The surprise in Mingala's concessions

Movie theater concessions get scarce mention here on the SEA Movie Theater Project. It's a topic which I generally don't pay much attention to, especially since I seldom snack when at the movies. For those with a yen to know, movie concessions in Thai theaters are more or less the same as in American theaters: unremarkable from a documentary stand-point. American pop-culture, spawn of American-style capitalism, has, after all, been a factor in Thailand for decades. Myanmar theaters, on the other hand, much like Myanmar society at large, lack the stamp of Americana. There are a few exceptions, however.

In all 7 of the Mingala-operated theaters in Yangon and Mandalay you can purchase - among other snackables - little plastic bags of caramel-coated popcorn at the concession stands. For all intents and purposes, these movie theater goodies approximate good old fashioned Cracker Jacks®, minus the classic rectangular box. One might be led to believe that Mingala was even trying to mimic this American junk food staple in their cinema halls.

On one a trip to the Nay Pyi Daw Cinema, I broke with my stoic ways and binged on a bag of these so-called Burmese Cracker Jacks. Munching through, sweetness caressing my taste buds, fingers tips a sticky mess, I reached bag's bottom only to come in contact with a foreign object. Maybe one of those little preservative packets that are in some snack foods, I guessed.

Gingerly pinching it between my digits, I withdrew the mystery object to reveal a little black packet stapled shut at one end. Black Tar, I wondered? China White? Nah, who would be so sinister? Then it dawned on me: this was truly a Burmese version of Cracker Jacks, complete with prize and all.

I removed the staple and withdrew my prize, eager to learn what knick-knacks are dispensed from the Burmese version of an American classic. It was a neatly folded piece of paper - crisp and new.

The little piece of paper unfolded into a brand new 100 Kyat note, an amount equivalent to roughly ten American cents. Considering that the bag of caramel-coated popcorn cost me 250 Kyat, I was curiously pleased to get 40 percent back on my purchase.

A few days later I asked some locals about my prize. Was this a usual thing or had I just gotten lucky? Apparently all denominations of Myanmar money can be won in these snacks, up to 1000 Kyat notes. Buying one is essentially like playing the lottery.

Myanmar might have lots of serious problems, but their version of Cracker Jacks is not one of them.

On a side note, movie theaters frequently earn the largest portions of their profit from concession sales.

The Hla Thiri Cinema - Minbu, Magwe Division, Myanmar

There have been a few instances when the search for the stand-alone has led me to places the likes of which are wholly unfamiliar. Where little, if nothing, resonates with my known world. Not sites, not sounds, not much of anything. Notwithstanding the uniqueness of each locale, with its specific geography and myths, artifacts of human invention - at least one of which, should luck prevail, is a movie theater to document - there are times when a given port of call simply feels more removed than usual. At least from my world view. On this second round of research in Myanmar, the first such place was Minbu - where the familiar had gone on holiday.

Minbu sits on the west bank of the Irrawaddy River, several kilometers up and across from the larger city of Magwe - the eponymous division capital. What's visible of Magwe Division from the scant and poorly maintained highways that cross it gives the impression of a desert: flat and dry, blistering hot, the vast majority of its forest cover having long been given over to agriculture, a variety of which is best summed up by the term "to scratch out a living." This is the heartland of the Burman; the central lowlands, where the hierarchy of a civilization has some of its oldest roots and most abject poverty.

Sitting on the west bank of the Irrawaddy, where the mighty estuary spans three miles from bank to bank, Minbu approaches a lost frontier town. From the looks of it, an economy once built on riparian commerce has dried up, evidenced by a waterfront neighborhood that seems to have had zero commercial investment for quite some time. Almost no permanent structures stand in the river zones. Brick and mortar are the rare exception rather than the norm. Instead, houses of wood and bamboo abound, shaded beneath palm and teak trees more typical of the semi-bucolic outskirts of town rather than what is normally the economic core. A new truss bridge stretching across the river is key to the waterfront's stagnation. The road, joining bridge with town, has supplanted the waterfront as the place for investment. All along road's edge new shops and warehouses have sprung up, adapting the economy from river transport to land.

Yet deep in the heart of the old waterfront districts, a relic from more prosperous times remains. One of the few non-timber structures in the area, the abandoned Hla Thiri Cinema.

