The Min Thiha Cinema - Katha, Sagaing Region, Myanmar

In the book Burmese Days, George Orwell's account of colonial life in backwater Burma is set in a little town called Kyauktada, which is a fictionalized Katha. The latter is where Orwell spent a year serving the British empire as a cop, and where he compiled most of the rotten little details that he ultimately knit together into his literary classic. 

Katha is remote as far as Burmese towns go; well off the beaten path at the far eastern edge of Sagaing region. To the north from Mandalay it's either a two day boat trip, an 11 hour train ride or a nauseating drive over an ill-paved road. All to get to a little town which, while not for want of charms, is also a dime a dozen in provincial Burma. But the Orwell connection has pull. It serves as a conduit for the trickle of foreign tourists - mostly literary minded types - who make the arduous journey. They come to soak up the atmosphere that Orwell populated with his jingoists and "natives;" to glimpse the sites he described in such intimately cynical detail. The dusty streets lined with teak wood cottages; the shabby little European Club, where all the bitching and moaning of home-sick colonials was centered; the little Anglican church set up by missionaries; the police station and of course the actual home that Orwell resided in while there. I shared a brutal slog of a ride over a washed out road in the back of pick-up truck from the train station in Naba over the mountains to Katha on the night I arrived with two middle aged English travelers who were inspired to make the trip after reading Emma Larkin's  Finding Orwell in a Burmese Teashop. Theirs was a case of literary tourism to the second power and proof that old George still holds currency all these decades later. 

What the tourists don't come to Katha for - and probably never even take note of while sauntering around the sweet little city - is the old movie theater right in the heart of it. That seems to be the preserve of your humble narrator alone. 

The Min Thiha Cinema - a low-slung arcade fronted building. 

The Min Thiha in streetscape perspective

Katha is a typical upcountry town that it is compact. Easy to navigate on foot at a leisurely pace. After many years of exploring such towns I can practically find the theater with my eyes closed. Setting out on foot, I make my way to the central market. If the theater still exists chances are it can be found within a few blocks of here. Next is to spot an oblong structure with few if any windows. Maybe a cobweb covered ticket window consisting of a pair of holes just large enough for a hand to be put through. Once you've found this building chances are you've found the old theater.  

Typically I make a beeline for the theater the first chance I get. But at Katha I made a detour to the riverfront hoping to get a feel for the town's geography from water's edge on out. At dawn, from a few select angles, the Katha waterfront has an alien - almost Dalian quality to it. The dry season drought exposes much of the Irrawaddy riverbed, leaving the current to shape the sandy bottom into all manner of terraqueous designs. 

View of the Irrawaddy from the Katha banks

After an hour of taking in the riverscape, I set out on an exploratory walk through town, confident that I would bump into the old theater without asking a single person for directions. And so it was. First contact with the Min Thiha Cinema was made - after a few cups of hot tea - at about 9am. 

The Min Thiha is an arcade fronted movie hall. A fairly common architectural style among mid-century Burmese movie theaters. The façade of the building consists of a large portico with a series of arch ways. This elongated type of frontage corresponds to the length of the auditorium, rather than its rear - the more common design among stand-alone movie theaters. It allows for crowds to exit faster and more efficiently thanks to a series of doors at the end of the rows. It does away with any annoying bottlenecks when patrons are leaving the theater.  

Tables set up for noodles and other goodies across from the Min Thiha Cinema

Directly across the street from the Min Thiha Cinema is a little noodle stand with a few wooden tables to sit and eat at. I took a seat at one, ordered myself a bowl of khauk swe thoke, scarfed it down and then merrily pressed the vendors in my piss poor Burmese about adjacent picture house. Apparently my pronunciation in Burmese of a few certain phrases is impeccable. "Does this town have an old cinema? Is that an old movie theater? I love old movie theaters," etc. Beyond that I can say next to nothing. But the exactitude with which I speak these few lines leads people to believe, at first, that I'm fluent in Burmese. The reply I get is typically incomprehensible to me. This time was no exception. 

After a bit of hand signaling and light pleading on my part, a key was produced and the theater doors flung open for me to explore the interior. 

Nothing was left within the Min Thiha. The auditorium floor had been cleared of all seating, much of it having been piled up on the stage in front of the screen. The only noteworthy architectural element was the concrete balustrade at the balcony level. 

All the seating at the Min Thiha has been tossed into a pile on the stage.

I wish I had dug up some juicy morsels about the Min Thiha that would connect it directly to George Orwell. How nice it would have been to learn of some Orwellian folklore regarding the place: 'George Orwell watches a Charlie Chaplin at the Min Thiha.' 'George Orwell breaks up a fight at the Min Thiha.' 'George Orwell apprehends a thief at the Min Thiha.' 'George Orwell defuses a bomb at the Min Thiha.' But no such legends exist. Chiefly because the Min Thiha didn't exist while Orwell, then still known by his birth name Eric Blair, was in town. Orwell, or Blair, lived in Katha from 1926 to 1927. Locals dated the Min Thiha to 1956 or so. 

