Motion Picture News (Jan - Mar 1914)

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i6 THE MOTION PICTURE NEWS the expense, and goodness knows, I sure need to economize, the way things are going." "Does the girl do anything else besides play the piano?" "Yes, she clerks over here in one of the stores during the morning, and on afternoons when I have no mats." "What kind of outside illumination have you been using?" "Well, sir, the first six months I had two dandy big arcs right out over the sidewalk, and an electric sign, with the name 'Orpheum' lettered on it right over the door. When business got poor I cut them all out and just used the lobby lights. That's all I've got now. Electricity is so costly." "How many ushers do you have now?" "One, and he takes care of the box office if the manager is away." "Then the manager stays in the box office?" "Sure, why not? That's where he belongs, isn't it? He's there to see that things are run right, and that the cash is taken care of properly." 9ft !p IfC JjC "¥ ET'S walk over to the theatre. It's pretty nearly -L' time for it to open for the evening show," suggested the successful exhibitor. He already had his finger on the weak points, but he felt that further investigation would be worth while, and besides, he intended saying things, plainly and forcibly, to Jerry. He inspected every part of the house. He noted the disorder in the projection booth; the little piano player sitting far down in front, one dim light burning feebly over the top of the instrument, and a muddled jumble of ragtime ringing through the house, while on the screen the hero rescued his fiancee from a burning room. He clenched his fists as his eyes fell upon the usher, leaning idly against the wall in the rear of the house, and a man and woman walking toward him to present their admission tickets. He kicked a torn and empty crackerjack box from under his feet as he walked up the aisle. Inquisitive, he touched the arm of a vacant chair, and drew his finger away, its end black with dust. The air in the house was tainted with age, a sort of elusive, dry, musty odor. "How often are you changing now?" he asked of Jerry, when finally they stood in front of the house. "Every day. Got to do it. The fellow just around the *fr »t» SCENE FROM 'WHEN URSUS THREW THE BULL' Nestor corner runs five a day, and six on Saturday." Jim glanced disgustedly at a poster flapping idly in the breeze from where it hung in a frame, one gilt-edged side of which had been torn or knocked away. The front of the theatre and the lobby were actually attractive, he noted mentally. People were constantly passing the theatre, and yet few deigned to glance in. The walls held no decorations of any kind. "How much time do you spend with the manager?" was the next question. "Oh, I come in for a little while every night, but he always has things running first rate, and there's no need of two of us being here all the time. It's going to take all of my time now to find something that will bring me a living." "Bring some of your newspaper ads, and let's go back to my room in the hotel and talk it over," Jim requested. Once there, he proceeded to make himself comfortable before saying: "Jerry, I'm going to give you some mighty plain talk, and I don't want you to get mad about it. I know what the trouble is, and I know how you can remedy it. Will you stand for the things I'm going to call you, and tell you about?" "You can't make me sore, old man. It's all very fine for you, with your nice big house down there in Bloomfield, the people crowding the lobby every night, and money just pouring it, to come up here and tell me what is wrong. If I had the money I know I could do the same thing." Jerry was just a trifle sarcastic, but Jim passed it by, unheeding. * * * * " T? IRST, Jerry, I'll make it strong. You're a fool. You A started in here, two years ago, by investing practically every cent you had. I did the same thing down in Bloomfield. We both worked our heads off then, and we each made money. I'm still making it. You're not. Here's why: "You begin by employing a manager who has had no previous experience in the show business. Perhaps the fellow was honest, ambitious, and a hustler. He may have been a good harness-maker, but what did he know about the film business, and particularly this end, which is the hardest to buck? You made a profit, at first, not because you used your brains, but because people liked the idea of coming to a new house. You told me then that you were an assured success as an exhibitor. You didn't even take the trouble to find out whether your manager was competent. You turned him loose, with an entirely new and foreign proposition on his hands. Harness-making and exhibiting don't go well together. Then, because you made a little money, you thought things were working smoothly. You depended entirely on your manager. You showed him that you weren't worried about the house, so he undoubtedly felt that he didn't need to fret any. Instead of going over every little item in connection with your business, you floated around, feeling supremely superior because you were making a profit. "People got acquainted with the house: the newness wore off. Then business took a drop. Your manager couldn't reason out why, nor did you. Perhaps if you two had put your heads together and done some genuine thinking, you could have remedied matters before it was too late. Insnad, you begin to kick, and feel that your investment is a dead loss. I'll wager that you haven't been inside this theatre an hour after closing time at night since it opened. Have you?" "No, I guess I haven't." Jerry answered, despondently. "You remained in the butcher shop many nights until two or three o'clock in the morning. You had to do it, to get ready for tin next day. And yet you are not able to see the necessity for it here. You take it for granted that people want to see pictures: that all you've got to do is to {Continued on page 50)