Crystal Yang and the architecture of a new Hollywood economy

Hollywood rarely changes quietly. Its power structures tend to erode under pressure—strikes, technology shifts, audience migration—until a parallel system becomes too large to ignore. Over the past two years, that system has taken the form of mobile-first, globally financed mini-series: fast to produce, emotionally direct, and engineered for how audiences actually watch today. At the center of this transformation is producer Crystal Yang, an AFI-trained filmmaker whose career now unfolds at the intersection of Hollywood craft and Chinese platform economics.

Recently profiled by CCTV, China’s national broadcaster, Yang was introduced to millions of viewers as a representative of overseas Chinese producers shaping Hollywood’s emerging mini-series economy. The segment showed her on set in Los Angeles—calling cues, calibrating performances, and coordinating bilingual crews in real time. But the broadcast only captured a fragment of a much larger story: how Chinese creators in Los Angeles are no longer waiting for permission from legacy institutions, but actively building a new production infrastructure from the ground up

Revolutions start here

Yang’s path began in the most traditional way possible. Trained at the American Film Institute Conservatory, she was immersed in the classical Hollywood model: long development cycles, rigid hierarchies, and the assumption that meaningful careers move slowly toward features or prestige television. Everything about that education pointed toward patience and deference.

Yet almost immediately, Yang felt a growing internal conflict—between artistic prestige and genuine audience impact. The traditional system offered symbolic value but limited immediacy. Mini-series, by contrast, offered something radical: the ability to deploy cinematic craft inside a format that matched contemporary viewing behavior. The question was no longer whether the work looked like “real film,” but whether it actually reached people.

That tension crystallized in 2023, when Hollywood ground to a halt during the historic writers’ and actors’ strike. While legacy productions froze, a parallel sector continued moving. Short-form and mini-series—largely financed and structured by Chinese companies—maintained momentum. Capital circulated. Crews worked. Audiences stayed engaged. What initially looked like an alternative lane revealed itself as a structurally independent industry.

Craft ignites the future

In that same year, Yang and fellow AFI alumnus Sun Tianze founded 24K Onions, one of the earliest Los Angeles-based studios dedicated to overseas mini-series. Their partnership was built on complementary focus: Yang leads producing operations and crew systems, while Sun oversees creative development and post-production. Together, they stepped into a market still being defined—and began shaping its norms in real time.

The work emerging from this space differs markedly from early short-drama stereotypes. Rather than vertical, hyper-sensational content optimized purely for scrolling, many overseas Chinese productions favor horizontal framing, cinematic lighting, disciplined performances, and structured story arcs. These are short works, but they operate with the internal logic of longer-form series.

Yang’s approach is grounded in craft, but never divorced from platform reality. On mobile screens, she argues, performance precision matters more than scale. Micro-expressions, emotional clarity, and timing replace spectacle. Rather than fighting algorithmic demands, strong storytelling gives the algorithm something worth amplifying.

Ignite new perspectives

This philosophy extends to the mechanics of production. Bilingual crews compress decision-making, allowing intention to move cleanly from script to performance to camera to edit. One of the most impactful standards Yang introduced at 24K Onions is deceptively simple: emotional intent is locked before logistics. Each scene begins with a clearly defined emotional objective that shapes performance, camera language, and rhythm before schedules or shot volume are finalized. At scale, that alignment protects quality.

By 2025, industry data confirmed the scale of the shift. More than 100 Chinese-developed short-drama apps had entered the global market, generating tens of millions of overseas downloads and hundreds of millions in revenue. U.S. audiences accounted for the majority of consumption. Platforms such as ReelShort, DramaBox, and GoodShorts—created by Chinese companies—rose to the top of U.S. entertainment charts, often consumed by American viewers unaware of their origin.

Within this ecosystem, 24K Onions has produced 45 mini-series, helping establish professional standards while providing sustained work for actors and crews during a period of widespread instability. The impact extended beyond income. In a post-strike Los Angeles marked by layoffs and uncertainty, the ability to keep working carried its own form of professional dignity.

