The Long Beach Library photo two posts above can’t be from 1932. Someone must have mislabeled it. The swing-out sign mounted on the theatre’s facade would have been of that vintage, or a little earlier, but the marquee is of 40s vintage. Trapezoidal and wedge-shaped marquees did not appear until 1935-‘36. The marquee shown in the photo was still on the theatre in 1973, when my adopted grandmother Mary Tolson snapped a picture (which I still have) of me standing under it. At the time, I was fascinated by the Tracy—though I never went inside. It’s boarded-up entrance and broken second story windows and terra cotta masks had me hooked the way many children get spooked and fascinated by old abandoned mansions. I remember even at that age noticing that the neon “crest” on the vetical sign was similar (though simpler) to that on the Belmont Theatre in Belmont Shores, which was still very much in operation at that time, and which we occasionally attended.
The S. Charles Lee rendering in Joe Vogel’s immediate preceeding post is of a proposed remodel of the entrance of the Egyptian in Hollywood. You can even see the facade and marquee of the Pig & Whistle to the right of it—a facade which still exists today.
The exact location of this theatre was on Santa Clara Street, right where that street’s facade of the old c. 1924 Bank of Italy (later Bank of America) tower stands. This can be proven by the fact that the facade visible to the Left of the theatre facade in the oft-published post-earthquake photo of 1906 is a building that stands today, right next to the Bank of Italy tower.
Much more of the exterior is now painted in a warm sandstone/orangish color. This painting process seems to be added to whenever the owner can afford more paint and/or labor.
Recently a fellow researcher and I stumbled upon a beautiful nighttime photo in the archives at San Jose State, which shows this theatre when it was newly minted as the Towne in the early 50s. It is a nighttime shot, and it shows that the marquee once had a little extra bit of metal sculpture—with neon—above the still-remaining curling neon at the marquee’s point. Also, the painted detailing which once decorated the floral metal sculpture on the facade is clearly visible, and shows that originally, this scuplture only had neon behind it, which glowed indirectly from around the sculpture’s edges, as remained the case until a lot of extra neon was added in recent years.
Finally, the box office which once stood to the Right of the entrance (marked today by a patch of concrete amid the terrazzo) is clearly visible.
Last year I was let into the Mexico by the owner, who told me that he was planning on opening it as some sort of restaurant/club. It looked as if someone else had started the work of conversion sometime back, and this new man was picking up where the others had left off. There was nothing decorative whatsoever inside the theatre anymore. The flat ceiling and smooth walls had longsince been painted blue, and the floor terraced for tables, with railings on the edges of the terraces. The screen opening was empty.
At the time of my visit, some work appeared to be underway on the roof. This appears today to either still be slowly ongoing, or to have been aborted. Meanwhile, the marquee and sign continue to fade and peel, revealing portions of the original painted stars and other patterns which were once echoed in neon. The box office has been converted into a sort of glassed-in roadside shrine to Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe, complete with a wooden (?) effigy and garlands and hanging Christmas (!) balls.
During a very recent research foray at the Special Collections Department at San Jose State, a fellow researcher and I came across a newly accessioned black and white night photo of the theatre when brand new as the Mayfair. The neon was much more intricate than the plethora of available 1980s photos show. The name Mayfair—predictibly—ran vertically in the same spots on the tower where the plastic-fronted “Mexico” signs have been for so many years.
Club WET must have cleaned up its act considerably. Their advertising budget certainly has expanded. In addition to lots of print advertising, they now have a photographic billboard ad atop a building in San Francisco (!), fully visible as you approach the Bay Bridge, going Eastbound. Meanwhile, another alteration has occurred to the historic Studio facade. The marquee has been painted completely black, and the magenta neon has been removed and replaced with blue neon.
While no discernible exterior trace remains of the Rialto’s entrance, the auditorium—a big brick box in the middle of the block—was still standing as of a couple of years ago when I last set foot in Eureka. About ten years earlier, during a previous stay in the area, I got to go inside the shell of the Rialto. I was welcomed by a couple of custom wood furniture craftsmen who were operating their business in the former auditorium. Though largely gutted, there was still much to be seen. The ceiling was largely intact, though I recall a covering of square acoustical tiles over much of it. There was Neoclassical molding and coving around the edge. The walls featured pilasters which had…if memory serves me correctly…Ionic capitals. Between these were areas of more acoustical tile. The tile was painted a sort of terra cotta color, and the pilasters and cornices were beige or cream. There had been a balcony, but it was either ripped out or converted to office or storage space. I do not recall seeing a proscenium or organ chambers, as I believe these had been gouged out. One room off to the side was accessed by doors with porthole windows in them—clearly reused from the theatre’s entrance, and likely dating from a Moderne remodeling at some stage in the Rialto’s history.
