Flight school for the spirit of Myanmar

Moving movies to Myanmar

As with other South East Asian countries, Burma’s exposure to cinema began with the paid spectacles of traveling tent showpeople in the early 1900s. Bioscope-style shows included short news, feature, and documentary reels with subjects such as building construction, automobiles, trains, trams, beach and seashore scenes, polo matches, and dancing. A 30 minute show would often be accompanied by a live music ensemble. ⁶

Given the popularity of the new medium, but the impracticality of the tent for filmic exhibition in Burma’s monsoonal climate, bricks-and-mortar cinemas sprang up soon thereafter, bearing names like Edison, Bioscope, Cinema de Paris, Royal, and Elphinstone. These were entirely foreign-owned business ventures, often local branches of other established theatres. Elphinstone, for example, was an offshoot of the Bombay-based Madan Theatre. In a survey of cinemas in the late 1920s, colonial authorities noted that Madan owned approximately one-third of the cinemas surveyed in Bombay – and they owned two-thirds of those in Rangoon. ⁷

For people in colonial Rangoon, going out to the movies was a special affair. To the fancy cinemas, men wore fashionable Bangkok puso (sarongs) with their taikpone eingyi (jackets and shirts) and shu panit (shoes). ⁸ The restaurant and teashop outside Cinema de Paris – near the area that now contains Bogyoke Market in downtown Rangoon – was the place to spend time, chatting with peers and other budding cinephiles. Members of the burgeoning middle classes in colonial Rangoon soon began to take an interest in making films of their own.

One of these cinephiles was Ohn Maung, a young man who had enjoyed his hobbies of printmaking and watercolour painting. Upon finishing high school he found work as a photo retoucher at Wagstaff & Co Studios, and later transferred to DA Ahuja Photo Studios, the latter being the biggest and best-connected photo studio in Rangoon at the time. While working for Ahuja, Ohn Maung frequently spent his off-hours at the teashop outside Cinema de Paris, discussing the new medium with other enthusiasts. ⁹

After acquiring a Baby Ensign motion picture camera, and going through the struggle of getting raw film for it, in 1918 Ohn Maung leveraged some connections in the Rangoon business-art communities to make a feature film. Through a personal conection with Nyi Pu, the 18 year old son of the owner of the Myanmar Aswe department store, Ohn Maung commissioned P Moe Nin, an acclaimed novelist and newspaper editor, to draft a script. The result would be Metta Hnint Thura (မေတ္တာနှင့်သူရာ) ‘Love and Liquor’, with Nyi Pu starring as the male lead. Filming took place on the east side of the Shwedagon Pagoda, as well as at the shores of Inya Lake. The crew got up at four in the morning to get the best natural light, and they made use of an oxcart for a dolly, among other improvisations. ¹⁰

In spite of the film’s comparatively poor technical quality, it was a success with audiences, and is considered the inspiration for the Burmese film industry. Its premier (13 October 1920) is still celebrated as the country’s national cinema day. Metta Hnint Thura created a frenzy of enthusiasm amongst Burmese, especially the nascent middle classes. Although they profited from the burgeoning colonial economy, they often outwardly sought to preserve aspects of Burmese-ness, Burmese culture and identity, and Buddhist notions of morality amidst the changing political tides. They soon established the Burma Film Company and their next production, Kyay Taw Thu Ma Nu (ကျေးတောသူမနု) ‘Ma Nu: A Village Girl’, acquired colonial censor approval in 1922. In the following year, the Burma Film Company produced a total of seven films, and ownership of the expanding company was transferred over to Myanmar Aswe, the Burmese sound recording/magazine/department store conglomerate owned by Ba Nyunt, the father of Nyi Pu. ¹¹

Soon, many other cinematic start-ups joined the ranks of those involved in the motion picture industry in the Burmese colonial capital. By 1924, Myan Aung Film Company, Mingalar, Pyinmana, and Alin Yaung (New Light) were already established as film production companies. ¹² Other early film companies included Bandoola, British Burma, New Burma, and Yan Kyi Aung. By 1927, a mere seven years after the release of the first Burmese film, there were already 25 film companies operating in the country. ¹³ As reported by provincial governments, the number of cinema halls throughout the country had reached 80 in 1927, compared with 27 just six years earlier. ¹⁴

