Chen Sicheng’s (陈思诚) suspense thriller Malice (恶意) has ignited nationwide discourse with its unflinching critique of digital-age morality. Starring Zhang Xiaofei (张小斐) and Zhang Zixian (张子贤) as former allies turned ideological foes, the film dissects China’s obsession with viral content through a high-stakes ethical duel.
Since its July 5 release, Malice has defied industry expectations—grossing nearly ¥200 million ($27.5M) amid fierce competition. Its Sunday-to-Monday box office surge, overtaking Hollywood blockbusters Jurassic World: Rebirth and F1: The Movie (F1：狂飙飞车), signals resonant storytelling. Central to its impact is a pivotal showdown where journalist Ye Pan (Zhang Xiaofei) denounces media mogul Xiao Baoqian’s (Zhang Zixian) ruthless tactics: "Stop acting like wolves—why not be human?" This confrontation crystallizes the film’s thesis: Truth cannot coexist with click-driven sensationalism.
Journalistic Integrity Versus Viral Hunger
The film’s explosive "Bottom Line Clash" scene exposes journalism’s moral decay. When Xiao Baoqian’s (萧保乾) company deliberately leaks ICU footage of cancer-stricken mother You Qian (尤茜)—framing her as a child murderer—Ye Pan (叶攀) storms his headquarters during a blackout. Their argument escalates as Xiao justifies manipulating tragedy for traffic, declaring "public interest" a facade for profit. Zhang Xiaofei’s controlled fury contrasts Zhang Zixian’s smug pragmatism, embodying China’s real-world debates about media responsibility.
Director Lai Mukuan (来牧宽) frames their confrontation in oppressive shadows, visualising ethical suffocation. As Xiao boasts about controlling narratives through "dog-bite-dog" tactics, Ye’s retort—"We’re humans, not beasts"—draws audible audience gashes in screenings nationwide. This sequence masterfully mirrors actual scandals where Chinese influencers monetise suffering, from manipulated livestreams to fabricated viral stories.
Industry analysts credit the scene’s authenticity to Zhang Xiaofei’s layered performance. Having transitioned from comedy to drama after Hi, Mom (2021), she portrays Ye’s disillusionment through micro-expressions: a trembling jawline when recalling their friendship, dead-eyed resolve when severing ties. Her climactic exit—slamming Xiao’s "truth is irrelevant" manifesto into a trash bin—resonates as 2025’s definitive cinematic moment on moral courage.
Audience Outcry
As the unjustly vilified mother You Qian, Mei Ting (梅婷) delivers career-defining anguish. Her character’s grief—first over daughter Jingjing’s (Yang Enyou) death, then her public demonisation—becomes the film’s emotional anchor. In a recent China Film Report interview, Mei revealed filming left her "physically drained and psychologically fractured," particularly during You Qian’s hospital vigil scenes. "Playing a mother betrayed by the world required accessing places in my heart I avoid," she confessed.
Mei’s collaboration with young co-star Yang Enyou (杨恩又) amplified their on-screen bond. Off-camera, the actresses shared secrets and drawings, forging a trust visible in their tender chemotherapy scenes. When Jingjing whispers "I’m scared, Mama" before her final coma, Mei’s silent tear—captured in a single unbroken take—has become the film’s most viral GIF. Critics highlight how her restrained collapse after the character’s suicide attempt contrasts typical melodrama: "Mei makes devastation feel intimate, not performative," noted The Beijing News.
Audience reactions underscore her impact. Social media floods with viewers documenting tear-stained masks, while hashtags like #MaliceCatharsis trended for 72 hours. Many cancer survivors credit the film with validating their isolation in China’s stigma-heavy healthcare culture. This grassroots response propelled Malice’s box office resilience, proving substantive storytelling outlasts empty spectacles.
Beyond Suspense
Malice’s commercial triumph stems from synthesizing genre thrills with societal introspection. Unlike Chen Sicheng’s Detective Chinatown (唐人街侦探) franchise, this thriller weaponizes realism: surveillance footage aesthetics and WeChat message overlays immerse viewers in China’s digitally mediated reality. The plot’s central mystery—did You Qian kill her daughter?—becomes secondary to examining how speculation becomes "truth" via hashtags and paid commentators.
Audience metrics reveal unprecedented demographic reach. Over 42% of viewers are aged 18–25—a cohort typically favoring Hollywood imports—while post-screening surveys show 89% discussed media ethics afterward. Douban scores stabilized at 8.4/10, with reviews praising its "nerve-scraping relevance." As one viewer wrote: "It’s not about solving a crime, but diagnosing our complicity in viral violence."
Industry impact is already measurable. Three major studios greenlit projects about internet governance since Malice’s release, while legislators cited it during debates on livestreaming regulations. With China’s online rumor penalties tightening this August, the film’s timing proves prophetic. As Zhang Zixian’s character asserts, "Traffic is the new law,"Malice counters: Without humanity, such power becomes tyranny. Its ¥200 million gross isn’t just revenue—it’s a referendum.
