Motion Picture Herald (Oct-Dec 1956)

“ WHAT THE PICTURE DID FOR ME” 40 YEARS YOUNG AND HEALTHY by LAWRENCE J. QUIRK Forty years ago this month — October of 1916 — saw the establishment by Martin Quigley of the famous service department now known to several generations of exhibitors as “What the Picture Did for Me.” The intrinsic value of this highly useful feature, which Mr. Quigley has nurtured and sustained for four productive decades as a prime service to operators of situations the world over, cannot be underestimated. Its name and fame have spread far outside exhibitor ranks. Its laconic, shrewd opinions, based on the incontrovertible evidence of the actual playingtime experience of picture-wise showmen in situations great and small, rural and urban, have been quoted by columnists like Sidney Skolsky and have been taken up through word of mouth by the showwise in many divisions and categories. But it is primarily because of the fact that this feature has proved itself eminently serviceable to exhibitors, and because of the venerable and respected place it holds in the hearts of some 10,000 exhibitors down the years, that it is fitting that in this, the fortieth anniversary month of “What The Picture Did for Me,” some note should be taken of its function, its history, and its place in the motion picture trade scheme. From All Areas Some half-million reports on the commercial standing of the industry’s films have sprung into type since that distant day in 1916 when our present Hollywood editor, William R. Weaver, under Mr. Quigley’s direction, gathered together a sheaf of exhibitor opinions. of product recently screened for patrons, and edited them for a debut appearance in the then Exhibitors Herald. The geographical locations of those sending in their opinions over the years have become more widespread, and the types of operators corresponding have varied, from the small 400-seat theatre manager of 1916 to the drive-in showman of 1956 — but the pattern of the individual observation has changed surprisingly little. Exhibitors have found these comments unbeatable as a method of comparing notes. By this system showmen from Canada to Argentina, from Maine to California, from the Orient to Great Britain, have traced a film’s course box office-wise, its impact on patrons in large and small situations, in western cowtown and small eastern suburb, in staid New Hampshire and fun-loving Florida. Nor have the ever-watchful Hollywood producers failed over the years to absorb to their profit the lessons inherent in this cross-section examination of the composite observations of the men actually-on-the-spot as patrons watched product. Since 1916, “What the Picture Did for Me” has seen many an industry crisis and shifts in booking systems'. There were those booking changes brought about by the “loan-out” system, which resulted in contract stars borrowed by other studios making their appearance on the marquee of a small exhibitor’s competitor, to the latter’s professional consternation. But such was not the case in comparatively simple 1916 when, as Bill Weaver once noted, an exhibitor had certain assurances box office-wise. A showman booking a Paramount lineup in that year knew he would get the exclusive services of certain top-grossing personalities working solely for that company; ditto exhibitors booking Triangle product, or the Universal or Mutual output. Trends Came and Went Many were the trends that came and went over four decades. Spot-booking as against the block variety enjoyed its vogue. The star system reached its zenith in the 1920s and the personality outweighed the vehicle. This gave rise to Favorite Star contests among the exhibitors, and even awards by producers like Adolph Zukor to “the year’s finest film production,” based on the showmen’s aggregate opinion. Other trends followed — the “giveaway dishes” of the depression period, the poll surveys of attendance at morally questionable films, the star personal appearances. All these phenomena were reflected in the pages of “What the Picture Did for Me.” More serious developments rocked the industry — the letdown at the box office after the “boom year” of 1946, the onslaughts of rising costs and TV, the shift to the drive-in, the rise of refreshment concession profits, which kept more than one operator out of the red. Then came the divorcement of production from exhibition in the early 1950’s, and its serious effects on product placement. As before noted, the language that the typical exhibitor adopts when he pens or types in his individual report has changed little since 1916. A typical 1956 A-type feature like Universal’s “Never Say Goodbye” carries the exhibitor notation in a recent 1956 issue: “Played to S.R.O. and it’s the best tear-jerker in many months!” This from a gentleman in Georgia. And one gets a nostalgic feeling when one thumbs through a 1916, or a 1932, or a 1944, volume and meets the same observation, almost word-for-word, on a bygone film. Human nature, and its entertainment likes and dislikes, have changed little with the years. The styles have changed, the production mounting has been embellished, the loved old faces of bygone favorites disappear, perhaps, but not the fundamental audience emotions beneath. Down the years exhibitors on that page have chortled delightedly of a “$2,000 Saturday night take” and they have waxed gloomy as they gave notice of “$13.50 at the till at yesterday’s dead matinee.” Then Bill Weaver likes to tell of the classic write-in, from a showman who screened a certain nameless turkey and wrote, “This picture is so bad I stuck it in the can after the first show and screened a row of tickets!” Some interesting phenomena have always been revealed. In 1923, when the late box office idol Wallace Reid died, some exhibitors writing in demanded a fresh circulation of his old films, citing patron requests. In other sections of the country, exhibitors reported a box office nose-dive for Reid’s final pictures in view of his death! In this respect patron tastes have changed, since 1955-56 reports from exhibitors offer predominantly favorable box office tallies on the pictures of the deceased James Dean. In 1929, believe it or not, there were some exhibitors who thought talkies an ephemeral novelty, and the pages of “What the Picture Did for Me” that year mirror the reluctance of many of them to wire for sound! The public would get sick of the gab, they protested, and would shortly be crying for the mute fluidity of the long-popular silent film. Variables Are Cited There are certain staple tenets, of course. But in the aggregate, there are multiple “draw” factors to consider. “What the Picture Did for Me” has reported some of them faithfully over four decades. Weather conditions. Seasons of the year. Crops to be harvested. The baseball season. A V.F.W. or Legion convention. In the ’20s Radio was a threat. In the ’50s TV is a threat. But word-of-mouth about a good picture has a way of seeping through to the man and woman who step up to the box office with their money, and the correspondents’ reports reflect this. Exhibitors since time immemorial have referred to the day-of-the-week fluctuation in attendance. “Did great on Wednesday; died on Thursday” has been a common write-in summation. But the value of “knowing before showing” has been proved sound, as the readers of “What the Picture Did for Me” have discovered now for 40 years. MOTION PICTURE HERALD, OCTOBER 20, 1956 29