Variety (Jan 1947)

t4 picmnuBis Forty firtl ' , • P^I^f Annwermty Wednesday, JannarjF 8, 1947 Profit^Hstes, Says Vet Operator By JOSEPH R. SPRINGER CGenerol Manager, Century Theatres) It your theatre Isn't returning a ■atisfactory gross — don't set a match to it. K you leel like Hobinson Crusoe every time you waUc into your theatre on a Saturday night, don't — not yet, anyway— offer it to your local grain and feed man for a warehouse. It is my feeling, from experiences with Century theatres during the last 25-odd years, that almost any theatre can be. made to return a proiat. i hasten to say, however, that there is no single bit of showmanship alchemy that can transmute the baser metal of a theatre in a total -wilderness to the gold of one Of any ef the powerhouses. But if your theatre has an audience potentiBl it is quite possible that, witJi investigation and the juclicious expenditure of some rtjoney, you can transform a turlcey into a lot of turlcey dinners. Some of Century's 37 theatres have been what one might call reluctant dragons. The customers were *^relm:tant" to enter tbem, and the nut W these incipient garages was certainly "draggin"' the gross receipts for our circuit down. So we did some investigating. We would study a bad house— thoroughly. The type of audience, grosses, admission prices, draw, competition, run, ihodejs of transpOrtatiop, staff, toilets, sound and proieclion, and the general comfort and personality «t the theatre: We knew everythihg there was 16 know about any gfven theatre. : Then we made our diagnosis, trying in general terms to .define what was wrong with the patient. Once we bad that set up in oVjr minds it was only a question Of doctoring andi prescribing the proper Rx. manager will be a man of culture, with some knowledge of letters, music and art; he will wear slacks and a sport jacket and will smoke a pipe. We plan to' change the name of the theatre, add a music and game room; one large foyer will become an art gallery in which we'll show and sell the finest in contemporary art. We're also going tp try some special new services. ■ And who knows, maybe it wiU wbrlc. We believe it will. In general terms, as far as increasing theatre grosses is concerned, these things should be said. We aren't in the grocery store business. We're in show business. As important as good sound and projection and clean toilets, is the showmanship aura that surrounds a theatre and giveS; it an alive personality. Bright lobbies, stunts, fully -lamped marquees; these are bones and sinew of a successful operation. Try, special morning kiddie shows when your Saturday program has only an adult draw. Use periodic, low-cost stage attractions. Add sluif shows-, tiiese' are all possible hypodermics for your boxoflice ills. Better Btatts? That's another story. K'neflsli Crnliber Before I go into a few case histDries, I'd like to disCUss the hiatter in general terms. Without trying to sound smug, or press-agenty, over where I am we talk constantly about giving a house the "Century operation." To those of you put of the melropolltan H. Y. area that may tound, despite my slightly apolo. getie preface, blurby. But the "Century operation" is Itnown to a great many .people very favorably and it's kind of a proud thing with us. We'll match the operation of our theatres. House to house, with any comparable thea^e in the countoy. . Reduced to its essentials, the Century operation means clean, safe, comfortable houses; it also means technical excellence in the exhibition of sound motion pictures. We believe that in that economically-worded paragraph lies , the answer to a great number of theatre failures that exist. If every theatre adhered to that credo, many that now are financially moribund would come surprisingly alive. That's not hearsay; it's from straight experience. . But there are some theatres which we took over for which the general Century operation was no cure. In, other words, when you've got more than a headache an aspirin won't give relief. You've got to do something more. All right Some case histories. A. simple one. A theatre in tbe heart of BrooMyn, subsequent run. Considerable competition but enough audience potential so that the competition wasn't the depressor. After the customary investigation ruled other things out, we ripped out the seats and put in fewer but much more comfortable ones. We told prospective patrons how "every seat was a comfort treat" and presto! it worked. And business has held up. We took over a tneaire that had a hoodlum audience. That was its main problem, as far as we could see. By chance the house had an auxiliary entrance. We closed , the one entrance. Started using the auxiliary, jumped prices slightly, and the trick was done. The hoodlums stayed