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36(4) 404–434
Chinese Masculinities © 2010 SAGE Publications
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DOI: 10.1177/0097700410368221
in Contemporary http://mcx.sagepub.com
Television Drama
Serials
Geng Song1
Abstract
This article investigates the discourse of masculinity in contemporary
Chinese popular culture by critical readings of TV drama serials (dianshi
lianxuju), a crucial and underresearched site for the study of ideology, shown
on prime-time national channels in recent years (2003–2007). In particular,
it examines the male images in three sweepingly popular TV programs—The
Big Dye House (Da ranfang), Halfway Couples (Banlu fuqi), and Unsheathing the
Sword (Liangjian)—as “cultural types.” It looks at the social, economic, and
cultural factors that have affected men and representations of men in today’s
China against the backdrop of the dynamic interplay between nationalism,
globalization, and consumerism. Building on the burgeoning research on
Chinese masculinity in the past decade, it argues that forms of masculinity
are becoming increasingly hybrid in a globalizing China and that the male
images in these dramas are a product of social changes tied in with new
formations of power.
Keywords
masculinity, television, popular culture, social change, contemporary China
1
Australian National University, Canberra, ACT, Australia
Corresponding Author:
Geng Song, Faculty of Asian Studies, Australian National University, Building #110,
Canberra, ACT 0200, Australia
Email: geng.song@anu.edu.au
Song 405
various and diverse practices in order to construct the best possible strategy
for the reproduction of patriarchy” (Demetriou, 2001: 337). In response to
the recently burgeoning field of “Chinese masculinity,” Kwai-cheung Lo
(2004: 258) points out that “in a rapidly globalizing Asian environment, the
simple East-West dichotomy and confrontation is insufficient in regional
gender studies, as is the sheer assertion of some uniquely Asian realities.”
Ever since the early 1980s, China’s gradual integration into capitalist glo-
balization has inevitably brought forth cultural pluralism, which questions
and erodes the modernist notions of Chineseness, including Chinese mascu-
linity. At the same time, paradoxically, China’s rise as an economic, politi-
cal, and military power has given rise to an outburst of nationalism among
its population, which touches every aspect of Chinese society. Chinese “cul-
tural nationalism,” as Guo Yingjie terms it, encompasses not only a desire
for the restoration of the country’s past pride and prestige, a struggle for the
position rightfully due the country by dint of its population and size, but
also a search for national identity in the era of globalization (Guo, 2004).
The current study represents an interdisciplinary attempt to analyze the
hybridity and pluralism of contemporary Chinese masculinities in the era of
globalization.4
My reading of male images in TV drama serials is inspired by Andrew
Spicer’s concept of “cultural types.” In his study of the representation of mas-
culinity in popular British cinema, Spicer (2001: 2) notes that “types are over-
lapping and competing constructions which struggle for hegemony, the
version of masculinity that is most desirable or widely acceptable.” Regarding
gender as a “cultural performance” (Butler, 1990), I read several distinguished
types of male images in TV dramas as discursive constructs and examine the
function of popular culture in constructing and articulating different gender
images and the power relations at work.
In this regard, the recent popularity of the actor and singer Chen Kun
might be considered an example of the return to the traditional xiaosheng
(young scholar) type of manhood. However, while this “return” to a certain
degree reflects the changes that have taken place in the fashioning of man-
hood after the 1989 crackdown, it would be too simplistic to reduce the com-
plex and profound changes in the discourse of manhood in contemporary
China to a shift from one mode to another. Instead, a diversified transforma-
tion in masculinities has taken place in post-Deng society, characterized by
the following trends.
First, there is a continuation of the criticism and anxiety about the quality
of Chinese men. For instance, an influential essay in Renmin wang (People.
com) claims that the weakening of Chinese men was an important factor
leading to the decline and humiliation of China beginning with the Opium
War, while the modern powers such as the United States, Japan, Germany,
and Russia are all countries that can boast of strong and forceful men
(“Zhongguo nanren zui que shenme?”). In another widely circulated article,
“Zhongguo nanren peibushang Zhongguo nüren” (Chinese men do not deserve
Chinese women), the author disdainfully describes the “lack of manliness”
Song 409
among urban Chinese men in the way they walk, stand, and sit, as compared
with Western men represented by the “American GIs.” The view that
Chinese men do not deserve Chinese women not only echoes the somewhat
essentialist yinsheng yangshuai discourse but also reveals a deeply rooted
male anxiety over the fact that every year tens of thousands of Chinese
women, mostly young, good-looking, and highly educated, have married
foreigners since China opened its doors to the outside world.8 On the other
hand, as a reaction to the censure of Chinese men, arguments in defense of
Chinese men have also emerged in the media recently, pointing out the
“strong points” of Chinese men, such as their sense of responsibility toward
family and spirit of self-sacrifice (Luo and Ke, 2006).
