Man on the Street is a regular series where we talk to someone doing an everyday job, in order to gain insight into the lives of normal Chinese people.
We see him from a distance – well groomed but chubby for a man of his age. He’s standing just outside Wangfujing shopping plaza, cradling a 2-month-old between pudgy arms. Years of ducking into underground parking garages have turned his gaze stern, though his eyes instantly soften upon talk of a good comedy or war drama.
“These are new,” he mutters, handing us a stack of Hollywood releases and passing his baby to a band of loquacious taitais.
Mr. Huang, who declined to provide his first name, has set up shop (or two cardboard boxes stuffed with pirated discs) in Dongshankou every night for the past 10 years. In China, a decade of consistency means locals start to consider you a friend. Unfortunately for Huang, most nightly visitors seek him out for a chat, not DVDs, making it difficult to turn a profit.
“It gets worse every year,” he sighs, with a hint of closure in his tone. “People blame the Internet for affecting our market, but that’s not the biggest problem. Think about it: two of China’s richest people are Ma Yun of Alibaba and Wang Jianlin, who’s made a fortune with brick-and-mortar businesses. Ma hasn’t taken Wang out of business yet… the two aren’t in direct competition.”
“Before, local officials weren’t spending their own money. They could care less where it ended up. But people today aren’t willing to waste RMB100 on movies.”
Huang attributes poor DVD sales to changing consumer preferences. It’s more popular, he says, to spend money on traveling than cheap films to watch at home. Ten years ago, Guangzhou was bustling with families out and about on long holidays and weekends. Now, almost everyone leaves the city during the Chinese New Year and National Day. Weekends see fewer sales than weekday nights.
“Then you have the crackdown on corruption,” Huang continues. “Before, local officials weren’t spending their own money. They could care less where it ended up. But people today aren’t willing to waste RMB100 on movies.”
Huang’s high-definition discs aren’t cheap by pirated standards. Regular DVDs sell for RMB15 each, while Blu-rays are priced at RMB25. Bulky CD collections and television dramas start at RMB40. That’s significantly more than what it costs to access unlimited media on Baidu or iQiyi.com, a film-streaming site.
READ MORE: Man on the Street: Street Barber
When pirating first began in the 80s, media was physically blocked at the Chinese border. Films and music couldn’t magically transcend security checks on the wings of VPNs or stealthy Netflix accounts. Movies were purchased in Hong Kong, which had access to international classics and sensual flicks, copied and sold on the mainland. Purchasing physical videocassettes, and later DVDs, was the only way to enjoy foreign titles banned from Chinese theaters.
In the 10 years he’s been in the business, Huang has never traveled to Hong Kong. He obtains prohibited media with the click of a button or a call to a source. It takes only four to five days after a Hollywood film is released in the US for it to find a place in Huang’s cardboard box by the side of the road. Translations are fuzzy, but more or less understandable.
As we come across a few intriguing plotlines – No Escape and Johnny Depp’s Black Mass – it starts to rain. Huang swiftly closes the folds of each box and turns to retrieve his newborn from the grasp of an ogling ayi.
“I’ll probably try the food industry next,” he murmurs, tucking 30 kuai into the pocket of his sweatpants and heading towards the nearest parking garage.
THE DIRTY DETAILS
Monthly salary: RMB3,400+
Days per week: 7
Hours per day: 6
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