The gentlemen working in there were Eurekans, and both remembered that the Rialto had indeed closed for movies sometime in the early 60s. They may have told me the exact date, but I don’t recall it. What they remembered more clearly, and spoke the most about, were the times after that when it was a rock concert venue. It sounded like things got pretty wild during that time. I don’t recall the date of its ultimate closure, but I think it was shuttered by the early 70s.
The theatre was extremely simple on the outside. To call it Streamline Moderne would be kind—though the two-sided neon sign and readerboard qualified for such nomenclature. The exterior was a plain example of Midcentury Modern. A photo—the only one I have ever found—of the theatre is likely going to appear in a book I am co-authoring. I have walked around the outside of the concrete block office building that stands there now, and despite the 1970s Spanish stucco veneer and trimmings, it would appear that the shell of the building onsite today is the structure of the theatre auditorium, along with part of the lobby structure which came out at right angles to the auditorium to meet the street.
I have yet to find any confirmation of a Spanish theme in the building, though with a theatre of early 1950s vintage, this would have had to have been limited to little more than some nice murals on the auditorium walls, and perhaps some other minor elements so themed.
There was another theatre in the town, called the Half Moon Bay. The only photo I’ve ever found of it is an aerial shot of the whole town, and the theatre is visible as a simple gabled structure on Main St. Some sort of simple, perhaps vaguely Mission style facade can be made out in the photo. This theatre dated back to the silent era.
Contact the Archives of the Theatre Historical Society of America. We have over 15,000 historic theatres documented. www.historictheatres.org
Our Archivist, Kathy McLeister, will be happy to search our collections for your theatre, plus examples of Streamlined Moderne theatres which may help you. In the event we don’t have much or anything about yours, we most definitely have many, many images of theatres done in Streamline style from which you could gain much information.
Gary Parks
West Region Director,
Theatre Historical Society
I must also mantion that the Roxie (not its original name—it’s had many) in San Francisco is a nickelodeon, though it was long ago remodeled into a charming little moderne movie house and is still operating. The same is to be said for the Vogue, also in San Francisco, though it’s even more redone Moderne than the Roxie. another San Francisco spot which preserves an original nickelodeon interior is Aardvark Books, I believe it’s on Church Street (very close to Market). The facade is very plain/modern, with the bookstore name in neon, but once in the door, you can see a complete entrance arch, and a vaulted pressed tin ceiling going all the way to the back.
Also, on Haight Street is a former nickelodeon with riotous cast ornament (masks and lions) on the facade and lighbulb sockets, which has 30s tile along the bottom and around the windows from when it went retail. The interior still has original Ionic pilasters down the sidewalls.
Gary Parks
West Region Director, Theatre Historical Society of America
Go to nilesfilmmuseum.org
for the Niles Essanay Silent Film Museum (Edison Theatre) in the historic district of Niles in Fremont California. Architecturally, it’s a very plain, small town nickelodeon, but it IS the real deal—operated originally from 1913 to 1923. It was used for other uses over the years, and a larger theatre (long since burned) later took its place nearby, but in about 2005, a group of volunteers formed the museum and have been lovingly restoring the original nickelodeon Edison and operating it as a silent film showcase, with a museum in the building as well.
It may be your only chance to visually document a nickelodeon projection booth that is largely intact.
To my knowledge, the proposed theater to be designed by David and Wolf in Mountain View never got beyond the talking stages. This seems sensible, as the late ‘20s Mountain View Theatre (by Alexander Cantin—of Mountain View) and the '30s Cinema (architect unknown) would amply take care of a city the size of Mountain View. Later the Monte Vista and Moffett drive-ins would take care of any need for additional screens until the advent of the multiplex era.