It was during the early decades of the 20th century that throughout South East Asia the emergent bourgeois intelligentsia sought to make use of various cultural forms in order to articulate peasant grievances. ¹⁵ Burma’s middle class was no exception. Young nationalists quickly looked to cinema as a means by which they could communicate their political goals to the masses. Between the years 1931 and 1941, Burmese film companies became increasingly interested in making films with anti-colonial, nationalist themes. ¹⁶

Thematically, films would often animate Burmese notions of morality (the first film, Metta Hnint Thura, is an archetypical example), as well as the dangers of transgressions such as indulging in alcohol and gambling. The Burmese studio best-known for explicitly nationalist film productions is the Parrot Film Company; formerly Parrot Taxis, it was bought out by its manager, U Sunny, in 1930. U Sunny was increasingly dissatisfied with the foreign presence in Rangoon, in particular with the dominance of the Indian middle classes over commerce in the city. Because of his own impoverished youth, he saw his role in film production as a way to raise awareness to oppose the British. ¹⁷

The first Parrot Film Company production was 36 Kaung (၃၆ ကောင်) ‘36 Animals,’ released in 1931. It depicted the perils of the popular Burmese gambling game of the same name. ¹⁸ The second film produced by Parrot Studios was Do Daung Lan (ဒို့ဒေါင်းလံ) ‘Our Peacock Flag.’ It presented political concerns: ‘in an era in which we were told to respect the British flag, U Sunny pointed out that people should respect our Myanmar flag.’ ¹⁹ For films making use of Burmese cinematic style, this would generally mean incorporating notions of traditionalism and Buddhist morality in the face of foreign threats to Burmese sovereignty and values.

Sounds of silence

During the days of silent films in Burma, like the previous shorts from the traveling tent showpeople, in cinemas there was musical accompaniment to go along with the action on the screen. According to a report by the colonial government of India:

In those cinemas frequented by Europeans and educated Indians Western music is provided by means of a piano or a small orchestra; while in those patronised exclusively by Indians the music is Indian, and costs less. The Burmese cinemas have their own peculiar music. ²⁰

Two types of sound recording techniques gradually would be adopted prior to the Second World War, although sporadically: sound-on-disc and sound-on-film. Sound-on-disc was less complicated and cheaper to produce, but its effective use at the cinema required the operation of two machines in sync. ²² Sound-on-film was synchronized at the point of production and post-production, and so the soundtrack would be pre-linked with the action on the screen. Sound-on-disc persisted in Burmese cinemas long after sound-on-film had become the industry standard by the 1940s; part of this had to do with the fact that it was less costly, and that record players could be purchased to supplement existing projectors.

International collaborations speak to Burma

The legal, economic, and cultural connections between Burmese and Indian cultures and political economies had been well established through centuries-old processes, but for the cinema they were effectively framed by the context of the colonial economy. There were numerous co-productions, and in the early 1930s U Toke Kyi of Burma Imperial Film Company worked with local film producers in Bombay to shoot Ngwe Pay Lo Ma Ya (ငွေပေးလို့မရ) ‘It’s No Use to Give Money,’ which was later screened in Yangon in 1932. ²³ The film was not revolutionary in its collaboration with Indian film companies, but it was significant for being the first talkie of partially Burmese providence (the second talkie was Lawka Neikban (လောကနိဗ္ဗန်) ‘Worldly Heaven’ by British Burma). Where technological savvy and cosmopolitan modernity were coterminous, films with synchronous sound, combining the recorded voices of the action and often post-production studio musicians, were the wave of the future. The irony of the title Ngwe Pay Lo Ma Ya ‘It’s No Use to Give Money’ was hardly lost on the studios seeking to acquire this sophisticated – and pricey – new technology.