away, the nicer people came and we're in fine shape. Right now we're instituting a radical policy change as well as a physical change in a theatre whose lEtosses leave something to be ilefiired. The house is big, barn-like, and has a late run. We're planning te make it an "arty" theatre, hoping te attract students of the motion pic' ture and intellectuals from all over, rather than from the area surrounding the theatre. We'll run class revivals, foreign films, and occasional •lecumentaries. W^'U "warm," up the, bouse by changing its name, the Pres. Aleman klior Stand Pleased Mex. Producers Mexico City. Sudden withdrawal without' explanation of the strike announced against 27 film houses in Monterey,, eastern Texas border industrial center, by the National Cinematographic Industry Workers Union (STIC), to enforce pay-hikes, is seen in pix circles as a demonstration of vigorous action of Pres. Miguel Aleman, as shown in the oil labor trouble case. Rightist stand demonstrated by Pres. Aleman is pleasing employers, sparing them possible grief from STIC in 1947. Tile 10 American distributors expect little if any labor trouble when their two-year work contracts expire in August. {>acts Were made in 1945 to end a strike. NO iISS iOTEL -By BARNEY OLDFIEUD-i Hollywood, Momentus is the word for 1946, publicity-wise. I was here and saw it; happen— a tieup was turned down. Maybe that doesn't sound like much, but it is a matter of record in this convention city that almost no organization, or industry, or group of more than three of anything bound together for any purpose other than a meal in the Brown Derby, has been passed over as the years went by witliput being urged by some p,a. to pick his client for something. I found myself in this historymaking affair through the recent great war. During this conflict, I picked up a friend and we travelled about quite a bit togethef iij a jeep seeing Europe. I did not heair from this friend until a few days ago, when he informs me that his father has been elected to the office of president of the United Motor Court Operators of these United, States. A national president of anything is not to be sneezed at lightly in Hollywood, and lo, my wartime friend tells me, he is waiipg to elect some gal With k fair frame: oh which to hang as few clothes as possible Who will be featured by having her photo hung in .state in every tourist court in the land. Being loyal to this friend, to whom I am bound because we were in the waf together and because he knows enough of my secrets to get me in all kinds of trouble, I offered this opportuui^ to every publicity agency I knew ih Hollywood, My friend and my friend's father waited in Hollywood for a week, and finally went back to attend to their sprawling business empire, I am embarrassed, of course, but I had absolutely no cooperation. This, 1946, was the year Hollywood said NO to a tieup. There will he no Miss Motel this year. Grub Street Or the Trials of Writers Who Make Up for Low Rates With Great Oiitputs By JOHN WILSTACH Major' A,rthur J, Burks, of the Marines, must have grinned if he read the obits of E, Phillips Oppenheim in which that writer's prolific writing was wondered af, for in five years Burks, while freelancing, had turned out quite as many printed words as >had Oppenheim in half a life time. Today there are lads who author novels fOr "bouse characters" and 100,000 words a month is easy to them. That would mean, if between covers, 16 big books a year. That's Grub street for yoUi Gh, yes, it still exists. In Dr. Samuel Johnson's time there was a street with th« actual name in London. It was renamed Milton street after respectable folks moved in, hut make no mistake, Milton the poet Wasn't in mind, but a prosperous British merchant In his famous dictionary Johnson Refined Grub street as the place from whence come any mean literary production. That was a bit raw, from the Old bird, for he Jived on Grub street tor. many a long year. Nowadays Grub street is where writers make up for low rates by great outputs. When certain blots turned literary they said it was better to starve than be mereticulous. Well, there are well known names that did literary streetwalk.ing. Way bade, Edgar Allan Poe hacked for The Southern Literary Messenger at a few doUars a page. Lafcadio Hearn got a hundred bucks for an English version of an Anatole France novel. Stephen Crane, before "The Red Badge of Courage," was always in debt while writing newspaper botboilers. At times a lad can avoid the street. Joseph Hergesheimer had a gilded chaise lounge for fourteen years while no one took his stuff. thus avoiding the hells bells before entering belles lettres. Sinclair Lewis is going as strong as ever. Grub street never lowered his vitality while he