Motion Picture Herald (Jan-Mar 1955)

An International Association of Motion Picture Showmen — Walter Brooks^ Director an4 Tlext fftcHth, fite Hete 7^4{aif Clocks and calendars count heavily in a showman’s life ; he disregards one, but respects the other. He may work eighteen hours a day, but he knows that he observes two calendars — the one that marks today, and the one that holds the deadline against him for next month’s planning in advance. You have to know what’s coming, and prepare for it ; and then you have to see it through. For nothing happens haphazardly or by accident, in this business. It is either planned in advance, or it zvon’t happen. Unless the showman foresees the day, thirty days hence, and makes ready for it, it won’t be today, when he meets it. It will just be an off-Tuesday, or an off -week, that wasn’t provided for, in advance. Managers of theatres carry two calendars in their minds. One is the one they are working for; the other is the one they are working zvith. Everything that amounts to anything, in film industry, must be laid down in advance. Some of the pre-selling is too far ahead — but that is merely to condition you to eventualities. You must recapture that prior effort and make it count on your play dates. It isn’t easy to shove the calendar together and make it meet, when pre-selling is four months or more ahead of time. It’s enough when a manager can keep his two calendars a month apart, in his mind. Only Superman can expect to meet all these contingencies and keep smiling. But, he has a system, which is, to prepare, and then to produce. It’s perfectly logical to prepare and produce in that order. There’s both system and satisfaction, in doing it. And, the pride of showmanship lies in making ready, get set, to go, on a dateline and a deadline. That’s why we are managers. To manage, according to the unabridged dictionary, means “To have under control or direction ; to handle successfully or cope with ; to guide, administer, to carry on.” The dictionary admits no failure — for if you do not “handle successfully” you are no manager, in the book. Nor, in this Round Table meeting. The reason we are mana ENGINES AND INDIANS Both extinct, except as nostalgic memory, for the delight of youngsters who may never grow up. The whistles, the steam engines, are part of America's heritage. But they are gone with the Indians, and we think they should be recaptured as new material for adventure films, with appeal to all those who like "the old West" — and the drama that was recorded on the rails. Reading the hometown newspaper recently, we noted that 400 Cub Scouts were riding fifty miles on buses, to take a trip on a steam train, and to visit a "round house" on a mountain division. Poor kids, they’ve never known the trains. On a cold winter night at home, we could hear "the Midnight" winding through the hills, thirty miles in the night, and It was music to our ears, with the excitement of going places, and new adventures. Now, it's all gone with the past, until somebody makes good railroad films, as a supplement and a substitute for outworn cowboy themes. Modern railroads can replace steam engines with new Diesels, and earn back the investment in just a few years, through lower costs of operation. But it's not the same adventure, nor ever will be. There is an organization known as "Railroad Enthusiasts"— of which we've been a member— and the Association of American Railroads is cooperating In making nostalgic films with their blessing, to preserve the old-time atmosphere of railroading. gers is because we can “cope with” — and that’s what keeps you working, without regard to clocks or calendars, to do the showmanship job that is the pride of our international association. Managers are better paid, and better appreciated, in this day of New Film Industry, 1955. We believe that the Round Table has contributed heavily to the end result. ^ NICKELODEON, as glorified at the Franklin Museum in Philadelphia, as a gesture of good will — and good industry relations on the part of William Goldman, veteran exhibitor — is a fine thing for history and nostalgia, but it bears slight resemblance to the old AmusU theatre, where we started in this business in 1908. The AmusU, with the capital U, was on Main Street, Canton, Pa., and it was a “store” show — the landlord would never remove the store windows that were part of the property. The room was 20 feet wide, and probably 60 feet deep, and you walked up several steps on a false floor to 135 of the undertaker’s chairs. In those days, film service came from General Film Company in Wilkes-Barre, and we had new pictures every day, two reels of various and sundry nature, that added up to “your best entertainment” — forty seven years ago. The admission was really a nickel, and we glow with pride for the exploitation we did so long ago, especially when a “percentage” deal in our favor made us temporarily wealthy. The booth was something to dream about — the Edison Kinetoscope mounted on a plank, with the film running into a burlap bag. An operator of that period cranked the machine, and then cranked the rewind, during a “one minute interval to change reels.” The lamp house was partly home made, and the rheostat was a similar device, wire wound with mica insulation. Nice firerisk, for a school boy who should have been in school, but we never had a fire. Dad wanted his oldest to be a lawyer ; we wanted to be an electrical engineer, and he lead us home from “the picture show” by the ear — but he couldn’t break that movie habit, once it became a career. The AmusU was followed by the Plippodrome, the Happy Hour and the Pastime, all nostalgic names for those who started early in this business. In 1912, we had an experience we have always prized — we went “on the road” with “The Life of Hiawatha” in FOUR reels, and visited nearly every nickelodeon in Pennsylvania. — Walter Brooks MANAGERS' ROUND TABLE SECTION, JANUARY 29, 1955 35