How a Two-Person Team Cleared China's Theatrical Approval Process
A decorator with no film background and his mother spent three years on paperwork and five on animation to get Niu Lai into cinemas. Here is how China's approval system actually works.
The Niu Lai story is usually told through two numbers: the 7,169 yuan earned in its first nine days, and the tens of millions that followed once the internet turned the Chinese animated film into a national joke. A third question gets far less attention, and it may be the most practical one for independent filmmakers: how did a two-person team with no industry background get a theatrical release permit at all?
The answer, according to reporting by Chinese business media, says a lot about how film approval actually works in China, and about the gap between what regulators check and what audiences expect.
The paper trail
Public records show the film followed the standard route. The screenplay was registered for filing in 2021. In 2024, the project passed both content review and technical review under the National Film Administration and received its public screening permit — the document required before any commercial release in the country.
The production company behind it was hardly a show business veteran. Corporate registration data indicates that the producer, Dalian Jingyuan Culture Film and Media, had operated until 2021 as a decoration and renovation firm. That year it changed its business scope and name to enter the film industry. Its registered capital was 100,000 yuan, and social insurance records listed exactly one employee. The director, Xin Yumeng, handled modeling, animation, editing, production, and the male voice performances. His mother, Sun Lifang, wrote the script, performed the female voices, and sang the closing song. The film runs 86 minutes.
What the technical check actually looks at
Several industry professionals explained the review process in comments to Chinese media. The technical inspection, they said, focuses on whether a film can be projected safely and reliably. Checkers look for broken frames, audio-video desynchronization, long black-screen stretches, and similar playback faults. The craft quality of the animation is not a scoring category. If the content itself complies with regulations and the paperwork is complete, the permit is issued.
That distinction matters. The approval system answers one question — whether a film is fit for public projection — and leaves a different question, whether anyone will enjoy it, to the market. Niu Lai passed the first test with no trouble. The second test initially went badly, with empty seats for over a week, and then went absurdly well, once clips of its stiff models and glitchy scenes became comedy material online.
The people around the film tried to stop it
One detail from the reporting deserves more attention than it received. According to a distribution insider quoted by Chinese media, people who watched the finished film advised the director against releasing it theatrically at all. He went ahead anyway. In a separate account published by a business outlet, his stated reason was simple: the film had finally been made, and he wanted to finish what he started.
The reception at one university screening, as reported by the same outlet, added a warmer footnote. After the film ended, students stood and applauded for several minutes, and the director reportedly answered with one line: "Thanks. My mom can sleep a full night tonight."
Two different gates
None of this means the review process rewards rough craftsmanship, and it would be wrong to read the story as a loophole-finding exercise. The system appears to have functioned as designed: a compliant film with complete paperwork got its permit, the market then delivered its own verdict in two stages — first indifference, then a strange kind of fame.
For independent creators, the useful takeaway is procedural. Filing the script early, allowing a year or more for the two reviews, and budgeting for technical compliance are all separate tasks from making the film good. Niu Lai spent five years on the animation and roughly three on the paperwork, and needed both to reach a single cinema seat. The viral moment that turned it into a phenomenon was luck. The seat itself was process.
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Sources: This article draws on corporate registration databases, Chinese business media, and entertainment industry reporting compiled as of October 2026. Figures and names are presented as reported, not independently verified.