PENNY SHOWMEN WHO ARE NOW FAMOUS

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 80, Issue 254, 26 October 1937, Page 3

PENNY SHOWMEN WHO ARE NOW FAMOUS

'yyilEN THE NEW Oreon Theatre opened in Leicester Square recently, boxing in the square on its third side with picture houses, its steel and concrete formed a tablet to an historic spot in film history—the site of one of the first picture shows given in England, writes C.A.L. in the London Observer. There, at the old Alhambra music hall, in the middle nineties, Robert Paul exhibited his new machine, the Theatreograph lately introduced with vast success at Olympia. Almost next door, at the Empire music hall, the new Lumiere Cinematographe was nightly attracting audiences. Leicester Square was already, before 1900, the hub of London’s picture-going world. The old music halls were tlic|first|cine-Lma-s; the space of a variety turn the usual length of a film programme. In time the novelty of the short 11 living picture” turn faded, and came to be used as what the Americans called a “chaser” to empty the house periodically during the continuous vaudeville performances. But outside the music halls the habit grew. Enterprising showmen began to hire local assembly rooms, clubs, and empty shops for their performances, paying their rental with a percentage of the takings. Tn America the “penny arcade” men, led by an enterprising young fellow named Adolph Zukor. gave a fillip tn the business by leasing adjoining rooms to their arcades, knocking holes in the wall or coiling, fitting up an improvised screen, ami qraduallv weaning their patrons away from peepshow to picture. Other p’n neers of the peepshow were a certain Carl La emi e. a certain Jesse Laskv, and ■’ family of voting cycle salesmen called ’Varner. Tn London the crowds wore locking intn a converted shop *o ride rough tho Rockv Mountains for sixnonce a trin in a now’ enterprise known ns Tinies Tours. Until tho Cinematograph Act of 1!»(>G there were no safety restrictions at film shows. The hulls, often built of wood were lit by uncovered gas jets; the seats were wooden benches; a single door usually provided the exit. The film, as it ran through the projector, unwound loosely on to the floor, or in better-class houses : nto a sack or open basket. It took two serious fires, following the terrible Paris bazaar fire of the nineties to convince the Home Office that some form of regulation

GROWTH OF CINEMA

Looking Back to Nineties

and licensing was necessary to keep this new entertainment under control. ( Step by step, in the years before and during the war, the “bioscope,” as it was first called, “the pictures,” as they became later, developed as a social institution. The rules demanding extra exit space suggested the purchase of adjoining properties, and cinemas automatically grew larger. Wise managers advertised that their house was “aired between each performance.” Wooden benches gave way to armchairs screwed to the ground, and presently “one thousand tip-up ■seals” was an announce merit of enormous charm. The film lecturer, who learnt up his comments on Monday morning to accompany the action of "Monday night’s film, became a rarity. The single pin nist was supported by a fiddler, then bv a multiple keyboard combining ten or eleven other instruments, and presently bv a small nndinsfra Programmes, instead of changinrr daily, were ehniigoi! en "Mondays. Wednesdays and Fridav •. and Dresonfly, with excursive d‘gn : “'. on "Mondays and Thursdays. Rv 19V' enfreprising managers were cnvvin.r *■' • •it'd a biscuit with nvpry By 1913, for a penny “anywhere in the house” you could see a six-reel picture in a theatre housing fifteen hundred people with attendants dressed in “de luxe” uniforms. Not long after wards the price went up to twopence and even threepence. By 1914 they were advertising ‘‘the largest, screen in Stratford,” or Birmingham, or London. Tn 1915 D. W. Griffith put the ’•all-mark of gontilitv on pief’ire-shov-ing with “The P.'rfli of a Nation.’’ whi<di might, only bp exhibited in larg p . specialised halls, with a special uiusi"pl score to accomnany overv show. The national development in cinema building in America during the war rears led to a vast impetus in this country after 1918, when the restriction's on building were removed. Pic hire houses sprang un like mushroom* often on the site of converted music halls. Electric signs blazed above these

new “palaces”; every cinema was a “super” cinema; every programme was a “de luxe” programme; organs began to rise out of the ground, colour floor lights bathed them in blue and rose and amber; stage “presentations” ushered in the film. Then, in .1929 the talkies came, and overnight the picture houses must be “wired for sound” or perish. A totally new style of architecture was the order of the day. All over the. world, new talkie then Ires sprang up; old silent halls wen gutted, their vitals cut out, remodelled The tendency in silent days was for cinemas to be long and narrow, with ground-floor seats. The sound engineers found that the echo from the back wall reached the front seats after a time lapse of seconds. They tackled the problem in two days, treating the walls with acoustic absorbing material, ami creaking up the back wall with a bn’ enny—using the audience, in fart, ann absorbing medium. Their einemab'H'ame wider, lower, with heavy enr nets and upholstery to absorb echoo* ’’’he operating ’•ox, for the first time was treated as the key tn the theatre The nld boxes, “absolute death-trans ’’ they have been cnllofl. were scrapped • n favour nf lighter, airier more nmole conditions. Round, projection, lightin - ventilation, became a thorough on gin fcr’ng job. Everv cinema is a mi n ’“ power station fo-dav. Meanwhile, in the last eight year* ' nether enormous impetus to cinema de velopmeut has been found in the iu crease of road transport, and in par licular the growth of the motor bu« services. A country town like "Maid stone is served to-day by seventeen separate bus routes. Sidnev Bernsteir who has built a theatre there as bi'* and costlv as any of hi« London ho’ise--reckons that lie draw* his gudienrw r rom a fiftoen-mile radius. Tn most cases, in country districts, nr rangements are made with the omrilv’companies to meet the times of the

cinema programmes. On market days the picture-house cloakrooms will be stacked with parcels—free storage for fowls, fruit, groceries, shoes, shrubs, tortoises, and all the odd products of a country shopping day. The modern tendency of picturegoers rs to regard the cinema as an exclusive kind of club, where they can get free garage, free cloakroom space, warm, cushioned seats on cold days, air-condi-tioned freshness on hot days. Thanks to the stringent regulations of the L.C.C. and other local authorities, they can see their films to-day in comfor* and safety. There is no danger of light failure. Tho regulations demand enter genev lighting, generated from an in dependent source of supplv. There is no danger of fire panic. The rules for emergency exits are strict, and Mr. Bernstein reckons that he can get 3090 children out of a modern theatre in •something just under two min’Bes. The house lights are brighter than they used tn be: with n tendency to be thrown down on the feet to prevent stumbling For half a crown the most exigent pie ture-goor enn huv three hours of and comfort; soft carpets to walk on soft chairs to sleep in: warmth, opulence. and variety. Thirty years ago a young lady rejecti d her fiancee because she heard he was going into the “living picture” business. Twenty years ago a penny arcade salesman refused to join Zukor in the cinema because he “had seen pic lures put out penny arcades and w:r not going to be twice caught napping Ten years ago the leaders of the in dustry declared that talkies if the\ name, would only be an overnight novel ty. Tn less than half a century we have seen this illusion of moving images grow from a toy peepshow into 'he most fashionable of, luxury enter ♦ ainments. To-day, in 1937, comfort has almost reached saturation point in the cinema. We have arrived at the stage where wr can no longer be lured here or there b' an extra girl in Hie stage show or nn extra goldfish in the foyer. The publu of 1937 shops for pictures, more than ever before, according to tho quality of the entertainment. The screen matters more than the soft furnishings; the images are more persuasive than the usherettes. As Charles Raymond, the manager of the Empire, once phrased : l with characteristic American econo my, “The seats all face one way.”