banned with landing rights.1 After the Reform and Opening-up in 1978 and the market economy reform which began in 1992, digital technologies have brought another wave of transformation to the Chinese media landscape in the twenty-first century. China’s market economy could be understood as state-led commercialisation—a particular form of capitalism in a state-controlled, but relatively free market for economic exchange and production. Digital transformation has led to a new period of Chinese television that is distinct from Western television systems, embodying a new set of opportunities and tensions in production cultures across strategic, programming and individual worker levels. These tensions are finely poised between new opportunities for innovation and creative autonomy and the implicit fears of political interference in a socio-political conjuncture marked by marketisation and state surveillance. In this book, I use the term television industries to denote both broadcast television and internet-distributed television industries, comprising complex institutional relationships—both competitive and cooperative. As such, I frame television as professionally produced audio-visual content in standardised forms and genres, rather than a fixed medium or a technological apparatus itself. Media scholarships on Chinese television have commented on how the national television landscape has been rapidly disrupted and reshaped by online video platforms and how Chinese broadcasters can regain and integrate fragmented audiences through the technological affordance of online portals of their programmes and social media (see: Keane, 2015; Xiang, 2019; Yu et al., 2015). I use ‘Chinese broadcasters’ and ‘Chinese television stations’ in this book interchangeably to refer to the traditional broadcasting system which excludes the

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newly emergent commercial streaming services or internet-distributed television in China. It is worth noting the differences between multiplatform television and internet-distributed television. Having responded to digital convergence (Doyle, 2010, p. 431), media institutions have been aiming to maximise and experiment with creative technologies with diversified multiplatform approaches to production and distribution in order to create new modes of audience engagement. This business model is termed ‘multiplatform television production’ in recent Anglo-American media scholarship and in the industry itself. The agenda-setting power of digital platforms has been utilised and exploited across all levels. ‘Multiplatform’ refers to a specific strategic response by traditional broadcasters to the changing technological and social landscape of digital television which, as Bennett (2016, p. 124) puts it, ‘[involves] the commissioning and production of content, services, and applications interlinked across different platforms’. However, in western contexts, multiplatform strategies have largely been usurped or have evolved: ‘social television’ (Holtzman, 2013) and video-on-demand (Dawson, 2007) have become dominant production strategies in the current media landscape. Internet-distributed television departs away from this broadcast strategy. To be considered as internet-distributed television, the practices should derive from online portals of professionally made content rather than arrangements that are based on linear delivery of channels or internet-distributed videos that are based on the dynamics of social media, advertiser-supported model and sharing practices (Lotz, 2017, p. 8). The terms multiplatform television and internet television have been used rather occasionally in Chinese trade publications. Instead, online video is the term widely used across Chinese trade press, academia and Chinese viewers.2 Most existing studies on Chinese audio-visual industries constructed oppositional categories: analogue/digital, television/digital platforms, state-controlled/private-owned and so on. These oppositional framings fail to take account of the current convergence of industrial structures, content production, distribution and consumption. China-­ based scholars have discussed the digital transformation in Chinese media industries with technologically driven terms such as new media (xinmeiti), digital platforms (shuzi pingtai), video portals (shipin wangzhan), the era of live streaming, the era of video-on-demand, social media (shejiao meiti) and short videos (duanshipin), including key discourses in media convergence, the digital transformation of traditional broadcasters and the rise of

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online video platforms. The ambiguous terminology highlights the convergent characteristics and the hybridity of content production and distribution in China where viewers can access factual programmes, films, drama series, live sport events and UGC within one Chinese streaming platform. This book uses the term ‘user’ to refer to online consumption of media content that involves social media and interactive applications on digital platforms, whilst the term ‘viewer’ is deployed to denote viewers of the traditional linear television. Specifically, the term ‘user’ is used in the case of Tencent, where social media and online interactivity have been integrated into viewing experiences with a high degree of connectivity (Tencent producers also refer to their audiences as ‘users’ during the interviews of this study). In contrast, ‘viewer’ is used in this book in the context of CCTV, where the term is frequently used in my fieldwork interviews as well as its internal publications and press releases. Given the rapidly shifting viewing practices that mark the contemporary media landscape, the new ‘digital’ audience is constituted by ‘prosumers’ (Van Dijck, 2009), ‘viewsers’ (Harries, 2002), ‘produsers’ (Bruns, 2008), identified as both consumers and producers, individuals and collectives, and passive audiences and active users. The next section will move on to elaborate on the research rationale of this book which adopts three levels of analysis in production studies.

Research Design: Three Levels of Analysis Unlike previous macro-level industry studies of Chinese television, such as Keane (2001, 2009, 2015) or Curtin (2007, 2012), this book adopts the approach of production studies to produce a thick description of daily practices in the current period of Chinese convergent television. An approach examining the micro-level genesis of production practices and cultures behind television texts industry from the ground up, production studies unveils ‘the lived realities of people involved in media production … the complexity of routines and rituals … the economic and political forces that shape roles, technologies, and the distribution of resources’ (Mayer et al., 2009, pp. 4–6). As Sakr and Steemers (2016, p. 240) argue, these micro-level discourses and the complexity and contradiction of daily practices cannot be captured by analysing trade press and industry reports on the macro forces alone. Yet, few studies have been done with production communities as well as micro-level production circumstances and

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motivations outside English-speaking countries (US, UK, Canada and Australia) (Steemers, 2016, p.  126). Production studies have primarily been absent from media scholarships on Chinese television. This book is not merely a classic production study. Three levels of research were conducted on the digital transformation of Chinese television: (1) the national landscape of Chinese television, (2) institutional strategies in the convergence era and (3) individual practices among above- and below-the-line Chinese media workers. To understand the shifting production practices and strategies, three media institutions that have originated from three different periods of Chinese television—CCTV (the era of scarcity), Hunan Broadcasting System (the era of availability) and Tencent Video (the era of plenty)—have been chosen as case studies. Production cultures, as the object of this study, cover a great diversity of economic and trade interests within the broader development of digital technologies and globalisation (Caldwell, 2008, p. 7). Based on the data collected across macro, meso and micro levels, this book examines how the opportunities brought about by digital technologies have been interpreted differently among three selected media institutions and how this has resulted in distinct production cultures among Chinese producers and media institutions in response to innovation in the post-broadcast era. Methodologically, therefore, my research steps away from such previous macro-level approaches to Chinese television and is closest to that of Todd Gitlin (1983), Georgina Born (2005) and John Caldwell (2008). I conducted my ethnographic study between May 2016 and December 2017, combining four ‘modes of analyses’: participant observations, industry interviews, textual analysis of digital screen forms, and trade publications in the three media institutions.3 I spent six months, between September 2016 and February 2017, in the field sites, with two pilot interviews in May 2016, follow-up observations between March 2017 and October 2017, and one follow-up interview in December 2017. In order to supplement the ‘thick description’ (Geertz, 1973) of the working conditions and production practices of the three selected sites, the fieldwork involves 25 formal and informal interviews, two participant observations (CCTV and Mango TV),4 archival collection of governmental documents and policy reports (including the annual reports released by China’s State Administration of Press, Publication, Radio, Film and Television) and sample convergence screen forms of entertainment programmes between May 2016 and May 2017.5 Each interview lasted 1–2 hours with a combination of a structured and a looser, open-ended format which enabled the

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participants to talk openly, freely and at length in response to questions that had been asked. As more communications among media workers are conducted across digital platforms, ethnography has become more mobile and virtual across multi-sited settings. Online communications via WeChat groups during my participant observations were collected and analysed as part of the ‘thick description’ approach. As the comments from some interviewees are politically sensitive, I chose to anonymise all the interviewees to protect their career and personal lives even though they did not choose the anonymised option.6 This book aims to address three sets of interlinked questions regarding the discourses within the production cultures and daily practices in Chinese convergence-era television. These three questions will underpin and structure the following chapters. RQ1: Institutional Origins • How have the origins of each institution in different periods of Chinese television history influenced their convergence-era strategies? • How is post-TVIII experienced differently in each institution due to their different origins particularly between a national, political drive to innovation and the histories of each media institution? RQ2: Strategy and Reality • How have the institutional innovation and convergence strategies affected the production cultures and engendered new screen forms? • What new screen forms have emerged from those strategies and production cultures in these three institutions? • Are there any conflicts or tensions (failures) between corporate strategies and daily practices that have emerged from the shifting production cultures and screen forms? RQ3: Freedom and Control • How do RQ1 and RQ2 inform the daily conditions/functioning of creative labours in convergence-era Chinese television production concerning individual media workers’ creative autonomy? • Do Chinese television workers embrace new kinds of intellectual, creative freedom in response to the changing production techniques and new working conditions in the post-TVIII era?

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In so doing, the research questions set out above put television theories, national policies and industry studies into dialogue. The conflicts between corporate strategies and daily practices will be an overarching question that is firstly introduced in Chap. 4 and further elaborated in the chapters that follow. With the institutional scopes of RQ1 (Chap. 4) and RQ2 (Chap. 5), RQ3 examines the resulting production practices at the micro level (Chaps. 6 and 7). To unveil the nuanced production cultures in Chinese television, it is crucial to understand the production hierarchies of roles and responsibilities in the development and production processes. John Corner’s distinction between production mentalities and production practices provides a useful framework to differentiate production roles in the decision-making process. For Corner (1999, p. 71), production mentalities involve different dispositions, values and working ‘practical consciousness’ among media practitioners (mainly above-the-line personnel) who have a range of ‘creative, craft, professional and corporate goals in mind’. In contrast, production practices comprise the actual skills and conventions involved in television production which consist of a variety of production roles (ibid.). Steemers (2010, p. 15) points out the production hierarchies where many of the key decisions have been made by the production process during the development stage. However, one should not regard below-the-line staff accounts as ‘inherently more truthful than their more senior counterparts’ (Bennett, 2016, pp. 125–6).7 I thus selected both above- and below-the-­ line personnel as research subjects in my ethnographic study, while crosschecking and engaging in dialogue with textual and policy analysis. With three levels of analysis as outlined in the next section, this book examines how national innovation policy and institutional strategies informed the production mentalities among above-the-line executives and decision-makers, and how the examination of below-the-line production practices can unveil hidden discourses of the production cultures in China. Firstly, I conducted above-the-line interviews with media executives as well as paying a visit to the Asia TV Forum 2016 in order to get an understanding of the shifting regional strategies of media convergence at a macro level. The second level involved 18 in-person interviews and two phone interviews with frontline practitioners, from above-the-line producers and directors to below-the-line video editors and media interns to gain insights into daily production practices. To create a thick description of the production environment and achieve the most effective communication outcomes, 18 face-to-face interviews were conducted at the

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production sites. Two phone interviews were conducted due to the availability issues with some interviewees. Finally, two participant observations were conducted at CCTV and Mango TV where I worked as a multiplatform producer (above-the-line) and a digital editor (below-the-line) respectively. Access was gained through personal connections and network referrals. The ethnographical research took place at Mango TV’s 24-hour live streaming reality television Perfect Holiday (Mango TV, 2015–2016) over a period of one month, and at CCTV’s primetime factual programme Waiting for Me (CCTV 1, 2013–) over a period of three months. Akin to researchers in recent production studies (e.g. Paterson & Zoellner, 2010; Zoellner, 2016), I had a dual role as an ethnographer and media practitioner during the fieldwork. Having worked as a factual and documentary producer in the UK (United Kingdom) and Singapore, I had already been involved in the development and production processes as well as project managements in a wide range of film and television projects for both independent production companies and broadcast channels. This production experience enabled me to understand the industry lore and key discourses of production practices which allowed me to produce a detailed frame-by-frame analysis of television production communities. As a ‘local’, I possessed both compatible and incompatible traits (identities, cultures, professions, linguistics) for the subjects. For instance, although I would be considered fluent in Mandarin in Western cultures, within China it was evident that I had been working and living overseas for an extensive period prior to the fieldwork with my lack of knowledge of the current domestic buzzwords in China. This background allows me access and providing me with a generally welcoming approach to my presence as someone who had production experience and spoke the same language, but at the same time there was a certain caution in the sense that the participants felt that they were being observed by an outsider. Whilst holding at the necessary distance to the research subjects, professional industry knowledge enabled me to understand the nuanced production cultures and produce a thick description of daily production practices in convergent Chinese television industries. For Paterson and Zoellner (2010), professional experience can increase the researcher’s understanding of the field and the awareness of the processes studied, which reduces obtrusiveness and even create a degree of collegiality through shared languages. However, they also point out the potential loss of objectivity and an ‘increased researcher’ effect due to intimacy with the research subjects—the mere presence of the researcher will change the

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situation (ibid., p. 104). To strike the balance, I maintained a certain distance from the research subjects in my study after working hours whilst keeping a self-reflective media diary, noting down interesting findings, conversations and critical reflection from the sites.8 Industry studies serve as a supplement to production studies in this study. For Lotz (2009, p. 36), industry-level studies are necessary to set the contexts that complement the insights gained from the more macro national and international political economy level and the more focused micro-level study of individual productions and daily production practices. I examined industry blue books and government policy reports, corporate annual reports, industry trade publications (trade magazines, journals, online industry news) in order to contextualise the production practices from the economic, policy and technological perspectives. In addition to interviews and ethnographic notes, media interfaces and digital screen forms were observed and collected from my fieldworks at CCTV, Mango TV and Tencent Video. The rationale for the observation of these forms is two-fold. Firstly, they were temporary and always subject to editorial changes or deletions, so it is necessary to capture the temporary screen forms in specific case studies. Secondly, these digital platforms, be it web-­ based or mobile application, served as good examples to understand the experimental and temporary nature of convergence production culture in the Chinese television industry. During data analysis, discourse analysis was used to uncover the hidden meanings behind interview accounts and the daily work practices in the Chinese television industry. I crosschecked ethnographic field notes and interview data with digital screen forms and industry reports, placing my findings in the broader context of production circumstances, strategies as well as the ever-present media regulation by the Chinese government. This integrated cultural-industrial approach of production studies enabled me to work across the micro-level participant observations and interviews, the meso-level institutional studies and the macro-level political economic study of ideological forces in the post-broadcast era. I sorted the interviews into three categories: genres (news vs. factual entertainment); sectors (state-owned broadcasters vs. digital commercial players); roles (above-the-line executives vs. below-the-line media workers). Whilst in the current study the corpus of interviews is significantly small, I sifted through the data compiled during the fieldwork and identify points of shared culture amongst the interviewees and the participant observations. My analysis reveals tensions between corporate strategies and slogans of

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innovation and the daily practices in these three media institutions. Chinese producers are at the centre of these rival organising dynamics— creative freedoms and fears and apprehension about state surveillance. At the meso level, each institution strives to demonstrate its innovations in often unexpected and contradictory ways: on the one hand, we see so-­ called digital players repackaging TV strategies as digital innovation; on the other hand, Chinese broadcasters have been drawing on the latest digital technologies to demonstrate their continuing relevance in response to broader technological, economic and ideological shifts. At the micro level, Chinese producers place their aspirations for creative freedoms within technological advancement and rhetorical strategies, which can at once demonstrate compliance with state ideology and corporate strategy but also leave room for resistance and resilience to one-party state ideology.

Chapter Outlines Inspired by Caldwell’s integrated industrial-cultural analysis (Caldwell, 2008) and Steemers’ three levels of analysis within the production process (Steemers, 2010), this book traverses three levels of production studies to address how innovation strategies and innovative technologies fosters conditions for new production cultures of creativity which have, in turn, engendered new screen forms. This book accordingly travels across macro, meso and micro levels to elucidate the shifting production cultures and practices in convergent Chinese television industries. Chapter 2 examines the historical development and the production ecology of Chinese television, providing the theoretical foundations and the historical context for the rest of the book. Chapters 3–6 produce a meso-level study on the convergence-era strategies and production cultures of the three media institutions considered, mediating between the macro focus on the national context and the micro-focus on the individual producers’ practices and the emergence of creative autonomy. I will establish how the production strategies and cultures in each institution have been shaped by their historical roots in specific eras of the evolution of Chinese television. In particular, Chaps. 3 and 4 address to what extent the origins of each institution in different eras of Chinese television history have influenced their convergence-era strategies as well as the changes in the confluence of technologies and audience viewing experience that each institution seeks to address. Through establishing the institutional contexts within which new production practices

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and screen forms have played out in Chinese convergence television, Chap. 4 considers these with the promotion of innovation strategies at an institutional level. It recognises questions of capital and political power and foregrounds the way that tensions between creative autonomy, commercial imperatives and political obligation are structured into institutional strategies. It provides a portrait of the convergence strategies of CCTV, Mango TV and Tencent Video to represent the institutions from three distinct eras of the Chinese television history. These institutional differences have resulted in different production cultures and media products as well as engendered different work practices when it comes to, which will be elaborated in detail later. Following the investigation into institutional convergence strategies in Chaps. 3 and 4, Chaps. 5 and 6 explore how these strategies have resulted in technologically empowered production cultures and convergent screen forms across broadcast and digital sectors, whilst considering this question in the context of the institutions’ origins. While CCTV’s broadcast legacies have led to persistence in abiding by officially sanctioned public service and ideological values that aim to target mass audience in its multiplatform production, Mango TV and Tencent Video position commercial values as the strategic pivot that aligns political obligations towards what Srnicek (2017) terms ‘platform capitalism’. As a digital behemoth, Tencent Video has engendered a set of commercially data-driven production cultures, moving beyond an Internet television provider and fostering greater connectivity and creativity for its users. I argue, however, that this should not be understood as one approach being ‘better’ than the other: as I set out, the apparent ‘innovation’ of TES is often a technologically deterministic celebration of technology, whilst the apparent underlying creativity of TES is often fuelled by labour exploitation that is explored further later. What I suggest overarches the distinct TES forms and production cultures is an ‘upgrade culture’ that encourages Chinese producers to innovate new forms of programmes and experiments by concentrating on new technologies. These TES production forms represent ‘technological determinism’ in production cultures that aligns creativity with the incessant march of technology in post-TVIII China. Chapters 7–9 will examine how production cultures and convergence strategies have informed the daily production practices in post-TVIII Chinese television. It also analyses two critical discourses—creative freedoms and fears—that are derived from the ethnographic study. In so doing, I examine whether producers are facing more significant creative

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freedoms or fears in the current multiplatform, digital environment. By deploying a discourse analysis of individual producers’ critical accounts of the negotiation of the possibilities enabled by new technologies and the need for compliance with state censorships at the micro level, Chap. 7 examines and accounts for the implicit fears which were noted during my fieldwork with Chinese media producers. Importantly, I do so not only in relation to these issues of digital technology and state ideology, but also the pressures of the increasingly commercialised environment of post-­ TVIII landscape and the wider turn to a state-led capitalism or what Zhang and Fung (2014, p. 49) term ‘an authoritarian state capitalism’ in the face of both their commercial and political obligations. Bearing the complexity of contemporary China as a hybrid society of new-liberalism (commercial power) and socialism (political power) in mind, Chap. 8 investigates how creative autonomy has been promoted via strategies of innovation and creativity while facing threats that have intensified at a socio-political conjuncture currently marked by contradictory forces of market freedom and political interference. Drawing upon the theories of ‘good and bad work’ (Blauner, 1964; Hesmondhalgh & Baker, 2011), I also examine how new production strategies and practices that have emerged in the new period of Chinese television have informed intellectual and creative autonomy within producers’ daily practices. This analysis aims to contribute to the scant literature on the rise of creative freedoms and autonomy in Chinese television which have emerged despite western perceptions that apprehensions of political censorships dominate the Chinese media industries.9 This can be seen in the edge ball practices through which Chinese creative practitioners exercise their creative freedoms, elbowing out for themselves a grey area where they can express themselves, in contrast to the confrontational approach their Western counterparts adopt.10 As I will illustrate in detail in Chap. 9, these edge ball practices are not a recent phenomenon but have a long history in Chinese literature, film and other creative production where Chinese writers and directors express their critical views through a range of artistic forms, from novels, fictional films to paintings. Arguably, edge ball could be utilised in both negative and positive ways: On one hand, it is often perceived negatively within Chinese media regulators who aim to maintain a healthy media ecology in television production where edge ball could be used to create vulgar and sensational content to achieve high ratings and clicking rates. On the other hand, it is also perceived positively by media practitioners who utilise this

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edge ball strategy to exercise their creative freedoms and critical views. As the focus of this book resides in the production cultures and practices, the term edge ball is used to indicate the latter positive perception among media practitioners. Finally, the Conclusion pulls the key discourses in the previous chapters and provides a summary of the key findings on Chinese convergent television industries. Taking this study as a starting point, the concluding chapter will also elaborate on future research directions.

Concluding Remarks Through in-depth ethnography of three selected media institutions, this book illuminates that the distinct historical periods that gave birth to each institution has informed the way it has responded to this current moment of turbulent media convergence. Schumpeter (1965 [1942], p. 187) proposed the process of ‘creative destruction’ to depict how economic orders are incessantly destroyed and rebuilt on new technological foundations. The current period of Chinese television could be perceived as an example of ‘creative destruction’ where digital technologies have triggered a new and distinct period of television development in China as elsewhere. Drawing upon my ethnography of the production experience of convergent Chinese television industries,11 I argue that a paradoxical experience has arisen between one-party ideological control and consumer-oriented capitalist logic, one that is discursively formed in Chinese convergence-era television. Whilst CCTV’s origin in linear broadcasting legacy focuses on a mass, homogeneous audience, Mango TV was pioneered as a digital video platform that is empower by digital technologies and its youth-­ oriented entertainment strategies. In contrast to CCTV and Mango TV, Tencent’s hybrid tech model enables a personalised viewing experience optimised through big data, social media and technologically empowered screen forms. Television provides an ideal site for examining individual creative freedom, political ideology and commercialisation in China. For Williams (1990, p. 16), broadcasting can be seen as a ‘new and powerful form of social integration and control’ which can be used socially, commercially and sometimes politically manipulative. Although they are indeed curbed by the state, creative freedoms have gradually emerged in the Chinese television industry following the commercialisation of the broadcasting system in the 1990s when the government ceased subsidising the sector. The peculiarities of Chinese capitalism bring both political and corporate

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power together, at the same time as these forces try to serve different masters: one state ideology and economic growth. The result is a set of tensions between corporate innovation strategies and the daily practices of production cultures, which leave individual producers trying to resolve these contradictions. I argue these take shape in TES production forms in complex ways. On the one hand, TES production cultures enable corporate and state ideology to point to forms of innovation that are almost purely technological. On the other hand, producers have resided new forms of creative freedoms in these TES production cultures and practices which can at once demonstrate compliance with state ideology and corporate strategy but also leave room for resistance and resilience to one-party state ideology: what I term the practice of playing edge ball. These TES forms can be understood as a nuanced site of resistance that is perhaps the only alternative to directly confronting the party state. My empirical study unveils that Chinese producers, rather than direct confrontation with the state censorship, have disguised their critical ideas and creative freedoms within the TES production cultures and screen forms themselves in a manner that western theories might deem ‘technological determinism’. I argue that these TES production forms represent both a technologically deterministic production and regulatory culture that aligns creativity with the incessant march of technology that is unique to the Chinese capitalist socio-economic conditions that shape the production cultures of Chinese television industries. Whilst technological determinism is often the subject of fierce criticism in western scholarships—such as Bennett (2011)’s critique of Jenkins (2006) and Shirky (2010)—this book suggests that we should take a more cautiously optimistic approach to champion such thinking in a Chinese context. These TES forms embody the tensions production cultures experience between being asked to innovate technologically whilst at the same time having to adhere to stringent political and ideological policies. I shall suggest that such tensions could eventually prove irresolvable in China’s current model of state socialist-(techno) capitalist development as long as the party aims at becoming a world-leading player.12 Although the desire to become a world media player has placed a strong emphasis on ‘innovation’ in Chinese political rhetoric and policy, I argue that this goal produces a type of technological determinism at a political, institutional and individual level that is playing a critical role in generating and moderating the paradoxes and tensions inherent in China’s current television landscape. The current moment of Chinese television, which I term ‘post-TVIII with

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Chinese characteristics’, is an ideological, cultural and financial paradox in which China’s one-party ideology clashes with consumer-oriented capitalism within the context of the imperatives of marketisation and globalisation.

Notes 1. Landing rights is a direct translation from Chinese government policies. It refers to the process of licensing broadcast television services in mainland China. 2. I will explore Chinese internet-distributed television in more depth in Chap. 4 with a case study of Tencent Video. 3. This study has followed the ethical approval process required by Royal Holloway’s Research Ethics Committee and acquired the approval from the committee before commencing the fieldwork in 2016. Each interviewee was required to read and sign the informed consent form prior to the interview, which included the option to withdraw from the research project anytime if they do not feel comfortable and the option to be anonymised. 4. This research design was partly restricted due to access issues to the production process. Given confidentiality protection of commercial information and time restrictions, the author did not manage to secure participant observation in the case of Tencent Video. I was informed that any production placement could only be approved after signing a non-disclosure agreement and undertaking a three-month fixed-term internship contract. 5. The annual reports were released in the forms of Blue Books蓝皮书 as the official policy proclamations from the then State Administration of Press, Publication, Radio, Film and Television. 6. Identity markers such as specific programme titles and department descriptions were removed in order to protect and assure the sources’ anonymity in a way their identity cannot be guessed through their comments or creative works. Interviewees’ job descriptions have been revised in a more generic way. 7. He further explains that in his study, ‘while long-term, below-the-line workers were more likely to reflect on historical shifts in the sector and programming form, rose-tinted subjective glasses about the failure to win commissions for their favoured type of programming often inflected such accounts’ (ibid.). 8. The diaries and interview data were only analysed after I came back to the UK three months later which allowed me to have a fresh look at the fieldwork data.

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9. See the studies conducted by Brady (2008), Gandhi (2008), Freedom House (2017). 10. I extracted edge ball from my bottom-up observations and interview accounts in Chinese television industries. Although Keane (2001) refers to edge ball as a form of creative compliance in the Chinese context, he fails to theorise it in depth and position this practice in the production context which this study endeavour to achieve. 11. The primary focus of this book is the production of convergent Chinese television industries, and national policy, institutional strategies and cultures that inform daily production practices. It is not about the viewing experience of Chinese audiences and users; nor is it about the political economy and communication studies of Chinese television, though the ever-present state ideology is crucial in and determining and shaping the Chinese television industries. Nor does this book produce an exhaustive study of data strategies and resulting ethical issues in digital streaming services, although examples of data-driven strategies and user matrix at Tencent Video are employed to underscore shifting production strategies and practices in convergent Chinese television industries. 12. As Shambaugh (2016, p. 22) postulates, it is problematic to ‘create a modern economy with a premodern political system’.

Bibliography Bai, R. (2015). Staging Corruption Chinese Television and Politics. University of British Columbia Press Vancouver. Bennett, J. (2008). Interfacing the Nation: Remediating Public Service Broadcasting in the Digital Television Age. Convergence, 14(3), 277–294. Bennett, J. (2011). Architectures of Participation: Fame, Television and Web 2.0. In J. Bennett & N. Strange (Eds.), Television as Digital Media (pp. 332–358). Duke University Press. Bennett, J. (2016). Public Service as Production Cultures: A Contingent, Conjunctural Compact. In M.  J. Banks, B.  Conor, & V.  Mayer (Eds.), Production Studies, The Sequel! Cultural Studies of Global Media Industries (pp. 123–137). Routledge. Blauner, R. (1964). Alienation and Freedom: The Factory Worker and His Industry. University of Chicago Press. Born, G. (2005). Uncertain Vision: Birt, Dyke and The Reinvention of The BBC. Vintage. Brady, A. (2008). Marketing Dictatorship: Propaganda and Thought Work in Contemporary China. Rowman and Littlefield. Bruns, A. (2008). Blogs, Wikipedia, Second Life, and Beyond: From Production to Produsage. Peter Lang.

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Holtzman, H. (2013). MIT Media Lab NeXtream Project: Social Television (2009–2013). Retrieved January 4, 2018, from https://www.media.mit.edu/ projects/nextream-­social-­television/overview/ Hong, Y. (2017). Networking China: The Digital Transformation of the Chinese Economy. University of Illinois Press. Jenkins, H. (2006). Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide. New York University Press. Jenkins, H. (2010). Transmedia Storytelling and Entertainment: An Annotated Syllabus. Continuum, 24(6), 943–958. Jenkins, H. (2011). Transmedia 202: Further Reflections. Retrieved October 20, 2015, from http://henryjenkins.org/2011/08/defining_transmedia_further_re.html Keane, M. (2001). Broadcasting Policy, Creative Compliance and The Myth of Civil Society in China. Media, Culture & Society, 23(6), 783–798. Keane, M. (2009a). Creative Industries in China: Four Perspectives on Social Transformation. International Journal of Cultural Policy, 15(4), 431–443. Keane, M. (2015). The Chinese Television Industry. BFI. Keane, M., & Fung, A. Y. H. (2018). Digital Platforms: Exerting China’s New Cultural Power in the Asia-Pacific. Media Industries, 5(1), 47–50. Keane, M., & Zhao, E. J. (2014). The Reform of the Cultural System: Culture, Creativity and Innovation in China. In H. K. Lee & L. Lim (Eds.), Cultural Policies in East Asia (pp. 155–173). Palgrave Macmillan. Kompare, D. (2010). Reruns 2.0: Revising Repetition for Multiplatform Television Distribution. Journal of Popular Film and Television, 38(2), 79–83. Li, L. N. (2016). Rethinking the Chinese Internet: Social History, Cultural Forms, and Industrial Formation. Television & New Media, 18(5), 1–17. Lotz, A.  D. (2009). Industry-Level Studies and the Contributions of Gitlin’s Inside Prime Time. In V.  Mayer, M.  J. Banks, & J.  T. Caldwell (Eds.), Production Studies: Cultural Studies of Media Industries (pp. 25–38). Routledge. Lotz, A.  D. (2017). Portals: A Treatise on Internet-Distributed Television. Maize Books. Lotz, A.  D. (2018). We Now Disrupt This Broadcast: How Cable Transformed Television and the Internet Revolutionized It All. MIT Press. Mackerras, C. (2018). 40 Years of Reform in China: Truly Remarkable Change since 1978. Retrieved December 29, 2018, from http://english.scio.gov.cn/ in-­d epth/2018-­1 2/06/content_74246427.htm?gclid=EAIaIQobChMI_ pTNg5O33wIVDxgbCh0U2wWNEAEYASAAEgIaRfD_BwE Mayer, V., Banks, M.  J., & Caldwell, J.  T. (2009). Introduction: Production Studies: Roots and Routes. In V. Mayer, M. J. Banks, & J. T. Caldwell (Eds.), Production Studies: Cultural Studies of Media Industries (pp. 1–12). Routledge. Paterson, C., & Zoellner, A. (2010). The Efficacy of Professional Experience in the Ethnographic Investigation of Production. Journal of Media Practice, 11(2), 97–109.

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Sakr, N., & Steemers, J. (2016). Co-producing Content for Pan-Arab Children’s TV: State, Business, and the Workplace. In M. J. Banks, B. Conor, & V. Mayer (Eds.), Production Studies, The Sequel! Cultural Studies of Global Media Industries (pp. 238–250). Routledge. Schumpeter, J.  A. (1965). Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy (4th ed.). Allen & Unwin. Shambaugh, D. L. (2016). China’s Future. Polity. Shirky, C. (2010). Cognitive Surplus: Creativity and Generosity in a Connected Age. Allen Lane. Srnicek, N. (2017). Platform Capitalism. Polity Press. Steemers, J. (2010). Creating Preschool Television: A Story of Commerce, Creativity and Curriculum. Palgrave Macmillan. Steemers, J. (2016). Production Studies, Transformations in Children’s Television and the Global Turn. Journal of Children and Media, 10(1), 123–131. van Dijck, J. (2009). Users Like You? Theorizing Agency in User-Generated Content. Media, Culture and Society, 31, 41–58. Williams, R. (1990). The Technology and The Society. In T.  Bennett (Ed.), Popular Fiction: Technology, Ideology, Production, Reading (pp.  9–22). Routledge. Xiang, Y. (2019). User-Generated News: Netizen Journalism in China in The Age of Short Video. Global Media and China, 4(1), 52–71. Yang, G. (2012). A Chinese Internet? History, Practice, and Globalization. Chinese Journal of Communication, 5(1), 49–54. Yu, G. M., Yi, L. J., & Liang, X. (2015). How to Solve the Problem of Media Dilemma in the Convergence Age. Modern Communication, 37(11), 1–4. Zhang, L., & Fung, A. Y. H. (2014). Working as Playing? Consumer Labor, Guild and the Secondary Industry of Online Gaming in China. New Media & Society, 16(1), 38–54. Zhao, Y.  Z. (2008). Communication in China: Political Economy, Power, and Conflict. Littlefield. Zhong, Y. (2010). Relations Between Chinese Television and The Capital Market: Three Case Studies. Media, Culture & Society, 32(4), 649–668. Zhu, Y. (2009). Television in Post-Reform China: Serial Dramas, Confucian Leadership and The Global Television Market. Routledge. Zhu, Y. (2012). Two Billion Eyes: The Story of China Central Television. The New Press. Zoellner, A. (2016). Detachment, Pride, Critique: Professional Identity in Independent Factual Television Production in Great Britain and Germany. In M.  J. Banks, B.  Conor, & V.  Mayer (Eds.), Production Studies, the Sequel! Cultural Studies of Global Media Industries (pp. 150–163). Routledge.

CHAPTER 2

Production Ecology in Chinese Television Industries

It is until the internet era that Chin has entered the real ‘television era’, the entertainment era that Neil Portman claimed. —Dong Ma, CEO, MeWe Media

Ma’s comment elucidates the limited state-owned broadcast channels in China highly restricted content creation and creative expression among Chinese media elites. Ma used to produce a flagship programme Cultural Dialogue for CCTV in which he confided to Xu in the interview that he was producing the programme for the party leaders and channel executives rather than the public. Ma jokingly owed his success in the digital sector to luck: ‘I left the state broadcasting system much earlier than my peers that I managed to experiment with the online production and made an early success.’ Like other Chinese media producers, Ma’s experience encapsulates many of the transformation and evolution in Chinese television industries. The production of Chinese television takes place within a complex production ecology comprising competitive and collaborative institutional relationships among institutions, markets and individual broadcasters, streaming services, distributors, regulators and censors. The term ‘ecology’ derives from Bourdieu’s notion of a ‘cultural field’, a series of institutions, rules, rituals, conventions and categories that © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 L. Lin, Convergent Chinese Television Industries, Palgrave Global Media Policy and Business, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-91756-2_2

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constitute the sites of cultural practice, interaction and conflict between different players (Bourdieu, 1993; Steemers, 2010, p.  7). Bourdieu (1993) proposes a useful framework to understand the ecology of cultural production. The concept of a cultural field denotes arenas of production, circulation, exchange and appropriation of cultural products, services, knowledge, offering a useful theoretic framework to research cultural production and the competitive relations among institutions, markets and individuals over valued capitals (Bourdieu, 1993). For Steemers (2010, pp.  7–8), production functions like an eco-system so that ‘a change somewhere in the eco-­system will have an impact on everything else that inhabits the system’. This framework provides a useful lens to examine how production and institutional relationships are shaped more broadly by regulatory, political, economic, technological and commercial considerations. A multitude of overlapping tensions and contradictory forces—commercialisation and the imperative of marketisation, the history and legacy of communist thought on how economy and society should be organised, the ideological control of the CPC and institutional transformations—are pulling at contemporary Chinese society. By examining the broader field of production including institutional relationships, key players and professional practices (Steemers, 2010, p. 7), we can gain a better understanding of how television production has evolved and the internal and external forces that shape the organisational structures, production strategies and practices among broadcasters and streaming services and how these forces are managed and creatively negotiated by broadcasters, producers, platform operators and other players in the broader ecology. I shall first examine the development of Chinese convergence television as a continuously changing social, cultural and technological phenomenon. Recent decades have seen China’s rise as a hybrid ‘Chinese model’ comprised of seemingly contradictory forces culturally, politically and economically, ‘communism and capitalism, Confucianism and individualism, tradition and modernity’ (Zhu, 2012, p. 6). During the period of my research  between 2015 and 2020, Chinese television was undergoing tremendous changes of technological, production and audience formations. The Introduction chapter contextualised Chinese television in the convergence era as a timely and important subject in the field of television studies. I explained how bottom-up ethnography can unveil the hidden discourses behind production cultures and daily practices in contemporary Chinese television industries. I demonstrated

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how the current development of Chinese television industries deserves the attention to our understanding of television and convergent production cultures. In this chapter I will examine the production ecology of Chinese television governed by complex tensions between digital technologies, economic circumstances, industry relationships, state ideology and shifting viewing experiences in the new millennium. In particular, this chapter will show that these conflicting forces embody the tension of production experience between being asked by top-down strategies to innovate technologically and reach audiences in new ways at the same time as adhering to a stringent state ideology. These forces intertwine in the contemporary China’s production cultures, which further take shape through at the same time as they shape the daily practices of television workers. This chapter firstly situates Chinese television institutions within a longer history of television’s development and periodisation upon the technological advancement in contemporary Chinese society. I will then examine the current production ecology of Chinese television in post-socialist China. The connection between technology and cultural practices in the techno-­ political regulatory landscape will be the thread of this book, in which producers’ creative freedoms are fuelled by newly emergent technologies as well as innovative business models, two developments which all the while are tempered by the need to comply with the Chinese state’s politico-­ ideological pronouncements.

Chinese Television Periodisations: From Central Planned Economy to Marketisation Western and Chinese media scholars have proposed several different models to understand the periodic shifts in television history. Rogers et al.’s periodisation of TVI, TVII and TVIII focuses mainly on how television is funded and distributed in the context of US television (Rogers et  al., 2002, p. 46): from the 1950s to the mid-1970s, TVI was a period when broadcasters targeted an undifferentiated mass audience, a period dominated by the three-network oligopoly over the production, distribution and transmission of television programmes. The emergence of cable and satellite television in the 1980s disrupted and transformed the television landscape that was hitherto dominated by the three-network oligopoly, and this period—TVII—featured a wider array of programmes and channels which targeted ‘high-value advertising niches’ (Rogers et al., 2002,

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p.  44).1 TVIII, dating from the late 1990s to the present, is the era of proliferating digital distribution platforms, further audience fragmentation, and a significant shift from second-order (the sale of advertising slots) to first-order (where viewers pay directly for subscription or pay-per-­ view services) commodity relations (Rogers et al., 2002; Pearson, 2011). While TVI and TVII were marked by the dominance of second-order commodity relations between broadcasters and audiences, viewers in TVIII pay directly for television content (first-order commodity relations) through video-on-demand (Johnson, 2007, 2017). Arguably, the US television system has been the benchmark for other systems that have sought to emulate in terms of models of production. Amanda Lotz also theorises the development of American television from ‘network era’, ‘multi-­ channel transition’ to the ‘post-network era’ (Lotz, 2014). Drawing upon British public service broadcasting (PSB), British media historian John Ellis (2000) argues that television has developed over three distinct eras: the ages of scarcity, availability and plenty. This book uses the eras of scarcity/availability/plenty and the eras of TVI/TVII/TVIII interchangeably whilst acknowledging the nuanced differences between the Anglo-American periodisations. For Ellis (2000), the era of scarcity describes the limited availability of channels and programmes in television’s early days and the limited availability of bandwidth spectrum on which broadcast signals could be carried. In this era, flow was ‘the defining characteristic of broadcasting, simultaneously as a technology and as a cultural form’ (Williams, 1974, p.  86).2 Television moved into the era of availability by the end of the twentieth century, ‘where a choice of pre-­ scheduled services existed at every moment of the day and night’ (Ellis, 2000, p. 61). Having defined the ongoing evolution in the early 2000s as the age of plenty, Ellis asserts the primacy of uncertainty over certainty in the processes (ibid., p. 81). As early as 2000, the annual convention of the National Association of Broadcasters was publicised as the convergence marketplace in the US (Caldwell, 2004, p. 50). Television industries across the globe have been undergoing a historic shift in their organisational structures, industry strategies and programming practices, transforming from the programming-centred notion to a viewer-centred notion (Uricchio, 2004, p. 168). The periodisation of television is never a clear-cut process but rather implies a set of complex and overlapping discourses and transformative moments that are almost impossible to define, especially in an international context. Whatever their limitations, however, these prevailing academic periodisations—‘TVIII’

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(Rogers et al., 2002) or ‘plenty’ (Ellis, 2000), ‘post-broadcast era’ (Turner & Tay, 2009), ‘matrix era’ (Curtin, 2009), ‘post-network era’ (Lotz, 2014) or even TVIV (Jenner, 2016)—are predicated on western broadcasting systems. They not only originate from a capitalistic and democratic culture but also emerge from relatively mature capitalist markets that preceded it. The periodisation of Chinese television is discursively different from western models. Chinese scholars have divided the development of Chinese television into four stages according to the nation’s political and economic reforms and transformation. Zhao and Ai (2009) propose three milestones in the development of Chinese television: The Reform and Opening-up in 1978; overall restructuring in 1983 and the shift to commercialisation in 1992 (see Table  2.1). Since 1949, all broadcast media have been subject to severe restrictions by the CPC, whose primary mission was (and is) to educate and enlighten the ‘people’ with state (communist) ideology (Zhao & Keane, 2013, p. 724). Before 1978, Chinese television served exclusively as a propaganda machine for the central government, churning out toneless propaganda programmes to national audiences. With the Reform and Opening-up in 1978 loosening this rigid top-down control, Chinese television producers started exploring aesthetic practices within a changing regulatory and political environment. In the early and mid-1980s, state-affiliated media and cultural institutions, including state-owned television stations, ceased to enjoy Table 2.1  Comparisons of television periodisations in Chinese and Anglo-­ American contexts Country

Period I

Period II

Period III

UK

Scarcity (1950s–1970s)

Availability (1980s–1990s)

Plenty 1990s–early 2000s

US

TVI (1950s–1970s)

TVII (1980s–1990s)

China

Origin–1983 1983–1997 Propaganda remit Restructuring of broadcast system

Period IV

Internet TV/ VOD/OTT/ Streaming 2006–present TVIII (1990s–early Internet TV/ 2000s) VOD/OTT/ Streaming 2006–present 1997–2005 Internet TV/ Commercialisation VOD/OTT/ Proliferation of satellite Streaming channels 2006–present

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lavish government subsidies and had to achieve financial self-reliance in line with trends in nationwide marketisation (Fung et al., 2014, p. 245), a process which saw more loosening of ideological control. However, this period of cultural, systemic reform was peripheral, ad hoc, sluggish and often belated, until the third period—ushered in by Deng Xiaoping’s socialist market economy reforms—began in 1992. The radical commercialisation of Chinese society and culture in the 1990s was not only the result of the state’s attempt to distract public attention from the political to the economic, but also a localised example of the neo-liberalisation of economic systems in the post–Cold War era (Baranovitch, 2003). Since the formal establishment of the market economy in China in the early 1990s, the television industry has expanded exponentially upon commercialisation and regional competition that have arisen among Chinese provincial satellite channels (Bai, 2015; Zhong, 2010). Provincial television networks had started to set up specialised channels and satellite channels by the late 1990s, engendering a significant shift to entertainment entrepreneurial self-sufficiency (Donald & Keane, 2002). Since the formal establishment of the Deng Xiaoping-led socialist market economy reforms in 1992, the Chinese broadcasting system has been operating under the slogan of ‘target the market, serve the mass’ (Zhao & Ai, 2009, p.  157). Indeed, the commercialisation of Chinese television has subsequently engendered a spectacular rise of entertainment television and played a key role in the marketisation of the Chinese economy and the rise of a consumer society since the late 1990s (Bai, 2015, p. 69). As Bai (2015, p. 71) argues, the television industry has played a key role in the marketisation of the Chinese economy and the rise of a consumer society: ‘It was no longer simply a political instrument, but an instrument for engendering capitalism, transforming social relations, and cultivating new forms of consciousness and identity conductive to consumerism and individualism.’ At the point of commencing this research in 2015, Chinese television was undergoing a tremendous change in production, distribution and audience formations that has been broadly defined as ‘convergence culture’. The era of plenty in China has been marked by the proliferation of broadcast and digital programming content across numerous entertainment-­led satellite channels. A high degree of liberalisation of media markets also occurred with China’s entry into the World Trade Organization (WTO) in 2001 (Zhao & Keane, 2013). For the production ecology of Chinese television, the period since the early 2000s is

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particularly important because it not only coincides with China’s accession to the World Trade Organisation (WTO) in 2001 but also coincides with the launch of Chinese digital platforms including social media, online video platforms and e-commerce. Whilst the development of the Chinese television landscape does not neatly align with any western models in its historical timeline, Rogers, Epstein and Reeve’s periodisation provides a useful framework to define the current moment of Chinese television with the specific local conditions in play. TVI and TVII overlapped with each other in the Chinese periodisation and then subsequently with TVIII in the western context. The rapid commercialisation of Chinese television industries has engendered a ‘sudden jump’ from TVI to the TVIII era empowered by the technological affordance of OTT and SVOD services. As TVIII fails to reflect the industry’s move away from the television set to online streaming services (Jenner, 2016), it is beginning to evolve into a new period which I term post-TVIII with Chinese characteristics, defined less by television’s technological forms and more by internet-distributed television and streaming services. Unlike the Western television markets, the current Chinese landscape is fuelled by the affordance of digital platforms rather than the number of broadcast channels which are strictly controlled by the party state. Market forces have stimulated the innovation of new ideas and programmes among independent production companies who continuously pitch their ideas to broadcasters and online platform operators. The officially sanctioned marketisation of television since the 1990s has legitimised Chinese producers’ pursuits of certain degrees of autonomy and independence in less politically sensitive arenas (Fung et al., 2014, p. 245). It is within this context that Chinese media practitioners are attempting to pursue their intellectual and creative freedoms through various tactics and strategies in their daily production practices. With international OTT players (such as Netflix, Hulu and Amazon Prime) and western satellite channels (such as the BBC, Fox International Channel, Discovery and CNN) banned in mainland China,3 Chinese television has reshaped and rejuvenated by the technological ascendency of its state-led digital conglomerates. Although initially encouraged and led by the government, these new players have posed a number of challenges to the old regime and the governing Chinese Communist Party (Keane, 2015, p.  143). The current decade has seen the rise of Chinese online video platforms and new business models (particularly the platform model of data-driven commercially run digital giants), which have not only disrupted the existing Chinese

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broadcasting system but have also provided an alternative space for creative expression. Chinese television is instead powered by a range of national digital platform operators, from streaming services (e.g. Tencent Video and iQiyi) to video sharing platforms (e.g. Kwai and TikTok).

State-Led Convergence in China In 2014, the Chinese central government issued the Guidance on the Convergence of Traditional Media and Digital Media Industries, providing a series of policy supports towards the convergence of traditional and digital media (People’s Daily, 2014). The guidance provides a series of national policy supports for both state-led and commercially driven convergence and merger in organisational structures and management, content production, distribution and infrastructure. As Jenkins (2006, p. 282) notes, convergence culture is both a top-down and a bottom-up process ‘in which multiple media systems coexist and where media content flows fluidly across them’—an ongoing process or series of intersections between different media systems, not a fixed relationship. The state-engineered convergence of telecommunication, broadcasting and internet network has remained hard to move forward since the 10th Five-Yeah Plan proposed in 2000 (Zhao, 2018) which results in a number of state-led convergent corporations. With the aim of building China’s soft power4 in the global landscape, the current global expansion of China Media Group (comprising China Central Television, China National Radio Network and China Radio International) and Chinese digital giants (such as Baidu, Alibaba and Tencent) has been nurtured by industry protectionism, national security provisions and injections of state capital. Since  the then  SARFT (State Administration of Radio, Film and Television)5 launched the Guideline on Conglomerating the Radio, Film and Television Industry in 2000, the Chinese media landscape saw a wave of conglomeration and industrialisation of state-owned media enterprises on three-tier systems (national, provincial and municipal) (Zhao & Ai, 2009, p. 155). Institutional conglomeration and restructuring across media platforms have become a crucial feature part of Chinese media convergence, which embodies distinct features from its western counterpart. Chinese internet-distributed television—dominated by three media

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conglomerates Baidu (controlling iQiyi), Alibaba (controlling Youku/ Tudou) and Tencent Holdings Limited (Tencent) (collectively known as BAT)—has embodied a high degree of vertical and horizontal integration. Faced with opportunities and challenges brought about by digital platforms, broadcasters have developed new production and distribution strategies in order to survive and thrive in the media-saturated environment. Broadcasters across the world have attempted to relocate ‘potentially lost viewers in a more versatile and convenient online interface’ by giving them access to legitimate streams and files of their shows at any time (Kompare, 2010, p. 81). For Strange (2011, p. 132), multiplatform television can be understood as a commissioning and production imperative that increasingly requires practitioners to produce and exploit content for screens and sites away from the traditional TV screen, including the production of online content such as Web sites, interactive television and mobile applications. Multiplatform production represents a complex form of industry and cultural convergence which is defined by its intertextuality across media sites. According to the 41st Annual Chinese Internet Report issued by China Internet Network Information Centre (CNNIC) (2018), the number of mobile internet users in China reached 753 million in December 2017, accounting for 97.5% of the total number of internet users in the country. Realising the importance of broadcast-digital partnership, broadcasters, whether selling or providing their content to digital platforms, utilise the online space to reach wider audiences and thereby enhance commercial profits. One of the dramatic contrasts in the take-up and application of digital television platforms between the West and the East has been the production and consumption of television content distributed on mobile platforms (Turner, 2011, p.  36). As Turner argues, the use of mobile phones for internet access, video distribution, music downloads, and news services is widely adopted in Asia but relatively slow to attract users in Europe and the United States (ibid., p. 37). Recent years have indeed seen the shifts in the viewing habits of Chinese users, who are in droves switching from broadcast television to streaming services. According to current industry and academic publications, mobile phones have become the most popular media platform for Chinese users to access news, social media, entertainment content and other private and public services (Tencent, 2017; Yu et al., 2015, p. 1; Zhu et al., 2014).

