American Experience—PBS—films
Beginning in the late 1890s, film was becoming the new popular entertainment in cities and towns across the United States. The first film screening in America took place in April 1896 at a New York City music hall, Koster and Bial's. Its success attracted many entrepreneurs into the business.
American Experience—PBS—films
Flickers
Makeshift theaters sprang up all over the country. Business owners converted old shops or restaurants into exhibition halls. Patrons sat at tables and watched "flickers" projected onto a screen of muslin or bed sheets while a single musician played frenzied interludes, known as "the Russian hurries," on piano or violin.
Nickelodeons
The first movie houses were dubbed "nickelodeons," combining the price of admission with the Greek word for theater. By 1908, there were nearly 8,000 nickelodeon theaters in the U.S. and in two years the number had grown to 10,000. Flashing marquees, glossy posters, noisy phonographs, and player pianos made a great commotion outside the establishments, sparking people's curiosity about this new, dazzling medium.
American Experience—PBS—films
Popular Pastime
Early film entrepreneur Adolph Zukor described the medium's appeal:
"You have to understand what was happening in this country to see why movies were catching on. From 1900 to 1910, about nine or ten million immigrants poured in, and because nickelodeon movies were new, cheap, silent and set up no language difficulties, they became a popular pastime."
Filmmakers soon realized the potential to incorporate simple plots and humor into their craft, and immigrants delighted in the films. The films told the stories of their lives, relating day-to-day events with humor and melodrama. These simple themes united the audience and their common plight. Often the immigrants did not know English, but these films, with their exaggerated gestures, were lessons in language and culture. The stories soon became part of their social lives and their conversations.
American Experience—PBS—films
Mixed Bag of Entertainment
At the Nickelodeon audiences saw a film shown in a mixed bag of live entertainment — singing, dancing, comedy acts, and sound effects. The shows were fifteen to ninety minutes long and changed every couple of days — or sometimes even daily. The film segments could be quickly produced with only rudimentary story lines. The novelty — and the low price — of the moving pictures filled theaters nationwide.
A Broadway ticket was quite expensive, but even those with meager salaries could afford a ticket to the nickelodeon. Theater doors opened to people in all walks of life, but initially the seats were filled with European immigrants and the poorest citizens.
American Experience—PBS—films
The Democratic Art
While these new members of American society embraced the movies, the upper classes scorned them. Social elites regarded the cinema as cheap, frivolous, and of poor quality. However, an article in The Nation, called the movies "A Democratic Art," and noted that Russian author Leo Tolstoy would have applauded the new art form, as a portrayal of the common man.
While at first, movie audiences were located in poor areas of a city or town, business owners began to appreciate the broader appeal of film exhibition and opened theaters in nicer neighborhoods. Middle and upper class patrons started to go to the movies conveniently located in their own neighborhoods. The result was the popularization of movies as mass entertainment.
Senate Investigation—Motion Picture Propaganda (Wikipedia)
The Senate Investigation into Motion Picture War Propaganda (1941) was formed by a group of isolationist Senators looking for evidence that the movie industry was agitating for the US to join World War II on the side of the Allies.
During the 1930s, Hollywood produced few films about the Nazi rise to power or the political situation in Europe. That began to change at the end of the decade as American sentiments against Nazism began to harden.
Films such as Confessions of a Nazi Spy (1939), The Mortal Storm (1940), Foreign Correspondent (1940), The Great Dictator (1940), and A Yank in the RAF (1941) were openly critical of Germany, which alarmed American isolationists. Several of those films would be discussed during the hearings. However, only five percent of Hollywood films in 1940 dealt with Nazism at all.
On August 1, 1941, Senator Gerald Nye gave a speech in Saint Louis charging that Hollywood studios had become "the most gigantic engines of propaganda in existence." During the speech, he read a list of names of men who controlled the film industry. Critics noted that the list consisted mostly of Jewish names, which gave rise to perceptions of antisemitism.
The investigation was to be authorized by the Senate, but did not pass; nevertheless, the subcommittee formed and subpoenaed witnesses from the film industry.
Joseph Breen
Breen was the youngest of three sons born to strict Irish Catholic parents in Philadelphia. A journalist and "influential layperson" in the Catholic community, Breen worked as a "troubleshooter" for Will H. Hays, an influential Republican politician, as early as 1931.
In 1933, the Roman Catholic National Legion of Decency was founded, and began to rate films independently, putting pressure on the industry. In 1933 and 1934 the Legion, along with a number of Protestant and women's groups, launched plans to boycott films they deemed immoral.
The Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America (MPPDA) had, up until then, enforced their own self-censorship standards, although not very seriously. Hays, who had been in charge of enforcing this voluntary code since 1927, worried that the NLD's efforts could weaken his own power and that of his office, and hurt industry profits. Hays appointed Breen to administer the Motion Picture Production Code.
Joseph Breen
Breen, who was anti-Semitic, believed that Jews controlled the movie industry, which he thought to be the "most effective propaganda medium in America," during the 1930s. Breen was deeply worried that Jewish filmmakers would try to use Nazi mistreatment of Jews during the 1930s as a vehicle for propaganda. He was concerned that Germans would be offended by harsh depiction of Nazis and specifically warned Hollywood producers to avoid the topic altogether, saying that
"[t]here is a strong pro-German and antisemitic feeling in this country ... and while those who are likely to approve of an anti-Hitler picture may think well of such an enterprise, they should keep in mind that millions of Americans might think otherwise."
LA Locations
Perino's restaurant
Perino's was a restaurant located on Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles. The original location on Wilshire Boulevard was opened in 1932 by Italian-American restaurateur Alexander Perino, and immediately became popular with Hollywood's elite.
Alessandro Bruno Perino was born in Brusnengo, Piedmont, northern Italy in 1895; as a nineteen-year old pastry cook, he emigrated to the United States in steerage on the S/S La Lorraine, which arrived at New York in February 1914.
With $2,000 in savings, Perino opened his famous Los Angeles restaurant in 1932. The cuisine was a mixture of high-class Italian and French food at the then exorbitant price of $1.25 per dish. The restaurant quickly accrued a loyal clientele including Mae West, Dolores del Río, Ronald Colman and Ezio Pinza. Other regular patrons were Joan Crawford, Hedda Hopper, Cary Grant, Marilyn Monroe, Alfred Hitchcock, Dean Martin, Joe DiMaggio and Elizabeth Taylor.
Perino's restaurant
Despite a fire which gutted the interior in 1934, Perino's popularity grew throughout the 1930s, becoming a premiere gathering spot for celebrities, Hollywood executives and politicians. Bette Davis had a booth permanently reserved for her, Frank Sinatra would occasionally perform at the Steinway piano in the restaurant bar, and Cole Porter composed songs on the back of menus.
Richard Nixon, Ronald and Nancy Reagan were regulars. During the 1940s and 50s the restaurant gained a reputation as a Mob hangout, because it was frequented by such figures as Bugsy Siegel, Johnny Stompanato and Frank Desimone.
Perino's restaurant
In 1950 it moved to a larger location at 4101 Wilshire, where it remained until it closed in 1986. The restaurant was a Los Angeles landmark which, like the Brown Derby, Chasen's, and Romanoff's, was famed for its celebrity clientele during the Hollywood Golden Age.
Despite its closure, the restaurant enjoyed an afterlife as a filming location for film and television until the building was sold and demolished in 2005.
Before its closure in 1986, Perino's had already become a popular filming location, appearing both as itself and for general use in restaurant scenes. It continued in this vein and as a venue for the occasional private event through 2004, when it was purchased by a developer.
The exterior of Perino's at its first location appears in Sunset Boulevard, in the scene where Norma Desmond takes Joe to a haberdashery to buy clothes.
Perino's restaurant
George Hamilton appears in the restaurant, in the 1979 Love at First Bite film, with Susan Saint James and Richard Benjamin.
Dustin Hoffman appears in the restaurant, in Marathon Man.
American Gigolo (1980) filmed a scene at Perino's where Richard Gere's character Julian asks Anne for help.
The 1981 biopic Mommie Dearest featured a scene where Joan Crawford attends dinner with Louis B. Mayer at Perino's. She later declares that "Perino's is my place!" in anger at having to dine with her boss. Later in the film Crawford and her daughter attend lunch there.
Scarface (1983) uses Perino's for a restaurant scene between Tony Montana, Elvira and Manny.
Numerous television shows used Perino's for restaurant scenes, including Melrose Place, Hart to Hart, Dallas, Falcon Crest and Columbo.
Miniatures—Perspective
YouTube video on miniatures:
Art Institute of Chicago, Thorne Miniature Rooms
Brief History of Miniatures (https://shopofminiatures.com/blogs/little-shop-blog/a-quick-history-of-miniatures)
The Earliest Miniatures
Some of the earliest miniatures were created by the Egyptians 5,000 years ago. They made miniature replicas of boats, animals, furnishings, and even servants. These hand-crafted miniatures were placed in tombs within the pyramids.
The Dawn of Dollhouse Miniatures
Dollhouse miniatures got their start about 400 years ago. That's when so-called "baby houses" made their debut in Europe. Despite their name, these miniature houses were off limits for kids. That's because "baby houses" were collectible miniature pieces that featured many fine architectural details and had painstakingly crafted miniature furniture in their interiors.
