Yangon is not your everyday
city. A place where $900 a night hotels, desolate colonial architecture and extreme
poverty come together in an unusual form of mismatched harmony. A friend once
described it to me as a place he’d love to come and explore but when devoid of
people; perhaps after a plague had swept through. It would definitely make the
perfect ghost town.
Despite all this excitement we were tired, coming to the
tail end of a months travel in the golden land and on returning to the capital
for a second time we were craving some western comforts. Having found,
sceptically ordered and then enjoyed an unexpectedly fantastic cappuccino, we
walked out and noticed that next door was what looked like some sort of cinema.
Spotting a man dangling perilously from a rope several meters above us, our
eyes were drawn to several magical words lettered in that old New York theatre
type font: 007, James Bond. Peeking into the doorway we discovered a life-size
cardboard cut-out of Daniel Anderson looking very suave in his tuxedo and omega
watch. This unexpected site more than convinced us to explore a bit further.
With exaggerated hand gestures and actions, we established
that the new flick was even shown in English. The price? An unbelievable
US$0.80. We couldn’t buy them fast enough. In fact I wanted to buy 10 and just
give them away, so ludicrous was the price, but I managed to restrain myself
with some difficulty. After dawdling round for an hour or so, killing time by
debating whether the ice-cream from the vender outside was safe to eat, it was
time to go in, and grasping our news-print tickets off we went. The first
surprise was the security check. Standard procedure for all movie buffs was a
walk through the metal detector followed by a pat-down and bag search. OK, I
know I’m not in Kansas anymore but considering
that on international arrival from Bangkok
we walked right through with none of the above made this seem rather
surprising.
Following our 9-11ish like check we discovered our seats
were on the ‘upper level’. This palatial abode was in fact the first class section,
and we had been given front row seats. The theatre itself looked to date from
colonial times, with a ground and second floor, ornate light fittings and even
a red velvet curtain, waiting to part and deliver Bond upon us at any moment.
As far as we could see we were the only foreigners, apart
from a greasy moustachioed Greek man and his two teenage sons behind us,
funnily enough all dressed in matching skin-tight white pants. A blast of music
distracted me from this paradox and suddenly the curtains began to open, and
the locals all began to rise. As a gigantic Burmese flag spluttered onto the
screen we realized it was in fact time for the national anthem. This presented
a brief moral conundrum for us. The Burmese government is not something you
generally want to show your allegiance to, and we were at a loss. I glanced
back at the three fashionable fellows behind me, and discovered that they also
seemed to be having a few difficulties. Finally, with a few shrugs and eyebrow
raises we decided that the old saying ‘When in Rome…’ really did make sense and up we jumped
just as the trumpets began blasting.
It was with great anticipation and a touch of apprehension
that we sat down to await our fate. A blast of static soon revealed a selection
of increasingly bizarre advertisements for some strange types of Indian
potions, apparently to cure various ailments but with absolutely no hint as to
exactly what. Little were we to know that these seemingly innocuous adverts
would actually be the last time the local Burmese could understand what was
happening until the movie finished two and a half hours later.
Bond appeared onto the screen to much applause, and the
outrageously ludicrous scene set in an exotic locale that opens each 007 movie
began rolling, this one set in Morocco.
I remember at this point looking round and thinking that in fact the city I was
now watching this movie in would make a perfect location for one of these
openers and wondered if it had already been used in the franchise before. I
then began debating what the market for James Bond screenwriters was currently
like.
Snapping back to attention just in time to see the hero
cause the equivalent damage of the Kosovo war in a mere five minutes, I began
noticing something rather peculiar. The end of the action scene seemed to cue
the entire movie theatre to form into small groups and begin chatting amongst
themselves. The reason, as we figured out a few minutes later, was that the
movie completely lacked any subtitles at all, let alone any understandable to
the Burmese. This of course made the whole movie almost entirely
incomprehensible to everyone except my partner and I, and those wearing the taut
white pants behind us.
This peculiar phenomenon continued on throughout the movie,
and made it almost impossible for us native speakers to make out what was going
on as well. The cacophony was only broken up by the easily enjoyable action
scenes and the very few sexual innuendos or intimate scenes that had made it
past the obviously strict censors, but which the locals seemed to enjoy
immensely nevertheless.
Eventually the end of the film arrived, and with the slow
drawing of the curtains came the stumbling flicker of half dozen working
lights. As we rose to leave I noticed a strange crunch on my first step.
Looking down I could see that the entire floor in front of me was covered with
some kind of seed husks. They hadn’t been there before, I was almost positive.
On closer inspection they proved to be sunflower seeds, and we soon noticed a
few locals still munching on bags of them - Burmese popcorn apparently. Looking
over the edge of the balcony to the lower level, I beheld a sheer ocean of the
things, an immense carpet of sunflower carcasses strewn everywhere. Never had
it occurred to me that I would ever see such a collection of these together in
one place, nor had I realized how bizarre it would actually be.
Leaving the theatre proved to be a complete contrast to
entering, as we just walked out without the slightest interruption. However, when
I noticed the guy still hanging from the roof outside and started taking a few
photos of him we soon found out we were still very much in Burma. An official looking fellow
popped out of nowhere and started flapping his arms about wildly, indicating at
me to stop taking pictures. Having encountered this several times on our
journey around the country we knew not to push our luck and strolled away
quietly, already trying to digest the seemingly innocent experience of movie
watching that had turned into a full blown cultural encounter. Myanmar is many
things; beautiful, tranquil, harsh and frightening – but one thing it will
never be is uninspiring.