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Situating CCTV (TVI/Scarcity), HBS (TVII/ Availability) and Tencent Video (TVIII/Plenty) Into the Chinese Television History For Paddy Scannell (2009), any media form belongs to a specific era. To examine the current ecology of Chinese television production, I chose CCTV, HBS and Tencent Video as three research sites to represent three types of media institutions in the post-broadcast era, which are, respectively, the outcomes of the era of TVI/scarcity (CCTV was launched in 1958), the era of TVII/availability (Hunan Satellite TV was launched in 1996) and the era of TVIII/plenty (Tencent was launched in 1999). An immersive ethnographic method was designed in each institution with participant observations, interviews and artefact collections. The rationale behind selecting CCTV, HBS and Tencent as case studies, and interviewing individual above- and below-the-line agents within them, was shaped by not only the research questions but also the availability of and access to the field subjects. These three media players represent three dominant types of television production in the Chinese landscape: China Central Television (CCTV) as the state broadcaster, Hunan Broadcasting System (HBS, formerly Golden Eagle Broadcasting System) as one of the most commercially successful regional broadcasters and Tencent Video as the representative of leading Chinese online streaming services. CCTV was selected to examine the production cultures at the state broadcaster. Originally named Beijing Television, the national network launched its first official broadcast channel (in black and white) in September 1958 (CCTV English, 2003). It started broadcasting PAL-D colour programmes in 1973 and had fully converted to colour broadcasting by 1977 (ibid.). After changing its name to CCTV in 1978, the network began to commercialise its operations under the context of China’s Reform and Opening-up policy. The channel has been funded by advertising revenues and sponsorship since the late 1990s. The advertising revenue at the state broadcaster reached RMB15.9 billion (US $256 million) in 2013 (ibid.). Facing the challenges brought about by digital media competitors, CCTV launched its online streaming service China Network Television (CNTV) on 28 December 2009, proclaiming it as the world’s largest Chinese video database (CCTV, 2016). This was followed by the launch of Cbox for mobile videos and China Global Television Network App (CGTN) for its English news services. As part of its digital transformation, CCTV has launched various social media accounts for its channels

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and branding content on WeChat (the Chinese version of Twitter), including CCTV News’s WeChat Account, which has more than 500 million daily active users (DAUs).6 Whilst HBS originated in 1970, its commercial satellite channel, Hunan Satellite TV, was launched in 1997, followed by the launch of its online platform Mango TV in May 2011. As a product of the era of scarcity, HBS have not gained national popularity until the era of plenty in the late 1990s through Hunan Satellite TV. Compared to CCTV, Chinese regional networks have adopted a deeper degree of commercial cultures with a strategic pivot on entertainment-driven programming. In particular, HBS has arguably received certain special concessions from the national political leadership to experiment with market capitalisation ‘for the purpose of building up the national media defences against ever-­increasing invasion by foreign and especially hostile signals’ (Zhong, 2010, p. 663). It is seen as an extreme case of the commercial spectrum among provincial television broadcasters, with ‘much more intricate and far less straightforward ownership and administration’ (Zhong, 2010, p. 659). As the most commercially successful broadcaster-run online video platform in China, Mango TV operates independently from its parent company, both financially and administratively, with the exclusive online rights to HBS programmes. Tencent Video has thus been selected as the third case study to investigate the production cultures in Chinese online streaming services. Tencent, as a digital conglomerate product of the era of plenty, launched its online video business in the post-TVIII era. Founded in 1998, as the largest of the Internet giants, Tencent launched its social media platform QQ a year later and subsequently WeChat in 2011. Empowered by its hybrid business model with WeChat users, Tencent Video has emerged as a first-tier platform operator with a high degree of interactivity and connectivity through social media services and integrated internet services, providing a unique model of convergent viewing experience which cannot be found in its competitors such as iQiyi and Youku Tudou. Each institution embodies key discourses that are inherently linked to their origins and histories: public service values (CCTV), youth-oriented entertainment culture (HBS) and commercial culture (Tencent Video). These three players together represent three distinct types of media institutions that orchestrate China’s media ecology with distinct characteristics and strategies: the state broadcaster, regional broadcasters and digital platform operators. However, whilst this book demonstrates how these three

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players are shaped by their origins, it is important to note that this shaping is by no means absolute. Each institution might instead be thought of as constrained by the era of their emergence, with such constraint informing how each borrows and adopts strategies from other sectors in the post-­ TVIII era. It is thus worth examining the wider economic, technological, regulatory, commercial and cultural dynamics of production which together shapes the production ecology of convergent Chinese television in the following sections.

Technology: From Flow to Streaming Time is the substance of which I am made. Time is a river which sweeps me along, but I am the river; it is a tiger which mangles me, I am the tiger; it is a fire which consumes me, but I am the fire. (Jorge Luis Borge)

For Borges, time is the substance of which human beings are made. TV flows, across days, weeks, months and years, produce a sustained relationship between programmers and audiences. As the central television experience in the analogue era, flow is a time-bound, yet seemingly endless stream of signs engaging us not so much as individual viewers but as an audience (Williams, 1974, p. 95). Time is embedded in the post-TVIII era. Internet television is transient in its combination of ‘flows and files’ that underpin the distributional logic, permitting their users ‘a file-like interaction with the text’ within flow-like windows of accessibility (Kelly, 2011, p. 125). While flow used to make time invisible, time has become an increasingly visible feature of contemporary media forms, in which streaming progress bars to electronic programme guides (EPGs) show the matrix of time constantly through a range of media interfaces. For Dawson (2007, pp. 239–241), the new unbundled short screen forms accentuate the segmental nature of the television text and call attention to underscore Ellis’ concept of segment, ‘tilting the dialectic between television’s segmentation and flow’. These units and segments may be reconfigured into new narrative sequences or presented on their own, what the mobile video industry terms ‘entertainment snacks’ (Higgins, 2005, cited in Dawson, 2007). Moreover, binge viewing through on-demand services such as Netflix, Amazon Prime and Tencent Video ‘recasts our relationship to televisual time’ (Tryon, 2015, p. 106).7 The connection between technology and cultural practices is pertinent in the production of convergent Chinese television. It is necessary to

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examine the role of technology in shaping creativity and creative freedoms in Chinese television. Regarding the role that technology plays in the history of television development, recent decades have seen an energetic debate between media scholars who subscribe to technological determinism and those who advance a social constructivist approach to understanding the relationship between social and technological aspects of development. For McLuhan (1964, p. 32), the real message was not the content of media but the ways media technologies themselves extend our senses and alter our social world. Criticising technological determinism (henceforth in this book TD), Williams (1974, p. 5) convincingly differentiates the uses of a technology from the technology itself and argues that the significance of television lies in its uses as social and cultural forms. China-based media scholars (as a distinct subset of scholars of Chinese media) have largely adopted the TD approach by claiming that technology has a conditioning impact on the transformation of the television industry on the whole and creative space for producers’ daily practices. TD has been subjected to scrutiny here because I want to suggest that such a view is evident in several leading Chinese media scholars in their approach to convergence-era television. Drawing on the work of Williams (1974, 1990), Spigel (1992, 2001), Boddy (2004, 2011) and Bennett (2008a), I suggest a ‘social-shaping view’ to understand the role that technology plays in the development of a new medium. The fast-paced nature of modern lifestyles fragments Chinese users’ media consumption and popularises the forms of short videos which provide entertainment content in abbreviated time slots, catering to users’ fragmented attention in their disjointed and hectic lifestyles. Arguably, these new forms change the relationship between time, televisual form, audience behaviour, production cultures and regulations. Using Xinhua News, Kwai and Pear Video as three case studies, Xiang (2019, p.  61) argues that Chinese digital platforms have provided an alternative space for the confined but growing participation of Chinese netizens who generate rather apolitical content of grassroots creativity.8 For Wenbin Wang (2017), former head at CCTV’s Research and Development Centre, short-form videos, including grassroots UGC to professionally generated content (PGC), are regarded as the important production forms for broadcasters to maintain viewership and engage viewers with online interaction. Chinese television has embodied a high degree of upgrade culture— every institution or individual has been aiming to develop the most

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technologically advanced viewing experience with the newest technologies—which has resulted in both TES screen forms and the alternative space for creative freedoms. Chinese media workers, particularly the ones in the digital sector, have been given more online space to explore deeper issues and controversial social questions. Kember and Zylinska (2012, p. 4) write that newness functions predominantly as a commercial imperative in a world whose labour and social relation are increasingly fluid. Ashton (2011, p. 308) notes that upgrade can be understood as an industrial process and strategy that is constituted both by ‘the drive for technological advancement and the related promotional and marketing surrounds’. Ashton’s twin logics of technological upgrade and work-on-­ the-self are particularly pertinent in the Chinese media landscape, where producers are consistently faced with not only the imperative of technological upgrades on the industrial level but also the peer pressure of continuously upgrading the self to survive in a competitive labour market. As in elsewhere, technological upgrades mask the way in which Chinese practitioners locate their creative autonomy within not only newly emergent technologies but also a new set of modes of access and business models. This echoes the TD views among Chinese media scholars, who tend to reside their creative and critical ideas within prevalent TD debates. The ephemeral forms of Chinese government media policies, corporate press releases and trade press9 not only offer insights into the larger contexts of the production environment but also embody an upgrade culture within TD debates among Chinese media practitioners. In the following chapters I will elaborate on how upgrade culture is both celebrated within the Chinese context and what labour issues and political obedience are masked behind the daily production practices. Technological upgrades in post-­ TVIII China as ‘innovation’ mask the way in which Chinese producers express their creative freedoms and critical ideas within production cultures between being asked to innovate technologically at the same time as remaining adherent to stringent political and ideological policies.

Broadcast-Digital Dynamics One post-TVIII prevalent production strategy is broadcast-digital partnerships, which have been termed as ‘social television’ in western contexts (e.g. Holtzman, 2013). Stemming from the 2013 state-led strategy of ‘two micros and one app’, there has been a rush across the media industries to ensure every media product has three types of online presence:

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WeChat, Weibo as well as Mobile Application. In 2015, CCTV replaced its flagship strategy with ‘three-micro and one app’, adding Micro Video (short-form content featuring political events) to the existing two micros model. This led to an iterative growth of WeChat accounts of television programmes most of which were neither managed to a ‘good standard’ nor updated on a regular basis. A ‘good standard’ here means the high quality of digital media feeds as well as a high level of social interactivity and engagement offered by social media services. For example, the WeChat account of Waiting for Me10 has only been updated once daily, much less frequently than the four times a day in the case of CCTV News’s WeChat account. As discussed above, the concept of media ecology is valuable for examining not only the dynamics which operate ‘inside individual media organisations’ but also the ‘organisational relationships and dynamics that exist within a particular field of media production’ (Cottle, 2003, pp. 170–1) such as institutional relationships of cross-sector collaborations in the case of convergent television production. Organisational structures are key in shaping production practices and beliefs, serving as a framework for the conventions and values in programme-making (Steemers, 2010, p. 134). Having acknowledged the shifting viewing patterns and the increasing popularity of short-form content, the CAC (Cyberspace Administration of China) has highlighted the importance of short-form content in its daily press releases and state media outlets in order to make full use of the propaganda and promotional purpose of this new digital form in the online space (CAC, 2019). Given one CNTV executive’s notes during my fieldwork, a widespread cutting and culling of social media offerings was initiated by CNTV executives: ‘We have been closing a range of mobile applications, from a few hundred to slightly more than fifty applications’ (IV8, 25/11/2016, Beijing). This could also be seen in other broadcasters, who have also been reducing the number of bespoke mobile applications and web pages to make the production flow more efficiently. These broadcast-digital partnerships produce mutual benefits: Online platforms undoubtedly provide much more space to extend the storytelling of broadcast programmes. For example, we cooperated with Zhejiang Satellite on the multiplatform production of The Voice of China. Tencent Video acquired exclusive online streaming rights of the series and generated online spin-offs and remakes from the rushes that was not in the

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broadcast versions. Broadcast television can carry limited advertising slots. However, after the online distribution, we can utilise the online space to earn as many advertising revenues as we can with exclusive online rights. (IV17, 17/01/2017, Beijing)

CCTV has established strategic partnerships with the leading Chinese digital platforms (WeChat, Sina Weibo and Alibaba) to maintain its relevance in the digital age. CCTV producers highlight the importance of working with digital platforms like Tencent and iQiyi and various live streaming services in order to reach large audiences (IV1, IV2, IV3, IV5, IV7, IV10). With the aim of reaching a larger viewership and retain online relevance, CCTV has been pushing content on Tencent Video free of charge including primetime talk shows, daily news programmes and mainstream entertainment shows. The channel has also utilised online platforms (including WeChat, Tencent Video and QQ Live) that Tencent operates for online distribution and promotion of its programmes. This echoes the picture in the UK, where producers and broadcasters have recognised the need to collaborate with leading tech giants like Facebook and Google whilst struggling to utilise social media platforms as a new way of generating profits (Bennett & Strange, 2018). As an illustration for this partnership, CCTV cooperated with Tencent through ‘shaking the red packet’ on WeChat to millions of Chinese families during 2014 and 2015 Spring Gala TV Festival (the most influential Chinese television variety show, broadcast annually on the eve of the Chinese Lunar New Year on CCTV One). Audiences could scan the QR code to interact with CCTV presenters and performers with the chance to win cash by shaking their smart phones simultaneously with the host at a specific time. As a media executive argued, this was perceived at CCTV to be a significant example of media convergence between traditional and digital media players (IV17, Beijing, 17/01/2017). In 2016, Alibaba won the bid to partner with CCTV on interactive internet services during the CCTV Spring Gala TV Festival 2017, which saw 324.5 billion clicks to open the red packets on WeChat from 8 pm to 1 am on the Lunar New Year Eve. The cooperation between CCTV and digital players has not only created a connected/interactive viewing experience for Chinese audiences but also expanded programme narratives from linear broadcast to digital media platforms throughout the five-hour live broadcast of the largest national television event in China. However, partnerships have also bled into intensified broadcast-digital competition which has allowed digital

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players to assert their growing power. Both Tencent and Alibaba stopped their partnerships with the 2018 Spring Gala TV Festival and instead started their in-house interactive services with online live streaming festivals (Fieldwork note, 2018). In the 2019 Spring Gala TV Festival, CCTV partnered with Baidu and Pinduoduo (an online shopping application in mainland China) to give out 900 million cash rewards to audiences who participated in interaction during live broadcasting. Similar to CCTV, HBS has also employed WeChat as its key social media platform, including one subscription account (ID: happychina1997, providing programme updates, trailers, reviews and daily schedules) and one interactive service account (ID: hunantv2014), providing online interaction and text responses, prize draws and merchandising services with Mango e-currency, which users earn by checking in online everyday (Huang & Dong, 2016, p. 51). The WeChat QR codes of HBS accounts have been promoted on primetime shows both referred to by the presenters and displayed in the bottom right-hand corner of the television screen for viewers to scan with their mobile phones (ibid.). In addition to promotion purposes, HBS producers have introduced WeChat ratings to measure the popularity of its television/radio programmes. According to one of sponsors’ nights held at HBS Media City during my fieldtrip, the numbers of WeChat followers and monthly active users (MAU) for each programme have become a key indicator used to attract potential advertising sponsorship for production in the following year. Monthly active users (MAUs) and daily active users (DAUs) are used interchangeably in this study depending on the availability of data sources for specific programmes and platforms.

State Censorship Although acknowledging the growing strength of the Chinese economy, one must bear in mind the formidable state control that has consistently shaped and determined the development of the national broadcasting system. Chinese media scholars have pointed out the incompatibility of the new media economy and the traditional institutional structures of the broadcasting system, seen over as it is by political party cadres who supervise the production process and constrain creative expression through rigorous ideological control. Media production in China is far from being governed by the simple rule of the marketplace (Fung, 2008, p.  193). Chinese television and digital players have embodied ‘a binary structure,

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consisting of a political administrative hierarchy and a business vehicle’ (Zhong, 2010, p. 665). Zhao (2008, p. 26) suggests that instead of issuing legislation about media control, which would provoke ‘debates over the meaning of the constitutional guarantee of press freedom at the National People’s Congress’, the Chinese government has chosen to legitimate its media structure by administrative ‘regulations’. Volatile and unpredictable media regulations, rather than clear-cut legislation, has led to a grey area when it comes to interpreting administrative regulations. In China, CPC officials and media producers work as translators of policy and to grant dispensation to cultural production as a different mode of political participation (Keane, 2001, p. 783). This interpretation of the administrative environment, which is not enforced as law but subject to negotiation between party officials and media producers, has shaped the production cultures in post-TVIII China. The process of policy interpretation creates potential leeway for a certain degree of creative freedom in the so-called grey area. Prior to 1998, the Chinese media landscape was regulated by the former Ministry of Culture and the former Chinese Central Propaganda Department. The rapid transformation of the Chinese media landscape in the recent decade has seen the ephemeral structures of the Chinese media regulatory system which has been significant restructured in 2013 and 2018 respectively (see Table 2.2). In April 2018, the Chinese government unveiled three state administrations in the ideological sector as part of the Party Reform at the Thirteenth National People’s Congress: The State Film Administration (SFA), The National Radio and Television Administration (NRTA) and the General Administration of Press and Publication (GAPP), formerly the State Administration of Radio, Film, and Television (SARFT, 1998–2013) and the State Administration of Press, Publication, Radio, Film and Television (SAPPRFT, 2013–2018) (People’s Daily, 2018b). The NRTA is responsible for regulation and censorships in the broadcasting sector whilst the SFA manages the film censorships in mainland China. In addition to media regulations, the Ministry of Industry and Information Technology (MIIT) (launched in 2008) regulates any media content distributed on the internet, focusing on copyright and intellectual property issues. The Chinese state has exerted strict ideological control on any form of cultural production in order to preserve socialist core values, moral righteousness and the ideological foundations of the state and society as formulated and promoted by the central government. The Chinese

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Table 2.2  Historical development and merges of media regulatory agencies and government departments in China since 1998 Period

Pre–1986

1986–1998 1998–2013

2013–2018

Media Regulatory Agencies

N/A

N/A

The State Administration of Press, Publication, Radio, Film and Television (SAPPRFT)

Government Departments Overseeing Media Regulations

Ministry of Radio and Television (MRT) Ministry of Culture Film Bureau (MCFB)

Ministry of Radio, Film and Television (MRFT)

The State Administration of Radio, Film, and Television (SARFT) The General Administration of Press and Publication (GAPP)

2018–present

The State Film Administration (SFA) The National Radio and Television Administration (NRTA) The General Administration of Press and Publication (GAPP) Ministry of Ministry of Ministry of Industry and Industry and Industry and Information Information Information Technology Technology Technology (MIIT) (MIIT) (MIIT) Ministry of Ministry of Ministry of Culture (MoC) Culture (MoC) Culture and The Publicity The Publicity Tourism Department of Department of (MoCT) the Central the Central The Publicity Committee of Committee of Department of the Communist the Communist the Central Party of China Party of China Committee (CPCPD) (CPCPD) of the Communist Party of China (CPCPD)

government’s politico-ideological control has sought to neutralise creative freedoms among individual media producers that have been unleashed by the newly emergent digital media platforms. Chinese social media platforms (such as WeChat and Weibo) have provided not only new ways of communications but also a new system of surveillance for the Chinese government to monitor Chinese media workers and their daily lives. Unlike media regulatory systems in democratic countries, Chinese television has been subject to the joint regulatory framework of state agencies and media regulators in its development: The National Radio and

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Television Administration (NRTA), the Central Publicity Department (CPD), the Ministry of Culture and Tourism (MoCT) and the MIIT.11 The MoCT safeguards all the cultural activities of Chinese society, both nationally and internationally; the NRTA grants permits to all Chinese film, radio and television production as well as any coproduction activities taking place in mainland China; the MIIT, which reports directly to the State Council, is responsible for monitoring the internet, safeguarding information security on a national level and promoting the development of major technological innovation (Chinese State Council, 2014). As listed in Fig. 2.1, whilst the NRTA reports to the State Council, the Central Publicity Department12 reports to the Central Committee of the Communist Party of China which empowers the CPD to exert political The Central Committee of the Communist Party of China (CCPPC) ୰ᅜඹẎ⅁Ḕ⤕⦻␿ἁ

State Council of the People's Republic of China ୰⌵ạ㯸⅘⑳⛤⛤⊈晉

Publicity Department of the Communist Party of China ୰ኸᐉἇ㒊

National Radio and Television Administration ᅜᐙᗅ᧛䔜妭〢Ⱗ

The Office of the Central Leading Group for Internet Security ୰ኸ⨒仃⭰⅏⑳Ὲざ⋽⦻␿

Ministry of Culture and Tourism of the People's Republic of China

఍⊅⅓⮋

Ministry of Industry and Information Technology

Fig. 2.1  Administrative hierarchies of Chinese media regulators and ministry-­ level state agencies

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power over the daily administrations of the NRTA. Upon the formation of the new administrative structure in 2018, the NRTA, the SFA and the GAPP have been incorporated into the administrative functions of the Publicity Department of the Communist Party of China to enable it to ‘exercise a greater control of the role that film and publication play in terms of propaganda and entertainment’ (People’s Daily, 2018b). For instance, Nie Chenxi, the General Director of NRTA, has also been the Vice-Minister of the CPD as well as the Director of NRTA’s CPC branch (NRTA, 2019). This integrated administrative model indicates the prevalent disciplinary regime through the seamless top-down party control structure in the Chinese state governance. These regulatory bodies have been hugely influential in shaping the Chinese television industry through exerting their political propaganda roles and media regulations. The current moment in Chinese television history raises the question proposed by de Sola Pool (1983, p. 5): To what extent does technology shape the political and creative freedoms or controls under which communication and work take place? Moreover, we also need to consider the fact that technology has not only yielded new freedoms but also introduced new ways of surveillance and manipulation. Jenkins (2006, p. 18) rightly points to this distinction when she writes that ‘some see a world without gatekeepers, others a world where gatekeepers have unprecedented power’, adding that ‘the truth lies somewhere in between’. This is even more pertinent if one accepts the proposition that we are somehow entering a ‘post-truth’ society not only in the authoritarian states of the East but also in the democratic ‘free speech’ heartlands of the West. As de Sola Pool (1983) feared almost four decades ago, new information technologies may introduce government controls that erode old freedoms through a kind of ‘Trojan horse’. The central government utilises digital technologies to enhance existing state surveillance of freedom of speech and political dissent. Access to users’ data has undoubtedly granted government authorities a systematic ‘Trojan horse’ that monitors online information flows and filters any inappropriate content in real-time operation. With digital technologically enabled surveillance, modern authoritarianism in the post-­ TVIII era takes a ‘milder’ form of banning content and manipulating public opinion.13 Political compliance results in not only sharing users’ data for governmental surveillance, but also incorporating communist and socialist values into production and distribution. This has raised a high degree of ethical and privacy concerns that need further research in the

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case of Chinese digital platform operators. Due to the limitation of the study’s scope, this research will focus on production cultures and creative expression among media practitioners rather than reception studies. In authoritarian states like China, every media outlet is regulated by the government, in China’s case the Central Committee of the CPC (the party’s highest organ of state in authority, comprising the very highest political leaders) and its local committees across the country. Political power has been disrupted by the newly emerging commercial forces and private capital, forces which, in turn, have seen political decisions mutate from interference to support upon recognition of the monetary value to be derived from this growing sector of the economy. The hybrid socio-political system has shaped the formation of the Chinese media system, within which Chinese television resides. Unlike most western counterparts, Chinese television currently has strict state censorship as well as a limited number of state-owned broadcast channels under the four-tier radio and television broadcasting structure at the county, city, provincial and national levels.14 To control the foreign content distributed on broadcast channels, the Chinese government has banned all foreign channels from broadcasting in mainland China, excluding five-star hotels and some regional areas in Guangdong province. Though state-owned, Chinese television stations are largely funded by advertising and sponsorship revenues while having to adhere to public service obligations exhorted by the government to fulfil entertaining, informing and educating commitments for a mass audience. Chinese television is witnessing ‘the interplay of power between the global media and the state, between the commercial interests and the ideology, and between the economics and the politics’ (Fung, 2008, p. 20). Despite close censorship, the national media-scape has been nevertheless empowered and loosened up by the technological ascendency of digital players.

Concluding Remarks Chinese television is located within the context of the legacy of Chinese communism, the logic of the marketplace, the fragmentation of audiences and institutional transformation. I have shown the paradox of politico-­ ideological control and the techno-commercial imperative for creatively inspired content which satisfies rapidly changing consumer demand. How creative freedoms are facilitated by the techno-commercial imperatives will be explored in the meso level and the micro level. This chapter firstly

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situated Chinese television institutions within a longer history of television periodisations upon the technological advancement in contemporary Chinese society. I argue that convergent Chinese television arguably sits at an ideological, cultural and financial paradox between digital technologies and institutional and economic backdrop, state ideology and commercialisation which is arguably unresolvable in the context of Chinese socialist-­ capitalist society in the new millennium. This paradox further plays out in production cultures and screen forms in media organisations where digital innovators have repackaged TV strategies into creative interactive services and broadcasters have been trying to adapt to the digital media environment in response to wider technological, economic and ideological shifts.  Despite close censorship, the national media landscape has been nevertheless empowered and loosened up by the technological ascendency of digital players. In the coming chapters I will examine how digital technologies have reshaped and transformed the current development of Chinese television industry which has evolved from the flow model in the analogue era to the on-demand multi-platform model in the digital era.

Notes 1. As Negroponte noted in his 1995 work Being Digital, digital technologies change the nature of mass media from pushing bits at people to allowing people to pull at them, producing an era of narrowcasting and niche media-­on-­demand (1995, p. 84). 2. For Williams (1974, p. 95), individual programmes or segments were not as significant as the overall experience of broadcasting per se. 3. Although some leeway can be found in five-star hotels, international corporations and ordinary households in Guangdong province, state control still restricts audiences from accessing foreign television channels. 4. The most influential definition of soft power was proposed by Harvard-­ based International Relations Theorist Joseph S Nye, who defined soft power as ‘the ability to get what you want through attraction rather than coercion or payments’ (Nye, 2004, p. x) and the associated ‘ability to shape the preferences of others’ (Nye, 2004, p. 5). 5. The National Radio and Television Administration (NRTA), formerly the State Administration of Radio, Film, and Television (SARFT, 1998–2013) and the State Administration of Press, Publication, Radio, Film and Television (SAPPRFT, 2013–2018), is a ministry-level executive agency directly under the State Council of the People’s Republic of China. 6. Monthly active users (MAUs) and daily active users (DAUs) are used interchangeably in this study depending on the availability of data sources for specific programmes and platforms.

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7. ‘Often, this desire to binge in the instant mode is driven by a desire for “cultural capital”—to participate, through social media such as Twitter, Facebook, and blogging, in initial conversations about a series’ (Tryon, 2015). 8. The alternative space generated by new digital technologies will be examined in more detail in Chaps. 8 and 9. 9. This also urges me to reflect on the ephemerality of production material collected from my fieldwork (screen forms, corporate reports and interview accounts). 10. Waiting for Me (WAF) (CCTV 1, 2013–) is a CCTV long-running studio-­ based reality programme dedicated to bringing the lost families together. 11. The overlapping role of the NRTA and the MIIT has noticeably led to some regulatory confusion among Chinese media workers. 12. The Chinese Central Propaganda Department officially changed its English name to the Central Publicity Department in 1998. 13. This is perhaps best summed up when one considers that remarkably few Chinese citizens are even aware of the freedom of speech, not to mention the absence of democracy in public discourses. 14. Although Chinese television operates on state, provincial, municipal and county levels (Zhu, 2012), the reality is the dominance of a few ‘well-­ resourced satellite channels’ (Keane, 2015, p. 17).

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CHAPTER 3

Convergent Production Strategies: CCTV and HBS

Distributing CCTV content on Tencent Video for free is spelling an end to the future of CCTV.  If we do not protect our IP (Intellectual Property) rights very well, the current status of state print media like The People’s Daily will be the future of CCTV. (IV8, 25/11/2016, Beijing)

The CNTV executive in his late 50s contemplated during a lunch meeting with me at a traditional Beijing noodle house next to the CNTV building based in Xicheng district. As the online production arm of the state broadcaster, CNTV is responsible for designing and maintaining CCTV’s online assets, from the websites, official social media accounts to mobile application. He continued to criticise the current practices among many CCTV producers who uploaded their programmes onto digital platforms such as Tencent Video and iQiyi for free (without acquisition fees) in order to achieve certain degrees of online popularity in the competitive market. The scenario however appears to be vastly different with HBS and its independently run online platform Mango TV, which, born of its business structure, have significantly stimulated the bottom-up efficiency of convergence production strategies. As Mango TV operates as an independently commercial entity under its parent company, this book uses Mango TV to refer to HBS’s online production. This chapter moves on from the national context to the specific and changing production circumstances and convergence strategies © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 L. Lin, Convergent Chinese Television Industries, Palgrave Global Media Policy and Business, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-91756-2_3

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underpinning Chinese television production across broadcast institutions and digital streaming services. For Jenkins (2006, p.  2), media convergence constitutes a structured interactivity in ways that new technologies have been designed to be more responsive to consumer feedback. It denotes a scenario ‘in which multiple media systems coexist and where media content flows fluidly across them’, an ongoing process of intersections between different media systems, not a fixed relationship, whether it be developments in technological, industrial, cultural or social changes (Jenkins, 2006, p. 282). Following the macro-level investigation on the periodisation of Chinese television and the complex production ecology among broadcast and digital players in Chap. 2, I move on to examine how the different origins and histories of Chinese media institutions have affected their convergence production strategies and explore the institutional relationships between broadcast and digital sectors in this chapter. In doing so, I will show how media convergence, as a strategy, plays out differently at CCTV and HBS, and how they respond to innovation in the post-­TVIII era differently according to their historical origins. In this chapter I will examine how convergent productions are managed strategically, creatively and logistically in relation to different production and organisational structures in the cases of CCTV and Mango TV. Whilst CNTV is part of CCTV corporation rather than an independent entity, Mango TV is listed as an independent commercial entity from its parent company Hunan Broadcasting System. There are certainly widespread debates on the future of broadcasting among Chinese and Western media and cultural scholarship, which sees two starkly opposing forces: optimistic versus pessimistic. During my field trips, both views were expressed among Chinese frontline media practitioners. In particular, the majority of my interviewees at CCTV, from media executives to producers and editors, expressed their anxiety over the future of CCTV and the broadcasting industries in general, being pessimistic about the fierce competition against the fast-developing online video platforms with a sharp decline in viewership. Chinese television has been evolving against the dual backdrops of the television’s history of development and the authoritarian system established and overseen by the CPC. The convergent era in China is thus playing out through tensions between state and commerce, between broadcasters and digital players, between state ideology (socialism) and market commerce (capitalism). The following research questions will be addressed in Chap. 3 (broadcast sector) and Chap. 4 (digital sector):

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1. How have the origins and histories of CCTV, Mango TV and Tencent Video in different eras of Chinese television history affected their convergence-­era strategies? 2. What are the specific changes in the confluence of technologies and audience viewing experiences that each institution seeks to address? How successful have these institutions been in reaching their target audiences, particularly regarding a national, political drive to innovation? 3. Are there any conflicts arising out of the tensions between top-down institutional strategies and bottom-up daily practices? The third overarching question will not only be introduced and exemplified with ethnographic data in this chapter but also serve to structure the rest of the book. This will allow the research to investigate the tensions between corporate strategies and daily practices by cross-checking corporate reports with critical interview accounts. I adopt a comparative lens between CCTV and HBS to explore and comprehend how innovation strategies are playing out differently between CCTV and regional broadcasters. Unlike the commercial or public service ethos of western broadcasting systems, the political propaganda logic exerted by the Chinese government has significantly informed the production strategies of not only broadcasters but also commercially originated digital players. As Zhang and Fung (2014, p. 49) argue, ‘the marriage of bio-political control and neo-liberal ideology in an authoritarian state capitalism renders the commodification of community and the unabashed pursuit for economic interests even more rampant and unrestrained’. One thus must bear in mind the hybrid nature of Chinese state-owned broadcasters, described by Zhong (2010, p.  665) as ‘a binary structure, consisting of a political administrative hierarchy and a business vehicle’. This binary, or duopolistic, structure, as discussed in Chap. 2, has not only shaped the formation of Chinese convergence television but also engendered a set of tensions between the ideological control of the state and the principles of a market economy in post-TVIII China, whereby political forces inevitably inform government policy and thus exert strong pressures on corporate strategies attempting to adhere to market forces.

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CCTV and CNTV This section will begin to examine CCTV’s convergence strategies upon the state-led convergence initiatives as stated above. I investigate how CCTV’s corporate strategies set out an ambition that almost inevitably places it in conflict with the daily practices of its workers. CCTV followed the norms of the flow model that Miége (1989) set forth, producing a schedule rather than creative goods. Though catering to a broadcast-era mass audience loses its relevance in the digital era, CCTV has maintained a relatively stable market share due to its nationwide coverage and unique media resources as the state broadcaster. As Bai (2015, p.  48) argues, CCTV remains the largest drama provider and investor in China with three production units—the Drama Centre, the Film and Television Administration Department and China International Television Corporation. Having been re-booted in December 2009, CCTV.com provides catch-up services for not only more than 750-hour broadcast programmes every day but also archival drama series made by CCTV Drama Centre since the 1960s (ibid). Branded as China Network Television (CNTV), CCTV.com aims to allow the users to access any CCTV content through Web and mobile website, applications, IPTV, outdoor screens and overseas social media accounts (Twitter, Facebook, YouTube). The slogan One Click One World (see Fig. 3.1) against the homepage background of a world map implies CCTV’s ambition to act as the window of global and national affairs for national audiences as well as overseas Chinese and non-Chinese communities, with 11 languages for international users. As the journalist accreditations are only granted by General Administration of Press and Publication (GAPP) to broadcast and print journalists (rather than digital media counterparts), exclusive coverage of state events and major sports, therefore, have been the main promotion focus of the CCTV website, using the slogan ‘come to CCTV for major events’. The proposed window-on-the-world role indicates that corporate strategy at CCTV still lies very much in the era of scarcity, in which television functions as the way to witness on the world (Ellis, 2000). The slogan chimes with the window-on-the-world discourses which, as Bennett (2008, p.  161) argues, not only ‘relate television’s digitalization to the initial inception of television into everyday life but are also illustrative of the particular institutional backdrop’. I argue that CCTV’s stance, in representing the institutional positioning of the Chinese state-own

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Fig. 3.1  CCTV’s homepage (website screenshot as of 09/02/2018)

broadcasting system with an inherent reference to television’s initial inception as a window on the world, misfits the current personalised and fragmented media environment. Following CCTV’s current multiplatform slogan ‘one cloud of global dissemination with multiple screens’, news multiplatform production has been on the frontline of this strategy, with video production as the focus and users as the centre. A significant emphasis of multiplatform production has been put on news rather than entertainment programmes at CCTV (IV1, IV7). However, during my interviews and participant observations there, users were never mentioned, illuminating the disjuncture between the company’s slogans and the actual daily scenarios. Indeed, analysing the interview accounts as well as the participant observations, I noted that the bulk of the programming budget for multiplatform production was allocated to digital news production during the period of my fieldwork. Online video production in the news department is both financially and strategically supported by channel executives, something which, in turn, leads to a lack of multiplatform funding and personnel in the non-­ news departments. News and current affairs largely occupy the homepage of CNTV which featured mainstream propaganda videos from the CPC.  Since the tenure of President Xi Jinping began in 2012, editorial

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guidelines have altered significantly at CNTV to give more emphasis to political party news. In 2016, CNTV launched ‘front page, first view, first post’ strategy comprising four political propaganda sections on the homepage: ‘headline with top images’, ‘political study platform’, ‘reform diary’ and ‘Xi’s three years’ demonstrating a strong ideological obligation within CCTV multiplatform strategies. My fieldwork has shown a distinct disjuncture between top-down innovation strategies and daily practices in the case of CCTV, shaped as it is by its origins in the era of scarcity. While it has a wealth of archival material as the state broadcaster, the powerful stance of CCTV has arguably been challenged and transformed by the market economy reform which has led to the rise of commercially run digital platform operators as well as the changing consumption behaviours of viewers. Whilst CCTV’s strategies have embodied obsolete TX-oriented culture, Mango TV has been operating as successful broadcaster-run digital platforms, empowered by a set of bottom-up innovation-driven production strategies with buy-in from below-the-line media workers. In the context of British public service broadcasting, with the legacies of ‘linear thinking’, it is held that broadcast production cultures outweigh those of their digital media counterparts (Bennett & Strange, 2014, p. 64). These legacies of linear thinking stem from the long-established tradition of a transmission among television producers, or ‘TX culture’, via the linear process of pre-production, shooting, editing and post-production (ibid., p. 79). These linear legacies have thus created a disjuncture between broadcast and digital media production which has arguably led to the failure of CCTV’s multiplatform production. The next sections will elaborate on the disjuncture between multiplatform strategies and daily practices by comparing CCTV’s CNTV with HBS’s Mango TV strategies. Unlike CNTV’s focus on digital news production, Mango TV has postured as a digital platform as well as a content producer which operates independently from HBS as a self-contained online entity.

HBS and Mango TV In 2006, HBS launched its online arm Happy Sunshine Limited, which has operated the online production of Mango TV since 2008, gradually developing as an influential digital media brand in the digital landscape. Vertical and horizontal integration are evident in its multiplatform strategies. Horizontally, HBS operates broadcast channels, online platforms

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(exclusive internet television platform Mango TV, including PC sites, PC applications, WAP sites and mobile applications), internet-distributed television and IPTV. Vertically, HBS has been operating a wide range of businesses from one artist agencies (Mango Entertainment) and e-commerce (Mango Go) to broadcasting services and more than ten production and distribution companies. Through the youth-driven programming strategy of building ‘the ecology of Mango TV’, its daily active users (DAUs) in 2018 reached 35.9 million, with more than 10.7 million subscribers up to December 2018 (Mango TV, 2018). Pioneered under the stewardship of Ouyang Changli since 1997, Entertaining China has been the slogan for both corporate production cultures and channel idents (Keane, 2015, p.  17). This entertainment-­ oriented production culture is noticeable across the HBS’s cultural cluster in Changsha city, Hunan province. Figure  3.2 shows the road sign of ‘Joyous City’ building (right) and the slogan of China Dream and the outdoor café outside Mango TV production hub (left). HBS has acted as a pioneer of commercial-driven entertainment production cultures, ushering in a wave of burgeoning entertainment programmes in the late 1990s across the Chinese landscape. Under the ‘Mango Exclusive + Premium Content + Special Original’ strategy, Mango TV has positioned itself as an

Fig. 3.2  Road signs (China Dream) and outdoor tables outside Mango TV in the Joyous City area

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independent digital platform operator and online television aggregator, streaming not only original Mango TV series and HBS programmes but also third-party premium content from films and drama series to music events and sports. In contrast to CCTV, innovation initiatives were noted to be more effectively implemented and adopted at Mango TV with buy-in from above- and below-the-line media workers. With youthful innovation strategies in online production, Mango TV operates as a self-contained entity independent of its parent company HBS. It was ranked one of China’s top video platforms in 2017 on account of its unique corporate strategies and production cultures (SARFT, 2017, p. 237). Based in Golden Eagle Film and Television Cultural Cluster, Mango TV operates its online business independently from the broadcast department with separate production houses, studios and administration offices. The corporate strategies of ‘Mango Exclusive + Premium Content + Special Original’ aim to establish Mango TV as the top broadcaster-run video platform in China (Mango TV, 2018). For one HBS executive producer, who currently manages his own production company producing both broadcast and online content for HBS and iQiyi, convergence production has extended the potential for storytelling with more delivery platforms and more diverse ways of media consumption. As he explained: I have much more creative space in the digital age than ever before. I can create any form of content in the unlimited online space and interact with the users in a more intimate way. The audience matrix gives profound information for us to produce regionally targeted shows based on audience data in each region. (IV20, 01/12/2016)

The executive producer continued to note that data-driven audience insights allow producers to develop a deeper understanding of individual audiences’ preferences. This quote indicates three major shifts of production cultures in the multiplatform strategies of Mango TV. Firstly, the broadcast schedules in TX cultures have given way to on-demand subscription-­based programming strategies for digital commissions in the unlimited online space. The nonlinearity of internet television portal has departed away from two legacy attributes—capacity constraints and time specificity—that deeply structures the parameters of linear television (Lotz, 2017, p. 23). Secondly, the online platform allows much more interaction

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with users through TES production forms such as live streaming, bullet comments, live surveys. Thirdly, the online interaction meanwhile generates much richer user data than traditional broadcast ratings, providing more audience insights to produce tailored online programmes for targeted demographics and subscribers. Posters and blackboards that promote creativity and originality as part of its innovation strategies can be seen almost everywhere in the workplace and socialising areas such as the staff canteen. One blackboard in the Mango canteen promotes two types of cultures of innovation at Mango TV: transformative innovation and IP innovation.1 The first type of innovation involves innovation within existing models and strategies whilst the second type implies a ground-breaking innovation with new IPs (Intellectual Property) created. Transformative innovation is further stimulated by three types of strategic priorities: content innovation, marketing and promotion innovation, and management innovation. As shown at the right corner of the blackboard, a cartoon character was drawn with a slogan ‘come and make full use of your brain cells for creation!’ (see Fig. 3.3). There are two levels at Mango TV as shown on the blackboard:

Fig. 3.3  Blackboard in the staff canteen at Mango TV with a slogan ‘come and make full use of your brain cells for creation’ (the Author’s field photo)

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transformative innovation (content innovation, marketing and promotion innovation, and management innovation) and IP innovation. These innovation initiatives reflect Mango TV’s production cultures and practices akin to commercial project management, where producers refer to themselves as product managers rather than media producers. These forms of commercially driven innovation in the production culture at Mango TV led to strong financial incentives for employees working at the company. For example, cash rewards were offered as incentives for creativity to Mango TV’s ‘product managers’—a term itself that signals a distinction from production strategies of traditional broadcast models. Financial incentives were offered to product managers and their production teams if their innovative projects received high ratings2 or won national television awards. Five types of cash rewards were offered: a general award (RMB600–1000), a silver award (RMB2000–4000), a gold award (RMB5000–10,000), a diamond award (RMB20,000+) and a special award (RMB100,000–1,000,000) (see Fig. 3.4). These cash rewards were offered to Mango TV employees, from executive producers to young media interns. For example, media interns in my production placement were thus consistently motivated to pitch innovative ideas and television

Fig. 3.4  Five types of innovation cash rewards for innovation initiatives

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formats to their supervisors in the hope of innovation awards and potential commissioning opportunities (Fieldwork Note, October 2016). The emphasis on programme ratings and the originality indicates strong commercially driven production cultures at Mango TV, which will be further elaborated in Chap. 5. As one of seven broadcast-digital dual licence holders in China, Mango TV was pioneered as a digital video platform operated by Hunan Happy Sunshine Interactive Entertainment Media Limited, which operates independently from HBS on both the administrative and financial aspects. Mango TV, publicly listed on the Shenzhen Stock Exchange, has been empowered by the market-led commercialisation in the era of post-1978 economic reforms. Rather than stream HBS content for free, Mango TV acquired exclusive online streaming rights from its parent company for RMB451  million in 2018 (Tencent News, 2018).3 Mango TV Exclusive has been put into practice since 2014 which restricts any HBS programme sales to other digital players. Unlike the multiplatform presence of CNTV, Mango TV positions itself as a digital platform operator streaming not only HBS programmes and original Mango TV content but also premium third-party content acquired from domestic and foreign film studios, broadcasters and production companies (including films, television series, entertainment shows, animations, live events, music and sports). During 2017 and 2018, Mango TV acquired exclusive online live streaming rights for the 89th and 90th Oscar Awards and provided live streaming of award ceremonies for more than three million Mango members.4 In addition to real-time commentary and multi-angle cameras, film critics were invited to Mango TV in-house studios for live interaction and predictions regarding the Oscar winners, providing ‘360-degree’ online interaction for its online users (Mango TV, 2018). 360-degree stated in this context refers to business models that enable audience engagement and online interaction across multiple platforms— from live broadcast, IPTV (Internet Protocol Television), OTT services, digital streaming platforms, to social media participation—rather than the immersive viewing experience through VR, AR and XR technologies. iMango Connected TV, with its smart system MUI, provides Mango TV subscribers with a more personalised viewing experience beyond linear programming schedules. As illustrated in one media blog on the Hunan TV website, Mango TV has successfully transformed itself from a content publisher to a content creator (Mango TV, 2016). Original online series with high production values and online popularity could also be broadcast

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on the satellite channel. Under Mango Exclusive, HBS has been putting a strategic pivot on developing and exploiting the commercial value of its in-house IP rights through remakes, reboots and adaptations. As of 2017, two feature films were made under the theme of WAWGD with the original cast. HBS has thus exploited the commercial value of this brand across new media platforms and developed the transmedia experiences for a fragmented audience. This practice could be understood as an industry discourse of transmedia storytelling (Jenkins, 2006) while exploiting commercial and cultural values of IP rights. In one panel discussion at the 2017 China Entertainment Annual Award under the theme ‘Entertainment Das Kapital’, ‘content, platform and IP rights’ were posited as ‘the three dimensions’ of the market (Fieldwork Note, December 2017). Potential economic gains from repurposing media brands through digital technologies have not only made producers exploit the values of media brands but also encouraged them to develop marketable high-end IP concepts from the initial stages of research and development. Lv Huanbin, the President of HBS, argued at the 4th China Internet Audio-Visual Conference that a successful convergence strategy involves not only distributing in-house content across platforms but also adapting production strategies to the logic of digital platforms as well as online users (CIAVC, 2016). As Cai Huaijun, Mango TV’s CEO, noted at the 5th China Internet Audio-Visual Conference: Some Mango TV original series have been scheduled on HSTV channel next year. These are particularly good examples of how digital platforms reversely support content to broadcast channels and Mango TV’s competitive ability of original content production compared to other broadcasters’ online platforms. (CIAVC, 2017)

Unlike CCTV’s TX-oriented multiplatform production strategies, HBS has interpreted the remit for innovation strategies by implementing convergence strategies born of a commercially minded corporate structure, empowered through the user-driven business model of Mango TV.

Convergence Production: Opportunity and Dilemma Technological, economic and regulatory conditions have not only empowered but also circumscribed a range of industry behaviours and storytelling in television production. In this chapter I investigate how technological

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advancement engenders new production cultures and screen forms. I crosschecked both corporate strategies and individual producers’ accounts in order to identify a potential gap between top-down and bottom-up approaches. As a vivid illustration, one CCTV 4 producer, who had been relocated from the old CCTV headquarters in Xicheng District (West Beijing) to the brand-new headquarters in Chaoyang District (East Beijing), argued that ‘the high-end post-modern building in the CBD area seems incompatible with the ‘old’ staff like us’ (Fieldwork Notes, 19/01/2017, Beijing). His comments reflected a lack of implementation for innovation initiatives and convergence practices between the top-down innovative vision and the bottom-up individual work practices, further indicating how CCTV’s strategies set out an unreachable ambition. Despite the official partnerships between CCTV and digital players, a disjuncture of innovation between top-down strategies and the daily practices of CCTV’s convergence production was noted during my fieldwork. Indeed, I argue that the disjuncture between rhetoric and reality can be understood predominantly as a failure of innovation management and strategic problems across three levels: geographic, financial and hierarchical-ideological. As was set out in the macro-level discussion in Chap. 2, geography— particularly in media capitals like Beijing—is important to cultures of innovation and the emergence of digital television. Yet, despite the importance of geographic proximity, I found large gaps in physical distance between television production departments at CCTV and multiplatform departments at CNTV. Having been responsible for designing the websites for all CCTV channels and programmes, CNTV is currently located in Xicheng District in West Beijing, which is 20  minutes away from CCTV’s legacy broadcasting building at 11 Fuxing Road and 1.5 hours away from the new site. During my fieldwork in Beijing, the geographic distance between CCTV non-news production and CNTV became apparent—one in west zone 2 and the other in east zone 4 (see Fig. 3.5). As noted by one CNTV digital editor, ‘We must take a 1.5-hour tube from West Beijing to the CCTV’s new headquarters in East Beijing to have editorial meetings with production teams. It is very tiring every time’ (Field note, 25/11/2016, Beijing). She expressed that she only met the team in person when it was compulsory and necessary. Consequently, one CCTV executive in my participant observation with Waiting for Me complained about the inefficient communication between his production team and CNTV which partly resulted in the outdated designs of their programme website (IV1, Beijing, 20/10/2016). WeChat group chats have thus become the main method of communication between the production

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Fig. 3.5  Google Map showing Fuxing old headquarters to the new CCTV headquarters

team and the digital team, which is by no way as effective as face-to-face communication in the industry. It is worth pointing out that the two headquarters of CCTV in East and West Beijing represent and embody two production logics at the state broadcast: political obligation and party cadres of the legacy broadcasting building in Xicheng district which is next to the central government and media regulators; the financial and commercial entertainment centre in Chaoyang CBD. Noticeably, CCTV News is currently located in CCTV’s old headquarters in order to facilitate the censorship processes for ‘CCTV executives and political leaders’ on a day-to-day basis (Fieldwork notes, January 2017). The geographic distance between the politically determined old site and the commercially oriented new headquarters—a political decision to locate CCTV News production in Xicheng district and a commercial decision to locate non-new production in Chaoyang district— again epitomises the tensions between commercialisation and ideological obligations in post-TVIII Chinese television. Yong Zhong (2010, p. 653) pertinently summarises two distinct layers of the business operation in Chinese television: The political structure manages human resources, hardware, policies and content production, as well as monitoring the regional broadcasters which it would like to see as its satellites. The commercial structure manages mainly (commercial) content production and trading of media.