Myanmar Aswe, the biggest Burmese studio at the time, was not to be outdone by Burma Imperial and British Burma. The early 1930s marked a significant expansion: Myanmar Aswe changed its name to A1 Film Company, and established a studio campus in Mayangone Township, then on the outskirts of Yangon. Like its department store patron, A1 Film Company was a family operation: Tin Maung, Nyi Pu, and Tin Pay were all relatives involved in film production. As was the practice, those in the family would identify themselves as, for example, A1 Tin Maung. Numerous stars in subsequent decades would learn the trade merely by being part of a movie production family. The A1 studio would become famous as the Hollywood of Burma, and was the most influential and productive motion picture company in the country for the next five decades. The massive studio campus, now engulfed within a commercial suburb of Yangon, was a 30-acre studio set, replete with a lake, small forest, houses, and a main street with shops: ideal for shooting a variety of films. The campus had buildings for production and post-production equipment, and even a residential area for crews and actors. ²⁴

Gonna fly with a little help from my friends

In order to leap ahead of the technological strides made by other studios that collaborated with Indian film companies, Myanmar Aswe/A1 patriarch U Ba Nyunt sent his sons Nyi Pu and Tin Pay to Tokyo to purchase sound recording equipment and to learn how to use it while there. ²⁵ At the time, some of the most technologically advanced film productions in Asia were coming out of Japan, and during the 1920s the country was the world leader in the production of feature films. ²⁶

Once in Japan, Nyi Pu and Tin Pay approached Photo Chemical Laboratories (PCL) Studios, a recently-established film company which specialized in talkies. In a later interview, Nyi Pu said that, during his tour of PCL’s production facilities, he got the idea to make a film while in Japan, starring two Burmese brothers. By that time, Nyi Pu had already acted in eight films, and had directed two: Su Tu Pan (ဆုထူးပန်) ‘Extraordinary Wish’ in 1928 and Shwe Hninsi (ရွှေနှင်းဆီ) ‘Golden Rose’ in 1931. ²⁷ Nyi Pu proposed his idea to his father back in Yangon, and soon production funds were organised for this new endeavor.

The film would star Nyi Pu and his brother Tin Pay. Another Burmese man, San Nyunt, was a supporting actor. San Nyunt was the son of U Thein Maung, owner of Thiri Yadanar Bank, and was posted to Tokyo as part of the bank’s transnational dealings. PCL introduced them to a Japanese actress, Mitsuko Takao, who would play the lead woman in the film. Takao was not only an experienced actress, having already appeared in more than 65 Japanese films, but had also studied English, enabling her to communicate with the Burmese actors both on- and off-screen. PCL assisted with co-production on location, taking responsibility for contracting extras, fixing the production sites as well as the studio, sound recording, post-production editing, and sound. All the flying scenes took place at Asia Aviation School in Tokyo, using their aircraft, facilities, and technical support.

Film synopsis

Japan Yin Thwe features the story of two Burmese brothers: Ba Tay and Maung Maung Soe (played by Nyi Pu and Tin Pay). They are aviators who travel to Japan with a plan to complete the first-ever non-stop flight from Tokyo to Rangoon. Ba Tay is the pilot and Maung Maung Soe is the flight engineer. To prepare for the mission, they will carry out training and practice flights at a Japanese aviation school. The story is just as much about their flight mission as it is about the young Burmese men’s experiences in Japan, with selective touristic glimpses of Japanese geography, culture, and modernity.

The opening sequence of the film depicts the young men on the deck of a steam ship as it docks in Japan. They are wearing Burmese traditional longyis (sarongs) and taikpon (jackets). They are greeted by Japanese media as well as a friendly fellow Burmese man: U San Nyunt, the manager of the Japanese branch of Thiri Yadana Bank, who sports a Western suit and tie.

U San Nyunt acts as their host, showing them around Japan, and introduces them to the director of the Asia Aviation School. They watch some of the aircraft from a balcony. Adjacent to the airfield is a small restaurant run by a young woman named Emiko-san (spelled Aye Mi San in the Burmese version). Having read about the Burmese aviators and their mission in the newspaper, Emiko-san is intrigued. Her father was an aviator, and because he died in Burma, she feels a special connection to the country and its people.

As part of their welcome, U San Nyunt treats the Burmese brothers to a musical presentation of singing and dancing geishas. The young men are visibly enthralled by the performances. U San Nyunt later takes the brothers to the restaurant adjacent to the airfield and introduces them to Emiko-san. As they enter, Emiko-san is excited to meet the men she has read about in the newspaper, and the brothers, in turn, are taken by her demure charm and exotic appearance. We can see the interest reciprocated another day as Emiko-san brings the young Burmese aviators a bento of food to eat near the airfield. In a later scene, Maung Maung Soe plays guitar while Emiko-san sings a Japanese song. Ba Tay stands next to her spellbound, giving her amorous glances. At one point during the song, Maung Maung Soe looks up from his guitar and sees his brother’s infatuation, and frowns in annoyance.