The Capitola’s well worn parking lot is still there, but a freshly-laid L-shaped pad of blacktop marks the footprint where the auditorium and lobby once were. The front lawn has been scraped away as well. The old cement block wall that once separated the theatre from the Lido restaurant (and Mac’s Patio bar before that) still stands.
A little story from my friend (and theatre photo/memorabilia archivist) Jack Tillmany, onetime manager of the Sutter: When he was there, a family of owls had a habit of nesting each year in one side of the letter “S” on the vertical sign tower. As the baby owls were learning to fly, they would break the neon tubes when coming back in for a rather clumsy landing to the nest. Both sides of the letter were on the same circuit, so for a time each year, Jack was proud manager (at night, when the sign was lit) of the “UTTER” Theatre. There was no point in trying to repair the tubing until each year’s new family of owls was gone and the letter could be cleaned up. How long this yearly ritual of owl-rearing and repeated sign repairs lasted after Jack’s managerial departure for bigger and better theatres in the Bay Area is unknown.
Another thing: My friend, neon contractor Greg King, still has some new neon tubes which he had made for the Sutter some time ago to replace old missing tubes. The theatre either closed or changed hands before they could be installed. Anyway, perhaps they could finally be installed if the theatre is going to be revived. Please contact me if that’s the case, and I can put the parties concerned in touch with Greg!
The Alexandria project is at last appearing to be moving forward. Input from the community is being encouraged. Plans have been made which will respect/restore the exterior of the building, and preserve most of the interior elements from the 1940s remodeling, and discussion is underway on the idea of preserving the Egyptian decorative elements of the interior in ways that the public may enjoy them as well. The Alexandria will house a theatre equipped for small stage events as well as film, and there will be retail space, and a sort of restaurant/lounge area also. Imperative in the project are innovative structural features which will maintain much of the feeling of the original height of the auditorium wherever possible, while providing retail spaces on the ground level beneath the theatre and restaurant area. The murals of sea nymphs will remain. On the location of the theatre’s parking lot, a new building will house two levels of underground parking, and have much-needed residences above. The familiar neon “PARKING” sign on the side of the theatre will still point the way. The new building will be modern in design, but will feature bay window-like extensions to go with the characcter of the neighborhood, plus cornice work and overall massing which—while not at all copying the adjacent Egyptian Revival look of the theatre, will compliment its proportions.
I stopped by for a look this past weekend. It was nice to see the terrazzo reinstalled, beautifully matched and filled-in where it had been sawn for temporary removal. I also noticed for the first time the faint outline of where the octagonal box office once stood, and this made me appreciate the care with which some long-ago terrazzo contractor had matched the zig-zag pattern and colors so that there would be no “scar” to denote the location of the missing structure.
Also to be seen is a reconstruction of the original ticket lobby ceiling—very simple, with a Moderne plaster band around the edge as a sort of cornice molding. This is the only architectural nod to the NuWilshire’s original interior. Beyond the location of the former entrance doors, all is clean but unfinished, waiting for a tenant. To the right, in what was once the lobby, the outlines of a staircase can be seen in the concrete of the West wall. As for the color scheme of the facade, I don’t find it offensive, though something more imaginative could easily have been arrived at.
I stopped by this theatre for the first time last Friday to see if the terrazzo sidewalk was worth photographing. I was not disappointed. Dispite the fact that the part of it closest to the building has been cut through to make a planting area for some palm trees, there is much fine patternwork remaining. Most of the design is simple striping, with contrasting bands and Moderne curls. In the center part leading to where the theatre entrance and box office once were, there is a fine pattern of curving leaves and—no surprise—a “bouquet” of several magnolia blossoms.
Having just reread the description at the top of this page, I have to debunk the contention that there is an atmospheric ceiling hidden above the current one. There is not. The original dome was cove lit around the edges, the bulbs and access hatches are still there. There is no evidence of any lightbulb stars ever having been part of the decor. All that exists above the plaster ceiling are plank catwalks, steel joists, struts and rafters, and the underside of the roof. A catwalk climbs to the center of the dome, where the crank for lowering the big central chandelier is still in place.