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The expansion of CCTV headquarters from the political district of Xicheng to Chaoyang Commercial Business District (CBD) potentially engenders greater creative and commercial freedoms in content production. The move to the CBD clusters of creative, cultural enterprises and financial businesses in West Beijing raises the promise of more freedom of expression (Huang, 2012; Curtin, 2003). The concept of media capitals provides a useful framework to understand the dynamics between ideology and commercialisation in the post-­ TVIII society. Curtin (2003) theorises three principles of media capital: logic of accumulation, trajectories of creative migration and forces of social-cultural variation. Media capitals serve as hubs or nexuses of flows of creative ideas, resources, money, creative agencies and talent, more importantly culture and technology. He defines media capitals as centres which sits at ‘a nexus or switching point, rather than a container’ at the crossroads of complicated patterns of economic, social and cultural flows (Curtin, 2003, p. 272). As such, the rise of CBD cultural creative clusters in Chaoyang District has not only facilitated the formation of a vibrant media hub in Beijing but also engendered a shift in production cultures at CCTV, from outsourcing commissioning practices to coproduction with the private media sector. Indeed, the rise of Beijing as an emergent media capital signals a new era for Chinese creative industries, in which propaganda content may give way to emerging new forms and genres (Huang, 2012, p. ii). The second failure of strategic management in CCTV’s convergence production can be understood as the lack of top-down financial supports which might be intricately linked to the failure to monetise content on digital platforms—itself a problem compounded by the linear broadcast legacies of the state and advertiser-supported communism that are no longer so strongly in hoc with the market and the way the wider population, especially the younger generations, perceive the world. There are more than 20 staff in the new media production team at CCTV News, whereas there are two staff in the new media team for non-news programmes at CCTV One (IV8, 25/11/2016). CCTV producers in the non-news departments faced budget shortfalls in multiplatform production. In an interview with a digital media executive responsible for the multiplatform production of CCTV One’s factual entertainment programmes, it was pointed out that there is significant potential for multiplatform production due to CCTV’s abundant resources:

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CCTV has much potential to explore online space. We have plenty of resources and programmes and great staff. I believe convergence production could successfully extend the social and cultural impacts of our programmes. (IV7, 24/11/2016, Beijing)

However, she criticised the lack of multiplatform funding allocated by managerial decision-making: We have a budget for linear production but not for digital production. We do not have a specific budget for social media production. If we would like to spend some money on the new media, it is hard to claim the expenses in the accounting process. We need both the financial supports as well as a dedicated team. (IV7, 24/11/2016, Beijing)

Although the multiplatform potential of exploiting digital platforms was widely reported by most interviewees, the executive complained that: Today Legal Issues (Jin Ri Shuo Fa, a primetime CCTV programme on legal advice) could launch offline events to spread knowledge of the law to the public while posting daily legal advice online for internet users. There are so many creative spaces on digital platforms, like the live streaming in We Fifteen. However, we do not have the money or team to achieve this. (IV7, 24/11/2016, Beijing)

A staff shortage was also noted at CNTV. There are only 12 digital editors who are responsible for more than 20 non-news programme websites and more than 10 special events, whereas there are at least 20 staff (from casting directors, editors, production managers to producers and episode directors) in one linear programme production at CCTV (Field note, 25/11/2016, Beijing). The digital editors expressed the sentiment that they have to spread their time across creating standard websites for all the programmes rather than focus on one specific programme. As a result, CNTV digital editors can only work on the standard web designs without putting much creative and editorial effort into programming narratives, which are crucial for creating integrated and connected multiplatform products. As one CNTV editor commented, ‘Our daily jobs are basically to serve each production team technically’ (Field note, 25/11/2016, Beijing). I also noticed during my fieldwork that the digital editors were subservient to television production terms, whilst a specified role for digital/multiplatform producers was lacking at CCTV and CNTV.  Some

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major disagreements between these production departments and CNTV were noted during the fieldwork. The producers expressed their dissatisfaction with the online production provided by the web department. As one former CCTV news editor commented: The multiplatform production at CCTV largely fails to reach a large audience due to two main reasons: firstly, the same content is being distributed to both linear broadcast and digital platforms. There is no difference in-­ between. Also, CCTV has not put enough investment into application development and the media interface to enhance the user experience. (IV11, 15/05/2016, Beijing)

He continued to bemoan this situation in the second interview conducted with him after he had joined Tencent in the summer of 2016: Sometimes, CNTV editors only uploaded the programme the next day after live transmission. Since CNTV is separate from our production team, we have no one to complain to about this. It is annoying that we were not even allowed to upload our own programmes. (IV12, 22/10/2016, Beijing)

Likewise, at the beginning of my participant observation with Waiting for Me as a multiplatform producer, the executive producer complained to me that the programme page on CNTV was out of date and was in urgent need of being updated, the process of which would be further hampered by bureaucratic structures and  political restrictions (IV1, 20/10/2016, Beijing). Finally, CCTV producers are known for catering more to ideological requirements than to shifting audience demands. Bureaucratic hierarchies and state ideologies that strictly censor social media production have created barriers to innovation for CCTV producers. In 2015, CCTV appointed Wei Qian, the former channel controller of CCTV 1, as the new Head of CNTV to develop strategies in the face of media convergence (Fieldwork Note, 2016). Wei was not known for having experience in digital production or online platforms but for his lengthy production experience in news and factual genres at CCTV 1. This appointment further demonstrates how political considerations always take precedence over commercial interests. Adherence to political imperatives can also be seen in the culturally oriented channels such as CCTV 11, CCTV’s satellite channel specialising in traditional Chinese opera. As one CCTV 11 producer Ang argued in the social media production of her recent opera reality shows:

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iShare Cultures, our production company, has a specific team to work on the social media feeds, such as WeChat and Weibo. But we must censor every article they post online. Normally I review it first, then my channel executive reviews and approves it. (IV3, 26/10/2016, Beijing)

Innovation has appeared to be a slogan rather than a bottom-up production strategy that has been implemented effectively at CCTV. Approval of social media accounts and daily feeds are heavily restricted by state ideology. One CCTV 4 executive’s account in 2017 was that ‘we are currently waiting for the permission to open some Facebook and Twitter accounts for CCTV 4 programmes’ (IV9, Beijing, 19/01/2017, emphasis added). Not only social media accounts but also the daily feeds on existing social media accounts are reliant upon strict reviewing processes, which further indicates how the bureaucratic system and political obedience lead to slow and inefficient multiplatform production at CCTV. Moreover, bullet comments are not allowed on the CNTV website, with comments regularly being censored before they are released to the user interface. These factors further limit CCTV’s relevance to social media cultures, which mass audiences currently reside. As the preceding chapter has argued, relations between broadcasters and digital players are not only cooperative but also competitive. ‘Providing Tencent Video and other digital players with free content’ is seen by media practitioners to endanger the future of CCTV (IV4, IV8, IV9, IV11). Although both institutions have put media convergence at the core of their production strategies, CCTV as a television broadcaster, has struggled to maintain its relevance in the post-TVIII era with its innovation strategies in disjuncture with the bottom-up daily practices of its workers. As one CNTV executive argues, ‘if we do not protect our copyright very well, the current status of print media like The People’s Daily will be the future of CCTV (IV8, 25/11/2016, Beijing). The People’s Daily, like many western news outlets, has been facing a steady decline in circulation and readership of its print editions. This executive further doubted the sustainability of CCTV multiplatform production and pointed out the current financial problems of monetising CCTV content on social media platforms. Such doubts underpin the dilemma of transformation for broadcast organisations like CCTV and HBS: expand and spread into new online and digital marketplaces, while at the same time co-operate with the major players operating in that space—like Tencent—who have been quick to take advantage of China’s economic reforms and new commercial

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environment. In this media ecology, the power relations between broadcasters and digital players have been inverted—with ‘digital upstarts’ now holding the better cards. For example, since 2017, both Tencent and Alibaba have decided not to partner with CCTV for two main reasons: firstly, the high sponsorship fees CCTV charge has forced the two tech giants to rethink the partnership (the 2016 sponsorship fees reached RMB269 million, the equivalent of the cash rewards Tencent sent out to its loyal users) (CIAVC, 2016); secondly, after building up the large numbers of loyal monthly active users through two years’ partnerships, Tencent and Alibaba decided to send over red packets directly to their users via their own mobile payment platforms Alipay and WeChat Pay. Instead of paying CCTV what were seen as extortionate sponsorship bids, Tencent has sent out RMB200 million in cash to WeChat users during the 2018 spring festival along with 4 billion RMB’s worth of vouchers in offline retail stores (Tencent Tech, 2018). Chinese producers have been facing a struggle to monetise social media production, further causing the unsustainability of multiplatform production in the long term. As will be discussed later, this has led to the tensions between top-down convergence strategies that focus on innovation and bottom-up daily practices that try to enact these strategies. Even at a strategic level, however, there are clear tensions between strategy and implementation. Whilst ‘Innovation’ and ‘Internet+’ were mentioned frequently during my interviews with CCTV and CNTV executives, it quickly became apparent that these terms were not much more than hollow slogans devoid of substance or even a sound understanding of how they could be practically implemented. For example, despite the strong strategic emphasis on media convergence and digital transformation, eight of ten CCTV producers in my interviews asked me for the definition of media convergence. This was not due to my status as researcher or outsider, discussed in Chap. 4, as using these terms was unproblematic in my interviews with Tencent, where interviewees were able to engage deeply and easily on a strategic or practical level regarding the concept of media convergence. The lack of knowledge in media convergence among CCTV interviewees has implied the disjuncture between top-down innovation strategies and bottom-up daily practices. Similarly, the term big data was mentioned frequently by CCTV executives who wish to catch up with the industry trend and improve their management systems with digital technologies. However, they failed to address the shifting viewing habits of individual audiences whilst demonstrating little in-depth understanding of the industry’s latest

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digital technologies and data practices as well as how big data can be employed to understand individual viewers. In this case, big data, similar to the case of innovation, has become a slogan with limited practical implementation. I found a constant disjuncture between senior CCTV executives’ willingness to rhetorically embrace innovative technologies and their practical implementation in daily practices and programming forms. Innovation management is defined as ‘the creation of preconditions to promote human creativity, including strategic commitment and context management’ (Dankbaar, 2003). Arguably, these top-down visions have been hindered by the overly bureaucratic structure of the corporation as well as the hierarchical-ideological tiers across the state broadcaster that link it inextricably with the era of scarcity in TVI as well as CPC apparatchiks. Similar to the changing organisational structures in television industries elsewhere, an increasing number of television production at CCTV and HBS, especially in non-news genres like music, drama and factual entertainment, has shifted from vertically integrated in-house production to independent production companies that are based in Beijing and Changsha. During my fieldwork, I participated in several networking dinners with HBS executives many of whom have set up independent production companies outside the institution to produce content independently for Hunan Satellite TV and Mango TV (Fieldwork Note, October 2016). Unlike the political and financial dilemma CNTV faces, Mango TV has developed a sustainable funding model via a combination of subscription fees, advertising revenue, e-commerce (integrated into its online programmes) and Mango e-currency (for online activities like voting and fan clubs). Both broadcast programmes and free online series are accessible for viewers either ‘watching free content with ads’ or ‘watching premium content without ads’. Online users can click on the merchandising options on top of the streaming video, which directs them to Mango TV’s shopping website (see Figs. 3.6 and 3.7), where they can purchase a range of merchandised products, from thermal mugs to necklaces and wallets, some of which are designed specifically for Mango TV series or programme sponsors. Unlike the strategic focus and cash rewards on R&D at regional broadcasters like Mango TV, there is no in-house R&D department dedicated to either content development or technology innovation at CCTV. The fieldwork revealed that content development is conducted casually rather than systematically and by individual media practitioners who continuously explore new ways of production in order to maintain

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Fig. 3.6  Mango TV reality television Finding Mr. Right, with e-shopping pop­up window (screenshot as of 11 April 2019)

Fig. 3.7  Mango TV in-house e-shopping merchandising website (screenshot as of 11 April 2019)

the relevance in the competitive market. There is a lack of innovation initiatives and reward mechanisms at CCTV, where permanent staff retain a certain pride in an ethos of public service and loyal allegiance to the CPC ideology.

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In short, this section has used CNTV and Mango TV to exemplify convergent production  strategies  and innovation initiatives among Chinese state and regional broadcasters. The dilemma that CCTV, as an outcome of the era of scarcity, faces reflects both its origin as a linear era institution and its need to maintain the relevance in the post-TVIII era while at same time undertaking the political propaganda missions, showing allegiance to a strong political message and adhering to socialist values. In contrast to CCTV, Mango TV’s convergence model of production, funding and distribution demonstrates its remit for innovative strategies. The fieldwork reveals the confluence of state ideology and the long-established tradition of ‘TX Culture’ at CCTV. As Bennett and Strange (2014, pp. 79–80) suggest in their study on British multiplatform production process, TX Culture emphasises the project-based nature of television work, working up to a final deadline via linear process of pre-production, shooting, editing and post-production, which had significant ramifications for the ability of multiplatform and television teams to work together. Whilst the fieldwork of this study revealed that CCTV’s multiplatform strategies in the case of CNTV have embodied obsolete TX-oriented cultures and TX modes of thinking, Mango TV has demonstrated a set of bottom-up innovation-­driven production strategies which embody a comprehensive understanding of digital cultures and shifting ways of media consumption in post-TVIII China.

Concluding Remarks This chapter has shown how the historical origins of CCTV and Mango TV have informed their convergence strategies. I link these with an understanding of recent industry policies that emphasise innovation in order to set out how the current moment of Chinese television industry is best understood as a new period of post-TVIII with Chinese characteristics. CCTV set out an ambition that inevitably places its innovation strategies in disjuncture with the daily practices of CCTV workers in its convergence production whilst struggling to maintain its online relevance and public service value as a broadcast television organisation. CCTV has been struggling to maintain its relevance as a broadcast television organisation in its convergence production due to obsolete TX-oriented strategies; Unlike CNTV’s obsolete TX-oriented strategies, HBS has articulated its remit for innovation by implementing the digital platform model of Mango TV, which has significantly stimulated the bottom-up efficiency of

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convergence production practices. CCTV set out an ambition that inevitably places its innovation strategies at odds with the daily practices of its media workers whilst struggling to maintain its relevance and public service value as a broadcast television organisation in the convergent era. By launching  its  digital platform Mango TV which operates independently both commercially and editorially from its parent company, HBS has interpreted the remit for innovation by implementing its convergence strategies of production and distribution, born of its business structure, which have significantly stimulated the bottom-up efficiency of convergence production practices. The next chapter will examine how the rise of digital media players such as Tencent Video is challenging the dominance and relevance of Chinese broadcasters in the post-TVIII era.

Notes 1. The Mango canteen is separate from the HBS canteen which is specifically for HBS employees. Mango TV employees and interns can have free lunch buffets with daily menus released on WeChat groups. As Mango TV internships are unpaid work experience, free lunch buffets are the only work benefits that young interns can receive from the institution. 2. Nevertheless, the criteria of judgement remain questionable, and social, cultural and aesthetic values should also be considered in the evaluation process. 3. This again shows the independent operation of Mango TV from its parent company HBS. 4. The exclusive live broadcast right was acquired by CCTV6 (the film channel owned by the CCTV).

Bibliography Bai, R. (2015). Staging Corruption Chinese Television and Politics. University of British Columbia Press Vancouver. Bennett, J. (2008). Your Window-on-the-World: The Emergence of Red Button Interactive Television in the UK. Convergence, 14(2), 161–182. Bennett, J., & Strange, N. (2014). Linear Legacies: Managing the Multiplatform Production Process. In D. Johnson, D. Kompare, & A. Santo (Eds.), Making Media Work: Cultures of Management in The Entertainment Industries (pp. 63–89). New York University Press. CIAVC. (2016). 第四届中国网络视听大会 The 4th China Internet Audio-Visual Conference: New Vision, New Space. Retrieved April 30, 2018, from https:// disi.ciavc.com/

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CIAVC. (2017). 第五届中国网络视听大会 The 5th China Internet Audio-Visual Conference: New Vision, New Space. Retrieved May 30, 2018, from https:// diwu.ciavc.com/ Curtin, M. (2003). Media Capital: Towards the Study of Spatial Flows. International Journal of Cultural Studies, 6(2), 202–228. Dankbaar, B. (2003). Innovation Management in the Knowledge Economy. Imperial College Press. Ellis, J. (2000). Seeing Things: Television in the Age of Uncertainty. I. B. Tauris. Fung, A.  Y. H., Zhang, X., & Li, L.  N. (2014). Independence within the Boundaries: State Control and Strategies of Chinese Television for Freedom. In J. Bennett & N. Strange (Eds.), Media Independence: Working with Freedom or Working for Free? (pp. 243–260). Routledge. Huang, A. L. (2012). Beijing: A Media Capital in the Making. Chinese Journal of Communication, 5(2), 178–193. Jenkins, H. (2006). Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide. New York University Press. Keane, M. (2015). The Chinese Television Industry. BFI. Lotz, A.  D. (2017). Portals: A Treatise on Internet-Distributed Television. Maize Books. Mango TV. (2016). 公司简介 (Company Introduction). Retrieved March 13, 2017, from http://corp.mgtv.com/en/about/#1st Mango TV. (2018).芒果超媒股份有限公司: 2018 年年度报告 (Mango Media Limited: 2018 Annual Report). http://pdf.dfcfw.com/pdf/H2_AN20190 4291324336576_1.pdf Miége, B. (1989). The Capitalization of Cultural Production. International General. SARFT. (2017). 国家新闻出版社广电总局发展研究中心. 中国广播电影电视发展 报告 [The Annual Report of Chinese Radio, Film and Television]. 北京: 中国广播电视出版社. Tencent. (2018). About Us: Connecting People for a Greater Future. Tencent. Retrieved January 2, 2018, from https://www.tencent.com/en-­us/index.html Zhong, Y. (2010). Relations Between Chinese Television and The Capital Market: Three Case Studies. Media, Culture & Society, 32(4), 649–668.

CHAPTER 4

Digital Fiefdoms: The Rise of Chinese Internet-Distributed Television

Convergence in the case of Tencent Video is unique compared to other countries in the world, from the convergence of production and social media to the convergence of distribution and promotion. —IV16, Beijing (02/11/2016)

Rui, a development producer proudly commented on the unique model with me in the cartoon-decorated staff café on the ground floor of Sigma Plaza, the Beijing headquarter of Tencent Video. Rui, who joined Tencent Video in 2014, came from a background in print journalism where she found limited creative and intellectual freedoms together with the sharp decline in readership. Although the claimed ‘uniqueness’ is commonplace all over the world, the producer’s comments on the convergence strategies of Tencent, however, reflect her pride in Tencent’s hybrid model as a rapid-growing tech giant against the wider backdrop of Chinese platform-­ driven capitalism. Indeed, digital technologies and platform capitalism have changed the way that business models are constituted in the Chinese media landscape. After three decades of development, the internet in China has been developing and evolving into a localised but filtered version in the one-party state. According to the 47th Statistical Report on Internet Development in China, as of December 2020, there were 989 million © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 L. Lin, Convergent Chinese Television Industries, Palgrave Global Media Policy and Business, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-91756-2_4

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Chinese internet users, among whom 986 million accessed the internet via a smartphone (99.7%) and 927 million consumed online videos and streaming services (93.7%) (CNNIC, 2021). With international digital platforms banned and monitored tightly by a powerful internet censorship apparatus (the so-called Great Firewall of China), the domestic video platform operators have dominated online screen consumption in mainland China. Nurtured by industry protectionism and national security provisions (Keane & Wu, 2018, p.  55), three state-led internet fiefdoms or ‘digital champions’—Baidu (iQiyi), Alibaba (Youku/Tudou) and Tencent (Tencent Video, known colloquially as BAT)—have dominated Chinese internet television industries. In this chapter I will firstly  demonstrate that state-led innovation initiates such as Internet+ set out an ambition that facilitates the rise of Chinese domestic streaming services such as Tencent Video. It will firstly theorise the current development of Chinese internet-distributed television. Secondly, this chapter will examine the convergent business model and original production strategies in the case of Tencent Video which implements its remit for technological innovation via its hybrid convergence model. Since the launch of 2012 Tencent Original Strategy (TOS), Tencent Video has shifted the business strategies from providing free undifferentiated content (‘publisher’) to producing user-oriented personalised original content (‘producer’) with the revenue model of advertising-funded freemium and subscription-supported premium. In this chapter, I establish how state-led innovation strategies have set out an ambition that strongly shapes Tencent Video, which operates as a hybrid model through its data-driven strategies and original SVOD commissions.

Chinese Internet-Distributed Television With a high degree of vertical and horizontal integration, Chinese digital streaming services, including Tencent Video, iQiyi, Youku Tudou, have disrupted and transformed the hierarchies of the Chinese television landscape. The term internet-distributed television refers to the nonlinear distribution of professionally made content via internet technologies. Whilst it is still a fairly recent phenomenon, internet-distributed television has had numerous names during the early experiments and recent development, from Web TV between 2004 and 2008, industrial acronyms OTT (over the top) and SVOD (subscription video-on-demand) and streaming

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services (Lotz, 2017, pp. 8–9). The model of Chinese streaming services such as Tencent Video and iQiyi however does not fall into this categorisation, offering not only professionally made content but also UGC and social media functions in a convergent model. Since the launch of Internet+ in 2015, the Chinese government has issued several incentivising policies to build up China’s cyber power and enhance the nation’s soft power (Cyberspace Administration of China  CAC, 2014). The rise of digital media conglomerations has seen new dynamics of the ‘centralization of power associated with the Internet’ (Hesmondhalgh, 2013, p. 321). Among Chinese trade and corporate publications, the term ‘platform’ refers to digital services, brands and start-ups, including video platforms, e-commerce, sharing application and social network applications. It is worth examining the definition of ‘platform’ and exploring the new industrial practices, business strategies and power dynamics in contrast to those of broadcasters. As Wang and Lobato (2019, p. 358) point out, this usage is broader than in the English-language economics and digital media studies literature on platforms, in which a platform is usually defined either as a multisided marketplace or a computationally ‘open’ or reprogrammable system. Chinese video streaming services falls into the category of the multisided marketplaces that integrate viewers, subscribers, advertisers, third-party developers and other service providers, they enable a wide range of interactions between producers, users, advertisers and third parties (ibid., p.  358). For Gillespie (2010), platforms can be understood within four different ‘semantic territories’—the computational, the architectural, the figurative and the political. Unlike broadcast channel’s allusions to ‘flow’, the term platform functions as ‘a powerful and persuasive metaphor’ (Gillespie, 2010) that enables platform operators to elide potential tensions between individual users, advertisers, policymakers, broadcasters and producers. The year of 2007 saw Netflix shift its business pivot from DVD rental to online streaming services whilst the BBC launched its online portal BBC iPlayer in order to cater to the shifting viewing patterns and maintain its relevance in the multiplatform and video-on-demand era. In China, similar moves took place with the launch of Tudou in 2005, Youku in 2006 and CCTV’s CNTV in 2009. With the rise of digital conglomerations, Chinese broadcasters have seen huge drops in public influence and advertising revenue (Yu et  al., 2015). The national market has become more monopolised after the leading Chinese platform operators began to form alliances and protect their copyrighted content and exclusive rights

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to their respective platforms. From early years of IPTV (Internet Protocol Television) to recent developments of streaming services, Chinese media industries like elsewhere are taking an ‘algorithmic turn’, Akin to the international streaming models set by Netflix, Amazon and Disney+, Chinese internet-distributed television have significantly transformed the national industry structures as well as the viewing experience in the increasingly fragmented, ever-changing and competitive marketplace. Based on Williams’ flow theory, French sociologist Bernard Miége (1989) proposes three models of media production: the publishing model, the flow model and the written press model. Miége’s model provides a useful framework to understand the transitions from the flow model to the publishing model of internet-distributed television. The flow model that produces a live schedule rather than particular creative goods (Miége, 1989, pp.  145–46) has been increasingly replaced by the file-based on-­ demand publishing model that features internet-distributed television and digital streaming services. Drawing upon Miége’s models, Lotz (2017) proposes adding the subscription-based model, which has transformed television protocols in the post-network era. As Keane et al. (2007, p. 194) argue, TVIII is marked by a particular Pay TV strategy where subscriber loyalty to non-mainstream content supports premium-brand channels in an age of narrowcasting. There has been a notable shift of notions from producing ‘linear programmes’ to ‘multiplatform media products’ in Chinese media industries.1 The term IP Fever has been coined across Chinese trade publications to describe the phenomenon of exploiting the commercial values of intellectual property rights across platforms, genres and formats (e.g. from films to television series, from games to feature films). In addition to the strategies of businesses built on acquiring intellectual property rights, Chinese streaming services such as Tencent, iQiyi and Youku Tudou have entered the film and television industry and set up in-house production departments to create original content in an array of genres from feature films, online series and music festivals. Nevertheless, during my fieldwork, IP fever has been criticised by several executive producers as an advertorial jargon that fails to describe the nuanced power relations and business strategies in content production and distribution (IV6, 04/11/2016, Beijing).2 For Johnson (2019), online aggregator television refers to a platform operator that is integrated into other video platforms and broadcast channels. Unlike the western model of streaming services set by Netflix and Amazon Prime, Chinese streaming services fall into the category of online

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aggregator television, providing a search engine for users to access both in-house and third-party video content across Chinese video platforms and broadcast portals (jumping to a third-party website for the original source). Platform capitalism could be understood as an economy powered by the largest tech companies, which transform themselves into platforms and provide the hardware and software foundation for others to operate on (Srnicek, 2017). As one of China’s largest media conglomerates, Tencent’s hybrid model represents the vertical and horizontal industrial integration which has occurred in post-socialist Chinese society since 1978.

The Convergent Data-Driven Model at Tencent Group Founded in 1998 in the southern technology hub of Shenzhen, Tencent is the world’s largest instant communication and internet-based technology enterprise (Tencent, 2018). Following the models established by existing global tech giants, Tencent combines the functions of Amazon (e-commerce), PayPal (online payment), Facebook (social media) and Netflix/Amazon Prime (subscription-based streaming services). Launched in January 2011, WeChat has become the most popular social media platform among Chinese-speaking communities with more than 1.2 billion monthly active users as of December 2020 (Sina Tech, 2021). One of Tencent’s most prominent strategies—‘connecting people for a greater future’—was launched by Tencent CEO Pony Huateng Ma in November 2014. A detailed timeline for the business development of Tencent is shown in Fig. 4.1. The digital media conglomerate operates its integrated internet services across four main sectors (media, communications, online games, utilities) and seven business operations: WeChat Group (WXG), Interactive Entertainment Group (IEG), Mobile Internet Group (MIG), Online Media Group (OMG), Technical Engineering Group (TEG) and Corporate Development Group (CDG). Proposed by Pony Ma at the 2016 National People’s Congress, Internet Plus aims to establish an ecosystem of universal connectivity across primary, secondary and tertiary industries. Ordinary citizens can easily access all the public and entertainment services with one click in the Wallet Function of the WeChat application, from booking doctors’ appointments, paying gas bills, topping up mobile phones and renting public bicycles, to checking one’s social security status. Tencent aims to utilise

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Fig. 4.1  Timeline for the business development of Tencent (1998–2015). (Collected from Tencent public-facing strategic promotion events)

Internet Plus to build up a media ecology of universal connectivity which covers a wide range of primary, secondary and tertiary industries, such as Internet Plus Communication (WeChat and QQ), Internet Plus Healthcare (WeChat Intelligent Hospital), Internet Plus Finance (WeChat Pay, QQ Wallet) and Internet Plus Public Services (WeChat Civic Services). Organisational structures are key in shaping the production cultures and the daily work of media producers, serving as a framework for the conventions and values which, as Croteau and Hoynes (2003, p.  156) argue, determine the collective endeavour of programme-making. Seven business operations comprise the Tencent Group: Social Networking Group (SNG), WeChat Group (WXG), Interactive Entertainment Group (IEG), Mobile Internet Group (MIG), Online Media Group (OMG), Technical Engineering Group (TEG) and Corporate Development Group (CGD). Tencent OMG is the entity concerned with Chinese internet television, constituting Tencent News, Tencent Video, Penguin Pictures and Tencent Microblog. While Tencent’s tech headquarter is based in south China, Tencent OMG is based in Beijing, the emerging Chinese media capital, where media talent and resources converge, exchange and interact. Tencent Video (the video portal) and Penguin Pictures (in-house production arm of original content) are the main focus of this study.

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Tencent OMG is closely interlinked with the other six groups: (1) the social media networking operations and big data analytics of Tencent OMG are supported by the other six groups, such as Data Centre (TEG) and WeChat (WXG); (2) original drama series are supported by Tencent Internet Literature (IEG) and Tencent Music (SNG). Upon an agreement between Tencent and TCL in 2017, China’s largest television maker, Chinese audiences have been able to watch Tencent Video on TCL’s smart internet-connected TVs, which feature voice control, offline viewing and customised search recommendations (Business Times, 2017). This partnership relocates Tencent Video’s entertainment and live sports content from mobile screens to living rooms through OTT services, further contributing to the connected viewing experiences Tencent promises to its premium subscribers (ibid.). Tencent operates a wide range of integrated internet platforms, from social media, interactive entertainment services, municipal e-services, mobile payments to online video portals. Unlike standalone streaming models in the western context such as Netflix, Tencent Video provides an integrated viewing experience empowered by its in-house social platforms, including WeChat, QQ, Weibo, QQ Zone, QQ Game, QQ Music and WeChat Payment. The hybrid model Tencent operates, distinct from CCTV and Mango TV, has been thus cannibalising a wide range of marketplaces and engaging in aggressively capitalist-style mergers and takeovers. Tencent has exemplified the economic, cultural and creative potential of the platform model, which, as Gillespie (2010, p. 358) argues, acts a ‘powerful and persuasive metaphor’. For Nick Srnicek (2017), the platform model manages to control immense amounts of data and maximise data-gathering capacity while convening individual users, advertisers, policymakers, broadcasters and film studios. Tencent Mind has been launched to explore big data in the fields of measurability, interaction, navigation and differentiation (see Fig.  4.2). Tencent can extract and control the immense amount of data generated from its social media and interactive gaming services, which have informed the development, production and distribution strategies at Tencent Video. Stone (2014, p. 2) offers a useful working definition of big data as ‘an umbrella term for a variety of strategies and tactics that involve massive data sets, and technologies that make sense out of these overwhelming reams of data’. Gartner analyst Doug Laney’s three Vs (volume, variety and velocity) concept highlights the three defining properties or dimensions of big data. Laney’s ‘three Vs’ formulation points out the three main challenges and discourses of the

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Fig. 4.2  Tencent Mind’s logo in Tencent’s Sigma Plaza in Beijing. (The Author’s fieldwork photo, 2017)

emerging big data industry in the early 2000s (Laney, 2001). More recently, McNulty (2014) data proposes four other Vs—variability, veracity, visualisation and value—in order to gain a more thorough understanding what big data actually constitutes and how big data can provide potential values. If applying these models to Chinese digital platforms, generated through its in-house social media platforms, big data accumulated at Tencent is enormous in size and variety (volume and variability), is produced in real time (velocity) with commercial exploitation (value) as well as public-facing user demographic visualisation (visualisation).

Tencent Video: The Rise of Chinese Digital Fiefdoms Launched in 2011, Tencent Video epitomises the new era of convergent Chinese television where its dominance of the marketplace dwells not only on data strategies but also its way to navigate the tensions between commercial pressures, audience aspiration and ideological obligation. Tencent

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Video’s model is an attempt to integrate the publishing model (Tencent Originals) with the flow model (live streaming of broadcast content). With 385 million monthly active users and 123 million premium subscribers by the end of 2020,3 Tencent Video has been one of the leading online video platforms in China along with other service providers. Unlike western subscription-based models such as Netflix and Amazon Prime, the main revenue model of Tencent Video has been comprised of subscriber-­ funded, advertiser-supported, pay-per-view and other revenues from Tencent social media platforms and other interactive services. Online users can choose to watch advertising-supported video content on Tencent Video free of charge, while VIP subscribers can watch ad-free premium content. In addition to algorithmic recommendation and personalisation, Tencent Video has inherited a set of production and distribution strategies from broadcast predecessors, operating in what Lotz (2017, p. 24) terms legacy-style internet television model. Although the digital giant has consistently pursued its innovation strategies, Tencent Video has been imitating and repackaging broadcast-era TV tactics and strategies in production and distribution practices. The current landscape has seen a complex set of relationships—both cooperative and competitive—between Chinese broadcasters and digital media player. The catalogue of Tencent Video comprises not only online programmes but also broadcast programmes, including live broadcast signals from regional broadcasters and news agencies (except CCTV channels) (see Fig. 4.3a). As Chinese streaming services are not granted with press cards, Tencent Video has utilised its network of citizen journalists and news agencies to provide live streaming sources on media events and current affairs. As one Tencent executive notes: For example, we cooperated with Zhejiang Satellite on the multiplatform production of The Voice of China. Tencent acquired exclusive online streaming rights to the series and generated online spin-offs and remakes from the rushes that could not be edited into the broadcast versions. (IV17, Beijing, 17/01/2017)

The main categories Tencent Video curates on its video platform feature original online programmes and drama series, Chinese broadcast programmes and drama series/serials, foreign licensed drama series and films, live streams  and user-generated content. Live streaming services are featured on the homepage of Tencent News mobile application (see Fig. 4.3b).

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Fig. 4.3  (a) 24-hour live streaming from regional broadcasters (Heilongjiang Satellite Channel, Guangdong Satellite Channel, Yunnan Satellite Channel); (b) Tencent original live streaming of cultural events and current affairs (Daxing Forest Fire Live, Fin-tech Forum at Guangdong-Hong Kong-Macau Greater Bay Area)

The success of Tencent Video can be attributed to the massive number of WeChat users who log onto Tencent Video directly through WeChat inapp scanning by paying an RMB15 monthly subscription fee automatically through WeChat Wallet. In the next section, I will examine production and distribution strategies in Tencent’s digital media offerings which have been not only influenced by its broadcast predecessor but also empowered by its hybrid convergence-era model.

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Tencent Originals: From ‘Publisher’ to ‘Producer’ Prior to 2011, Tencent Video streamed free undifferentiated content, acquired from both domestic and foreign broadcasters and film studios. This period saw the formation of several partnerships between Tencent Video and Chinese broadcasters in both coproduction and content acquisition. Since the launch of its 2012 Tencent Original Strategy (自制出品战略) (TOS), Tencent Video has shifted its production strategies from providing free undifferentiated content (‘publisher’) to producing community-­orientated personalised original content (‘producer’) to premium users, with its revenue model shifting from advertising-funded freemium to subscription-supported premium (Phoenix News, 2012). Upon the launch of the original programming strategy, Tencent Video set up two studios—Penguin Pictures (based in Beijing under Tencent OMG) and Tencent Pictures (based in Shenzhen under Tencent IEG). As a development producer proudly declared in the staff café on the ground floor of Sigma Plaza: We have been commissioning increasingly original content in recent years in order to reduce the costs of content acquisition from television stations as well as to control the IP rights. This is a major trend in the industry now. Only through enhancing our power of ‘generating blood’ by ourselves can we compete against the competitors as well as serve our viewers and sponsors well. (IV16, Beijing, 02/11/2017)

This producer used the term ‘blood’ as a metaphor to emphasise the importance of controlling the IP rights of media content in order to maximise economic values. Rather than being a publisher or distributor, Tencent has thus been operating in a way akin to how broadcasters produce and commission content production. Portals—per Amanda Lotz’s distinction of the term as the intermediary services that collect, curate and distribute television programming via internet—are noted to be the internet equivalent of channels (ibid., p. 8). This definition echoes the industry interpretation as one Tencent producer in the entertainment department commented during my fieldwork: You could consider ‘Tencent Video’ a video portal comprising numerous types of content, from news, documentary, entertainment, film and television. Penguin Pictures builds up our own intellectual properties through original content with an in-house production company, a film investment

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company and an artist agency. We produce drama series, factual entertainment and documentaries. We manage a full set of value chains in content production. (IV19, Beijing, 19/12/2017)

Original SVOD commissions not only empower Tencent with sustainable economic value chains but also secure exclusive online  streaming rights. Compared to movie-focused releases by iQiyi and Youku/Tudou, Tencent original programming features factual entertainment shows in its repertoire, including reality television and talk shows, from mass-oriented to niche-targeted. Innovation has been put at the strategic pivot at Tencent Video where producers are awarded internally for innovative original programmes. For instance, I noticed many silk banners titled Tencent OMG Significant Production Innovation Awards hanging on the wall of the production office at Tencent Video (see Fig. 4.4).

Fig. 4.4  Tencent production office in Beijing with silk banner entitled ‘Tencent OMG Significant Production Innovation Awards’

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Tencent Video offers a wide range of domestic and foreign content, including variety shows, documentaries and feature films, such as a newly released box office hit Chinatown Detective 3 (2021) which is exclusive content for premium subscribers. This business model echoes what Glick (2014) defines as ‘platisher’: a new hybrid model that not only distributes media content online (platform operators) but also creates a large amount of original content for premium users, which further implies the industrial convergence of production and consumption in the post-TVIII era. The online portal of Tencent Video features six main categories of content offerings: factual entertainment, drama series, films, animation series, children programmes and documentaries (see Fig. 4.5). Similar to Netflix’s ‘conglomerated niche’ strategy (Lotz, 2017, p. 26), Tencent original production features niche youth-oriented commissions across reality television, documentaries, music talent competitions and drama series. Under each category, the users can select either Tencent originals or online exclusive acquisition content. In addition to the six main categories that non-­ VIP users can watch, VIP users can access Tencent Games, Tencent Music premium services, NBA and other sport coverages. In the case of Tencent Video, online programmes are promoted and branded in a broadcast-like way, categorised in primetime and non-­primetime releases. Uricchio (2004, p. 168) notes a shift away from a programmingbased notion of flow to a viewer-centred notion. Negroponte (1995, p. 172) proposed that ‘prime time is my time’. Subscription video-­ on-­ demand (SVOD) services, such as Netflix, have noticeably ‘packaged’ the television

Fig. 4.5  Tencent Video Web interface. (Screenshot as of June 2021)

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text through streaming archives that encourage users to watch episodes consecutively. Unlike Netflix’s binge release strategies whereby original series are released all at once in full seasons (Tryon, 2015, p. 106), Tencent Video adopts broadcast release strategies. Tencent original series are released on a weekly basis at specific times based on certain genres and the life rhythm of targeted audiences, mimicking the scheduling canons of the linear broadcast legacy. While this may seem like an adaption of the scheduling tactics of broadcast/TVII era television, Tencent producers present this tactic as something unique to the platform operator and post-TVIII practices. The content flow in the last decade has shifted from ‘TV supplying digital’ to ‘digital supplying TV’, whereby a large volume of professionally made digital content with high production values has been broadcast on Chinese television channels after its online release. For instance, three Tencent-original reality shows We15 (Tencent/Dragon TV, 2015–2016), Go Wardrobe (Tencent/Zhejiang TV, 2016–2017) and Go Fridge (Tencent/Zhejiang TV, 2015–2017) were broadcast by provincial satellite channels Dragon TV (Shanghai Media Group) and Zhejiang Satellite TV.4 However, Tencent producers do not credit this to the tactics of their broadcasting predecessors: I do not think we copy this from the broadcast tradition. It is all about learning about the users’ patterns. We released the shows when they finish work and start looking up video content online. According to our data, the most active time for most users is 8–12pm at night. (IV16, 02/11/2016, Beijing)

Her comments echo Tencent’s user-oriented strategy that to serve the users is the key to success in the contemporary media environment. This finding could be explained through the continuity of media consumption from the analogue age to the age of digitalisation. Unlike CCTV’s producer-­centred strategies, understanding the tastes and needs of individual users has been significantly emphasised by Tencent producers in the digital media-saturated environment. Having adopted the remediation of TV tactics, production and scheduling strategies at Tencent Video have incorporated broadcast-like strategies in its extensive news and current affairs sections as well as release strategies. Firstly, in addition to promoting the latest release of in-house online series, the home screen of Tencent Video features but also current affairs, social media trends, entertainment news as well as videos of the CPC news. Wang and Lobato (2019, p. 366) note that Western services

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such as YouTube or Netflix do not seek to replicate news and current affairs genres that are associated with broadcast television with no news services. Noticeably, the news, factual, documentary content at Tencent Video is produced by Tencent News, a news production branch under Tencent Online Media Group. Secondly, Tencent’s tactics exemplify the significance of scheduling in reaching active users at prime times. As Ellis (2000) notes, scheduling is where the power lies in broadcasting. Similarly to the scheduling practices of the broadcast legacy, Tencent original series are released on a weekly basis, mostly at noon/8 pm/9 pm/12 am prime time when online users are supposedly most active. According to a development producer, the most active time is 8 pm–12 am on weekdays when Tencent users have returned home from work.5 One example is 7 of Me (Tencent, 2018), a Tencent online series featuring seven characters played by the actor Yishan Zhang. Unlike the daily broadcast schedule or Netflix’s binge viewing strategy, the series was released at 8 pm every Wednesday and Friday for two episodes each time from December 2017 through January 2018.6

Concluding Remarks This chapter has examined the uncertain and ephemeral characteristics of the current period of convergent Chinese television industries, which is increasingly dominated by internet-distributed television and streaming services. Unlike the Western television markets, the current Chinese landscape is fuelled by the affordance of digital platforms rather than the number of broadcast and satellite channels which are strictly controlled by the party state. As such I use the term a ‘post-TVIII with Chinese characteristics’ to describe the current moment of Chinese television embodying technological and economic changes but also reflecting the political and cultural context. As one of Chinese leading video streaming services, Tencent Video has interpreted innovation through its integrated internet services and exerted its data-driven innovation strategies through a hybrid model that promises a connected viewing experience for its users. In particular, Tencent Video has engendered a commercially data-driven production cultures which moves beyond being a content provider and further fosters greater connectivity and creativity for media practitioners. Tencent Video is emblematic of a new era of convergent Chinese television industry where its dominance of the marketplace dwells not only on data strategies but also its way to navigate the tensions between

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commercial pressures, audience aspiration and ideological obligation exerted by the CPC.  Tencent Video has arisen as a hybrid model that engenders new sets of production and distribution strategies in its online video business which, in turn, have generated new screen forms and production cultures in the digital era. The rise of Tencent Video epitomises the development of Chinese internet-distributed television, which finds itself in a new era of producers’ creative freedoms within a wider authoritarian political context. Although it has inherited programming strategies and norms from broadcasters Tencent embodies distinct production cultures with Chinese platform capitalist characteristics marked by, as Keane and Fung (2018, p.  49) note, peculiar tensions between government, commercialism and consumers. Tencent’s social media ecosystem has surpassed its digital competitors in controlling and utilising a wealth of crossplatform users and viewers. The hybrid model of Tencent discussed above demonstrates both its origins as a convergence-era institution as well as its need to attract large audiences whilst catering to them as individuals with niche content—rather than as a broadcast-era mass audience—through technologically empowered television forms, embodying both commercially driven and politically compliant characteristics.

Notes 1. The main argument among television production communities was focused on high-quality content, which many observers referred to as ‘content is king’. 2. Although the industry allegedly encourages practitioners to create more original content or format, I argue that it has largely generated a wave of copycatted content which lack true originality and creativity. 3. Sina Tech. “Tencent’s fourth-quarter net profit of 59.3 billion yuan, increased by 175% year on-year腾讯2020第四季度净利润593亿元 同比增 长175%”, Sina, March 24, 2021. 4. All of the three Tencent reality shows were adapted from foreign television formats (Talph and JTBC), which raises the question of creative risks and originality on digital platforms like Tencent. On the other hand, the trend of IP adaptation in China also indicates the lack of creative and innovative risks in content development and production through established/tested formulas. 5. There are fewer active users over the weekend as young people tend to stay out for social activities and events. 6. The winter season saw two Chinese public holidays (the New Year holiday and the spring festival).

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Bibliography Business Times. (2017). Tencent Makes Smart TV Push in Joint Venture with China’s Biggest TV Maker. Retrieved January 25, 2019, from https://www. businesstimes.com.sg/consumer/tencent-­m akes-­s mart-­t v-­p ush-­i n-­j oint-­ venture-­with-­chinas-­biggest-­tv-­maker CAC. (2014). 习近平: 把我国从网络大国建设成为网络强国 [Xi Jinping: Building a Cyber Power Nation]. Retrieved January 10, 2018, from http:// www.cac.gov.cn/2014-­04/24/c_126430399.htm CNNIC. (2021). 第47次中国互联网发展报告 The 47th Official Report of Chinese Internet Development [The 47th Official Report of Chinese Internet Development]. Retrieved April 15, 2021, from https://www.cnnic.com.cn/ IDR/ReportDownloads/202104/P020210420557302172744.pdf Croteau, D., & Hoynes, W. (2003). Media Society: Industries, Images, and Audiences. Pine Forge Press. Ellis, J. (2000). Seeing Things: Television in the Age of Uncertainty. I. B. Tauris. Gillespie, T. (2010). The Politics of ‘Platforms’. New Media & Society, 12(3), 347–364. Glick, J. (2014). Rise of the Platishers. Retrieved January 9, 2016, from http:// recode.net/2014/02/07/rise-­of-­the-­platishers/ Hesmondhalgh, D. (2013). The Cultural Industries (3rd ed.). Sage. Johnson, C. (2019). Online TV. Routledge. Keane, M., & Fung, A. Y. H. (2018). Digital Platforms: Exerting China’s New Cultural Power in the Asia-Pacific. Media Industries, 5(1), 47–50. Keane, M., & Wu, H. (2018). Lofty Ambitions, New Territories, and 1 Turf Battles: China’s Platforms ‘Go Out’. Media Industries, 5(1), 51–68. Keane, M., Fung, A., & Moran, A. (2007). New Television, Globalization, and the East Asian Cultural Imagination. Hong Kong University Press. Laney, D. (2001). 3D Data Management: Controlling Data Volume, Velocity and Variety. [Gartner Report]. Retrieved March 20, 2017, from https://blogs. gartner.com/doug-­l aney/files/2012/01/ad949-­3 D-­D ata-­M anagement-­ Controlling-­Data-­Volume-­Velocity-­and-­Variety.pdf Lotz, A.  D. (2017). Portals: A Treatise on Internet-Distributed Television. Maize Books. McNulty, E. (2014). Understanding Big Data: The Seven V’s. Retrieved January 10, 2018, from https://dataconomy.com/2014/05/seven-­vs-­big-­data/ Miége, B. (1989). The Capitalization of Cultural Production. International General. Negroponte, N. (1995). Being Digital. Hodder and Stoughton. Phoenix News. (2012). 视频行业布局2012 自制出品谋破局实现差异化竞争 [2012 In-house Production Ushers in Diversified Competition in the Online Video Market]. Retrieved January 25, 2018, from http://tech.ifeng.com/trends/ detail_2011_12/26/11572075_0.shtml

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Sina Tech. (2021). Tencent’s Fourth-Quarter Net Profit of 59.3 Billion Yuan, Increased by 175% Year On-Year腾讯2020第四季度净利润593亿元 同 ­ 比增长 175%. Retrieved July 18, 2021, from https://finance.sina.com.cn/ tech/2021-­03-­24/doc-­ikknscsk0717487.shtml Srnicek, N. (2017). Platform Capitalism. Polity Press. Stone, M. L. (2014). Big Data for Media. [Report]. Reuters Institute for the Study of Journalism. Tencent. (2018). About Us: Connecting People for a Greater Future. Tencent. Retrieved January 2, 2018, from https://www.tencent.com/en-­us/index.html Tryon, C. (2015). TV Got Better: Netflix’s Original Programming Strategies and the On-Demand Television Transition. Media Industries, 2(2), 104–116. Uricchio, W. (2004). Television’s Next Generation: Technology/Interface Culture/Flow. In L. Spigel & J. Olsson (Eds.), Television after TV: Essays on a Medium in Transition (pp. 163–182). Duke University Press. Wang, W.  Y., & Lobato, R. (2019). Chinese Video Streaming Services in the Context of Global Platform Studies. Chinese Journal of Communication, 12(3), 356–371. https://doi.org/10.1080/17544750.2019.1584119 Yu, G. M., Yi, L. J., & Liang, X. (2015). How to Solve the Problem of Media Dilemma in the Convergence Age. Modern Communication, 37(11), 1–4.