Second, there is a strong interaction between the construction of mascu-
linity in popular culture and the conspicuous rise of nationalism in mainland
China since the early 1990s. Ever since the TV series A Beijing Man in New
York (Beijingren zai Niuyue) aired in 1993,9 there has been an increase in
anti-Western and anti-Japanese sentiment in televisual imaginations, an
expression of what Suisheng Zhao terms “nativist nationalism” (Zhao, 2005).
In “mainstream” representations, patriotic politics has been a major venue for
accomplishing masculinity. A “good” man is therefore a man who brings
honor to the motherland and safeguards national dignity on the international
stage. This issue will be discussed at length later in the close readings of
particular dramas.
Third, consumerism has significantly influenced the construction of
masculinity and led to diversity in masculine discourse. For one thing,
Baranovitch (2003: 143) attributes the “return” of the more traditional, soft
type of male images to the fact that capitalism has empowered women with
an unprecedented ability to directly influence not only culture but also the
construction of manhood. He points out that “for the first time in Chinese
history, men became a commodity for female consumption.” Another exam-
ple is the growing visibility of homosexual expressions in Chinese media and
popular culture. With the loosening of restrictions on (the representation of)
homosexuality in recent years, gay Web sites, bars, and activities are now
blossoming on the mainland.
Fourth, the men’s movement in the West began to influence Chinese society
over the last decade. Informed by Western theories, men’s movement activ-
ists both in and outside of academia in China have attracted widespread
attention to issues such as masculinity in social roles, men’s liberation, men’s
rights, men’s health, and so on (Fang and Hu, 2006). As a result, gendered
men are becoming more and more visible in today’s China. The appearance
of men’s magazines, men’s fashions, men’s cosmetics, and men’s organiza-
tions attests to this cultural shift.
410 Modern China 36(4)
Finally, as a result of the redistribution of wealth and power and the emer-
gence of the nouveau riche in postsocialist society, masculinity is now pri-
marily defined in terms of wealth. New images of successful businessmen,
the dakuan (literally, “big money”), pervade Chinese popular culture. As a
collective imagination and projection, they express fundamental male anxi-
ety engendered by a profound change of power relations in society, because,
in the words of Michael Kimmel (1994: 125), “the hegemonic definition of
masculinity is a man in power, a man with power, and a man of power.” In
contemporary China, as James Farrer (2002: 16) observes, “given the identi-
fication of masculinity with earnings and career success, men experience tre-
mendous dislocations through the segmentation of the labor market into
high-paying and low-paying sectors.”
Some of the crises and changes outlined above can be interpreted in light
of the findings of recent research on the conceptualization of masculinity in
Chinese history. For example, the “usurpation of the father’s role by the
Communist Party” (Nielsen, 1999: 83) and the emasculation of male intel-
lectuals are consistent with the yin/yang binary in Confucian culture, whereby
the shi (scholar-official) played a submissive yin role in his relations with the
sovereign, parallel with the son and wife in father/son and husband/wife rela-
tions (Song, 2004: 45–50). In addition, blaming the weakening of men for the
decline of the nation and the dispute over the “macho” and “soft” types of
manhood can be traced back to the hoary controversy on the wen/wu mascu-
linities in Chinese history. When gleaning lessons from the downfall of the
Ming dynasty, some Confucian scholars during the early years of the Qing
dynasty attacked the educational curriculum focusing on wen since the Song
dynasty and the consequent feminization of the male elite. The most famous
of such critics was Yan Yuan (1635–1740), a renowned scholar who advo-
cated a radical reform of education and a reversal of the primacy of wen over
wu (Huang, 2004: 396–410). A similar association of the image of physical
weakness with moral degeneracy can also be found in the works of Wen
Tianxiang (1236–1283), a martyr in the Southern Song dynasty and an arche-
type of the masculine heroics associated with loyalism in imperial China
(Davis, 1996: 134–35).