Having found the Hla Thiri, I like to believe that I now know how Henri Mouhot felt stumbling upon Angkor Wat in the pulsing jungles of Cambodia. A long forgotten temple, marker of a waned civilization, collapsed. Hemmed in by tea shacks on both sides, in an area where wood and bamboo are the predominant building materials, the Hla Thiri towers with divine emptiness.

Concrete back drop to a wooden community: the Hla Thiri Cinema.

The care taker's wife observes in the front yard of the Hla Thiri.

Within a few minutes of my lurking, a diminutive man emerged from the theater. He eyed me suspiciously, keeping his distance, sizing me up. I quickly recognized that he was the Hla Thiri's caretaker, or I as prefer to say, "theatersmith:" men who spend their lives economically, psychologically and residentially attached to the movie houses they look after. In Myanmar, such men have a number of characteristics in common, the most obvious being their small stature. Tiny men with hearts of gold. Quasimotos of the cinema hall. Almost every stand-alone theater in the country has one.

Once his suspicions were allayed, he did what any good theatersmith would do when presented with a guest: he gave me the grand tour.

Come inside!

The first sight to greet my eyes inside this cavernous old theater, with pillars of wood supporting the roof and rows of wooden benches pressed tightly together in the center, was the absence of its far wall. Of all the cataclysmic sights to behold!

With the help of a seasoned translator, the Hla Thiri's devoted theatersmith told all about his crumbling abode.

Rows of wooden benches remain despite the missing wall.

The collapsed wall, we learned, was a recent event. During 2010's rainy season, the Irrawaddy River burst its banks, flooding much of Minbu's low-lying neighborhoods. Water reached as far as the old cinema hall, though no immediately visible damage was incurred. A few months later, at 2PM on a cloudless day, while the said theatersmith was tending to some task on the theater grounds, a loud rumble was heard, followed by a crash. The back wall of the Hla Thiri was gone. In an instant, the townsfolk of Minbu were devoid of cinema hall, and a theatersmith's life stood a perforated wreck.

Looking towards rear of the auditorium. In the far left corner you can see the walls of the theatersmith's little apartment. The ceiling, you may notice, is made of woven strips of bamboo.

Despite his loss, our dear theatersmith seemed in fairly decent spirits. Along with his wife, he continued to live in a back corner of the auditorium, sheets of plywood used to cordon off a small apartment. His meager possessions and a tiny salary provided by the theater company sustain him. He was clearly elated that two people, foreigners no less, would take an interest in something he knew more about than anybody else on the planet. Without batting an eye, he went on about the Hla Thiri's origins and how he came to be its resident worker.

The builder and first owner of the Hla Thiri Cinema, he claimed, was an man of Indian origins, remembered best for his movie-star good looks. He built the Hla Thiri in 1959 as the first permanent cinema hall in Minbu. It's economic success, however, meant very little in the face of political trauma. The owner fled the country following the military coup of 1962, leaving his beloved cinema hall to become a state asset. Soon thereafter, the theatersmith took his first job at the theater as a ticket taker, and the rest is history.

Though out of business due to the collapse of its back wall, the Hla Thiri is once again in private hands, having been purchased from the Ministry of Information's Myanmar Motion Picture Enterprise five or six years ago. The current owners operate another two theaters in Magwe Division; one in Taungdwingyi and one in Namauk - birthplace of independence hero Bogyoke Aung San. Whether or not the Hla Thiri will ever open again is not clear.

The Hla Thiri's loyal theatersmith, standing on the balcony of his long-time home and workplace.

Our conversation with the theatersmith ended abruptly with the arrival of two higher-ups from the theater company. These two were visibly nervous at our presence, shifty-eyed and fidgety despite the assurances of my translator friend that we were merely there to admire the building. Apparently word had reached the main office that two foreigners were seen entering the abandoned cinema and they had gone to investigate. Nothing happened, but we were silently urged to leave, a stark reminder of the general paranoia gripping parts of Myanmar. Magwe Division, for the most part lacking in tourist attractions, was particularly tense in this regard.

We slipped the theatersmith a thousand Kyat note as a token of our appreciation and made our way out, eventually finding a place to stay across the river in Magwe City.

The peak of the Hla Thiri Cinema's facade.