CHAPTER 5

Production Cultures and Convergent Screen Forms: CCTV and HBS

To more fully understand ‘film’s production of culture’ today means looking more closely at ‘the culture of film/video production,’ especially as its conventions and craft habits are threatened. (Caldwell, 2008, p. 7) One can start anywhere in a culture’s repertoire of forms and end up anywhere else. … One can move between forms in search of broader unities or informing contrasts. One can even compare forms from different cultures to define their character in reciprocal relief. But whatever the level at which one operates, and however intricately, the guiding principle is the same: societies, like lives, contain their own interpretations. (Geertz, 1972, p. 29)

As Geertz (1972, p. 29) argues, the culture of a people is ‘an ensemble of texts, themselves ensembles, which the anthropologist strains to read over the shoulders of those to whom they properly belong’. Drawing upon Geertz’s anthropological approach, my research journey traversed production sites from the crowded 24-hour running online production hub to the staff dining hall where innovation slogans with cash awards were hand-written on the black boards. Chapters 3 and 4 examined how industry restructuring and convergence strategies are transforming the current landscape of Chinese television industries. Looking beyond the strategic and economic facets of the production environment, this chapter begins to unveil the distinct

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 L. Lin, Convergent Chinese Television Industries, Palgrave Global Media Policy and Business, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-91756-2_5

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production cultures and producers’ conception and interpretation in Chinese television industries. Whilst Chap. 3 considered the top-down strategies of CCTV and HBS, this chapter focuses on the production cultures and convergent screen forms, borne out of a set of top-down and bottom-up upgrade cultures that represent the distinct characteristics of Chinese TVIII in the ongoing attempts to balance the pressures of commercialisation and political subservience. Caldwell’s integrated critical industry analysis of production cultures provides a useful prism for mapping the complexity of production discourses in my ethnography, covering a wide range of cultural aspects and conventions as well as economic and trade interests. Drawing on interview accounts, digital screen forms and industry artefacts collected from CCTV, Mango TV and Tencent Video, this chapter and Chap. 6 will uncover the cultural effects of institutional strategies and examine how these strategies lead to shifting production cultures and inform the production of distinct screen cultures and programme forms within these production circumstances. Technological advancement in Chinese television industries has empowered producers to experiment in innovative programme forms and reach audiences through a wide range of television interfaces across platforms and devices. Convergent technologies, economies and textual networks have arguably not only subverted many assumptions around the logics of television but also transformed the medium’s context and cultural place (Uricchio, 2004, p. 165). For Caldwell (2008, p. 46), the five fundamental changes that have been driven by the institutional instabilities include ancillary textuality, conglomerating textuality, marketing textuality, ritual textuality and programming textuality. Repurposing content (ancillary textuality) and convergence texts (conglomerating textuality) have been therapeutically utilised by Chinese broadcast producers. By examining the distinctive production cultures and multiplatform forms at CCTV and Mango TV, this chapter seeks to capture and set out the hidden discourses that are borne out of the processes of production cultures at Chinese broadcast institutions. I continue to examine the extent to which these are informed by the institutions’ origins as an overarching concern. By adopting a comparative framework to analyse CCTV, Mango TV and Tencent Video, this chapter and Chap. 6 unravel the following questions in response to RQ2 as I set out in Introduction:

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1. How have these convergence and innovation strategies affected the shifting production cultures, particularly between a national, political drive to innovation and the histories of each individual media institution? 2. What new screen forms have emerged from those strategies and production cultures? 3. Are there any conflicts or tensions (failures) between corporate strategies and daily practices that have emerged from the shifting production cultures and screen forms? In answering these research questions, I argue that what emerges is a delicate dance amongst the various actors involved in shaping post-TVIII in China, whereby innovation at the strategic level is both celebrated and enforced, productive of new screen forms and creativity at the same time as locking down the possibilities of what those new screen forms or kinds of creativity can be. Moving beyond the innovation strategies discussed in the previous chapters, I examine both what are here termed ‘technologically empowered production cultures’ and ‘technologically empowered screen forms’ (TES). I use the term ‘empowered’ rather than ‘enabled’ as digital technologies potentially empower the creative freedoms of producers as well as represent the prevalent technological deterministic (TD) debates among Chinese media practitioners. As I will show, CCTV, Mango TV and Tencent Video have embodied different production cultures and digital screen forms in their convergence production. At the point of commencing this research in 2015, the Chinese broadcast landscape was undergoing tremendous changes and convergence in production, distribution and audience formations across platforms and channels. I will illustrate how convergent production strategies are changing the production cultures and values that represent the distinct characteristics of Chinese TVIII in their ongoing attempts to balance the pressures of commercialisation and political subservience. Fung et  al. (2014, p. 253) once write that the CPC dictates the people’s needs in the cultural productions of any form as in the Maoist tenet coming from the masses and going to the masses. However, my ethnographic journey unveiled a more complex picture in Chinese television production where the power, though still under the CPC censorship and ever-present regulation, has shifted from producers and party officials to audiences and sponsors especially across regional broadcasters and digital streaming services. This chapter will begin with investigating the shifting production cultures and

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newly emerging screen forms in the convergence production of Chinese television. In particular, I will illustrate the particular production cultures in Chinese broadcast television with case studies at CCTV (CNTV) and HBS (Mango TV) across broadcast and digital environments. As I will show in the next sections, whilst CCTV’s linear legacies have led to a persistence for abiding by officially sanctioned public and ideological values that aim to target a TVI-era audience, HBS positions commercial values as the strategic pivot that seeks to meet the commercial imperative of platform capitalism through its flagship online platform Mango TV whilst aligning with political obligations.

Chinese Broadcast Production Values As McGuigan (1992, p. 173) notes, ‘the study of culture is nothing if it is not about values’. Before going on to examine four TES forms in details, I will briefly first set out the distinct sets of production cultures and values at CCTV, Mango TV and Tencent Video. The focus on commercial, public and ideological values has generated different production cultures at CCTV and Mango TV.  Whereas all three institutions embrace the 12 Core Socialist Values mandated by government policies, CCTV embodies a particularly powerful sense of public service ethos, intellectual attitudes and educational values. The Core Socialist Values is a set of new official interpretations of Chinese socialism promoted at the 18th National Congress of the Communist Party of China in 2012. Core Socialist Values comprise a set of moral principles depicting the individual’s relationship to society, the nation and the state, covering the law, patriotism, dedication, prosperity, democracy, civility, harmony, freedom, equality, justice, the rule of integrity and friendship. It is worth firstly noting the agricultural metaphor behind the term ‘broadcasting’, which originally means the sowing of seeds by hand in circles as widely as possible (Gripsrud, 2004, p.  211). As an optimistic metaphor, successful broadcasting (sowing) could yield a rich harvest in the future, ‘when universally distributed information, education and entertainment (the classic formula for John Reith’s public service broadcasting at the BBC) results in an enlightened, socially and culturally empowered, and presumably quite happy, population’ (ibid., p.  211).1 While the democratic value is undoubtedly absent in the party state, CCTV producers have been producing media programmes that embody a

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range of public service values: cultural and educational values are prioritised in the commissioning process, followed by social and community values, particularly in CCTV 12 (Society and Law) and CCTV 14 (Children). CCTV retains a provision that is informed by a window-on-the-world posture, producing programmes on traditional Chinese heritage and charity-­ led reality television which cater to the 12 Core Socialist Values and the political ideology espoused by the CPC.2 As David Hendy (2013, p. 46) writes, ‘while commercial broadcasting assumes that, in cultural matters, demand will be what shapes supply, public service broadcasting assumes that supply might actually be capable of shaping demand’. The former highlights a consumer-oriented commercial culture (Mango TV and Tencent) while the latter emphasises intellectual attitudes and educational values in public service broadcasting (CCTV). During my fieldwork, CCTV producers expressed their pride in the public service values (PSV) of their programmes as the nation’s longest-running broadcaster while expressing a certain disdain, even contempt, for the commercially driven production culture prevalent among regional broadcasters and digital players. As part of their ideological obligations as media professionals in China, CCTV’s broadcast and multiplatform producers are required to protect traditional Chinese culture and foster an intellectual media ecosystem in their daily production at CCTV (IV1, IV2, IV4, IV5, IV6). Providing mainstream content that is inspiring, educating and entertaining was the most expressed professional rewards among the CCTV interviewees, all of whom expressed feelings of self-actualisation with their daily practices and regarded PSV as a source of intrinsic reward and/or encouragement. In the case of Waiting for Me (WFM) (CCTV 1, 2013–), producers frequently expressed their pride in public service and having a national influence and a willingness to work within the boundaries of civic values. Likewise, another CCTV executive producer, Ang, commented proudly that her programme Ding Ge Long Dong Qiang (DGLDQ) (CCTV 11, 2016–2017) and has brought traditional Chinese cultures to the younger generations in an innovative way by appreciating and promoting Chinese opera, a cultural form widely thought to be in danger of fading from history (IV3, 26/10/2016, Beijing). As one programme editor at CCTV 1 forcefully argued:

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It is because of this kind of pride and national influence that we survive with this (small) amount of salary for many years. If there is no pride or national influence, this amount of salary is hard to attract any talent compared to the lucrative earnings among commercial digital platforms. (IV2, 22/10/2016, Beijing)

Despite this evident pride, it was clear that political obedience also stemmed from a certain amount of fear: this interviewee concluded her point by adding, ‘You need to anonymise this point in your study’.3 The prevalent notion of PSB at CCTV is out of sync with innovation and the drive to meet the demands of increasingly individualised audiences in convergence-­era television. If CCTV operates through the duopolistic forces of ideology and public values (or ‘the public interest’), Mango TV and Tencent operate through another set of duopolistic forces (ideology and commercial values) in which competition is fostered by consumer-oriented and entertainment-­led values but is still subject to regulatory and political forces. If CCTV operates through the duopolistic forces of ideology and public values (or ‘the public interest’), Mango TV operates through another set of duopolistic forces (ideology and commercial values) in which competition is fostered by commercialisation but is still subject to regulatory and political forces. If the upgrade culture operates at a meso level across the post-TVIII production cultures of China, it is also true that this culture is distinctly informed by the values and strategies of each individual institution. TES forms have been utilised by Chinese media practitioners, who locate their creative freedoms and critical ideas within newly emerging technologies rather than personal ideological beliefs or more challenging notions of creativity in order to avoid violating political censorship issues in the daily production practices at the three institutions. This echoes Chap. 2’s discussion on TD views among Chinese media scholars, who tend to reside their creative and critical ideas within prevalent TD debates. The focus on commercial and public values has generated different production cultures at CCTV, Mango TV and Tencent Video. Production cultures at these three media organisations originate from not only their historical origins and convergence strategies but also from their diversified employment policies. It is worth noting the tripartite distinction of contract types at CCTV, Mango TV and Tencent Video. As a state-owned broadcaster, most CCTV employees who joined the organisation prior to 2000 have been on a permanent contract, also known as

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(1) government-authorised personnel (编制员工). For those who are on a fixed-term contract, there are two predominant contract types: (2) employed by the broadcaster (台聘) and (3) employed by CCTV’s commercial enterprises such as CCTV Creative Media.4 Producers who joined the television station prior to the reform of state-owned enterprises (SOE) prior to 2000 have been largely employed in the first category, enjoying lucrative state pensions and abundant annual leave. Producers who joined in the 2000s on a permanent contract are normally employed in the second category, with smaller company pensions and limited annual leave. The first category of employment is termed as within tizhi (the broadcasting system) whilst the second and third categories are often termed as outside tizhi. While most senior HBS staff are employed in the first and second types, the vast majority of Mango TV staff fall into the third type (employed by the independent commercial entity Happy Sunshine Limited) along with a large amount of non-paid interns and contracted workers on a rolling basis. Although the contractual conditions at Mango TV and Tencent Video are more precarious and unstable, these flexible contracts may result in a more diverse and adventurous upgrade working culture among junior frontline practitioners. The diversified value systems and strategies have shaped distinct production cultures at CCTV, Mango TV and Tencent which, in turn, have resulted in distinct TES forms and daily production practices in each institution. The next two sections will elaborate on the convergent TES forms generated by the distinct production cultures of CCTV and Mango TV.

CNTV (CCTV) CCTV, one of China’s most powerful central enterprises as Keane (2015, pp. 15–16) terms, is responsible for representing the nation with the privilege of national coverage and compulsory transmission across regional broadcasting systems. On 1 July 2016, from 09:00 to 19:00, CCTV launched its flagship multiplatform project The Road: Looking Back to 1921, a ten-hour live stream covering the CPC’s 95th anniversary with 12 channels across 12 historical cities in China (see Fig. 5.1A–C). The live streams reached 7.7  million online views on CNTV. The ten-hour live stream, from a multiplicity of simultaneous locations, recreated the kind of liveness that Marriott (2007, p.  4) theorises as an inherent quality of broadcast television. After the early years of instantaneity of electronic communication and the video recording-empowered replay-able model

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Fig. 5.1  (A–C) Screenshots of the online interface of The Road: Looking Back to 1921

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following 1958, liveness has come to be a genre- and niche-dependent phenomenon in broadcast and digital institutions (Marriott, 2007, pp.  41–42). With an interactive map, the project shows live streaming feeds from 12 historically significant cities where the CPC has developed over its 95 years. The live coverage illustrated how CCTV utilises TES forms to recreate and rejuvenate the broadcast legacy of liveness in the digital environment with a strong ideological focus live streaming programme  demonstrates CCTV’s ambitions to reach active viewers and maintain relevance in the digital space The model of ‘broadcast + live streaming’ has become one of the convergence strategies in the Chinese television industry (SARFT, 2017). This section will first illuminate convergent production forms across platforms at CCTV which have embodied a powerful sense of pride in public service broadcasting observed in the fieldwork. The state-owned broadcasting model has generated a distinct production culture which I will elaborate in two case studies: Waiting for Me (WFM) (CCTV 1, 2013–) and Ding Ge Long Dong Qiang (DGLDQ) (CCTV 11, 2016–2017). 360-Degree Convergent Television Forms5 As discussed in Chap. 3, CCTV multiplatform strategies have focused on repurposing content across platforms in the convergence era. This section will take a close look at the convergence texts across CCTV online platforms with the aim of building up 360-degree audience engagement. As a joint venture between CCTV and Kantar Taylor Nelson Sofres, CVSC-­ Sofres Media (CSM) CSM first introduced 360-degree multiplatform audience research during CCTV’s live coverage of 2008 Beijing Olympics Games (CSM, 2018). As the state-owned audience research institute, CSM has shifted its research focus from broadcast to multiplatform acceptance, including time-shifting viewing data, cross-platform audience measurement, Weibo TV ratings and big data research (CSM, 2018). CSM-huan was released in 2018 as an internal real-time viewing data application, providing real-time big data statistics for CCTV producers and other industry subscribers (institutional subscriptions). Unlike the file-based systems that dominate streaming services, CCTV’s online website demonstrates a strong nature of TV flow where time is an essential element of the interface. As shown on its website on 6 April 2018, CNTV’s home page featured propaganda events and programmes

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that convey state policy initiatives and socialist values with highlighted programmes from each channel (Fig. 5.2A). Users can also find the live broadcast schedule on the right-hand side next to channel sections, demonstrating a strong TX obsolete culture in the online space. Noticeably, as of the time of my fieldwork, there is no personal recommendation system available at CNTV interfaces that push standard homepage and same content curation to all online users. Following the highlights, the CCTV website shows each channel’s flagship programmes along with daily broadcast schedules on the right-hand side with the programme title that is on air in blue (see Fig. 5.2B). As Raymond Williams (1974, p. 87) noted, flow is ‘the replacement of a programme series of timed sequential units by a flow series of differently related units’. The interface shows a strong TX culture with an emphasis on the liveness of the broadcast legacy at CCTV. Mittell (2015, p. 7) proposes that a television programme is suffused within and constituted by ‘an intertextual web that pushes textual boundaries outward’. It is thus crucial to analyse one television programme with the intertextual web surrounding it rather than isolate a programme from its multiplatform texts. Television interfaces are arguably productive and interactive spaces that reframe the programming, introduce new digital aesthetics and alter the rhythms of the viewing time (Chamberlain, 2010, p. 84). The spin-offs and behind-the-scenes videos across CNTV digital platforms extend the programme narrative and bring more storytelling angles to online viewers. As a former CCTV executive argues: The space for broadcast content at CCTV is so limited but most journalists produce much more footage on set. For example, sometimes it only broadcast 3–5 minutes from 200-min rushes, and the rest of the footage was kind of going nowhere. If we repurpose this footage onto digital platforms, we could produce in-depth, detailed and rich content. After all, broadcast content should be concise and short; but digital users would like to see more content and detailed behind the scenes. (IV11, 15/05/2016, Beijing)

The online presence of A Bite of China (CCTV 9, 2012–) is a good illustration of this textual phenomenon in the multiplatform production. As a high-end, award-winning documentary series on the history and story of traditional Chinese cuisine, the show was commissioned under the state’s effort of building global soft power through cultural exports. The programme website is comprised of Episode Overviews, Programme Catch-ups, Recipes, Crew Diary, Meet the Production Team, Previous Seasons (see Fig. 5.3A–B). This case exemplifies the technologically driven

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Fig. 5.2  (A–B) CNTV (screenshot as of 6 April 2018)

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Fig. 5.3  (A–B) Programme website of A Bite of China Season Two (screenshots from 10 July 2019)

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upgrade culture at CCTV whereby producers are exploring the potential of TES forms as a para-textual scaffolding to weave extensive narratives through its flagship multiplatform projects. Online viewers were invited to participate in the online survey regarding the viewing experience, including questions such as ‘How were you feeling when you watched A Bite of China?’ A. Crying; B. Drooling; C. Crying and Drooling; D. Watching Quietly (see Fig. 5.4A–B). In 2015, CSM published the first time-shifted viewing report of the Chinese broadcast television, combining user data of one specific programme from both broadcast television and OTT services. Big data has become an integral part of the production culture of contemporary television and an essential tool for survival in the increasingly fragmented, crowded and competitive marketplace (Kelly, 2017, pp. 3–4). The ‘fear of being left behind’ here is relevant to my examination on data-driven technologically empowered production cultures at CCTV. Social media production has also become an essential skill for Chinese media practitioners in both the broadcast and digital sectors, where workers are expected to understand digital cultures and social media matrix. Across the world’s post-TVIII landscapes, social media production has also become an integrated element of television production routines, including social shoots, behind-the-scenes and other para-textual content. Chinese broadcasters have utilised digital media to collect user profiling data and produce tailored services with big data. A TES proposition of social media is widely employed across production, reception and promotion among Chinese media practitioners. WeChat groups are formed among production teams as the main communication tool for production updates, documents, agreements and research resources. Media producers utilise social media (WeChat and Weibo) to promote programmes, source production crew, share casting calls and boost the socio-cultural impact and online popularity among their WeChat friend circles and Weibo followers. Social media is not only a platform for user engagements and production communications but also a form of TES production that generates an array of interactive media forms, as will be illustrated in the following sections. In addition to analysing broadcast ratings, producers have increasingly taken social media ratings (Weibo, WeChat, online presence, topical ratings) into consideration to develop, produce and evaluate programmes. CCTV producers frequently post social TV ratings of their programmes on WeChat and Weibo (Fieldwork Note, 2017). However,

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Fig. 5.4  (A–B) Online interactive survey and its results for A Bite of China Season Two (screenshots from 10 July 2019)

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whether to focus on quality and values over ratings remains questioned in the evaluative system of Chinese television industry.6 CCTV’s public service remit has informed its convergence production cultures, which prioritise politically significant programmes (such as news, current affairs, national congresses and party events) and culturally enriched documentaries that promote nationalistic values, traditions, collectivism and mainstream values in the party state. Following the ‘clean up the screen’ campaign when the former State Administration of Radio, Film and Television issued a series of regulatory rules since 2002 (Bai, 2015, p. 69), CNTV has since been operating a limited number of interactive services on its website with real-time bullet comments disabled and regular comments being censored before appearing to the public. Since UGC video sharing functions and CCTV blog and micro-blogging services were closed down in August 2017 (CCTV, 2017), online comments have been the only CNTV interactive service which is still subjected to official approval by digital editors. This contrasts starkly with the Western post-TVIII landscape, where moderation, or even hosting, of communities has been abandoned by the major players, with television multiplatform production outsourced to digital production companies which go unchecked.7 CCTV’s approach therefore draws on its public service origins and political obsequiousness, assuming that, despite the lack of use of TES forms available, audiences would still come to the long-running state broadcaster. This has certainly not proved to be the case as other post-TVIII institutions have offered not only TES at the aesthetic level but a deeper opportunity for engagement and creativity amongst producers and viewers. CCTV has thus missed the opportunity due to the political constraints to utilise the potential of audience engagement via a TES form in the post-TVIII era. Although it has access to audience metrics across social platforms and an opportunity for multiplatform promotion, CCTV producers have failed to capitalise on this opportunity and employ TES forms such as bullet comments due to its subservience to political ideology, state censorship and its obsolete interpretation of public service broadcasting. These failing practices have resulted in the institution falling behind its digital competitors in the highly competitive media marketplace. Case Study: DGLDQ This section will draw on the ethnographic observations made in November 2016 to exemplify both the tensions and the upgrade culture that are playing out via technologically empowered screen forms in the case of CCTV’s

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flagship multiplatform projects Ding Ge Long Dong Qiang (DGLDQ) (CCTV 11, 2016–2017) and Waiting for Me (CCTV 1, 2013–). CCTV 11, a specialist channel dedicated to traditional Chinese opera, is based in an old 1990s-deco style building at CCTV’s old headquarter, which, to some extent, indicates the marginal status of Chinese opera in the channel’s strategy (as well as the national marketplace). Ang, an entrepreneur-­ gesture executive producer/presenter at CCTV 11, believes in the potential of media convergence for her variety show DGLDQ. As the executive producer/presenter, she possesses considerable creative autonomy to form partnerships with a wide range of digital players: DGLDQ is doing well in multiplatform production. Multiplatform production provides a better way to collect audience data and interact with them to a significant degree. We co-produce this show with iShare Cultures (a production company based in Beijing), and therefore the operational model is quite commercial. We sold the online streaming rights to Tencent and iQiyi. We also organised offline events with a few celebrities from our programmes on some live streaming platforms, allowing them to interact with the audience. (IV3, 26/10/2016, Beijing)

The executive producer continued to explain about the partnership with QQ Music, a Chinese music sharing platform owned by Tencent Group: We clipped out popular opera songs from programmes and uploaded them onto QQ Music for free listening and downloading. After the broadcast slot, we could reuse the content and promote the programmes online. We could unpack the programme into various themes and push them onto different live streaming websites for promotional purposes. For example, young people who use digital media a lot like Su Xing and Shang Wenjie (two Chinese pop singers who won the competitions through HSTV’s Happy Boy and Super Girl). We invited these celebrities to do interactive live streaming for them (young users), which turned out to be phenomenally successful. (IV3, 26/10/2016, Beijing)

After the early years of instantaneity of electronic communication and the video recording-empowered replay-able model following 1958, liveness has come to be a genre- and niche-dependent phenomenon in broadcast and digital institutions, associated with not only television events, sport matches, shopping channels but also reality television programmes (like Big Brother and Utopia) (Marriott, 2007, pp. 41–42). Although the

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prevalence of digital video recorders, video-on-demand and the proliferation of digital platforms has led some to pronounce the era of live television over, Sørensen (2016, p. 385) argues that liveness retains a unique selling point of television in a crowded convergence media-scape. Moreover, the social media matrix plays a critical role in shaping how big data is being utilised in Ang’s show Here Comes the Stars (CCTV 11, 2016–), an interactive variety show on the stories and performances of Peking opera legends: My show is broadcast weekly while we are still filming the rest of the episodes. We can, therefore, adjust the production editorially according to timely feedbacks and suggestions. We get much more data from digital media platforms than linear broadcast period. Much more valuable and accurate data. We could get to know the demographics, personality, education background of users as well updated CTRs online. (IV3, 26/10/2016, Beijing)

Live streaming services and social media products have embodied a high degree of data-driven upgrade cultures in the case of DGLDQ. This process could be understood as the aesthetic relationship of ‘borrowing, repurposing, honouring, revising and attempting to improve and renew the old technology’ in a hyper-mediated environment in which the producer refashions materials and practices by spreading the content over as many platforms as possible (Bolter & Grusin, 1999, p. 68). Ang gave an example of ‘live production’ she has adopted in the latest episode where online users were invited to interact with the presenter through a large studio screen displaying all WeChat participants’ profile photos (see Fig. 5.5), which she termed the ‘virtual audience’ in addition to the studio audience (IV3, 26/10/2016, Beijing). All these aspects of the production exemplify a kind of TES that responds to the government’s emphasis on innovation and a wider upgrade culture across the Chinese post-TVIII landscape. However, whilst CCTV producers like Ang celebrate new creative forms that are underpinned by the demonstration of new technologies, such TES do not demonstrate any challenging or particularly new kinds of creative freedom or experience for either producer or audience. For example, Ang’s claim to employ online viewers through the production process rings hollow when one considers that viewers could not give any instructions or comments directly to presenters or contestants, as is the case with Tencent programmes. Presenters had to follow the programme rundowns and scripts throughout the live production.

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Fig. 5.5  Virtual audiences on the big screen during the live studio production, with the presenter holding the phone and chatting with the users

The programme was edited and censored before broadcast transmission due to channel regulations, editorial guidelines and political censorship. DGLDQ is a good illustration of the opportunities and constraints CCTV producers have faced in their daily production practices, where production cultures and screen forms have embodied tensions among creative experimentation, pride in public service and political subservience. CCTV producers have undertaken the responsibility of creating mainstream ideological media content that fulfils the political agenda set by the CPC. One of the most pre-eminent examples of the tensions between innovation in TES and CCTV’s political ideology of control is best understood through the absence of bullet comments as a form of convergence culture on CNTV. Throughout my period of study, I observed CCTV did not allow live comments or bullet comments in the online portal, which was confirmed by the interviewees as a reason that the broadcaster’s online portal fails to maintain relevance in the competitive market. As one CCTV veteran producer argues: When it comes to political news and events, like state conferences, the G20, we close down the functions of comments. In the past, we censored the comments before releasing online; but now they are not allowed. (IV12, 22/10/2016, Beijing)

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Bullet comments and any regular comments before going through a filtering process were explicitly not allowed by the ideology-oriented regulations at CCTV. Case Study: Waiting for Me Waiting for Me (WFM) (CCTV 1, 2013–) is a long-running studio-based programme dedicated to bringing separated families back together. Akin to the corporate gesture, the official slogan for WFM is building up a 360-degree platform in search for the lost loved ones. I spent one month working as a multiplatform producer with the production team whilst observing the studio production in Beijing (see Fig.  5.6A–B). As one executive producer, Yao, expressed, ‘Our programme has been acting as the top one charity programme in helping people look for lost family members and lost babies, which is a strong social responsibility for both citizens and government’ (IV1, 20/10/2016, Beijing). For Yao, the dramatic tension of the moment when the families are reunited in front of the studio audience is the narrative climax of each episode (IV1, Beijing, 20/10/2016). Telephone enquiries were received in the studio, where 14 telephone receptionists answered calls from users who were looking for missing people and/or providing information about the missing family members. In the recent CCTV One Primetime Sponsors’ Night on 15 December 2017, the executive producer gave a speech on how to use convergence technologies to realise public values and convey the family values in traditional Confucian culture (CCTV, 2017). A strong technologically driven upgrade culture is noted in his gesture, which embed the creative potential in newly emergent digital technologies. Given the bureaucratic structure of CCTV’s management, the re-­ versioning project of WFM’s website had been delayed for more than one year at the time I commenced my work there. In the first, brief meeting, the executive producer explicitly expressed the need to use online live streaming to extend programme narratives and engage with the audiences rather than merely distribute broadcast content to the online space. After two months, the team designed a number of versions of the website for CCTV 1’s Channel Controller and CNTV’s Chief Editor, who finally chose one plan comprising catch-up programmes, live streaming, set photos and behind-the-scenes interviews, missing people data, highlight clips and health/safety tips (see Fig. 5.7). Emphasising live streaming, the new website design efficiently extended linear storytelling by providing live

Fig. 5.6  (A) Studio production of Waiting for Me in October 2016 with missing children’s photos on the screen. (B) Studio production of Waiting for Me in October 2016 with 14 helpline staff answering real-time phone calls (Fieldwork Photos, 2016)

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Fig. 5.7  Official website of Waiting for Me (screenshot as of 2 March 2018)

streaming of programmes, offline events and Shu Dong’s Journey, in addition to the site’s existing public service functions. Although the multiplatform pitch was presented in CCTV’s annual sponsorship night, the plan was later terminated for managerial reasons, again indicating the bureaucratic hierarchy and state ideology producers face. The bureaucratic hierarchy leads to a high degree of risk aversion in daily practice. Drawing on my participant observation as a multiplatform producer with WFM, the social ratings was seen to be embraced widely by CCTV producers during the fieldwork. As shown in one of its promotional posters on social media accounts, WFM showed the number of official Weibo accounts that mentioned and promoted this flagship programme and the number of mainstream media portals that featured this programme on their front page (see Fig. 5.8A–B). However, the media coverage listed in the statistics only covered state-owned media8 and their official social media accounts, failing to not only reflect the entire landscape of Chinese online space but also the production values and social impacts of the programme (see Liu & Zhang, 2019). It is worth noting the multi-­dimensional programme evaluation system promoted by Chinese television critic communities which involves measuring the production values, social impacts

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Fig. 5.8  (A) A compilation of official Weibo accounts that covered the stories from Waiting for Me, as of 25 June 2018. (B) A compilation of mainstream media portals that featured Waiting for Me, as of 25 June 2018

and interactivity of media content across platforms. This is a good illustration of the disjuncture between top-down innovation slogans (investment in audience research) and bottom-up production cultures (Liu & Zhang, 2019). Rather than live streaming on CNTV, CCTV 1 has partnered with Tencent Video, which accommodates a considerable number of MAUs. The weekly live streaming of WFM on Tencent Video provided viewers with behind-the-scenes stories and opportunities for live interaction with presenters and production teams (see Fig. 5.9A–B). CCTV News Presenter Wen Jing, who addressed online viewers in a strong TX style, spoke in an obsolete-style standard news announcement manner at a slow, deliberate

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Fig. 5.9  (A–B) Waiting for Me’s weekly live streaming on Tencent Video at 7:30 pm every Sunday during May and June 2017

pace and wearing formal clothes in a bland studio in the CCTV building. The weekly live streaming arguably failed to grasp the gist of online cultures, gathering incredibly low click-through-rates (CTR) and low levels of online popularity. The case of WFM demonstrates that, in a regulatory environment that no longer privileges the ‘mass audience’, it is not clear

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how, or indeed if, CCTV will be able to maintain large audiences with obsolete ideas and production cultures. These PSB TES forms from live streaming to digital media interfaces at CCTV exemplify both a sense of pride in public service and a technological deterministic production culture within the regulatory environment. Western scholars of PSB such as Bennett (2016), Born (2005), Wheatley (2004) and others have noted a tension between the remit of public service and the drive for commercial profit in the UK. As can be seen from the TES forms above, CCTV producers have been struggling to maintain a balance between conveying public service values (informed by strict adherence to a specific political ideology) and maintaining popular relevance and thus ensure commercial profits in a competitive market. In an era of post-TVIII, the emphasis on niche traditional cultural programmes indicates a potential tension between elitism (high cultural value and party leadership) and populism (relevance among ordinary Chinese viewers). Although such tensions are experienced elsewhere in the world’s public service broadcasting systems—for example, Born’s arguments that the BBC must be popular, but not too popular (2005)—this tension is exacerbated in the current Chinese context because of the strategic emphasis on innovation. Rather than reaching national audiences, CCTV’s elite-oriented (producer-­centred), staid high-brow cultural programmes have largely lost viewership to user-oriented digital streaming services which emphasise grassroots popular cultures of the Chinese society. CCTV producers have failed to provide a more individualised experience that is in dialogue with digital cultures, globalisation and capitalism in its Chinese form. The state broadcasting nature of CCTV leads to a lack of innovation and creative risks in TES forms. The result for CCTV production cultures embodies a set of conflicts between institutional strategies and daily practices. However, a sense of public service pride serves as an important motive to an array of CCTV employees, from above-the-line channel executives and producers to below-the-line production assistants and media interns. These PSB origins have engendered a sense of self-satisfaction among CCTV media workers and executives which, in turn, has informed the bottom-up production cultures and TES forms at the broadcaster. Following the discussion on production strategies in Chaps. 3 and 5, this section continues to reveal the tensions between CCTV’s slogans of innovation and the daily practices of CCTV producers that manifest themselves in the TES forms. The imperative to innovate technologically is pitted

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against the demand to obey stringent political and ideological policies; at the same time, the channel’s public service remit conflicts with the drive for commercial profit. During the period of my study, online users were required to sign up to an account with their national ID numbers and verified mobile numbers in order to make a comment on CNTV, which requires editorial approval before being made visible to online viewers (the process usually takes one day). To sum up, CCTV’s multiplatform interfaces have embodied officially sanctioned public and political values which have served to stifle innovation in production cultures and screen forms. Whilst the TES formations of CCTV’s rivals demonstrate innovation in programme form, the enthusiasm for this innovation in their respective production cultures reveals a technologically determined ideal of creative freedoms and production culture innovation, enabling producers to assert their pride in CCTV being able to keep pace with the relentless upgrade culture of its post-TVIII rivals. With the coming of a form of capitalism in China and a TVIII regulatory environment that no longer privileges the ‘mass audience’, CCTV is left enslaved by obsolete ideas of PSB whilst digital players experiment via the ‘edge ball’ of creativity, consumerism and platform capitalism. As we shall see in the following section, in contrast to the stale ‘old’ linear legacies of CCTV, Mango TV instead manages the tensions inherent in the ‘dance’ of innovation, technology, regulation and creative freedoms.

Mango TV (HBS) In 2006, HBS launched Hunan Happy Sunshine Interactive Entertainment Limited Company (湖南快乐阳光互动娱乐传媒有限公司), a corporate subsidiary which operates Mango TV, Hunan IPTV and mobile video services. Launched in 2014, Mango TV has been developing into a competitive broadcast-born digital platform that provides both ad-funded content and subscription-funded premium content, akin to the ways Tencent Video and iQiyi operate. Vertical and horizontal integration are evident in its multiplatform strategies. Horizontally, HBS operates broadcast channels, online platforms (exclusive internet television platform Mango TV, including PC sites, PC applications, WAP sites and mobile applications), internet-distributed television and IPTV. Vertically, HBS has been operating a wide range of businesses from one artist agencies (Mango Entertainment) and e-commerce (Mango Go) to broadcasting services and more than ten production and distribution companies. Through the

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youth-driven programming strategy of building ‘the ecology of Mango TV’, its daily active users (DAUs) in 2018 reached 35.9 million, with more than 10.7 million subscribers up to December 2018 (Mango TV, 2018b). TES Upgrade Culture Mango TV has also provided an online space for HBS content that cannot be released on broadcast channels due to regulatory reasons. One specific example is Where Are We Going Dad? (WAWGD) (HBS, 2013–2017), a reality television series featuring a group of male celebrities going on holiday with their children. WAWGD was originally launched as a primetime reality TV on Hunan Satellite TV (HSTV), which had acquired the adaptation rights of the Korean reality format Dad! Where Are We Going? (MBC, 2013–2015). After the government’s 2017 ban on exploiting juveniles in primetime reality television on broadcast channels, WAWGD Season 5 was instead relocated to the online platform and released exclusively on Mango TV. Online variety series are mostly outsourced and produced by independent production companies, as in the case above, termed workshop (the equivalent of the western ‘indie’ sector), which are mostly founded by former HBS producers and directors. The opportunity to take creative risks and the freedom to express one’s creativity and originality have lured the creative labours away from broadcast institutions to digital and independent sectors. An individualistic and self-oriented culture of contentment has in recent decades eaten away at the values of socialist collectivism (‘public service’) and solidarity officially promoted by the CPC. Regional broadcasters and digital players like Mango TV embody a more ‘individualistic’ ethos of work than the collectivist working culture at, for example, CCTV, generating an awakening of creative self-expression fuelled by not only the commercial imperative associated with neoliberal capitalism but also emotional labours through media workers’ self-exploitation. Drawing on my fieldwork data (interviews, on-set stills, industry artefacts) collected during my fieldwork, this section will illuminate the technologically empowered production cultures by analysing HBS’s youth-oriented gesture as well as Mango TV’s TES forms produced between 2016 and 2017. It also seeks to uncover the hidden discourses that are borne out of the processes of these TES innovation cultures, which is arguably fuelled by a high volume of precarious labour. A precarious production culture at once exploits media workers whilst at the same time offering them greater opportunities for creative freedoms within TES innovation cultures. Innovation cultures have fostered conditions for

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Fig. 5.10  (A–C) Mango TV logo posters in a corridor at Mango TV headquarter

particular kinds of creativity to thrive at Mango TV within the context of a one-party state which demands ideological subservience. As an illustration, Fig. 5.10A–C are two posters on a corridor at Mango TV. With a fresh colour background design, ‘T’ is annotated for Tingle and ‘V’ for Victory, further embodying a rich vibrant entertainment culture at Mango TV that specifically caters to the youth market. Unlike the value of pride in public service evident at CCTV, commercial values are prioritised at regional broadcasters like HBS. Case Study: Perfect Holiday Television provides its audience with ‘an encounter with an elsewhere which is both instantaneous and immediate’ (Marriott, 2007, p. 55). Live streaming services at Mango TV have recreated the legacy of broadcast liveness which is further enhanced with higher degrees of interactivity and participation. A strong upgrade culture was noted not only in corporate strategies but also in Mango TV’s technology-driven programme formats. As technological risk in digital production is much lower than in broadcast production, digital producers are empowered to experiment in form and content without the same level of fear of economic failure (Bennett, 2016, p. 129). During my fieldwork, 24-hour-live streaming has become a newly emerged production form at Mango TV, where digital producers embraced the unlimited online space for programme narratives in contrast to the limited broadcast timeslots at HBS TV channels. In this section I will illustrate the upgrade culture with my work experience as one of digital video editors on the online production

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of Mango’s original online series Perfect Holiday (Wanmei Jiaqi) (Mango TV, 2015–2016), best understood as an unauthorised and modified version of the Dutch Talpa format Big Brother (Channel 4, 2000–2010; Channel 5, 2011–2018). The contestants lived in a confined villa whilst being monitored by 120 CCTV-style fixed-rig cameras and individual mics around the clock for 90 days. The 24 hour-­streaming reality series was available only on the Mango TV platform rather than its broadcast channel. Fifteen housemates were voted out on a weekly basis until only one remained, who went on to win an RMB1,000,000 (£113,566) cash prize. The interactive website allowed online viewers to choose various camera feeds to view one specific activity or  participant with onscreen live comments and real-time clicking rates (e.g. Fig. 5.11A is the master camera feed and Fig. 5.11B is the camera feed in the female participants’ bedroom). As shown, there were 114,168 online users in one afternoon during my participant observation at Mango TV. Users and fans were able to make live comments, displaying both onscreen bullet comments and at the bottom of the video stream (same content in two venues). The online production team also produced a series of spin-offs such as Perfect Holiday Live Studio (Wan Mei Zhi Bo Shi) and daily talk shows 818 (Sharing the Gossip with You) to appeal to online fan communities and extend online participation and programme narratives outside the live streaming scenario. UGC and bullet comments in the case of Mango TV are good illustrations of the TES forms, which, in turn, have fostered a higher degree of interactivity and connectivity whilst blurring the boundaries between producers and users. However, as I shall illustrate, the TES forms rely on a precarious production culture which at once exploits young media labourers in particular while at the same time offering workers greater opportunities for creative freedoms. During the three months of production, 14 digital editors (3 full-time staff and 11 unpaid interns) were working on the following shifts—day shift: 10 am–6 pm (six editors); mid-day shift: 2 pm–10 pm (seven editors); night shift: 6 pm–2 am (one extra editor, the busiest time)—on real-time digital media feeds with low pay (full-time staff) or even no remuneration (for interns) except for lunch costs.9 Each editor on duty was responsible for monitoring one video streaming from the six fixed cameras in the main venues, clipping out two-minute highlights in real time and uploading them online with tags and keywords. TES innovation, based on exploitative labour practices, has not led to a totally creative production culture, or what Hesmondhalgh and Baker (2011) term ‘good work’ (see Chap. 2). Rather, TES innovation is often fuelled by a significant amount of precarious labour.

Fig. 5.11  Twenty-four-hour live streaming of Perfect Holiday House, with seven venues for online users to choose from. (A) The video shows the space from the main camera angle, with live comments on the right-hand side as well as on top of the live streams (same content). (B) The video shows the girls’ bedroom from the camera angle, with live comments on the right-hand side

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Although the social, communal and collaborative aspects of media work are argued to be where the empowerment and agency for media professionals lie (Deuze, 2007, p. 3), Mango TV workers have been facing various degrees of labour exploitation and self-exploitation (such as long working hours, low salaries, bad working conditions, unpaid overtime) which I will discuss in more detail in Chap. 7.10 Indeed, the working conditions and employment schemes at Mango TV are much more precarious and unstable than at CCTV. For example, while CCTV producers tend to be employed on permanent or long-term contracts, Mango TV and Tencent employees are largely employed as freelancers and interns who work on a short-term basis. Labour exploitation is prevalent among Mango TV media interns, many of whom who work unsalaried for long hours with no weekend breaks which will be explored in detail in Chap. 6 (Fieldwork Note, October 2016). The TES forms at Mango TV, while they serve to democratise the production-audience relationship, actually mask a production culture marked by a different kind of fear than that which prevails at CCTV (i.e. fear of state ideology and party censorship), a largely invisible, subterranean world of precarious and exploitative working conditions (low, or even no, salary, instability of work tenure, competition for placements etc.) which are demonstrative of China’s newly emerging consumerism and individualism.

Concluding Remarks To sum up, whilst CCTV’s linear legacies have led to a persistence in abiding by officially sanctioned public and ideological values that aim to target a TVI-era audience, Mango TV positions commercial values as the strategic pivot that seeks to meet the commercial imperative of platform capitalism whilst at the same time aligning with political obligations. Through its youth-oriented production cultures, Mango TV explores and maximises the creative potential of digital technologies, embodying a strong upgrade culture through experiments in the 24-hour live streaming reality television and greal-time social media production. The tension between the rapid growth of commercialisation and the increasingly strict political power of the CPC leadership has generated a dilemma between technologically driven creative expression and fear of censorship during the production process at Mango TV. The commercially driven production model at Mango TV reflects both its origins as a multi-channel era institution as well as its need to attract youth audiences whilst catering to them as

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individual users with interactive TES forms. Though these TES forms have attracted active users with real-time interaction and engagement, Mango TV’s TES production forms are fuelled by a largely concealed framework of exploitative and precarious labour practices. This chapter has begun to work through some of those tensions on a production culture level, before Chaps. 7–9 move on to deal with micro-­ level  discourses of implicit fears and the value of creative freedoms in a more direct way. Whilst I argue that these TES forms demonstrate some evidence of a bottom-up-driven media culture, this is by no means an equal and even process, with apparent creative freedoms often masking a series of deep underlying fears and top-down control. The TES forms have been utilised by Chinese media practitioners, who locate their creative freedoms and critical ideas within newly-emerged technologically-­ empowered screen forms rather than personal political expression in order to avoid violating media censorship in daily production practices. The micro level will move on to investigate the individual workers’ practices in response to institutional strategies and the fast-changing production cultures. I argue that technology enabled production cultures have largely engendered technologically determined creative freedoms whereby Chinese producers are able to exert their creativity through the application of innovative technologies. However, at the same time, this creativity exists within a context of political compliance which producers manage by devising ‘edge ball’ strategies. In the next chapter, I will illustrate the distinctive production cultures and screen forms in Chinese digital streaming sectors. The rise of digital platforms has engendered a greater creative space for producers to reside their critical and creative freedoms within TES forms empowered by technological affordance and upgrade cultures.

Notes 1. In the case of the BBC, there are core editorial values of public service: trust, audiences, quality, creativity, respect and work together  as of the BBC’s Editorial Values and Standards in 2019. 2. Recent years have also seen the Chinese government put global value as the strategic pivot in building the nation’s soft power. One recent example is the launch of China Global Television Network (CGTN) on 31 December 2016, formerly known as CCTV International, comprising six international multi-language television channels. 3. These fears and cautions among CCTV producers will be discussed further in Chap. 7.

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4. Founded in 2003, CCTV Creative Media is a production company solely owned by CCTV’s commercial enterprise China International Television Corporation (CITVC), which is the wholly owned commercial subsidiary of the CCTV. CCTV Creative Media is known for producing flagship factual entertainment programmes, such as Challenge the Impossible (CCTV1, 2015–2020). 5. ‘360-degree’ in  this case refers to  audience engagement across multiple platforms—from live broadcast, IPTV, digital streaming platforms, to social media participation—rather than the  immersive viewing experience through VR, AR and XR. 6. However, whether to focus on quality and values over ratings remains questioned. Further study would be useful to examine the evaluative system of Chinese television industry. 7. Regulation on social media platforms exists regarding violence, hate speech and other content issues, but not political ideology (see: The Twitter Rules, 2019). 8. State-owned media outlets in China have the political and ideological responsibilities to promote the state broadcaster’s primetime shows. Thus, promotional posters are another type of political propaganda in forms of media publicity in the case of CCTV. 9. Similar to entertainment industries elsewhere, the executive-worker pay gap is prevalent in the Chinese media industry, where most creative workers are paid low salaries or even work for free (mostly young graduates seeking work experience) while celebrities and media executives received lucrative paycheques. 10. The fear of competition arguably leads to exploitative labour practices which will be investigated in Chap. 6. For now, I will focus on how TES production forms are fuelled by precarious labour.

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Sørensen, I.  E. (2016). The Revival of Live TV: Liveness in a Multiplatform Context. Media, Culture & Society, 38(3), 381–399. Twitter. (2019). The Twitter Rules. Retrieved April 10, 2019, from https://help. twitter.com/en/rules-­and-­policies/twitter-­rules Uricchio, W. (2004). Television’s Next Generation: Technology/Interface Culture/Flow. In L. Spigel & J. Olsson (Eds.), Television after TV: Essays on a Medium in Transition (pp. 163–182). Duke University Press. Wheatley, H. (2004). The Limits of Television? Natural History Programming and the Transformation of Public Service Broadcasting. European Journal of Cultural Studies, 7(5), 325–339. Williams, R. (1974). Television: Technology and Cultural Form. Fontana.

CHAPTER 6

Streaming Screen Forms and Aesthetics: Tencent Video

Compared to traditional broadcasters who always claim to undertake certain social responsibilities, digital media players do not have much high-brow posture. We (Tencent Video) focus on the commercial logic and  aim at understanding users’ preferences with big data to the largest degree. We do not restrain ourselves with chains and shackles as traditional broadcasters do. (IV16, 02/11/2016, Beijing)

A development producer proudly talked about Tencent’s distinct production cultures in their cartoon-decorated staff café at the Sigma building in Zhongguancun High Tech Park, the so-called Silicon Valley of China. She frequently compared Tencent original commissions to her previous production in traditional media which she terms ‘chains and shackles’. The nonlinearity of internet television portal has departed away capacity constraints and time specificity that deeply structures the parameters of linear television (Lotz, 2017, p. 23). This chapter firstly examines the changing production forms and screen aesthetics of Chinese SVOD commissions in the case of Tencent Video. In contrast to broadcast production cultures, SVOD original commissions have intervened the historical trajectory of storytelling norms across genres and formats. Tencent original commissions demonstrate a strong upgrade production culture with which Tencent producers continuously experiment, generating innovative ways of creative expression and user engagement. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 L. Lin, Convergent Chinese Television Industries, Palgrave Global Media Policy and Business, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-91756-2_6

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SVOD Production Cultures It is crucial to think in the same logic as our users. My opinions are not important anymore. It is the users’ preferences that matter. It does not mean less freedom, but more targeted production. (IV19, 19/12/2017, Beijing)

The quote above encapsulated the current user-oriented commissioning and production cultures at Chinese streaming services which pose a stark contrast to the ideologically driven production environment at Chinese broadcast institutions. Recent years have seen an editorial shift from producer-oriented production at state-owned broadcasters to a user-­ centred approach at commercially run digital streaming services, from serving the political leaders to serving the users and subscribers. Media producers and executives have been lured away from the bureaucratic broadcasting system to the newly emergent digital streaming services in order to seek more creative freedoms and opportunities in content creative and freedom of expression. For instance, six of the seven Tencent interviewees had come from state-owned media institutions (CCTV, Hunan TV and Xinhua News Agency). Both the news and factual entertainment departments at Penguin Pictures are led by CCTV veteran executives who brought TX production cultures to the digital sector (Fieldwork Note, Beijing, 18/12/2017). Tencent original commissions fall into Kompare’s definition of television as programmes in standardised formats produced by professional media workers. Tencent Video has employed broadcast-like programming strategies, from weekly scheduling practices to broadcast-like programme formats such as talk shows, variety shows and documentary series. Online programmes have not only inherited much from the broadcast predecessor but also embodied their own aesthetic conventions and storytelling norms. As Poniewozik (2015) argues: They are (streaming services) becoming a distinct genre all their own, whose conventions and aesthetics we are just starting to figure out. … More so than any recent innovation in TV, streaming has the potential, even the likelihood, to create an entirely new genre of narrative: one with elements of television, film and the novel, yet different from all of those.

Tencent original commissions epitomise a set of commercially user-­ centred production cultures which move beyond internet television provider. Whilst the new forms of Tencent’s original content may at first glance

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appear to mimic those of traditional television broadcasting, their development is informed by quite different production cultures and strategies. Across my fieldwork interviews  with Tencent producers and media executives, programmes are spoken of regularly as ‘products’ by Tencent producers, who refer to online production as the ‘packaging process’, a commercial expression (IV15, IV16, IV19). One radical example can be found in the trailer of Roast Season 2 (Tucao Dahui) (Tencent, 2016–), a stand-up comedy series featuring humorous criticisms about invited celebrities. Wang Jianguo, a Chinese comedian, addresses the audience with a salesman’s pitch: We promise that the second season will be an excellent product bringing loads laughs for you. With our cheap presenter Zhang Shaogang, we ­guarantee that this season will have the best line-up and the best jokes. (Roast Season 2, 2017)

The terms ‘cheap presenter’ and ‘excellent product’ are illustrative of the commercial nature of the online series. Together with real-time bullet comments on the streaming video, the series provides a stage for stand-up comedians and celebrities to criticise about the celebrity of the episode humorously as well as to critique social and cultural (but not political) issues in the improvisation section. A certain degree of creativity emerges through the—humorous—process of breaking conventions and critiquing China’s highly controlled society through innuendos and metaphors (discussed in more detail in Chap. 7). Interestingly, a small number of interviewees, including this producer, referred to as ‘the sponsor’ with the Chinese term ‘Gold Father’, indicating the financial importance of the sponsorship. As a result, this commercially oriented programming strategy has potentially shifted producers’ attention away from the programming quality to the monetised goals that the sponsors anticipated. It has also caused a large amount of copycatting content produced once one entertainment format becomes a market success. The commercial nature also results in a fierce competition for resources and production budgets within Tencent OMG. Production funding with cash rewards and annual awards is also given to Tencent production teams. Unlike CCTV’s disjuncture between top-down innovation slogans (investment in audience research) and bottom-up production cultures, Tencent’s bottom-up connectivity and user-oriented innovation cultures has engendered a new set of data-driven production cultures which has

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moved beyond the internet-distributed television model (CNTV and Mango TV) to emphasise the user-oriented commercial value. Even if the hierarchies remain intact, it is an approach that allows ideas to be shared, strategies to be socialised and greater financial backing to be guaranteed for new ideas and innovation. Having been empowered by its hybrid business model of integrated internet services across the media, communication and interactive entertainment sectors, Tencent Video is able to exploit the immense amount of data generated from its social media and interactive services in order to grasp the rapidly shifting viewing habits of Chinese users. Rather than an obsequiousness to official ideology and socialist cultures, youth-oriented innovative cultures are promoted across Tencent production offices with a focus on the tastes and needs of individual users. For instance, employees were able to exercise and socialise with peer fellows in the mini basketball court within the building, which is part of Tencent original reality show Super Penguin Basketball Celebrity Game (see Fig. 6.1).