Whether or not there was a theater in Katha in Orwell's days is open for conjecture. If there was, it's reasonable to assume that he frequented it. It would have made for an ideal distraction from the heat and malaise of everyday life. In the book Burmese Days there is a single mention of "cinemas," but it doesn't confirm whether or not there was one in Kyauktada. Possibly Orwell omitted it from the story as a means of making the place seem less "civilized."

On the same street as the Min Thiha, about fifty meters away, the shell of a much older theater stands, now serving as a motorcycle garage. I wasn't able to get any information at all about that place, but the few shots of it that I have will be the subject of a future post.

The Orwellian connection to Katha didn't amount to many fluent English speakers either. Nobody who could deliver any interesting facts about the Min Thiha. On my last day in town I ran into an inn keeper who was fluent, but by that time I was itching to get on the road. Other theaters in other towns were waiting. 

One of the receptionists at the hotel I stayed at, a native of Katha, did mention that the Min Thiha was soon going to be renovated and returned to a life of movie screenings. Given the trend throughout Burma to renovate old movie halls, this isn't all that surprising. My only hope is that the renovation job honors the original design as much as possible.  

A Route to Myanmar's Movie Theaters

For the third consecutive year, ye olde Myanmar map will be put to good use.  From my starting line in Yangon, I plan on moving in a northwesterly direction up through Western Bago and then zig-zag  my way across Magwe, Mandalay and Sagaing Regions. Barring any holdups, the survey should end in either Myitkyina, Bhamo or Kalay before heading back down to Yangon by the 21st of February. I will try to squeeze in as many towns and their respective movie theaters as possible in a northerly race against a three-week time limit.

First stretch of the theater hunt. 

Dry Zone theater hunt route

Upper Myanmar theater hunt route

If all goes as planned I will get severely ill - possibly from food poisoning - lose some weight I can ill afford to lose, and maybe suffer a burn or two during this expedition. I will get diarrhea. Dehydration will get me once or twice. I will vomit. The civilian informants and local gendarmes who chased me out of Natmauk - General Aung San's birthplace - and Thandwingyi in 2011 will have hopefully found more useful things to do. I am bracing myself for the inevitable night at a flea bag hotel with mosquitoes, bed bugs and/or carpet beetles. I am bracing myself for the inevitable town with no hotel at all, or no licence to host foreigners. Strange skin irritations will come as no surprise. In the Dry Zone cities, I am prepared mentally to have a few unpleasant encounters with raging ethno-nationalists. I will try not to drink too much Myanmar Beer. I will forget to exercise. Loneliness followed by bouts of mild depression will creep up on me. I will photograph lots of old movie theaters. In the end, barring catastrophe, I will be smitten with Myanmar as usual.

You can follow me on Instagram and Facebook which I will be updating regularly while on this survey.

The Myoma Cinema - Ye-U, Sagaing Region, Myanmar

World War II history buffs, here's one that you might appreciate. 

Shortly after the Japanese invasion of Burma in 1942, the bucolic little burg of Ye-u in Sagaing Region got caught up in the ravages of war. The town's freshly minted Myoma Cinema was commandeered by the occupiers and put to use for nefarious purposes. Specifically, a subterranean chamber was built beneath the auditorium, which, according to the current owner, was used as some sort of prison/torture chamber by the Japanese. 

As far fetched as that may sound, that's what I was told. This unassuming, timber framed cinema hall, with brick nog walls and a gabled roof, more akin to a country cottage than anything else, had a dungeon below it. And it's still there, according to the current owner. 

The ever-humble Myoma Cinema, looking very much like a country cottage, holds a dark secret below its floors.

Beautiful brick flooring, exposed trusses and tree trunks for structural supports.

A Gaumont Kalee 12 projector, dating to 1939, still stands in the Myoma Cinema's wooden projection booth.

A portrait on the wall of the projection room depicting the wife of the original owner.

The humble sign board for the Myoma (Central) Cinema hangs unassumingly beneath metal eaves.  

Wooden bench seats.

 A cursory search for information on the internet doesn't yield much about any instances of Ye-U in World War II. The most significant thing I could find was that it was, and indeed still is, the terminal town of the Mandalay-Ye-U train line, which was bombed during the war. Needless to say there is zero information about a movie theater serving as a torture chamber or prison for the Japanese occupiers. 

The fact that the current owner of the theater, who was otherwise extremely accommodating, spoke no English, nor I any Burmese, didn't help things. Had communications between us been better I might have gotten access to the alleged chamber below. The only way I was able to find out about the nefarious crypt in the first place was to record the woman talking about the theater and then replay it for some bilingual friends when I got back to Yangon. Had I known about it when I was there, you can be sure that I'd have asked for access.

