Exhibitors Herald and Moving Picture World (Apr-Jun 1930)

14 EXHIBITORS HERALD-WORLD April 5, 1930 Lobby Entertainment THE problem of what to do with the mobs that storm your box office and can’t get into the theatre has been rather deftly solved by the wise officials who run the Paramount. They have looked around the staff and found an assistant booker and an usher who know how to play the piano and sing. Gentlemen, please meet Bernard Brooks, assistant booker for the Paramount Brooklyn exchange, who warbles a tune or two when properly encouraged. And this other chap here, this fellow at the piano, is William Kettle, who apparently would rather tease the ivories than usher a patron. In the evenings and on Saturday and Sunday afternoons, when the crowds begin to get so big at the Paramount that they are led into the lobby and allowed to stand there behind ropes, waiting for a chance to get into the auditorium and see something, these two boys put on their act. They’re good too and the crowd likes what they do, which, obviously, consists of plugs for Paramount songs and the repetition of numbers played on the organ by J esse Crawford. This leads to an idea. I should say that exhibitors and theatre managers all over the country, particularly those thousands who are bothered by too many customers, ought to give their staffs a good going over. How do you know but that the two boys who take care of the furnace aren’t another Amos an’ Andy in disguise? How about that fellow with the whiskbroom, he might be another Will Rogers! Why, the gal in the cage might turn out to be Pert Kelton, or Fanny Brice, or Marie Dressier! And there’s the quartet! What usher staff doesn’t have its “barber shop four”? And if they’re good, what better setting for them to plead with “Adeline” than in the lobby? There is this one objection to the plan. It seems very silly to be giving something for nothing. Perhaps the motion picture cathedral of the future will be an edifice consisting of a number of lobbies, into which you pass progressively, at a price, until you finally succeed in reaching the theatre proper. Barrymore, Comedian MAN’S memory is notoriously short, but I must say I was considerably surprised to find the Metropolitan critics doing handsprings because they just discovered that John Barrymore could do comedy! The reason for this comment is, of course, the amazingly funny performance given by Barrymore in “The Man from Blankley’s” just brought to Broadway by the brothers Warner. That was rather a curious event anyway. Hardly a word of publicity or exploitation preceded the picture, which may have been caused somewhat by the fact that during the days just before the picture went into the Central theatre Sam Morris and Abe Waxman, Warner chiefs in these matters, were on a train back from the Coast. However, it is possible that the Warners didn’t want to make too much of a fuss over Barrymore’s career, either on they had gone to such expense and trouble in building him up as the great lover. Or perhaps they were so proud of the picture, and of Barrymore’s performance, that they felt “The Man from Blankley’s” could come in cold and knock them dead. Far be it from me to launch into a description of John Barrymore’s career, either on the stage or on the screen. Certainly enough is known about him to make an expression of surprise unnecessary when it develops that he can do comedy. Why, one might take it for granted that he can do anything! However, anyone who knows anything about pictures at all cannot have forgotten the gorgeous comedies made by Barrymore when he was first breaking into pictures, to say nothing of such stage productions as “The Fortune Hunter,” “A Slice of Life,” “The Affairs of Anatol.” How about that grand comedy called “The Man from Mexico” and how about “Raffles” and “Here Comes the Bride”? I see no reason why exhibitors shouldn’t take “The Man from Blankley’s” and hop to it with both feet. Here is as funny a show as you’ve ever shown and Barrymore is better than ever. — PETER VI SC HER. ~ The Sound ^ox' Credit Joe Cowan with the gag of the week. It seems one of the largest film companies hired a famous author, at a tremendous salary, to adapt a certain story. The famous author secluded himself for six weeks in his hotel and labored day and night on his script. He claimed hei had never put as much energy into his own books. On the seventh week, with the job almost done, his telephone rang. It was the president of the company himself. “Sorry, old man,” said the president, “you’ll have to stop that assignment, I just found out we don’t own the story.” AAA Lou Weinberg claims authorship of this gag: The reason Amos and Andy can’t appear in motion pictures is because Pepsodent removes film. AAA There was trouble in the Barge Office yesterday. John Barrymore was having his picture taken for a passport and refused to pose for anything but a profile shot. AAA There’s a fellow in Hoboken who’s been seeing every performance of a certain Mack Sennett comedy since the bill opened last week. The manager asked him the reason for his constant attendance. “It’s this way,” said the genius, “in that comedy there’s a scene where twenty bathing beauties are undressing, and just before they actually get interesting a train comes along and shuts off the view. Some day that train’s going to be late, and here’s where I’ll be when it happens.” AAA I know the dumbest girl in the whole world. She’s been reading in the papers how all the movie actresses are taking voice culture lessons to better equip themselves for talkies. The ones that started these voice lessons first, of course, are in most demand. Knowing this, she came upon an item in the paper that said the wide screen is sure to supplant the screen now used. And what did this dope do? She began to eat fattening foods ! AAA I had an argument with a publicity man yesterday. “You dirty so and big,” he swore, “just for that last crack I won’t send you another line of publicity.” AAA One of the scenes reported cut from “Be Yourself.” Harry Green, who has the part of the shyster lawyer, is trying to get a stick of gum from a slot machine after having deposited a penny. For five minutes he shakes and wrestles the machine. “Ah,” he finally says, “an anti-Semite.” AAA Dear Editor: I know this is short but I got a date. In exactly two hours and fifteen minutes I’m going to meet Marilyn Miller at Grand Central station. We’re both going to Hollywood, and on the same train, and I know I’m lucky. We’ll drop in on you in Chicago. NORMAN KRASNA