While the romance blossoms, tragedy strikes: during one of Ba Tay’s practice flights, the plane’s engine seizes and he is forced to ditch the aircraft, jumping to safety by parachute. The plane, however, crashes to the ground and is unserviceable. Ba Tay suffers minor injury, and later has his arm in a bandage. But even worse, without the aircraft, the Burmese brothers have no chance to complete their inspiring non-stop flight to Rangoon.

Out of disappointment and despair, Ba Tay attempts suicide. Lying in bed, he draws a revolver to his temple. The moment he is about to pull the trigger, there is a knock at the door: it is Emiko-san. Her concern compels her to enter the room, intervene, and declare her love for Ba Tay. This comfort and encouragement turn Ba Tay’s attention away from suicide and towards the prospect of a happy future with Emiko-san. He invites her to visit Hakone. In a subsequent scene, we see the two of them enjoying a picnic together at the picturesque park – a hill station – on the outskirts of Tokyo, with a view of Mt. Fuji in the background.

Disappointed by the recent setback, also lacking the consolation effect of newly-found love, Ba Tay’s younger brother is frustrated by this turn of events. Perhaps motivated by a tinge of jealousy, too, Maung Maung Soe interrogates Emiko-san, questioning whether her intentions with Ba Tay are genuine, or if she is just using her powers to beguile and manipulate the young aviator. Emiko-san weeps, feeling ashamed for having caused strife and antagonism between the two brothers.

To prove his dedication to the project and to the national cause, Maung Maung Soe sets his sights on acquiring the funds to get another aircraft. He sees an advertisement for an automobile race, and rents a car to compete. He wins the 20,000 Yen prize. Following the race, he attends a prize event opposite the main offices of the Asahi Shinbun newspaper. As such, the two young pilots are able to raise the funds to buy another plane, and their brotherly cooperation is restored by the prospect of completing their mission together.

Their new, bigger and better aircraft is named Myanma Gone Yee (ြမန်မာ့ဂုဏ်ရည်) ‘ The Spirit of Myanmar.’ The name is painted in Burmese script on the fuselage, and is accompanied by an image of the peacock flag, the royal insignia of the Konbaung Dynasty, which was overthrown by the British in 1885. Emiko-san, in her kimono, runs through the crowds to tearfully bid her Burmese lover farewell, wishing him success on his journey. Following the goodbye, Emiko-san collapses on the ground and emergency workers come to attend to her. The next shot is Emiko-san on her death bed. The moment she hears on the radio that Ba Tay and Maung Maung Soe have arrived safely in Rangoon, she dies. The movie concludes with Ba Tay weeping and praying at Emiko-san’s grave. ²⁸

Following post-production and the month-long journey by steamship back to Burma, A1 premiered Japan Yin Thwe on 25 November 1935 at King Cinema and Olympia Cinema in Rangoon. It was an instant hit; it was also released at cinemas in Japan, and its commercial success propelled its release to Bangkok screens in 1937. ²⁹ Riding the waves of the film’s box office success, the exotic allure of Emiko-san inspired several kinds of unique merchandise on the Burmese marketplace. Soon, women could buy their own ‘Aye Mi San’ facial powder or ‘Aye Mi San’ skirts. Burmese entrepreneurs even marketed ‘Aye Mi San’ mosquito coils. ³⁰

But beyond the trinkets and foreign exoticism, the film itself presented a strong patriotic message: Burmese men could be skilled aviators, and this was a point ideologically facilitated, even encouraged, by the Japanese production company. In the film itself, when Japanese newspapers and radio announcers broadcast the brothers’ flight plan, they also plant the idea that in the future there could be a Burmese Air Force. ³¹ This notion serves to foreshadow the kind of military nationalism espoused by the Burmese Army.

