Cultural Industry

Light and Fatigue in the Short Drama Factory The yellow earth of the Bailu Plain in Xi’an had been beaten into sticky mud by relentless, cold rain. Thirty-odd crew members huddled under a draughty, faux-antique colonnade, squatting on their heels while shoveling down souring thirteen-yuan boxed meals of stewed cabbage and fat pork. Before the downpour had fully slackened, director Wang Jing ground her cheap cigarette stub into the mud and rasped an order across the courtyard: the call sheet demanded twenty-two scenes wrapped before dawn; miss one, and not a single soul on set would close their eyes tonight.