And now a word about my translator:

From Shan State onwards, the bulk of land I crossed came at the behest of a good friend and stellar linguist. Her skills not only gave an immeasurable boost to this project in terms of information gathering, but enabled me to go places that I would have otherwise never given a moment's thought to. One of the preeminent Burmese speakers from the West, in possession of a nuanced understanding of Myanmar; a debt of gratitude is owed to San San Pwit (that's her Burmonym), who opened my eyes to a Myanmar that foreigners seldom get to see. Had it not been for her, a visit to Minbu and the ruinous Hla Thiri Cinema would not have happened.

Hla Thiri means "Noble Beauty."

The Yadana Cinema - Kalaw, Shan State, Myanmar

From bustling Taunggyi we traveled westwards, toward the edge of the Shan Plateau. Our destination was Kalaw, the second of the old British Burma hill station towns, where we held out hope for a colonial-era cinema hall or two.

More of a glorified village than anything else, Kalaw sits cupped within a high mountain valley flanked by pine tree-covered peaks. Like Pyin Oo Lwin, Kalaw was originally established as a British military outpost on the Shan frontier. But as the threat of insurrection on the Shan Plateau waned, Kalaw developed into a hot season retreat for British officialdom, as well as a market town along the Taunggyi train line. The surrounding hills, populated by an ethno-linguistic spectrum that includes Pa-O, Danu, Shan and Palaung, compliments a town of equally diverse composition. Where ever in Burma the British settled so grew communities from other colonies in the British Empire. Indians, Pakistanis, Bengalis, Nepalis established themselves in various crafts and services along side British-run resource extraction industries. Some of the migrants came to work as laborers in the industries themselves. One lifelong Kalaw resident spoke of nearby villages settled by ethnic Turks recruited by the British in the early 20th century to build the railroad. For all its physical smallness, Kalaw is one of the more culturally assorted places in Myanmar, if not all of Southeast Asia.

An operating cinema, however, it does not have. The remnants of two mark the low density city scape, but none can be said to provide entertainment any longer. The elder of the two cinemas, despite its lengthy stint of cessation and minimal external evidence of its former self, is quite a gem. Its name, Yadana, even translates as such.

January was apparently the wrong time of year to try to photograph the former Yadana Cinema, as direct sunlight never graced its north-facing facade.

Front door to the erstwhile Yadana, now a drinking pub called "Mr. Thumb's."

Kalaw's kaleidoscopic diversity helped spawn the Yadana Cinema, built in 1953 by a Persian Zoroaster businessman. Touted as a much admired denizen of Kalaw, with business acumen to match, the cinema showman left town and country shortly after the military coup and subsequent nationalization of movie theaters in 1962, settling with his family in Canada. During our visit, several of his daughters, now elderly women, made a trip to their birthplace for the first time since leaving. A stopover at the old family cinema hall was made, but we were unfortunately not able to arrange a meeting.

In the plasterwork just below the crown, Yadana can be seen spelled out in Burmese script. Below that, the barely visible romanized spelling of Yadana Cinema Hall has been chipped away.

Wood framed windows

A former cinema lobby-turned-dive bar.

What was once the lobby of the Yadana Cinema is now a drinking pub called Mr. Thumb's - a veritable dive specializing in Premiere League football broadcast via satellite. I spent an hour or so there nursing a Myanmar Beer, trying to pick out details of the cinema's former self. The only obvious leftover is a plaster molding on the wall reading Yadana, above which is the outline of poster box. One can only imagine the colorful movie posters tacked in that space during the 1950's, and the intrigue they must have inspired in the residents of this relatively remote outpost.

Plaster molding on the wall reading "Yadana" below where movie posters were once hung. The sign in the corner of the photo reads "To all partons: please do not rinse your mouth and spit it back in to beer mugs."

Yadana

Side door to auditorium

The front half of the Yadana might bear scant evidence of its former self, but step into the back and the old auditorium will leave you with no doubts. Unused save for an annual New Years party held by Mr. Thumb, the auditorium of the Yadana is a blast from the past. It's not hard to imagine packed houses on chilly Kalaw nights, with captivated crowds, their myriad tongues collectively silenced by a spectacle unlike any other.