With all the talk of the proposed renovation of the Alexandria preserving interior elements from its 1940s remodel (what is seen today), I want to call attention to the fact that some elements of the original Egyptian decor also survive, hidden from view. Chief among these is a partial row of papyrus columns behind the lobby wall which houses the drinking fountain. Two different sources in UA told me at different times of relamping the light over the drinking fountain, sticking their heads through the resulting opening, and seeing a wall scribed and painted to look like blocks of stone, with a row of columns. Such a feature should be somehow preserved. If it can’t be part of the actual decor—then elements of it could be put on display. Also, the auditorium ceiling, with its (formerly covelit) dome, is original, though repainted. In 1995, I was in the attic over the auditorium, walking on the redwood plank catwalks, and it was obvious where the organ chambers had been hacked out, both the plaster and the concrete walls, and the resulting gaps filled-in with the present walls curving in arcs toward the proscenium. Also, in a little room next to projection booth, a section of original Egyptian cavetto cornice molding remains intact, though repainted in a neutral color.
To confirm Terry’s post above: The 1939 entrance tower on the Santa Cruz was removed in 1977 when the building underwent further post-theatre remodeling. Interestingly, this was the same year the Del Mar was quadded. I remember the tower being on the building when I first saw it in the early 70s. The sheet metal star and crescent moon band still ran around the top, but the marquee and all neon on the building was long gone. The whole building was painted olive drab. Today, the metal vertical fins elsewhere on the building’s facade still exist, and you can see little plugged holes where neon once hooked-in. the tubes were originally hidden behind “sleeves” or “fins” of sheet metal. The only visible tubing was on the marquee proper (and for a time, an older vertical sign over the theatre’s original Pacific Ave. entrance, visible in the photo at the top of the page). All else was indeirect light glowing out from behind sheet metal flashing. The effect was magical, if photos taken at the time are any indication. Very recently, the building has been given another paint job, nicely accenting the surviving architectural detailing.
To answer Larry Goldsmith above: When I went in the remains of the Baywood in September ‘09, the building was almost totally vacant, save for a very nice used book store operating in the forward left portion of the former Thrifty’s space on the ground floor. The rest of downstairs still looks like a stripped 1950s Thrifty interior. The “Thrifty Cut Rate Drug Stores” terrazzo is still in the entrance. It is via a stairway at the back, dating from the Thrifty remodel, that you go up through the area where the proscenium used to be, and find yourself in the nearly gutted remains of the upper half of the auditorium.
In the early 1990s, I drove out to Antioch for the sole purpose of attending movies at the Stamm and El Campanil theatres. I saw “The Coneheads” at the Stamm (awful movie), but that wasn’t the point, I got to see the inside of the theatre. As I was not allowed to take photos, I had my Plan B—my sketchbook. I drew a black and white sketch and made color notes of a large section of the center part of the Left sidewall of the auditorium, and as soon as I got home that night, made a color rendering of it. It should be said that all the murals were lit by UV lighting, and glowed in the dark as the movie ran—an eerily beautiful effect.
I still have this color rendering. I really don’t want to open up some kind of account to post photos online—it’s all I can do to keep up with theatre-related matters in Theatre Historical Society and other commitments…BUT…if anyone else would like to post this for me, I would be happy to scan and email an image of this drawing. All I’d ask is that the drawing be credited with my name. This may be the only color record of the muralwork we have.
I’ll stay away from the whole pot debate, and just say that…at least the doors are open and the heat and lights are on. I saw the Flatirons Theatre on the outside last Fall for the first time—coming upon it unexpectedly after seeing the nearby Fox. There’s a poor excuse for a marquee on the front of the Flatirons now, but the building itself is a beautiful example of early buff brick International Style with some Moderne touches. It is a quality building worth keeping in the neighborhood. I do hope that a theatrical use ultimately returns to the place, though.
I was at first puzzled by M. Gerdes post above, expressing disappointment that the terrazzo was supposedly not saved. Mea culpa. I can see by the way I worded things in my October 13, ‘09 post that this could easily be erroneously ascertained. What I was trying to say was that the terrazzo and the tiled Ladies restroom had survived the fire intact, and therefore did not need to be replicated. So, to clarify, when one enters the rebuilt Avenal, and feels surrounded essentially by the “old” Avenal, it should be kept in mind that everything visible IS NEW, EXCEPT for the terrazzo, and the tiled walls of the Ladies restroom. My apologies for the confusion.
