It has been fifteen years since Zhao Benshan last appeared on the Spring Festival Gala. No one has been able to replace him since. Both the Gala and the broader film and television industry have failed to produce more valuable works centered on rural themes, which should be one of the most important motifs in Chinese cultural creation.
The Gala is merely a symptom. Audiences can sense that when artistic works become detached from real life, it becomes difficult to laugh genuinely.
Now, the only way to see Zhao Benshan perform is through the 18th season of "Rural Love." However, the show seems to have lost its rustic authenticity, instead chasing trends and recycling internet memes. Many viewers watch it while criticizing it, which is a pity.
Twenty years ago, Zhao was in his prime. "Rural Love" debuted on CCTV-1, achieving an average viewership rating of around 11%, with some episodes even surpassing the ratings of "News Broadcast." It later became China’s longest-running TV series, representing the peak of Zhao’s creative prowess.
For many, including the author, it remains the best Chinese TV series, unmatched to this day. It had the potential to become the country’s finest series, but two decades later, no other show has portrayed contemporary China with such authenticity and depth.
Many may have forgotten that the "Ivory Hill" universe began with strong official backing. In the early 2000s, the National Population and Family Planning Commission and the China Population Culture Promotion Association commissioned a接地气的 rural drama to raise awareness about declining birth rates. Zhao Benshan, then vice president of the association, was the ideal candidate. His newly established Benshan Media also needed this officially endorsed project.
Peng Peiyun, former director of the National Population and Family Planning Commission, even inscribed the title for the series. This high-level support lent an unspoken seriousness to the show’s everyday rural dramas.
The director of the first season was not Zhao but Zhang Huizhong. Zhao clarified at the wrap-up ceremony that he was only the producer, not the director. Screenwriter Zhang Ji and director Zhang Huizhong, though less famous than co-stars like Fan Wei and Gao Xiumin, played crucial roles in Zhao’s career. Before the film industry became fully market-oriented, the trio were key creators of rural-themed works.
Their 1998 film "The Male Women’s Director," directed by Zhang Huizhong and written by Zhang Ji, is regarded as a living fossil of Chinese rural cinema. Later, Zhang Huizhong became closely associated with Zhao, co-creating iconic skits like "Blind Date" and "Selling Crutches."
In 2006, as China’s film industry embraced marketization, the trio reunited for this state-commissioned project. It was a perfect convergence of policy, market demand, and artistic pursuit. Official backing provided funding and platforms, while Zhao and Zhang contributed a seasoned team.
Screenwriter Zhang Ji, a farmer from Shandong, aimed for authenticity rather than simplistic policy propaganda. Zhao revised the script extensively and cast actors from his media company and art school, breathing life into the series. With official support, they enjoyed considerable creative and critical freedom.
By then, Zhao’s classic trio had disbanded, but he had developed a distinct creative style: sketch-based storytelling, dialect humor, and improvisation inspired by Errenzhuan folk performances. This approach, honed in series like "Liu Laogen" and "Ma Dashuai," avoided Hollywood-style drama or realist long takes, instead using mundane dialogues to capture life’s texture.
These earlier works allowed Zhao, who hailed from a rural background, to examine village life from a broader perspective. "Liu Laogen" reflected the rise of farmer-entrepreneurs, while "Ma Dashuai" depicted the struggles of migrant workers caught between unyielding land and unwelcoming cities. "Rural Love" emerged as China launched its "New Socialist Countryside" initiative, assuming modernity had already arrived in rural areas. It seemed Zhao’s prior experiences had all led to this series.
The story begins one autumn morning when Xie Yongqiang, the first university graduate from Ivory Hill Village, returns home. His return is motivated by his uncle, the town mayor, promising him a job in the county education bureau—a position seen as a step into officialdom.
Meanwhile, village chief Wang Changgui learns he might be promoted to a state administrative role. This prospect drives his personal discipline and professional maneuvering. These two potential transfers set the plot in motion.
"Rural Love" boldly lays bare the essence of rural issues: grassroots political power. Zhao’s art resonated because the elderly northeastern man on stage, who never hesitated to mock local officials, made millions believe that power could be ridiculed.