A bare auditorium at Yadana Cinema

During my brief furlough in Kalaw, I had the good fortune of meeting a lifelong native who has since taken up the mantle of social activist for the surrounding rural communities. As a young man in the 1950's this local notable was a regular at the Yadana. Jogging his long memory yielded vivid recollections of the film fair of his youth: Elia Kazan's "East of Eden," Cecil B. DeMille's "The 10 Commandments" and the epic "Ben Hur," directed by William Wyler, among others, all came to mind. Such forms nostalgia will be absent from today's generation of Kalaw youth as they reach their twilight years.

Another blow to the silver screen

There's a pile of things I've been meaning to post about, but lack the time to do so. Naturally, this site being what it is, most of the said topics relate to movie theaters. The most relevant, however, does not relate directly to the rapturous stand-alones of Southeast Asia, even though in some places and certain cases parallels do abound. We turn instead to the halls of corporate Hollywood, against which the directorial elite are up in arms over the future of movie-going.

About a month ago, four Hollywood studios began negotiations with a cable television provider to make new releases available on-demand shortly after their theatrical debuts. Such a move, argue some of Hollywood's top filmmakers, would have adverse affects for the movie industry across the board.

If the deal goes through, the latest in film could be accessed via Video On-Demand television a mere two months after hitting the big screen, further undercutting the profits of already-hurting movie theaters, many of which recently doled out large sums to buy 3D-capable projection systems.

But its the demise of the movie-going experience which most worries the likes of James Cameron, Peter Jackson and twelve other Hollywood heavyweights whom have spoken out against their corporate employers. Economics aside, there is no better way to view a movie than on the silver screen, the way the medium was developed. The arbitrary undermining of this practice would further diminish one the modern eras richest social practices.

At least one Hollywood producer has suggested that the only way to rationally get around this impasse would be for the studios to start investing in their own movie theaters. Doing so would guarantee larger box-office returns for the huge conglomerates by overturning anti-trust legislation passed over 60 years ago in the case the United States Vs. Paramount Pictures (filed originally by Philadelphia's own William Goldman Theater Co.). The landmark case forced Hollywood studios to sell off their theater holdings, thus opening the door for smaller exhibitors to show the latest goods from Tinseltown. It was a genuine instance of FDR-style Trust Busting finding application in the cinema.

What all this means for movies and movie theaters throughout Southeast Asia is yet to be seen. Likely each country will experience different effects depending on the profusion of Hollywood movies into the local market. That is, if anything happens at all. Regrettably, the SEA Movie Theater Project places little faith in the corporate world of modern motion pictures to do right by anybody other than themselves.

Day of the Theatersmiths: a 2011 May Day special

On this, the first day of May 2011, the SEA Movie Theater Project shines the spotlight not on the glorious stand-alone cinema halls of Southeast Asia, but on the workers who make them run. If not for these silent toilers, whose time and effort is dedicated to the leisure of others, life would be sorely lacking. Here are some of the theatersmiths I ran into during my travels over the past year.

The ticket taker at the Nakorn Non Rama, in Nonthaburi, Thailand. He's been there for over 20 years.

The projectionist at the Win Cinema, Toungoo, Myanmar.

The assistant manager at Mandalay's Myoma Cinema.

Ticket sellers at the Cherry Lwin Cinema, Pwin Oo Lwin, Myanmar.

Ticket seller at the Grand Cinema, Meiktila, Myanmar.

The staff of the Nay Pyi Daw Cinema in Mandalay, at rest in the lobby while the film was showing.

The ticket seller at Bago's Shwe Hintha Cinema stamps the date of tickets before showtime.

The two night projectionists at the Myathuka Cinema in Taunggyi, Shan State, Myanmar.

This young lady works the door for balcony seating at the Waziya Cinema in Yangon.

Ticket seller at the Waziya.

The rough and tumble security guards at Yangon's Shwe Man Cinema.

The Shwe Man Cinema's lovely day time door girl.

This woman has been taking tickets at the Mingala Thiri Cinema for a long, long time.

Not exactly theatersmiths, but laborers no less. These gentlemen work in the out-of-commission Gon Cinema loading and unloading non-perishables.

Happy International Labor Day, everybody.