The Long Beach Library photo two posts above can’t be from 1932. Someone must have mislabeled it. The swing-out sign mounted on the theatre’s facade would have been of that vintage, or a little earlier, but the marquee is of 40s vintage. Trapezoidal and wedge-shaped marquees did not appear until 1935-‘36. The marquee shown in the photo was still on the theatre in 1973, when my adopted grandmother Mary Tolson snapped a picture (which I still have) of me standing under it. At the time, I was fascinated by the Tracy—though I never went inside. It’s boarded-up entrance and broken second story windows and terra cotta masks had me hooked the way many children get spooked and fascinated by old abandoned mansions. I remember even at that age noticing that the neon “crest” on the vetical sign was similar (though simpler) to that on the Belmont Theatre in Belmont Shores, which was still very much in operation at that time, and which we occasionally attended.
The S. Charles Lee rendering in Joe Vogel’s immediate preceeding post is of a proposed remodel of the entrance of the Egyptian in Hollywood. You can even see the facade and marquee of the Pig & Whistle to the right of it—a facade which still exists today.
The exact location of this theatre was on Santa Clara Street, right where that street’s facade of the old c. 1924 Bank of Italy (later Bank of America) tower stands. This can be proven by the fact that the facade visible to the Left of the theatre facade in the oft-published post-earthquake photo of 1906 is a building that stands today, right next to the Bank of Italy tower.
Much more of the exterior is now painted in a warm sandstone/orangish color. This painting process seems to be added to whenever the owner can afford more paint and/or labor.
Recently a fellow researcher and I stumbled upon a beautiful nighttime photo in the archives at San Jose State, which shows this theatre when it was newly minted as the Towne in the early 50s. It is a nighttime shot, and it shows that the marquee once had a little extra bit of metal sculpture—with neon—above the still-remaining curling neon at the marquee’s point. Also, the painted detailing which once decorated the floral metal sculpture on the facade is clearly visible, and shows that originally, this scuplture only had neon behind it, which glowed indirectly from around the sculpture’s edges, as remained the case until a lot of extra neon was added in recent years.
Finally, the box office which once stood to the Right of the entrance (marked today by a patch of concrete amid the terrazzo) is clearly visible.
Last year I was let into the Mexico by the owner, who told me that he was planning on opening it as some sort of restaurant/club. It looked as if someone else had started the work of conversion sometime back, and this new man was picking up where the others had left off. There was nothing decorative whatsoever inside the theatre anymore. The flat ceiling and smooth walls had longsince been painted blue, and the floor terraced for tables, with railings on the edges of the terraces. The screen opening was empty.
At the time of my visit, some work appeared to be underway on the roof. This appears today to either still be slowly ongoing, or to have been aborted. Meanwhile, the marquee and sign continue to fade and peel, revealing portions of the original painted stars and other patterns which were once echoed in neon. The box office has been converted into a sort of glassed-in roadside shrine to Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe, complete with a wooden (?) effigy and garlands and hanging Christmas (!) balls.
During a very recent research foray at the Special Collections Department at San Jose State, a fellow researcher and I came across a newly accessioned black and white night photo of the theatre when brand new as the Mayfair. The neon was much more intricate than the plethora of available 1980s photos show. The name Mayfair—predictibly—ran vertically in the same spots on the tower where the plastic-fronted “Mexico” signs have been for so many years.
Club WET must have cleaned up its act considerably. Their advertising budget certainly has expanded. In addition to lots of print advertising, they now have a photographic billboard ad atop a building in San Francisco (!), fully visible as you approach the Bay Bridge, going Eastbound. Meanwhile, another alteration has occurred to the historic Studio facade. The marquee has been painted completely black, and the magenta neon has been removed and replaced with blue neon.
While no discernible exterior trace remains of the Rialto’s entrance, the auditorium—a big brick box in the middle of the block—was still standing as of a couple of years ago when I last set foot in Eureka. About ten years earlier, during a previous stay in the area, I got to go inside the shell of the Rialto. I was welcomed by a couple of custom wood furniture craftsmen who were operating their business in the former auditorium. Though largely gutted, there was still much to be seen. The ceiling was largely intact, though I recall a covering of square acoustical tiles over much of it. There was Neoclassical molding and coving around the edge. The walls featured pilasters which had…if memory serves me correctly…Ionic capitals. Between these were areas of more acoustical tile. The tile was painted a sort of terra cotta color, and the pilasters and cornices were beige or cream. There had been a balcony, but it was either ripped out or converted to office or storage space. I do not recall seeing a proscenium or organ chambers, as I believe these had been gouged out. One room off to the side was accessed by doors with porthole windows in them—clearly reused from the theatre’s entrance, and likely dating from a Moderne remodeling at some stage in the Rialto’s history.