wrote for this and that and peddled pl.ots to Jack London. James Branch Cabell once put it exquisitely; "Unfortunately, most books are less a question of art than of bread and butter, "the average fiction writer, at all events, cannot afford to look down upon the public only, as the acrobat looks down upon the tight rope, to ascertain where it leads-^and to make sure that it supports him." Coming back to Grub street, and years gone by, aihong word champs were WiUiam Wallace CoOk— afid you'd be surprised, maybe— Upton Sinclair. In his youth Sinclair wrote millions of 10c. novels for Street & Smith. Then he entered belles lettres with a book called "The Journal of Peter Sterling." It was supposed to be the diary of a poet who drowned himself in the Hudson river. Sinclair made the announcement, described Sterling to the newspapers, and then produced his supposed journal. The hoax went over tot a while, and romantic ladies mourned the American Shelly. Then the exposure, but Sterling had gone on to "The Jungle." And thence to Helicon Hall, with a socialistic group, and Bed Lewi* supposedly stockiiig ; the furnaee. Anyway, the place finally burned .down. ZI KingHsb Grubber Hammerstein's Showmanship Continued from puge ST ; description of a Salome dance that Maude Allan was doing in IjOndon at the Palace Music Hall. "We must ■ have a Salome," said Willie. Seeing Gertrude HofiinaH seated in a Box with her husband and musical director. Max, he convinced her that she would be the one to do it, as she already had a big name in vaudeville. This would make her still bigger. It didn't take very long for Hammerstein to convince anybody, and in a few days she sailed for Europe with her husband under the name of Mr. and Mrs. Aclams. She had a letter of introduction to Alfred Butt (now Sir), manager of the London Palace. She told him she wished to rehearse her act, and after Butt made her sign a contract for a week, she got the privilege of the stage for rehearsals ..mornings. It didn't take her long to see what Maud Allan was doing and she returned to America without fulfilling the week for Sir Alfred. (He made her play that week years later). When Gertrude Hoffman put the act in rehearsal here, Oscar the elder heard about it and objected. "I have just engaged Mary Garden to Sing 'Salome' at my Opera House, we cannot have two of them." This tied the act up for a while, but soon he gave his okay and "A Vision Of Salome" was put on and became a terrific sensation, if ran for 22 weeks, which was the longeist run for any attraction at Hammerstein's up to that time. Willie could make an attraction out of almost anybody. With his genius for getting publicity and knowing what people wanted he could make a moneymaker out of an obscure person. There was a girl by the name of Flossie Crane, who worked in Smith's Cafe, one of the best known popular spots in Coney Island. She was a raw looking, gawky gal, strictly country-style. When she. sang, she seemed to have two voices for she would change from baritone to soprano. The crowd would laugh. Willie sent for her. It took a long time for him to convince her that she wasn't being kidded when he offered her a job at his theatre. She reliearsed an act and Willie billed her like a clreus-^''New Discovery, Flossie Crane, The Girl FrOin Coiiey Island." "You know people like that," said Willie, "people like to discover talent, especially a poor girl from a saloon; Cinderella stuff always gets them." Flossie was still afraid it was a gag, that they were going to throw things at her or that the stagehands would let the scenery fall on her, or poison her, or a hundred and one things to make her the victim of a ghastly Joke. She went on and did fairly well, and was a good drawing card while she lasted. She never got any other engagements, never went back to Smith'^, just passed out of . the theatrical pieturiB. Many like her came and went and never were heard of again after Hammerstein's. The biggest fake attraction at the Corner was Carmencita the dancer. Away back in 1894 when Koster & Bial's Music Hall was the center of gay life In New York yiere bad been a famous dancer named Carmencita. She was the Idol of the wolves and a sensation In her day.. The original Camcneita had keen dead for over six years, but Willie engineered a "farewell" appearance for Carmencita. Next door at the Belasco "The Rose Of the Rancho" was playing, and in that show there was a former chorus girl who interpolated a Spanish Dance in the drama'. She became Hammerstein's Carmencita. He signed her to a contract, sent her to Europe and agents there cabled back about her success. She came back to America, grabbed lots of newspaper space and was interviewed by some of the biggest reporters, and her appearance at