While emerging market forces and the state were the two primary ele-
ments that governed television drama, intellectuals involved in
production acted as representatives of political power and the market.
They were often the gate-keepers (Kanmenren) of televised informa-
tion, endeavouring to draw support from both to express their
intellectual critique of society reality and everyday life. (Yin, 2002: 33)
nearby village, is a handsome young man who has returned from Germany
with a degree in modern printing and dyeing techniques. However, illiterate
as he is, Shouting soon wins Jiaju’s respect and also that of all the workers in
the factory, who treat him like an older brother. With his resourcefulness and
charm, Shouting not only beats the competitors in the industry one by one but
also makes friends with them. However, because of the Japanese military and
economic expansion in China, Shouting is forced to sell the factory to a Japa-
nese businessman, Fujii, who is backed by the Japanese government, and
move to Ji’nan, where he runs a new factory. The latter half of the series
focuses on how Shouting, acting in unison with other Chinese businessmen,
foils Fujii’s attempt to swallow up a chunk of Chinese national industry. In
the end, the Sino-Japanese War breaks out and, as a result of the cowardice
and incompetence of the Guomindang (GMD) troops, Ji’nan, the capital of
Shandong province, falls to the Japanese. Lest the machines fall into the
hands of the enemy, Shouting, in despair, blows up his factory.
Although the image of Chen Shouting deviates from the stereotype of the
weak and wavering “national capitalist” (minzu zichanjieji) in Communist
discourse, the message of the drama is unmistakably in keeping with the
government’s assertions that a country’s development hinges on its overall
strength and that only the Communist Party could save China and develop
China. As the Japanese businessman Fujii says in the drama, “if a man is too
capable and his country too weak, he will suffer a lot.” The tragic ending of
the protagonist has been attributed to the humiliation and weakness of China
during that period. Chen Shouting also sighs that he was born at the wrong
time (sheng bu feng shi), leaving the audience feeling grateful and lucky for
living in a golden age when the country is rapidly developing and they are
accumulating personal wealth. In this sense the drama fits well in the “main-
stream melody” framework and serves the purpose of patriotic education.
However, there are also some elements in the drama that are not so “official.”
The celebration of wealth and the myth of self-made millionaires fits the
popular imagination and mercantile spirit in contemporary Chinese society.
Admiration of the life of the rich and the ethos that money talks are only too
obvious in the series. For example, in Episode 7, Shouting is drinking Chi-
nese liquor in a high-class Western restaurant. The waiters laugh in their
sleeves at him. The purse-proud rich man gets angry and says, “I can earn
three restaurants like this in a day. So don’t get up my nose; otherwise I’ll buy
this restaurant and sack you all.” In striking contrast to the previous hostile or
disdainful depictions of businessmen in Chinese cinema and TV, the drama
eulogizes the heroic traits and accomplishments of entrepreneurs and, as a
consequence, significantly links material success with masculinity. A real
416 Modern China 36(4)
man is a man who is able to change his (and others’) fate by making a fortune
from scratch. In the light of this ethos, Shouting is depicted as an exemplar of
(a new) Chinese masculinity.
The drama highlights Chen Shouting’s illiteracy. As an orphaned beggar,
the only education he receives is from storytelling in the town marketplace,
the repertoires of which contain a large stock of themes from Chinese history,
legends and mythology, and classical novels. His wisdom and stratagems as
a shrewd businessman mainly derive from the stories he heard as a child. His
better educated rivals and partners in business, including returned students
from Europe, a son of a textile tycoon in Shanghai, etc., look down on him at
first but soon come to admire him and indeed become his friends. His success
celebrates the power and potential of Chinese wisdom, embodied by the 36
stratagems and The Romance of Three Kingdoms (Sanguo yanyi), which he
repeatedly refers to in the drama. In this sense, the drama echoes the above-
mentioned quest for alternative modernity by the root-seeking school in the
literary and cultural arenas. In fact, after its telecast, the TV drama sparked
heated discussions on traditional Chinese culture as a resource of modern
management techniques (Qi, 2003; Sun, 2004; Xie, 2005).
