That’s it! “Lowe’s” Paradise is brilliant!!! So clever — and so economical!
I’d love to see them do that whether or not the Loews Corporation ever puts up a fuss. What great PR! (And so cheap to do!) It would be such a delightful contribution to the folklore of the Bronx.
It reminds me a bit of Damon Runyon renaming “Lindy’s” as “Mindy’s” in his short stories. Even if he never really “had” to do it (one supposes Leo “Lindy” Linderman would have loved the publicity), the fact that he changed it just enough to make it a bit of a “mystery” — but not enough to make the mystery the least bit difficult to solve — made it a lot of fun for everyone involved.
Brian Wolf: Interesting points, and you could very well be right!
But I think what makes the Loew’s case a bit more interesting than some others (and I’m not that familiar with the examples you gave) is that Loew’s is still a company that owns and operates many movie theaters in the NYC area — so there is a potential for confusion if the Paradise is publicized and actually operated under the name “Loew’s Paradise.” (And given people’s feelings about today’s Loew’s multi-plexes, such confusion might be either good or bad — it might enhance the Loew’s brand [“They were a classy company that used to build very nice theaters.] or detract from it ["Wow, what happened that they started building such crummy new theaters?].
In terms of Sears, I think a case could be made that if we were talking about department store buildings rather than an office building, that a Sears corporation that operated many department stores in an area might object if someone bought and fixed up one of their old stores and operated it under the name, say, “Sear’s State Street Store.”
Also, to further play devil’s advocate, I think the situation with a non-Loew’s, “Loew’s Paradise” might be similar in a way to that of the “Loew’s Paradise” page on the Cinema Treasures website. Apparently Cinema Treasures finds it necessary (possibly to avoid legal problems?) to post at the bottom of this page: “Note: Cinema Treasures is not affiliated with Loew’s Paradise Theatre. If you have a question about a recent ticket purchase or need to contact theater management, pleae contact the theater directly.” So maybe a “Loew’s Paradise,” officially named and operated as such, might be required to do the same?
And the other thing that came to mind that seemed to make this a possibly special case is that sometimes brands have to “crack” down on trademark infringement even when they might not really feel like it because, if they don’t, they lose the right when they really need it. (Again, not being a lawyer, I don’t know if this is really applicable here. But that’s one of the issues that come to my mind.)
And just to add another example of why it seemed to me that Warren’s original question might have at least some merit, there is the famous example of the original Roxy Theater (1927) and the Roxy Center Theater (1932) where the courts ordered that the Roxy Center relinquish the Roxy part of its name. (But of course in the Loew’s case, there is possibly the difference that you imply — that a Loew’s Paradise would probably not subtract business from other Loew’s theaters in the Bronx the way a brand new Roxy Center Theater might have subtracted business from an older Roxy a few blocks away.)
Anyway, although I too have my doubts that there is any problem with continuing to call the “Paradise” the “Loew’s Paradise,” I was hoping that people would take up my light-hearted challenge and come up with some witty substitutes for “Loew’s” in the signs on the theater. (For the owners of the Paradise, it could be a nice bit of long lasting publicity along the lines of naming that restaurant near Lincoln Center “O'Neal’s Balloon” — the story behind the restaurant’s unusual name gave it free “good” publicity for many, many years.)
P.S. — It occured to me after my last post, that commercial laws are probably federal not state, so the same laws would probably govern theaters in both New Jersey and New York.
I don’t think there’s any question that they can continue to call the theater the “Paradise,” it was the “Loew’s” part — especially as it concerns the exterior signage — that could be problematic (especially since the signage is, in at least one instance, an integral part of the building’s exterior architectural design).
By the way, two other examples came to mind of designated NYC landmarks where a company’s name was part of the exterior design and the question arose as to what to do when the old owner (still in existence) was no longer the owner: the former McGraw-Hill Building and the former RCA Building (which I think is still in existance?).