Maybe I'll follow up, with a translator, during my upcoming theater survey in February.  

The Win Cinema - Shwebo, Sagaing Region, Myanmar

One can be excused for not noticing the Win Cinema, as it looks more like a house than a movie theater. The humble neighborhood cinema hall - the last one operating in Shwebo - blends in to its residential block like a lizard on a leaf. None of the telltale features of movie theater architecture, whether the Burmese variety or otherwise, announce its presence. Aside from its name, unassumingly molded onto the peak of the facade, only the large vinyl movie billboard festooned to its front betrays the silver screen that lies beyond. 

Beyond that it basically looks like a home. 

The ever humble and slightly Tudor-esque Win Cinema.

Simple signage on The Win Cinema

A stroll down the side alley to the left of the building, however, reveals its movie theater organs. Here is where the show begins, where the ticket window, concession stands, poster cases and the like usher the movie goer into a world of escape. This demure little chasm has been, since 1963, Shwebo's entrance to the other.   

Smiling faces behind the ticket window

View of the side of The Win

Concessions

Ticket taker at the Win Cinema casually awaits customers while enjoying a cigarette and surfing the web.

Living time capsules like the Win Cinema are fast disappearing from Myanmar's towns and cities. This is no big surprise. In the past few years, Myanmar society has arguably changed faster than it has in any other similar time frame in its history.

In general, the technological and social changes which sweep relics like The Win into the dust bin of history are silent, rendering the loss little noticed. To the average person going about their daily lives focused on work, family, education, etc - the loss doesn't register until well after the fact. Suddenly, somehow, something causes us to think about it, we do the mental math and calculate how and why the thing disappeared. We come to conclusions - "it was nice while it lasted, but things are better the way they are now," or " life would be better if we still had that thing around." Either way the thing becomes an object of history, a morsel of legend to be bequeathed to next of kin and future generations, if it is remembered at all. 

Woven bamboo ceilings, exposed wooden truss beams and teak wood seats are some of the memorable details of The Win Cinema's very homey auditorium. If ever there was a theater that had the coziness of a house, it's The Win.  

Stickers on the backs of chairs.

Whether or not anybody will ever lament the loss of a little neighborhood movie theater that looks more like a house, with a woven bamboo ceiling pierced by exposed wooded trusses, is yet to be seen. In March of 2016 it was still up and running, but how much longer it can remain so is the question. If it were to close down, it's doubtful that many folks in little Shwebo would think too hard about it. Most people might not even notice. In fact, a place like The Win would close simply because the people who were once regulars stopped coming, choosing to watch movies in more immediate formats.

Only in hindsight will the loss be noticed. 

Projectionists manning the carbon-arc two-reel projectors, technology in place since the 1960's.

But for now The Win Cinema carries on, a living relic of a recent past. Maybe as the world changes, the equation will rework itself favorably to The Win, and instead of a destiny of darkness, if will get a second wind and live on.

It's nice to have these places around.

The Win Cinema at night

The King Cinema - Shwebo, Sagaing Region, Myanmar

"There has to be that interval of neglect, there has to be discontinuity; it is religiously and artistically essential. That is what I mean when I refer to the necessity for ruins: ruins provide the incentive for restoration, and for a return to origins."

 - J.B. Jackson, Historian of Vernacular Architecture.

The definition of a "ruin" referred to in the above quote may not be applicable in the case of Shwebo's King Cinema. Ruinous aspects certainly do apply, but most of those are in appearance only. While no longer an operational movie theater, the building is still very much alive. 

 "King Cinema," written in English, molded onto the back side of the theater.

The front of the King Cinema, with its colonnaded veranda.

The King's worn down look combined with architectural aesthetics that have long been relegated to antiquity do suggest a ruin. Case in point, the entrance area. As with many older cinemas in Myanmar, entrance to the auditorium is accessed through a series of wooden doors situated along the length of the theater. In the case of the King, those doors are set back behind a colonnade, giving the structure an almost regal look, reflective of its name, perhaps. 

So while not exactly a ruin in the traditional sense, The King Cinema's neglected vintage makes it a vessel for what J.B. Jackson would call "religiously and artistically essential." Fascinating, to put it simply. 

The area behind the colonnade is now used as a staging ground for sacks of dried beans. 

For the past 15 years or so, The King Cinema has been serving as a warehouse for a nut and bean distributor. Sacks of legumes awaiting export occupy space that once held rows of benches and beholden cinema goers.

Some interesting architectural details include exposed truss beams and tree trunks for wall supports. 

Old wooden chairs of the King Cinema, piled up high to make space for storage.

A man working in for the nut and bean dealer shows off some the goods. 

Workers empty sacks of raw beans into a huge pile on a tarp. Once the pile is big enough the tarp will be tied off and put into a container for shipping.

Tree trunk wall supports and other stuff.

The King Cinema was built in 1951.