Fig. 6.1  Tencent staff lobby with basketball stands and a promotional banner for Tencent’s original reality show Super Penguin Basketball Celebrity Game

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Recent years have seen an editorial shift from producer-oriented content production to a user-centred approach at Tencent Video, where producers endeavour to utilise data analysis to understand audiences beyond the traditional ratings. The focus on identifying and meeting user preferences has been emphasised at Tencent SVOD commissions. As commented by a development producer at Tencent who originally came from a print background: ‘We, as a digital media player, focuses on researching the users’ attributes and preferences’ (IV16, 17/11/2016, Beijing). Likewise, as one executive producer at Tencent argues, ‘Understanding the preferences and daily rhythms of ordinary users is the key to success at Tencent’ (IV15, 10/17/2016, Beijing). Tencent producers have been exploring innovative ways of storytelling and user engagement through a wide range of production and distribution forms, such as data visualisation, bullet comments, UGC and PUGC, portrait vertical videos and live streaming which will be illustrated in more detail in the next section.

Streaming Screen Forms Tencent’s hybrid model has enabled Tencent producers to utilise a range of TES forms of production which create more intimate relationships with online users, from big data and bullet comments to live streaming services. Compared to CCTV and Mango TV, the tech giant has generated an immense amount of data from more than one billion users on WeChat. Through its online payment platform, interactive entertainment services to e-municipal services, digital technologies, especially in the case of big data, have been employed at Tencent Video in a more integrated and mature way. The convergent business model of the SVOD service enables Tencent producers to explore new ways of creative expression and work through meanings and values of human stories. The commercially run platform model has enabled media producers to celebrate greater creative autonomy—which would not exist in broadcast contexts—through connective business models and interactive platforms. More so than any recent innovation in television, streaming services are changing storytelling norms and screen aesthetics across a wide range of genres. Data Visualisation and Data-Driven Online Programmes Data visualisation is not only available to executives and producers but also online viewers, who are able to not only read the amount of hits and likes

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Fig. 6.2  Audience data visualisation at the bottom of Waiting for Me live streaming page on Tencent Video (incl. region, age, gender and astrological sign)

on one video page but also read the audience matrix at the bottom of the Tencent website. For example, in the online production of WFM on Tencent Video, the viewers were able to read the audience matrix including region, age, gender and even astrological sign (see Fig. 6.2). Public access to user demographics is a gateway not only for viewers to form collective viewing experiences and get to know fellow viewers, but also for potential sponsors and advertisers to learn about the online performance of certain programmes (IV19, 19/12/2017, Beijing). When applying Laney’s ‘three Vs’ formulation (volume, velocity and variety) to the business model at Tencent, the big data accumulated through its in-house social media platforms WeChat and QQ is enormous in size (volume), is produced in real time (velocity) and comprises a range of different data types (variety) such as social media posts (texts, images, videos, likes, shares), URLs, users’ profiles (gender, geographic location, income, age and mobile payments). Data profiling was frequently stressed in the Chinese trade press and government reports during the period of this study. The 2016 Annual Report of China’s Television and Film Industry states that the clearer the user profiles are, the more accurate media products can be tailored to targeted audiences. However, the credibility of big data measurement and the manipulation of data analytics are questioned by both media practitioners and ordinary users. As one digital executive producer commented:

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We drew up a list of popular topics selected from the top regions based on the big data provided by the platform operator. Hubei turned out to be the most popular one, which actually contradicts the results from data statistics. [Thus] it is still crucial to address the variety of local cultures through human instinct and research. (IV20, 01/12/2016)

The role that the big data algorithm plays in creative decision-making is questionable, given that knowing every detail could arguably make creative workers ‘beholden less to their own creative visions and more to the demands of the algorithm’ (Havens, 2009 [2014]). Andrejevic (2014) describes this questionable role as knowing without understanding. It is thus necessary to supplement data analysis with human intuition and cultural understandings in the production of TES forms. As Kelly (2019, p. 16) argues, whereas social media generates, producers and networks are using the enormous quantities of data to pursue their own qualitative research and construct their own interpretations, feeding this data back into the creative process. The current decade has also witnessed the rise of big data-driven production forms emerging on Chinese internet television. Big data not only provides detailed viewing data statistics for producers who are eager to understand daily viewing habits, but also generates new production forms that incorporate big data with programme narratives. Whilst CCTV and Mango TV producers utilise big data mainly to understand online viewers, Tencent producers have generated new ways of data-driven production formats: that is, TES that not only draw on big data but represent this in aesthetically engaging ways. For Arsenault (2017), big data engenders an emerging global format that is theoretically equivalent to television formats dominant in the globalised marketplace. Are You Normal? (Tencent, 2014–2016) is a good illustration of such a data strategy. Produced by Tencent Video and Vivid Media (a Shanghai-based independent production company), Are You Normal? is an online quiz show in which the answers to questions are based on the responses from online users rather than the producers. As the first WeChat-embedded talent show on Tencent Video, opinions of ordinary users and viewers were prioritised in the development stage of the programme through interactive WeChat surveys. According to one development producer of this show: The logic of the programme is based on the big data. We did a public survey on certain topics through WeChat, asking the participant celebrities to guess

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the public’s answers. This method really fits the tone of online platforms like Tencent. Everyone, especially the younger generations, finds the quiz remarkably interesting. (IV16, Beijing, 02/11/2016)

WeChat surveys were conducted in each episode to gather the most popular answers among the online users, accompanied by interviews on the street with specifying questions. Real-time interactive surveys were also integrated on the right side of Tencent streaming videos, where users could see the results of the poll after choosing their answers. For example, in the case of My Agent and I (Tencent Video, 2019-present), users were able to fill out the timecoded survey questions according to the conversations in the reality shows, such as whether you will cook for yourself after a busy day? will you hide your job roles from your parents? Compared with Yuqi, are you satisfied with your current life? (see Fig. 6.3A–B) Live Streaming as a New Genre Tencent Video  develops a wide range of factual entertainment that is based on live streaming technology. Live streaming, as a new genre, has revived the distinctive nature of television’s liveness from its inception as an electronic form of communication. Following its broadcast predecessor, digital media has, as Logan (2010, p. 157) argues, allowed us to rediscover an identity that used to be submerged by television. In order to create authenticity and sensation, digital platform operators have recreated the legacy of liveness and accompaniment through the form of live streaming. The revival of live streaming among digital platform operators has thus recreated this kind of instantaneity and spontaneity which the broadcast legacy originally promised. Chinese scholars such as Huang and Dong (2016), Zhang et al. (2019) have discussed the socio-cultural implications of live streaming as a newly emergent media phenomenon and media economy in Chinese media industries, from grassroots user generated live streaming platforms (e.g. Kwai and Douyin) to professional live streaming services (e.g. Tencent Live).1 Live streaming services on Tencent Video have recreated the kind of instantaneity and spontaneity originally promised by the aesthetics of liveness in broadcast television. Rather than simply relocating the broadcast content to the online space, Chinese broadcasters and digital players have embraced this ‘supersized format’ in live streaming to create real-time engaging narratives, particularly in genres like talent shows and fixed-rig

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Fig. 6.3  (A) Timecoded survey questions on the side of streaming videos of My Agent and I, including whether you will cook for yourself after a busy day? will you hide your job roles from your parents? (B) One survey question ‘will you cook yourself in the busy life?’ A. No, I will mainly eat takeaway food. B. Yes, I will keep a life and work balance. C. It depends

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reality television. It is worth noting two distinct types of live streaming services that have been emerging on Chinese internet-distributed television: 1. ‘Native’ 24-hour live streaming programmes (such as Perfect Holiday (Mango TV, 2016–) and We15 (Tencent, 2015–2016)); 2. Live streaming as add-ons to broadcast programmes (such as Waiting for Me’s weekly live streaming). Whilst the first type acts as a ‘native’ live streaming programme, the second type of live streaming serves as an add-on promotion for broadcast programmes (mostly in the form of behind-the-scenes, making-offs and spin-offs) on broadcast-run platforms (such as CNTV or Mango TV) or digital platform operators (such as Tencent) released at a specific time. The native live streaming programmes can be illustrated in the case of We15 (Tencent, 2015–2016) (a Chinese adaptation of Utopia, licensed by Talpa), which shows how Tencent producers adeptly explore the potential of live streaming technology in reality television production and create a simultaneous viewing experience through electronic communication. It was aired as a weekly broadcast programme on Dragon TV (a satellite channel owned by Shanghai Media Group), along with 24-hour online live streaming from June 2015 to June 2016 (see Fig.  6.4). The show

Fig. 6.4  We15 casting call with the logos of Tencent Video and Dragon TV

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follows 15 ordinary citizens from different classes and professions who attempt to live together on a remote barren plateau for one year and build a new society using two cows, ten chickens and ¥50,000 (US $7960). John de Mol, the Dutch media tycoon, created the reality TV format Utopia based on Thomas More’s 1516 book Utopia (derived from the Greek word ou-topos (no place/nowhere) and combined with eu-topos (good place)), which explores the possibility of creating an ideal society. The show was subsequently adapted in five countries (the USA, Canada, Turkey, Germany and China). As a ground-breaking television experiment with a visionary approach to life, Utopia gives 15 individuals a chance to leave their daily lives and explore the possibility of building a better society from scratch in the absence of contemporary laws and rules. This project embodies the current industrial interest in experiments with the potentials of digital media forms and technologies. As one executive producer of the show in China argues: The philosophy of this show is to minimise intervention in the daily activities of the residents. It is, so far, the most realistic reality TV show (in China). We have truly little script for the production. Whether audiences like one of them or not, it does not matter much. They are doing a social experiment on a mountain. All the issues should be solved internally rather than by laws and rules. (IV15, 17/10/2016, Beijing)

We15 is not only a social experiment per se but also an editorial experiment by Tencent executives and producers wishing to explore the creative space and social impacts of online platforms. The online portal and live streaming technologies have created an alternative space for creative and critical expression in reality television that would not be possible in broadcast channels. This ground-breaking television experiment provides a space for Chinese citizens to develop a miniature social system through voting which is absent outside the mountain. PUGC and UGC While live streaming has recreated the kind of instantaneity and spontaneity initially promised by the aesthetics of broadcast liveness, danmu makes interaction synchronised to a specific playback time, creating timecoded online comments where time becomes more visible through streaming progress bars. The mediation function and affective experiences of danmu

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represent a notion of ‘contact’ as the central logic of platforms with a high degree of real-time online interactions and grassroots participation. Originating in Japanese online platform Niconico in 2006, danmu, displayed as scrolling marquee comments synchronised to a specific playback time, has been widely adopted among Chinese video platforms from first-­ tier players iQiyi and Tencent Video to UGC platforms like Bilibili and Kwai (He et al., 2017, p. 2). Epitomising the participatory culture of the Chinese digital generation, danmu enables users to see live streaming videos and other users’ messages while interacting with each other simultaneously (agree, disagree or volunteering subtitle foreign content) (see Fig. 6.5 for danmu interaction of Bao Zou Big News). Danmu provides a discussion arena to debate real time on social issues at the specific screen time of the video, engendering a collective viewing experience among Chinese online communities in the relatively isolated modern society. Danmu generates not only a new means of audience engagement but also a new production practice through live production.

Fig. 6.5  Satirical news commentary by the presenter identified as Wang Nima. Scrolling marquee comments on the top of the screen are numerous due to its online popularity on Tencent Video

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The data-driven production cultures highlight the importance of user participation in the operations of the digital giant, subsequently nurturing a wave of PUGC and UGC production forms at Tencent Video. Cultural convergence has fostered a new generation of audiences in both Chinese and Western countries. For Jenkins (2006, p. 37), ‘[these consumers] are fighting for the right to participate more fully in their culture, to control the flow of media in their lives and to talk back to mass market content’. As an executive producer at Tencent explains: The first stage is PGC (producer-generated-content). The second stage will be nurturing good-quality UGC. Sometimes, UGC with professional skills could be as good as the PGC content. We refer to this kind of content as PUGC. This area could potentially be an important profit point. (IV17, 17/01/2017, Beijing)

Since 2016, Tencent Video launched Mangzhong Initiatives (Grain in Ear Initiatives) to provide monthly subsidies for qualified original content producers (RMB200 million in 2016 and RMB1.2  billion in 2017) (Tencent, 2017).2 The initiative not only provides monthly subsidies for UGC entrepreneurs but also allocates RMB200 million commission fees for PGC content production. PUGC represents another area of production and TES innovation at Tencent. Produced by professionally trained users, PUGC have gained online popularity with their high production values, release schedules, promotion strategies and grassroots engagement. Whilst PUGC is a new model of production that has been increasingly prevalent on Chinese digital platforms, Tencent has provided production funds to support PUGC producers while acquiring online exclusive release rights. One example is Tencent’s PUGC content Bao Zou Big News (BZBN) (Bao Zou Da Shi Jian) (Tencent, 2013–), produced by Chinese cartoon company Rage Comic. BZBN features a masked presenter, Wang Nima, taking a satirical swipe at current affairs and world news with jokes and critical comment on social, cultural and political issues in each webisode over five seasons. Similar to  Anglo-American  satirical news programmes such as Mock the Week (BBC Two, 2015–) and The Daily Show (Comedy Central, 1996–), the show exemplifies online popular culture and grassroots representation among Chinese internet users. For instance, one episode, ‘The Annual Ceremony for The Most Touching Online Events’, featured a mock ceremony to criticise social news, celebrities and vulgar media content across the world.

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Tencent producers have responded actively to the shifting viewing habits, as noted in one interview with a development producer: ‘we are basically a small screen channel’, A Tencent Think Tank (Penguin Thinktank) revealed in 2016 that 46.8% of users spent more than three hours per day on mobile applications, with 26.5% spending more than five hours per day. As shown in the data analysis conducted by Tencent Thinktank (2017), 10 of 12 categories of online video content are consumed via mobile devices. Those genres range from TV drama series (78%), films (74%), entertainment shows (73%) to documentaries (59%). The multiple versions and spin-offs provide an inexpensive source of branded content for the proliferating array of platforms operated by Tencent. As the development producer continues: Our users are not only young digital generations as we expected, but also migrant workers who invest their salary in a smart phone in order to consume entertainment content. Mobile phones are their only daily entertainment outlets. Most of our users are the low-income groups who live in the small cities or towns with little access to cultural facilities such as theatres and museums. (IV16, 02/11/2016, Beijing)

Producers’ awareness of targeted users further echoes the user-oriented production cultures at digital platforms like Tencent, potentially empowering low-income communities—something that is not commonplace in broadcast television. Small-Screen Aesthetics In Conversation with Strangers (Tencent News, 2017–2020) is a useful illustration of small-screen aesthetics for grassroots low social economic status (SES) communities at Tencent Video. The talk show is specifically tailored to mobile viewing and online interaction with both website and mobile portrait versions (see Fig.  6.6A–D). With non-judgmental portraits and inclusive dialogues, the series encompasses untold stories, tabooed topics and social issues that trigger critical debates and challenge mainstream stereotypes on marginalised communities to a large extent. Produced by Lun Li, a CCTV veteran executive who leads factual production on Tencent News, the talk show features interviews with ordinary citizens who have untold and controversial stories from buglers and social workers to gamblers and prostitutes (IV14). As one Tencent Live Streaming executive argues:

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Fig. 6.6  (A–D) Mobile vertical portrait version of In Conversation with Strangers (Tencent, 2017–). This episode features Chen’s interview with a bus thief about his daily life Currently, very few people watch live streaming on their computers; almost 99% of users watch it on their mobile phones. Therefore, we must consider the nature of mobile viewing in our daily productions. For example, we would not use small fonts or newspaper scans in a programme since any video must be readable on mobile screens. (IV12, 22/10/2016, Beijing)

As such, Tencent original commissions such as In Conversation with Strangers have been tailored specifically for mobile viewers, particularly the grassroots low social income communities in second-tier and third-tier Chinese cities who tend to spend much more time on streaming services rather cosmopolitan users (IV16, 02/11/2016, Beijing). Arguably all the TES forms discussed here are intricately linked to the concept of ‘time’, remediating human communicative potential and our experience of time, space and interactivity. While flow used to make time invisible, time has become an increasingly visible feature of contemporary media forms through streaming progress bars. I argue that these TES forms have discursively shifted the sense of time in Chinese convergence-­ era television. These four TES forms maximise the potential of real-time interaction empowered by digital technologies, which not only allow audiences real-time interaction but also help media producers grasp users’ preferences without time delays. The emergence of big data and social media as TES forms has resulted from not only top-down strategies but also bottom-up grassroots forces, embodying post-TVIII Chinese characteristics in Chinese convergence television.

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Concluding Remarks As one of Chinese leading video streaming services, Tencent Video has engendered a set of commercially inclusive production cultures, moving beyond being a digital platform operator fostering conditions for greater creativity and creative freedoms that rejuvenated Chinese viewing experience through a new range of narrative aesthetics, production norms and TES forms. This chapter firstly examined the rise of Chinese internet-­ distributed television in the one-party state. It then moved on to examine changing production forms and screen aesthetics of Chinese SVOD commissions in the case of Tencent Video. In contrast to broadcast production cultures, SVOD original commissions have intervened the historical trajectory of storytelling norms across genres and formats and demonstrated a strong upgrade production culture with which Tencent producers continuously experiment, generating innovative ways of creative expression and user engagement. Tencent Video has emerged as a hybrid model that engenders new sets of production forms and TES forms where Tencent producers have been exploring new ways of creative expression from data-­ driven programme formats to 24-hour live streaming reality show. The ephemeral TES forms demonstrate the strong upgrade production cultures among Tencent producers, who keep experimenting with innovative ways of storytelling. These new forms of media convergence and hybridity have forged a set of new production cultures and daily practices through a technologically determined form of innovation which, in turn, has enabled Chinese media practitioners to celebrate greater creative autonomy through TES forms. Chapters 8 and 9 will elaborate how the rapid growth of Chinese digital streaming services in the current period of Chinese television have informed and empowered creative and intellectual freedoms in original SVOD commissions. Chinese producers exert their creative and critical freedoms through TES screen forms rather than through conveying their personal and ideological beliefs directly in convergent Chinese television industries. This scenario results in a melange of contradictory political and commercial content which reflects a commercially driven and politically compliant production culture. The next chapter will begin to work through micro-level discourses in Chinese television production cultures by examining daily production  practices in which two interconnected discourses have been predominantly unveiled through my ethnography—implicit fears and creative freedoms/autonomy.

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Notes 1. This study focuses mainly on professionally made live streaming as a television genre rather than amateur live streaming such as TikTok and Kwai. For example, Dai et  al. (2017) conducted in-depth online ethnography on grassroots live streaming communities, arguing that the prevalence of live streaming services reflects the digital generation’s community building, aimed at making sense of their ‘rootless’ lifestyle by sharing their daily lives with peer communities. 2. https://om.qq.com/notice/a/20170317/036512.htm.

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Poniewozik, J. (2015). Streaming TV Isn’t Just a New Way to Watch. It’s a New Genre. Retrieved December 10, 2018, from https://www.nytimes. com/2015/12/20/arts/television/streaming-­t v-­i snt-­j ust-­a -­n ew-­w ay-­t o-­ watch-­its-­a-­new-­genre.html Tencent. (2017). 张一山《柒个我》演技获赞 [Yishan Zhang Won Audiences’ Praise for His Performance in Seven of Me]. Retrieved May 30, 2019, from https://ent.qq.com/a/20171215/023064.htm Zhang, X., Xiang, Y., & Hao, L. (2019). Virtual Gifting on China’s Live Streaming Platforms: Hijacking the Online Gift Economy. Chinese Journal of Communication, 12(3), 340–355.

CHAPTER 7

Walking a Tightrope? Producers’ Fears and Precarity in China

It is the policymaking rather than legislation (Li Fa) that regulates the Chinese television market. Regulations mean that whenever the censor says no, we must stop broadcasting or producing the programmes. [For example], the government banned all the television programmes adapted from imported format before 10:30 pm. They also restricted Korean content and talents on TV this year. The implementation of regulations is very subtle. It is ideological guidance. They would not legislate what you should, but you know you just cannot produce any content that is against the government. (Fu, IV6, 04/11/2016, Beijing)

For Fu, the Chief Creative Officer (CCO) of a leading Chinese production company, it is imperative to understand media policies from the development stage of production: failure to adhere to the latest regulations and policies could not only lead to a ‘fatal ban’ on transmission that would not only undermine the economic performance of companies but also cause the forfeit of one’s career, sometimes being banned from participating in any media production for a number of years (IV6). The consequences of not obeying political guidelines thus can—and often are—‘terrible’ (IV6). Censorship, as an interpretative practice, embodies a contingent but compulsory characteristic in Chinese cultural production. Fu’s comments epitomise the prevalent fears Chinese producers face in their daily work practices in the post-TVIII society. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 L. Lin, Convergent Chinese Television Industries, Palgrave Global Media Policy and Business, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-91756-2_7

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Despite the economic boom of the current national landscape, Chinese creative and cultural industries still face a regressive political system in which any dissident comments against the regime are forbidden. As Fung et al. (2014, p. 255) observe, ‘The party/state still retains its ideological grip over Chinese media, especially over key areas such as news and editorials’, with political considerations and constraints underpinning the development and operation of any creative agency. These constraints are primarily embodied in the daily work practices of TV producers in the form of ‘fears’. Under the CPC leadership, the industry is subject to the state’s paternalism whereby all television and radio stations are state-­ owned (commercial players cannot apply for broadcast licences in mainland China) and party cadres engage in widespread and penetrative surveillance. The introduction to The Annual Report on Chinese Film, Radio and Television (2017, p.  3) sets out the slogan of the year: ‘The ideology is well controlled in 2016 although it faces increasing difficulty guiding public opinion and fighting against hostile forces.’ The robust ideological control exerted by the CPC in every sphere of life aims to nurture an overly nationalistic population (ironically, given the party’s philosophical roots in the internationalist ethos of communism) that refrains from questioning the ruling powers or their socio-political agenda. However, this strict state control has been significantly disrupted and challenged by marketisation and privatisation which originated from the Deng Xiaoping-led economic reform process which imported a model of economic development based on free market capitalism in the 1990s. Having adopted the capitalistic economic model shorn of the concomitant liberal political framework within which capitalism is embedded in western nations, the Chinese government has maintained strict political and ideological control and suppressed any criticism of communist ideological guidance in any sphere of life, including, in fact specifically, the media. Compared to print industries, the Chinese broadcasting system faces stricter regulations and restrictions when it comes to seeking permission to develop, produce and distribute content (Xu, 2011, p.  90). However, fears of upsetting the CPC authorities are not the only fears that condition and shape the daily practices of Chinese television producers, who also face a range of fears in response to commercial pressures and fierce market competition. This chapter will provide an in-depth analysis of the various fears—how they manifest themselves and how they are managed in the daily production practices—observed in the author’s fieldwork across CCTV, Mango

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TV and Tencent Video between 2016 and 2017. Through in-depth ethnographic fieldwork in the form of interviews and participant observation placements, this chapter aims to produce a ‘thick description’ of the production cultures and reveal individual media workers’ fears and the hidden politics behind official slogans and trade publications in the post-TVIII era. Fears are prevalent behind the daily rush and tumble of Chinese television in the cases of CCTV, Mango TV and Tencent, but the meanings and the impacts of those fears on production cultures play out very differently according to those institutions’ historical origins as well as their distinct production strategies and cultures that were identified and explored in the meso level. Firstly, this chapter will briefly look at the historical background to media censorship exerted by the evolving media regulatory bodies since the Reform and Opening-up in 1978. Secondly, it will explore the various types of fears—political obligations, commercial pressures and market competition—which prevail among individual Chinese producers as well as the responses these workers have devised to deal with those fears. These observations occurred not only overtly in the accounts of producers but also implicitly in the fieldwork. The chapter is particularly aimed at exploring the extent to which the producers acknowledge the ideological censorship and how they understand and respond to it, and how these pressures and responses result in distinct types of fears that are incorporated into their daily practices in specific production contexts. Political awareness among Chinese media workers, I argue, is a Foucauldian act of self-discipline that enacts state censorship via the fear of the censorship itself, borne of a need to protect oneself from being punished by an omniscient and omnipotent central authority.

Articulation of Fears The exercise of power is not a naked fact, an institutional right, [and] nor is it a structure which holds out or is smashed: it is elaborated, transformed, organized; it endows itself with processes which are more or less adjusted to the situation. (Foucault, 1982, p. 792)

The censorship system exerted by the CPC government on media practitioners could be seen as a system of regulated power relations as elaborated by Foucault.1 Unlike Chomsky’s focus on human nature and concepts of justice, Foucault’s theory of power illuminates the complexity of understanding human social structures and the formation of fears in

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authoritarian countries like China. For Foucault (1982, p.  787), power relations constitute regulated and concerted systems. Four points from Foucault are pertinent for my investigation into power relations in the Chinese media (and wider society): the system of differentiations, the types of objectives, the means of bringing power relations into being and forms of institutionalisation (Foucault, 1982, p.  792). In the following discussion, I will adopt Foucault’s four points of power relations to understand the discourses of fear regarding Chinese political ideology among Chinese media practitioners. The censorship system exerted by the CPC government on media practitioners could be seen as a system of regulated power relations. If we apply Foucault’s theoretical framework to media censorship in China, the objective of the ideological control is to bring statutory authority into operation. Power relations are exercised into being not by the threat of arms but by systems of surveillance and sophisticated means of control in forms of modifiable and viable regulations that operate more flexibly than official legislation. The power relations are disseminated in different ways—covertly, overtly and downright candidly—through the Chinese propaganda hierarchy (the given social ensemble) whereby the party state is dispersed across each level of its administrative authorities. Having recognised the weakness of a top-down disciplinary regime, the party state, as a given social ensemble, has localised and internalised its power ‘at each level of the propaganda hierarchy’ (Zhao, 2008, p. 33). This propaganda hierarchy is further translated into a Foucauldian act of self-discipline in which each organisation is focusing on its ‘territory’ and trying to annihilate every possible ‘mistake’ through the institutionalisation of bottom-up self-censorship (Yu, 2002, cited in Zhao, 2008, p. 33).2 Before examining the fears noted in the study’s ethnographic observations, it is first necessary to explore the terms used to describe the constraints Chinese television producers are facing in the post-TVIII era, to determine whether concerns, constraints or fears are more appropriate ways to frame the discourse. Unlike the connotations of the terms ‘concern’ and ‘constrain’, ‘fear’ indicates a certain degree of panic regarding impending danger and the severe consequences if one does not obey. According to the OED  (2019), ‘fear’ refers to ‘the emotion of pain or uneasiness caused by the sense of impending danger, or by the prospect of some possible evil’. As Fong (2015) argues in the case of Singapore, fear is closely related to language and culture, and this differs from society to society. There are a variety of terms in Mandarin for fears which have

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connotations in specific circumstances, including 恐惧 (scare), 恐怖 (horror), 害怕 (fear), 畏惧 (frighten) and 担忧 (worry). In the Chinese context, ‘fear’ is an appropriate term to describe the dread and anxiety which prevails among Chinese television workers who constantly face the wrath of all-powerful ideological powers in their daily practices. Fears of violating the political ideology and the potentially terrible consequences for one’s career and/or one’s life—including imprisonment and even death— of doing so are all pervasive among Chinese people no matter what class, ethnicity, job, from social elites to working-class families, from telecommunication companies to entertainment corporations. The instilling of fear has a straightforward source: the CPC government.3 Either overtly or tacitly, willingly or unwillingly, the vast bulk of Chinese citizens choose to accept and subject themselves to the regulations and policies pronounced by the CPC. Adopting Foucault’s theory, I aim to theorise Chinese production practices and investigate how Chinese producers understand and respond to censorship as well as the working conditions under which articulations of censorships are made. The fears of Chinese producers are by no means monochrome—arguably, they vary according to genres and institutions. As Ellis (1982, p. 16) argues, ‘the range of genres that cinema and TV dispose are a powerful means of classifying the world into types of action and types of responses’. Accordingly, each genre undertakes distinct social, political and cultural roles for both audiences and producers, and as a result, in the Chinese case each attracts different degrees of state censorship which, in turn, trigger different degrees of fear among Chinese media workers (and thus different responses). There is a widespread climate of surveillance and fear in news production, be it print, radio, television or digital. Upon the hierarchic censorships of news production, fears are prevalent among journalists, news editors and programme producers. Fear of expressing critical comments or dissent on social, political and religious issues is related to the fear of having one’s career hindered or even losing one’s job and, beyond that, loss of one’s liberty. Producers’ responses to such fears take the form of either compromise, resistance, negotiation or challenging restrictions and the hierarchies that impose them. As Zeng and Sparks (2019, p. 55) argue, power relations in Chinese television are best understood as ‘a process of negotiation’. Rather than being explicit, my fieldwork reveals that fears of statuary authorities are either implicit in the interviewees’ responses or suppressed but observed in the observation placements. For instance, one of the interviewees once posted on WeChat a sarcastic meme: ‘The

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world would be much nicer if we could ask the State Administration of Radio, Film and Television (SARFT) to oversee the food quality in China and ask the China Food and Drug Administration (CFDA) to oversee television production’ (Fieldwork Note, May 2017).4 The quote highlights two issues in the Chinese system: that SARFT exerts heavy censorship on media content while the CFDA neglects to regulate food quality adequately. For Born (2005, p. 15), fieldwork is ‘a sharp tool for discerning not just the unifying features but the divisions, boundaries and conflicts of the society being studied—conflicts so charged that they may be suppressed, or alluded to only in throwaway remarks, or in humour’. In the same vein, Chinese media workers’ fears of the political authorities are deliberately hidden so as to seem invisible to outsiders, deeply embedded in workers’ daily practices, whether in the form of anecdotes or jokes that seamlessly fuse into the daily workflow. It is worth noting here the anecdotal term ‘harmonised’ (Bei He Xie Le) to refer to ‘banned’ content. Mimicking the state slogan ‘building a harmonious socialist society’, ‘harmonised’ is widely used by both media practitioners and online users to joke about state censorship when a website displaying ‘the content was deleted due to a violation of state regulation’ is spotted. Fear of censorship is, of course, by no means a novel concern for media practitioners, and was just as—if not more—prevalent in the era of TVII. However, commercialisation has brought about a new range of fears in the post-TVIII era, fears which, although present in other media industries, are tinged with specific Chinese characteristics. The next three sections will explore the distinct types of fears Chinese television producers face on an individual level from ideological control to market forces, including fears of censorship, self-­ censorship and fears of losing relevance.

Fears of Censorship Since 1949, the Chinese broadcasting system was nationalised and transformed into wholly state-owned institutions structured and strictly regulated by the political regime from the national to the local level right up until the 1980s. During 1986 and 1987, a Broadcasting Law was drafted by the former Department of Radio, Film and Television. However, this law was cancelled shortly before the Tian’an men political turmoil and never implemented.5 Since then, there has been no official broadcasting legislation in China. Instead, a series of ad hoc media regulatory acts have

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been issued by the State Council based on the 1986 Broadcasting Law Draft. The first official regulation act—Radio and Television Regulation Guideline—was issued on 1 September 1997 following on the heels of a government campaign on legislation from ‘being ruled by the people’ to ‘being ruled by the law’ which began in 1992. The Guideline lists prohibited subjects in any radio and television programme, including anti-party statements, political-ideological dissidence, obscenity, superstition and any content otherwise banned by laws, policies and regulations. It clearly states that ‘television and radio must serve the people and serve the socialism’ and affirms the importance of building a broadcasting system ‘with Chinese characteristics’ in the form of State Council stipulations (Zhao & Ai, 2009, p. 176). Recalling the socialist cultural production theory ‘flowers of all sectors in blossom’ (Bai Hua Qi Fang) proposed by Mao Zedong in 1956, President Xi Jinping urged every cultural worker to remember that ‘socialist cultural works always belong to the people’ and proposed ‘a people-centric approach to artistic creation’ in a state conference with delegates from China’s cultural and creative industries  in 2019 (CPC News, 2019). Instead of issuing legislation about the media control, which would have led to ‘debates over the meaning of the constitutional guarantee of press freedom at the National People’s Congress’, the Chinese government has chosen to legitimate its media structure by administrative ‘regulations’ (Zhao, 2008, p. 26). Legislation is the act of making or giving laws by a government or governing body, whilst Regulation is a rule or principle governing behaviour or practice which is established and maintained by means of regulations or restrictions (OED, 2019). Regulations in Chinese media industries are often in the form of versatile government media policies rather than legislation. One example of such versatile regulations was the 2002 national campaign, following the Sixteenth Party Congress, to ‘Clean up the Screen’, a wave of regulatory campaigns to restrict entertainment-driven programmes and transmission timeslots (Bai, 2015, p. 73). The Clean-up campaign has been ongoing until the time of this study. A recent example is that China’s Cyberspace Administration announced a crackdown on vulgar and illegal content across multiple social media platforms in the spring of 2018. As Zhao (2008, p. 66) notes, there are seven forbidden content categories issued by Chinese media regulators:

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These include [what is] harmful to national unity, sovereignty, and territorial integrity; harmful to national security, honor, and interest; inciting national division and damaging national unity; disclosing state secrets; slandering and libel; promotion of obscenity, superstition, and violence; and other content prohibited by law and administrative orders.

Covering nearly every aspect of the society, these forbidden areas not only apply to media platforms but also every sphere of society, including academia and ordinary civilians. In fact, such topics are banned in any media form at all. The integrated administrative models in Chinese screen industries indicate the prevalent disciplinary regime through the seamless top-down party control structure in the Chinese state governance. These regulatory bodies have been hugely influential in shaping the Chinese screen industries through exerting their political propaganda roles and media regulations. In addition to the fixed set of political taboos, the government issues ‘new’ volatile regulations according to the specific conditions of the Chinese media environment at certain times. What is different from the Western broadcast compliance process is the degree of intervention through a ‘content management’ gauntlet that takes place before, and sometimes after broadcast, when decisions are made on whether the programmes will have a detrimental effect on social stability (Keane, 2015, p. 26). According to a CCTV veteran news editor who consistently faced uncertainties in his daily production: ‘They’ give us new regulations occasionally. It is not permanent. We just wait for the ‘notice’. For example, recently the government has not allowed us to comment too much on the high housing prices. (IV11, 15/05/2016, Beijing)

These volatile and unpredictable regulations are applied to not only state-owned broadcasters but also independent producers. Producers argue that they face many restrictions when conceptualising a programme idea (IV6). Following the comments in the beginning of this chapter, the former CCO Fu gave an example of their talent shows, in which public voting in broadcast programmes was banned by the former State Administration of Press and Publication, Radio, Film and Television (SAPPRFT) after the phenomenal success of Super Girl (Hunan Satellite TV, 2004–2006, 2009,

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2011; Mango TV, 2016).6 Super Girl, an unauthorised version of the Idol format, drew 120,000 women of all ages to participate into the preliminary selections, which took place in four to six major cities across the country. It reached more than 400 million viewers who were able to vote for their favourite singer by texting and have the final say on the competition, and its balloting was regarded as the largest voting exercise ever conducted in China (NY Times, 2006). Voting, as Fu argued, indicates a form of democracy and raises the issue of elections (including for the CPC’s Politburo Standing Committee), a subject the state is afraid of entering the public discourse. As this producer argued, the aim was to prevent any development of democracy in the public sphere: ‘if people can vote for their favourite singers, why can’t they vote for the national president?’. The voting process in the idol format indicates a form of democracy and freedom of expression which raises public awareness about the absence of political elections (including for the CPC’s Politburo Standing Committee), a subject the state is afraid of entering the public discourse. Therefore, although his team hoped to build more interaction with TV audiences nationwide, a key component of post-TVIII production in western democracies such as the UK, the US and Australia, only studio audiences were allowed to vote throughout all four seasons. However, digital platforms like Tencent Video have been exempted from this regulation, experimenting with online voting systems through their mobile applications. Tencent talent shows like The Star of the Future (Tencent Video, 2017–2019) and Produce 101 (Tencent Video, 2018–) have employed nationwide online voting systems to rank the participants of online talent shows, arguably facilitating the formation of digital fandom and certain degrees of participatory democracy across Tencent-run platforms.7 During the period of the current study, strict state censorship predominantly slowed down CCTV’s multiplatform production (Fieldwork Note, 2016). As one politically inappropriate element in live production could spell an end to a producer’s career, systematic censorship systems have been formed at CCTV multiplatform production whereby executive producers review all online content before they are uploaded to CNTV, Tencent Video and social media platforms. Online comments for specific CCTV programmes (e.g. any programmes featuring national politics and the CPC leadership) distributed on Tencent Video have also been deactivated upon the request of CCTV producers. Whilst online comments are subject to censorship on CNTV (see the meso level), WeChat comments

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on CCTV official accounts are subject to the same strict censorship as website comments, and only ‘appropriate’ ones are approved by the digital editor for ordinary users (IV5, 06/11/2016). The term ‘appropriate’ has strong political connotations and lacks a concrete definition, a characteristic derived from the desire to instil a culture of self-censorship. In my participant observation with Waiting for Me, one executive producer expressed anxiety about the risk of live streaming that I proposed, arguing that ‘It is hard to control and censor the content that the audience will say’ (IV1, 20/10/2017, Beijing). Instead of a pre-recorded production environment, live streaming services involve live discussions, which pose a huge challenge to CCTV producers to control and censor each comment made live by online users. As timeliness and immediacy are key to gaining relevance among online users (i.e. expanding viewership across platforms), this strict censorship can—and does—result in a failure to maintain the relevance of CCTV multiplatform content for Chinese audiences. Strict censorship is not only applied to the broadcasting sector but also the fast-developing digital platform operators. Audiences, especially the younger generations in urban areas, have been switching their viewing habits to mobile devices. In order to maintain the editorial control on the newly emerging digital platforms, the CPC government launched Central Cyberspace Affairs Commission (CAC) (led by President Xi Jinping) and the Office of the Central Leading Group for Cyberspace Affairs (CLGCA) in 2014. CLGCA and CAC, though under two names, have been functioning as one regulatory body which reports directly to The Central Committee of the Communist Party of China (CCCPC) regarding cyber security and internet censorship. By monitoring and controlling real-time online activities in mainland China, CLGCA exerts internet governance, state surveillance and censorship on website portals, social media communications, live steaming and online video aggregators. The establishment and development of the CAC as a top-level internet governing body demonstrate the degree to which the Chinese government is attempting to adapt to China’s rapidly shifting internet ecology by establishing a systematic mechanism of national internet censorships and regulations regarding online content censorship instant message censorship and real-name registrations for internet services (Miao & Lei, 2016, pp. 337–339). As online platforms and social media are now more widely used ways of accessing media content and television programmes, the state has decided to impose stricter regulation on live comments and bullet comments of digital platforms, especially on political coverage. Online video

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aggregators have come under the state surveillance since the enforcement of Administrative Provisions on Internet Audio-Visual Program Service (the Provisions) in 2007, followed by the launch of General Rules for Internet Audio-Visual Program Content Censorships in 2017. Most interviewees in the digital sector noted that there has been stricter and more systematic online censorship since the 2010s. The term ‘chi du’—which refers to regulation and restriction in media production—has been frequently mentioned during my interviews with Tencent producers who expressed their concerns towards regulatory and ideological restrictions in Chinese media industries. I use the term chi du directly in the analysis in order to indicate the nuanced connotations of this term which was used directly by my interviewees during the fieldwork.8 For Pang, an executive producer from Tencent Video: Many people have wrong ideas about the internet. They believe there is more freedom and looser chi du (regulation and restriction) on the internet. However, in fact the opposite is true. Both the CAC (Cyberspace Administration of China) and the State Information Office (under the control of the CPCPD) regulate us. It is compulsory to have two levels of censorship among platform operators. (IV15, 17/10/2016, Beijing)

Given the nation state’s endeavours to nurture a ‘healthy and harmonious’ online environment, the increasing popularity of digital networks also attracts greater censorship from the CPC.  As one Tencent executive comments: We have similar chi du (regulation and restriction) as regional broadcasters. If you look closer at Beijing Broadcasting System and Hunan Broadcasting System, they have hugely different chi du. Hunan terrestrial channels will also have different chi du from Hunan Satellite TV. (IV15, 17/10/2016, Beijing)

Recent years have seen more regulations on digital platforms which once used to steer clear of state censorship in the early 2000s. A wide range of western digital platforms has been banned since 2007, from social media platforms Facebook and Instagram, Google-run search engines and Gmail services, messaging services WhatsApp and Discord, leading Western news websites to streaming services Netflix and video sharing websites YouTube and Dailymotion.

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In an informal conversation with one Tencent vice president, when asked whether WeChat brings more democracy in the context of China, the VP gave me a firm answer without any hesitation: We work closely with the government to ensure that social media content that is politically incorrect will be removed quickly from the beginning. Our goal is to connect users through our social media services. It might have some kind of creative freedoms emerging on social media platforms, but that is not what we promote. It is impossible to do any business against the government in China. It is too naïve to think democracy has emerged on WeChat. (Fieldwork Note, March 2017)

This political compliance results in not only sharing users’ data with government surveillance agencies, but also to incorporate socialist values and propaganda speeches into the content curation on Tencent Video. Having faced The Regulation on Summoning Internet News Service Companies, which empowers the CAC to summon any platform operator who violates regulations for a ‘talk’ with the local CAC official (Miao & Lei, 2016, p. 339), Tencent’s approach to big data could be understood as largely operating within the boundaries of state-led authoritarian capitalism and the state control. Unlike the sporadic and informal broadcasting regulations, the ‘Internet Security Law of the PRC’, the First Basic Law of the Chinese Internet was formally enacted in November 2016 through the Twelfth National People’s Congress and came into effect in June 2017 with the nationwide promotion. The recently established CLGCA, chaired by President Xi Jinping, operates under the slogan ‘The nation’s security cannot exist without cybersecurity’. The home page of CLGCA shows President Xi’s profile image with two slogans ‘national security does not exist without cybersecurity; modernisation does not exist without informatisation’. Both slogans highlight the significance for the state of harmonising cybersecurity with both national security and social stability. The systematic regulations aim to secure ‘discursive power’ (Hua Yu Quan) to control public opinion. As such digital players have been facing stricter and more systematic regulation from the party state under the leadership of President Xi compared to the last decade. One prominent example of the increasing regulation of online platforms came in 2016, before the enactment of the ‘Internet Security Law of the PRC’ in 2017. The incident involved a typo on the Tencent News

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website when an editor accidentally typed ‘President Xi gave a speech’ wrongly to ‘President Xi got mad in a speech’ in a news headline. Due to the substantial number of MAUs on Tencent News, this wrong title spread rapidly across the country before it was amended. The incident got nationwide coverage across the media outlets and was perhaps a trigger for President Xi’s enactment of the November 2016 internet law. The incident also led to the dismissal of chief editors at Tencent News and other Tencent executives, triggering a widespread closedown of online portals and any programmes deemed ‘inappropriate’. After the 2015 ‘Typo Incident’, which triggered nationwide turmoil across all the media outlets, an online censorship system was exerted by the SAPPRFT, the MIIT and the MoC, including: (1) the role of one censor from the MIIT to monitor Tencent live news production on a day-to-­day basis in order to ensure political compliance; (2) executive producers have to undertake and pass video censor training in order to receive the Censor Certificate for Online Video and Audio Production. The Certificate Training Session covers training sessions from content regulations on online series and video content to general rules on censoring online video content, from frequently asked questions on censoring documentaries and animations to Marxist journalism, professionalism and professional ethics and content censorship on internet audio-visual content (Fieldwork Note, 2017). The term media professionalism in China has different connotations here from the western professionalism which refers to a set of professional practices and ethics such as accuracy, public interest, fairness, objectivity, honesty, public service and responsibility with the ascendancy of anti-partisan sentiments (Waisbord, 2013). Under the Marxist value system, professionalism in China denotes not only professional norms, skills and codes of practices but also a set of political awareness and Marxist mainstream values. The enactment of censor certificates for digital platforms has internalised the responsibility of censoring to Tencent producers and executive producers, who must assume responsibility for any mistakes in the programmes. These people, therefore, conduct strict self-censorship. As one Tencent executive producer explains: As internal censors, we (executive producers) must pass the Censor Certificate issued by the SAPPRFT… This certificate is similar to the one required for broadcast producers. It involves a couple of days’ training covering all topics related to forbidden areas such as sex and politics. Noticeably clear restrictions. (IV15, 17/10/2016, Beijing)

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In the case of 24-hour live streaming reality series like We15, the role of audio-visual censors was also created in order to monitor the live streaming production and filter any ‘inappropriate’ real-time content before it reached online viewers. This control raises the question of whether Tencent’s compliance might potentially stop it from being different to CCTV and HBS, and, in turn, whether the claims to innovation and user-­ centred design enabled by Tencent’s use of big data simply chime with the Chinese state’s current drive to strengthen its control of technological surveillance and ensure that the party ideology is not threatened. The lack of journalism accreditation for digital platforms has been another form of state regulation that impinges on access to news sources. Despite the fast-growing popularity of digital platforms amongst audiences, no accreditation for digital journalists is permitted, preventing digital producers and journalists from getting access to report major events in the country. Both the absence of accreditation and Censorship Certificate Training reflect the state regulators’ fears of losing control of digital space. The lack of accreditation has led Tencent to acquire a wide range of news sources with both domestic and foreign news agency and media outlets. However, for political reasons, the live streaming signals from BBC News and BBC Chinese Service were removed quickly on Tencent Video’s site. A media executive on Tencent Live Streaming explained: We removed the signal of BBC News from Tencent Live Streaming after realising that politically sensitive news could immediately follow British cultural news. This is a huge risk for us to take if we continue retransmitting the BBC’s signal. The same goes for Associate Press and Reuters. (IV12, 22/10/2016, Beijing)

Understanding the principles of the party’s regulations is crucial for any television producers on all levels. In an angrily toned comment, he continues: We can express freely on any topic except politics. No one would censor you even if you have a huge argument on a non-political issue. Any politics-­ related programmes, however, are strictly controlled, much stricter than before. We cannot make any comments on the governmental structure, the CPC’s leadership or official policy. Other than those taboos, it is no problem to produce diverse and even controversial content on various subjects. As you can see, we also closed down the function of comments on any political news. (IV12, 22/10/2016, Beijing)

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Soon after this interview, this executive left CCTV and went on to lead the Tencent live streaming team. Whilst, as I have set out above, he was perhaps not entirely likely to find complete creative and political autonomy at Tencent, his exit from CCTV represents a more widespread tactic of personal pursuit of creative freedoms whilst at the same time indicating a form of resistance to—or at least dissatisfaction with—political censorship. Given that regulations often take the form of informal and versatile government media policies rather than legislation, producers are obliged to interpret those policies in order to control the creative risks in their daily production practices. Unpredictable media policies are considered the biggest restriction Chinese producers face in their creative processes. Chinese social media platforms (such as WeChat and Weibo) have provided not only new ways of communications but also a new system of surveillance for the Chinese government to monitor Chinese media workers and their daily lives. The recent introduction of the Social Credit System in mainland China has facilitated the Chinese government to exert strong political power over Chinese creative workers and their family members if they disobey state ideology and political obligation, criticise the CPC leadership or express any other political dissents in their day-to-­ day production practices. The integration of WeChat into the daily lives of Chinese citizens has also empowered Tencent to accumulate an extremely profitable trove of user data on a level that even Facebook or Google could in no way achieve (Wildau, 2017). However, top-down regulation or policymaking on its own does not guarantee the requisite subservience of Chinese television producers. Instead, self-censorship in the form of political obedience, or ‘political awareness’ (Zheng Zhi Su Yang), is compulsory for both television and digital producers in the Chinese television industry. This kind of self-­ censorship is the most important yet not always immediately obvious if one were to study Chinese television at the macro level.9 In her study on media censorship in Singapore, Fong (2015, pp. 210–211) considers self-­ censorship as a performance in studying the imagination of roles and expectations in Singaporean media production. In the Chinese context, I argue that self-censorship takes the form of ‘political awareness’ and ‘professionalism’ among both Chinese television and digital producers (an issue which will be examined in detail in the next section).

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Self-Censorship as ‘Political Awareness’ and ‘Professionalism’ Arguably, state censorship acts powerfully not through direct regulation or legislation, imposing immediate bans, punishment or new restrictions, but when producers enact forms of self-censorship in their daily working practices. Foucault (1982, p. 792) notes that power relations are brought into being through the institutionalised hierarchy of self-censorship. Having recognised the paradoxical weakness of a disciplinary regime that relies only, or primarily, on top-down mechanisms, the party state has dispersed, localised and internalised its power ‘by each level of the propaganda hierarchy’ (Zhao, 2008, p. 33). This further transforms into a mode of self-discipline in which each institution focuses on its ‘territory’ and tries to annihilate every possible ‘mistake’ (Yu, 2002, cited in Zhao, 2008, p.  33). This Foucauldian act of self-discipline is vividly elaborated in Surveiller et Punir (Foucault, 1975, pp. 202–203): It is not necessary to use force to constrain the convict to good behaviour, the madman to calm, the worker to work, the schoolboy to application, the patient to the observation of the regulations … He who is subjected to a field of visibility, and who knows it, assumes responsibility for the constraints of power; he makes them play spontaneously upon himself; he inscribes in himself the power relation in which he simultaneously plays both roles; he becomes the principle of his own subjection.