In the case of the McGraw-Hill Building, the name of the company was set into the top of the building in some kind of ceramic or terra cotta tiles — not easy to change. Fortunately, given the new name of the building, it was relatively easy though (I believe) to change the name since the new company was known by its initials “GHI” (Group Health Insurance) and they were contained in the old name.
In terms of the Loew’s New Jersey, don’t know if New Jersey’s commercial laws in this regard would — or would not — be similar to New York’s. (Again, I’m not a lawyer.) Also don’t know how similar or dissimilar their laws regulating landmarks are to those of New York City’s.
Interesting that you should bring up the NYC landmark regulations and signage, because there is another interesting precedent to this question.
There is a turn of the century (?) building on the northeast corner of Union Sq. Park that used to be the headquarters of an insurance company (Guardian Life?) but was turned into a luxury hotel (a “W” hotel). The building was an officially designated landmark and, if I understood the news stories correctly, the neon sign atop the building (Guardian Life) was (foolishly, in my opinion) considered to be part of the landmark designation.
Again, if I understood the news story correctly, the new owners were able to convince the landmark preservation commission that replacing the “Guardian Life” sign with a similarly styled “W” sign would be in keeping with the landmark designation.
I’m assuming (but don’t really know) that the building didn’t have such a sign when it was originally built. So, personally, it seems to me that the building might be an even better landmark without any sign on top whatsoever. And while the sign doesn’t bother me, the efforts to preserve it (or something similar) strike me as possibly being ideologically “precious.” (The reason I say “possibly” is I think there may be water towers or a giant air conditioning unit on the roof, and maybe the sign helps camouflage them a bit.) It seems to me that the Landmark Preservation Commission would be better serving its mission if it turned its attention and energy towards preserving what seem to me to be true NYC landmarks, like the Beekman, etc.
Warren: That’s an interesting question. Though I’m not a lawyer, I wonder if the private owners would really have a right to continue to use the name. In my experience, the term “grandfathered” usually applies to a new government regulation which does not apply to already existing conditions. I’m not sure if it would apply to something like this.
While not exactly the same issue, there are two movie related law cases that are somewhat similar. When Samuel(?) Goldwyn parted from Metro Goldwyn Meyer, I think the court ruled that he could use his own name (which was a fabricated one to begin with) as long as it was made clear that he was no longer associated with MGM. There was also a fascinating legal case a few years back (in the 1980s or early 1990s?) where Shirley Temple sued the makers of a prepackaged version of drink that people had come to know as “Shirley Temples.” Don’t know remember how it was decided, but I think the judge made a similar kind of decision whereby they could use the name as long as the package indicated that Shirley Temple herself was not associated with the product.
There is also the funny case in New York of a restaurant opposite Lincoln Center that was called “O'Neal’s Balloon” because it was against a NYC ordinance to use the word “saloon.”
Also, while not a legal case, when they changed the name and signage of the Alvin Theater to the (Neal) Simon, they were “lucky” because the new name had the same number of letters, so it could be neatly done.
Considering all this, maybe they should change the name to the “John’s Paradise” (in honor of Eberson)? Or maybe Cinema Treasures should run a “contest”? (The winner should have five letters and an appostrophe that take up the same amount of space as Loew’s. Extra credit is for a name that involves the least number of changes to the word “Loew’s.”)
For the fun of it, I did a database search of “the New York Times” for the term “Wonder Theaters” using the “Proquest” database service available at NYU’s Bobst Library.
What I found were mostly display ads (although there was also a brief news item about, I think, the opening of the Valencia). (I should have taken better notes!; but I didn’t think I’d find anything to really report back to Cinema Treasures.)
On page 33 of the March 4, 1930 issue of “the New York Times” there is a display ad that says the following: Loew’s ‘BIG 5’ Wonder Theatres [i’ve copied the capitalization and punctuation that was in the ad]. Below this headline they’ve listed five theaters: 175th St., Paradise, Valencia, the Pitkin and the King’s.