Hammerstein's was a riot! Billed as "Re-Appearance of the famous dancer, Carmencita, after an absence of 10 years," all the old timers and tired wolves came tO see her once more. Nobody discovered that she had been an obscure dancer next door to Hammerstein's only a few months before. One time Willie missed up. He sent Gest to sign ■ Dowie, the Apostle of a new religion at Zion City and was getting terrific publicity. Gest got a wire when he was half way there, saying "Come back. Father has engaged Melba and is afraid she will quit if the house books Dowie." Gest wired back "Peace Be With You" which was Dowie and his disciples' password — The same as Father Divine's. "jPeace, Brother, Peace!" today. By the way, Melba was ' a fortune-getter for Hammerstein's. Al Jolson first played Hammerstein's as a single in New York. He was one of the biggest hits that ever played the house. The aristocrats and the blue bloods of vaudeville appeared at Hammerstein's. You didn't need a contract with Willie, who just said, "Okay, yOu play here week of sb-ahd so." And it was better than i Coriiraet. When the Palace theatre openecj on 47th street and Broadway, Hammerstein sued because he held the Keith franchise for vaudeville for this particular district. E. F. Albee, head of the Keith Circuit settled with Willie Hammerstein for $200,000. Latter said it was $200,000 more than he expected. Willie was neutral. One week he would book an act that, drew a lot of women that acted like men, and the next week he'd book an act that drew in a lot of men that acted like women. Anything for a laugh especially if it could jam 'em in. Between packing the house and joking, Willie found recreation in playing horses, shooting craps, playing poker and pinochle, with his own particular friends. He did this to relieve the terrific strain of handling the Victoria. He never spurned a "freak attraction" that had been advertised. Fighters, runners, infamous women, armless and legless freaks, bearded men^ they all meant to him one thing! Box Office! Actors loved to play the Corner. It was the Palace of it's day, plus more fun. Hammerstein's was billed as The Stepping Stone to Broadway. It was the fantastic Willie Hammerstein that helped many an actor step on that magic-stone to Broadway fame and fortune. Broadway misser him. Then there was the king of the old fiction factories, Gilbert Patten, better known as Burt L. Standish. He wrote for years about Frank Merriwell, and then Dick, taking each first through prep school and then four years at Yale. Before he died he confessed ruefully that he was dated; he couldn't write stories successfully without using the old stuflE that would seem silly to the unromantic lads of today. In the old days of Grub street, in the U. S. A., there was a clearly defined line between the wood pulp and the slick field, but that has been done away with for some years. In World War II, Frederick FauSt was killed duifing his first week as a war correspondent on the Italian front, the same week a serial of his started, using his real name, in the Satevepost. For 25 years, as Max Brand, Faust wrote millions of words, mostly westerns, and millions under nom de plumes. Readers still write letters to Zane Grey, whose books are still coming out— and more due— many not knowing he's dead. The publishers of Max Brand have a backlog of at least 50 westetn novels, and they'll be issued, two a year, for 25 years. The really top ex-Grub streeter is Erie Stanley Gardner, once the favorite of the pulps, where he wrote immensely. Though now in the big money, with two crime series for novels, Gardner has so much extra energy that he still writes for pulps, now and again, not minding the rates. I Hammett the Grnb-Streeter | The one who proved that your past Grub street career needn't be held against you is Dashiell Hammett. An exception, he started as a story master. His masterpiece, ; some say, "The Maltese Falcon,'' was published in a wood pulp. The Black Mask, edited by Joseph T. ShaW.:,-', Today fjrub street, with the return of so many veterans bursting with Great American novels, or reasonable facsimiles, is thickly populated. Many young fellows will be the country's future greats^ — or go to Hallywood. Others will just make a living, and stay where they are; it is all in the cards. Yeah, Grub street is still an imaginary place — but real enough — where some begin, and leave, and some Jinger on-^never getting out of hells bells to feach belles lettres. Youth is there, and prorhisei and those whose promise never comes true. And the gals are around, now, crowding old Grub streeters in their own neighborhood. Sometimes dispossessing 'em, other times marrying into the ranks. The more Grub street changes the more it's just the same.