In an interview with a GAPP official, in order to keep their jobs media gatekeepers are compelled to ‘sometimes end up being more draconian and cautious than higher-level propaganda officials’, adopting strict self-­ censorship of inappropriate words and ‘politically sensitive’ topics as elaborated in seven officially sanctioned forbidden content categories above (Zhao, 2008, pp. 33, 66) is pervasive across different media institutions from top-level executives to frontline intern editors. This derives from a form of political awareness which combines with a certain degree of nationalism that is bred through the national education and propaganda system and throughout the everyday life in the party state. Political awareness has been one of the key attributes for media professionalism and an important parameter for key performance indicators, even in non-news departments, in contrast to the neutrality and objectivity in political standpoints in western media professionalism. In addition to other indicators such as viewing rates, public influence and error

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probability, it is crucial to maintain correct ‘political awareness’ if one wants to enjoy a successful career in the media (let alone avoid being politically persecuted). During the fieldwork, when I arranged appointments with CCTV producers and executives, I often found they prioritised their political study sessions over their actual work itself. The interviews were therefore scheduled outside these political study sessions, after which they carried political study books with red covers. I was not allowed to attend any of the political study sessions since non-CCTV employees could access confidential party secrets. Both CCTV and CNTV party cadres held weekly political study sessions during my fieldwork, involving discussion of the latest party rules and self-criticism of daily practices among both CPC and non-CPC producers and executive producers, most of whom had been CPC members prior to their employment.10 Having been led by Nie Chenxi (the Director-General of the CCTV), these study sessions fell under the special training series entitled ‘strictly adhering to political disciplines and political regulations’ (Fieldwork Note, 2017). As the Annual Report on Development of China’s Radio, Film and Television (2017, p. 2) states, broadcasters at all levels must make sure ‘one standpoint, one voice and one pace’ with the central government. Self-censorship is prevalent not only in the broadcasting system but also across the digital platforms. In my participant observation placement with the multiplatform production team of Perfect Holiday, the digital editors at Mango TV carried out strict self-censorship throughout the live production. Whilst the censored content includes harmful or offensive material familiar as in Western systems (e.g. The Ofcom Broadcasting Code), such as swear words and naked or sexual scenes before the 9 pm TV watershed, it also includes anything the editors believe might be politically sensitive expression or content they deem inappropriate. This self-censorship was conducted on a day-to-day basis during my participation observation where I worked as a daytime digital editor uploading highlighted short video clips onto Mango TV’s website from 24-hour live streams with eye-­ catching headlines and keyword hashtags. One senior digital editor, Chan (a pseudonym), at Mango TV emphasises the importance of filtering sensitive words during the induction: When you clip out the highlights from the video stream in the editing software, you have to listen to the dialogue carefully again. If there is any sensitive word, delete the segment of audio or video. No sexual or political expressions please. (Fieldwork Note, September 2016, Hunan)

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As censorship here is not as strict as on broadcast platforms, the entire process from producing the clips to uploading them only took a few minutes, including one ‘censorship’ page normally clicked on and approved by the digital editors themselves as a formal procedure with self-censorship. Self-censorship among WeChat groups was noted among digital editors during the fieldwork. For instance, there were several disagreements between the head and the digital editors on typos or late submission of social media feeds in the case of Perfect Holiday. If the digital editor did not upload one specific video five minutes after the live streaming, the head would send a strong message on the QQ chat group (comprising all the team members) to blame the mistake on who was responsible for the certain scene or camera. Feelings of anxiety and insecurity were prevalent among these junior editors, who appeared to be experiencing high levels of vulnerability and self-doubt almost constantly during live production. Communications on the chat group were constantly monitored by the executive producer,11 who would send a formal statement if there was a dispute among the crew or a single mistake was found. There was no official policy on regulating the online communications on these chat groups; instead, staff employed self-censorship occurred, mostly according to common sense and peer knowledge, to avoid being ‘shamed’ or caught out by the executives for incorrect or inappropriate behaviour. The fear of being caught in front of the other WeChat group members led to a Foucauldian act of self-censorship and self-discipline in the form of daily fear, implying a culture of bottom-up surveillance. ‘Political awareness’ is also relevant in the development process of programmes. The Chinese adaptation of Utopia on Tencent is an illustration of this practice. Having considered the political metaphor ‘Utopia’, which is often placed in opposition to the reality of life in existing communist systems, the producer of this programme expressed in an interview that the team had decided to change the title from Utopia to We15 which had less political symbolism. For the development producer Rui, the political influence has been tremendous: Any localisation of the programme has to face huge challenges. The concept of We15 is very ahead of time, which is a very typical Northern-European format with very advanced ideology. Unlike the production in Sweden and Norway, we are subject to regulation policies and ideological obedience. It is impossible to mention Utopia in the title of the programme due to its political implication. Therefore, we changed it to We Fifteen. (IV16, 02/11/2016, Beijing)

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This strategy indicates the delicate balancing act that producers tread between ‘self-censorship’ and edge ball practices in their daily practices, where decisions might ostensibly be motivated by fears. These edge ball practices allow producers to exercise their creative freedoms in the programme narrative of the live streaming show, providing space for innovation and creative autonomy within certain boundaries. Edge ball, a term known in the industry as well as to the general Chinese public, refers to strategies devised by media practitioners to work through difficult political and creative terrain in non-news genres (see more detail in Chap. 9). A further problem facing the production team was the challenge of live streaming, in which conversations on sensitive topics could occur spontaneously and reach millions of viewers. In addition to the compliance process in the Anglo-US versions of live streaming, which involve short delays to filter sexual and violent conduct and any content regulated by broadcasting regulators like OFCOM (the UK) and FCC (the US), the executive producer Pang introduced a five-minute transmission delay and assigned a team of ‘live streaming censors’ responsible for filtering any politically inappropriate conversations and scenes: We came up with a solution to make sure the safety of live streaming: delayed transmission with only a five-minute delay. During the five minutes, we set up the role of a live streaming censor. It was a very tiring job, working in the gallery 24/7 on rolling shifts and monitoring real-time conversations of residents with headphones for the entire year. The most dangerous element was the language (Yu Yan), not pictures (Hua Mian), unless the residents were showing forbidden tattoos or were fighting each other. (IV15, 17/10/2016, Beijing)

As Pang further explains, ‘Whenever any sensitive words are mentioned, we have to cut off the video signal immediately and replace it with some empty shots of cows, chicken or countryside landscapes we had prepared beforehand’ (IV15, 17/10/2016). Pang’s self-censorship as a common work practice suggests a form of acceptance rather than resilience. She referred to the safety of content (Nei Rong An Quan) as important as the stability of broadcast transmission in the technological vein. Although broadcast transmission delays are a common practice to comply with broadcasting standards, the five-minute transmission delay was seen as crucial to protect live streaming from being banned completely:

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Before transmission, we are really not sure whether it could be broadcast or not. No one has tried 24h live streaming in China, which poses huge challenges for technical stability and content censorship. Huge challenges! (IV15, 17/10/2016, Beijing)

Chinese producers are thus compelled to obey the latest regulations with ‘political awareness’ in order to receive on-air permission, avoid a total ban and secure personal career development (IV20, 01/12/2016). Political awareness, I argue, is therefore a Foucauldian act of self-discipline that automatically enacts state censorship through the very fear of that censorship. In turn, political awareness protects media practitioners from being punished by the authorities as they exercise a certain degree of creative autonomy in a delicate balance between self-censorship and edge ball practices. For Hesmondhalgh and Baker (2011, p. 217), instead of self-­ indulgently making programmes for themselves, ‘ratings are undoubtedly central to the working lives of many people in broadcasting institutions’. In addition to political ideology, Chinese producers also face the significant fear of losing audiences and, in turn, advertising sponsorship following a slump in ratings in a media-saturated environment. The next section will discuss this type of fear—of commercial failure—which is found not only in Western media industries but also in the Chinese context.

Fears of Commercial Failure and Exploitation After four decades of economic reform, Chinese mass media have undergone a tremendous commercial transformation, changing from being ‘a propaganda tool for the party’ to ‘an instrument for engendering capitalism, transforming social relations, and cultivating new forms of consciousness and identity’ (Bai, 2015, p.  71). As discussed in the meso level, Chinese television in the post-TVIII era embodies an upgrade production culture that is driven not only by newly emergent technologies and business models but also a fear of being left behind by other competitors in a tough marketplace. Drawing on my ethnographic fieldwork, I identified prevalent fears of losing relevance (and thus advertising revenues)12 at CCTV (as a traditional broadcaster) and Tencent (a representative of the rapidly developing digital platform operators). Although it is known as the primary mouthpiece of the party state, CCTV is not only a political machine but also a business conglomerate through its wholly owned

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commercially run China International Television Corporation (CITC), a comprehensive, self-contained government business entity (Zhong, 2010a, pp. 653–654). As discussed in the previous chapters, whilst facing tremendous commercial pressure, CCTV needs to retain viewers and prevent its messages from being drowned out by the aggressive entry of provincial satellite channels since the 1990s (Bai, 2015, p. 71). President Xi’s speech at the 2014 National Artistic Practitioners Summit provides the officially sanctioned editorial guidelines for state media: Creative works could not be controlled by the commercial market and smell like copper coins. Distinctive creative works should succeed not only artistically and thematically, but also commercially. While taking market ratings and box offices into account, we could never be controlled by market forces but keep the independent value of creative work. (CPC News, 2019, emphasis added)

However, this is clearly not the case in reality. The unsolved tensions between the ideological commitment CCTV observes and the need to meet a degree of commercial success have been observed in the current study’s fieldwork, which has revealed how ideologically driven high-brow programmes fail to reach the large audiences, especially the younger generations. Following Xi’s editorial guidelines, CCTV has continued to make programmes for the sake of political ideology and socialist core values. Nevertheless, fear of losing relevance in the digital-dominated age is particularly prevalent among CCTV executives and frontline producers. Maintaining relevance can no longer be taken for granted. It requires producers to keep technologically innovative, understand the logics of online cultures and, in turn, develop the skills to produce TES forms. In response, CCTV producers have been pushing content on Tencent platforms, including primetime talk shows, daily news programmes and mainstream entertainment shows. One CNTV executive expressed his concern about providing free content for digital intermediaries such as Tencent, which will ‘definitely spell an end to the future of television’ (IV11, IV8). He expresses his fear of losing commercial revenues to social media platforms (e.g. WeChat and Weibo) and digital video platforms (e.g. Tencent Video, iQiyi and Youku) as well as, paradoxically, a fear of helping drive the growth of those platforms by providing them with free content.

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Increasing production costs add more pressure to producers to seek alternative sources of revenue. Fear of losing revenue was noted in the fieldwork amongst broadcast and digital producers. During my participation observation with Waiting for Me, the advertising sponsorship from a well-known Chinese liquor brand was highlighted in each production meeting, including how to satisfy the company with multiplatform media products and how to persuade them to continue advertising on the programme in the next year (Fieldwork Note, December 2016). The consequence of less advertising revenue will, ultimately, be a cancellation of the programme. The advertisers are regularly referred to as ‘Gold Master’ (Jinzhu) or ‘Gold Master Father’ in interviews with broadcast and digital producers, sometimes even within programme narratives. As one development producer Rui at the R&D Department of Tencent OMG argues: ‘We have to develop in-house production to compete against other competitors in the market, satisfying our users as well as our Gold Father to the largest degree’ (IV16, 02/11/2016, Beijing). This colloquial term indicates the increasing anxiety of commercial pressures among Chinese producers and the vital importance of advertising revenue in a fiercely competitive market. Whist discussing the practicality in adapting Embarrassing Bodies (Channel 4, 2007–2015) to the Chinese market, Rui explains: I believe no one will want to make a programme like Embarrassing Bodies in China since sponsors will hate this kind of bloody programme. In Chinese cultures, it implies bad luck to show blood or disease on screen. There is no benefit or positive influence for the advertisers’ brands. As our Gold Father, they really care about this point. Though we have seen many good British reality shows, we are quite sure it will be different when we try to find advertisers and commission it. (IV16, 02/11/2016, Beijing)

The fear of losing advertising revenue results in producers (especially those in digital players) compromising on their daily practices, where they hone techniques to recognise cultural differences and ponder state censorship of what is acceptable in the Chinese context and what will commercially play well and satisfy advertisers. Fierce competition has led to varying degrees of labour exploitation as well as self-exploitation among television workers. In most cases, this form of exploitation co-exists in the daily practices of media workers who are being ‘in the zone’ of their specific cultural production (Banks, 2014). This connects with the concept of emotional labour initially defined by

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Arlie Hochschild in 1983. Such labour calls on workers ‘to induce or suppress feelings in order to sustain the outward countenance that produces the proper state of mind in others’ (Hochschild, 1983, p.  7). Creative workers tend to develop an emotional attachment to one project after they have dedicated time, blood and tears to it. Following the discussion on the model of ‘good and bad work’ in Chap. 2, which focused on autonomy and self-realisation, this section will examine exploitative labour practices in China’s post-TVIII media industry. Many features of the contemporary labour market were apparent in my fieldwork, including exhaustion, anxiety, insecurity, poor working conditions, low pay, lack of autonomy and experiences of intense surveillance. As examined in the meso level, new TES forms such as 24-hour live streaming, interactive bullet comments and real-time content updates have become immensely appealing to Mango TV users. However, such TES screen forms and the innovation strategies that drive them have engendered a tremendous workload and poor working conditions for workers in Mango TV digital production, especially among below-the-line junior digital editors and media interns, most of whom are recent graduates or undergraduate students. Influenced by the intensive work cultures in the Chinese tech industry (such as the controversial 996 Movement13 advocated by some leading Chinese tech companies in early 2019), labour exploitation has been noted in the digital production arms of Chinese broadcast television as well as internet-distributed television production. Mango TV is known for overworking its staff, and exploitation was noted during my ethnographic fieldwork in late 2016 and early 2017. The digital team is based in the Mango TV building, an annex to a luxurious HBS hotel14 (away from the broadcasting main building). The commercially run company strives to create a benign working environment through open-plan offices, two subsidised canteens (daily menus are available on Mango TV Staff WeChat groups), and occasionally offering free cinema tickets to staff and interns in order to create a ‘humane workplace’. However, both the studio and digital productions at Mango TV largely employ short-term media interns on a three-month rolling basis. During the period of this research, many of the Mango TV media interns worked unsalaried for long hours with no weekend breaks (although these workers have formed a strong peer-to-peer support system via social media platforms) (Fieldwork Notes, October 2016). Without a formal legal contract with the broadcaster, media interns formed this 500-strong active, critical and supportive peer community to support each other through a WeChat

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group, where they share work placements, accommodation information and production skills with fellow interns. These troubled labour relations exploit workers whilst promising greater creative freedom with a range of innovation initiatives (see Chap. 4) in a youthful atmosphere. Together with the fear of being disciplined and state surveillance as discussed in the previous section, Mango TV interns have faced poor working conditions with no salaries and weekend breaks as well as corporate insurance cover. Figure 7.1C shows the ground-floor open-plan office at Mango TV, accommodating almost 500 digital editors. Some of these editors even prepared portable beds next to their desks for a short sleep instead of taking meal breaks during shifts. This situation was actively encouraged by senior executives at the company. According to an executive producer Lao at Mango TV: Mango TV is a 24-hour running editing house. These intern digital editors are responsible for operations and promotions of all the programmes, clipping out the highlights and organising the live streaming events. They have to work extremely hard every day on the repetitive and consistent uploading or clipping tasks to produce real time shot form content, updates and media hype. We do not provide salary but a production placement certificate. (IV22, 13/09/2016)

The 24-hour running editing house referred to in this quite could be ironically understood as a ‘sweathouse’ which exploits the individual labours among digital intern editors who toil long hours for low—or even no—wages at mundane tasks which generate a sense of low self-esteem among the precarious labourers (see Fig. 7.1D). More than half of the junior editors in Hunan were female interns from local universities in their early 20s who were hoping to get an intern certificate after their three-month work experience (considered a compulsory document for Chinese graduates before they obtain their first ‘real’ job). The intensive work was also closely fuelled by individual passions, dreams and fandom for the entertainment industry in the case of Hunan TV, with digital editors often gossiping and swapping anecdotes about the industry and celebrities during work shifts. As one Mango TV digital intern (female, 20) mentioned during my placement, it was so exciting to come across He Jiong (a well-known Chinese television presenter) in front of the broadcasting building and she hoped to get a ticket to the studio production of Happy Camp (Hunan TV, 1997–). Junior staff self-exploit in order to take

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Fig. 7.1  (A–D) (from left to right): Mango TV reception office; Lunchbox; Mango TV open-plan office; digital editors prepare portable beds next to their desks for a quick nap during their shift

their first step into the entertainment industry in the hope of securing a full-time position. In exchange, media companies receive free media labourers who are passionate and dedicated. The lack of functional unions and labour protection awareness among young media graduates facilitates such exploitative labour practices in the case of Mango TV. Most junior staff at Mango TV have no knowledge of professional associations or any awareness of labour protection in the entertainment industry.15 The entire intense process of Mango TV production involves little creativity—which is deemed as a critical element of ‘good work’ in Hesmondhalgh and Baker’s term—since the scripts, the casting process and studio productions are fully controlled by the broadcast team. Whilst observing the real-time live streams recorded in fix-rig, the digital editors have little control, merely clipping out 1–3 minutes of video highlights and uploading them with eye-catching titles and keyword tags repetitively, following instructions from the digital executive. Some of the tasks could possibly be replaced with data processing algorithms and meta-data

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extraction technologies, such as Kiwi, developed by BBC R&D, rather than being manually clipped in and out of the streaming (BBC R&D, 2012). Kiwi is a set of speech processing algorithms by which the BBC developed three key workflows in order to create the searchable metadata of a media archive: (1) speaker segmentation, identification and gender detection; (2) speech-to-text for the detected speech segments; (3) automated tagging with DBpedia identifiers (ibid.). This kind of routinised, or Taylorised, work is a common scenario in broadcasting institutions, especially among below-the-line employees and interns. As the sociologist Ezzy (1997, p. 439; cited in Hesmondhalgh & Baker, 2011, p. 43) argues, highly routinised work is oppressive and performed out of fear ‘rather than within the framework of an awareness of the purpose or value of the task’. Moreover, work communications largely take place through QQ and WeChat groups, which require every team member to check their WeChat messages at all times, including before and after work. There were few face-­ to-­face communications and a lack of social events among digital media workers, which further created a sense of alienation in the workplace, especially on the night shift. When I came across my colleagues in the open-plan office, I could not recognise who I was communicating with in the online group. With social media and digital technologies, the workspace has become much more flexible, giving workers the option to choose where and when to work. However, this increased labour ‘flexibility’ has also led to a general intensification of work via social media and digital platforms (Legge, 1998). Communication platforms and devices invade personal space and time and blur hitherto clear boundaries between personal and professional life, allowing a demanding—that workers have in front of their faces a permanent ‘to do’ list required by work (Gregg, 2011, pp. 1–2). As Leung, Gill and Randle (2015, p. 63) criticises, ‘Work experience and working for free and low-paid jobs’ have become common, an unspoken necessity at the beginning of a media career for graduates. From a class perspective, only people from middle-class families can afford to work for free or low pay before they can move on to fully paid roles. The reason behind the willingness of junior staff to work for free lies in the knowledge that the media is a highly sought-after industry to work in, and this demand for a position—even an unpaid one—generates a competitive labour market. The normalisation of intensive work patterns can be seen across the global media industry. As the industry has become more saturated and the

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audiences have become more demanding, television workers have had to sharpen their skills and undertake increasing workloads in order to survive in their respective roles. Curtin’s point about labour exploitation in the global production infrastructure in the case of the Hollywood film industry is pertinent here: ‘Workdays are growing longer and productivity pressures more intense, while creative autonomy is diminishing’ (Curtin, 2016, p. 680). Curtin (ibid., p. 681) further argues that ‘contemporary policy has inadvertently facilitated the conditions for work exploitation on a grand scale’. With the globalisation of the media industry in the Chinese context (see Chap. 2), Chinese television producers faced a similar scenario marked by multi-tasking and productivity pressures. Innovation strategies and technologically empowered production cultures (as discussed in the meso level) have been fuelled by a high degree of labour exploitation. The lack of functional television trade unions has also intensified this situation in the case of China. As mentioned by a Canadian producer who chose to shoot her film in China’s Hengdian Studio claimed, ‘Labor is cheaper, all across the board. There is no union. It is a free hand for directors’ (cited in Zhao, 2008, p. 235). Exploitation is thus prevalent and experienced in a range of ways and to various degrees. An earlier example could be a fixed-rig medical reality programme called Story in ER (Dragon TV, 2014–2015) (an unofficial adaptation of the British reality format 24  Hours in A&E). The production required camera operators (controlling 78 fixed cameras), gallery directors, sound recordists and loggers working in a day/night shift for the whole period of the production. All the crew lived in a hotel next to the Sixth People’s Hospital in Shanghai. Producers and assistant producers had daily meetings on the casting process whilst teasing out stories about what had happened in the emergency room every night in their hotel rooms, sometime until 3 am. Real-time loggers were all media students recruited from local universities in Shanghai (Production notes, October 2014). This section has examined the rampant commercial exploitation in Chinese production cultures occurs within the context of political (self-)censorship.

Concluding Remarks Following the investigation into convergence strategies and the emerging TES forms of post-TVIII television in preceding chapters, this chapter has examined the implicit fears and resultant self-censorships among Chinese media practitioners, who face not only strict political censorship and sporadic,

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unpredictable media regulations but also increasingly fierce market competition. As Singaporean media scholar Lee (2007) argues, media producers can never alleviate their fears and self-censorship unless the authorities abolish the boundary markers and open-ended laws. These boundaries together have limited producers’ creative autonomy and given rise to a myriad of fears that pervade their daily practices. In response, Chinese producers have developed a Foucauldian act of self-discipline that breathes life into state censorship via self-censorship, which, in turn, serves to protect them from the disciplined and punishment that can at any time be meted out by the omniscient and omnipotent authorities. In addition to this political source of fear, the fierce competition spawned by the introduction of market economic reforms has also engendered a second type of fear, that of losing relevance and thus advertising revenues, leading potentially to commercial failure. This type of fear in turn has led to exploitative labour practices in the form of low (or nonexistent) salaries and extensive long working hours, as noted in my belowthe-line fieldwork in the case of Mango TV. By working through the myriad contradictions between ‘the promise of “socialism with Chinese characteristics” and the actual practices of political economic power in the system’ (Zhao, 2008, p. 4), Chinese producers have chosen a range of tactics and methods to deal with state surveillance and competition in their daily production: compromise, resignation or resistance. In this sense, this chapter has raised issues relevant for the next chapter by illustrating the kinds of ambiguities producers face in their daily practices—the balance among ideological control, creative freedoms and commercial imperatives. To conclude, this chapter discussed four types of fears—fears of censorships, self-censorships, commercial failures and the resulting labour exploitations—as well as the producers’ response through a perceived empowerment via the forces of marketisation and technology. By analysing the fieldwork data across CCTV, Mango TV and Tencent, this chapter has also unveiled how the fears, which frame media practitioners’ daily practices, are experienced and responded to differently across different media institutions in China. Fears, in some sense, also act as an impetus to resist as well as to adapt to the political agenda and to the prevailing commercial forces. The self-censorship is ubiquitous but with sites of resistance and even dissidence in the production cultures. Industrial, economic and technological growth has fuelled the diversity of the contemporary Chinese media landscape and has shaken the foundations of the state media hegemony. Personal business organisations have been officially recognised and encouraged to participate in a wide range of

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activities (non-news production) in the Chinese media industry (Zhao, 2008, p. 235). As Zhao (ibid., p. 4) puts it, the nature of domination and resistance at present has become much more multifaceted in the post-1989 era, with the digital age bringing more platforms and spaces for producers to express themselves and more ideas about social values, views which at least implicitly threaten CPC hegemony. Moving beyond the fears themselves, Chinese producers exert their creative freedoms through various tactics in the digital era. Paradoxically, then, commercial-technological imperatives at the same time offer a space for a perceived empowerment of creative autonomy which is motivated by aesthetic innovation, cultural pursuits and self-actualisation. Chinese television producers, like other citizens of the party state, are entangled in a multifaceted relationship with the state, manifested in their normative expectations from the state, the relationship with local party cadres and media regulators. Continuing the discussion in the last section on producers’ resistance and tactics to deal with fears, the following chapter will discuss how Chinese producers have responded to the fears that arise out of ubiquitous and strict censorship— whether they choose to accept, give up or resist them—and examine the creative freedoms which have gradually emerged among Chinese television workers. Drawing upon fieldwork in apolitical productions of CCTV, Mango TV and Tencent, I  will explore how Chinese television workers have developed their own spaces of creative autonomy and independence in their daily practices to express themselves creatively within a specific matrix of social, cultural and political conditions.

Notes 1. Deleuze (1992, p. 4) argued that Foucault’s model of disciplinary societies no longer existed after World War II which have been replaced by the societies of control. However, Deleuze’s notion of societies of control is, however, more relevant in western democratic societies than in authoritarian countries like China which currently sees a prevalent disciplinary regime through the seamless top-down party control structure. 2. See in-depth discussion on the Foucauldian act of self-discipline in the Chinese context in 9.3. 3. In the Chinese context, the CPC leadership dominates the Chinese government which exerts the seamless ideological control on the Chinese society, from educational systems film and television and industries. Therefore, this book uses ‘the CPC government’ and ‘the Chinese government’ interchangeably.

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4. In Chinese characters: 要是让广电总局去监管食品药品, 让食品药品监管 总局管理电视, 世界会更美好. 5. Zhao and Ai (2009, p. 175) argue that this cancellation can be attributed to the absence of consensus with the Post and Telecommunications sectors. 6. The name of the series was changed to Happy Girl in 2009 and 2011 due to political intervention of nationwide voting systems, but the format of the talent show carried on as before consistently. 7. Though beyond the scope of this book, future study would be valuable to examine how the online voting system engages fans to participate in data labours which have been mediated by platform algorithms. As Yin (2020, p. 481) notes, Chinese digital platforms mobilise their users to contribute data through immaterial labour that generates traffic data in online activities such as voting, commenting and reposting. 8. Instead of using the direct translation ‘rulers and degrees’, I use the term chi du which not only indicates rules or discretion but also implies producers’ critical awareness of regulatory and ideological restriction. 9. See political economic scholarship on Chinese television studies in Fung (2008) and Curtin (2007). 10. In China, it is a source of pride to become a CPC member during one’s undergraduate study. In most cases, students with good grades are prioritised to join the communist party, which results in the fact that most employers, especially state enterprises, prefer CPC graduates to non-CPC graduates. 11. Work autonomy among above-the-line personnel is also argued to be traded with self-exploitation. 12. It could be described as either anxiety (less than fear) or fear to different degrees; for the sake of consistency, this section will use the term ‘fear’ to convey the producers’ reactions to a potential loss of audience and sponsorship. 13. 996 working hour system is a work schedule commonly advocated by some Chinese tech companies where Chinese programmers worked from 9 am to 9 pm, six days a week. An open letter signed by 74 lawyers from around the country was sent in 2019 to the Ministry of Human Resources and Social Security to urge the Chinese government to enforce labour laws properly (NY Times, 2019). 14. An HBS-owned venue hosts seasonally internal ceremonies and Mango TV’s sponsorship events. 15. Recent decades have seen the formalisation of legalisation on labour protections in traditional industries, particularly mining and manufacturing. However, there is still little awareness of labour exploitation in the entertainment industry.

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Legge, K. (1998). Flexibility: The Gift Wrapping of Employment Degradation? In P.  Sparrow & M.  Marchington (Eds.), Human Resource Management—The New Agenda. FT/Pitman. Leung, W., Gill, R., & Randle, K. (2015). Getting in, Getting on, getting Out? Women as Career Scramblers in the UK Film and Television Industries. The Sociological Review, 63, 50–65. Miao, W., & Lei, W. (2016). Policy Review: The Cyberspace Administration of China. Global Media and Communication, 12(3), 337–340. NY Times. (2006). Chinese Regulators Caution TV Talent Shows. Retrieved July 20, 2019, from https://www.nytimes.com/2006/03/21/business/media/ chinese-­regulators-­caution-­tv-­talent-­shows.html NY Times. (2019). ‘996’ Is China’s Version of Hustle Culture. Tech Workers Are Sick of It. Retrieved May 20, 2019, from https://www.nytimes.com/2019/04/29/ technology/china-­ 996-­jack-­ma.html OED. (2019). Oxford English Dictionary. Retrieved April 30, 2019, from https://www.oed.com/ SARFT. (2017). 国家新闻出版社广电总局发展研究中心. 中国广播电影电视发展 报告 [The Annual Report of Chinese Radio, Film and Television]. 北京: 中国广播电视出版社. Waisbord, S. (2013). Reinventing Professionalism: Journalism and News in Global Perspective. Wiley. Wildau, G. (2017). China Unveils Digital ID Card Linked to Tencent’s WeChat. Financial Times. Retrieved January 16, 2018, from https://www.ft.com/ content/3e1f00e2-­eac8-­11e7-­bd17-­521324c81e23 Xu, F. (2011). 制造角色:凤凰卫视的生产机制研究 (1996–2011) [Production Studies of Phoenix Television (1996–2011)]. 复旦大学博士学位论文. PhD Diss, University of Fudan. Yin, Y. (2020). An Emergent Algorithmic Culture: The Data-ization of Online Fandom in China. International Journal of Cultural Studies, 23(4), 475–492. Zeng, W., & Sparks, C. (2019). Production and Politics in Chinese television. Media, Culture & Society, 41(1), 54–69. Zhao, Y.  Z. (2008). Communication in China: Political Economy, Power, and Conflict. Littlefield. Zhao, Y. M., & Ai, H. H. (2009). 赵玉明, 艾红红, 中国广播电视史教程 [Chinese Broadcasting History]. 北京: 中国广播电视出版社. Zhong, Y. (2010a). Relations Between Chinese Television and The Capital Market: Three Case Studies. Media, Culture & Society, 32(4), 649–668.

CHAPTER 8

Creative Freedoms and Autonomy in Convergent Chinese Television

The rise of the cynic is a multifaceted phenomenon rooted in the failed communist revolution, the crackdown on the 1989 Democracy Movement, the post-1989 illiberal political climate, the subsequent rapid growth of a market economy and a consumer culture, and the emergence of a Chinese middle class. —Bai (2014, p. 160)

As Bai argues (2015, p.  12), the logic of censorship in a post-socialist media system is complex, albeit with loose and fluid boundaries. Globalisation and marketisation have unleashed new forces and provided new opportunities for Chinese media practitioners (Curtin, 2007, p. 289). Despite operating in a state-controlled model, the Chinese television industry has changed tremendously since the 1980s, ‘with the end of the Cold War, the rise of the World Trade Organization, the modernization policies of the PRC … the rise of consumer and youth cultures across the region, and the growing wealth and influence of overseas Chinese’ (ibid., p.  3). Chapter 6 examined how fears inform Chinese producers’ daily practices and how those practices, in turn, develop a set of self-censorships and self-exploitations in response to strict censorship by the political authorities and a fiercely competitive marketplace in China’s new era of rampant commercialism. This chapter examines what spaces are available © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 L. Lin, Convergent Chinese Television Industries, Palgrave Global Media Policy and Business, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-91756-2_8

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for creative freedoms in Chinese post-TVIII production cultures. In the context of the commercialisation of Chinese television since the market economy reforms, the national regulatory climate began to evolve and take on new forms. After the emergence of digital platforms in the early 2000s, the legitimation of online streams and files with time-shifted affordances, media technologies amplified the expression of personal voices and idiosyncrasies in China—of both ordinary citizens and media elites— in an array of public fora. The SAPPRFT 2016 Annual Report issued strategies to enhance ‘reform and innovation’ after President Xi Jinping, at that year’s G20 Summit, stated that ‘innovation is the key to trigger any economic growth’ (SARFT, 2017, p. 3). Chinese state’s cultural policies, as in the models of western creative cultural industries, could be understood as, what Hesmondhalgh and Baker (2011, p. 4) argue, cheaply-implemented and easily-marketed benign intervention. Arguably, the decision to promote innovation through creative industries can be understood as another Foucauldian act of disciplining the Chinese citizenry. In their study on Chinese creative industries and cultural clusters, Fung and Erni (2013) examine the distinctiveness of cultural clusters in China under the administration and supervision of the state. Besides ‘enhancing the private creative industries, developing the national cultural economy, or revitalizing the old industries as in the cluster models of many western countries’, they identify three overriding interests behind the booming creative industries in China: the economic interests, political powers of the districts and soft power of the nation (ibid., p. 654). As discussed in Chap. 4, innovation has been emphasised by the Chinese government and senior officials to advance Chinese capital accumulation and stress the importance of productivity. This drive, in turn, can be understood as having created some of the culture of self-exploitation (see Chap. 6). However, it has inadvertently produced sites of resistance and changes where innovation has been adapted into the daily routines of Chinese media practitioners. Chinese digital producers have become empowered with more creative freedom of expression than those working in state broadcasters, where the voices are closely monitored by the ruling elites from the CPC government to media regulators and channel executives. The current period of Chinese television could be perceived as an example of ‘creative destruction’. In Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy, Joseph Schumpeter (1965 [1942]) coined the term ‘creative destruction’ to describe how modern technology incessantly ‘destroys’ existing

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production modes and creates new ones. Schumpeter was describing capitalism as an economic system—creative destruction is ‘the essential fact about capitalism’, but his insights can be extrapolated to address how the media landscape is consistently being revolutionised by new technologies, ‘incessantly destroying the old … incessantly creating a new one’ (ibid., p. 83). As Schlesinger and Doyle (2015, p. 314) remind us, in the field of the media creative destruction breaks down traditional production modes with the input of instant audience feedback through the use of technology and commercialisation. The uses of new technologies and new modes of interaction by disseminating media content online speed up the creative processes (Deuze, 2007, p. 93). Schumpeter’s ‘creative destruction’ provides a suitable framework for understanding the current transformation of the Chinese media industry, where existing business models are adapting to what Schlesinger and Doyle (2015, p.  305) term ‘the twin challenges of digitization and the Internet’. The rise of Chinese digital players has largely transformed and disrupted the regulatory and structural conditions of Chinese television, triggering a rise of creative freedoms in the post-1990 marketplace. Fierce competitions in the current television landscape has seen viewers demand more innovative content, content which has repeatedly strayed beyond the state-led hollow rhetoric of innovation slogans and top-down corporate strategies discussed in Chap. 4. Bottom-up demands for innovation are triggered by newly emergent digital players and their diverse digital offerings. As Keane (2015, p.  170) argues, the expansion of the internet has created demand for more diverse and interactive offerings, in the process facilitating coalitions between online video platforms and disrupting the business practices of broadcasters. Those demands inevitably come into conflict with the political commitment of ‘staying within the boundaries’ and discursively urge producers to develop edge ball strategies in non-news sectors such as documentaries, drama series and comedy, noted as ‘grey areas’ where producers push the boundaries and produce content with more freedom of creative intellectual expression and critical views.

Creativity and Creative Labours in Chinese Television Industries Before examining creative autonomy in further detail, it is important to contextualise creativity and creative freedoms in this study. According to the OED, creativity is defined as ‘the faculty of being creative; [the] ability

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or power to create’. As Raymond Williams (1983, p. 82) argues, ‘creativity’ emerged in the Renaissance and continued to be extended and modified in different ways through to today. Creative freedoms here are closely aligned to artistic, inventive or other kinds of freedoms. Whilst creative labour is equated with economic values as intellectual property rights, creativity remains a controversial and contested concept, from the official promotion of creative economy in government policies through to the everyday creative labours among both media professionals and ordinary citizens. For decades, creative freedoms have been regarded as the key to create high quality works (film, television, newspaper, painting and any other form). In turn, such freedoms have a close relation to another conception of ‘freedom’, one of speech and expression. In democratic countries like the UK, creativity signifies the freedom of speech and expression as well as the autonomy of individual citizens. Freedom of speech is a notion saturated with political and philosophical implications and values that are invoked in liberal-democratic capitalist societies. However, creativity is a relative term, and a subjective concept. Celik and Lubart (2016, p.  38) note the different conceptions of creativity between both the West and the East: whilst Western conceptions of creativity tend to focus on originality, novelty and adaptiveness, Eastern conceptions are based on a model of progressive improvement and modification and adaptation (see also Puccio & Chimento, 2001). What is enchanting to note here is the concept of modification and progressive improvement in the Eastern conception of creativity rather than the ground-breaking originality and novelty. I shall ponder the extent to which this dichotomy flows from the type of socio-political system in which creativity expresses itself—authoritarian or democratic. As Keane (2009, p.  224) argues, rather than ‘making something’ new in Western Romantic tradition, Chinese creativity is about rearrangement according to circumstances, which may be political, social or economic. The concept of modification and progressive improvement echoes the innovation strategies which the Chinese television industry has adopted, taking such a ‘cautious’ approach to nurturing creativity.1 This can be seen in the edge ball practices through which Chinese producers exercise their creative freedoms, elbowing out for themselves a grey area where they can express themselves. That is, creativity in China occurs within (or at most at the edge of ) the existing regulatory boundaries, innovation policy and prevalent socio-cultural norms. Creative freedoms thus have very distinctive connotations in different contexts, and for an analysis of Chinese television production work it is

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unhelpful to impute all the meanings associated with this term in the West to understand the relative freedoms of Chinese workers. Creativity in China is structured by factors of economic, political, regulatory and legal forces. The emergence of creative freedoms, translated in Chinese as Chuangzuo Ziyou, has been a slowly burning emergence in Chinese television history. Creative freedoms have become increasingly embraced by Chinese media practitioners through the marketisation and privatisation of creative cultural industries. Creative freedoms have gradually emerged in the Chinese television industry following the commercialisation of broadcasting networks in the late 1980s and the early 1990s when the government stopped subsidising the broadcasting sector. The late 1980s is considered to be the golden age of Chinese cultural production by many Chinese artists, musicians and media workers, followed by crackdowns of 1989 Tiananmen Square Incident which had significant social, political and cultural impacts on the creative expression in China. The impact of this transformation deeply influenced Chinese creative sectors in the post-1989 era, from television and film industries to publishing houses. The radical commercialisation of Chinese society and culture in the 1990s was not only the result of the state’s attempt to distract public attention from the political to the economic, but also a localised example of the neoliberal global order in the post–Cold War era (Baranovitch, 2003; cited in Fung et al., 2014, p. 245). In the post-TVIII period, creative freedoms sit in ideological tensions with the idea of fulfilling the marketisation vision of creative industries, the present and the history of communism and the individual aspiration and creative freedoms of media workers. The tensions are characterised by attempts to maintain control while opening up the national media-scape to the forces of marketisation and the pursuit of commercial profit. Such shifts have further complicated the structure of the industry, adding digital intermediaries to the nexus of powers which sat, as Fung (2008, p. 20) argues, ‘between the commercial interests and the ideology, and between the economics and the politics’. These tensions between individual creative freedoms, ideological commitment and the marketplace of television have become more evident in the post-TVIII period after China’s four decades of market reform along with the introduction of new communication technologies. The disruption brought about by new technologies echoes Schumpeter’s concept of ‘creative destruction’ in which capitalism as an economic system is consistently being revolutionised by new technologies.

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Creative freedoms have become increasingly embraced by Chinese producers with the increased marketisation and privatisation of creative cultural industries. Chinese officials and company executives have also realised the importance of bestowing creative freedom on filmmakers and media producers. For example, Liu Peiqiong, a Hong Kong-based economist, argued at the 2016 National People’s Congress of the People’s Republic of China: I believe that when the regulators decide approving the screenplays, they should ensure the creative freedoms of directors and actors according to Clause 4 in the Draft Resolution. The regulatory interference outside the legislative rights will jeopardise the creative expression and artistic creative. Why are HK films so popular? Why isn’t there a director like Stephen Chow in mainland China? Because Stephen Chow makes films freely in a liberal environment. (National People’s Congress, 2016)

As we can see from the quote, creative freedoms have been sought after not only by Chinese media workers but also by social elites, industry leaders and policy makers in the creative industries. However, whether the proposals from NPC members have been accepted in the government policies remains an open question. Linked heavily to the goods created by the creative industries is the concept of creative work. The literature on creative work and creative labours suggests that creative autonomy or freedom is a central facet that drives both economic and cultural value in creative industries but is also a key source of tension. Creative freedoms are embodied in making creative decisions or taking creative risks. In turn, such freedoms have close relations to another conception of ‘freedom’—that of speech and expression. ‘Creative freedoms’ is a relative term, and a subjective concept, and such freedoms in different contexts have distinctive connotations. In liberal-­ democratic countries such as the UK, it signifies the freedoms of expression and choice, a notion saturated with certain political and philosophical implications. For decades, creative freedoms have been regarded as the key to creating works of quality (in film, television, newspaper, painting and any other forms). As an integral aspect of marketisation, creative labours and the cultural products they produce have ‘distinctive features’ as identified by the political economy approach, deriving from: (1) their potential nature as ‘public goods’; (2) the need for prominent levels of creative

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autonomy in production and (3) the radical uncertainty of demand for them (O’Connor, 2010, p. 395). The degree to which individual workers within creative industries have autonomy and creative freedom has become a central feature of debates about ‘good’ and ‘bad’ work. Based on Marx’s critique of work under capitalism, Hesmondhalgh and Baker argue that (1) good work should involve high wages and working hours, high levels of safety, autonomy, interest, involvement, sociality, self-esteem, self-realisation, work-life balance and security. (2) As a result, good work would produce excellent products that contribute to the common good (Hesmondhalgh & Baker, 2011, p. 39).2 Blauner had proposed a similar set of values that constitute the basis for ‘good work’, but he also outlined features of bad work, such as poor pay and conditions, long hours, powerlessness, boredom, isolation, self-doubt and shame, overwork, insecurity and risk (Blauner, 1964; cited in Hesmondhalgh & Baker, 2011, p. 17). These scholars have drawn heavily on Marx’s concept of alienation to argue that the majority of workers do not care about the products they produce because of the conditions in which they produce them (their alienation from the production process). Although the creative industries have seen with less alienation (Hesmondhalgh & Baker, 2011, p. 181), there has been a general intensification of work brought about by the newly emerging technologies and the increased ‘labour flexibility’ (Legge, 1998) in recent years. Workers are offered new freedoms to become independent of traditional restrictions in the process of the casualisation of the labour force (referred to in more recent times as the ‘gig economy’) (Beck, 2000, p.  94; cited in Hesmondhalgh & Baker, 2011, p.  270). However, as Beck adds, this trend leads to greater competitiveness and isolation, a process for which he coined the term ‘individualisation’, whereby workers regard jobs as opportunities for self-development rather than sources of commitment (ibid.). However, focusing specifically on the creative industries, Ursell (2000, p. 819) argues that the size of permanent staff with terrestrial broadcasters has diminished while ‘casualization of the labour force has increased … and working terms and conditions have deteriorated’. Although securing autonomy is a prerequisite for the production of value in cultural and creative industries (Banks, 2014, p. 251), what Ursell describes here constitutes a form of self-exploitation on the part of creative workers. This section has discussed what ‘good’ and ‘bad’ work means in the context of the creative industries within western media scholarship (Hesmondhalgh & Baker, 2011; Beck, 2000; O’Connor, 2009), providing a theoretical

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framework to examine the key discourse of the daily production practices as a form of creative work in post-TVIII Chinese television. For individual workers, employment in these industries, compared to conventional work, is understood as being more ‘self-expressive, creative and fulfilling’ although in reality it is subject to the pervasive industrialisation and commodity standardisation which mark modern (capitalist) societies (Banks, 2014, p. 251; Adorno, 1991, p. 99). This chapter investigates the extent to which Chinese television workers have been empowered with creative autonomy in the post-TVIII era, arguing that new technologies, persistent ideological controls and market forces have together shaped the extent and the types of creative autonomy which have become possible in the contemporary Chinese media landscape. It will begin with a brief historical overview of the development of creative autonomy in the party state, together with the forces that influence the creative autonomy of Chinese television workers in the era of uncertainty. It will then move on to draw a nuanced portrait of worker autonomy with a close examination of ‘product managers’. The next chapter will further elaborate the tactic of edge ball that Chinese producers have been widely employing in dealing with media censorships whilst seeking greater creative freedoms and autonomy. Collectively, these examples demonstrate how the boundaries of the acceptable are maintained, challenged, negotiated or even redefined among Chinese television producers. As illustrations, this chapter will use two case studies—Waiting for Me and We Fifteen—to exemplify how producers in broadcast and digital sectors have developed distinct strategies to exercise their creative freedoms on the micro level. The next sections will chart how creative autonomy is playing out in post-TVIII Chinese television in the context of innovation, individualisation and marketisation. I argue that within such a framework it is possible to recognise and theorise a peculiar kind of creative autonomy and freedom that workers potentially exploit to realise greater self-realisation. These producers, defining themselves as ‘product managers’, have chosen to run away from state-owned broadcasters to find new spaces of creative autonomy in the landscape of digital operators.

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The Emergence of the ‘Product Manager’: Serving the Public Versus Producers’ Autonomy My role is like that of a product manager at an internet company. For Tencent Video, each programme is a product. I need to consider the preferences of our users and incorporate them into every aspect from research and development, content production to marketing and promotion. Compared with broadcast producers, we have a wider perspective, and therefore more creative autonomy in our daily practices. Understanding the preferences and daily rhythms of ordinary users is the key to success. (IV15, 17/10/2016, Beijing)

In a café on the sixth floor of Sigma Plaza (Tencent’s Beijing headquarter), Pang, an executive producer at Tencent Online Media Group (OMG), excitedly pointed out the different production practices between broadcast and digital sectors. Having resigned from Hunan Broadcasting System (HBS) in 2006 where she worked as a factual entertainment producer for three years, Pang joined Tencent in 2009 in pursuit for potential space for greater creative autonomy. She delightfully referred to herself as a ‘product manager’ rather than a ‘producer’ in the broadcast production environment. Creative autonomy in cultural production indicates a particular notion of freedom actively developed in the milieu of Romanticism since the late eighteenth century (Banks, 2014, pp.  252–53). Creative autonomy, in turn, has been embodied in making creative decisions or taking creative risks. Before looking into producers’ creative autonomy in Chinese television, I re-contextualise the ‘good and bad work’ proposed by Hesmondhalgh and Baker (2011) (see Chap. 2). One of the distinctive features of ‘good work’ is a high level of creative autonomy which enables workers to enjoy self-expressive abilities, self-realisation and fulfilment compared to other industries (O’Connor, 2009, p. 395). On the individual level, creative autonomy is argued to be a predominant aspect of the ‘self-actualisation’ many media workers pursue as one of the key attractions of television work (Zoellner, 2016, p. 150). Media work, compared to conventional work, is understood as being more ‘self-expressive, creative and fulfilling’ (Banks, 2014, p. 251).3 Nevertheless, it is crucial to recognise that these concepts may stand for the cultural elites rather than the masses of workers in the industry; creative autonomy here is more an elite expression than a mass voice.

