The Victory Recalled - By Ron Nguyen

The following essay was submitted to me by a reader of this blog. If anybody else out there has any stories related to Southeast Asia's movie theaters they'd like to share, feel free to send them along. sea.theater@hotmail.com
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I remember going to the Rap Victory (Vietnamese, like Thai, puts the name after the establishment, “rap” meaning “theater”) in District 5 to see Chinese swordfight movies – “wuxia” I believe is the term for this film genre – those were the pre-kung fu era movies that featured swordfights and wirework, churned out like clockwork by the Shaw Brothers Studios. (Actually this was the beginning of the Golden Harvest Studios’ reign, which burst through the silver screen with “The Big Boss,” the debut feature of the kung fu movie legend known as Bruce Lee.) Rap Victory’s birth certificate also cited a Vietnamese name: for those who couldn’t pronounce “Victory” it was called Rap “Le Ngoc” (“Crystal & Diamonds”- possibly a wishful allusion to the grander state of affairs befitting an opera house?) In the press or advertisements it always went by “Victory Le Ngoc.” Maybe there was a chandelier or two hanging in its foyer? Memories fail me at this point.

I was still in junior high, which dated Rap Victory back to late 1960’s. Come to think of it the theater predated even the 1968 Tet Offensive, the turning point of the (North vs. South) Vietnam War, because I recall the fiery hubris of this tense period making reference to its location as a landmark, District 5 being one of the few districts in the city that saw troops engaging in direct combat. On the northern end of the same district, where my family lived, the Hotel Victory (no relation to the theater) which served as an American GI’s barrack was blown up one night one block away from our house.

I was glad to see from your blog that the theater still exists and even thrives (as of 2010) I might say, even though back in the days, the motorcycles had a proper “parking lot” (Saigon/HCMC has always been a two-wheeled vehicle town), a covered alley to one side of the theater, as opposed to being kept right there in the lobby. Maybe the new government was fond of the name “Victory,” therefore allowed the theater during the early postwar years to keep its doors open – and its name intact, albeit under a more apt Vietnamese translation: “Toan Thang” means total victory. (Had it not been for its new indigenous name I would not have recognized the place.) This is an indicative aspect of the war’s house-clearing aftermath because most names belonging to the former regime, names of streets, establishments, and institutions whether they ideologically stuck out like a sore thumb or not were summarily changed, or shall I say, eradicated. 

The Thang Long Cinema - Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam

Renovated and illuminated shimmers the Thang Long Cinema. For the past year, a crisp metal paneling has covered the original facade, deceptively masking the theater's true age. By one account, this three-screen stand-alone dates back to the early 1960's, when Saigon was ruled by the iron-fisted, but ill-fated regime of Ngo Dinh Diem: John F. Kennedy's wrong answer to Ho Chi Minh. Diem, a repressive dictator with not much in the way of mass appeal, met an assassin's bullet less than a month before Kennedy did, while less than two years later the United States embarked on the most wanton and protracted war of the 20th century. The rest is...

Miraculously, the Thang Long Cinema survived the carnage of war and now, given its recent renovations, appears to be sticking it out through the carnage of a fast moving economy: a potentially equally devastating fate if you're an old building. Saigon Movies Media has bucked the trend, however. The small, locally-owned theater chain/movie distributor poured a ton of money into the Thang Long as a means of bringing it up to date. The investment seems to be paying off. While shooting the place, a few dozen motorcyclists pulled up on the sidewalk to check the show times from two high-def TV screens mounted above the door. Can't do that in a shopping mall! But more to the point, people were buying tickets.

Young couples left agonizing traffic to examine movie schedules

"What time does Avatar start?"

Looking down from the upper level over the lobby all shiny and new.

Ticket queue

There wasn't enough time to see a movie at the Thang Long, but that didn't stop me from thoroughly enjoying my visit. It was kind of cool to see all those people jump the curb on their motorbikes to check out the show times. And even though the new facade is a bit uninspired by my tastes, at least they're trying. Hopefully the material is mounted so that it can some day be removed without harming the original structure.

That also wraps up my series of raps from HCMC. Needless to say, there's a lot that I didn't get around to. Ho Chin Minh City deserves a much longer commitment that the 6 or 7 days I spent there. The place is vast.

I'll leave you with a short piece from the Saigon Times about the future growth of movie theaters in Vietnam:

More cinemas in coming years

Vietnam now has around 86 million people but there are only about ten cinemas which meet international standards, most in Hanoi and HCMC. The film industry has decided to open more cinemas to meet the high demands and interests of customers who are mostly between 15 and 30 years old.