So, to be fair to Ben Hall, there was a legitimate reason for him to include the Pitkin and exclude the Jersey in that original photo caption! (Of course, it also makes sense for Loew’s not to include the Jersey in a display ad published in a New York City newspaper — especially in the late 1920s when Jersey City was probably less of a “satellite” of NYC and more of an economically independent city than it is today. It’s my guess that in those days it have been considered a poor use of advertising funds to advertise the Jersey in a NYC newspaper.)
I also looked at some of the later ads as the year went on. It seems that a number of the theaters were dropped out of the Wonder Theater group advertisements. I didn’t note the dates or the theaters, but at first I think the group went down to three and then down to two (the Paradise and Valencia). I didn’t check all the advertisements on the page to see how the “dropped” theaters were advertised — perhaps they had separate ads that also used the term “Wonder Theater” but were advertised separately because they were showing a different show.
Towards the end of the year only the Valencia and the Paradise were grouped together in the same Wonder Theaters ad (again, possibly, because these two were the only two with the same show).
By the way, both of these theaters, and some others too I think, advertised midnight showings on Saturday night! Fascinating to think that in 1930 this was a profitable thing to do in Jamaica, Long Island (which is the way the ads identify the Valencia’s location) and the upper Grand Concourse!
I think the ads also mention something about de lux shows. But I’m not sure what they mean by this — or even it this applies to any of the Loew’s theaters. (I found the ads a bit confusing as the ads seem to me to kind of run together.)
jabrams: In answer to your question, there was an article in the January 27, 2005 “Lenox Hill Edition” of “Our Town” (a free newsweekly distributed via those platic news boxes on street corners). The article was about the rumored closings of both the Beekman and Cinema 1, 2 3. (“Our Town” does not appear to publish an on-line edition.)
The good news in the article is about Cinema 1, 2 3 — contrary to rumors, it will not be closed.
The bad news is that the Beekman is indeed scheduled to close this spring. Charlotte Eichna, the author of the article reports that, “The lease will officially terminate in June and construction should begin soon thereafter … .”
More bad news is that the Landmarks Preservation Commission appears to be offering only token support for preservation of the Beekman. Seri Worden, executive director of “Friends of the Upper East Side Hitoric Districts,” a preservation group, is quoted as saying that “her group has been working since 2001 to get the Beekman designated as a city landmark … . We’ve met with them [the Landmark Preservation Commission] many times. They say they’re sympathetic and they’ll look into it, but you have to actually do something.”
Also, at the end of the article it is reported that, “The Beekman is not currently scheduled for a hearing, according to [Diane] Jackier [a spokeswoman for Landmarks] … which would be the first step in the designation process.”
If experience from the recent past is any indicataion, this means that the LPC has already made up its mind not to designate the Beekman. Refusal to schedule a hearing [or “calendar” (used as a verb) — in the lingo of the preservation community] is their sneaky way of voting “no” when a landmark designation does not have the support of the Mayor, etc. (This is the current tactic being used to frustrate the possible designation of 2 Columbus Circle, which has the dean of Yale’s School of Architecture, among many other knowledgeable and distinguished supporters, lobbying for a public hearing on its possible designation.)
A ray of hope found in the article is that Seri Worden’s group hopes to “work with industry heavyweight Harvbey Weinstein, the founder of Miramax Films, who has publicly stated that he plans to fight for the Beekman.”
By the way, I wonder if the reason the management of the Valencia, and presumably other theaters too, used usherettes rather than ushers to screen patrons who had loge tickets was based on a variation of the “good cop, bad cop” idea.
This is what I suspect management was thinking:
We’ll have a lady (it could be either a pretty, young one, or a motherly or grandmotherly type) screen those going into the loge seats. This will make most people think twice about trying to “beat the system.” (“Don’t want to upset the pretty young thing, or make ‘mom’ or that nice little old lady cross with us.”) And for those who have no shame, the usherette can always call for one of the big guns (a bouncer-like usher) if they persist and continue to be a problem.
But if we start off with the guy ushers 1) it becomes more of a challenge for certain kind of people to try and beat the system and 2) we would have already used up one of our big guns at the very beginning, so where would we go from there? But with a sweet young thing, or a “mom” or granny “authority figure” followed by a “now we’re getting down to business” hulk, we really have an effective “one, two” punch that will wear down most people who might try and beat the system.