The gentlemen working in there were Eurekans, and both remembered that the Rialto had indeed closed for movies sometime in the early 60s. They may have told me the exact date, but I don’t recall it. What they remembered more clearly, and spoke the most about, were the times after that when it was a rock concert venue. It sounded like things got pretty wild during that time. I don’t recall the date of its ultimate closure, but I think it was shuttered by the early 70s.
The theatre was extremely simple on the outside. To call it Streamline Moderne would be kind—though the two-sided neon sign and readerboard qualified for such nomenclature. The exterior was a plain example of Midcentury Modern. A photo—the only one I have ever found—of the theatre is likely going to appear in a book I am co-authoring. I have walked around the outside of the concrete block office building that stands there now, and despite the 1970s Spanish stucco veneer and trimmings, it would appear that the shell of the building onsite today is the structure of the theatre auditorium, along with part of the lobby structure which came out at right angles to the auditorium to meet the street.
I have yet to find any confirmation of a Spanish theme in the building, though with a theatre of early 1950s vintage, this would have had to have been limited to little more than some nice murals on the auditorium walls, and perhaps some other minor elements so themed.
There was another theatre in the town, called the Half Moon Bay. The only photo I’ve ever found of it is an aerial shot of the whole town, and the theatre is visible as a simple gabled structure on Main St. Some sort of simple, perhaps vaguely Mission style facade can be made out in the photo. This theatre dated back to the silent era.
Contact the Archives of the Theatre Historical Society of America. We have over 15,000 historic theatres documented.
www.historictheatres.org
Our Archivist, Kathy McLeister, will be happy to search our collections for your theatre, plus examples of Streamlined Moderne theatres which may help you. In the event we don’t have much or anything about yours, we most definitely have many, many images of theatres done in Streamline style from which you could gain much information.
Gary Parks
West Region Director,
Theatre Historical Society
I must also mantion that the Roxie (not its original name—it’s had many) in San Francisco is a nickelodeon, though it was long ago remodeled into a charming little moderne movie house and is still operating. The same is to be said for the Vogue, also in San Francisco, though it’s even more redone Moderne than the Roxie. another San Francisco spot which preserves an original nickelodeon interior is Aardvark Books, I believe it’s on Church Street (very close to Market). The facade is very plain/modern, with the bookstore name in neon, but once in the door, you can see a complete entrance arch, and a vaulted pressed tin ceiling going all the way to the back.
Also, on Haight Street is a former nickelodeon with riotous cast ornament (masks and lions) on the facade and lighbulb sockets, which has 30s tile along the bottom and around the windows from when it went retail. The interior still has original Ionic pilasters down the sidewalls.
Gary Parks
West Region Director, Theatre Historical Society of America
Go to nilesfilmmuseum.org
for the Niles Essanay Silent Film Museum (Edison Theatre) in the historic district of Niles in Fremont California. Architecturally, it’s a very plain, small town nickelodeon, but it IS the real deal—operated originally from 1913 to 1923. It was used for other uses over the years, and a larger theatre (long since burned) later took its place nearby, but in about 2005, a group of volunteers formed the museum and have been lovingly restoring the original nickelodeon Edison and operating it as a silent film showcase, with a museum in the building as well.
It may be your only chance to visually document a nickelodeon projection booth that is largely intact.
To my knowledge, the proposed theater to be designed by David and Wolf in Mountain View never got beyond the talking stages. This seems sensible, as the late ‘20s Mountain View Theatre (by Alexander Cantin—of Mountain View) and the '30s Cinema (architect unknown) would amply take care of a city the size of Mountain View. Later the Monte Vista and Moffett drive-ins would take care of any need for additional screens until the advent of the multiplex era.