Like the root-seeking school, The Big Dye House also turns to Chinese
folk culture for real manhood. It is obvious that the characterization of Chen
Shouting exhibits traces of the traditional discourse of masculinity such as
the endurance of pain, the attitudes toward women and brothers, the approval
of masculinity in a homosocial network, and so on. In Episode 2, the Zhou
family’s Tonghe Dye House prospers under Shouting’s able management.
The Zhou family, because of their low prices and good service, gradually
freezes out other dye works in the town. To save his own business, Mr. Wang,
the owner of the neighboring Dachang Dye House, pays a gang of bandits to
kidnap Shouting after attempting, in vain, to buy him off. They threaten to
kill Shouting if he does not raise the price of his products. Shouting pretends
to submit and then, in front of the statue of Lord Guan (Guan Yu), presses a
large bundle of burning incense against his naked chest to show his inflexible
resolution. The bandits are impressed by his manliness and release him. The
plot is reminiscent of the story of Guan Yu, the martial hero par excellence in
the Romance of Three Kingdoms, who once underwent surgery that entailed
cutting open his arm and scraping the bone while talking and playing chess
as if nothing happened. As a matter of fact, Guan Yu repeatedly appears in the
drama as a cultural icon of masculinity. Shouting admires him and learns
from him in many ways, as we see below.
In the drama, the hero’s attitudes toward male associates and women are
two touchstones of his manhood, just like the literary models of warriors and
Song 417
pretty college student who has come from the Northeast to look for her
fiancé. Shouting sends her to a hotel and lends money to her, without even
the slightest evil thought of taking advantage of the woman. He even refuses
to take the same rickshaw with her, preferring to walk by himself. His hon-
esty and virtue as a real man win the girl’s respect and she later rewards him
by becoming his “adopted sister” and helping him with his business. By con-
trast, his business partner Lu Jiaju is a womanizer. Although he has a wife in
his home village, he marries a young female student on arriving in Qingdao
and thus gets into a lot of trouble. Their rival in Qingdao, Sun Mingzu, preys
on his weakness and sets a sex trap for him. He is cheated by Sun’s mistress,
a tall and sexy woman, and is forced to hand over Shouting’s secret recipe for
dyeing to her. But Shouting outwits Sun with a trick of his own. In the end
the false recipe surrendered by Lu makes Sun lose a large sum of money. In
a word, the narrative differs significantly from, say, the 007 series in terms of
the proportion and functions of women and men in the life of the hero, evi-
dence of the influence of the male bonding culture in traditional China.14
The representation of masculinity in the drama also registers a tension of
locality difference and confrontation in Chinese culture. The actor who plays
the role of Chen Shouting in the drama, Hou Yong, is a famous People’s
Liberation Army (PLA) actor known for portraying tough men on the screen.
He is also regarded as an epitome of the northern hanzi (macho man) type of
manhood. While Chen Shouting and his “brothers” are mainly from Shan-
dong province and the Northeast, southern men, represented by the dandified
Shanghainese businessman Lin Xiangrong and his subordinates who all
speak with a Shanghainese accent, are ridiculed in the play as less masculine.
One of the most amusing scenes in the serial is when Shouting’s muscular
bodyguard beats Lin’s sales manager. The ugly Shanghainese man appears
arrogant and insulting at first but soon cowardly begs for mercy on his knees
after getting a dozen slaps in the face.
As in many films and teleplays in recent years, The Big Dye House proj-
ects a strong sense of wounded national pride and anti-Japanese resentment.
The conflict between Chen Shouting and the Japanese businessman Fujii can
be read as an allegory of Sino-Japanese relations. Fujii is depicted as a cun-
ning and evil schemer who casts greedy eyes on Chinese industry. The mas-
culinity of Chen Shouting lies primarily in his righteousness and loyalty to
the nation when facing the Japanese enemy. In the end he consigns the fac-
tory that embodies his painstaking efforts of many years to flames in order to
save it from Japanese occupation.15
As Cynthia Enloe (1990: 4) observes in Bananas, Beaches, and Bases,
“nationalism has typically sprung from masculinized memory, masculinized
Song 419
live in her mother’s house and lends all her money to him as the capital to
restart his business. With her help, Guan Jun becomes a successful business-
man. They fall in love with each other and finally get married despite a
mountain of obstructions and opposition. The “halfway couple,” together
with Guan’s daughter and Hu’s son, who are both teenagers, form a new fam-
ily. At the same time, Jiang Jianping has also found his own “halfway” wife,
a woman who flees to this city to evade domestic violence.