Better that we start out “small” and move on up from that level, then start out “big” and wind up with a big argument/fight on our hands.
Thanks BoxOfficeBill and Warren for the terrific information!
Of course, my gut feeling was that the Valencia was in Jamaica, but I was also curious as to what the exact boundary line between Jamaica and Hollis was — in part, I guess, to figure out how the author could have made such a “weird” mistake. (To give an example of how such a mistake can be seen to be somewhat sensible: the Manhattan apartment I once lived in was officially part of one post office (same zip code), had mail delivered from a different post office (where my mail carrier was actually based), and was actually physically closest to yet a third post office (where I went to buy stamps, etc.)!
So I think the author’s mistake would have been more understandable if, for example, the official boundaries of Jamaica ended at say, 167th St. or 168th St., even though the activities of “downtown” Jamaica might have in reality “spilled” over to the next “town,” Hollis. But given that the boundary is, if I understand Bill’s post correctly, about 15 blocks away it’s hard to understand how in the world the author came up with a Hollis location for the Valencia.
And I was also curious as to what the publishing “history” of this book was like. So it’s very interesting to find out that this mistake was in the original edition, the publishers were contacted and yet did nothing about it.
So far, the most disturbing (“biggest”) mistake I’ve found in the book (and although I’ll still buy it, I could only skim it last night) was that it says that “What’s My Line” (which, I’m pretty sure was a CBS show done from the theater that later became Studio 54) was done in the NBC studios at Rockefeller Center. (And “What’s My Line” is not a trivial show. I believe it sets records for both being a top rated show and for overall longevity.) And while this could be seen, in a sense, as a trivial mistake, especially since TV shows are understandably an afterthought in a book about movie making, what really makes this mistake “serious” in my eyes is that the author also does a profile of the Studio 54 theater (which might have actually been CBS Studio 52?) and never mentions, if I recall correctly, anything about any CBS shows, let alone “What’s My Line,” being broadcast from there! (In fact, the entry seemed solely a brief history of the disco and the movie celebrities who went there.)
And I also saw some other “facts” that seem to be in error, which I’ll also have to check out some day. It seemed to me that the book was really best when in looked at the “big” picture — explaining, for example, why “Splendor in the Grass” and other films were / were not actually filmed in NYC rather than Hollywood or on location (in the case of “Splendor in the Grass,” Elia Kazan, the esteemed director didn’t want to leave his sickly father’s side).
So, it seems to me that one has to take the info in this book with more than a grain of salt! (A “pinch”?; a teaspoon?; a tablespoon?)
Which brings up the topic of Loew’s “Wonder Theaters” again. If I understand Alleman correctly, he says that the theaters were Wonder
Theaters because they all contained Robert Morton “Wonder” organs. I get the sense that besides providing a glowing nickname for this model of a Robert Morton organ, “Wonder” was in a sense a brand name — like “Wonder-bread” or “Miracle” Whip. So, if Alleman is to be believed, the five Loew’s “Wonder Theaters” were billed as they were because they contained identical models of the “Wonder” line of Robert Morton organs — which, to be fair to Alleman, seems to be the same thing that Ben Hall is saying in the caption in “Best Remaining Seats” that we’ve been discussing. In fact, his explanation seems to make the caption a little clearer to me than it first was when I read it.
However, I still like Ziggy’s explanation, and I suspect the “real” explanation is probably a combination of the two of them — as that’s the way things seem to actually work in the real world (i.e., one thing feeds off of another and the final event is a product of many “coincidences”).
I was just at the Virgin Mega Store on Union Sq. and noticed a new book (official publishing date, Feb. 1, 2005) that I think will be of interest to posters at Cinema Treasures: “New York: The Movie Lover’s Guide: The Ultimate Insider tour of Movie New York.” There is also a Los Angeles version, also having a Feb. 1 publishing date. (I just skimmed the New York book, but I get the feeling that both the L.A. and N.Y. books are revised and expanded versions of books that the author, Richard Alleman, originally wrote in the 1980s, or so.)