The Capitola’s well worn parking lot is still there, but a freshly-laid L-shaped pad of blacktop marks the footprint where the auditorium and lobby once were. The front lawn has been scraped away as well. The old cement block wall that once separated the theatre from the Lido restaurant (and Mac’s Patio bar before that) still stands.
A little story from my friend (and theatre photo/memorabilia archivist) Jack Tillmany, onetime manager of the Sutter: When he was there, a family of owls had a habit of nesting each year in one side of the letter “S” on the vertical sign tower. As the baby owls were learning to fly, they would break the neon tubes when coming back in for a rather clumsy landing to the nest. Both sides of the letter were on the same circuit, so for a time each year, Jack was proud manager (at night, when the sign was lit) of the “UTTER” Theatre. There was no point in trying to repair the tubing until each year’s new family of owls was gone and the letter could be cleaned up. How long this yearly ritual of owl-rearing and repeated sign repairs lasted after Jack’s managerial departure for bigger and better theatres in the Bay Area is unknown.
Another thing: My friend, neon contractor Greg King, still has some new neon tubes which he had made for the Sutter some time ago to replace old missing tubes. The theatre either closed or changed hands before they could be installed. Anyway, perhaps they could finally be installed if the theatre is going to be revived. Please contact me if that’s the case, and I can put the parties concerned in touch with Greg!
The Alexandria project is at last appearing to be moving forward. Input from the community is being encouraged. Plans have been made which will respect/restore the exterior of the building, and preserve most of the interior elements from the 1940s remodeling, and discussion is underway on the idea of preserving the Egyptian decorative elements of the interior in ways that the public may enjoy them as well. The Alexandria will house a theatre equipped for small stage events as well as film, and there will be retail space, and a sort of restaurant/lounge area also. Imperative in the project are innovative structural features which will maintain much of the feeling of the original height of the auditorium wherever possible, while providing retail spaces on the ground level beneath the theatre and restaurant area. The murals of sea nymphs will remain. On the location of the theatre’s parking lot, a new building will house two levels of underground parking, and have much-needed residences above. The familiar neon “PARKING” sign on the side of the theatre will still point the way. The new building will be modern in design, but will feature bay window-like extensions to go with the characcter of the neighborhood, plus cornice work and overall massing which—while not at all copying the adjacent Egyptian Revival look of the theatre, will compliment its proportions.
I stopped by for a look this past weekend. It was nice to see the terrazzo reinstalled, beautifully matched and filled-in where it had been sawn for temporary removal. I also noticed for the first time the faint outline of where the octagonal box office once stood, and this made me appreciate the care with which some long-ago terrazzo contractor had matched the zig-zag pattern and colors so that there would be no “scar” to denote the location of the missing structure.
Also to be seen is a reconstruction of the original ticket lobby ceiling—very simple, with a Moderne plaster band around the edge as a sort of cornice molding. This is the only architectural nod to the NuWilshire’s original interior. Beyond the location of the former entrance doors, all is clean but unfinished, waiting for a tenant. To the right, in what was once the lobby, the outlines of a staircase can be seen in the concrete of the West wall. As for the color scheme of the facade, I don’t find it offensive, though something more imaginative could easily have been arrived at.
I stopped by this theatre for the first time last Friday to see if the terrazzo sidewalk was worth photographing. I was not disappointed. Dispite the fact that the part of it closest to the building has been cut through to make a planting area for some palm trees, there is much fine patternwork remaining. Most of the design is simple striping, with contrasting bands and Moderne curls. In the center part leading to where the theatre entrance and box office once were, there is a fine pattern of curving leaves and—no surprise—a “bouquet” of several magnolia blossoms.
Having just reread the description at the top of this page, I have to debunk the contention that there is an atmospheric ceiling hidden above the current one. There is not. The original dome was cove lit around the edges, the bulbs and access hatches are still there. There is no evidence of any lightbulb stars ever having been part of the decor. All that exists above the plaster ceiling are plank catwalks, steel joists, struts and rafters, and the underside of the roof. A catwalk climbs to the center of the dome, where the crank for lowering the big central chandelier is still in place.
