Despite having hung out in the Sukhumvit labyrinth since a wee child, I spent at least half an hour scurrying about in narrow alleyways and hidden roads, under a thunderous storm, before arriving, partially soaked, at GTH.

GTH is a partnership between GMM Grammy, Tai Entertainment and Hub Ho Hin, occupying a tiny plot of land in Soi Sawasdee. The GTH building is modernist-clean, a relief from the monstrous architecture of the BTS, and a few types in white T-shirts and black plastic-rimmed glasses are cutting some cardboard on the veranda.

In the meeting room where the interview is to take place, colourful chairs stand around a long rectangular table. There are some pink cryptic notes on a blackboard. The receptionist pops her head in and asks: "Milo, tea or coffee?"

Yongyoot Thongkongtoon then strolls in and, ever the gregarious host, notices the glass of water on the table, and asks: "Coffee, tea or Milo?"

Yongyoot then spots what a media or research professional might call a mood board, sitting at the far end of the meeting table. "What is this?" he chuckles, scrutinising a photograph of a fashionable Sid Vicious look-alike. Perhaps rumours of the 30-something film-maker's perfectionist disposition and sharp eye for detail are true.

Yongyoot, a veteran maker of television commercials, was part of a group of film-makers that revived the Thai film industry in the late Nineties. Around the same time that Yongyoot's "Iron Ladies" came out, the Thai film industry was finding its way back from a prolonged purgatory, with films as diverse as Pen-ek Ratanaruang's "Fun Bar Karaoke", the Pang brothers' "The Eye", Nonzee Nimitbutr's "Nang Nak", and Wisit Sasanateang's "Tears of the Black Tiger".

British critic Tony Rayns said of "Iron Ladies" that it was "the first Thai film to ever get real international distribution." The Bt8-million film grossed a record 15 million Hong Kong dollars (Bt68 million at today's rates) at the Hong Kong box office - no mean feat for a foreign film about an aspiring volleyball team consisting of gays, transvestites and transsexuals.

So what about newcomers who may aspire to emulate legendary film-making feats and create a box-office hit for as little as, say, Bt100,000? Is that a feasible proposition?

"If someone were to come in with the idea of making a feature film for Bt100,000, I would say that he needs, on average, Bt19.9 million more," Yongyoot says, putting in its proper place my rather naive notion that a real film - guns, girls, warts and all - could be made with a minuscule budget.

Yongyoot, a film-maker in every sense of the word - writer, director, producer and studio executive - points out that, only recently, Rangsit University's final-year film students completed a short film that cost Bt300,000. The question is, then, not a matter of whether one can make do with a limited amount of money - shooting with a cheap digital or high-definition camera, not paying the actors, begging for favours - but what the money can buy for you.

Even if you have the money, invest it elsewhere, Yongyoot says. It is not that films cannot make a good investment return. The phenomenal success of the "Blair Witch Project", with an estimated return of US$10,000 (Bt354,000) for every dollar invested, can attest to that. But film is ultimately a risky business. It is a matter of cultural zeitgeist, timing and gut instinct.

The son of a regional car dealer once approached Yongyoot and offered him Bt20 million to make a feature film.

"He told me he had withdrawn his inheritance in advance and decided to invest it in a movie." Yongyoot says, explaining that he diplomatically declined the offer. "I told him to put his money elsewhere, in mutual funds, hedge funds."

A Chinese shopkeeper's son, Yongyoot came from a modest background. Like any other Thai parents, his wanted him to take up a "serious" profession - medicine or engineering, perhaps. Yongyoot stayed in his hometown of Lampang until he completed Mathayom three. Then he came to Bangkok to study at Triam Udom Suksa, concentrating, as all smart students should, on science and maths. He was on his way to becoming a doctor.

But little did his parents know that all the movies, from Bollywood to Hollywood, they had taken him to see as a kid, were coming back to him. On the eve of the notorious entrance examination he realised that he had to make movies. The urge was undeniable.

"My favourite movie at that time was the Shaw Brothers' 'The Adventures of Chien Lung'. I was drawn to the human aspects of the emperor, who disguised himself as a commoner and roamed his empire, getting in touch with his people," Yongyoot says. Despite successfully enrolling at Chulalongkorn University's then-nascent faculty of communication arts, the film-maker was less than enthusiastic about the works of Kubrick, Kieslowski, Kurosawa and Kusturica.

"My favourite film of all time is actually 'Boonchu' - perhaps because I am an upcountry boy like Boonchu, the hero of the film. I can relate to him and look to him as a role model," Yongyoot says. "There is no grand theme or sweeping imagery in Uncle Bhandit's [Boonchu films]. They focus on human relationships. The movies track all the stages in Boonchu's life. They are funny. They are not about human beings, per se, but about being human."

At Chulalongkorn, Yongyoot met Jira Maligool, his senior. "Back then the Thai media world was not as 'happening' as it is now," Yongyoot recalls. People were recruited through recommendation, and alumni tended to hire juniors from the same alma mater.

Still a freshman, Yongyoot was enlisted by Jira, who freelanced as a music video and commercial director, to act in a Kratorn music video. Upon graduation, Yongyoot joined Jira as a runner, doing everything and anything, from putting sandbags on C-stands to managing productions. Gradually, he advanced to assistant director. And in 1991 he joined Jira's newly formed production company, Hub Ho Hin, as a commercial director.

"There are two types of film-maker," Jira says. "One acts as the centre of the universe, like the sun, and the other rotates around the sun. Yongyoot belongs to the latter group."

But shouldn't a director be like Stanley Kubrick, who demanded 40 takes of a single shot - a macho kind of person?

"Yongyoot's approach is always based on putting an emphasis on other people first. He sees and understands them as who they are. Such qualities make him a good director. He breathes life into his characters on screen by understanding the actors' needs," Jira says.

Yongyoot's final thought is of his school: "At Chula, we were always regarded as ducks. We didn't swim, fly or walk particularly well, or spectacularly. But we gave it all we had." 

Ki Nan Tsui

The Nation