Mainly the book is a listing of movie/TV locations, places where movie/TV people lived or grew up, location and history of New York movie/TV studios, movie star grave sites, etc. But it also includes info about movie (and “legit”) theaters, including the Loew’s Valencia, the Stanley and Loew’s Jersey, Moss Colony, Cadillac Winter Garden, etc. In fact it has a “rare” photo of the interior (stage, east wall of the “courtyard” and part of the balcony)of the Loew’s Valencia. I suspect it is a photo taken in the theater’s last days as a theater, but before the church took it over, because the “sky” seems to have a few patches of water damage and falling plaster.
While the book seems to be pretty good, I did notice a number of things that seemed to me to be really glaring errors. Now, in a book containing so many facts, I suppose this is to be expected. But it’ll be interesting to investigate to see how error prone this book is.
As part of this effort, I have a question. One — very minor — thing that struck me as an error (or sloppy writing) is that the author says the Valencia is in Hollis (not Jamaica) Queens. Although I grew up in Jamaica, I’m not exactly clear where the boundary between Hollis and Jamaica is located. But, it seems to me that the Valencia is in Jamaica as much as anything else (including the rather substantial Jamaica post office only a block or two away) is in Jamaica.
Does anyone know the “official” boundaries of Jamaica and Hollis, and whether the Valencia is “officially” in Jamaica or Hollis? (I assume, but I’m only guessing, that ever since Queens became part of NYC in 1898, the “official” boundaries for “town” names were in fact the postal district boundaries.)
Here is a list of the pre-Jamaica Multiplex movie theaters that were located in “downtown” Jamaica: the Savoy and the Fox Jamaica, (two theaters I know very little about); the Hilllside, the Merrick, the Alden and the Valencia (four theaters that I remember to some extent from the late 1950s and early 1960s). Were there ever any others in “downtown” Jamaica? And, if so, where were they located and what became of them?
I recall an empty theater on the south side of Jamaica Ave. just west of Parsons Blvd., which I believe is the Fox Jamaica referred to by Warren.
Where exactly was the Savoy, and what was on the site in the late 1950s or early 1960s?
It seems to me that it was probably the Trans-Lux West Theater (on west side of Broadway, south of 49th St.) that was demolished in 1987, not the World Theater (north side of 49th St., between Sixth and Seventh Avenues).
Since corrections and elaborations about the identity and history of this theater have been scattered over a number of different posts, I’d like to try and summarize in one place what I think seems to be the correct information.
The WORLD THEATER, located “midblock” on the north side of 49th St., between Sixth and Seventh Avenues, started out as a cinema theater with the name the Charles Hopkins. (It had been built as a playhouse, called the Punch and Judy.) It then became the Westminster (1934), the World (1936), and finally the Embassy 49th (1982). It was demolished in 1987(?).
The TRANS-LUX WEST THEATER, on the west side of Broadway between 48th and 49th St. (but almost on the corner of 49th St.), was renamed the Embassy 49th after the theater that was midblock on the north side of 49th St. (i.e., the Hopkins, Westminster, World, Embassy 49th) closed down. Sometime after receiving the name of this other theater, the formerly named Trans-Lux West was renamed once again, this time as the “Pussycat Theater.”
It was the Trans-Lux West Theater (not the World) that was replaced by the Holiday Inn Crowne Plaza (a hotel, not an office building). The site of the World Theater was, instead, the site of an office building (not a hotel) built by the Rockefeller Center people — after what seemed like years of being an empty lot. (I think the main tenant in the building is Lehman Brothers?)
It was the WARNER/CINERAMA (originally the Strand), which was located on the west side of Broadway between 47th and 48th Sts., that was replaced by the skyscraper office building referred to in one of the previous posts on this page. (I forget the name of the eponymous major tenant, but I believe it is a financial services firm.) This is the building that has three rows of “ticker-tape” lights, each going at a slightly different rate of speed, running across its facade.
