The last of a dying breed

As technology takes on a bigger role in our lives, it is sounding the death knell for many long-standing professions.

LOST FOR WORDS

The repairman carefully places an Olympia SM3 into a silver wooden carrying case. Produced by the Germans in the 1950s, the brown typewriter is so heavy that he would not bring it down from the shelves if a customer were not seriously considering purchasing it.

"The case has a snap lock, so it doesn't shake if you decide to use [the typewriter] while it's still inside. All parts are in 100% working condition; this thing can be used for a thousand years," said Suttiporn Chatviriyatam, better known as Uncle Boong.

"Actually, make that a hundred."

The 61-year-old has repaired typewriters since the age of 15, but since the 1997 economic crisis that left hundreds of repairmen at his company jobless, Boong took on the role as a salesman after opening his first shop in the busy Khlong Thom area near Chinatown.

Boong is retiring soon, and what he fears will disappear is not only the 150-year history of selling typewriters, but also the art of restoration.

A typewriter's price is largely determined by its age and condition, and if one knows how to properly restore an antique typewriter to full working condition, prices could skyrocket. The brown Olympia is one of Boong's gems, and the price he asks for is 25,000 baht.

"You can always sell them, for sure," said Adam Basquil, a regular contributor to a 2,400-member portable typewriter forum. "But selling them knowing you have brought them to their true state of proper functionality? That just feels darn good."

Kept inside a cabinet is a box containing dozens of repair tools — the main ones costing from 3,000-7,000 baht each, back in the 1970s. Boong has another set at home which he bought from one of his colleagues back then, packed in a James Bond briefcase with a combination lock.

"You see the letters here?" he asked, pointing to the imprinted letters on several tools. "It says 'Made in Germany.' "

Every repairman at Vidhayakom Co, the local dealer of Remington typewriters from the US, was given a toolkit which had to be returned when the employee left the company.

With a starting salary of 1,600 baht per month, Boong had to make sure the typewriters functioned properly before being shipped to customers.

Remington typewriters, he claimed, had the highest market share in Thailand, and thousands of units were auctioned to government agencies.

He recalled trips he would make to the US army camps during the Vietnam War, accompanying his boss to make price offers.

"I saw the English words 'overhaul', 'repair' and 'adjust' typed on the sheet," said Boong, referring to the services provided.

When the company closed down, ceasing its 54-year operation in Thailand, Boong was told he could keep the tools to start a new job.

Before a typewriter is handed over to a customer, Boong changes the ribbon, tests the carriage and sees if any letters are a bit dodgy. He types down the only sentence he can type in English: "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog" — a pangram which uses all 26 letters of the alphabet.

His typewriters are lifetime guaranteed, as long as they are purchased at his shop, located near the Sriworajak building. But for other customers, such as a businessman who sent over a Royal for Boong to repair two years ago, the cost could go up to as much as 3,500 baht.

The carriage and typebars were not functioning, and it took Boong weeks to get it working again.

"You need to take time on things like this. One mistake could screw things up," he said.

At its peak, Boong's shop stored around 30 typewriters at any given time. Last week there were only 13.

Two years ago, Boong was able to sell an average of one typewriter per week. But today, the situation is more shaky, with some weeks passing by without any sales. To pay the rent of 60,000 baht per year, most of his income comes from selling engine treatment for 400 baht a bottle.

Meanwhile, Boong has asked several people whether they want to be his apprentice, but everyone just shakes their head.

"They told me they didn't want to starve to death," he said. "So that leaves only you to inherit my knowledge. I'll let you know when I retire, so I can give you all the tools and teach you how to use them."

VIDEO KILLED THE SOAP OPERA STAR

As recently as a few decades ago, the sound of soap operas emanating from radios was common in Thai households. Today, those drama shows have mostly migrated to our television screens, while younger people spend more time on the internet than they do listening to the radio.

Still, a few voice actors continue to ply their trade. Brunch caught up with the members of Katethip, one of the country's longest-running radio drama troupes.

"I cannot say that we are the last radio soap opera group in Thailand," troupe leader Kanlaya Tinnaphong said. "There may be some other small groups left. But Katethip has been producing radio soap operas for more than a half century."

The group was formed when Supat Sawaddirak, senior editor of the Sakulthai weekly magazine, was approached by the United States Information Agency (USIA), which was intent on pushing anti-communist propaganda in Thailand during the Cold War.

Three radio soap opera troupes — Tantawan, Siang Sillapin and Katethip — were subsequently contacted by Mrs Supat and asked to create anti-communist radio dramas.

"Mrs Supat gave me the chance to manage Katethip," Ms Kanlaya recalls. "I began searching for a leading actor and finally got Pramuan Ommahan. He was working for another group at the time, and he got fired after joining us for the USIA play.

"He was a talented man and I thought this was unfair, so I started to introduce him to many other people in the industry. I felt responsible for him losing his job, but no other group wanted to accept him. It was then that I decided to operate a radio soap opera by myself, and hired him as the leading character. That is how the long story of Katethip began."

Ms Kanlaya recalls that at the time, there were less than 300 radio stations, and only two television channels — Channel 4 Bangkhunphrom and the black-and-white Channel 7 — operating throughout the country.