Hall told the Daily, “Megastar’s plan is to find new locations in Hanoi and HCMC to open in 2011, 2012 and 2013. We already have a number of sites in mind. We will also carefully watch the performance of our 3D cinemas in Megastar Hung Vuong Plaza and Megastar Vincom City Tower to determine if we should add more 3D screens to these and other Megastar locations in future.”

Anh Loan of Saigon Movies Media said her company this year would open four new film centers in District 1 and 3. Galaxy in April will inaugurate Galaxy Tan Binh in Bau Cat, Tan Binh Distrcit, Khanh Tung told the Daily.

Thang Long = Flying Dragon

(Many thanks to Dang, An Nhien and Cherry for their time, generosity and valuable insights into Saigonese ways)

Former movie theater - Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam

Nothing too exciting here, but an anecdote worthy of record all the same. Ho Chi Minh City has lots of live theaters. To what this is attributable, I do not know. It's probably as simple as people like the performing arts. Maybe the Ministry of Culture promotes it. Whatever it is, this phenomenon has resulted in the recent conversion of this building from movie theater to live theater. A loss in kind which I'll mourn any day.

Movie ads still adorn the upper exterior this former movie theater despite its recent conversion to a play house.

Posters for live shows and a refuge

A slightly 1980's-style decor enlivens the lobby.

In spite of my personal preference for movies over plays, it was interesting all the same to see so many theaters dedicated to live performance throughout HCMC.

A local resident and movie theater sympathizer, Cherry (pictured above), very graciously guided us to this building, one of her former neighborhood raps.

Toan Thang Cinema - Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam

Previously on the SEA Movie Theater Project, your humble narrator was driven from a Saigonese rap by lascivious goons out for unlawful carnal knowledge. Having escaped unharmed, I was determined to find a praiseworthy theater somewhere in the maze of Saigon. The Toan Thang Cinema offered just that. Or close enough, anyway.

A constant stream of motorbikes roll past the Toan Thang Cinema

On April 30th, 1975, after battling American firepower for the ten years prior, North and South Vietnam were reunited into one. America's war of attrition and the Republican regime they backed in the South turned out to be no match for the resilience and staying power of Uncle Ho and his guerrilla fighters. Soon after this seminal date, Saigon was renamed Ho Chi Minh City and a one party communist government took helm of the country's political apparatus. For ten years to come Vietnam was closed to all foreign entities aside from its most trusted communist allies, as antebellum reconstruction began in haste. Among the new additions to the southern metropolis during this era was the Toan Thang Cinema - a 4-screen movie theater in the city's 5th District with a name aptly meaning "Victory." Ladies and gentleman, the Victory Rap.

To the best of my knowledge (which is limited) the Toan Thang is one of the few remaining rap in the city built during the post-war years which hasn't fallen into disrepair or disrepute. In conversation with one of the employees, however, I learned of the dismal fate this svelte neighborhood stand-alone will face. The Toan Thang is owned by Saigon Movies Media, a local theater chain now in the process of divesting itself of a few of its aging picture houses, presumably with an eye to cash in on the rising value of the land they stand on. Just last month, for instance, the company tore down its centrally located Vinh Quang Cinema. A day late and a camera short! But on a brighter note, some of SMM's other theaters have recently undergone complete makeovers, giving them the dual aesthetic of brand-new and ugly-as-sin: a sure shot way of making a burgeoning middle class feel moneyed. Well, at least those theaters will survive, though it doesn't make up for the fact that a 1970's classic like the Toan Thang will likely fall prey to the steel dragon.

Employees of the Toan Thang Cinema pose in the lobby. The woman's name is Thuy, the theater's de facto English language spokesperson.

Motorbikes parked in the lobby

Ticket booth

A friendly young employee poses stoically beside snacks.

Twin-seaters and a blue screen

A late afternoon showing of the inferior Whiteout was the only logical option for non-speakers of Vietnamese like myself and my comrade. We bought our tickets and were sent up to rap #4 on the second level, where American R&B was playing over the Dolby prior to the movie. A positive sign greeted us: the auditorium was clean, or so it seemed in the dim light. Our gnarly debut experience with a Saigonese rap bred suspicion in us both. Assurance of safety was in order before settling in. All was clear, though. The only other patrons were three teenage couples, squeezing up close in the two-seater chairs comprising the center section. Apparently Vietnamese theater owners of yore were cognizant that installing seats designed for couples would be a good way to increase revenue. "Where else are young people supposed to get busy in a city as crowded as Saigon," noted my friend. It was true! As soon as the reel started spinning, a young couple two rows in front of us locked faces and stayed that way for the better part of the film. Perhaps this was the innocent origins of the deviant theater we'd visited the day before? But then again, maybe this one wasn't so innocent either.