The image of Guan Jun by no means resembles the “good man” in official
culture, not even a “positive character” in the socialist canon. Instead, he is
more like a rascal in the eyes of the audience, who have got used to the con-
ventional type of manhood, typified by a countenance with big eyes and
bushy eyebrows. Guan is tall and of strong build, but has small eyes, and
looks unrestrained, aggressive, and sexy. His image, a combination of a mus-
cular athleticism and a rebellious sensuality, has been hailed as irresistibly
manly by many a blogger on the Internet.16 The aesthetic and moral tendency
in the construction of this image as the ideal man can probably be explained
by a widely discussed saying in contemporary China, “If a man is not bad
enough, a woman will not love him” (Nanren bu huai, nüren bu ai), the
meaning of which is close to the English proverb “Treat ’em mean, keep ’em
keen.” The championing of the “bad man” is not only a reaction to the didac-
ticism of political propaganda but also embodies the repressed desires and
transgressive pleasures that official culture has denied. Compared with the
conventionally “good” man, Jiang Jianping, Guan’s attractiveness lies in his
“badness,” including his experience in prison, his sense of humor and his
flirting with women, his personal loyalty (yiqi) to his brothers, and his male
chauvinism. When he chases after the policewoman, he is very good at ingra-
tiating himself with her. But after they marry, when Hu’s identity as a police-
woman clashes with his loyalty to his former fellow inmate in prison, he is
sometimes cruel to her. What is more important, his manliness comes from
his ability to earn money and thus to bring happiness to his woman. Hu’s col-
leagues cast jealous eyes on her when he picks her up from the police station
with a luxurious car and their grand wedding is also something way beyond
the means of her ex-husband, the policeman. In a word, it is money that ulti-
mately vindicates his masculinity.
The friendship that Hu Xiaoling’s two husbands, Guan Jun and Jiang Jian-
ping, develop is also fascinating. Through their “common woman,” they
become “brothers” and trust each other as real men. Jiang is at first very
much opposed to Hu’s dating an ex-con, but after talking with Guan, he is
convinced that Guan is a reliable man and tells Hu that she can marry him
without qualms. The triangular relationship between the men and the woman
Song 421
its popularity and influence, “the spirit of unsheathing the sword” (liangjian
jingshen) became a buzzword in China soon after the airing of the drama.
The most prominent feature about this program is that the characteriza-
tion of the hero, Li Yunlong (Li Youbin), conspicuously deviates from the
stereotyped formula of “revolutionary heroism” and has thus aroused a great
deal of controversy. The positive comments applaud the “more realistic” and
individualistic depiction of the hero as a welcome reaction to the all-perfect
“model” hero. For instance, Xu Fangming (2006), when talking about this
drama on CCTV’s “Lecture Room” (Baijia jiangtan) program, calls the pro-
tagonist an “off-beat” hero. On the other hand, however, critics have charged
that Li Yunlong is more like a bandit (feiqi) than a Communist warrior. An
anonymous Web-essay reveals the lack of clichéd Communist discourses in
the drama:
For one thing, instead of revolutionary discourse, the title allegedly derives
from the spirit of ancient swordsmen. As said by Li Yunlong in the play,
“when facing a mighty opponent, unsheathe your sword undeterred, though
you know well that you are not his match. If you fall, become a mountain on
the earth.” The core of heroism and masculinity here is the courage to face
Song 423
the enemy and accept challenges. This spirit, which is constructed as the
(new) soul of the PLA, is lauded as a stimulation of true masculinity in a
society that desperately lacks it (Chen and Gan, 2005). The call for unsheath-
ing the “sword” echoes the rise of popular nationalism and the call for tougher
foreign policies and policies toward Taiwan, as represented by books such as
China Can Say No. “The spirit of unsheathing the sword” has now become a
vogue word and is widely used to refer to a variety of activities such as com-
mercial competition (Xing, 2005). A search of the phrase in “China’s core
newspaper database” indicates that it has appeared 983 times in China’s
major newspapers since 2005.
