jia

SUNNYVALE, Calif. — A young woman is desperate to raise $50,000 for her mom’s life-saving medical treatment. She will get the money, but only if she agrees to her stepsister’s unusual proposal: to marry her wayward fiance, who comes from a wealthy family but also has a rap sheet.

That’s the plot line for an episode of “The Double Life of My Billionaire Husband.”

That may sound like a telenovela. In fact, it’s a popular series that appears on ReelShort, an app where audiences can view on their smartphones over-the-top, dramatic tales reminiscent of soap operas called micro dramas.

Unlike a regular TV show, this drama unfolds over 60 episodes, each lasting one to three minutes. After six episodes, viewers hit the paywall, where they could continue watching ad-free with a $20 weekly subscription, watch ads or pay as they go.

Already, the series has garnered more than 494 million views since it launched in 2022 and ReelShort says it has made more than $4 million from the show.

With titles like “The Billionaire Sex Addict and His Therapist,” “How to Tame a Silver Fox” and “Pregnant by My Ex’s Dad,” micro dramas lean heavily into sensationalism and light on budgets, which are typically less than $300,000 per series. And many of them are filmed in Los Angeles.

Director and co-writer Cate Fogarty watches actor Diego Escobar on dual vertical monitors. The film, by platform DramaShorts, is shot vertically to be adapted for viewing on a phone screen.

(Juliana Yamada/Los Angeles Times)

Short serialized dramas first took off in China, where they are hugely popular and generated revenues of $6.9 billion last year, even surpassing domestic box office sales, according to DataEye, a Shenzhen-based digital research firm.

Now, Hollywood is starting to take note of the bite-sized format.

In August, the venture arm for Lloyd Braun — the former ABC executive and chairman of talent agency WME — and L.A.-based entertainment studio Cineverse formed a joint venture called MicroCo to build a platform for micro dramas.

“Traditional Hollywood moved away from a whole genre and storytelling that fans love, and I think micro dramas really took advantage of that and really leaned into that fandom,” said Susan Rovner, chief content officer of MicroCo.

Studio interest

Major studios are investing in micro dramas in an attempt to replicate China’s success and find new ways to appeal to younger audiences that are accustomed to watching short-form videos on TikTok, YouTube, Instagram and other platforms while on the go.

Fox Entertainment recently announced an equity stake in Ukraine-based Holywater, a producer of micro dramas. Under the deal, Fox Entertainment Studios (a division of Fox Entertainment) will produce more than 200 vertical video titles over the next two years for Holywater.

And Walt Disney Co.’s accelerator program, which invests in startups, recently named micro drama business DramaBox, whose parent company is based in Singapore, as part of its 2025 class.

David Min, Walt Disney Co.’s vice president of innovation, said he believes micro dramas will continue to do well, especially with younger audiences accustomed to watching entertainment on their phones.

“We have to be where everyone is consuming their content, so that’s an opportunity for us,” Min said in an interview. “…This is just another new platform to experiment with and explore and see if it’s right for the company.”

First assistant director Chakameh Marandi, left, and actress Leah Eckardt wait during filming at Heritage Props last month in Burbank.

(Juliana Yamada/Los Angeles Times)

This year, ReelShort, which is based in Sunnyvale, Calif., says it will produce more than 400 shows, up from 150 last year.

All of the productions are filmed in the U.S. and mostly in Los Angeles, said ReelShort CEO Joey Jia in an interview. The company plans to build a studio in Culver City that will adapt its most popular micro dramas into films.

“We offer a lot of opportunity,” Jia said.

Warsaw-based DramaShorts said in 2026 it aims to shoot 120 micro drama projects in the U.S., up from 45 to 50 this year. About 25% of those will be in the L.A. area.

DramaShorts co-founder Leo Ovdiienko says, “People are so used to consume content through social media, through TikTok, through Instagram, through Facebook and to share information.” .

(Juliana Yamada/Los Angeles Times)

“People are so used to consume content through social media, through TikTok, through Instagram, through Facebook and to share information,” said DramaShorts co-founder and Chief Operating Officer Leo Ovdiienko, 29, in an interview. “I believe it’s only a matter of time before the big players will also come to this stage.”

The company works with production partners in L.A. who employ actors, writers and crew members who work on the quick-turn projects, a bright spot in a struggling job market.