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Chinese digital  producers in my fieldwork have developed a user-­ centred approach to creative autonomy, especially in the case of Tencent Video. Rather than being the knowledge class consistently regulating and curating commercial popular cultures and treating the audience as a passive and undifferentiated mass in the era of scarcity (Hartley, 1999), I argue that these producers have developed a user-facing gesture (see Chap. 5) as a product manager, which not only works its way in favour of the competitive market but also creates a sense of autonomy and empowerment  for Chinese producers  through developing a creative agency over one specific production. That is, whilst it is useful to look across production studies undertaken in Western contexts to understand notions of worker autonomy, it is less helpful to adopt all the implied associated meanings of ‘freedom’ wholesale to the Chinese context. Where some useful connections of western theories lie is in understanding how creative autonomy within production cultures has been affected by the institutional transformations in post-TVIII television. The concept of the ‘product manager’ has emerged as a new hybrid role that derives not only from the commercialisation of the television industry and the distributions and sales of finished television programmes as ‘commercial products’, but also from the convergence of television and digital production in the post-­ TVIII landscape. The term of the ‘product manager’ is prevalently used in digital production to denote a role of developing continuing evolving software and digital products rather than a singular production. To recognise the kind of freedoms entailed in the form of edge ball I set out in this chapter it is first necessary to comprehend a more user-­ orientated culture from which the role of the ‘product manager’ emerges. These transformations are rightly argued to imply a significant transition from organised to neoliberal capitalism (McGuigan, 2010). Before addressing the definition of ‘product manager’, it is worth tracing the historical shifts of production practices in Chinese television history. Changes in the regulatory and structural conditions of Chinese television have engendered fierce market competition in the Chinese media-scape during the post-1990 marketisation of sectors of the economy, including media. The separation of production from the broadcasting system (also known as commissioning process) since the late 1990s has diversified the production models and engendered a greater degree of work autonomy upon the dramatic increase of independent production companies and freelance workforce in the party state. As discussed in Chap. 2, the struggle for free expression in China is a complicated game fraught with

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ambiguities  and anxiety. Political autonomy has been directly oppressed through official crackdowns on independent activists and strict state censorship of media outlets in the Chinese landscape (Freedom House, 2017). Authoritarian countries are argued to exert ‘near-complete control over the domestic media—stepped up their efforts to interfere in, and disrupt, the media environments’ (ibid.). However, creative autonomy or freedom has been emerging in the form of edge ball practices which identify potential spaces for Chinese media workers to adroitly express themselves in ways which obviates a head-on confrontation with the political regime. In brief, edge ball, a term known in the industry as well as to the general Chinese public, refers to strategies devised by media producers to work through difficult political and creative terrain by inserting an element of political and social critique into non-news genres such as reality television, documentary and comedy. The two kinds of autonomy—overt and covert, implicit and explicit—should not be understood as a zero-sum game. Rather, they can overlap and blur, and with the practices of edge ball explored in this chapter, creative freedoms can be seen to indirectly represent a form of political autonomy and thus be seen as a source of challenge to the authorities. Production cultures in Chinese television have become more individualistic than collective with the awakening of self-expression in the context of market-driven reforms—insofar as China’s version of capitalism allows. The individualisation of production cultures is echoed in the concept of ‘product manager’ among Chinese media producers, who have begun to promote the ‘self’ rather than the ‘us’. One way of understanding this is through Beck’s concept of individualisation, in which workers regard jobs as opportunities for self-development rather than sources of commitment (Hesmondhalgh  and Baker, 2011, p.  270). Whilst workers are offered new freedoms to be independent of traditional restrictions, the process of individualisation may lead to greater competitiveness and isolation (Beck, 2000, p. 94). An individualistic and self-oriented culture of contentment has gradually replaced the collective ethos of socialist collectivism and solidarity highly promoted by the CPC. It should be noted that the political authorities have in recent years also pushed the view that ‘Chinese values’—collectivist over individualistic—are derived from Confucian thought as much as they are from socialism. Having studied China’s so-called iGeneration, a sphere of young individualist netizens, Chiu and Zhang (2014, p. 15) proposed what they saw as an era of ‘neoliberalism with Chinese

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characteristics’ evolving out of the milieu of post-1989 trends and transformations that have marked China’s industrialisation. The ‘i’ refers as much to ‘i’ndividualisation as much as it does to ‘i’nformation, whereby ‘creative, self-reflexive uses of the digital, especially the internet, have achieved a new level of interactivity and interface’ (Davis & Yeh, 2017, p. 5). The term ‘neoliberalism with Chinese characteristics’ subverts the state leaders’ slogan of economic progress (‘socialism with Chinese characteristics’) but also prevaricates on ‘what neoliberal really means’ (ibid., pp. 5–6). The rise of the iGeneration could be seen as a grassroots development negotiating a response to overbearing state surveillance, reflecting the contradiction between collective-oriented socialism and individualist-­ centred (neo)liberalism, a space where Chinese media workers seek out their creative autonomy. The internet has  been playing a significant role in this expansion of creative autonomy among television producers. The executive producer for Tencent Video, Pang, compared working practices between broadcast and digital sectors: Broadcast models have been relatively more mature after developing for so many years. Production management and workflow were more concrete and stable. Therefore, a content producer was more like a director at the television station. (IV15, 17/10/2016, Beijing)

After joining Tencent  Video, Pang referred to herself as a ‘product manager’ rather than a ‘producer’. She produced We Fifteen (We15) (Tencent, 2015–2016), a Chinese adaptation of Utopia, where she was able to walk a fine line tactically between creative freedoms and state directives. Rather than focusing on the content production only, she manages one show from its initial conception, through the promotion and on to the final distribution and merchandising. Similarly, for the executive producer Ma, who left Mango TV two years ago and launched his own production company in Hunan: Right now, we can create content from any direction, from top, down, left, right, or east, south, west, north. It tests the producers’ ability to integrate resources and information. In the past, it was top-down. We were given a time slot, a framework, a topic, and we had to create content within this frame. But now, with the internet technology, we can create any content

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from any angle as long as it is legal with correct values. Then, everything is possible. (IV20, 01/12/2016)

Ma’s comment on the creative space ‘from top, down, left, right, or east, south, west, north’ indicated his optimistic view on the technologically empowered production cultures and its potential for expanding creative freedoms within boundaries. However, the definition of what content is considered ‘legal’ by the authorities has been blurred as discussed in Chap. 6. Rui, a development producer at Tencent, argues that ‘when you are in broadcast television, you are a content producer. But now at Tencent, your job is a product manager. These two roles are totally different’ (IV16, 02/11/2016). Although she has a much larger workload in her new circumstances, she expresses excitement at having the autonomy to control and allocate the resources in order to maximise the production values. Her official job title is still ‘producer’ rather than ‘product manager’, but this could be understood as an illumination of the greater degree of commercialisation and convergence in Chinese media production. This finding echoes the rise of IPR (intellectual property rights) awareness, argued to be one of the key economic resources of the future (McChesney & Schiller, 2003). The prevalent popularity of IPR has triggered a fierce competition in terms of innovation and rights acquisition among Chinese production companies and producers. Similar to the role of ‘product manager’ in securing and exploiting the patent right of one product, producers maximise the commercial potential of one ‘IP product’ across platforms through the professional autonomy that arises from the new production models. The model of IP economy has also, in turn, empowered the creative autonomy of television producers, who aim to create and control original IP content with creative agency for the purpose of developing commercially-viable and sustainable business model and exploiting greater economic revenues. While CCTV commissions the majority of its non-news programmes to establish production companies, several executive producers themselves have launched start-up production companies which cooperate with the state broadcaster while embracing a certain degree of creative freedom in the production process. For example, Yao, the producer of Waiting for Me (CCTV 1, 2013–), uses his own production company to contract out below-the-line work to freelancers for the weekly studio production as well as social media production. For Ang, an executive producer of Here Comes the Star! (CCTV 11, 2017), a primetime cultural show on Beijing

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(Peking) Opera, her role as both the host and the producer grant her exclusive control of the whole production process. Ang chose to work with a Beijing-based production company on the studio production and social media production, which provided more efficient and flexible managerial styles and production flow than the bureaucratic counterpart at CCTV. Having been given the freedom to choose her favourite teams as well as media partnerships, she expressed her ambition to popularise the quintessential and cultural traditions of Peking opera among Chinese audiences through interactive multiplatform production outsourced with an Beijing-based independent production company. Chinese media policies have been framed by notions of ‘the public good’ or ‘the public interest’, as in most countries (Keane, 2001, p. 788). Nurtured by top-down policy making, media producers have been consistently searching for meaning in the public sphere and, as Keane (2001, p. 789) argues, raising the citizens’ moral and intellectual quality. In addition to western notions of ‘the public good’, Chinese producers have also infused 12 Core Socialist Values (see Chap. 5) into creating educating, inspiring and engaging programmes. In western traditions, the culture of public service can often be seen as a positive production culture, often infused with a sense of pride in media workers’ understanding of the services they produce (Bennett, 2016). This is equally true in the Chinese context. During the fieldwork, I noted two oppositional views among CCTV staff: one was obedient (serving the public and the political ideology) and one was rebellious (leaving the state broadcaster to the indie or digital sector). The producers who stay working at the state broadcast have been largely motivated by the pride in public service and the ideological mission of serving the public. For instance, as Chen, a multiplatform editor at CCTV, argues: The salary at commercial media companies aligns with the market. However, the state media have their own regulations and fixed remunerations which cannot compete with commercial websites. I know that our editors here currently only earn one quarter of the salary of their counterparts in the digital players. (IV2, 22/10/2016, Beijing)

Chen continues arguing that ‘we survive until now by relying on the historical pride and the influential power of CCTV, as the current salary has nothing to compete with the ones at commercial online operators’

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(IV5). The belief in hard cultural programmes has been an inspiration for most CCTV interviewees, who represent an elitist view of media production rather than seeking to satisfy a mass audience. The CPC’s Maoist tenet, ‘Learn from the masses, give back to the masses’, is legitimate to emphasise the people’s needs in the cultural productions of any form (Fung et al., 2014, p. 253). The drive to construct and secure an overarching social and cultural order is also highlighted in Hill’s study of British and Swedish factual television, with public service genres at the top and popular genres at the bottom (Hill, 2007, p. 2). This echoes the public service scenario at CCTV, where producers perceive reality television as vulgar entertainment-led programmes whilst expressing pride in their culturally enriched documentaries, traditional Chinese variety shows and elite-led talk shows. Indeed, pride in public service and official state ideology explains why current CCTV workers accept the lack of creative autonomy and low salaries. The similar ethos between CCTV and the BBC is exemplified by two high-profile  CCTV adaptations of British documentary formats—Long Lost Family and Who Do You Think You Are? A sense of public service has motivated producers’ daily work at CCTV in the name of ‘serving the public’ rather than ‘making a profit’ (IV5, 22/10/2016, Beijing). As Ursell (2000, p. 819) argues: The willingness of individuals to work in television production is partly to be explained by the tantalizing possibilities thereby for securing social recognition and acclaim that is self-affirmation and public esteem. … For the workers, television production is simultaneously a source of potential rewards, both material and existential, and a source of definite exploitation.

These ‘self-affirmation and public esteem’ have been expressed by CCTV producers in my fieldwork who choose to obey the regulations rigorously and seamlessly with limited salary while facing the shortage of multiplatform budget (see Chaps. 3 and 5). During my fieldwork at CCTV 11, an executive producer Ang expressed her pride of her primetime talent show which aims to protect Chinese non-tangible cultural heritages and popularise Chinese opera among younger generations: ‘I am proud to invite iconic opera experts and contemporary opera artists to the stage, bringing a cultural viewing experience CCTV audiences’ (IV3, 26/10/2016, Beijing).

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However, most of CCTV producers who want to push the boundaries through edge ball eventually chose to leave the state broadcast in pursuit of creative freedoms in digital players. As an illustration, four of six Tencent interviewees were previously executive producers and chief editors within the broadcasting system, two of whom were previously chief editors at CCTV. They discussed, either explicitly or implicitly, that their move from the state broadcaster to Tencent was attracted by the rising discursive power of digital platforms while being inspired by a sense of a more vibrant production environment in both creative and economic terms. Producers have gradually realised the role that digital players play in agenda setting in the post-TVIII environment upon the slump of broadcaster’s viewership and public trust. They have more freedoms to realise their cultural, aesthetic and personal pursuits in the case of Tencent. It is worth dwelling on the rich data of Qi, who I interviewed twice during my field work. Qi worked as a chief editor in a CCTV primetime news bulletin until he joined Tencent as the head of live streaming in August 2016. In the author’s interview before his departure from his chief editor role at CCTV in May 2016, he argued that there was a strong set of push and pull factors that were attracting leading producers away from the state broadcaster: Firstly, the most popular platform has already been Internet. In one second, the content can reach 1.2 billion. Secondly, people have lost trust in broadcasters due to the strict regulations and previous bad reputations. Even if there was no new media invented, many people have lost trust in state media outlets. (IV11, 15/05/2016, Beijing)

The loss of trust has shifted the discursive power from broadcasters to digital platforms which have successfully filled the vacuum of viewers’ trust and gained power to shape the public opinion. Ideological pressures have also driven many aspirational CCTV journalists and producers to independent and digital sectors leading to a staff drainage (Fieldwork Note, 2016). Staff runaway has caused a talent drainage at the state broadcaster where professionally trained staff left before junior staff got to be ready for sophisticated trainings. One senior staff at CCTV even commented to me during my fieldwork: ‘I think only lazy people who prefer stable easy life currently stay at CCTV, where we get stable salaries and good pensions’. This trend concerns many CCTV executives: ‘if old staff left before the new junior staff developed enough production skills, we will face a serious staff shortage at CCTV’ (IV8). Qi, like other CCTV veterans, chose

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Tencent as their platform owing to its possibilities for self-actualisation and creativity, be it aesthetic or commercially entrepreneurial (Ursell, 2000, p. 819). As Ming put it in my interview two months after he joined Tencent in August 2016, Compared to work at CCTV, I have much more freedoms now. As long as you have a promising idea, you can get whatever resources and funding if you can persuade the boss. At the station (CCTV), no one listened to you. No matter how good your idea is, they would not give you any funding or resource. Not to mention serving your idea. (IV12, 22/10/2016, Beijing)

This viewpoint was widely shared and asserted among other Tencent interviewees. As commented by a Tencent development producer, who resigned from her previous job in a state-owned newspaper, ‘one of the reasons for the demise of (state) print industry is the lack of understanding about readers and the arrogance of industry competitors’ (IV16). In all these instances, it was notable that interviewees referred to themselves as ‘the product manager’ rather than the producer, even those that had formerly been ‘producers’ at CCTV and HBS. Tencent Video also provides a creative space for producers to pitch their ideas and implement them into the daily programming practices. Above- and below-the-line employees are encouraged to make suggestions and request production funding and resources with media executives and corporate board members, including CEO Pony Huateng Ma. Compared to CCTV’s scenario, one Tencent producer, who joined Tencent from CCTV in 2016, argues: There were much more bureaucratic levels in CCTV in terms of applying funding and resources for one programme. You could not get funding even if you have a brilliant idea. But here at Tencent Video, I can communicate easily with the executives through internal chat platform. If I can persuade them my idea is great, they will give me as much money and resources as I need. (IV12, 22/10/2016, Beijing)

To facilitate the communications of creative ideas, Tencent Video provides internal social media channels to promote confidentiality and efficiency between above- and below-the-line employees. For example, during the interview with a Tencent media executive, he explained how he could directly speak to Pony Ma through an internal chat software with a high degree of commercial confidentiality and real-time technical support. This

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above- and below-the-line dialogue allows for more effective and fruitful communications among decision-making executives and frontline media practitioners, which further stimulates creativity and innovation in Tencent original commissions. However, such self-affirmation and self-realisation (Hesmondhalgh & Baker, 2011, p. 7) become the basis for exploitation. As Hesmondhalgh and Baker (2011, p. 43) pertinently question, work autonomy could be understood ‘as a mechanism to distract workers’ attention from the “real” exploitation and alienation lying beneath the surface of their working life’. Rather than explicit exploitation, work autonomy enables potential self-­ exploitation towards a manner that benefits the company and its ideals ideologically (ibid.). Though being in charge of Tencent Live Streaming and supported by a production team, Qi chose to work over the weekends and late nights in order not to miss out any significant live streaming events across the country. Unlike physical labours, creative labours often involve the consumption of emotions and creativity along with psychological tensions at work, which Banks terms as ‘being in the zone’. The autonomy of producers is also challenged by the user-sovereignty business model which is pervasive in the new wave of commercialism. Similar to Western cases, the ideological sway of ‘the consumer model’ has led to a claimed consumer sovereignty of ‘choice’ (McGuigan, 2010, p.  331), which potentially shaped and curbed the creative decisions in daily production practices. The conflicting relations between creative economy and creative freedoms sit as the tension between welfare model (stressing workers’ abilities to live a more autonomous and fulfilled life) and economic model (stressing the economic impacts of cultural industries) (O’Connor, 2009, p.  392). This tension has been consistently evolving between arts and capitalism, art and the market. Like other workers in the cultural and creative industries, a majority of television workers have come to the industry with passions, artistic ambitions and even utopian visions. The concept of ‘product manager’ indicates both the shifting production practices as well as the rise of creative autonomy upon the commercialisation and privatisation of Chinese television. The ‘product manager’ has emerged as a new hybrid role in the post-­ TVIII landscape that not only derives from the commercialisation but also resulted from the convergence of television and digital sectors. Through the emergent role of the product manager, Chinese producers have been able to exercise their creative autonomy in the daily production practices

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especially in the digital sector. Chinese TVIII producers can be understood to stay within the margins of state regulation at the same time as they seek to challenge norms within those boundaries.

Concluding Remarks This chapter has investigated the rise of creative autonomy and creative freedoms Chinese producers have developed in the commercialised, multiplatform and convergent era, offering a detailed comparison of case of two factual programmes on both CCTV (Waiting for Me) and Tencent Video (We15). The rise of creative autonomy epitomises a distinctly new Chinese commercial media culture that emerges from post-TVIII, characterised by a new set of production cultures in a society and polity that increasingly only pays lip service to the values of socialism which underpin the CPC hegemony. The concept of ‘product manager’ has emerged as a new hybrid role that derives not only from the commercialisation of the television industry and the distributions of finished television programmes as ‘commercial products’, but also from the convergence of television and digital production. Besides the ‘art-commerce relation’ (Banks, 2014), creative freedoms lie in an ideological tension with the idea of fulfilling the marketised vision of the creative industries, the legacy of the country’s communist history, and the creative autonomy and freedom of media workers in post-socialist China. CCTV workers derive pride from fulfilling public service within the ideological constraints of Chinese state capitalism together with pleasure from working with new technologies. The formation of creative autonomy has enabled Chinese producers to develop strategies to push the boundaries of creative expression in the form of edge ball, through which, rather than direct confrontation, a sardonic take on current affairs enables critical and creative expression of values from both cultural elites and ordinary citizens. Chapter 9 will chart out the rhetoric strategies of edge ball, through which Chinese producers exercise their creative autonomy and freedoms in certain gray areas, working through the political boundaries in the convergent media landscape.

Notes 1. It is worth noting the difference between creativity and innovation: the former denotes a new idea and the latter refers to altering what is established by introducing the existing element or form.

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2. One could also consider that media workers, as human beings, are motivated by unsatisfied needs that Abraham Maslow identified in his classic study of human behaviour. According to Maslow’s pyramid of human priorities, the most basic human needs are physiological and the most advanced need is a desire for self-realisation and the fulfilment of one’s potential (Maslow, 1943). 3. Though it is subject to the pervasive industrialisation and commodity standardisation in modern societies (Banks, 2014, p. 251).

Bibliography Adorno, T. W. (1991). The Culture Industry: Selected Essays on Mass Culture. Routledge. Bai, R. (2015). Staging Corruption Chinese Television and Politics. University of British Columbia Press Vancouver. Banks, M. (2014). ‘Being in the Zone’ of Cultural Work. Culture Unbound, 6, 241–262. Baranovitch, N. (2003). China’s New Voices: Popular Music, Ethnicity, Gender, and Politics, 1978–1997. University of California Press. Beck, U. (2000). The Brave New World of Work. Cambridge: Polity. Bennett, J. (2016). Public Service as Production Cultures: A Contingent, Conjunctural Compact. In M.  J. Banks, B.  Conor, & V.  Mayer (Eds.), Production Studies, The Sequel! Cultural Studies of Global Media Industries (pp. 123–137). Routledge. Blauner, R. (1964). Alienation and Freedom: The Factory Worker and His Industry. University of Chicago Press. Celik, P., & Lubart, T. (2016). When East Meets West. In V. P. Glăveanu (Ed.), Palgrave Handbook of Creativity and Culture Research (pp. 37–55). Macmillan Publishers. Chiu, K. F., & Zhang, Y. (2014). New Chinese-Language Documentaries: Ethics, Subject and Place (1st ed.). Routledge. Curtin, M. (2007). Playing to The World’s Biggest Audience: The Globalization of Chinese Film and TV. University of California Press. Davis, D. W., & Yeh, Y. E. (2017). Zimuzu and Media Industry in China. Media Industries, 4(1), 1–19. Deuze, M. (2007). Media Work. Polity. Freedom House. (2017). Freedom of the Press 2017. Retrieved May 10, 2018, from https://freedomhouse.org/report/freedom-­press/freedom-­press-­2017 Fung, A.  Y. H. (2008). Global Capital, Local Culture: Transnational Media Corporations in China. Peter Lang. Fung, A. Y. H., & Erni, J. N. (2013). Cultural Clusters and Cultural Industries in China. Inter-Asia Cultural Studies, 14(4), 644–656.

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Fung, A.  Y. H., Zhang, X., & Li, L.  N. (2014). Independence within the Boundaries: State Control and Strategies of Chinese Television for Freedom. In J. Bennett & N. Strange (Eds.), Media Independence: Working with Freedom or Working for Free? (pp. 243–260). Routledge. Hartley, J. (1999). Uses of Television. Routledge. Hesmondhalgh, D., & Baker, S. (2011). Creative Labour: Media Work in Three Cultural Industries. Routledge. Hill, A. (2007). Restyling Factual TV: Audiences and News, Documentary and Reality Genres. Routledge. Keane, M. (2001). Broadcasting Policy, Creative Compliance and The Myth of Civil Society in China. Media, Culture & Society, 23(6), 783–798. Keane, M. (2009). Great Adaptations: China’s Creative Clusters and the New Social Contract. Continuum, 23(2), 221–230. Keane, M. (2015). The Chinese Television Industry. BFI. Legge, K. (1998). Flexibility: The Gift Wrapping of Employment Degradation? In P.  Sparrow & M.  Marchington (Eds.), Human Resource Management—The New Agenda. FT/Pitman. Maslow, A. H. (1943). A Theory of Human Motivation. Psychological Review, 50(4), 370–396. McChesney, R. W., & Schiller, D. (2003). The Political Economy of International Communications Foundations for the Emerging Global Debate about Media Ownership and Regulation. United Nations Research Institute for Social Development Technology, Business and Society Programme Paper, 11, 1–34. McGuigan, J. (2010). Cultural Analysis. Sage. National People’s Congress. (2016). 法律应规定演员片酬不超电影制作费30% [Legislation Should be Made to Restrict the Portion of Casting Budgets in One Film Production to 30% Production]. Retrieved January 20, 2018, from http:// www.npc.gov.cn/zgr dw/npc/cwhhy/12jcwh/2016-­0 9/02/content_1996439.htm O’Connor, J. (2009). Creative Industries: A New Direction? International Journal of Cultural Policy, 15(4), 387–404. O’Connor, J. (2010). The Cultural and Creative Industries: A Literature Review (2nd ed.). Creativity, Culture and Education. Puccio, G. J., & Chimento, M. D. (2001). Implicit Theories of Creativity: Lay Persons’ Perceptions of the Creativity of Adaptors and Innovators. Perceptual and Motor Skills, 92(3), 675–681. SARFT. (2017). 国家新闻出版社广电总局发展研究中心. 中国广播电影电视发展 报告 [The Annual Report of Chinese Radio, Film and Television]. 北京: 中国广播电视出版社. Schlesinger, P., & Doyle, G. (2015). From Organizational Crisis to Multi-platform Salvation? Creative Destruction and the Recomposition of News Media. Journalism, 16(3), 305–323.

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Schumpeter, J.  A. (1965). Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy (4th ed.). Allen & Unwin. Ursell, G. (2000). Television Production: Issues of Exploitation, Commodification and Subjectivity in UK Television Labour Markets. Media, Culture & Society, 22(6), 805–825. Williams, R. (1983). Keywords: A Vocabulary of Culture and Society. Fontana Press. Zoellner, A. (2016). Detachment, Pride, Critique: Professional Identity in Independent Factual Television Production in Great Britain and Germany. In M.  J. Banks, B.  Conor, & V.  Mayer (Eds.), Production Studies, the Sequel! Cultural Studies of Global Media Industries (pp. 150–163). Routledge.

CHAPTER 9

Playing Edge Ball in the Grey Area

During the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution, cultural restrictions were black and white: All aspects of arts and culture were to promote the people’s revolution and aid the state. … Post-Mao, however, the situation is highly ambiguous. China must straddle the tricky line of presenting itself as a more open society while containing unrest and challenges to their authority. —Xingyu Chen, Fair Observer (2014) I’m walking a tightrope between ‘amusing ourselves to death’ and ‘regulations’. —Ma Dong, 13 Invites S2E1 (2017) Wang Xiaobo’s work is never subject to self-censorship or commercial pressure. Rather, it reaches an aesthetic realm. In China, there are very few creative works that escape censorships, either external censorships or internal self-censorships. Almost all the writers must go through these censorships in China. Nevertheless, Wang Xiaobo is a survivor. The reason that he escaped the censorships lies in its different domain of discourses in his writings. We do not understand the birds’ singing. It is like having a dialogue with the deaf. —Yinhe Li (2015)

Li’s comment on Wang Xiaobo’s creative expression as a unique form of singing like a bird echoes the edge ball strategies Chinese media producers © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 L. Lin, Convergent Chinese Television Industries, Palgrave Global Media Policy and Business, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-91756-2_9

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employ in their daily practices. It provokes a profound point about critical expression in creative industries in China: instead of confronting the ideological controls on news forms directly, Chinese producers have chosen a distinct set of disguised ‘languages’ for creative and political expression through edge ball forms, in factual television and documentaries to comedy and other entertainment forms. This act noticeably results in Chinese producers relocating from the news sector to entertainment production sector.1 Any politically sensitive or dissident comments on digital news are banned immediately and filtered strictly. The Chinese government has banned private digital companies and independent journalists from producing any form of news content, permitting only the reprinting of officially sanctioned news from state-owned media outlets onto digital platforms. Chinese producers, particularly in regional broadcasters and digital sectors, have instead chosen to incorporate political and critical ideas into the narrative of comedy, parody, documentary, drama series and animations, areas where censoring is less clear cut. This process—edge ball—is one way that Chinese producers test and stretch the boundaries of the acceptable; instead of the openly critical and confrontational approach their western counterparts have adopted (or are permitted to adopt in liberal-­democratic systems), Chinese media producers have adeptly developed a method of exerting their creative freedoms while fulfilling the official regulations and rules. Creative workers in all media industries are cognisant of the ‘no-go areas’ because the lines are more clearly marked in the Chinese landscape (Keane, 2015, p. 29). However, they have honed edge ball techniques to minimise the risk of censorship whilst ‘still telling a good story’, a skillset, as Keane (2015, p.  29) notes, allowing them to tread cautiously whilst inserting enough political ambiguity to satisfy audiences, often in the form of parody. Ultimately, the practice of edge ball creates a form of innovation not envisaged by the government’s innovation strategies and slogans but one that is more likely to bring about changes in the creative expression and production practices in post-broadcast China.

Edge Ball: Creativity Within Boundaries Following the discussion on the rise of creative autonomy in the role of the product manager in Chap. 8, I will move on to illustrate how Chinese media workers employ a range of creative tactics to produce inspiring and critical content and pursue creative autonomy that resists the prevalent culture of censorship at the margins. Confronted by the relatively unchanging

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state ideology, Chinese producers have been seeking a further breakthrough of creative space by pioneering technologies and multiplatform strategies (Xu, 2011, p.  90). Instead of confronting the official censorships in the news sector as well as regulations and restrictions in television production in general, they have been able to obviate censorship by negotiating an alternative path and adopting an approach known (by the industry as well as the general public) as edge ball by ‘working through’ social issues through non-news genres in creative production. The process of ‘working through’ the news in non-news programmes entails a diverse range of forms, involving talk, soap opera and documentary (Ellis, 2000, p. 104), echoing John Grierson’s definition of documentary as ‘creative treatment of actuality’. That is, to return to my earlier argument, the creative and political freedoms of Chinese producers are much less confrontational or overt; cultural values and creative autonomy are expressed through the deployment of edge ball strategies which are partly enabled by the discourse and focus on innovation that enables some producers to realise individual cultural values via adapting and exploiting the new technologies and new production cultures that respond to current changes in how the media are consumed. During my fieldwork, these marginal spaces at the edge of the boundaries of social, political and ideological regulations took the form of ‘grey areas’ where the rules of what is permissible are less clear. For instance, previous scholars of television dramas in China have noted how they involve a wide range of social topics from social unrest and injustice in the private domain to power struggles and corruption in the public domain (Bai, 2015), all of which contribute to the dynamic and diverse character of Chinese television (Zhao, 2008). The officially sanctioned marketisation of Chinese television actually ‘legitimizes producers’ pursuits of certain degrees of autonomy, or so-called independence, in relatively less politically sensitive arenas’ (Fung et al., 2014, p. 245). In short, the growth of a commercial market for media products, in conjunction with new media technologies, threatens to chip away, albeit for the moment tentatively, political authority in certain areas of life. As Fung et al. (2014, p. 247) argue: Compared with news and current affairs programming, television dramas, as a fictional ‘producerly text’ (Fiske, 1987: 95), are endowed with more ­flexibility in playing with the difference between the representation and the real, thereby giving producers more room to maneuver socially controversial topics.

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Fung et al. (2014, p. 234) identify three strategies for Chinese producers to gain momentary independence: ‘by-pass, negotiate, or even mildly challenge the state control’. Through entertainment-disguised drama production, communal production on ‘hot’ social topics and regional shows, producers can politicise society’s demands for programmes that explore controversial topics in ways that override censorship. Chinese corruption dramas, in particular, act as a mediated space for media intellectuals to comment on social, cultural and political issues while appealing to the market (Bai, 2015). The late twentieth century saw social criticism in the form of the six-episode series River Elegy (CCTV, 1988), which ‘vouchsafed an unprecedented criticism of Chinese civilisation and culture, challenging the legacy of the state authoritarianism, the slave mentality of its people and the ossified social structure’ (Keane, 2015, p. 132). More recently, the corruption drama In the Name of the People became a hit series uncovering the dark and secret world of Chinese politicians in 2016. Although set in a fictional city, this drama series critically broached the unspoken rules in Chinese politics and was regarded as a textbook example of how to enter the minefield of Chinese politics. Such dramas exploit social sentiments prevalent since the early 1990s. As Bai (2015, pp. 5–6) noted: Anxiety about mushrooming social problems and the integrity of the moral and social fabrics, feelings of precariousness about one’s well-being in an increasingly marketized society, indignation or unease about the radically unjust distribution of wealth and power, a newly heightened sense of citizens’ rights and a desire for change, and so on.

As British television historian John Ellis (2000, p. 105) argues, in addition to drama series the talk show arena also provides space for discussions and particular interpretations of issues, beginning ‘the real process of working through’. He contends that, instead of politicians and people in the public eye holding court, conversations of a mundane and spontaneous kind between ordinary people enable us to witness their little nuggets of information (ibid., pp. 106–107). These little nuggets provide a certain degree of online democracy in-­between the personal accounts which potentially elude censorship, playing the so-called edge ball. The value of edge ball lies in the implicit power of critical expressions which circumvent national regulations and censorship. Unlike the strict controls in news production, long-running factual entertainment and documentary programmes are endowed with

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more space for creative intellectual expression in certain grey areas where producers incorporate news and current affairs issues into comedy, documentary, drama series and talk shows by working through subjects or issues and passing comments sardonically or ironically. For instance, created by CCTV veteran Lun Li, Who Do You Think You Are? (CCTV, 2013–2015) traces the family history of Chinese celebrities, a process which often touches on politically sensitive periods of Chinese history such as the ‘intellectuals going to the countryside’ from the 1950s to the late 1970s. (Cancelled shortly after the second season, this programme may well be seen as an example of edge ball). Digital technologies have opened a wide range of opportunities for producers to exercise their creative freedom in authoritarian states like China. Every day sees new forms of online programmes produced and released on digital platforms in which Chinese producers tactically push the boundaries of innovation in their daily practices. A vivid illustration of this is the relocation of Dou Wen Tao’s talk shows from satellite channel to online platforms. After his long-running talk show Behind the Headlines with Wen Tao (1998–2017, Phoenix Satellite TV) was banned by the government due to a comment on the People’s Congress in September 2017, Dou relocated his production team and guest line-ups to an online talk series called Youku (π) (Youku, 2016–present) where social, cultural and political issues are discussed relatively freely through four seasons of online series. This and other shows represent a ‘liberal grey area’ that is emerging ‘in the shadow of state-sanctioned and market-based media consumption’ among Chinese online communities (Meng, 2012, p.  468). Cultural diversity for minority communities such as LGBT and geek cultures has also been empowered in the digital space where producers have found a grey area in which they are relatively free to express creative and critical comments which could never be done in the established ideological and regulatory regimes of the broadcasting sector.

Alternative Narratives and Edge Ball Forms Scholars have discussed the forms of alternative narratives in Chinese drama production (Bai, 2015), Chinese factual television production (Berry, 2009), UGC Shanzhai cultures and digital democracy (Zhang & Fung, 2013) and Chinese netizen news production (Xiang et al., 2019). This scholarship illuminates the potential for eking out a creative space through alternative narrative forms which exploit ambiguities in fictional

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narration. As such, Australia-based television scholar Qian Gong (2014) postulates that Chinese intellectuals’ search for a humanist subject has been liberated from ideological constraints and political utility through entertainment television forms like the Red Classics drama of the early 2000s (although this series explored the history of the political revolution (1920–1949) through a humanist narrative style rather than overt political propaganda, the Red Classics drama series still acted as a form of indirect propaganda overseen by the CPC regime rather than pushing the boundaries of political and creative freedoms). Whilst Chinese cultural intermediaries such as peer-to-peer file sharing protocols (e.g. Xunlei, BT China, eDonkey) have generated a grey area for state censorship of media consumption, geo-blocking circumvention has become another common practice for internet users to reach content blocked by either the state or corporations in mainland China (Zhao, 2018, p. 110). As discussed in Chaps. 5 and 6, live streaming and live comments pose a huge challenge for media censors and regulators due to the volume of content produced on an hourly basis across millions of websites. One of the main marketing logics behind live streaming platforms is that ‘everyone can be a superstar’, which triggers a wave of grassrooted live streaming movements among ordinary users: live streaming of such diverse acts as singing a song, showing their profession or their home city, reading a poem or freestyle dancing. Live streaming is seen as a crucial component at Tencent OMG to replenish the absence of journalistic accreditation. Although the absent journalist accreditation could have resulted in a total monopoly by the traditional broadcasters in news and current affairs, aided by new technologies, the rise of self-media news commentaries and podcasters has attracted users to explore original critical news content beyond mainstream news feeds. Led by a CCTV news veteran Qi, the live streaming department at Tencent aims to cover nationwide cultural and social events with local freelance self-shooters reporting live, lasting from 30  minutes to 10 hours depending on the nature of the events. These live productions provide a space for producers like Qi to ‘work through’ the social and cultural issues with actual people and events. Rather than commenting directly, the form of live streaming constructs a concurrent space and time for viewers to interpret social events from their individual perspectives. With no real-time editorial regulations, the extensive volume of live streaming content has, to some extent, escaped the strict censorship exerted recently on digital players. Although self-censorship was practised

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by digital editors who were putting short ‘highlight’ videos online, there was no censorship for live streaming online, with all livestream feeds reaching online users, some of whom were between 12 and 18 years of age.2 On 27 September 2016, a whole section of the programme Perfect Holiday (Mango TV, 2015–2016) (where I worked as a digital editor in one of my participation observation placements) was dedicated to a discussion of sex. A censorship gap for creative space can thus be seen in the form of 24/7 live streaming among digital platforms. 24/7 live streams arguably might be close to what Cody (2017) terms ‘freedom of speech’ in his discussion on live transmission of British talk shows where what the guests say is transmitted without delay, editing, hidden manipulation or censorship. Danmu (bullet comments) noticeably create a space for freedom of speech on social and political issues, especially on commercially run digital platforms (see Chap.5 for more detail). During the period of study, danmu has gradually emerged as a sub-culture among Chinese cyber citizens and online viewers/users.3 For example, some CCTV programmes uploaded on Tencent Video have received harsh criticism and complaints from online users who wrote critical bullet comments about the outdated style of CCTV performers and presenters. The 2017 CCTV Spring Gala (chun wan) has been ironically termed by danmu communities the ‘Villagers’ Entertainment Gala’ (cun wan) due to outdated dressing codes and expressions.4 Online comments thus challenge ideological control among grassrooted online users. One CCTV multiplatform editor Chan argues that such commentary incites its own counter-commentary, implying a kind of balance in the discussion: There is a grey area of censorship. Various voices and comments pop up during the live streaming. If there is any anti-government comment, they are mostly followed by some patriots who argue against the standpoints. In total, there will be a balance of public opinion in the online space. (IV2, 22/10/2016, Beijing)

Chan expressed an optimistic opinion on the balanced views which maintain strict political obedience against any political dissidents. As Fung (2008, p. 425) argues, ‘popular culture is the de facto thermometer of the PRC, which otherwise would not nakedly express its ideology to the public’. However, digital producers have embodied more practices in pushing the boundaries of ideological regimes through edge ball strategies.

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Digital technologies have provided space for creativity for media workers who embrace these new opportunities. As McLuhan put it, ‘[A]ny new technology is an evolutionary and biological mutation opening doors of perception and new spheres of action to mankind’ (McLuhan & Carson, 2003, p. 67). Having mapped out the technologically deterministic view within Chinese television production and regulatory cultures in the macro and meso levels of this book, new television technologies can be understood as a site of innovation that can also move beyond rhetoric to create a ‘grey area’. One development producer, Rui, took U Can U Bibi (Qi Pa Shuo)5 (iQiyi, 2014-present), an online debate series in search of the best debater in the Great China region, as an example of this: The meaning of U Can U Bibi is that, under the Chinese big (political) environment, it gives us an opportunity to speak out. There is something very deep in this show. It has incorporated the method of democracy in British parliaments into an extremely entertaining programme with no bottom line. As one of my mentors has said, it has a deep and pertinent core but with an entertaining vail. (IV16, 02/11/2016, Beijing)

Before voting in every episode, the judges formally announce that ‘everyone is voting freely’. Rui continued: I think U Can U Bibi is a very classic representation of this phenomenon. On the surface, it is very funny, entertaining and engaging. However, the core concept has a deep meaning. Every argument in the programme is very critical. Participators debate on the topic from various perspectives. (IV16, 02/11/2016, Beijing)

Euphemistic expressions in an ironic style have also been adopted regarding sensitive topics and subjects, from using homonyms and abbreviations such as cha cha cha (or XXX) for swear words, ‘harmonised’ for state censorship and pa pa pa, tou shi jin guo (stealing the forbidden fruit) for sexual subjects. Rui gave another example of edge ball in the online quiz show Are You Normal? (Tencent, 2014–2016). The programme devised a new quiz format in which questions are based on the answers of online users rather than set by the producers. The opinions of ordinary users and viewers began to move to the centre of the development stage of the programme. For Rui, the development producer for this quiz show, survey questions were selected in grey areas such as social problems and sex issues, which she terms as edge ball questions:

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The logic of the programme is based on big data. We made a public survey on certain topics through WeChat/H5 and then the participant celebrities guess the public’s answers. It suits the tone of online platforms like Tencent and caters to the needs of younger generations. Everyone finds the test remarkably interesting. It is a real big data-based programme. … Also a wide range of sensitive topics is covered. We asked some edge ball questions such as about sex, for example. (IV16, 02/11/2016, Beijing)

Questions such as ‘whether to keep virginity until marriage?’ and ‘whether to speak out when encountering sexual assault?’ are explored in the programme. The online survey was conducted to gather the most popular answers among online users, accompanied by vox pop interviews on the street with the specific questions for each episode. Drawing on the rhetoric and policies of Chinese capitalism and the increasing individualisation of the audience, Chinese producers have been able to tackle more adventurous and edgy topics through these factual entertainment programmes whilst at the same time keeping within ideological norms. Creativity within existing regulatory boundaries and cultural norms in this case echoes my discussion on the Eastern approach to championing creativity (see Chap. 2; Celik & Lubart, 2016, p. 38; Puccio & Chimento, 2001). Fostered by the national innovation policy (see Chap. 4), recent decades have seen experiments on new media platforms and technologies which further engender a certain degree of creative freedoms. Edge ball strategies deployed in the grey areas in post-TVIII television might involve more creative risks among Chinese media workers than ‘independence within boundaries’, as Fung et al. (2014, p. 245) argue. Programmes like Bao Zou Big News (BZBN) create an alternative outlet for expressing radical ideas through parody, comedy or documentary forms. Although the creator claims that BZBN aims at harmony rather than infusing certain values for online viewers, this alternative way of critical expression was temporarily banned by the media regulators in May 2018 due to an inappropriate joke about Chinese war martyrs. Rui gives another illustration with the Tencent-produced travel series On the Road, in which Chinese adventurer couple Xiyu Zhang and Hong Liang explore global issues from refugee camps in Somalia to conflicts in Iraq, with (Youku, 2013–2015; Tencent, 2017). Rather than professionally trained presenters, two ordinary Chinese ‘citizen journalists’ Zhang and Liang travel to controversial regions and investigate local cultures and social issues. Attracting significant public attention at the time, the show

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was the first series featuring non-celebrity hosts who explore issues on behalf of ordinary Chinese citizens after Youku commissioned the whole series based on their travel journeys. Notably, the show was once banned and forced to remove all the online content from November 2015 until early 2017 after one episode on the exposure of ISIS camps in northern Iraq (the potential impact on bilateral relations between Chinese residents and local citizens in Iraq was considered sensitive). Another illustration is the Youku-produced talk show Roundtable π, which generates critical and intellectual debates on current affairs and social issues among Chinese cultural elites under the theme Vistopia (看理 想). As shown in Fig. 9.1, the series featured six leading cultural figures in China with the slogan ‘looking at the dreams: finding another possibility’ (看理想: 看见另一种可能). As a compound word of vision and utopia, Vistopia was coined by Leung Man-tao, the executive producer for the season and the founder of Beijing-based independent media and cultural production company Imaginist (Imaginist, 2018). Leung Man-tao is a Hong Kong-­based cultural scholar, writer and critic who has actively participated in democratic movements and social causes in the Greater China region, including signing the human right protection alliance Charter 08

Fig. 9.1  The homepage of Vistopia on Youku website, featuring the profile images of six leading cultural figures in China under the slogan ‘Looking at the dreams: finding another possibility’

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Manifesto in 2008. As indicated by the slogan of the series, the partnerships between digital platforms and political activists like Leung through cultural factual programmes exemplify the strategy of edge ball. Rather than direct confrontation, sarcasm of current affairs in these programmes has embodied a strategy of edge ball in critical expression of individual values from both cultural elites and ordinary citizens. For example, drawing on the historical literature masterpieces, Leung’s One Thousand and One Nights (Youku, 2015–2017) shined a light upon the current social and cultural issues in reference to historical events. The Rap of China (iQiyi, 2017) illustrates how creative expression is facilitated through the working through of factual forms as an edge ball strategy. This talent competition series triggered a wave of hip-hop cultural expression and brought Chinese underground rappers into the national and international spotlight for the first time, with more than 2.5 billion views online (BBC, 2017). Integrating their criticisms into lyrics, rappers expressed their anger at the Chinese regime, ideological control and economic inequality. The candid interviews and authentic performances generated widespread debates on youth culture and rebellion against the mainstream culture articulated by the government. 13 Invites (Tencent, 2016–2017) is another illustration of this tactic of disguising news in the form of creative freedoms. 13 Invites is a documentary series on Tencent presented by Zhiyuan Xu (a famous Chinese writer). Notably, it invoked a huge public debate on current affairs and socio-political issues through interviews with controversial celebrities and cultural elites. Along with all the programmes being available online, full-length interviews (raw footage) and highlight clips are uploaded to the programme website for online users who wish to watch the actual encounter scenario during the interviews in the style of cinema vérité (truthful cinema). Media technologies have been used, adapted and implemented in particular ways by Chinese producers who are embracing marketisation and globalisation in pursuit of creative autonomy in the post-TVIII era. Here, producers play edge ball in tandem with their audiences—using the new spaces and technologies to challenge the dominant state ideology at the same time as staying within the mandated approach to innovation and marketisation as established by the political authorities. Instead of opposing the strict regulations, Chinese producers have employed edge ball to incorporate political and critical ideas into comedy, parody, documentary, drama series and even animation. These alternative screen forms have thus become a popular narrative tool for producers to exercise their creative freedoms and explore often controversial social, cultural and political issues.

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Creative Compliance Versus Edge Ball Following the discussion on creative autonomy and edge ball strategies, this section uses the case of Waiting for Me (WFM) (CCTV, 2013–) and We Fifteen (We15, Tencent, 2015–2016) to make sense of the tactics and strategies producers have been exploiting in pursuit of creative autonomy and how creative freedoms play out differently among CCTV and Tencent producers according to their specific production cultures. This process is by no means a binary but rather a complex process. CCTV producers have been utilising creative compliance to realise a sense of pride in public service whereas Tencent producers play the edge ball to push the boundaries of creative and political expression. Through these two examples, I will examine how creative freedoms are exercised differently among CCTV and Tencent producers. Whilst the edge ball strategy in WAF is closer to the western ideal of creative autonomy and ‘good’ work, CCTV producers derive satisfaction and fulfilment from a sense of public service. Drawing on the fieldwork I undertook during 2016 and 2017, I will next provide a thick description of the production practices in the two cases. As one of the production placements in my fieldworks, I worked as a multiplatform producer to develop multiplatform strategies for a weekly primetime factual programme WAF (CCTV 1, 2013–), a long-running studio-based programme dedicated to bringing lost families together. The programme idea was conceptualised in 2012 after an executive-level visit to the UK. As one of the top-rated CCTV programmes, it reached a stable group of television audiences aged in their 40–60s. The executive producer hoped to break the ‘bottleneck’ and fully utilise the newly emerging digital platforms and big data to boost its social impacts. As of October 2016, the production team had received 200,000 requests from the general public wishing to search for lost family members or loved ones. Having met with success on the broadcasting channel, the producer believed the next—and only viable—step for the programme was to carry out a big data transformation if they were to achieve even greater success. The role of the multiplatform producer was remarkably similar to the IT product manager, developing, designing and pitching multiplatform products to the media executives at CCTV as well as external advertisers. During the production placement, I produced five versions of pitching documents and co-producing three versions of website html files which incorporated the new interactive and live streaming services. The production meetings were held weekly among the producer, the presenters, the Vice-President of

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CNTV, a channel executive from CCTV 1 and two digital editors from CNTV. The presenter and the leader of the Search Team, Shu Dong,6 who was responsible for representing public values on screen, also pitched some ideas for multiplatform content including a documentary series of interesting stories on his thrilling search process in remote regions of China. In an editorial meeting with executive producer Yao, he proposed to cooperate with a newly emerging production company—Hua Ce (华策传媒)—to explore WAM’s multiplatform potential. After six months of discussion on which platform was more suitable for the cooperation, the production team decided to partner with Tencent Video and launch weekly live streaming to show behind-the-scenes stories and to interact with viewers live in Q&A sessions. Online viewers posted live questions while reading the audience matrix at the bottom of the website, including region, age, gender and even astrological sign (see Chap. 5). In the recent online streaming series, the team invited the presenter, Ni Ping, as well as the production staff, to share the behind-the-scenes stories and experiences around the programme. The case of looking for a young musician who left home almost 20 years ago is a good example. The production team received a phone call one day that an old couple wanted to look for their son, who had left his native Beijing in the 1990s. Following the phone call, the crew posted the information on the programme website as well as the Weibo account, which has 2 million followers. Just one day later, the post received nationwide comments from online users who eagerly provided location clues, from underground stations to public parks in Beijing. The production team also worked closely with CNTV on developing new mobile websites with HTML 57 with the aim of ‘catching up with the industry trend and newest technologies’ (IV7). As one of CCTV’s primetime flagship programmes, WFM has a long-term partnership with the Ministry of Public Security and the Non-Governmental Organisation Baby Come Home (宝贝回家). A strategic partnership between CCTV and Alibaba has also been underway since 2017 for potential cooperation on building big data platforms and sharing resources. Therefore, the following mission statement came out: We will build up one social media charity platform to search for your loved ones, empowered by innovative Internet products. We will also build up one CCTV 1-centric public service platform on CNTV to spread safety awareness, reduce crime rates and protect the elderly and younger citizens. (Fieldwork Notes, 2016)

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Fig. 9.2  Slide from the multiplatform proposal I produced for the executive producer, aiming at attracting potential advertising through social media engagement for the 2017 fiscal year. (Purple: Detective game app (inviting online users to participate in the search for lost people); Yellow: WFM social media platform (A social media platform with personal profiles for volunteers across the country that can build up a social media network of volunteers and the ones who seek help); Orange (Centre): CCTV’s convergence platform on CNTN; Blue: Weibo (professional live streaming from the frontline, real-time uploading video highlights); Green: WFM WeChat account (daily posts about the search diary and behind-the-scenes))

During the development stage, we devised a multiplatform content diagram (see Fig. 9.2), which proposed to create a new social media platform based on the programme database (linking people looking for lost family members) as well as a game-like detective mobile app for inductively reasoning the searching clues based on true stories.8 The ultimate goal is to build a public database which contains all the clues for searching for people and all the volunteering details with the show expanding from a television programme to a multiplatform public project (IV1). Workers’ self-realisation in the case of CCTV is in this way achieved through the fulfilment of public goods and civic values with creative compliance rather than by challenging or circumventing political censorship. Rather than observe the boundaries, as in the case of CCTV, Tencent interviewees in my fieldwork noticeably push the boundaries through edge

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ball strategies in their daily practices. During the production of We15 (a Chinese adaptation of factual format Utopia, licensed by Talpa), the producers adeptly stretched the regulatory framework (see Chap. 6). As Keane (2015, p. 168) argues, formatting provides a strategy to fast-track development of Chinese television by ‘picking the best international concepts that will survive in the protected Chinese media ecology’. We15 was broadcast as a daily programme on Dragon TV, along with 24-hour live streaming, between June 2015 and June 2016. In this programme, 15 ordinary citizens from diverse backgrounds were selected to live together on a remote barren plateau for one year and build a new society together. The participants were given two cows, some chickens, water, electricity and ¥50,000 (£5825). Online viewers could choose different camera angles for the live streaming, participate in the live comments and observe the day-to-day normality of the mountain life on their digital devices. The daily accumulated viewers of this programme reached 1.3 million and each of the residents gained a large fan base throughout China. Throughout the history of media developments, newly emergent technologies have often been accompanied by uncertainty and experimental gesture. We15 embodied the current industrial gesture of experiments with the potential for new media platforms and technologies. Although they have been trained at traditional broadcasters or have degrees in television and film production, the producers have embraced the innovative technologies and opportunities offered in the multiplatform era. We15 is not only a social experiment per se but also an editorial experiment by Tencent executives and producers wishing to explore the creative potential of online platforms and the possibilities of raising social awareness (see Fig. 9.3). As its executive producer Pang argues: The philosophy of this show is minimising interference with the residents. It is, so far, the most realistic ‘reality TV’ (in China). We have truly little script for the production. Whether audiences like one of them or not, it does not matter a lot. They are doing an independent experiment on the mountain. And all the issues are solved internally. (IV15, 17/10/2016, Beijing)

With We15, as increasing numbers of citizens and media professionals have begun to doubt the promise of communist society, media professionals are exploring alternative socio-political systems in an entertainment-­ disguised programme.