In addition, the protagonist is distinguished from the Maoist heroes in
that he talks more like a calculating merchant than a selfless Communist.
The heart-stirring language of revolution has given way to business talk.
Many critics have spotted the “slyness of a Chinese peasant” in Li Yunlong
(Li Yun, 2005). He regards weapons and soldiers as his own property and is
said to never trade at a loss. For instance, he trades five machine guns for a
cavalry commander with another regiment. Instead of revolutionary slo-
gans, he is prone to utter sentences such as “I’ve made a fortune this time!”
A link has thus been constructed between revolutionary memory and the
ubiquitous mercantile spirit.
According to a Chinese critic, the novel on which the TV drama is based
is “a heroic novel full of the spirit of masculinity; it is a novel written by a
man, about men, and for men” (Li Yun, 2005). The slogan “Be a man like Li
Yunlong!” is often repeated by bloggers on the internet (Li Yangyang, 2007).
However, the masculinity represented in the drama is, as we have pointed
out, a far cry from that exemplified by Maoist heroes. Instead, it reflects a
revival of the outlaw and tough guy (haohan) culture in premodern China.18
Li Yunlong is depicted as a crude man with a bad temper and a foul mouth.
He often wears his hat askew and calls himself laozi (a coarse term referring
to oneself, literally meaning “your father”) when talking. He is so fond of
drinking that anybody who wants to befriend him has to drink with him first.
More importantly, he is undisciplined and defies his superiors’ orders and
often acts presumptuously. Like the knight-errant in history, he prefers indi-
vidualistic one-to-one combat. Although he is a shrewd commander and
often defeats the enemy by surprise tactics, he is promoted slowly because
he is equally capable of violating discipline. He also resembles an outlaw in
that he never hesitates to take revenge. His most serious breaches of disci-
pline are the two acts of vengeance in the play (one for the death of his
first wife and the other for his favorite solider, Monk Wei). Despite being
victorious in battle, he is punished by his superiors for acting without prior
424 Modern China 36(4)
consent. All these “hyper masculine” traits, nonetheless, make him a hero, at
least in eyes of his second wife, Tian Yu (Tong Lei), a nurse who marries Li
after caring for him in a field hospital. She explains to her mother the rea-
sons why she fell in love with Li:
The director of the series, Zhang Qian, reportedly said that this is a TV
drama shot by men for men (Chen and Gan, 2005). As a popular entertain-
ment, it is unusual in that there is basically no woman in the first two thirds
of the series, except for the brief appearance of Li’s first wife, a guerrilla who
is captured by the Japanese on the night of their wedding and is killed in front
of Li when he besieges the town to rescue her. In other words, the world of
the “sword” is a world of men and the masculinity (yanggang zhi qi) in the
play that has been praised by critics and audience is depicted through the
comradeship, brotherhood, and opposition among men. This is in keeping
with the haohan tradition in Chinese literature and is reminiscent of what
Sedgwick (1985: 89) describes as men being interested in men:
spend the better part of their social life interacting exclusively with other men.
This was a culture where we could expect homosocial bonding to reach the
state of a very high art.”
In Unsheathing the Sword, two men’s relations with Li Yunlong merit
particular attention. The men are Li’s partner, the political commissar Zhao
Gang (played by He Zhengjun), and Li’s friend but also opponent, the
Guomindang officer Chu Yunfei (Zhang Guangbei). Zhao Gang represents
the wen type of manhood in terms of the wen/wu matrix, which complements
Li’s macho wu masculinity. He is a “progressive student” in Yenching Uni-
versity and is sent to Li’s regiment as a “political cadre” after receiving train-
ing in Yan’an. At first Li thinks Zhao is a “white-face scholar” and treats him
lightly, but Li begins to respect him when Zhao learns from him how to drink
and to speak dirty words, and especially when he finds out that Zhao is brave
in battle and is a good marksman. They become bosom comrades who, in
their words, “would block bullets for each other with their own bodies.”
When Zhao Gang is transferred from the regiment, Li tries every means to
keep him and explicitly expresses how he misses him when Zhao finally
leaves. The same deep brotherly emotions can also be found between Li and
his bodyguard, “Monk Wei.”