In response to a comment I made on the Roxy page regarding pricing policies for “neighborhood” theaters like the Valencia, Warren posted some very interesting info on that page. Thanks Warren! Since I’m particularly interested in the scale of prices at the Valencia, however, I thought I’d reprint parts of Warren’s original post here, and then ask Warren or other posters about the pricing policy at the Valencia (in, say, 1960).
Here are the relevant parts of Warren’s Roxy post:
“In the ‘old days,’ movie theatres, regardless of rank, always had a sliding scale of admission prices. From opening until 5 or 6PM, it would be cheaper than in the evening. Weekday performances were cheaper than those on weekends. On Saturday night, and all of Sunday and holidays, the highest prices prevailed. Children under 12 usually paid half the adult price. There were no discounts for seniors.
Movie theatres with balconies often had a segregated section at the front called the ‘loge’ where seats were bigger and wider spaced. Loge tickets were always priced higher than general admission, from maybe 25 to 50 cents or even $1, depending upon time of day."
When I went to the Valencia in the 1950s and 1960s I was a kid, so I really didn’t pay that much attention to prices. (My recollections are probably from the daytime and pretty simple: $1.00 for adults, $.50 for kids, if I remember correctly.) So I’m wondering what the full price scale for the Valencia would be in, say 1960, if one went on a Saturday evening, Sunday or holiday (when the prices would be highest).
In particular I’m wondering if (in 1960) they charged more for seats in the loge and/or balcony and, if so, how did they “enforce” it? Did the patrons get specific reserved seats (which, I believe, are referred to as “hard tickets”) in the higher priced sections? Or were ushers stationed at strategic spots to screen out those with the less expensive tickets?
Since I think it would really be interesting to see what the “top” prices for various forms of entertainment were across the board (for example, non-“hard ticket” Times Sq. theaters, “hard ticket” Times Sq. theaters, Radio City Music Hall, and Broadway plays and musicals), I’m not as much interested in weekday prices or daytime Saturday prices. (Actually, it would be interesting. But since it makes everything so complicated, it seems too much to ask!) But it would be interesting to know what the top ticket prices were in 1960 for a neighborhood theater like the Valencia in order to see how they compare with the top prices for other forms of entertainment at that time. (I think it would also be interesting to find out the pricing policies for other Queens theaters, like the Alden, Merrick, RKO Keith’s, Triboro — but only if they had pricing policies that differed from the one that the Valencia had for Saturday nights, Sundays and holidays.)
Warren: interesting point! But, just to illustrate the complexity of the “problem” when one tries to do valid cost comparisons, I would think that the ticket prices for the first run road shows would also vary by location. And since BoxOfficeBill’s original comment was about the price of standing room — which also depends upon one’s location — the comparison between these three still holds.
But, as you point out, it is important to remember that Radio City Music Hall (and I’m guessing, the Roxy too) also offered many, many seats (in fact, the vast majority of seats) at a lower price, one that should also be brought into the “equation” — as they are comparable to the seats offered at first run non roadshow theaters and at neighborhood movie houses.
I’m assuming (but am not really sure) that first run, non roadshow Times Sq. theaters and neighborhood theaters, like the Valencia, had a single price policy for seats throughout the theater (depending, of course, on the time of day). So at the Valencia, for instance, a seat cost at a particular time of day cost the same price whether you sat in the orchestra, the loge or the balcony (which allowed, I believe, smoking).
I have to wonder if the photo at the top of this page (the interior of an auditiorium with apparently at least eight slender cast iron columns placed in the “middle” of the orchestra seating level) is REALLY the interior of Hammerstein’s Victoria — a theater built in 1899 in our nation’s largest metropolis? It just seems to me that at this “late” date, in such a large sophisticated city like New York, that they didn’t build theaters like this anymore. Plus, the type of decoration at the top of the columns seems to be something that was no longer popular in 1899.
