A frequent explanation for Hong Kong cinema’s decline is:
The industry fell apart because censorship—particularly from mainland China—stifled creative freedom.
While this argument might seem convincing at first glance, it doesn’t hold up when we look at history.
Taiwan’s involvement in Hong Kong cinema provides a direct counterexample.
Taiwan’s Stricter Censorship Highlights Historical Resilience of Hong Kong Cinema
During the 1970s through the early 1990s, Taiwan stood as the most significant overseas market for Hong Kong films. Yet at the same time, its censorship system was remarkably stringent—arguably more severe than the mainland’s regulations today. Taiwan’s approach was overtly political, ideologically driven, and personally punitive, directly targeting filmmakers and actors rather than functioning as a neutral, market-based standard. Films addressing PRC-related themes, locations, or political figures faced intense scrutiny, and compliance was often non-negotiable.
The impact on Hong Kong artists was immediate and tangible. Tony Leung Ka-fai, for example, was blacklisted for appearing in PRC-themed productions, effectively halting his work in Taiwan. Leung Siu-lung lost opportunities simply for traveling to the mainland. Even blockbuster films like God of Gamblers II were forced to recast major roles for the Taiwanese market, and Ringo Lam’s School on Fire endured cuts of more than thirty scenes to meet regulatory requirements. These measures were far from subtle or technical; they were arbitrary, politically motivated, and enforced with real consequences for careers and creative choices.
Despite these constraints, Hong Kong cinema flourished. The fact that filmmakers successfully navigated Taiwan’s stringent censorship demonstrates that external control alone does not dictate an industry’s vitality. By comparison, today’s mainland regulations—often portrayed as suffocating—are, in many respects, less severe than the hurdles Hong Kong filmmakers routinely managed in Taiwan. This historical example underscores that creativity and commercial success can endure even under harsh, politically driven oversight.
Hong Kong Cinema Thrived Despite Restrictive Conditions
Even under Taiwan’s strict censorship and other external constraints, the 1980s through the early 1990s marked the golden age of Hong Kong cinema. Production reached unprecedented levels, and a diverse array of genres—ranging from gangster films and comedies to martial arts epics and melodramas—flourished. During this period, Hong Kong films dominated box offices across East and Southeast Asia, establishing both commercial and cultural influence that extended far beyond the city itself.
If censorship were the decisive factor in a film industry’s vitality, Hong Kong cinema would have collapsed under such pressures. Instead, it achieved its historical peak, demonstrating that creative and industrial success can thrive even amid politically and ideologically restrictive environments. This era directly challenges the notion that censorship inevitably stifles artistic or commercial achievement, showing that adaptability and ingenuity, rather than unrestricted freedom, are the true drivers of cinematic flourishing.
Pragmatism Over Principle: How Adaptation Sustained Hong Kong Cinema
The key factor behind Hong Kong cinema’s resilience was not unrestricted creative freedom, but a pragmatic approach to constraints. Filmmakers of the era accepted market realities and viewed censorship as a technical challenge rather than a moral battle. They adapted strategically, re-editing films, recasting actors, shooting alternate versions, and adjusting themes to suit different markets, including Taiwan—a market whose censorship was often stricter and more politically punitive than today’s mainland regulations.
This practical mindset emphasized survival, scale, and continuity over ideological resistance or romanticized notions of artistic defiance. By treating restrictions as problems to solve rather than injustices to protest, Hong Kong filmmakers were able to thrive under conditions that might have crippled a less flexible industry. Their success demonstrates that adaptability, not moral opposition to external control, is what sustains creative and commercial vitality in a constrained environment.
Why Mainland Adaptation Feels Different: The Legacy of Colonial-Era Superiority
Historically, Hong Kong filmmakers demonstrated a remarkable willingness to accommodate external authorities, whether Taiwanese regulators, British colonial censors, or even criminal organizations. Compliance in these contexts was pragmatic, enabling filmmakers to access markets and continue production without moralizing the constraints imposed upon them. Adaptation was simply a necessary part of sustaining a creative industry.
In contrast, engaging with the mainland China market today is often framed in moral terms—as “selling out,” “losing identity,” or “kneeling.” The difference is not the existence of censorship itself, but the perceived status of the authority enforcing it. Many Hong Kong filmmakers remain psychologically anchored in a colonial-era hierarchy that casts Hong Kong as culturally and morally superior, while portraying the mainland as backward, vulgar, or merely wealthy.
Within this mindset, adapting to mainland regulations feels humiliating not because of the limitations, but because the “controller” is no longer seen as above them. This explains the selective moral outrage: restrictions once tolerated in Taiwan or under colonial oversight are now moralized when imposed by the mainland. The reaction reflects a deeply ingrained perception of cultural hierarchy rather than any intrinsic difference in censorship practices.
Taiwan as Evidence Against the “Censorship Killed Hong Kong Cinema” Claim
Taiwan’s historical experience demonstrates that censorship alone does not dictate a film industry’s creative vitality. Hong Kong cinema once thrived under conditions far stricter and more politically hostile than those faced today in the mainland. During its golden age, success depended less on freedom from regulation and more on factors such as market scale, capital investment, talent renewal, genre innovation, and, crucially, the willingness of filmmakers to adapt to different audiences and constraints.