What is more interesting is the love–hate relationship between Li and Chu
Yunfei, which is obviously intended as an allegory of the struggle between
the CCP and the Guomindang. Chu is a well-educated Guomindang general
who has graduated from the elite Whampoa Military Academy. He is a mili-
tary man with scholarly bearing. As patriotic officers, he and Li have a com-
mon enemy during the anti-Japanese war and Chu deeply admires Li for his
bravery and skill as a commander. Li also regards Chu as a true hero. When
Chu visits Li’s regiment, he presents Li with a Browning pistol. According to
him, there is only a pair of pistols of this model in the world, one male (xiong)
and the other female (ci); he keeps the male one and gives the female one to
Li as a gift. But Li refuses and insists on having the male pistol. In the end,
Li gets the male one and Chu keeps the female one, which can be symboli-
cally read as a masculinization of the legitimacy of the CCP in rewriting
history. In return, Li presents Chu with a Japanese sword seized from the
enemy. They help each other and support each other in fighting the Japanese.
In Episode 11, for instance, the two rush into the birthday banquet of a Japa-
nese officer in the county seat and, alone, kill all the Japanese. At the same
time, they also treat each other with reserve as they are aware that a confron-
tation between the two forces will be unavoidable. As expected, during the
ensuing Civil War they become opponents and come upon each other on the
battlefield. The duel between the two “brothers” results in serious wounds to
both. At the end of the war, the defeated Chu flees to Taiwan with a jar of the
426 Modern China 36(4)
soil of the mainland and deep regrets. The drama ends in 1955 when Li is
promoted to the rank of major-general. However, in the novel and allegedly
in an uncut version of the TV drama, the rivalry between the two men contin-
ues into the 1950s and 1960s, as they happen to be stationed on two neigh-
boring strategic islands in the Taiwan Strait. When Li Yunlong dies during
the Cultural Revolution, Chu sends his obituary tribute from the other side of
the strait via a loudspeaker. The rivalry functions as an emotional bond
between the two men, who understand each other and enjoy the combat with
each other as a truly masculine game of competition.
Conclusion
Chris Berry and Mary Farquhar, in their study of Chinese cinema (2006:
138–39), identify “filiality, brotherhood and loyalty” as the male codes that
“have mythic status within modern and contemporary Chinese cultures.” As
we can see from the above readings of TV dramas, these codes are also con-
spicuous in recent TV productions as a cultural nationalist attempt to restore
“tradition.” As such, they invite analysis from theoretically informed per-
spectives such as that of homosocial desire.
In this article, since space is limited, we have concentrated on the plot
points and paid scant attention to camera, lighting, and the other elements
that make television more than just literature with pictures. Furthermore, as
noted above, this article has far from exhausted the wealth and diversity of
masculinities that have been produced in contemporary China. There are
racial, class, and sexuality differences in masculinity constructions that need
to be addressed in a comprehensive manner—a project for the future. At the
very least, however, TV drama is a promising place to begin to address the
important issue of masculinities in Chinese popular culture.
By extracting some common features in the construction of masculinities
in these TV dramas, I have isolated the importance of nationalism, homoso-
ciality, and commercialization in understanding contemporary Chinese mas-
culinities. The male images in these dramas are a product of social changes
that have challenged socialist norms and are tied in with new formations of
power. Forms of masculinity are becoming increasingly hybrid in a global-
izing China and have been influenced by the nationalist quest for Chinese-
ness and a stronger China as well as the commercialization of mass media
and the dominance of consumerist values in society.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank Chris Berry and Sally Sargeson for reading an earlier version of
this article and offering helpful comments and suggestions.
Song 427
The author(s) declared no conflicts of interest with respect to the authorship and/or
publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research and/or authorship of this
article.
Notes
1. Michael Keane (2005: 83) argues that Chinese TV drama production has pro-
gressed through three periods: industrial (1958–1989), market (1990–2002), and
most recently, interpersonal (2003 onward): “the first period connotes mass pro-
duction and social engineering; the second, increasing autonomy for producers
and more choice for viewers; while the third demonstrates greater awareness of
differentiated market segments—notably female consumption of drama.” While
this historical segmentation may be arguable, most observers generally agree
that the period since 2002–2003 has seen a proliferation of commercialized
TV drama production and an increasingly keen competition in the market (Bai,
2007: 122–24). The time frame for the sources of this study is therefore roughly
2003 to 2007.
