This paper examines Yu Hua's novel To Live and Zhang Yimou's 1994 film adaptation as competing retellings of China's tumultuous post-revolutionary history. Tracing the story of Fugui through land reform, the Great Leap Forward, the Cultural Revolution, and post-Mao economic change, the essay highlights key differences between the novel and film in setting, tone, and thematic outlook. It also addresses the Chinese government's decision to ban the film despite its relatively softened critique, arguing that the novel, the film, and the act of censorship together reveal how China's recent past remains a contested site of memory and political meaning in the present.
In 1994, the celebrated Chinese film director Zhang Yimou produced a film adaptation of Yu Hua's novel of the same name, To Live (Huozhe). The film received widespread acclaim from international audiences but was banned in mainland China. Yimou and his wife — who played the main female character — were also banned from making films for two years. This was a somewhat odd development, since Yimou had modified the original novel to soften its criticism of Chinese realities. It may be argued that the original novel, its film adaptation, and the censorship imposed by the Chinese state together represent the significance of disparate retellings of China's recent past.
Since the Revolution of 1949, China underwent a series of political and economic transformations. Each period within these transformations affected generations of Chinese artists, ordinary people, and politicians differently. It is not surprising, then, that China has a conflicting history-telling. People hold different memories of what happened after the Revolution — during the land reform, the Great Leap Forward, the Cultural Revolution, and the post-Mao economic reforms. The age difference between Yu Hua and director Yimou reflects some of these differences in perspective. Yu Hua was a young child during the Cultural Revolution, while Yimou was at school and had more vivid memories of the period.
Both the novel and the film revolve around a man named Fugui — a compulsive gambler who loses his wealth and, temporarily, his family. He is taken captive by the Nationalist Army of Chiang Kai-shek and later joins the People's Liberation Army. He eventually returns to his family and becomes a model citizen, only to find himself and those he loves locked in a struggle for bare survival. He endures the tumultuous transformations of successive historical eras, and the story ends with a family gathering. While the film offers hope of a better future as China embraces capitalism, the novel concludes with a considerably grimmer outlook.
Among the subtler differences between the novel and the film is that the former is set in a southern rural area, while the film takes place in a small town in the north. It is widely assumed that land reform and Communist policies during the Great Leap Forward hit China's rural population hardest. Yimou uses the film to argue that both rural and urban areas across the country were devastated by the disastrous policies of the Communist Party. Another notable difference is the portrayal of Fugui as a shadow-puppeteer — an element absent from the novel. The film also weaves humor throughout its depiction of tumultuous years in Chinese history, underscoring the Chinese propensity for resilience even in times of hardship. Yimou illustrates how ordinary people adapt to new realities and find ways to enjoy life under harsh conditions.
The fact that the Chinese government banned the film — even though it offered a relatively softened critique of the Chinese Communist Party over the last six decades of its rule — demonstrates that the state has its own vision of the past and is determined to maintain it. Unlike novels, films reach far wider audiences, and the Chinese state therefore targeted the adaptation for censorship with particular urgency. The government's response highlights how deeply political the act of historical storytelling remains in contemporary China. Censorship in China functions not merely as suppression, but as an active assertion of an official narrative.
In the midst of these competing struggles over the construction of Chinese history, we encounter disparate retellings of China's past. The original novel, its film adaptation, and the state's act of censorship each represent a distinct claim on how that history should be remembered and understood. In other words, China's past is as much about the present as it is about the past.
"State bans film to control official historical memory"
Yimou, Zhang, Ge You, Gong Li, and Fu-sheng Chiu. Huozhe. China: Electric Century Era; Shanghai Film Studios; Chiu Fu-Sheng, 1994.
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