The Myathuka Cinema - Taunggyi, Shan State, Myanmar

The ever-stagnant world of Myanmar politics recently experienced some rumblings. Earlier this month, General Than Shwe announced the devolution of his exclusive power and the dissolving of his party, the State Peace and Development Council (SPDC). Excitement over this development, however, should be tempered by the fact that it will likely amount to little more than a reshuffling of oligarchs. Maybe a few trading in their soldier threads for civilian attire. A dog and pony show put on by professional plunderers. Fortunately, for those of pure mind and spirit, there are far more pressing issues to follow in Myanmar, such as the state of the country's movie theaters. To that extent, the final installment of Taunggyi's movie theater triumvirate is now on display.

The lime-green color scheme on the Myathuka Cinema's exterior might not be the most attractive, but there was some logic involved in this verdant aesthetic maneuver. Myathuka means "Delightful Emerald" in Burmese. As a visual expression of a name, the effect is poignantly bad. The more I look at it, in fact, the more ridiculous it seems. A lethal, toxic shade of green standing right there on Taunggyi's main thoroughfare. But lets not judge a movie theater by its paint job! Beyond the exterior, intrigues are to be found in abundance.

Clusters of ribbon window on the Myathuka's facade.

An empty bell tower marks the crest of the Myathuka Cinema.

One of the Myathuka's more striking features is a bell-less bell tower at the top corner, facing out over a fairly busy intersection. Apparently without a bell from day one, the ersatz tower manages to add a bit of stoic dignity to the block, much like a church or a town hall.

Another architectural oddity can be found in the interior. As with most movie theater auditoriums, the floor of the Myathuka slopes downwards on a gentle gradient, getting deeper as it approaches the screen. But in a bizarre twist of design the four rows of seats closest to the screen begin a sharp incline, raising movie-watchers upwards as if they were sitting on the crest of a frozen wave.

Looking down over the lobby.

Ticket booth

The purchase

A Tumbling Kelly doll, signifying resilience, adds a bit of color to the ticket booth counter.

Projectionists two.

Operating a carbon-arc projector from the late 1950's is a hands-on task. A slowly burning carbon rod needs constant attention, lest the image quality fade as the carbon rod gets shorter. Here the projectionist monitors the carbon rod's length, adjusting a reflecting mirror to keep the light source consistent.

The projector's glow.

For the past 10 years, the majority of movies produced in Myanmar have been done so on VCD format. Using this medium allows a movie to be made for about ten-thousand dollars, roughly one-tenth the cost of making a movie on film, of which only a handful of movies are made each year. The cheaply-made VCD/DVD movies suffer an immeasurable absence of quality. Moreover, the formats of such movies require LCD projectors in order to screen them, which don't come close to matching the richness of film-projected movies. At the Myathuka, I had the pleasure of watching a domestic movie projected from film for the first time outside of Yangon. Being more expensive to make, directors generally put more effort into making film movies look decent. Cinematography is a practiced art-form in these movies, so even if the story is shallow, which it invariably will be, at least there will be technical value.

The movie I watched at the Myathuka happened to be the latest from Myanmar's most acclaimed active director, Sin Yaw Mg Mg.

The two night projectionists pose for a shot.

Exiters and movie posters.

Signage

As of now, Taunggyi remains a city characterized by its compactness and walkability - a trait common to nearly all of Myanmar's urban centers. The expansion of car suburbs is limited to Yangon, where a soulless stretch of conurbation spans ever northward. With the resources of a city like Taunggyi concentrated in the urban core, stand-alone theaters can survive. In Taunggyi they even seemed to be doing well. But Taunggyi's churning economy, the result of being the primary market town in southern Shan State, makes it susceptible to sprawl. If ceasefires between the ruling Junta and the various armies based in Shan State are adhered to, Taunggyi's economy will only grow stronger. Already the roads are more congested than most other Myanmar towns I've visited. And as congestion increases, those with the means to do so will likely move further afield in search of elbow room, if not to flaunt a little status. Their retreat will herald the end of a dynamic urban core, where three stand-alone movie theaters can operate effectively.

But until that happens the Myathuka Cinema should be open for business. So if you find yourself in Taunggyi, go watch a movie there. Marvel at the up-turned seating at the front of the auditorium. Gawk in repulsion at its heinous paint job. Hideous or not, the Myathuka is the largest movie theater in Shan State. It deserves a visit.