Uncover hidden power

Power dynamics have shifted alongside production volume. In the mini-series economy, Chinese producers in Los Angeles are not applicants—they are decision-makers. They design slates, hire teams, and allocate resources. Through studios like 24K Onions, they are building an infrastructure that operates independently of Hollywood’s traditional gatekeeping mechanisms.

We were fortunate to speak with Crystal Yang at length about this moment—about craft, systems, speed, and the responsibilities that come with helping define an industry as it forms.

A conversation with Crystal Yang

What inner dilemma first pushed you toward exploring Hollywood’s mini-series economy rather than the traditional feature path you trained for?I was trained for the traditional feature path, but I felt a growing tension between artistic prestige and real audience impact. Mini-series allowed me to keep cinematic craft while responding to how people actually consume stories today. It became a way to choose immediacy and connection without sacrificing intention.

When CCTV profiled you, what part of your work felt most essential for Chinese audiences to understand?What felt most essential was showing that Chinese creators can participate in global storytelling systems, not just export content. I wanted audiences to understand how we adapt narrative structure, production workflows, and emotional beats to international markets while retaining a distinctly Chinese storytelling sensibility. Going global isn’t about dilution—it’s about translation with intention.

What was the precise moment during the 2023 strike when you realized the short-form sector wasn’t a stopgap but a new industry?As a producer, the turning point was seeing capital, timelines, and labor redistribute rather than disappear. While studios stalled, short-form maintained cash flow, faster greenlights, and measurable audience returns. That’s when it became clear this wasn’t a contingency market—it was a structurally viable industry with its own economic logic.

Unseen defines potential

How did your AFI training shape—or clash with—the demands of high-volume, app-native storytelling?AFI trained me to prioritize craft: character logic, emotional turns, and visual intention. App-native storytelling often prioritizes algorithmic performance. At first those values felt at odds, but I’ve learned that strong craft doesn’t fight the algorithm—it gives the algorithm something worth amplifying.

In founding 24K Onions, what problem were you and Sun Tianze solving that no existing studio addressed?We saw a gap between creative talent and execution systems in the global short-form space. Stories were traveling, but production logic wasn’t. Existing studios either understood content or scale, rarely both across cultures. 24K Onions was built to bridge that gap.

What element of Hollywood craft translates most powerfully into the global mobile-first format?Performance precision. On mobile screens, there’s nowhere to hide. Micro-expressions, timing, and emotional clarity carry more weight than spectacle.

How do bilingual crews change the rhythm and decision-making flow on set?They compress decision-making because intention doesn’t get lost in translation. Adjustments happen in real time rather than through hierarchy or delay.

What technical standard you introduced at 24K Onions has had the greatest impact on quality?Locking emotional intent before locking logistics. Every scene has a defined emotional objective that informs performance, camera language, and edit rhythm before we finalize schedules or shot volume.

When global platforms forecast audiences in the hundreds of millions, what metric actually matters to you on set?Whether a scene earns the next minute of attention. Retention isn’t created by scale or spend—it’s built through clarity of stakes, emotional payoff, and pacing decisions made in real time.

What structural advantage do Chinese producers currently have in the U.S. short-form market?Systems thinking. Speed, iteration, and scale are already embedded in how we work. It’s not just efficiency—it’s a different production logic.

How has building 45 mini-series reshaped your long-term artistic ambitions?It stripped away any illusion about scale being the source of meaning. It sharpened my focus on emotional precision, audience rhythm, and decision clarity—skills that now define my ambitions regardless of format.

Yang’s long-term goals still include feature filmmaking, rooted in the discipline of her AFI training. But her current focus is pragmatic and strategic: strengthening an ecosystem that already sustains careers, redistributes power, and connects Chinese creators to global audiences at unprecedented scale.

What emerged from necessity during a period of industry paralysis has become a durable model. Within that model, Crystal Yang is not waiting for the old system to reopen. She is actively shaping the next one—defining how stories are made, who gets to make them, and how Hollywood itself continues to evolve.