Jia Zhangke, a film director known for his art-house productions, plans to build cinemas for the genre to better serve the needs of art-loving youths. Provided to China Daily

A famed auteur has announced plans to dip his toes into the film industry infrastructure and should be applauded for blazing the trail.

Beijing wants to be a magnet for vibrant arts. But art-house films can hardly find a place that can be called their own. MOMA Broadway Cinematheque, about 15 minutes northeast of the Dongzhimen hub, is about the only place in town where movies high on art and low on mass appeal are consistently highlighted.

Jia Zhangke is determined to change that.

The auteur of such seminal works as Xiao Wu and Still Life recently announced on his micro blog that he is scouting for a location to build an art-house cinema. Well, he has a grand plan to build 100 of these venues nationwide, but he is starting with one in the capital city. "I looked around the east part of town. Hope to better serve the needs of art-loving youths," he tweeted on March 11.

Specifically, Jia's movie house will have 100 seats and he won't have the pressure of paying rent and can show whatever he wants because he will own it. Other filmmakers like He Ping and Wang Xiaoshuai chimed in and wished him luck.

It is something of a wonder that a metropolis of 20 million people does not have a place to showcase movies that do not include car chases or massive explosions. For one thing, MOMA Broadway also relies on a big slate of so-called blockbusters to fill its seats. For another, one cannot really fault the exhibitors for having a tunnel vision on profits.

They have created an industry phenomenon called "one-day tour", meaning a new release is given a screening for one day, and if it does not gain traction during that short window it will be yanked. And very often, the time of day reserved for such art fare is the early show. Movies without a sizeable marketing budget or a starry cast are often relegated to this dead-end slot, amounting to a quick euthanasia.

In 2006, Jia's Still Life happened to crash into Zhang Yimou's Curse of the Golden Flower with its release date. Having a foreboding of doom, Jia lashed out at the market dominance of those mindless costume epics that left little room for the survival of his socially conscious and Golden Lion-winning elegy for the migrants of Yangtze River.

Jia got a lot of sympathy, but little support in the form of ticket buyers. Audiences flocked to Zhang's palace drama that offered dazzling swordplay and mind-boggling double crossing. One cinema owner presented a special screening of Still Life when Jia arrived to plug his movie, but removed it as soon as the director departed.

You cannot blame the capitalists for seeing nothing but hard cash.

Sadder still is a force more lethal than the effects-laden competition that I suspect is at the core of the quagmire of art-house fare. And that is piracy. If you care to read online revelations, you'll notice that people tend to freeload more for Jia's kind of movies than Zhang's. The former does not rely as heavily on the surround sound, large screen and popcorn for maximum pleasure.

Moreover, if you study the few small-budget releases (relatively speaking) that had greater-than-expected box-office turnouts, you can pinpoint the things that made them exceptions rather than rules. Buddha Mountain had Fan Bingbing, and Love for Life had Zhang Ziyi - both marquee names who relentlessly promoted their respective films with almost 100 public appearances nationwide, guaranteeing media exposure that would otherwise not be available for these kind of offerings. Love is Not Blind was the rare urban comedy that truly clicked with the public to the extent that word of mouth snowballed in its favor.

Deep in the Cloud, after winning major awards at the Shanghai International Film Festival and rave reviews from a few critics, including yours truly, opted for a totally unconventional approach: It did not release any discs, not even for promotion, and then started an extremely limited engagement at MOMA Broadway, with one or two shows per week. My media friends went berserk. They searched every nook and crook of cyberspace but could not find a trace of it. No wonder every show is packed and it is still playing.

There are several ways art films can survive or thrive in China. The first is government support. The government levies a 5-percent tax on box-office receipts. Why not use it to help movies that are not competitive commercially but beneficial socially? Easier still, the government can waive the tax for movies with medium or small budgets.

Stars who command astronomical salaries can sponsor worthwhile projects by underwriting or at least not charging the usual fee for artistically meaningful films. Andy Lau has been a role model in this respect. A Simple Life, his most recent effort, which he partially funds and in which he also stars, is about the last days of an old maid and offers a fascinating contrast with The Help, the ensemble piece about a bunch of civil rights-era black maids. It is Chinese ethics brought vividly to life.

The third element is innovation of the distribution platform. A theatrical release is the holy grail that every filmmaker craves for, but even in Western countries art-house cinema is proving more and more difficult to sustain. It requires a geological concentration of likeminded cineastes. In this day and age, Internet distribution could be a viable option if fee collection is no obstacle. Maybe a subscription system can be experimented with?

For the collective viewing experience, which lies at the heart of movie-going, venues other than cinemas may prove to be equally attractive, such as coffee houses or museums. A movie screening can be part of a total experience that includes a live discussion, an exhibition, a book reading or even behavioral art in the form of scene recreations. If these high-minded films have limited appeal, why not make them high added-valued as well?

A friend of mine has just renovated the vast underground of the China Millennium Monument. It'll be called the Museum of Digital Arts. With three small movie theaters, she intends to turn it into a hotbed of art films.

"I'll not show a single commercial film," declares Chen Caiyun. "It'll be a mecca for film fans who demand the best. And we have a large display area for materials that compliment the movies shown, and the movies will include short films and documentaries."

If enough people are willing to leave behind their habit of watching bootlegged movies, perhaps many of these venues and business models will go off well. And Beijing will one day resemble New York in the richness and diversity of film culture, however remotely.