To me, the photo looks like the interior of what I imagine to be some “opera house” in some small town somewhere. (It’s hard to tell from seeing the photo on a computer screen, but it almost looks like there are sun-filled windows along the right side of the photo, which if true, would seem to be further “evidence” that this is not really Hammerstein’s Victoria.)
Also, from photos of the exterior of the Victoria (in, for instance, the Mary Henderson book, the “Theater and the City,” 1973 edition), it seems highly unlikely that such an auditorium as that pictured above was inside a building of the size and style of Hammerstein’s Victoria.
Although the Mary Henderson book says (I believe) that the Victoria was gutted for the new Rialto (thereby implying that much of the building remained), other sources seem to paint a different picture. (I’m inclined to think that this is just sloppy language on her part.)
Comparing photographs of Hammerstein’s Victoria and the second Rialto, and from a history of the second Rialto and Hammerstein’s Victoria provided in Ben Hall’s “Best Remaining Seats” (pgs. 44?-45?), one gets the impression that pretty much the entire Victoria was demolished to make way for the Rialto.
From the photographs, for instance, the buildings seem to be entirely different kinds of structures — with different floor levels, different facades on at least two sides (the Seventh Ave. and 42nd St. sides), etc.
And from the way Ben Hall describes the problems that developed between Hammerstein and the builders of the Rialto (Hammerstein only agreed to sell if he could get space in the new structure) one further gets the impression that most, if not all, of the structure was replaced.
But then again, these kinds of things can be tricky. Near where I live, I once saw them build a modern apartment house, with balconies and everything, that incorporated the brick walls of rowhouses from the 1830s! At first I though they were just restoring the rowhouses until I saw they were actually adding floors and bricking over the original walls!
Let me say that I agree with those who say that this theater should really be listed under another name — perhaps the Victoria, since that was its most famous, and longest running by far, name as a cinema. Actually, I had a very difficult time finding this listing, as I had no idea that the theater, or any theater, had ever been called the “Embassy Five.” Like a number of posters above, I too thought of this block as being the block of the Astor and the Victoria. (I also believe that most references in theater history books, etc. would be to either the Gaiety or the Victoria, with very few, if any at all, being for the Embassy Five.)
I seems to me that the picture at the top of this page is “misleading” and that there is a much better, much more “accurate” picture of the Victoria, as the newly built Gaiety, in the Mary Henderson book (pg. 237), “The Theater and the City” (1973 edition).
The theater itself (i.e., the bulk of the auditorium, the main facade and the original lobby) was really on 46th St., just to the east of the Helen Hayes — originally the Follies Bergere and then the Fulton and the Helen Hayes — which was built about two years after the Gaiety. Both theaters had the same architects, Herts and Tallant, and the facades (which were unusually handsome) had strong similarities.
Judging from my knowledge of the Helen Hayes and from what I’ve read about the Victoria, it appears that the Gaiety’s (Victoria’s) auditorium looked south — i.e., the seats faced south, the stage was in the center of the block and the original lobby on 46th St. to the rear of the orchestra level seating. Which makes me wonder how they moved scenery in and out of both the Gaiety and the Helen Hayes theaters — my guess is that they moved in through a very long [and probably inconvenient] alley that was also used for fire egress?
In later years the main 46th St. facade was covered by a billboard, and I remember in the late 1970s noticing that you could peak under the billboard and catch a glimpse of what appeared to be the original facade.
The structure pictured in the photo at the top of the page, however, appears to me to be a separate office structure which contained a “tunnel entrance” to the Gaiety / Victoria. This would make the Gaiety’s tunnel lobby through this office building similar to, for example, that of the Roxy’s (with the Hotel Taft), the Globe’s (with ?), and the Warner Hollywood/Mark Hellinger (with ?).
I haven’t seen the Morrison book — which sounds quite interesting — but there is similar info about the 1948-1949 remodeling in “New York, 1960” (pgs. 447-448?) by Robert A.M. Stern, et al. There is also a picture of its remodeled lobby entrance and the very unusual remodeled auditorium interior.