“The plus side of filming in L.A. is it is the epicenter of Hollywood,” said executive producer, writer and director Chrissie De Guzman, who has worked on DramaShorts projects. “We know how the state of our industry is doing right now, so a lot of talent have moved into the vertical space.”

Though vertical dramas are the length of a movie, they are spliced up into small chapters and produced quickly. A 100-page script might be shot in just one week as opposed to a month for a feature film.

Each chapter usually features a cliffhanger or dramatic moment — whether that’s a slap or a character in danger.

“It just hits every little emotional point,” said Caroline Ingeborn, chief operating officer at Palo Alto-based Luma AI, which provides micro drama companies with AI tools. “It hooks you in like this and because it’s so easy to press [Play]. You just need to see the next episode.”

The crew of vertical film “Sleeping Princess” break between scenes.

(Juliana Yamada/Los Angeles Times)

Labor tensions

With ultra-low budgets, many of the productions are non-union, prompting some writers and actors to work under pseudonyms to avoid facing sanctions from their unions, said several people who work on the shows.

In an effort to address the issue, performers union SAG-AFTRA recently announced it has created agreements that cover low-budget vertical dramas.

Writers Guild of America West President Michele Mulroney said in an interview the union is aware that “there are companies that are trying to do this work non-union, so the guild wants to help our members … in ways that they can work on verticals and make sure they get that work covered.”

Micro drama producers said they welcome talking with the unions, but questioned whether their business models could support union contracts.

“We’re not anti-union at all,” said Erik Heintz, executive producer at Snow Story Productions, which makes vertical dramas for platforms including DramaShorts.

Despite labor tensions, these short-form dramas have provided a key source of employment for Hollywood workers who’ve struggled to find jobs as production has moved out of California.

Corey Gibbons, 44, a director of photography, said vertical dramas kept him in the business when other work dried up.

“I have a feeling that we’re on the brink of something that’s really going to change,” Gibbons said. “I’m just excited to be a part of it.”

So was 27-year-old actor Sam Nejad, a former contestant on “The Bachelorette” who started acting in vertical dramas in January. He said he’s landed one or two lead roles a month since then and can earn $10,000 a week.

“It’s a new art,” Nejad said. “The new Tarantinos, the new Scorseses are all coming through this.”

ReelShort’s office in Sunnyvale looks more like a typical Silicon Valley startup than a Hollywood studio.

Jia, the chief executive, sits at a desk in an open floor seating area with his staff. Along the office walls are framed posters with titles like “Prince With Benefits,” “Never Divorce a Secret Billionaire Heiress” and “All the Wrong Reasons.” Jia proudly points out why each program was notable on a recent tour of the space.

“I don’t have money to hire celebrities,” Jia said. “I have 100% rely on story.”

The 46-year-old entrepreneur, who has an electrical engineering background, launched his business in 2022. At the time, there wasn’t much interest from Hollywood studios.

The skepticism followed the high-profile collapse of Quibi, the startup led by studio mogul Jeffrey Katzenberg and tech executive Meg Whitman, that worked with A-list movie stars on series that would appear on an app in short chapters. Quibi raised $1.75 billion, only to shut down roughly six months after launching.

Jia took a different approach. Rather than signing expensive deals with celebrities, he hired students or recent graduates from colleges like USC to work at his company.

Jia approves all of the micro drama stories at ReelShort, which he says is expected to generate $1 billion in revenue this year.

A ReelShort representative declined to disclose the company’s earnings but said the business is profitable.

Jia said ReelShort has 70 million monthly active users, with 10% of them paid users.

The churn — the rate at which customers drop weekly subscriptions — can be more than 50% at ReelShort, Jia said. That makes it paramount for the company to have a steady stream of content that entices customers to keep paying. Currently it has more than 400 in-house titles and roughly 1,000 licensed titles.

Like others in the genre, ReelShort and DramaShorts rely heavily on data metrics like customer retention and paid subscribers to make their content decisions.

“A lot of directors are thinking, when I shoot the film, ‘I don’t care how people think, this is my creation, it’s my story,’” Jia said. “No, it’s not your story. Your success… should be determined by the people.”

