Meme magic turns crude Chinese animation into box-office hit

BEIJING, 20 AUGUST 2026 —

A crudely made animated film has emerged as an unexpected cultural flashpoint in China, sparking debate over how memes and online virality are reshaping audience perceptions of what is worth watching.

Niu Lai, or The Arrival of the Ox, premiered in China on August 5, following a young calf’s dreamlike journey to becoming a warrior.

Its rudimentary visuals quickly invited ridicule: snakes resemble spring-loaded strips, grass is depicted as yellow blocks labelled “grass,” and leaves appear as simple spheres. Initially, the film seemed destined for obscurity, grossing just over 7,000 yuan (US$1,000) in its first 10 days, with ticket prices averaging 26 yuan (US$3.6). Then came the in-cinema recordings posted by audience members online.

Clips showcasing the film’s bewildering plot and crude visuals spread rapidly across mainland social media, transforming its apparent flaws into meme-worthy content and even serving as an incentive for curious viewers to buy tickets. By August 18, Niu Lai had amassed more than 21 million yuan (US$2.9 million), according to the Chinese ticketing platform Maoyan Professional, which projects a total box office of 135 million yuan.

Some viewers compare screenings to live comedy shows, with audiences laughing and commenting aloud, while others perceive the film as a form of social currency, offering a shared experience and an easy conversation starter. However, 34-year-old director Xin Yumeng likely never intended to create an internet sensation. He and his mother, screenwriter Sun Lifang, dedicated five years to painstakingly crafting the film.

In an interview with Dalian Children’s Radio, Xin described Niu Lai as a “healing family film” focused on cherishing family bonds and confronting adversity with courage. He also noted that budget constraints limited his equipment and hindered the realisation of many ambitious scenes and models. His mother taught herself screenwriting and composition, while Xin, reportedly a landscape architecture graduate, self-taught animation techniques and produced the film without using AI tools.

Ivy Yang, founder of Wavelet Strategy and a specialist in cross-cultural communication, told the SCMP that Niu Lai’s success reflects, in part, a collective reaction against “AI slop.” “People have developed a new appreciation for things that are handmade, naive, and even absurd,” she remarked, noting their appeal even when they fall below conventional standards yet resonate with the current cultural climate. This irony extends to how the film is consumed.

In-cinema recordings, traditionally condemned over copyright concerns, have now become a key driver of Niu Lai’s visibility. While legally ambiguous in China, this practice has reignited industry anxieties about infringement, with legal experts warning that uncertainty does not equate to implied permission. Qiancengmian, a Beijing-based film producer, told the SCMP that obtaining theatrical approval should not be conflated with aesthetic endorsement.

Films in China undergo rigorous content and technical reviews, assessing the promotion of positive values and adherence to established standards for picture, sound, and subtitles. “Niu Lai meets both content and technical criteria,” she stated. “The censorship is already stringent, and extending it to aesthetics would be subjective.” Yang believes the film’s rising popularity speaks less to artistic merit and more to audience empowerment. “Viewers are voting with their wallets,” she said.

“They are willing to spend on films. They seek entertainment, and sometimes the pleasure of embracing imperfections offers something conventional beauty cannot.” However, she cautioned against viewing Niu Lai as a replicable formula, instead characterising it as a broader social phenomenon that has serendipitously found its place in cinema. “Today it is a film,” she noted.

“Next time, it might be a song.” The disparity between Niu Lai’s commercial success and the ongoing debate over its artistic quality has fuelled backlash. Lucky Ye, a photographer based in Shenzhen, told the SCMP she would refrain from purchasing a ticket, arguing that doing so would reward “bad money driving out good” and potentially discourage creators who invest years in pursuit of quality.

Some cinemas have even offered an opt-out: a Huanxing cinema in Shanxi province, northern China, permitted refunds within the first 10 minutes, cautioning that the film “may not suit everyone’s tastes.” Yet, Yang still plans to attend, albeit with very different expectations than she would have for Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey. “The ritual of going to the cinema may already mean more than the film itself,” she reflected.

“If I watch The Odyssey, I’m focused on evaluating the film. With Niu Lai, I’m there for social observation – Who is in the audience? Why are they here? Will they pull out their phones to record? Will anyone judge them? That experience, in itself, is worth the ticket price.”

Related: Beijing