Yet Zhao knew his boundaries. He once told journalists he was just a farmer, grateful to CCTV. In his work, he carefully navigated the limits of satire. From "Uncle Niu’s Mission" in 1995 to "New Year Greetings" in 1998 and "Ma Dashuai," his critiques targeted low-level officials. Some thought he was too cautious, but in retrospect, his approach was as bold as possible.
In "Rural Love," the comings and goings in the mayor’s office are laid bare—scenes later echoed in documentaries like Zhou Hao’s "The Mayor." Similarly, Xie Yongqiang’s return sparks a village committee banquet, where officials drink heavily, while his father, Xie Guangkun, is excluded. This cruelty fuels Xie Guangkun’s desperation to secure an official position for his son.
Though framed as a love story, the series’ conflicts and intrigues ultimately revolve around the pursuit of political status. This obsession isn’t mere vanity but an unspoken rule governing Ivory Hill’s society. The five family heads are constantly attending meetings; marriages are strategic moves for upward mobility. Relationships like Wang Xiaomeng and Xie Yongqiang’s are laden with calculations.
Years later, Chinese youth noticed parallels between "Rural Love" and shows like "Game of Thrones" and "House of Cards"—the alliances, betrayals, and schemes had already been explored by Zhao and his team.
Compared to its creative ambition, the artistry of "Rural Love" is increasingly missed. The collaboration between Zhang Huizhong’s direction and Zhao’s performance made it one of China’s most artistically refined TV productions. Two decades on, few series match its caliber.
Scenes like Xie Guangkun driving a donkey cart or Wang Laogi making tofu felt authentic, not acted. Zhang Huizhong recalled waiting hours for the perfect sunset shot. The wedding of Zhao Yutian and Liu Ying felt like a documentary, leading viewers to praise its "human realism."
Scholars describe the series’ style as "life-flow montage," eschewing dramatic cuts or long takes in favor of arranging typical life moments like Errenzhuan routines. Many scenes deepen on reflection: when Pi Changshan swears innocence after cheating, his reflection warps like a devil; after Liu Ying’s wedding, her parents sit silently on opposite ends of the炕, a poignant image hailed as a peak of Chinese TV art.
Observant viewers noted the river at the village entrance. Its sounds mirror characters’ emotions: Xie Guangkun’s hurried steps stir the water; Wang Xiaomeng’s truck frequency reflects her business ups and downs. Wang Changgui and Xie Dajiao washing sheets together reveal their affair; Zhao Si chasing Liu Neng over the water, shot from above, is strikingly beautiful.
Twenty years ago, audiences were treated to refined storytelling.
We once thought Ivory Hill represented China. But over time, Xie Yongqiang’s role shrank until he was sidelined, even written into a wheelchair for a season. This wasn’t due to the actor’s skill but the series’ inability to resolve a real issue: how a mediocre college graduate survives in his village.
Today, he might drive for Didi or deliver food, but in 2006, he lacked farming skills and couldn’t fit in. His education didn’t improve his life. Later, it became clear he wasn’t returning to serve his hometown but because cities rejected him. His low emotional intelligence made him unfit for modern workplaces, so the script increasingly confined him to an orchard—a refuge.
After the 2011 Spring Festival Gala, Zhao gradually retreated behind the scenes. He occasionally resurfaced, like in the skit "To Help or Not," where his brief input grounded an absurd story in realism.
Interestingly, "Rural Love" was once criticized for lacking authenticity. A 2011 People’s Daily commentary dismissed it as not serious realism; Nanfeng Chuang later said it offered no insight into rural issues. But 20 years on, even such discussions are rare.
As critic Mao Jian noted, Chinese TV has become feudal: status and wealth dictate attractiveness, which in turn dictates morality and fate. "Rural Love" now floats above rural reality. In later seasons, Liu Neng dabbles in e-commerce, poverty-alleviation officials arrive, and live-streaming trends emerge. The series chases fads but feels unconvincing, watched out of habit.
The "Ivory Hill F4" can no longer depict reality, let alone deconstruct power. No one ponders how Xie Yongqiang should solve his dilemmas. For post-95s viewers, the show’s campiness offers a surreal, low-effort escape. Ivory Hill’s annual snowfalls and quarrels continue, but the mountain is no longer what it was.
When comedy becomes the only permissible language for rural narratives, truth must always be translated through laughter.
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