"Baby houses," which were also known as "cabinet houses," became a hit among wealthy patrons in Holland, England, and Germany. Only the elite could afford them since their price could rival what an actual house could cost! (See the image above for an example of a "baby house.")
Brief History of Miniatures (https://shopofminiatures.com/blogs/little-shop-blog/a-quick-history-of-miniatures)
The Dawn of Dollhouse Miniatures
Miniatures from this also served an educational purpose, with mothers in the 17th century using dollhouses and miniatures to teach their daughters how to maintain a proper home. Over time, more parents let their children actually play with miniatures as the importance of child's play began to take hold.
Germany, an in particular the city of Nuremberg, produced the majority of miniatures all the way up until World War I. Germany is even credited with creating the criteria by which all future (and contemporary) dollhouses and miniatures came to be produced. German miniatures were highly sought after not only in Europe, but in North America as well.
Germany's entry into World War I greatly impaired its ability to manufacture and export miniatures. It was during this time that other countries like Japan and the United States began making miniatures. Notable miniature makers in the U.S. during the early twentieth included Roger Williams Toys, Schoenhut, Tootsietoy, and the Wisconsin Toy Co.
Brief History of Miniatures (https://shopofminiatures.com/blogs/little-shop-blog/a-quick-history-of-miniatures)
Miniatures for the Masses
Miniatures were made by hand until the Industrial Revolution. At that time, companies began to mass produce miniatures along with many other goods.
Mass-produced miniatures boomed after World War II. That brought the cost of miniatures down dramatically and allowed many more people to discover the wonderful world of miniatures and dollhouses. The downside is that many of these mass-produced miniatures lacked the detail of earlier miniatures. By the 1950s, a typical dollhouse was constructed from painted sheet metal and came with miniature furniture constructed from plastic.
Brief History of Miniatures (https://shopofminiatures.com/blogs/little-shop-blog/a-quick-history-of-miniatures)
Contemporary Miniatures
Today's miniatures can generally be divided into two varieties: miniatures meant for children's play and miniatures meant for an adult hobby.
Children's miniatures are often made of plastic or other inexpensive, durable materials. These miniatures are often 1/6 scale (also known as "playscale). This scale means a miniature is 1/6th the size of an object in real life. It is considered the biggest of the miniature scales. Most children's miniatures are almost always mass produced.
Miniatures meant for adult hobbyists are typically made of wood, plywood, or MDF. Dollhouses aimed at adults include ready-made dollhouses as well as dollhouse kits that require assembly. Another popular, less time-consuming option is a miniature room box.
Many adults greatly enjoy the process of assembling a dollhouse kit and then customizing it to their tastes with paint, miniature wallpaper, miniature lighting, and more. The fun doesn't end there, because miniatures lovers will then spend years furnishing their dollhouses with miniature furniture, miniature food, miniature home accessories, and more.
Today, miniatures are attracting newfound interest thanks to social media, miniatures forums, miniatures ecommerce stores like Little Shop of Miniatures, and this blog. Small scale miniature artisans are finding a place among mass-produced miniatures and helping grow interest in miniatures.
The Development of Miniature Scale
The very first miniatures did not conform to any set of miniature scales. It wasn't until the 20th century that manufacturers began to conform to standardized scales. The most commonly used scale at that time was 1/18 miniature scale, also known as 2/3 inch scale. This means that an object that was one foot in real life was scaled down to 2/3" in miniature scale.
Today, the most common scale is 1/12, also known as one inch miniature scale. Recent years have seen even smaller miniature scales gain traction. They include 1/24 miniature scale, 1/48 miniature scale, and even 1/144 miniature scale.
Miniatures—Perspective
YouTube video on miniatures:
Art Institute of Chicago, Thorne Miniature Rooms
Miniature set in the novel
Miniatures—Perspective
"When you entered the executive offices of Mercury Pictures International, you would first see a scale model of the studio itself. Artie Feldman, co-founder and head of production, installed it in the lobby to distract skittish investors from second thoughts. Complete with back lot, sound stages, and facilities buildings, the miniature was a faithful replica of the ten-acre studio in which it sat.
