"THE PICTURES"

Evening Post, Volume CXXIII, Issue 29, 4 February 1937, Page 11

"THE PICTURES"

THE EARLY THEATRES

A MUSICIAN'S MEMORIES

(By L. D. Austin.)

Those who enjoy entertainment in modern picture theatres, equipped with svery convenience and up-to-date designs for the comfort of patrons, might be not a little astonished by a sight of the conditions in cinemas twenty-five years ago. The "picture palace" was often the incongruous title of these buildings—a term applied with quite unconscious irony and with far less iustification than that merited by a distant relation—the "ghi palace." Let us cite an example that obtained here in Wellington a quarter of a century back. In 1912 John Fuller and Sons were running a picture show in what was called the "Skating Rink" in Vivian Street, a building which still remains pretty much as it used to be,, though long since devoted to mercan-j tile purposes. As the projection machines of that period were not powerful enough to throw the pictures to the end of this hall, the screen had perforce to be erected in the centre of the auditorium, and seating accommodation was provided for patrons on both sides of the transparent screen. When the front seats were full, latecomers had to sit at the back, where they, suffered the handicap of seeing everything in reverse. As far as concerned the pictures this did not greatly matter, save that all the actors became left-handed; but on the letter press the effect was disastrous, naturally, since it appeared the wrong way round. In this dilemma, spectators had two courses open to them—i.e., the develop-! ment of a new technique of reading; backwards, or of sitting with their backs to the screen, and following Shakespeare's advice to hold the mirror up to Nature— literally, that is, by means of pocket mirrors and bits of looking-glass! In a lengthy experience I have seen no more curious sight than this—dozens of people unconsciously forecasting the advent of that sinister contrivance, the periscope. "INCIDENTAL MUSIC." The "orchestra" at the Skating Rink in those days consisted of three performers—pianist, violinist, and cornetist, and we played some remarkable stuff at times. I was the, pianist-con-ductor, as I have been throughout my long association with the musical side of. motion-picture entertainment in New Zealand and elsewhere. Not long since I met a lady who said she remembers hearing us play, at the Skating Rink, Schumann's "Carnival," which I had arranged for three instruments. We did not worry overmuch, at that period, about what was termed playing "to the pictures." Sometimes the music "fitted in," more often it did not; but as the majority of screen subjects in those days were of a comedy type the laughter of the audience drowned the musicians' efforts, so it was quite immaterial what we played. The "silent film," as we now term it in contradistinction to the modern "talkie," provoked immeasurably noisier response from audiences who could, and did, let themselves go without fear of losing any dialogue. * This was particularly noticeable at the children's Saturday matinees, when the principal attraction usually took the form of a "cowboy" feature, reinforced with a "slapstick" comedy, during the screening of which there was one long pandemonium of infantile ' excitement and glee, shrieks and yells of laughter and cheers. Another peculiar picture theatre that I recall was situated not a hundred miles from Christchurch. It had been originally a church, and the only alterations, made to fit it,-for its new. vocation consisted of 'substituting plain for stained gla,ss windows, and the removal of the -wooden pulpit to a position near the main entrance, where it did duty as the projection box. OPEN-AIR SHOWS. I have been associated with two open-air picture shows. The first was at Manly, a suburb of Sydney, where the hot and normally still nights of summer lend themselves admirably to alfresco amusements. say "normally" because on occasion the elements supplied unexpected distraction. I remember a particularly severe southerly "buster" that swooped down on? night and inflicted havoc among the orchestral music, most of which disappeared heavenwards like a 'light of seagulls in close formation. Nor was this the sole excitement provided by open-air performances. The musicians' contracts stipulated "no play, no pay," with' a saving clause to the effect that if the overture had actually commenced before bad weather intervened it should count as a night's work. This agreement sometimes had thrilling consequences, for with the members of the orchestra all seated ready to begin, while heavy rain seemed inevitably imminent, it became a race between man and Nature. Is it to be wondered at that our hearts beat somewhat faster as we gazed on the clock, or that heated argument occasionally urose with the manager following allegations of starting a few seconds before time? Generally speaking, picture patrons of an earlier day were not difficult to please in the way of comfort and accommodation. Any old building was good enough so long as the actual entertainment fulfilled expectations, and prices of admission remained at prewar level—viz., 3d and 6d, or, at most, 6d and 9d. Those were happy, carefree days, when Charlie Chaplin, Mabel Normand, John Bunny, Thomas Meighan, Jack Holt, and Mary Pickford had either just appeared or were about to begin their remarkable Does'the modern theatre, with its speaking film, give quite the wholesouled enjoyment provided by its forerunners? Palatial buildings, coupled with the last word in projection maclw inery, have combined to eliminate all extraneous incidents and interruptions; no longer do rats run about among; the musicians and evoke shrieks of apprehension from ladies in the audience; no more do we see the pictures appear upside down or a break in the film cause a hold-up of anything from five to twenty minutes, what time the audience whistled, yelled, and stamped its feet while despairing managers tore their hair. All such happenings were of common occurrence. Funny things were experienced, too, in the musical department, especially where pianolas superseded human pianists. It was customary for the girl ushers to take turns at this instrument, regardless of then musical aptitude. I have seen some of them pedalling away and doing knitting simultaneously, with an effect on the music better imagined than d<The pianola was the first link in the chain of mechanical music which has exerted a stranglehold on living performers. A generation is growing up that has never seen or heard a real theatre orchestra—whether for good or ill is not for me to say.