"We did not have a lot of media choice like we do now," she said. "Radio soap operas were the most popular form of entertainment as they were easy for people to access. A Sony transistor radio would cost around 400 baht, while a television set was a good deal more expensive."

But as times changed and TVs proliferated in the homes of more middle class Thais, radio soap operators began to realise their livelihoods were in jeopardy. Around that time, government restrictions on media advertising killed off much of the sponsorship which the shows depended on.

Still, a few managed to weather the storm. "I did not expect much from Katethip," Ms Kanlaya said. "I initially thought I would be happy if I could do just three plays, but it was more successful than I expected."

For the group's first play, Katethip was commissioned by the pharmaceutical company Bangkok Saha Vejjapan to push its new product called Mor Baby. There were no available radio frequencies in Bangkok at the time though, and the play was broadcast only in Prachin Buri province via an army-run channel.

After that, the president of TC-Mycin Pharmaceuticals, Chaleo Yoovidhya, who is best known as the originator of the Red Bull energy drink, gave Katethip the chance to broadcast on a regular slot. Chaleo's station ran a regular soap opera during the week, but offered Katethip the chance to broadcast on weekends.

"The show became so popular that people came to know it as the 'TC-Mycin show,' " Ms Kanlaya said. "It was a very long show. Each one took 10 hours to create, so we had to work very hard.

"We were only 12 people — six men and six women — working together, but this group of people was very talented. We could all do any voice, whether it be a child, teenager, young man or an old lady."

Ms Kanlaya said that during the "golden age" of radio soap opera, the team toured around the country to meet their fans.

"We went to many provinces and went on stage to sing and greet our fans," she recalled. "The fans were very excited to see us, as they had never seen the people whose voices they listened to nearly every day."

While Ms Kanlaya is realistic about the future of her profession — Katethip is one of the only groups left standing — she said some teenagers are still interested in learning her craft. "We have around 25 teens training and working with us," she said.

"These young people do not expect to work on radio soap operas in the future, but they can use the knowledge and experience for careers in other fields such as ventriloquy, or hosting radio or TV shows. This is just the first step to reach their dream jobs."

Ms Kanlaya said the youngest person training with her is just 10 years old. "Her name is Plaifon. She told her father that she wanted to join a radio soap opera. Now she can recite fluently."

She added that she does not expect radio soap operas to be popular any more, as she understands that technology has changed people's lifestyle.

"We keep doing it because we want to preserve this art form. We want to keep it for the next generation so that they can be aware that we existed and were once popular."

BRINGING DOWN THE CURTAIN

As large film distribution companies gain ground in Thailand's provinces, Ampan "Ead" Chaipitak might be one of the last people prolonging the life of his particular art form.

At 58, Ead still hand-paints movie posters for the Coliseum cinema in Phuket, a job he started doing even before he reached his teens.

At age 12, out of school and with no other prospects for a job, Ead went to the cinema to watch the painters at work every day. One day he was given his first assignment. "I was told to wash the painting brushes for them," he recalled.

As he grew older — and taller — Ead was assigned to draw scales for the painters on large pieces of white cloth, and was slowly taught the art of painting.

By the age of 20, he was working full-time for the Coliseum, earning 600 baht a month.

"I always liked the film poster paintings. Even before I got the job, I usually went there every day after school to look at the posters," he said.

"Posters in the old days were nice because they were oil on cloth. A poster was also on display for a long time, because in a month there could be only one film on show."

When Ead started out — more than four decades ago now — he painted posters of Thai films starring Sorapong Chatree or the late Mitr Chaibancha. Foreign films were also brought in from China, India and Hollywood; Ead recalls painting several posters for James Bond films, basing them on examples sent down from the distribution company in Bangkok.

"I liked to paint film posters so much that after the painter went home, I just continued to paint from where he left off. When he came back the next morning he would scold me for it," he said.

The Coliseum still employs two painters on a full-time basis. Ead works with his partner, Somboon "Pong" Kwanmuang, to paint movie posters on large wooden boards.

Each painter works on one wooden board, which will then be fastened to either side of a pickup truck that will drive around Phuket announcing the latest release films.

Three pickups are now used by the cinema. Each one will drive around for several days, doing three circuits a day. Their bright colours and often unique interpretation of the film material make them somewhat of an icon on the island.

But times are changing. Ead says acrylic has replaced oil paints nowadays, and wooden cut-outs have replaced the cloth that was used 20 years ago. Acrylic paints are cheaper than oils, making them more economical now that the hand-painted film posters are displayed for no more than a week.

Ead also earns extra money painting for his friend's gallery, located near Patong Beach, where he says the commission starts at 10,000 baht per picture.

"Foreigners often come to my friend's gallery and ask to have a family portrait done. Still, this work depends on whether it's low or high season."

Ead no longer has to work. He is financially secure with two grown-up children, and said he still paints only because he is passionate about it.

But it appears Ead will be among the last of his kind. With most advertisers switching to online and printed billboards to promote new films, there is little reason to invest in the laborious hand-painted poster.

And few young painters seem interested in the trade. Most, he said, tend to take up assignments painting on smaller canvases, a lighter job that pays better.

"We train no one in what we do now because no one comes to us for it. We do this because we love this but kids do not want to work like us," he said.

"After I and Pong are gone, there will be no one else doing this any more." n