One can hardly overestimate the ideological implications of aviation technology in the early 20th century. Where aviation developed in the United States and in European colonial metropoles, the notion of airmindedness emerges as a top-down ideological project to produce a military-like admiration for aviation technology. In the United States, aviation development was also stoked by evangelical Protestantism, and through religious interpellations of manifest destiny, ‘(m)achinery became a “gospel worker,” and devices of iron and steel seemed pregnant with great moral and spiritual implications.’ ³² The relationship of aviation to militarism has been shown to fuel authoritarian impulses in Britain, France, and Germany, and to express imperial dominance, but Asians made use of aviation to espouse their own forms of modernity. ³³ In addition to Japan’s rapidly expanding aircraft industry and flight schools, the Siamese monarchy saw aviation and military development as crucial to gaining international respect. ³⁴

The naming of the aircraft, ‘Spirit of Myanmar’ was hardly a coincidence. Particularly since Charles Lindbergh’s 1927 solo crossing of the Atlantic Ocean in the ‘Spirit of St. Louis,’ aviation had continued to represent white masculine power, the kind of airmindedness described earlier. Having an Asian aviator at the helm sent an important message to anti-colonial nationalists: they could beat their white counterparts at their own game. In China, aviator Zhang Huichang (also known as ‘China’s Lindbergh’) flew a craft called ‘Spirit of Canton’ on a tour of major cities throughout China, promoting the machine and the optimism it represented. As part of the flyover, Zhang and his team dropped propaganda pamphlets featuring a quotation from Sun Yat-sen, ‘Aviation Will Save the Nation.’ ³⁵ Aviation became part of racial and gender discourse as it became a field in which to prove – particularly for so-called ‘backward’ peoples – that they would not be bested by the (white) imperial powers. ³⁶

This is not to say, however, that Burma as a colonial subject had no participation in aviation, or no notions of airmindedness. The Rangoon Flying School of Aero Club of India and Burma, despite having no government subsidy, trained six pilots in 1935. ³⁷ According to the 1931 Colonial Census figures, there were a thousand people employed in aviation transport in Burma, 982 of whom were Indians born outside of Burma and 18 of whom were Burmese. ³⁸ For Asian nationalists, aviation carried with it tremendous symbolic value, and we can consider what this form of techno-nationalism might have meant politically, as the area was just a few years away from the outbreak of the Second World War.

Returning to the ‘Spirit of Myanmar’ aircraft fuselage, next to the craft name was the national flag: not the Union Jack, but instead the Burmese peacock flag, the emblem of the Konbaung Dynasty which was ousted by the British in 1885. Recall also that earlier in the decade Parrot Films had also made films with direct reference to the peacock symbolism of the Konbaung Dynasty and the pre-colonial Burmese political power. The resonance of these symbols is evidence that the film industry, together with the Japanese military industrial complex, had designs on stoking Burmese anti-colonial nationalism. It was 1935, and Japan Yin Thwe was the first fully-fledged international film co-production in Japan.

The early 1930s represented a high point for Japanese business interests in South East Asia, which had been expanding since the end of the 19th century. The transition to sound films also coincided with the beginning of the China-Japan war. However, this film predated the propagation of the Daitoa Kyoeiken ‘Greater East-Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere’ ideology ³⁹ and explicit Japanese collaboration with South East Asian nationalists with aspirations to overthrow their European colonial regimes.

By 1935, the Japanese had been continuously expanding their military and political imperialism to the Asian continent in their acquisition of Manchuria at the beginning of the decade and had recently withdrawn from the League of Nations. The militaristic aspects of the Greater East-Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere were to gather momentum towards the end of the decade, and so the sponsorship and co-production of Japan Yin Thwe in 1935 is thought-provoking for its historical message and situation. However, there is a material side of the story which challenges a purely ideological analysis of the film and its message. In discussing the collaboration for the film’s production, two principal companies in Japan must be considered: the film company Photo Chemical Laboratory (PCL), and Ajia Koku Gakko (亜細亜航空学校) ‘Asia Aviation School.’