Having seen Whiteout once already, I took advantage of the extra big seats in my own devious little way by stretching out for a nap. Indeed, a nap in a rap that will soon live only in teenage memory of fast times and first dates.

A young couple leaves the Toan Thang after two hours of love in a movie theater.

The Toan Thang Cinema at night, looking very swanky all lit up.

Victory!

Unknown movie theater - Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam

There's more to come from the Thai hinterlands, but I'm itching to show off my rather limited batch of images from Vietnam first. Lets cut to the chase then, while the memories are still warm and vivid. It's time for something fresh in an oh-so stale kind of way.

Sad to say, but nearly a full week in HCMC made for sparse finds in the realm of old movie theaters, or "rap" as they're known in the indigenous tongue. Word has it, however, that in spite of my unsuccess, Saigon (as I'll refer to Ho Chi Minh City from here on) is home to dozens of such cinematic relics in one guise or another. The one featured below was in a busy market in Cholon - Saigon's version of Chinatown. Traffic in this area of town, be it pedestrian or motorized, is dense. Go figure, it's Chinatown. Home to the continuous hustle of new comer migrants in search of some bread. Using hand gestures and my non-existent Vietnamese I asked a young market worker if this was a theater. Negative. But how could she know? It's likely been closed since before she was born. At closer inspection, the word "rap" is painted on an old sign above what was once probably a poster case. I can spot a rap from a mile away.

The day before I'd found a similar old rap in another part of town. Out-dated, hand-painted movie posters tacked to the wall around the building's entrance indicated as much. When I saw the door was ajar, with middle-aged men drinking black iced-coffee in the little vestibule of a lobby, my excitement grew. It's open, I thought. What luck.

Now, at this sophomoric juncture in my career as "The Projectionist," I am well aware of what out-dated movie posters on the grounds of a functioning movie theater mean. It's code, generally, that deviant activities can be found inside. Deviance is fine with me. A natural part of human society, even. Not part of my own social repertoire, of course, but well documented and serving an important role in maintaining organic balance. I've been a casual observer on prior occasions, so it's no longer new to me. In short, there's really no need to go into these types of places any more.

Curiosity killed the cat.

It's one thing to put myself in bizarre situations, but better judgment is in order when accompanied by others. The other, in this case, agreed before hand to come along on some Saigon theater hunts. Good fun. "Hey look! There's a crusty looking old theater across the street, lets check it out."

One of the men seated in the vestibule lobby stood up. "Cinema?" I inquired.

"Ugh, cinema, cinema" he replied. He put up two fingers, indicating the entrance fee of twenty-thousand Dong.

"Don't be surprised if this isn't what it seems," I warned my friend before being ushered through the doors into pitch blackness. Only the rectangular glow of yonder screen breached the dark. We felt blindly around for seats until someone pointed a flashlight at two that were free. We sat, separated by an aisle. The screen ahead was showing something. What, I do not know. The auditorium was triangulated and we were at the far tip. The screen was in the distance. Creaking seats and the shuffle of flip-flops caused my ears to twitch, while the smell of pissed-in water made my esophagus contract. Bodies were closing in. I could not see them, but they were there in the blackness surrounding. Focus on the movie, admire the peculiar shape of the auditorium. Collect your stupid data, numb nuts. But be on guard. You're not in Thailand any more. You're in 'Nam, and you can't hold a conversation in this language.

Somebody was sitting on the armrest of my seat. I could not see the person, but it was there. Hands fell on me. On my leg, on my back, on my shoulders. Multiple hands. Time to end the research. "No, no, nooooooooooo," I exclaimed, in incrementally rising tones. I stood up and pushed through the blackness, past the sex zombies. "Lets get out of here, man," I said to my friend, who - as he later told me - sat tense, but unmolested. A vertical line of light announced the door. Frantically, I pushed, but it would not open. We were trapped. Open, you piece of shit! Open the hell up! Maybe try pulling. Genius. I tugged and the door swung in. Golden sunlight swaddled us. The stern-faced ticket seller sitting in the vestibule lobby grabbed our ticket stubs and shredded them as we ran past him. The busy streets never looked so good before in my life.

A few days later I set out again in search of this vile old theater, hoping to take some pictures of its exterior. The exterior! But I could not find it. The route we took to get there had slipped my memory. I'm sure it was just off Nguyen Trai Street, but it was nowhere to be found. It's as if it were a portal, now vanished, sent by the minions of hell to seize nosey movie theater interlopers; a demonic mirage which left no trace of its existence after its failed mission.

To be sure, the photos of the unknown rap pictured above were as close as I came to that one.