Maria Lagana, as rendered by the miniaturist, was a tiny, featureless figure looking out Artie’s office window. And this was where the real Maria stood late one morning in 1941, hands holstered on her hips, watching a pigeon autograph the windshield of her boss’s new convertible. She’d like to buy that bird a drink." (pp. 3-4)
". . . instead of Devil’s Bargain she found herself thinking of the scale model of Mercury. She didn’t know what drew her to it. Perhaps it was seeing Mercury through a medium anathema to that of the movie factory it depicted. So much of a movie’s meaning came down to who it deemed worthy of a close-up, a perspective, a face. But within the zoomed-out omniscience of the miniaturist’s gaze, all were worthy, as if the camera had pulled back until it held every bit player in its frame. (pp. 3)"
Miniatures—Perspective
"If you were to pull back right then, you would see Anna, the miniature’s architect, alone at her table, sketching a Berlin tenement on her napkin.
Pull back farther and you would see Artie coasting west on Santa Monica Boulevard in a cream-colored Continental, each block bringing him nearer to the brother he loathed.
Pull back farther still and you would see Union Station, where a Calabrian fugitive traveling on a dead man’s papers was stepping off the train with Maria’s address in his pocket, a cigar box in his carpetbag, a knot in his throat.
And you would see Maria pass an equatorial jungle, a Gothic castle, a brownstone street as she crossed the backlot to her office.
You would see her linger at the Italian Piazza set. Change the signage and it became any European village, but Maria had modeled the set on the little piazza in Rome where every Sunday her father had taken her to the cinema.
Miniatures—Perspective
It was a small square encircled by clay-roofed buildings, cafés, and shops, all false fronts. The marble and travertine were painted plaster and plywood.
Standing there, Maria repopulated the empty piazza with the evening passeggiata: pigeons bolt from footfall, sleek signorinas glower from the imperious heights of their heels, an old man’s part wilts over his forehead as he scoops steaming balls of horse manure into a fertilizer bag.
In the alleyways, loaded laundry lines lift imperceptibly with each droplet of evaporated weight. Everyone watches one another, yet no one sees Maria.
She’s twelve years old, walking beside her father. Their footsteps rise and fall, rise and fall, like sewing needles stitching them to the city, and it seems impossible that this is about to end, that it’s all about to disappear, that outside the confines of a Hollywood set, she will never see Rome again." (pp. 19-21)
Marra's descriptions (pp.196-197)
Once Nino has gone, Giuseppe drags the two jugs of gasoline outside and their sloshing weight grunts through him. That said, he’s surprisingly alert given the hour and the dismemberment going on in his shoulder joints. The sunlight flexing between the eastern mountains kicks a beat back in his circadian rhythms. By the time he reaches the excavation site, he is awake.
A sign hitched by yellowed rope over the tunnel entrance redirects traffic to the adjacent guardhouse, where two watchmen slumber. Giuseppe pads past, scissors his legs over the frayed yellow cord, and steps into the mouth of the tunnel. Whatever hope he held of leaving San Lorenzo by car died with Vincenzo. Now he can think of only one way out.
Twenty steps in and the ground pitches downward. Absolute darkness but his eyes are open. In the Vault, he’d learned to walk without light. A footpath of bouncy wooden planks paves the way. The air is heavy with the loamy scent of churned earth. He no longer hears the gurgle of the river overhead.
At the end of the tunnel, he sets down the gasoline jugs. He feels overhead for the electrical wire stapled into the crossbeam and strung with lightbulbs. He works the wire from its fasteners. It swings down and he gropes around for it. Applying the blade of a kitchen knife, he skins a few inches of rubber insulation. The frayed copper wire bristles as he slips it into the gasoline jug.
Marra's descriptions (pp.196-197)
A few hours hence, a well-rested watchman would flip on the lights to prepare for the day’s belated first shift. Electricity would spill down five hundred feet of copper wire and drain into two jugs of petroleum chemically refined to put the purr of satisfaction in the most finicky Mercedes engine. Where electron meets hydrocarbon, a case study in thermodynamics—the only laws inviolable to political coercion—would commence. The fire would leapfrog up the tunnel, igniting wooden struts like mountaintop signal towers until the darkness caves in on them. Perhaps the entire excavation site would collapse. At the very least, it would summon every guard, carabinieri, and militiaman from their habitual post, watchtower, and checkpoint, leaving the route out of San Lorenzo unmanned and unwatched. Fifty feet below the earth, the gasoline would fuel their getaway. Glossed in sweat, caked in mud, some ornate braid work gnarling his lower back, he nonetheless feels himself seized by the rapture of a simple and unexpected perfection: he has made a detonator of a light switch.
Riding the daredevilry a little further, he dips his finger in the mud and applies to the tunnel wall a sentiment whose lineage stretches from the Cave Paintings of Altamira to the lightless walls of the Vault. When finished, he steps back, seized by the desire to stay. It’s no death wish, just the opposite. He wants to see his testimony when the light turns on. He wants to read, there on the tunnel wall, that Giuseppe from Rome was here.
Next Week
Discussion of Mercury Pictures Presents