Needless to say, nothing like this had ever happened before—nor did it seem possible. Wars, coups, dictatorships—these, while disruptive, have been somewhat cyclical in our world. But Hollywood’s dominance in cinema? That had long been an unshakable constant.

This dominance took root in the mid-20th century, largely due to the two World Wars and various authoritarian regimes that hindered the development of film industries across Eurasia, giving the U.S. an insurmountable head start. Since then, Hollywood had remained the undisputed leader, particularly in commercial animation, which requires immense financial resources, cutting-edge technology, and an army of highly trained professionals.

Even as animation industries flourished worldwide in the 21st century, no one seriously entertained the idea of overtaking Hollywood. The numbers alone were daunting—Hollywood animated films typically cost around $150 million to produce, while European studios operate on budgets of $10 million, and Russian animated features often cost just $3-7 million. Add to that the global pull of Hollywood talent, the most advanced animation software, a well-established domestic theatrical market, and a finely tuned international distribution system—Hollywood’s animation empire seemed invincible.

But not to China. As the saying goes, patience and hard work can grind down even the toughest obstacles—especially when that hard work is carried out by a nation of 1.4 billion people. As far back as the 1990s, China set its sights on becoming a global leader in animation. Over the past three decades, it has methodically pursued this goal through massive government investment, a proliferation of film schools, the establishment of enormous animation production hubs, and stringent protectionist policies (China imposes strict quotas on foreign content, making it more profitable for local companies to produce domestic films than to distribute imported ones). Slowly but surely, the groundwork was laid.

Unsurprisingly, by about a decade ago, Chinese animated films had reached technological parity with their Hollywood counterparts. But the real challenge wasn’t technology—it was artistic appeal. To understand why, we need to revisit the Cultural Revolution, which wiped out much of China’s artistic tradition, including its animation heritage. Destroying a tradition is easy; rebuilding it, however, is a different matter entirely. As a result, despite their technical polish, Chinese animated films often felt… well, uninspired. The biggest issue was storytelling, though it didn’t stop there—character design lacked refinement, music didn’t quite hit the mark, and animated performances sometimes felt superficial.

That, however, also appeared to be a problem that time can solve. And in recent years, China has increasingly delivered high-quality animated films—such as I Am What I Am, a vibrant, emotionally powerful film with a compelling narrative about chasing dreams, sharp social moments, and breathtaking visuals.

Still, most industry watchers assumed it would take another decade before Chinese films could match Hollywood in box office returns—let alone surpass them. The idea of a Chinese animated film topping international rankings? Unthinkable.

So what makes Ne Zha 2 so exceptional? To Chinese audiences, apparently, everything.

First, the film is deeply rooted in Chinese folklore, with its protagonist being an ancient deity who protects the downtrodden—a figure with enduring popularity in China. The adventures of Ne Zha, a god-child who teases dragons, battles the Monkey King, and conquers the seas, have been the subject of countless stories. For screenwriters, this was a goldmine of material.

Second, with a production budget of $80 million (which would likely have ballooned to over $200 million under Hollywood wage structures), Ne Zha 2 serves as a grand showcase of Chinese animation’s achievements. It features an irresistibly charming protagonist, a dashing young male lead sure to win over teenage audiences, awe-inspiring dragons, an astonishing variety of fantasy creatures, jaw-dropping special effects, intricately choreographed crowd scenes, and spectacular large-scale battle sequences—all edited together with exhilarating pacing. The sheer density of visual spectacle is overwhelming—much like a Chinese banquet, where just as you marvel at one exquisite dish, three more are placed before you, leaving you breathless by the fifteenth course.

As for wide Western audiences? Perhaps not immediately, but over time, they’re likely to embrace Chinese animation, just as they did Chinese cuisine—with its bold, unexpected flavor combinations. Especially since, let’s face it, even the least discerning viewers have started to feel fatigued by Hollywood’s animated offerings, with their formulaic characters, endless sequels, and increasing tendency to soften edges for the sake of political correctness and moral instruction.

In that sense, Ne Zha 2 is anything but conventional. Its very narrative structure may be challenging for non-Chinese viewers, as it not only intertwines thousands of years of mythology with postmodern irony but also directly continues the story of Ne Zha, making prior knowledge of the first film essential for full understanding. The first film introduced the ‘Chaos Pearl,’ which threatened the world until a deity split it into two: the ‘Spirit Pearl’ and the ‘Demon Orb.’ The deity then placed a curse on the Demon Orb, ensuring it would be destroyed by heavenly lightning in three years.

Through a series of divine machinations, the Spirit Pearl gave birth to Ao Bing, a dragon prince, while the Demon Orb gave rise to Ne Zha, a human child infused with dark powers. The events of the first film culminated in both Ao Bing and Ne Zha being struck by the fated lightning bolt.

The sequel revolves around various forces trying to bring Ne Zha and Ao Bing back to life. Initially, the plan works, and both are reborn in new bodies. However, a series of mishaps leaves Ao Bing without a body, forcing both his and Ne Zha’s souls to inhabit Ne Zha’s form. Together, they embark on a celestial tournament to win a portion, that could help to restore them fully. And if that wasn’t enough, the fate of an entire city hangs in the balance, threatened by Ao Bing’s father, Ao Guang—who can only be stopped if his son is revived in time.

Complex? Oh, absolutely. Western screenwriters couldn’t dream up something like this even in their worst nightmares. And that’s without even mentioning the numerous subplots…

Sure, unraveling the political intrigues unfolding among members of the Chinese pantheon is a challenge for the dedicated, but the overall storyline isn’t hard to follow. You can easily ignore the finer details and simply enjoy the stunning fantasy, epic battles, slapstick comedy, and the many adventures of Ne Zha, who’s trying to win a competition while keeping his demonic nature a secret—something that isn’t exactly welcomed in the celestial realm.

Especially since Ne Zha himself is quite the fascinating character: a constant clash of dark and light, divine wisdom mixed with childlike curiosity, restlessness, and mischief.

In short, this spectacle of animation extravagance is well worth watching. (Given its massive success in China, it will undoubtedly be released worldwide.) And while you’re at it, perhaps it’s time to consider the broader implications of what seems like a purely industry-specific event.

Cinema is just cinema, sure, but let’s not forget that back in the early 20th century, certain revolutionary leaders had quite a bit to say about its influence on global affairs. The staggering success of Ne Zha 2 may be surprising, but it’s hardly accidental.

So, what now? Maybe it’s time to start delving into the intricacies of Chinese culture and practicing our ‘ni hao’? I don’t know about world domination (as some political analysts like to warn us), but I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if our grandchildren end up preferring Chinese animated films over all others and see Hollywood as a relic of the past.

That is—of course—assuming that, in the next few years, Atlantis doesn’t suddenly rise from the depths. Given recent events, I wouldn’t rule that out either.