With all the talk of the proposed renovation of the Alexandria preserving interior elements from its 1940s remodel (what is seen today), I want to call attention to the fact that some elements of the original Egyptian decor also survive, hidden from view. Chief among these is a partial row of papyrus columns behind the lobby wall which houses the drinking fountain. Two different sources in UA told me at different times of relamping the light over the drinking fountain, sticking their heads through the resulting opening, and seeing a wall scribed and painted to look like blocks of stone, with a row of columns. Such a feature should be somehow preserved. If it can’t be part of the actual decor—then elements of it could be put on display. Also, the auditorium ceiling, with its (formerly covelit) dome, is original, though repainted. In 1995, I was in the attic over the auditorium, walking on the redwood plank catwalks, and it was obvious where the organ chambers had been hacked out, both the plaster and the concrete walls, and the resulting gaps filled-in with the present walls curving in arcs toward the proscenium. Also, in a little room next to projection booth, a section of original Egyptian cavetto cornice molding remains intact, though repainted in a neutral color.
To confirm Terry’s post above: The 1939 entrance tower on the Santa Cruz was removed in 1977 when the building underwent further post-theatre remodeling. Interestingly, this was the same year the Del Mar was quadded. I remember the tower being on the building when I first saw it in the early 70s. The sheet metal star and crescent moon band still ran around the top, but the marquee and all neon on the building was long gone. The whole building was painted olive drab. Today, the metal vertical fins elsewhere on the building’s facade still exist, and you can see little plugged holes where neon once hooked-in. the tubes were originally hidden behind “sleeves” or “fins” of sheet metal. The only visible tubing was on the marquee proper (and for a time, an older vertical sign over the theatre’s original Pacific Ave. entrance, visible in the photo at the top of the page). All else was indeirect light glowing out from behind sheet metal flashing. The effect was magical, if photos taken at the time are any indication. Very recently, the building has been given another paint job, nicely accenting the surviving architectural detailing.
To answer Larry Goldsmith above: When I went in the remains of the Baywood in September ‘09, the building was almost totally vacant, save for a very nice used book store operating in the forward left portion of the former Thrifty’s space on the ground floor. The rest of downstairs still looks like a stripped 1950s Thrifty interior. The “Thrifty Cut Rate Drug Stores” terrazzo is still in the entrance. It is via a stairway at the back, dating from the Thrifty remodel, that you go up through the area where the proscenium used to be, and find yourself in the nearly gutted remains of the upper half of the auditorium.
In the early 1990s, I drove out to Antioch for the sole purpose of attending movies at the Stamm and El Campanil theatres. I saw “The Coneheads” at the Stamm (awful movie), but that wasn’t the point, I got to see the inside of the theatre. As I was not allowed to take photos, I had my Plan B—my sketchbook. I drew a black and white sketch and made color notes of a large section of the center part of the Left sidewall of the auditorium, and as soon as I got home that night, made a color rendering of it. It should be said that all the murals were lit by UV lighting, and glowed in the dark as the movie ran—an eerily beautiful effect.
I still have this color rendering. I really don’t want to open up some kind of account to post photos online—it’s all I can do to keep up with theatre-related matters in Theatre Historical Society and other commitments…BUT…if anyone else would like to post this for me, I would be happy to scan and email an image of this drawing. All I’d ask is that the drawing be credited with my name. This may be the only color record of the muralwork we have.
I’ll stay away from the whole pot debate, and just say that…at least the doors are open and the heat and lights are on. I saw the Flatirons Theatre on the outside last Fall for the first time—coming upon it unexpectedly after seeing the nearby Fox. There’s a poor excuse for a marquee on the front of the Flatirons now, but the building itself is a beautiful example of early buff brick International Style with some Moderne touches. It is a quality building worth keeping in the neighborhood. I do hope that a theatrical use ultimately returns to the place, though.
I was at first puzzled by M. Gerdes post above, expressing disappointment that the terrazzo was supposedly not saved. Mea culpa. I can see by the way I worded things in my October 13, ‘09 post that this could easily be erroneously ascertained. What I was trying to say was that the terrazzo and the tiled Ladies restroom had survived the fire intact, and therefore did not need to be replicated. So, to clarify, when one enters the rebuilt Avenal, and feels surrounded essentially by the “old” Avenal, it should be kept in mind that everything visible IS NEW, EXCEPT for the terrazzo, and the tiled walls of the Ladies restroom. My apologies for the confusion.