Two very different films were re- leased simultaneously in China on May 6， 2016. The first was Song of the Phoenix， released after the death of its director， Wu Tianming， a leading figure of China’s fourth-generation film directors. Alongside it came the Marvel superhero movie Captain America： Civil War. That weekend， Song of the Phoenix showed on fewer than 2 percent of available screens. In one week， Phoenix earned only 3.6 million yuan， compared to an excess of 800 million yuan for Captain America.
　　The evening of May 12， Fang Li， producer of Song of the Phoenix， used Weibo（China’s microblogging site） to post an image of himself kneeling to beg more people to see his film.
　　In the weeks that followed， the film’s screen coverage grew to 7.2 percent， and by June 20， it had earned 86.25 million yuan. Such a dramatic shift in improvement in performance is unprecedented. The film transformed into a sort of cultural event because it inspired passionate debate of many topics including the Chinese movie market and traditional Chinese culture.


　　 Feelings Vs. Masterpieces
　　Song of the Phoenix depicts the stories of two generations of suona horn （a woodwind instrument） players from Wushuang Town in Xiuwen County， Guizhou Province， who strived to preserve and promote the traditional Chinese musical instrument despite the cultural shock of the modern era that emerged in the 1980s and 90s.
　　The title of the film pays homage to a suona solo masterpiece of the same name featuring cheerful melodies similar to singing birds. Not only does the piece require mastery of the musical instrument， but it follows a code of conduct in traditional China： “Only those of noble character and high prestige are worthy to partake.” So， it is fitting that such players are hailed as“highly-esteemed.”
　　Nevertheless， Western instruments have gradually squeezed traditional Chinese musical instruments out alongside China’s dramatic changes during its reform and opening up. The final performance in the movie is cut short by a fight between villagers and the band， and all the musical instru- ments are destroyed. The film ends with the death of Jiao Sanye， a highly respected suona player， after a battle with illness.


　　Song of the Phoenix is realistic yet poetic. In realistic realms， it depicts the changing destinies of suona players in rural China as well as their ideologies and devotion. The movie contemplates a major dilemma of that era： Individuals could do nothing to slow the decline of traditional culture. 　　Song of the Phoenix was not the first Chinese movie to kindle such widespread discussions. In the 1980s， China experienced a tidal wave of literature and art searching for the root of culture. Many pieces aimed to trace the footprints of traditional Chinese culture from perspectives of macro history and determine the culprit to blame for the decay of traditional culture.
　　Song of the Phoenix， however， didn’t dig as deep as many works of the 1980s. As time passes， each player of the suona， an icon of traditional Chinese culture， must find his or her own way to survive a transitional era. Bottlenecks are not fixed by maintenance and defense. Audiences have been touched by the passion of the movie， but passion alone does not make a masterpiece.
　　The film was the final project of director Wu Tianming， who was hailed by many as a leading director of the fourth generation after he had been honored with myriad awards at foreign and domestic film festivals for movies including Life， Old Well， and The King of Masks. As fifth-generation directors such as Zhang Yimou， Chen Kaige and Tian Zhuangzhuang were making their names known， Wu was an inspirational figure to many， which let to him being dubbed“godfather” of the fifth generation.
　　The script of Song of the Phoenix was floating around film circles for many years before Wu finally picked it up. In February 2014， he shot the last scene， and a month later， he succumbed to illness. Wu’s death only made the depiction of Jiao Sanye’s passing even more poignant， and the film became an elegy to filmmakers of a past era as much as to traditional culture.
　　 The Dilemma
　　In 2014， Black Coal， Thin Ice directed by Diao Yinan， a sixth-generation Chinese director， won the Golden Bear and the Silver Bear for Best Actor at Berlin Film Festival， and earned more than 100 million yuan at the box office. But that film enjoyed advantages that most art films only dream of， such as state support and a marketing budget of more than 20 million yuan.
　　Song of the Phoenix performed surprisingly well at the box office while many Chinese art films struggle to attract anyone to purchase a ticket.
　　Investment in arthouse films has grown steadily in recent years due to jaw-dropping numbers of the Chinese film market overall. However， the double-edged sword has brought negative impacts alongside opportunities for artistic film production in China.
　　As illustrated by veteran Chinese film critic Mei Xuefeng， China has seen an obvious drop in the general quality of movies over the past few years because the capital markets seek only to “make more money.”“Everyone wants to make a quick buck，” Mei asserts. “The trend has led to rapid expansion of the entire movie production chain and more chances for mediocre movies to turn a profit. As a result， filmmakers don’t have to try as hard to make a ‘successful’ film.” 　　Despite more favorable conditions， few directors in China are willing to commit to serious projects. In 2015， however， renowned director Jia Zhangke reflected on how individual destiny evolved after the dramatic changes of an era in his movie Mountains May Depart， which was selected for the main competition for the Golden Palm at the 68th Cannes Film Festival and won the Best Feature at the 52nd Golden Horse Awards in Taiwan.
　　Mountains May Depart earned 30 million yuan in box office receipts in China， and was deemed a rare success amidst a dreary box office season. Such a figure is still very modest compared to imported Marvel movies.
　　Chinese arthouse films consistently receive heaps of critical praise before performing poorly at the box office. In China， the first promotional step is usually winning over theater operators before the release because they will decide how many screens to invest compared to other films coming out at that time. Some arthouse movies are “sentenced to death” before their release， a phenomenon illuminated by Song of the Phoenix.
　　The lack of screens for arthouse movies has always been a problem. The development of devoted movie houses requires resources from the film industry. Only steady long-term investment of top-shelf resources will slowly improve the taste of audiences.
　　China should drop its import quota： Every year， it accepts only a few dozen foreign films， most of which are commercial. Annually， more than 3，000 arthouse films are produced around the world， and almost none of them ever get any sort of release in China.
　　“We are also facing this very challenge，” remarks Yang Yang， manager of the Promotion Department of the Broadway Movie Center （BMC）， one of the largest arthouse theaters in Beijing. Established six years ago， the BMC plans to open new theaters in Shanghai and Nanjing， but hasn’t yet amassed sufficient resources.