Sound advice

During this period, filmmakers around the world were dealing with the transition to sound. In 1925, a year after importing a Lee De Forest Phonofilm machine to Japan, Yoshizo Minagawa bought the rights to it and renamed it the Mina Tokii ‘Mina Talkie.’ ⁴⁰ With the adoption of sound, film production became increasingly bifurcated, with the small studios engaged in producing silent films, and the large studios increasingly gearing towards mass urban audiences, dominating the talkies. ⁴¹ Part of the reason also included the fact that benshi – the theatre presenters who interpreted films to Japanese audiences – resisted their replacement, and in one case picketed the release of one company’s first talkie. ⁴² Although we can see structural reasons for the late adoption of sound technologies in Japanese film production, the market still embraced the emergent entertainment technology. Foreign companies initially dominated talkies, and cinemas that were equipped with sound systems to accommodate them saw their ticket sales spike.

During their collaboration with the Burmese filmmakers, PCL had the best sound studio in Tokyo. The company had started out as a processing lab, and later provided sound recording equipment and services for other studios. ⁴³ It was only in 1933 that PCL ventured to produce its own film, but with a new business model: to allow the production of films at the behest of private producers set to promote commercial products. These would include Meiji Candy, Japan Wireless, and Dai-Nihon Biru. ⁴⁴

With the Dai-Nihon brewery subsidizing production costs, in 1933 PCL produced Japan’s first musical: Ongaku kigeki: Horoyoi jinsei (音楽喜劇 ほろよひ人生) ‘Musical Comedy: Tipsy Life.’ ⁴⁵ Directed by Sotoji Kimura, the movie is replete with signifiers of modernity: product placement, radio, and of course the recorded soundtrack of the musical itself. ⁴⁶ With the best recording technology at the time, the musical was an immediate success, also serving to designate PCL’s early works as a ‘key site for the emergence of a Japanese mass culture that would be at once ‘Japanese’ and ‘modern.’ ⁴⁷ The sound recording director for Japan Yin Thwe, Ichikawa Koji, had spent time in Hollywood, and had not only gained technical experience there but had acquired the English skills necessary to be able to work with the visiting Burmese filmmakers. During the 1930s, PCL earned a reputation for both sophisticated subject matter as well as technical and stylistic innovation. ⁴⁸ In 1934, PCL produced nine feature films; in 1935 and 1936 they produced 17 and 25, respectively. ⁴⁹

The studio was innovative in its approach to its employment model as well: rather than adopt the established model of the ‘family system,’ which guaranteed lifetime employment for personnel, PCL chose a more industrially-based contract system, placing its talent on one- to three-year contracts; ⁵⁰ on the other hand, it greatly empowered the producers of films. ⁵¹ This would ultimately make the studio more open to collaboration with other studios and production models. However, it was their innovations in sound production, exemplified by the musical, which would result in many of their hits being financed by record producers, thus co-promoting the films with their hit soundtracks (an innovation which would soon be adopted by A1 in Burma as well). PCL was involved in every phase of Japan Yin Thwe’s production, from obtaining a script, to casting, to production, to post-production. ⁵² As a filmmaking studio, however, this was a relatively recent endeavor. PCL’s trajectory at the time gives some indication as to how and why the Burmese filmmakers would have initially approached them with the sole intention of acquiring sound production equipment and expertise, deciding to collaborate fully with them in the making of their film only after touring the studios.

Post-production at PCL ensured that the film would be ready for both Burmese and Japanese audiences: for scenes in which people spoke English or Japanese, Burmese subtitles were added, and for scenes in English or Burmese, Japanese subtitles were added. The soundtracks were recorded with hired studio musicians as well. ⁵³

PCL had sought out the Asia Aviation School at Susaki Airfield in Tokyo for the film production site. In the decades leading up to this film, there had been a tremendous expansion in Japanese aviation: first, the incorporation of Western technology, and second, considerable efforts on the part of the Japanese to establish their own aircraft industries. ⁵⁴

One key example of the latter is the Nakajima Aircraft Company, founded in 1917 by Chikuhei Nakajima, an early pilot and later an industrialist and politician. The company has been described as the oldest and the most unusual private aircraft manufacturing firm in the country. ⁵⁵ Nakajima’s manufacturing company was unique in that it used local engineers rather than foreigners, and experienced tremendous success in the 1920s. ⁵⁶ In 1932, Nakajima supported former flying ace Iinuma Kintaro in the latter’s bid to establish the Asia Aviation School opposite the Nakajima factory in Suginami Ward, Tokyo. The school opened in April 1933. Their original fleet consisted of 10 aircraft, including Salmson 2A2, Hanriot HD14, Avro 504 K, and Nieuport 26C1 aircraft, at least two of which are featured in Japan Yin Thwe. ⁵⁷

