Lin Min

linmin67@126.com

AS “Gangnam Style” mania sweeps the world, some in China are pondering why no Chinese singer has ever scored such an instant success on the global stage.

Trying to convincingly explain why the video by South Korean rapper Psy went viral and attracted more than 450 million YouTube views within three months is not an easy job. But one thing is certain: Language and cultural difference don’t seem to be a problem for the video to become a global hit. Viewers in different corners of the globe were fixated to the massively entertaining rapper’s crazy horse-riding dance, the song’s addictive chorus and the hilarious misadventures in the video. Aesthetically, the video is by no means a magnum opus, nor does it reach a level unattainable by Chinese counterparts. However, Psy’s ability to satirize, parody and flout the upper class is something Chinese artists are less capable of.

And trying to compare Chinese artists with Psy may not be fair because YouTube is inaccessible in China. Tudou, Youku and other Chinese video Web sites do not enjoy big market shares in other countries.

Yet the “Great Firewall” that keeps YouTube out of China cannot fully explain why there is no Chinese Wave to hit the world almost 10 years after the Korean Wave started to fascinate audiences in many countries, including China.

The creation of great films, TV series, songs and other arts requires creativity that is not shackled in any way, imagination that runs wild, and disregard of political purposes. The intolerance of dissenting views and rigid censorship in China mean artistic creativity is suppressed.

In 2005, censors barred Taiwan singer Tao Zhe’s “Ghost” from entering the mainland, reportedly because of the title of the song. In 2008, mainland actress Tang Wei was banned after she starred in Ang Lee’s “Lust, Caution,” which won the Golden Lion at the 2007 Venice Film Festival. It was reported that censors despised Tang for appearing naked in the movie. The espionage thriller was also regarded as glorifying a conspirator.

People dealing with censors told the Southern Metropolis Daily in July that producers and importers have been troubled by the country’s arbitrary censorship, which, added to their misery, does not explicitly publish standards or circumstances under which a film or song will be killed. The newspaper said censors earlier this year ruled that Justin Bieber’s “Believe” should not be imported just because the lyrics of one of the songs in the album contains the word “bitches.”

More recently, censors scissored the keenly anticipated “White Deer Plain” from 220 minutes to 156 minutes, angering the overwhelming majority of viewers who accused censors of hamstringing a masterpiece.

Last month, the English-language Global Times bemoaned the stringent censorship. Cheng Qingsong, a director and screenwriter, told the paper that the slimming down of “White Deer Plain” was not uncommon. “Just think about the hundreds of films that have been banned for not meeting the censorship requirements,” Cheng was quoted as saying. Quite a few Chinese films that won prizes at major international film festivals were not allowed to be shown domestically, including “To Live” by Zhang Yimou and “Farewell My Concubine” by Chen Kaige. According to the paper, many of the works were banned because they depict the brutalities of the “Cultural Revolution,” although censors have always cited unauthorized participation in international festivals as the reason for being banned.

These censors bear some resemblance to Big Brother in George Orwell’s “1984,” who controls all records and memories, rewrites the past and tries to dictate how people think. China’s Big Brother apparently believes he is doing the right thing to safeguard the correct ideology and prevent “thought crime.”

Despite his much-reviled participation earlier this year in the hand-copying of a Mao Zedong speech in 1942 on arts and literature that placed ideology above all and heralded a bloody purge of intellectuals, Mo Yan displayed candor and conscience when he declared his Nobel Literature Prize a victory for literature rather than political correctness. He revealed that he faced a lot of pressure after writing three of his novels in the 1980s, which he said mercilessly attacked social injustices and dark sides. Zhang Yimou, who directed the film adaptation of Mo’s novel “Red Sorghum,” even received a letter containing a bullet after the film was released. Surely if Mo had tried to please censors and old guards of ideology, he won’t have been able to produce works that won domestic popularity and international recognition.

However, it takes more than a Nobel prize for a country’s culture to take the world stage. With Big Brother still watching intently, and with an education system continuing to preach only conformity and obedience, creativity cannot thrive.

(The author is editor of the Shenzhen Daily News Desk.)