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Fig. 9.3  Programme poster of fifteen villagers seated around a campfire with the slogan ‘a social experiment with fifteen strangers living together every day and night’

The highlight of this programme was that, instead of selecting celebrities, ordinary citizens from various classes, cultures and communities were selected as participants for this utopian/anarchist social experiment. The participants were: A farmer, a shoemaker, a personal business owner, a tour guide, a fitness instructor, a university student, a rural migrant worker, a veteran, a d ­ octorate candidate of psychology, a vagrant, a boxer, a craftsman, a fashion designer, a retired accountant of a state-owned company and a rock singer.

It is worth noting some special social roles that are unique in the Chinese context: a personal business owner in contrast to the retired accountant of a state-owned business—all signalling the shift to private ownership after the marketisation of the economic system in the early 1990s. The incorporation of a variety of professionals and special Chinese social roles into the setting provided a ‘grey area’ to reflect the current socio-political system of the one-party state, with producers playing edge ball to explore the meaning of democracy, socialism and capitalism through the TES form of live streaming rather than expressing their views directly.9

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The residents’ transition from their previous social roles also reflected the conflicts and tensions which emerged during the daily grind of adapting to the new barren environment. With no script and interference from the production team, the premise of the show—‘Let us start from the beginning and go back to the essence of life’—functioned as both an internal production creed and an outward-facing promotional slogan that spoke to the audiences and the industry. The approach of edge ball resides in the implicit power of critical expressions which circumvent national regulations and censorships whilst touching on intellectual topics and politically sensitive issues. We15 provided valuable space and time for participants as well as the viewers to contemplate the meanings of their lives away from their hectic daily routines. Whether to solve the agenda of the communal life via democracy, dictatorship or legislature is a valuable experience for both the 15 residents as well as the audiences in a one-party state. These experimental features also raised several serious challenges for the show’s producers during the production process. The executive producer, Pang, put it this way: There were so many challenges throughout the process, not just one or two. So many, so many! Before going on air, we even did not know if it was possible to broadcast the show since none of us had tried 24-hour live streaming before. It brought huge challenges to the technological stability and content censorship and real-time control on the happenings on the mountain. (IV15, 17/10/2016)

Even though she spoke of the range of challenges, the executive producer expressed a powerful sense of personal passion for the project, and she was willing to embrace all the challenges, bitter and sweet. As the development producer of this series pointed out, ‘the residents had arguments with each other, and even fights sometimes. It’s great that audiences could easily develop a critical viewing experience’ (IV16, 02/11/2016). The real-time 24-hour streaming created a sense of companionship and co-existence among online users, who could switch on their internet browsers anytime to observe the happenings on the mountain and follow the ongoing relationships among the residents. Unlike the fine cut version for daily programmes on Dragon TV, 24-hour streaming videos came from raw footage among fixed cameras all over the mountain, recording consistently throughout the year. In Ellis’ conception of witness, liveness

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is twinned with authenticity (Ellis, 2000). Online streaming services, unlike traditional 30–60-minute format programmes, presented a sense of authenticity of the eventuality for online viewers who lived concurrently with the residents ‘under the dome’. The real-time production also produced an intimate relationship between producers and participants on the barren mountain. As Pang said: I stayed on the mountain a few times. After five or six months, we got used to the production flow and took it relatively easy. … The production team was composed of a few independent companies from the market (outside the broadcasting system) as we could not find such a large team of 150–160 staff. All the job roles were on day-night shifts. (IV15, 17/10/2016)

The team organised several offline fan events (such as under-the-dome concerts) and invited online users to meet their favourite residents and bring gifts and daily necessities. As television brings a new visibility to human life, it also blurs ‘the boundaries between the domestic and public spheres, between leisure and information, and between the emotional and rational in public life’ (Ellis, 2009). These fan events indicate a new kind of TV-viewer interaction and community-building practice fostered by this connective viewing experience in which producers exercise their creative freedoms through edge ball strategies. Having chosen ordinary citizens from a range of social classes and work sectors, it remained an interesting question to the producers until the production—how would decision-making be organised in the community’s life? Through democracy or socialist-style commune? The residents represent a transitional Chinese society, from intellectuals to farmers, from state company employee to merchandisers, from shoemakers to fashion designers, which together could be interpreted as the producers’ process of working through the hybrid society model, one comprised, as Zhu (2012, p.  6) argues, of a set of seemingly contradictory forces. However valuable the social experiment was, this £23-million-budget series was cancelled after the first season for both strategic and economic reasons, whereas its Dutch counterpart ran uninterrupted for four-and-a-­ half years until the lease of the current site could not be extended. One of the reasons behind the market failure was the de-characterisation of participants in the live streaming series when producers pursued their cultural aspiration of the real-life experiment rather than marketable tags and selling points. In addition to the lack of dramatic tension in the narrative,

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along with a lack of celebrity appearance, the failure of the social experiment (such as the participants’ poor skills and idleness at making a living, resulting in a society of chaotic scarcity rather than an admirable utopian society) contributed to the poor viewing figures, which in turn led to the cancellation of the series. The concept of WAF may be a case of the edge ball strategy being pushed too far by creating a utopian image of Chinese society through an alternative form that avoids direct censorship from the Chinese government. Chinese producers’ creative freedoms are fuelled by newly emerged technologies as well as innovative business models—these two developments all the while being tempered by the need to adhere to CPC ideology. Creative freedoms sit in a position of tension among the forces of marketisation, the history and existence of communism (at least in name—the real issue is the political control of the CPC, not communist ideals) and the artistic pursuits of media practitioners. In the case of WAF, Chinese media practitioners played edge ball in tandem with their audiences with new spaces and technologies of TVIII to challenge dominant state ideology in the form of live streaming whilst staying within the mandated approach to innovation and marketisation.

Concluding Remarks Against the backdrop of the post-1989 political climate, the rapid growth of a market economy and a consumer culture (Bai, 2015, p. 160), Chinese producers have pursued creative autonomy to the largest degree, exploring new ways of creative expression through the tactic of edge ball in a range of certain ‘grey areas’ outside of the mainstream news. Having taken more creative risks through working through 24/7 live streaming of social experiments, production practices at Tencent Video have emboldened more edge ball practices compared to CCTV’s conservative approach. Edge ball, as in the production experience of We15, produces a high degree of creative freedoms for producers but also a degree of political freedom disguised within the constraints of what is ideologically permissible: playing at the edge of the boundaries. The implications of the producers’ creative freedoms and strategies identified in this study’s fieldwork are highly relevant for understanding creative autonomy and freedoms in contemporary China (and other state-controlled media systems which are undergoing similar contested processes of commercialisation). With new easy-access technologies and multiple distribution channels, producers have been empowered with more autonomy and independence

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to express personal views and introduce idiosyncrasies into their works. Edge ball creates a new kind of subjectivity in Chinese entertainment television, which, as Fung et al. (2014, p. 390) predict, will potentially conflict with the ethos of socialism and China’s conservative Confucian virtues, potentially disrupting the current ideological agenda. Following the discussion on producers’ fears in an authoritarian state, this chapter draws a complex picture of Chinese television in which western ideas of creative freedoms need to be tempered to understand some of the nuances involved in Chinese television production. Whilst ‘fear’ is certainly prevalent in Chinese production culture, much of which can be characterised as ‘bad work’, there are also reasons to be optimistic that the new post-TVIII era is enabling ‘good work’ that is fulfilling to individual television producers—a production culture that is innovative and (compared to other eras of Chinese television) creatively free, autonomous and at times even politically challenging.

Notes 1. Two of my interviewees at Tencent News resigned from their news editor role at CCTV and joined Tencent Online Media Group to lead factual and documentary department and live streaming services respectively. 2. It is impossible for the state regulator to monitor 24-hour streaming. 3. CCTV staff, noted in the fieldwork, tend to use the terms audiences when referring to their viewers, implying a strong broadcast-era production cultures; however, Tencent and Mango producers use the terms users when referring to the viewership, implying a distinct Internet-driven convergence cultures. 4. It is worth pointing out the differences between freedom of speech as a right to participate in informed democracy and freedom of speech to comment on a performer. 5. The online series was commissioned by iQiyi and produced by MeWe Media 米未传媒 (founded by Ma Dong, a CCTV veteran and digital content entrepreneur). 6. Shu Dong replaced the previous presenter Ni Ping due to health reasons in 2018. 7. HTML 5 is the new version of www language for mobile websites and applications which has been a popular industry topic among Chinese media producers, who aim to keep updated with the latest technological innovations.

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8. Due to some practical reasons as well as the bureaucratic and ideological procedures within CCTV, only two proposals had been achieved by October 2017. 9. For instance, one of the residents Shouwang Zhang, who is a Beijing-based indie rock singer, has been among the rebellious generation of Beijing underground rock music.

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Puccio, G. J., & Chimento, M. D. (2001). Implicit Theories of Creativity: Lay Persons’ Perceptions of the Creativity of Adaptors and Innovators. Perceptual and Motor Skills, 92(3), 675–681. Tencent. (2017). 张一山《柒个我》演技获赞 [Yishan Zhang Won Audiences’ Praise for His Performance in Seven of Me]. Retrieved May 30, 2019, from https://ent.qq.com/a/20171215/023064.htm Xiang, Y. (2019). User-Generated News: Netizen Journalism in China in The Age of Short Video. Global Media and China, 4(1), 52–71. Xu, F. (2011) 制造角色:凤凰卫视的生产机制研究 (1996–2011) [Production Studies of Phoenix Television (1996–2011)]. 复旦大学博士学位论文. PhD Diss, University of Fudan. Zhang, L., & Fung, A. Y. H. (2013). The Myth of ‘Shanzhai’ Culture and the Paradox of Digital Democracy in China. Inter-Asia Cultural Studies, 14(3), 401–416. Zhao, Y.  Z. (2008). Communication in China: Political Economy, Power, and Conflict. Littlefield. Zhao, E. J. (2018). Negotiating State and Copyright Territorialities in Overseas Expansion: The Case of China’s Online Video Streaming Platforms. Media Industries, 5(1), 106–121. Zhu, Y. (2012). Two Billion Eyes: The Story of China Central Television. The New Press.

CHAPTER 10

Conclusion: Towards Technologically Empowered Creative Freedoms in Convergent Chinese Television

This book has offered a production studies approach to understanding convergent Chinese television and probing the potential space for producers’ creative freedoms within the technologically empowered, yet strictly regulated production contexts of the digital, multiplatform and convergence environment. Having situated Chinese television within long histories of television’s development as a cultural form, I have demonstrated how production studies can help us understand the hidden discourses in the production cultures of convergent Chinese television industries and its socio-political implications for individual producers’ creative freedoms and fears in the digital era. Drawing upon a mixture of interviews, ethnography and textual analysis of trade artefacts and digital texts, a production studies approach has enabled a thick description of the hidden discourses within convergent Chinese television industries in a way that potentially challenges Western notions of how convergence-era television market operates. That is, studies of TVIII and post-TVIII landscapes have taken a rather homogenous approach to understand how innovative technologies trouble and augment existing production practices and texts—they take for granted western ideals of creative freedoms and good work: critiquing current production cultures through these lenses. This study addresses a significant gap in production studies by investigating Chinese producers’ creative and political freedoms that are disguised carefully through edge ball practices within the constraints of ideological remits in Chinese convergence-era © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 L. Lin, Convergent Chinese Television Industries, Palgrave Global Media Policy and Business, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-91756-2_10

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television. By revealing an ongoing discourse about the industry’s response to new technologies and media environment, this study would thus be valuable for not only western and eastern scholarships but also for media practitioners, policy-makers and international media corporations to understand the current landscape of Chinese post-­broadcast television where the notion of ‘creative freedoms’ take on different meanings and possibilities— including the critiques possible of production cultures from within. In so doing, I have elucidated the tensions Chinese producers face between creative autonomy, commercial imperatives and political obligations. The concluding chapter will pull together the key discourses and themes that I have elucidated in this book. It will lay out the theoretical threads that underpin the chapters, discuss how a production studies approach can contribute to understandings of contemporary Chinese television within the post-socialist society. This chapter will also suggest several further research directions and possibilities. The book has examined the production cultures and practices of convergent Chinese television across macro, institutional and micro levels. Through three parts, I have theorised a number of emergent discourses in Chinese television industries, which have unveiled some conflicting forces embodied in production cultures’ experiences between being asked to innovate technologically and reach audiences in new ways with TES forms at the same time as remaining adherent to stringent political and ideological policies. The four forces (state ideology, digital technologies, globalisation and capitalism) as elucidated in Chap. 2 have shaped the production cultures and practices of Chinese convergence television provides a rationale for the rest of book. This book places Chinese television at the boundaries of debates and theories about broadcast and Internet-distributed television. In particular, this study has suggested how innovation strategies and new technologies foster conditions for new production cultures of creativity which produce new technologically empowered screen (TES) forms. I argue that these TES forms represent both a technologically deterministic production and regulatory culture that aligns creativity with the incessant march of technology that is unique to the Chinese capitalist socio-economic conditions that shape the production cultures of CCTV, Mango TV and Tencent Video. My focus on creativity and technology unpicked and then joined together three separate yet interconnected scopes of changes and continuities (macro, meso and micro levels) in convergent Chinese television industries. Chapter 2 detailed the historical development of television

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as a medium with a specific emphasis on Chinese television, providing theoretical foundations and historical contexts for the rest of the book. Having established theoretical and conceptual debates about television, digital media and the role that technology plays in the convergence culture, Chap. 2 set out a set of socio-political reasons behind the technologically determined viewpoints in which Chinese media scholars and practitioners reside their creative freedoms within technology-disguised production cultures and newly emerging screen forms to avoid direct confrontation with the government. Having been inspired by Caldwell’s integrated cultural-industrial method of analysis, I drew upon data from four ‘modes of analyses’ in my ethnography, crosschecking participant observation notes and interview data with digital screen forms and industry reports. This methodological framework enabled me to work across micro-level participant observations and interviews, the meso-level institutional studies and the macro-level political economy study of the ideological forces in post-TVIII China. It also allowed me to work across below- and above-the-line production studies whilst placing my findings in the context of trade discourses, industry artefacts as well as the ever-­ present regulation of the Chinese government. Chapters 3, 4, 5, and 6  produced a meso-level study on the convergence-era strategies and production cultures at CCTV, HBS and Tencent, which have epitomised the current television landscape through three distinct business models in convergent Chinese television. As such, Chaps. 3, 4, 5, and 6 mediate between the macro factors of globalisation, capitalism and Chinese national policy detailed in the macro level and the microfocus on the individual producers’ practices and the emergence of creative autonomy in Chaps. 7, 8, and 9. This mediation focused on corporate strategies whilst exploring the conflicts between corporate strategies and daily practices. The exploration of this tension acted as an overarching question through Parts II and III.  Chapter 3 provided the institutional contexts within which new production practices and screen forms play out in Chinese broadcast institutions in the case of CCTV and HBS. Having considered these with the promotion of innovation in political and institutional strategies, I recognised questions of capital and political power and foregrounded the way that tensions between creative autonomy, commercial imperatives, new technologies, political obligation and globalisation (four forces) are structured into institutional strategies. In particular, I addressed how the origins of each institution in different eras of Chinese television history have influenced their convergence-era

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strategies—demonstrating how this had a profound impact on the way in which each institution utilised the confluence of technologies available to create ‘post-TVIII’ texts as well as shaped and responded to audience viewing habits. CCTV has been struggling to maintain its online relevance as a broadcast television organisation through obsolete TX-oriented multiplatform strategies, whilst Mango TV positions itself as an independent digital platform operator. In Chap. 4 examined the rise of Chinese internet television in the case of Tencent Video which has engendered a set of commercially data-driven production strategies in the convergent television landscape. Chapters 5 and 6 laid out how these strategies lead to shifts in production cultures and TES forms across broadcast and digital sectors, again considering this question in the context of the institutions’ origins. Whilst CCTV’s broadcast legacies have led to persistence in abiding by officially sanctioned public and ideological values that aim to target a TVI-era audience, Mango TV (youth-oriented) and Tencent Video (user-oriented) position commercial values as the strategical pivot that aligns political obligations towards what Srnicek (2017) terms ‘platform capitalism’. In the context of post-WTO China, Keane and Fung (2018) argue that the tensions between the government, commercial business models and users have led to a peculiar complexity for China’s nascent platform capitalism. Compared to the financial dilemma Chinese broadcasters have been facing in the convergent era, digital players like Mango TV and Tencent Video have been driven by a wave of private capital upon the burgeoning Chinese platform capitalism. I have linked these with an understanding of recent cultural industry policies that emphasise innovation in order to set out how the current moment of the Chinese television industry is best understood as a new period of post-TVIII with Chinese characteristics, which has been shaped by the four forces (commercial imperatives, new technologies, political obligation and globalisation) as I elucidated in the macro level. Unlike CCTV’s disjuncture of innovation between top-down strategies and bottom-up practices, innovation initiatives have been more effectively implemented and adopted through convergence practices at Mango TV and Tencent Video with buy-in from both above-the-line executives and below-the-line media workers. I have suggested that Mango TV interprets the remit for innovation strategies through implementing its convergence model of production, funding and distribution whilst Tencent Video interprets the innovation strategies through its data-driven connected

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viewing services in the convergent era. Despite this apparent and immediate disjuncture among production cultures, it remains evident that all three institutions consistently struggle to balance the pressures of commercialisation, innovation and political obedience which reflect a commercially driven and politically compliant production culture in the daily operations. This disjuncture has resulted in the mishmash of contradictory political and commercial content, which represent three types of production cultures in convergent Chinese television under its specific political and regulatory climate. Chapters 7, 8, and 9 has explicated two micro-level discourses of production cultures and the degree of creative intellectual freedoms and implicit fears among individual production practices of post-TVIII Chinese television at the micro level. Through analysing the fieldwork data across CCTV, HBS and Tencent Video, Chap. 7 has discussed four types of implicit fears—fears of censorships, self-censorships, commercial failures and the resulting labour exploitations—as well as the producers’ response through perceived empowerment via the forces of marketisation and technology. I have proposed that Chinese producers have developed a Foucauldian act of self-discipline that enacts the state censorship via selfcensorships, which, in turn, protect oneself from being punished by the authority. Chinese producers have chosen several ways to deal with state surveillance, strict political censorships and versatile media regulations in their daily productions—in the forms of compromise, despair or resistance. The fierce market competition since China’s market economy reform has engendered a prevalent fear of losing relevance and sponsorships which leads to labour exploitations and poor working conditions— exemplified by the below-the-line fieldwork at Mango TV. Nevertheless, fears among Chinese media communities have also acted as an impetus to fight against as well as to adapt to the political agenda and commercial forces. In Chap. 7, I have suggested that the kind of self-­ censorship is ubiquitous but within this, there have emerged sites of resistance and even dissidence in these new technology-empowered production cultures. Bearing the complexity of contemporary China as a hybrid society of new-liberalism (commercial power) and socialism (political power) in mind, Chap. 8 investigated how Chinese producers exert their creative freedoms and autonomy in the post-TVIII era. Through detailed comparisons in the case of two factual programmes on CCTV (Waiting for Me) and Tencent (We15), I have explicated how new production strategies and practices that emerge in the current period of Chinese television have

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informed intellectual, creative freedoms in daily production practices with strategies of innovation and creativity under threat. I have suggested that these tensions in Chinese television production might have intensified in a socio-political conjuncture marked by marketisation and political interference. CCTV producers have embodied a pride in fulfilling public service within the ideological constraints of Chinese capitalism together with pleasure in working with new technologies. In contrast, We15’s production experience has embodied a high degree of creative autonomy but also some creative and political freedoms that are disguised carefully through edge ball practices within the constraints of ideological remits: playing at the edge of the boundaries. I have suggested that Chinese television workers have arguably developed their own agency of cultural interpretation of how convergent Chinese television industries operate. Chinese producers, particularly in regional broadcasters and digital sectors, have chosen to incorporate political and critical ideas into non-­news genres where censoring is not clear cut. Instead of the cutting-edge approach their western counterparts adopt, they have adeptly played edge ball to exert their creative freedoms and minimise the risk of censorships whilst still ‘telling a good story’ as well as fulfilling the official regulations. Chinese producers have developed certain social, cultural and political forms of resistance in their daily practices in order to achieve their creative autonomy and independent agency.Ultimately, in Chap. 9 I argued that this practice of edge ball produces a kind of innovation not envisaged by the slogans and policies of official regulations, but one that is more likely to bring about change in screen forms and production practices in post-­ broadcast China. Producers have resided their creative freedoms within new technologically-empowered production cultures whilst facing the prevalent challenges brought by commercial imperatives, political obligation and globalisation. Creative freedoms in China sits at the nexus of state ideology, new technologies, globalisation and capitalism: the four forces that have also shaped the post-TVIII Chinese landscape. Through these ambiguities and uncertainties, several discourses emerge. The rise of creative freedoms has epitomised a distinctly new Chinese commercial media culture that emerges from post-TVIII characterised by a new set of production cultures in the post-socialist society. Taken together, I suggest these ideas challenge the Western notions of state-­ controlled media systems in China. Firstly, Chinese producers, especially in the digital sector, have achieved a certain degree of creative freedoms through edge ball practices which have been empowered by new

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technologies and distribution platforms in the convergent era. Producers have explored the creative space in certain grey areas, such as the forms of comedy, parody, documentary, drama series and animation, walking a fine line within the boundaries. Secondly, despite perceptions that position the CPC government as the major source of individuals’ fears, Chap. 7 set out that there are a wide range of fears and anxieties among Chinese producers who have been facing not only the pressures from ideological regulations but also from fierce market competitions and fast-changing viewing habits among Chinese audiences, users and viewers. Tensions among ideological obligations, commercial imperatives and individual creative aspirations were a recurring theme across the chapters. Thirdly, Chinese producers have resided their creative freedoms in the concept of technological determinism and technology-empowered production cultures rather than personal and ideological beliefs. By examining the TES production practices that are shaped by social, cultural and political forces in play, I have unveiled that  Chinese  producers have disguised their critical ideas and freedoms through these TES production cultures and screen forms rather than confrontation with the state control directly. Whilst technological determinism is often the subject of fierce criticism in western scholarships, this study suggests a more cautiously optimistic approach to champion such thinking in a Chinese context. It at once conforms to some of the problematic aspects of western technological determinism at the same time as it creates camouflage for a more critical production culture that may eventually produce higher degrees of creative autonomy. In turn, these may give rise to forms of political critique and ideological dissent that may shape a more open Chinese culture. Fundamentally, the book has suggested that convergent Chinese television arguably sits at an ideological, cultural and financial paradox between digital technologies and institutional and economic backdrop, state ideology and commercialisation which is arguably unresolvable in the context of Chinese socialist-capitalist society in the new millennium. This paradox further plays out in production cultures and screen forms in media organisations where digital innovators have repackaged TV strategies into creative interactive services and broadcasters have been trying to adapt to the digital media environment in response to broader technological, economic and ideological shifts. This book has portrayed a complex picture of Chinese television in which western ideas of creative freedoms and technologies need to be tempered to understand some of the nuances in Chinese television production. Whilst there are indeed ‘fears’ in Chinese

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production cultures that can be characterised as a form of what Hesmondhalgh and Baker (2011) term ‘bad work’, marked by self-­ exploitation, long hours and precarious conditions, there are reasons to be optimistic that the new post-TVIII era is also enabling ‘good work’ that is fulfilling to individual television producers. This ‘good work’ is seen in production cultures that promote and support innovation—rather than reduce it to a slogan or top-down strategy—and provide relative levels of creative freedoms (compared to other eras of Chinese television). Under such conditions, I found that workers at Tencent Video and Mango TV considered themselves autonomous and at times found their work and stance even politically challenging. These evolving strategies have arguably nurtured conditions for greater creative freedoms in which media practitioners walk a fine line between state directives and the autonomous self. In this shifting media landscape, and amidst its ephemeral nature, I have argued that Chinese television demonstrates a new kind of production cultures that lie in an ideological tension with the idea of fulfilling the marketisation vision of creative industries, the history of communism, creative autonomy and freedom of media workers in convergent Chinese television. This book has suggested that there is a high degree of uncertainty and ephemerality in Chinese television and its regulatory systems as to what television and its screen forms would be in the post-TVIII era. Future research could explore how production studies can reveal other discourses within Chinese convergence television than creative freedoms and implicit fears I have elucidated in this book and, in turn, account for newly emergent production cultures and textualities that transform the definition of television in both cultural and technological terms. My original stance was to offer a thick description of the production scenario in contrast to the western stereotype that ‘Chinese state censorships that suffocate producers’ creative freedoms’. With a focus on production cultures rather than political activism, I suggest that the real scenario is not always black or white as portrayed in western media studies or press but one with nuanced complexity and sites of resistance, especially from a bottom-up perspective. As a London-based scholar and media producer, I did not consider the risks and implications to undertake this study as the work will likely not be published in the Chinese context. This status enabled me to develop an independent viewpoint through the research. It would be otherwise a risk to undertake such a critical study for a researcher based in mainland China.

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By way of conclusion, I have argued that TES production cultures have facilitated the rise of creative freedoms among Chinese producers— whereby not only corporate strategies but also above- and below-the-line media practitioners reside their creativity in technology itself: in a manner that is distinct from western notions of technological determinism—as well as recognised that within those pressures and contexts through creative forms of compliance in the tactic of edge ball. This book has uncovered a range of tensions among ideological communist forces, producers’ creative aspiration and institutional strategies in convergent Chinese television industries. Technologically disguised innovation strategies have been utilised by Chinese producers who, rather than challenge political censorship directly, reside their aspirations for creative freedoms within TES forms and rhetorical strategies like edge ball. I have elaborated that the tactic of edge ball creates a new kind of subjectivity in Chinese television which potentially disrupts the current ideological agenda and creates a higher degree of creative freedoms among Chinese media practitioners. These edge ball practices begin to push some of the boundaries in Chinese production cultures very slowly and gently. The implications of producers’ creative freedoms and strategies shown in the fieldwork are highly relevant to understand the creative autonomy and freedoms in contemporary China and other state-controlled systems which are undergoing similar contested processes of commercialisation. During the period of my research  between 2015 and 2019, Chinese television was undergoing tremendous changes and transformations across technological, aesthetic and regulatory spheres. Future research would be valuable to explore how algorithms have influenced the decision-making processes of commissioning and programming among digital producers and further investigate how platform capitalism has influenced the production cultures and media ecology in the Chinese landscape. Given the producer-centred limitation of production studies, future research would also be valuable to reveal the discourses around UGC participatory cultures among Chinese citizen journalists and podcasters upon the rise of Chinese social media and online streaming services—whether digital technologies have brought more grassroots creative freedoms to Chinese users and how Chinese users negotiate freedom of expression afforded by technology and innovation in the ‘grey area’. In June 2014, the State Council of China first announced the social credit system in China via a document ‘Planning Outline for the Construction of a Social Credit System’ (Wong & Dobson, 2019, p. 222). Arguably, the introduction of the social credit

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system facilitates the Chinese government to exert strong political power over Chinese creative workers and their family members if they disobey state ideology and political obligation, criticise the CPC leadership or express any other political dissents in their day-to-day production practices. In December 2017, the Chinese government initiated a pilot programme in Guangzhou that allows residents to link their national identity cards to WeChat. This new convergent step could further integrate WeChat into the daily lives of Chinese users while enabling Tencent to accumulate an extremely profitable source of user data at a level that even Facebook or Google could not possibly conceive of. Chinese social media platforms have provided not only new ways of communications but also a new system of surveillance for the Chinese government to monitor Chinese media workers and their daily lives. Moving beyond production studies, future research is needed to examine user  privacy issues and the impact of government-led  technological surveillance across social media platforms and video aggregators. The increasing state control over social media platforms also raises the question as to whether Tencent’s compliance would potentially stop it from being different from CCTV and HBS, and, in turn, whether the claims to innovation and user-centred design enabled by Tencent’s use of big data actually simply fall into the Chinese state’s stronger technologically empowered surveillance of the state ideology. The plethora of big data generated across Chinese SVOD services not only facilitates targeted online advertising for lucrative commercial revenue but also informs the creative decision-making process of commissioning and production. Future study would also be valuable to examine how original SVOD commissions have transformed the storytelling norms and screen aesthetics of Chinese television, and whether these commercially-run SVOD models have both liberalised and rejuvenated Chinese television industries by creating a relatively open space for personal expression and diverse voices. For now, I hope to use this book to provide a building block for future work to explore the evolving  notions of creativity, censorships and freedoms in China.

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Bibliography Fung, A.  Y. H. (2008). Global Capital, Local Culture: Transnational Media Corporations in China. Peter Lang. Hesmondhalgh, D., & Baker, S. (2011). Creative Labour: Media Work in Three Cultural Industries. Routledge. Keane, M., & Fung, A. Y. H. (2018). Digital Platforms: Exerting China’s New Cultural Power in the Asia-Pacific. Media Industries, 5(1), 47–50. Keane, M. (2007). Created in China: The Great New Leap Forward. Routledge. Keane, M. (2015). The Chinese Television Industry. BFI. Srnicek, N. (2017). Platform Capitalism. Polity Press. Wong, K. L. X., & Dobson, A. S. (2019). We’re Just Data: Exploring China’s Social Credit System in Relation to Digital Platform Ratings Cultures in Westernised Democracies. Global Media and China, 4(2), 220–232.



Appendix A: List of Interviewees (Pseudonym)

No.

Pseudonym

IV1 IV2 IV3 IV4 IV5 IV6 IV7 IV8 IV9 IV10

Yao Chan Ang Lu Yun Fu Pu Sheng Tian Lan

Role

Executive Producer Digital Media Executive Executive Producer Channel Executive Digital Media Producer Executive Producer Digital Media Executive Executive Producer Channel Executive Digital/Multiplatform Editor IV11 Ming Media Executive IV12 Ming (follow-up) Media Executive IV13 Le Executive Producer IV14 Wen Executive Producer IV15 Pang Executive Producer IV16 Rui Development Producer IV17 Pan Corporate Executive IV18 Gong Executive IV19 Rui (follow-up) Development Producer IV20 Ma Executive Producer IV21 Song Digital Producer IV22 Lao Media Executive

Institution

IV Date

Location

CCTV CCTV CCTV 11 CCTV 1 CCTV 4 Indie CCTV 1 CCTN CCTV 4 CCTV 4

20/10/2016 22/10/2016 26/10/2016 28/10/2016 06/11/2016 04/11/2016 24/11/2016 25/11/2016 19/01/2017 19/01/2017

Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing

CCTV 1 Tencent Tencent Tencent Tencent Tencent Tencent Tencent Tencent HBS/Indie CCTV Mango TV

15/05/2016 22/10/2016 11/01/2017 11/01/2017 17/10/2016 02/11/2016 17/01/2017 20/01/2017 19/12/2017 01/12/2016 05/05/2016 13/09/2016

Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Telephone Telephone Telephone

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Appendix B: Sample Questions for Semi-­structured Interviews

Questions for interviewees in the broadcast sector:   1. What’s your job title? How long have you worked here? (I understand your job is X, but can you tell me a bit more about it.)   2. How do you understand the term ‘multiplatform’ (or ‘media convergence’)? How has it changed the way you/your team/company work? What impact has it had on the wider sector?   3. What are the main multiplatform strategies at your organisation? How do the strategies impact your production routines/processes/priorities? (gently follow up …) Is there any tension?   4. Where does the funding come from for multiplatform production? Who commissions it and who is in charge of it?  5. What are the most innovative multiplatform productions you’ve seen? Does multiplatform production provide a new way of storytelling for the production?   6. What challenges or opportunities does multiplatform production offer to you/your department/company? Is it contracted out?   7. How has multiplatform affected your own individual work practices—does it create new opportunities or more work and demands on your work/life?

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 8. Do you take online platforms into consideration during pre-­ production and production? Considering most audiences will watch the programme on small screens (laptop/mobile/tablet). If yes, at what stage online production is thought about?   9. Have you had training for new modes of production? Where did you have trainings (internal or external)? Did you adapt the methods you learned to one specific project? 10. Who else should I be talking to about my project? Questions for interviewees in the digital sector:   1. What’s your job title? How long have you worked here? (I understand your job is X, but can you tell me a bit more about it.)   2. What are the main production strategies at your department/company? How do the strategies impact your production routines/ processes/priorities? Is there any tension? How do you understand the term ‘media convergence’ or ‘multiplatform production’ (among broadcasters)?   3. Could you talk a bit about the partnership with broadcasters (like Mango TV, CCTV and JTBC Korea) and digital competitors like Panda TV/Youku? What are the challenges and opportunities during the coproduction with broadcasters? What do you think is the biggest difference between working at a traditional broadcaster and at a digital media company like Tencent?  4. What are the most innovative multiplatform productions you’ve seen? Does digital media production provide a new way of storytelling? More creative freedom and more platforms to express yourself/your ideas?   5. Could you talk a bit about the online censorship you’ve been following during the daily production? Including both self-censorship within the company and state censorship exerted by the government. Do you think online media players have more freedom than traditional media like television and radio? If so, is there any form of online democracy emerging among nationwide users?  6. Tencent/Other digital media have adopted traditional modes of production and scheduling strategies from broadcast television. Could you tell me a bit about your understanding of online scheduling? Do you follow the life rhythms of online users/audiences?

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(Follow up if necessary) I noticed a few show trailers were added in the beginning of online programmes—something very similar to broadcast television. Could you explain more about the ­inter-­relationship among your programmes? Do you have a product management team or production manager instead?   7. How do you set up VOD (video-on-demand) or VIP systems? I noticed there are a few benefits for VIP users, including previewing and access to make-offs. Do you use this fund to produce/purchase more content or to develop better user experience?   8. How do you analyse the hits and media attention metrics on different video-sharing websites and mobile application? How about social media followers? Do you/your team compile online audience metrics in order to understand the overall reception?   9. Do you have background in broadcast production? If so, how did you adapt yourself to the digital media production? What do you think are the main differences of production between these two media forms? 10. Who else should I be talking to about my project?



Appendix C: Glossary of Chinese Characters

This glossary contains all the simplified Chinese characters given in the book in pinyin. Phrases and names are listed according to English alphabetical order of the first character. Ai Qiyi Bai Hua Qi Fang Baobei Huijia Bao Zou Da Shi Jian Bei He Xie Le Beijing Bianzhi Yuangong Ca Bian Qiu Cha Cha Cha Chanpin Jingli Chi Du Chu Fa Chuantong Zhongguo Wenhua Chuang Zuo Zi You Chun Wan Cun Wan Da Shuju Danmu Deng Zhe Wo Ding Ge Long Dong Qiang Douyin

爱奇艺 百花齐放 宝贝回家 暴走大事件 被和谐了 北京 编制员工 擦边球 叉叉叉 产品经理 尺度 处罚 传统中国文化 创作自由 春晚 村晚 大数据 弹幕 等着我 叮咯咙咚呛 抖音 (continued)

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(continued) Duanshipin Falun Gong Geti Qiyezhu Guangbo Dianshi Guanli Tiaoli Guangdian Tuandui Guoyou Qiye Guoyou Qiye Gaige Haipa Hua Mian Hua Yu Quan Huigui Shenghuode Benzhen Jihua Jingji Jinzhu Jue Lai Le Kanlixiang Kuaishou Li Fa Liang Wendao Liangwei Yiduan Lianjie Yiqie Mangguo Dianshi Meiti Ronghe Miwei Chuanmei Nei Rong An Quan Neirong Chuangzaozhe Ni Zheng Chang Ma Ni, Ping Pa Pa Pa Qi Pa Shuo Qiye Quanmeiti Zhanlue Quanxiu Chuanbo Shehui Zhuyi Wenyi Zuopin Shejianshangde Zhongguo Shejiao Meiti Shenghuo Shiyan Shichang Jingji Shipin Wangzhan Shiye Shu, Dong Shuzi Pingtai Suzhi Tengxun Shipin Ti Zhi Nei

短视频 法轮功 个体企业主 广播电视管理条例 广电团队 国有企业 国有企业改革 害怕 画面 话语权 回归生活的本真 计划经济 金主 角儿来了 看理想 快手 立法 梁文道 两微一端 连接一切 芒果电视 媒体融合 米未传媒 内容安全 内容创造者 你正常吗 倪萍 啪啪啪 奇葩说 企业 全媒体战略 全球传播 社会主义文艺作品 舌尖上的中国 社交媒体 生活实验 市场经济 视频网站 事业 舒冬 数字平台 素质 腾讯视频 体制内 (continued)

  APPENDIX C: GLOSSARY OF CHINESE CHARACTERS 

(continued) Tianmao Gouwu Ting Bo Tou Shi Jin Guo Tucao Dahui Wangluo Shipin Shenheyuan Wangxinban Wanmei Jiaqi Wei Ren Min Fu Wu Wei She Hui Zhu Yi Fu Wu Wenhua Chuangyi Chanye Wenzi Yu Women Shiwuge Xi Jinping Xia Jia Xinmeiti Yangqi Yangshi Chuangzao Yuanzhuopai Yulequan Zhimeng Yu Yan Zhao, Yuezhi Zhao Shang Da Hui Zheng Che Zhi Ding Zheng Zhi Ji Lv Zheng Zhi Su Yang Zhongguancun Kejiyuan Zhongguo Dianying Daoyan Xiehui Zhongguo Dianying Yishujia Xiehui Zhuliu Jiazhiguan Zizhu Chuangxin

天猫购物 停播 偷食禁果 吐槽大会 网络视频审核员 网信办 完美假期 为人民服务 为社会主义服务 文化创意产业 文字狱 我们十五个 习近平 下架 新媒体 央企 央视创造 圆桌派 娱乐圈之梦 语言 赵月枝 招商大会 政策制定 政治纪律 政治素养 中关村科技园 中国电影导演协会 中国电视艺术家协会 主流价值观 自主创新

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Index1

A Above-the-line, 10, 12, 116, 174n11, 223, 224 Audience data, 58, 108 Audiences, 38, 154 Autonomy, 3, 14, 15, 29, 159, 167, 173, 174n11, 180, 183–186, 189, 194, 195, 200, 201, 210, 217, 223, 225 B Below-the-line, 8, 10, 12, 18n7, 32, 56, 58, 116, 167, 170, 172, 189, 193, 224, 225, 229 Big data, 16, 69, 81, 101, 105, 109, 131–133, 141, 156, 158, 207, 210, 211, 230 Binge release strategies, 88 Broadcast legacy, 88, 89, 101, 102, 134

C Caldwell, J. T., 13, 26, 93, 94, 223 CCTV, vii, 3, 7, 8, 11, 12, 14, 16, 23, 32–35, 37–39, 46n10, 51–73, 73n4, 77, 81, 83, 88, 93–123, 123n2, 123n3, 124n4, 124n8, 128, 129, 131, 133, 140, 146, 152, 153, 158, 159, 161, 164, 165, 172, 173, 189–193, 195, 202–205, 210–212, 217, 218n1, 218n3, 218n5, 219n8, 222–225, 230, 233, 236 Censorship, 4, 17, 44, 64, 76, 95, 98, 107, 110, 122, 123, 147–150, 153–155, 157, 159–164, 166, 171–173, 177, 187, 200, 202, 204–206, 212, 215, 217, 225, 229, 236 China Network Television (CNTV), 32, 37, 51, 52, 54–56, 61, 63, 66–70, 72, 77, 96, 99–117, 130, 136, 153, 161, 165, 211

 Note: Page numbers followed by ‘n’ refer to notes.

1

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 L. Lin, Convergent Chinese Television Industries, Palgrave Global Media Policy and Business, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-91756-2

265

266 

INDEX

Chinese television, 1–5, 7–17, 19n10, 19n11, 23, 24, 27–29, 32, 34, 35, 38, 39, 41, 43, 44, 46n14, 52, 53, 64, 72, 82, 88, 89, 93, 94, 101, 107, 113, 124n6, 142, 145–150, 159, 164, 168, 171, 173, 174n9, 177, 178, 180, 181, 184–187, 194, 201, 206, 213, 218, 221–225, 227–229 CNTV, see China Network Television Commercial, 6, 14, 15 Commercialisation, 2, 5, 16, 24, 27–29, 45, 61, 64, 65, 94, 95, 98, 122, 150, 178, 179, 181, 186, 189, 194, 195, 217, 225, 227, 229 Commissions, 18n7, 58, 87, 127, 128, 141, 142, 189, 194, 235 Convergence, 4, 8, 9, 13, 14, 16 Creative autonomy, 3, 5, 9, 13, 15, 36, 108, 131, 142, 163, 164, 171–173, 179, 182, 184–189, 191, 194, 195, 200, 209, 210, 217, 222, 223, 226–229 Creative expression, 23, 30, 39, 44, 122, 127, 131, 142, 181, 182, 195, 199, 209, 217 Creative freedoms, 2, 3, 13–17, 25, 29, 35, 36, 41, 43, 44, 90, 95, 98, 117, 118, 120, 123, 128, 142, 156, 159, 163, 172, 173, 178–182, 184, 187–189, 192, 194, 195, 200, 204, 207, 209, 210, 216–218, 221, 223, 225–229 Creative labour, 180 Creativity, 13–15, 17, 35, 59, 60, 70, 89, 90n2, 95, 98, 107, 117–119, 123, 123n1, 129, 142, 169, 179, 180, 193, 194, 195n1, 206, 207, 222, 226, 229, 230 Cultural values, 62, 201

D Data visualisation, 131–134 Documentary, 1, 11, 85, 89, 102, 128, 187, 191, 200–202, 207, 209, 211, 218n1, 227 E Economic values, 85, 180 Edge ball, 15, 17, 19n10, 117, 123, 163, 164, 179, 180, 184, 186, 192, 195, 199–202, 205–207, 209, 210, 212–214, 216, 217, 221, 226, 229 Ethnography, 2, 9, 16, 24, 94, 143n1, 221, 223 Exploitation, 14, 82, 118, 122, 166, 167, 171, 174n11, 174n15, 178, 183, 191, 194, 228 F Facebook, 38, 46n7, 54, 68, 79, 155, 159, 230 Fears, 5, 13, 14, 123, 123n3, 145–150, 158, 163, 164, 171–173, 177, 218, 221, 225, 227, 228 Fieldwork, 225 Fixed-rig, 120, 134, 171 Flow, 5, 26, 34, 37, 54, 77, 78, 83, 87, 101, 139, 141, 190, 216 Format, 4, 8, 90n2, 118, 120, 129, 133, 134, 137, 145, 153, 162, 171, 174n6, 206, 213, 216 G Google, 38, 64, 155, 159, 230 H Hunan Broadcasting System (HBS), vii, 3, 4, 8, 32–34, 39, 51–73, 73n1, 73n3, 93–123, 155, 158, 167, 174n14, 185, 193, 223, 225, 230, 233

 INDEX 

I Ideology, 3, 4, 13, 15, 16, 18, 19n11, 25, 27, 44, 45, 52, 53, 65, 68, 71, 72, 97, 98, 107, 110, 111, 113, 116, 122, 124n7, 130, 146, 148, 149, 158, 159, 162, 164, 165, 181, 190, 191, 201, 205, 209, 217, 222, 226, 227, 230 Individualisation, 183, 184, 187, 207 Innovation, 3, 5, 8, 9, 13–15, 17 Intellectual Property, vii, 51, 59 Internet television, 6, 57, 58, 76, 80, 83, 117, 127, 128, 133, 224 IP rights, 62, 85 iQiyi, 30, 31, 33, 38, 51, 58, 76–78, 86, 108, 138, 165, 206, 209, 218n5 K Keane, M., 2, 3, 5, 7, 19n10, 27–29, 40, 46n14, 57, 78, 90, 99, 152, 179, 180, 190, 200, 213, 224 L Linear legacies, 56, 96, 117, 122 Live streaming, 6, 11, 38, 39, 59, 61, 66, 83, 84, 101, 108, 111, 114–116, 119–122, 131, 132, 134, 136, 137, 141, 142, 143n1, 154, 158, 159, 162–164, 167, 168, 192, 194, 204, 205, 210, 212–217, 218n1 Lotz, Amanda, 26, 85 M Mango TV, 3, 8, 11, 12, 14, 16, 33, 51–53, 56–62, 70–72, 73n1, 73n3, 81, 94–98, 117–122, 130, 131, 133, 136, 146–147, 153, 161, 167–169, 172, 173, 174n14, 188, 205, 222, 224, 225, 228, 233, 236

267

Marketisation, 5, 18, 24, 28, 29, 181, 182, 184, 186, 201, 209, 214, 217, 225, 226, 228 MAU, see Monthly active users McLuhan, M., 35, 206 Media capitals, 63, 65 Media convergence, 6, 10, 16, 30, 38, 52, 67–69, 108, 142, 235, 236 Media regulations, 40, 43, 152, 172, 225 Micro-level studies, 3 Ministry of Culture, vii, 40–42 Monthly active users (MAU), vii, 39 Multiplatform production, 3, 14, 37, 55, 56, 62, 65, 67–69, 72, 83, 102, 107, 108, 153, 161, 190, 235, 236 Multiplatform strategies, 6, 56, 58, 72, 117, 201, 210, 224, 235 N National Radio and Television Administration (NRTA), vii, 40–42, 45n5, 46n11 Netflix, 29, 34, 77–79, 81, 83, 87, 89, 155 NRTA, see National Radio and Television Administration O Online portal, 77, 87, 110, 137 Online video aggregators, 154–155 Originality, 59, 61, 90n2, 90n4, 118, 180 P Participant observations, 8, 12, 32, 55, 223 Penguin Pictures, 80, 85, 128 Periodisations, 26, 45 Platform capitalism, 2, 14, 75, 96, 117, 122, 224, 229

268 

INDEX

Post-TVIII, 9, 14, 17, 29, 33, 34, 36, 40, 43, 52, 53, 64, 65, 68, 72, 87–89, 95, 98, 105, 107, 109, 116, 117, 141, 145, 147, 148, 150, 153, 164, 167, 171, 178, 181, 184, 186, 192, 194, 195, 207, 209, 218, 221, 223–226, 228 Production companies, 2, 11, 29, 61, 70, 118, 186, 189 Production cultures, 1–5, 8–11, 13, 14, 16, 17, 24, 32, 33, 35, 36, 40, 44, 45, 56–58, 60, 63, 65, 80, 89, 90, 94–96, 98, 99, 105, 107, 110, 114, 116–118, 122, 123, 127–129, 139, 140, 142, 147, 171, 172, 178, 186, 187, 189, 195, 201, 210, 218n3, 221–229 Production strategies, 4, 6, 13, 15, 19n11, 24, 51–53, 56, 60, 62, 68, 72, 76, 85, 95, 116, 147, 224, 225, 236 Production studies, 2, 7, 11–13, 186, 221–223, 228–230 Product manager, 185–189, 193–195, 200, 210 Professionalism, 157, 159, 160 Programming strategies, 58, 90, 128 Public service, 14, 26, 33, 44, 53, 56, 71, 72, 96, 97, 101, 107, 110, 113, 116, 118, 119, 123n1, 157, 190, 191, 195, 210, 211, 226 Public service broadcasting, 26, 56, 96, 97, 101, 116 Public values, 98, 111, 211 PUGC, 131, 137–140 R Ratings, 15, 39, 59, 60, 101, 105, 113, 124n6, 131, 164, 165 Reality television, 11, 71, 86, 87, 97, 108, 118, 122, 136, 137, 187, 191

S SAPPRFT, see State Administration of Press, Publication, Radio, Film and Television Scheduling, 88, 89, 128, 236 Self-actualisation, 97, 173, 185, 193 Self-censorship, 148, 150, 154, 159–162, 164, 172, 204, 236 Shanghai Media Group (SMG), vii Social media, 5–7, 16, 29, 31–33, 37–39, 41, 46n7, 51, 54, 61, 66–69, 77, 79, 81, 83, 88, 90, 105, 109, 113, 122, 124n5, 124n7, 130, 132, 133, 141, 151, 153–156, 159, 162, 165, 167, 170, 189, 193, 211, 212, 229, 230, 237 matrix, 105, 109 ratings, 105 State Administration of Press, Publication, Radio, Film and Television (SAPPRFT), vii, 40, 41, 45n5, 152, 157 Steemers, J., 7, 10, 13, 24, 37 Streaming service, 32 SVOD commissions, 76, 86, 127, 131, 142 T Talent show, 133, 174n6, 191 Talk shows, 38, 86, 120, 128, 165, 191, 203, 205 Tencent, 7, 8, 14, 16 Tencent News, 61, 80, 83, 89, 140, 156, 218n1 Tencent originals, 87 Tencent Original Strategy (TOS), 76, 85 Tencent Video, 1, 3, 8, 12, 14, 18n2, 18n4, 19n11, 30, 32–34, 37, 38, 51, 53, 68, 75–77, 80–89, 94–96, 98, 114, 115, 127–142, 147,

 INDEX 

153, 155, 156, 158, 165, 185, 186, 188, 193, 195, 205, 211, 217, 222, 224, 225 Thick description, 1, 4, 7, 8, 10, 11, 147, 210, 221, 228 360-degree, 61, 101–107, 124n5 TVIII, 15, 25–27, 29, 32–34, 72, 78, 94, 95, 107, 117, 145–173, 181, 184, 186, 195, 217, 221, 224, 226 TX Culture, 72 U UGC, vii, 7, 35, 77, 107, 120, 131, 137–140, 203, 229 W Waiting for Me, 11, 37, 46n10, 63, 67, 97, 101, 108, 111–117, 132,

269

136, 154, 166, 184, 189, 195, 210, 225 WeChat, 9, 33, 37–39, 41, 63, 68, 69, 73n1, 79, 81, 84, 105, 109, 131–134, 149, 153, 156, 159, 162, 165, 167, 170, 207, 212, 230 We Fifteen, 66, 162, 184, 188, 210 Williams, R., 16, 26, 34, 35, 45n2, 78, 102, 180 Working through, 195, 201, 202, 209, 216, 217 Y Youku/Tudou, 31, 76, 86 YouTube, 54, 89, 155 Yuezhi Zhao, 3