2. In English-language scholarship, there are a handful of journal articles and book
chapters on the evolution and overall situation of TV drama in China (Lull, 1991;
Keane, 2001; Yin, 2002; Keane, 2005; Zhu, 2005). A panel entitled “Understand-
ing Chinese Prime-Time Television Drama: Narrative Forms and Social Agen-
cies” was organized by Shuyu Kong at the Association for Asian Studies 2006
annual meeting. Abstracts of papers in this panel can be viewed at www.aasianst.
org/absts/2006abst/China/C-16.htm. An anthology edited by Ying Zhu, Michael
Keane, and Ruoyun Bai entitled TV Drama in China was published by Hong
Kong University Press in 2009. For a pioneering and thought-provoking study
of the representation of transnational romances and the construction of Chinese
masculinity through foreign women in Chinese “soap operas” of the 1990s, see
Sheldon H. Lu (2000).
3. Xueping Zhong’s Masculinity Besieged? (2000)—which focuses on Chinese lit-
erature and films produced during the 1980s—is a pioneering inquiry into male
subjectivities in post-Mao China. Zhong’s approach is primarily psychoanalytic,
making use of Kaja Silverman’s concept of “marginality complex.” A more re-
cent addition to the literature is Nimrod Baranovitch’s book on popular music in
post-Mao China. Though mainly focusing on the popular musical expression of
gender, Baranovitch provides an insightful overview of the changing masculine
428 Modern China 36(4)
The satiric tone pokes fun at the official discourse on revolutionary history.
Song 429
9. For a discussion on nationalism in A Beijing Man in New York, see Barmé (1996).
10. Philip Elloitt et al. (1983) have distinguished between “tight” and “loose” formats
of popular drama serials:
11. Wang Heite (2002: 93) also argues that the official “guiding culture” since the
early 1990s is not monolithic but demonstrates the dynamic interplay between
the “mainstream” in official ideology, which is premised on the rationality of
the party’s current policies and an optimistic view of China’s future, and a “non-
mainstream subculture” in official ideology, which is characterized by an obses-
sion with the legacy of Mao’s revolutionary culture and an anxious skepticism
about the current situation and future of China.
12. All the ratings information in this article is provided by CSM Media Research,
the major company conducting television audience surveys in China. For a TV
drama program shown in mainland China, a rating over 5 percent is normally
regarded as very high. See Liu Yannan (2006) for a comprehensive study of the
rating system in China.
13. See Song (2006: 7) for the carnivalistic features of anti-Japanese and anti-Western
protests in contemporary China. See Jing Wang (2001) for a detailed study of the
“political, cultural, and economic capital in post-1992 China as interchangeable
terms of value.”
14. For discussions of male bonding and friendship in Chinese culture, see a group
of articles in the “AHR Forum: Gender and Manhood in Chinese History,”
American Historical Review 105, 5 (Dec. 2000), in particular, Mann (2000).
See also Lee (2007: 209) for a discussion of homosocial desire in traditional
Chinese society.
15. A similar ending appears in another TV drama serial, Broken Jade (Yu sui,
2006), the title of which derives from the Chinese saying “Better a broken
jade, than to live a life of clay.” The owner of an antique shop breaks a price-
less jade work of art to pieces before the face of the greedy Japanese, who want
to seize it.
16. See, for instance, http://blog.sina.com.cn/s/blog_48cb62d4010002wv.html
(accessed on Sept. 15, 2007).
17. See http://ent.sina.com.cn/x/2005-03-10/0719673150.html (accessed on Sept.
10, 2007).
430 Modern China 36(4)
18. In an original, uncut version of the drama, a special reconnaissance unit of 108
soldiers with the name “the Liangshan team” is organized and trained by Li Yunlong
in the 1950s to scout around on an island off the shore of Taiwan. The plot clearly
shows the influence of Water Margin (Shuihu zhuan).
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Biography
Geng Song is a senior lecturer in Chinese studies at the Australian National Univer-
sity. He has published five books, including The Fragile Scholar: Power and
Masculinity in Chinese Culture (2004), and is currently working on a project on mas-
culinities and popular culture in contemporary China.