Dispatches from northern China, Jia Zhangke’s movies constitute their own cinematic universe. Repeatedly returning to themes of globalization and alienation, the 55-year-old director has meticulously chronicled his country’s uneasy plunge into the 21st century as rampant industrialization risks deadening those left behind.

But his latest drama, “Caught by the Tides,” which opens at the Frida Cinema today, presents a bold, reflexive remix of his preoccupations. Drawing from nearly 25 years of footage, including images from his most acclaimed films, Jia has crafted a poignant new story with an assist from fragments of old tales. He has always been interested in how the weight of time bears down on his characters — now his actors age in front of our eyes.

When “Caught by the Tides” premiered at last year’s Cannes Film Festival, critics leaned on a handy, if somewhat inaccurate, comparison to describe Jia’s achievement: “Boyhood,” which followed a young actor over the course of 12 years, a new segment of the picture shot annually. But Richard Linklater preplanned his magnum opus. Jia, on the other hand, approached his film more accidentally, using the pandemic shutdown as an excuse to revisit his own archives.

“It struck me that the footage had no linear, cause-and-effect pattern,” Jia explained in a director’s statement. “Instead, there was a more complex relationship, not unlike something from quantum physics, in which the direction of life is influenced and ultimately determined by variable factors that are hard to pinpoint.”

The result is a story in three chapters, each one subtly building emotionally from the last. In the first, it is 2001, as Qiaoqiao (Zhao Tao) lives in Datong, where she dates Bin (Li Zhubin). Early on, Qiaoqiao gleefully sings with friends, but it will be the last time we hear her voice. It’s a testament to Zhao’s arresting performance that many viewers may not notice her silence. She’s so present even without speaking, her alert eyes taking in everything, her understated reactions expressing plenty.

Young and with her whole life ahead of her, Qiaoqiao longs to be a singer, but her future is short-circuited by Bin’s text announcing that he’s leaving to seek better financial opportunities elsewhere. He promises to send word once he’s established himself, but we suspect she may never see this restless, callous schemer again. Not long after, Bin ghosts Qiaoqiao, prompting her to journey after him.

“Caught by the Tides” richly rewards viewers familiar with Jia’s filmography with scenes and outtakes from his earlier movies. Zhao, who in real life married Jia more than a decade ago, has been a highlight of his movies starting with his 2000 breakthrough “Platform,” and so when we see Qiaoqiao at the start of “Caught by the Tides,” we’re actually watching footage shot around that time. (Jia’s 2002 drama “Unknown Pleasures” starred Zhao as a budding singer named Qiaoqiao. Li also appeared in “Unknown Pleasures,” as well as subsequent Jia pictures.)

But the uninitiated shouldn’t feel intimidated to begin their Jia immersion here. Those new to his work will easily discern the film’s older footage, some of it captured on grainy DV cameras, while newer material boasts the elegant, widescreen compositions that have become his specialty. “Caught by the Tides” serves as a handy primer on Jia’s fascination with China’s political, cultural and economic evolution, amplifying those dependable themes with the benefit of working across a larger canvas of a quarter-century.

Still, by the time Qiaoqiao traverses the Yangtze River near the Three Gorges Dam — a controversial construction project that imperiled local small towns and provided the backdrop for Jia’s 2006 film “Still Life” — the director’s fans may feel a bittersweet sense of déjà vu. We have been here before, reminded of his earlier characters who similarly struggled to find love and purpose.

The film’s second chapter, which takes place during 2006, highlights Qiaoqiao’s romantic despair and, separately, Bin’s growing desperation to make a name for himself. (This isn’t the first Jia drama in which characters dabble in criminal activity.) By the time we arrive at the finale, set during the age of COVID anxiety, their inevitable reunion results in a moving resolution, one that suggests the ebb and flow of desire but, also, the passage of time’s inexorable erosion of individuals and nations.

Indeed, it’s not just Zhao and Li who look different by the end of “Caught by the Tides” but Shanxi Province itself — now a place of modern supermarkets, sculpted walkways and robots. Unchecked technological advancement is no longer a distant threat to China but a clear and present danger, dispassionately gobbling up communities, jobs and Qiaoqiao’s and Bin’s dreams. When these two former lovers see each other again, a lifetime having passed on screen, they don’t need words. In this beautiful summation work, Jia has said it all.