Motion Picture Herald (Jul-Aug 1947)

MOTION PICTURE HERALD MARTIN QUIGLEY, Editor-in-Chief and Publisher TERRY RAMSAYE, Editor Vol. 168, No. 2 QP July 12, 1947 THEATRE NAMES THAT observation by Mr. Louis B. Mayer that "sixty-five cents out of every dollar taken in by a theatre" stays in the home town, spent for rent, advertising, salaries, taxes, etc., belongs in the notebook for every showman who expects to make a speech before the Chamber of Commerce or his Rotary Club. It needs to be said over and over. This brings up again our frequent reflection that the very naming of theatres and their sometimes conspicuous identification thereby with national enterprises conduces to a widespread notion that the motion picture is an "outside" enterprise for taking money out of the community. Once upon a time, big circuit identification, tied to trademark advertising, suggested program strength. The program system of production and distribution is no more, and trademark significance has gone with the wind. The pooling of talent and the trading of dramatic materials has done for that. Each motion picture is on its very own. Trademark names on theatres are anachronistic, probably mildly destructive. Oil IN THE HOME THE television twitter of this week has been over the announcement from the always articulate Zenith Radio Corporation in Chicago of a device for transmitting entertainment to the home over telephone wires, with program selections and toll charges along with the 'phone bill at the end of the month. The project, assuming all technological problems solved, is at best another home-movie gadget, of hardly more significance as competition for the theatre box office. None of the many ornate speculations and forecasts about television entertainment piped into the home, whether by air or wire, takes cognizance that an important part of the motion picture theatre as entertainment is the audience and membership in the audience — also, as we have said so often before, because the theatre is "some place to go". The experience of seeing a motion picture as a member of a large audience, assembled in the special environment of the theatre, has for the gregarious majority considerations and values not to be had in the home. The audience gives authority, acceptance, and intensifies individual reaction. The theatre is quite as much, or more, of the people than of the arts. NO CHANCE NOW, up out of some months of silence, that stormy petrel of publicity— "The Outlaw", King Carol and Yonkers — Mr. Russell Birdwell, emerges in the mail from Hollywood in behalf of "Monsieur Verdoux" and Mr. Charles Chaplin. The keynote is: "Chaplin changes. Can you?" That is because Mr. Chaplin has changed his pants to portray a dandy devoted to murder. The principal victim of "Verdoux" is the belovedly, shrewdly dumb little vagabond who made millions laugh. Apparently, now in his new pants he would try to make them think, without making clear what he thinks. Mr. Chaplin perhaps is not entirely aware that while he gets more and more mature, year by year, the public is being born young every day. NEEDED, A VOICE A CONSTRUCTIVE opportunity exists for some militant effort addressed at the removal of Government restrictions on new theatre construction. While it is true that restrictions on general commercial construction have been considerably relaxed, there continues an official viewpoint which tends to class the theatre with dog tracks, bowling alleys, night clubs and roadhouses. And even some of those seem to get materials with notable, if not noted, facility. The motion picture and its theatre will have to be established in a new state of official mind if it is to enjoy its proper rights as an institution of wide service to society and the commonwealth. There is vastly too much acceptance of bureaucratic and political pushing around, in terms of taxation, restrictive controls and patterns of official procedure which have no bearing whatever upon the functioning of the industry as an institution of the people. The motion picture belongs to the people. who pay for it. Too many other persons are ever trying to do things with it and to it. Every branch and sector of motion picture interest has a voice. But the whole picture has none. SUMMER NOTE THAT particular time between the daylight and the dark is when to cast the bait in the sleepy slow water for catfish. They are morose, sullen fellows, given to deep, introversive considerations close to the bottom, in dark, still waters where lily pads float lazily. No catfish, despite his width of mouth, has ever been known to smile. And yet, when brought to the pan, none is so tenderly, juicily sweet and fine of grain and laden with the flavour of unhurried retrospection. Solid fellow that he is, the catfish accepts no challenges of the adroitly cast fly, pursues no frivolities of the synthetic minnow, nor does he concern himself with pearl or silver spoon or spinner. He goes only for something positively edible. Propaganda is nothing; substance is everything. In our effete Silvermine Valley he is known as the horn pout, a half-pounder at best. In our natal West, in the Will Hays country and beyond, the catfish may be had up to a hundredweight with a midriff slice big enough for a steak for four. The pursuit of the catfish is the perfect pastime of the philosopher. One drops the bait to the bottom and awaits results. They may be had immediately, or never. There is no hurry. Catfish and catfishermen take their time. Neither the fish nor the fishermen have social standing. Catfishing is strictly for loafing and eating. Bourbon, warm from the flask, with puddle water is indicated. Take your time. — Terry Ramsaye