8/17/23
Newsletter #430
The Crack of Dawn
There used to be this oddball little movie theater on the Sunset Strip across from Tower Records, possibly called the Sunset Cinema. It didn’t seem to be open a lot of the time, and when it was it showed strange films. I think this was 1979, so I was 21 years old and still trying to see all of the Oscar-winning Best Pictures. One film that had been eluding me for years, because it was never shown on TV or anywhere else, was Broadway Melody, Best Picture of 1928-29, and the first all-talking movie, meaning it didn’t have any silent sections as every talking picture had since The Jazz Singer in 1927 (which was because until Broadway Melody, the Hollywood studios were simply figuring out ways to dump their now out-of-date stock of silent films by clumsily adding in sound sequences).
As I did every morning, I checked the LA Times to see what movies were playing around town. At that point there were quite a few revival theaters, many second-run theaters, as well as a number of strange, oddball movie theaters around town that could be showing anything. One day I saw that Broadway Melody (also known as The Broadway Melody or The Broadway Melody of 1929) was showing at the Sunset Cinema for one screening. Attending would be Anita Page, the co-star of the movie. The idea that the actress who starred in a 1929 movie was not only still alive, but would be there, was alluring enough to get my stick-in-the-mud friend Marvis to go along with me.
It was only about a 100-seat theater so there weren’t that many people, but it was packed with nicely dressed older people. Even so, we were still able to get tickets 30 minutes before the show. When we got inside, we found that it was actually sort of a benefit for Anita Page, who was turning 80. But it was also sort of a campy gay event, which is why it was there on the Sunset Strip. There was a plethora of gay men in tuxedoes. Marvis and I were the only two guys in blue jeans and we looked like we’d walked into the wrong show. Several well-dressed people made speeches, including Ms. Page’s two daughters. Anita Page got up wearing a full-length dress, gloves, lots of makeup, and a big hairdo. She cried and was extremely appreciative.
Then they showed the movie, which, sadly, is just plain-old terrible. It’s nothing more than a variety show, entirely performed on a theatrical stage. It’s a hastily put-together musical show, with no attempt at trying to make it a movie. It’s clumsy as hell, the sound is awful, but it does have two memorable songs – Broadway Melody, oddly – that is repeated throughout the interminable film at least a half-dozen times, and Singin’ in the Rain. But gosh darn if it didn’t have sound from beginning to end, and that was such a novelty they gave it Best Picture. Now, thankfully, I could mark it off my list: I’d seen all the Best Pictures from 1927-28 to the present. Life was complete.
Speaking of oddball movie theaters in Hollywood, there was another one on Sunset Blvd., east of Vine, and I have no recollection of its name. However, in 1981-82, that’s where I saw Paul Verhoeven’s first movie, Turkish Delight (1973), and speaking after the film was Rutger Hauer, who was in town shooting Blade Runner (1982). Well, Turkish Delight has some nudity and a few racy sex scenes – it begins with a bearded Rutger Hauer masturbating – as well as a few gross-out scenes dealing with poop, but it’s incredibly sincere, was the biggest hit ever in Holland, was based on a beloved Dutch book, and was a huge hit all over Europe. However, this screening had attracted the older art movie crowd of L.A. and they were utterly horrified. People were walking out in a huff all the way through the film. When Rutger Hauer came out in a green silk jumpsuit looking terrific – like a movie star – he was promptly ripped a new asshole by a couple of deeply offended old ladies. Rutger Hauer honestly couldn’t understand the problem. He kept explaining that Turkish Delight was both an important book and movie to the Dutch, but these ladies weren’t having any of it. Finally, a moderator or somebody interjected, and was able to change the subject. The old ladies stormed out. Then, once the coast was clear, several of us called out that we’d enjoyed the film. Still shaking his head in amazement, Rutger Hauer thanked us, then excitedly told us about Blade Runner, which sounded cool.
There were a number of other weird, out of way, movie theaters and restaurants in Hollywood back then. I am pleased that I got to witness that tail-end of an older Hollywood that was fading fast when I arrived in the 1970s. For instance, and I don’t know why this place is simultaneously so hard to remember, yet so oddly memorable, and maybe it’s because it was so generic, though right in the middle of Hollywood, yet somehow invisible. It was a tiny diner named Delores’s. They had green Bakelite plates and cups. Your tuna salad or egg salad sandwich on white bread, was on the center of the plate with two sweet pickles, and that’s it. The place had the strange feel of being out of time, and not long for this world. Sooner or later it just disappeared.
As did all those weird little theaters.
C’est la vie.