Like other commercial aviation schools at the time, ⁵⁸ the flight school was dependent on publicity and reputation to attract students. In the early days, Asia Aviation School took out magazine advertisements for its flight programs. The flight school’s tuition fees, for many, were prohibitively expensive: enrolment was five yen, department tuition was five yen per month, and practice was charged at 30 yen per hour. Further courses with a more advanced license cost five yen tuition plus 40 yen per practice hour (compare this with a university graduate’s monthly salary of 70 yen). ⁵⁹

The year in which Asia Aviation School agreed to participate in the filming of Japan Yin Thwe also coincided with Burmese students enrolling in flight school there. ⁶⁰ Most Japanese flight schools took on women as well as foreign nationals (mainly Chinese and Koreans), indicating that they were not as restrictive in their market orientation as masculine Japanese nationalism might suggest. For Asia Aviation School, the film could serve as advertising for their South East Asian markets; and having Burmese students that year and a film entourage visiting campus surely promised future Burmese enrolments.

Conclusion: The Eastern wind beneath our wings?

Although it was for reasons of acquiring recording technology that Nyi Pu and Tin Pay initially visited the Japanese film studio, they would return to Burma with more than just the equipment: they brought back to Rangoon a hit film and a new business model based on commercial sponsorship and product placement. No wonder Aye Mi San facial powder, skirts, and mosquito coils soon followed the release of the blockbuster. The film served a central role in fostering a positive, if not romantic, view of Japan amongst Burmese audiences. ⁶¹

Most political history will relate Burmese-Japanese ideological cooperation to military strategies of the Second World War: Col. Suzuki’s Minami Kikan, his collaboration with General Aung San, the Thirty Comrades and their formation of the Burma Independence Army, which took over Rangoon in 1942. ⁶² However, the production of Japan Yin Thwe forces us to rewind the ideology of the Greater East-Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere and to consider how communications technology and the stories it told approached nationalism from an aesthetic point of view. We could surmise that the experience in Japan might have assisted in politicizing Nyi Pu and Tin Pay, as it was during that period that Japanese Fascists were overtly encouraging South East Asian nationalists to take interest in the Greater East-Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere, banding together with the Japanese in ousting their European colonial regimes.

Certainly, the nationalist ideological stance comprises an important reading of the film, as does its ideological clout in relation to aviation and aerial nationalism. However, studying the structure of aviation schools and the cinema production industry in Japan in the 1930s leads to the conclusion that a Daitoa Kyoeiken Greater East-Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere ideological motivation falls short of explaining the business relationship that facilitated the film’s production. PCL did not ‘generously sponsor the film’ merely to encourage Burmese nationalism: remember, too, that Nyi Pu was able to get money from his family to make the film, and PCL’s business model for product placement and the producer system was compatible with this kind of collaboration.

There was much money to be made in these heady times of techno-nationalism. This would again be evidenced but two years later, when the Asahi Shimbun newspaper sponsored the long-distance flight of Iinuma Masaki and Tshukagoshi Kenji in their record-breaking journey from Tokyo to London; nationalist fervor over aviation can sell a lot of newspapers. The name for their aircraft, Kamikaze, was chosen from a selection of over 500,000 entries from Asahi Shimbun readers. ⁶³ Aerial nationalism was real, its ideological implications were powerful, but its sponsorship had its own material interest as well.

The ‘golden age’ of Japanese cinema – the 1920s and 1930s – has largely been studied in terms of the auteurship of its canonical directors. ⁶⁴ However, technological transitions and industrial structures are crucial to those auteurs’ filmic practices, as has been shown by Okada’s discussion of Japanese celluloid manufacture in the early decades of the industry. ⁶⁵ Further, Standish has noted that the advent of sound-on-film production created the need for increasingly sophisticated equipment, and the investment that engendered led to a more vertically integrated industry in Japan in the late 1930s. ⁶⁶ Likewise, studies of film and auteurship dominate discussion of Burmese cinematic history, particularly in discussing its earliest decades. But without economic transnationalism and the industry structures and technological developments which enabled film productions like Japan Yin Thwe, these marvelous pilot projects would never have taken flight.