Why didn't anyone believe ten years ago that a stage comedy could support a 40 billion yuan box office?

A veteran from the film industry, who has experienced the rise and fall of the domestic film market over fifteen years, shares his firsthand account of the cycle from capital frenzy to chaos.
Ten years ago, making a crappy comedy filled with internet memes was an extremely low-threshold way for cross-industry capital to launder money and make quick cash. As long as you attracted investment and included two popular stars, hitting a billion yuan in weekend box office was as easy as taking candy from a baby.
At that time, Happy Mahua was a fringe team earning a meager living in small theaters. Even with the sudden success of "Charlotte's Troubles," top directors and leading film companies in Beijing only saw it as a carnival of vulgarity in the sinking market.
Vulgar content bordering on obscenity and exploiting physiological flaws could be easily monetized if you had enough nerve. Poorly made projects by crossover hosts or second-tier actors could effortlessly rake in billions from the theaters, swindling naive investors.
Back then, young fresh-faced celebrities with little more than green screen skills and no lines to memorize could earn hundreds of millions in sky-high salaries. The industry cared little about whether the movies reflected the confusion and frustration of ordinary people; what mattered was the fake hype generated by fans.
It was the era of big internet companies pouring hundreds of billions of hot money into land grabs for major IPs. Betting agreements were everywhere, and capital blindly threw money into productions. The industry’s unwritten rule was that bad money drove out good.
Now, the survival environment has long drained the last bit of energy from young people. No one is willing to spend money to watch preachy, condescending, and pretentious films in theaters anymore.
Ten years ago, the mainstream film industry looked down on comedy as “cheap laughter unworthy of high art,” but today, it has become the only profitable moat in China’s 40 billion yuan film market.
What was once dismissed as “silly improvisation” is now a rare emotional value that’s hard to reach. In these weary times, investors who can’t secure Shen Teng’s schedule are out of the game altogether. Those who do manage to get a piece of "Flying Past 3" cling tightly to its coattails, praying that this rare “gentleness and decency” can give the entire industry another year of life.