The contrast with the present is telling. Earlier generations of filmmakers treated censorship as a practical challenge to overcome, reshaping films, recasting actors, or adjusting themes to satisfy multiple markets. Today, by contrast, many approach constraints as reasons to withdraw, moralize, or disengage, often framing limitations as ideological or artistic affronts. Taiwan’s example highlights that decline stems not from external control, but from an industry’s response—or failure to respond—to the challenges it faces.
Mainland China as a Parallel: The Cultural Disconnect with Hong Kong Cinema
Hong Kong’s cultural sensibilities have long been distinct from those of mainland China, a gap that has shaped both creative output and audience reception. In the past, Hong Kong filmmakers produced works such as the Wong Fei Hung series, The Butterfly Lovers, and The Burning of the Old Summer Palace, which resonated widely across regional audiences. Today, however, mainland viewers often struggle to empathize with the culture, humor, and emotional nuances conveyed in Hong Kong films, making broad acceptance increasingly difficult. This cultural misalignment is reciprocal, but the commercial reality is clear: the mainland is now the dominant box office market, and Hong Kong cinema cannot rely on audience adaptation in reverse.
The lack of cultural sync constrains the types of films Hong Kong can successfully export. Mainland releases from Hong Kong are largely limited to action, suspense, and crime thrillers—genres that are universally consumable but often lack the cultural depth and resonance of earlier works. Even well-constructed narratives, if imported from Japan or Vietnam, are broadly acceptable to mainland audiences, highlighting that the barrier lies not in quality, but in cultural alignment and relatability.
Many Hong Kong filmmakers have attempted to bridge this divide by producing content specifically for the mainland, with mixed results. Dante Lam’s Operation Red Sea exemplifies successful integration, drawing on a cultural foundation familiar to mainland audiences, while Peter Chan’s American Dreams in China tells a story entirely set within the mainland context. These examples show that Hong Kong filmmakers have viable pathways to success, yet many continue to pursue approaches that fail to engage the mainland audience, limiting their creative and commercial potential.
Even established Hong Kong stars such as Andy Lau have found their most significant recent breakthroughs in mainland productions, illustrating the shift in opportunity. Mainland Chinese films now routinely outperform Hollywood releases domestically, underscoring that the mainland market offers the greatest potential for commercial success. The challenge for Hong Kong filmmakers is no longer simply artistic freedom—it is the willingness to embrace mainland cultural narratives and market realities rather than clinging to nostalgic formulas or perceived cultural superiority.
Ideological Scapegoats and the Decline of Hong Kong Cinema
In recent years, prominent Hong Kong filmmakers and actors—including Johnnie To, Peter Chan, and Chow Yun-fat—have frequently attributed the decline of Hong Kong cinema to “censorship,” “restrictions,” and the erosion of “artistic freedom” under the mainland market. Statements like Johnnie To’s claim that he has “lost his soul” in filmmaking resonate widely, particularly with Western media narratives. Yet these accounts function less as accurate diagnoses than as ideological scapegoats, shifting attention away from deeper, self-inflicted structural problems within the industry.
Historically, Hong Kong cinema’s golden age in the 1980s and early 1990s had little to do with the mainland market. At that time, mainland audiences accessed Hong Kong films primarily through pirated tapes and DVDs, with no integrated distribution system or box office leverage. The industry thrived because it dominated Taiwan, Southeast Asia, and parts of East Asia—not because of unrestricted freedom in a mainland context that did not yet exist. Retrospectively blaming censorship for Hong Kong cinema’s decline misrepresents this historical reality.
The true turning point came in the early 1990s, when the industry collapsed under its own internal weaknesses: rampant overproduction, inflated budgets, declining craftsmanship, financial fraud, and collusion with triads. The arrival of Hollywood blockbusters, epitomized by Jurassic Park, further outcompeted Hong Kong films. Reliable export markets like Taiwan and Southeast Asia were lost not to censorship but to superior production systems and audience fatigue. The subsequent reopening of the mainland market merely delayed a reckoning that was already inevitable.
Over the next decade, Hong Kong filmmakers often relied on nostalgia and institutional privilege rather than innovation. Many entered the mainland market with a sense of cultural superiority, demanding preferential treatment, monopolizing lead roles, and marginalizing local talent. Such behaviors alienated investors, audiences, and collaborators, while generational renewal stagnated. Ideological language—“freedom,” “soul,” “censorship”—served a rhetorical function, externalizing failure and transforming market rejection into moral victimhood. The decline of Hong Kong cinema, therefore, was not imposed externally, but resulted from long-term choices: the abandonment of discipline, humility, and creative renewal. Censorship may exist, but it does not explain why audiences stopped caring.
Summary & Implications
Taiwan’s historical experience exposes the flaw in the claim that removing censorship would automatically revive Hong Kong cinema. The industry once flourished under far harsher, more politicized, and more arbitrary constraints precisely because filmmakers approached censorship pragmatically, treating it as a problem to solve rather than a moral verdict. They adapted—reshaping genres, recutting films, and pursuing scale across challenging markets—demonstrating that markets, discipline, renewal, and cultural alignment, not freedom from oversight, determined success. The decline of Hong Kong cinema was not caused by lost artistic liberty, but by a retreat from adaptability, humility, and industrial ambition. Censorship is a constraint, not a death sentence; industries fail when they stop innovating and instead transform external limits into excuses for their own stagnation.