According to Stern the capacity of the theater was increased from 700 to 1,100 during this remodeling which more or less follows the descriptions posted above. If I remember correctly, however, Stern et al. describes the aluminum mesh screenwork ,or aluminum medallions, along the lines of it being aluminum “chain mail,” constructed from something like fake (or real?) movie reels (!), and affixed to the walls of the theater. I wonder how they kept it dust free or cleaned it!
By the way, I’m wondering if this unusual alteration (extending an auditorium through the stage and out all the way to the back wall of an adjacent theater) helps explain why the Hagstom map of the theater district shows such unusual footprints for the Victoria (and also for the Astor theater to the south of it). (On my Hagstom map, from around 1960, there is no Bijou theater — although there is an unlabled space left between the Astor and the Morosco, to the south of BOTH the Victoria and the Helen Hayes. Perhaps, the Bijou was in one of those periods when it was “temporarily out of commission” when the map was drawn?) While the footprints on the map don’t seem to quite correspond to the renovations described, perhaps this is what the cartographer was trying to show in any case, but just did not do a good job of it. (Or maybe the map is correct, and the renovation has been slightly misdescribed.)
By the way, according the architectural historian Carol Krinsky in her book “Rockefeller Center,” Edward Durell Stone was the architect in charge of designing both Radio City Music Hall and, I believe, the Center Theater. Many, many years later he designed the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C. So Stone, who was once quite famous (the cover of Time Magazine) but whose career seems to have fallen somewhat into obscurity (I something of a fan, and I’ve only discovered some of these things recently), seems to have quite a diverse roster of theaters to his credit!
I don’t know if I’d really like his redesign of the Victoria if I saw it in person. In photgraphs, it looks uncomfortably like the weirdly decorated interior of a shoebox. And with those white sculptural “do-dads” on the walls — ATOP his chain mail of movie reels (!) — it seems almost Salvador Daliesque! Nevertheless, it’s quite interesting to find out that he’s the one who designed it — especially considering all his other work (e.g., the first international style modern house on the east coast, Radio City Music Hall, the original Museum of Modern Art building, the American Embassy in New Dehli, etc.).
BoxOfficeBill: Thanks for all that terrific pricing info. With regards to the 1956 prices, I assume “Around the World in 80 Days” at the Rivoli was a “hard ticket” roadshow engagement. If so, then it would seem that for all three years, 1956, 1960 and 1964, roadshows had the highest “top” tickets ($3.50, $3.50, and $5.50); Radio City Music Hall, or the Roxy, had the second highest priced top tickets ($2.50, $2.75 and $2.75) and first run, non-roadshow theaters had the third highest priced top tickets ($2.00, $2.00 and $2.00). I assume the neighborhood theater prices I remember from around 1960 (which I’m guessing were top priced tickets for a neighborhood theater like the Valencia, Alden or Merrick), $1.00 for adults and $.50 for children, would then have been the fourth highest priced ticket.
I think I now see your point about standing room ($2.00, in the evening) being equivalent to the price of a movie — a first run, non roadshow movie in Times Sq. ($2.00 in the evening). That is a bargain, especially when you consider that standing room is right on the orchestra level, right behind the last row of seats where, in 1960, people were paying around $9.00 (for Friday or Saturday evenings).
Although it’s possible, I tend to doubt that I ever received a questionnaire from you as I think that would have been a “big thing” to a kid like me, and I don’t remember something like that happening. Actually this is the first I ever recall hearing about such a polling project — sounds interesting.
And thanks for the info on “El Cid”! I vaguely recall seeing it with my class in the springtime (which is also a “natural” time for a class trip of that sort). In any case, “spring of 1962” makes it a grade school trip, instead of a junior high trip as I had thought — pretty “neat” for a grade school trip!
I looked up the McCourt book and hope to at least take a look at those pages when I get the chance.
I guess the “Wonder Theater” slogan was really good advertising if movie theater buffs, 75 years later, can be discussing which theaters should or should not have been included! And it’s not just about the Pitkin, I’ve notice other theater threads that have also included discussions about whether the theater was a “Wonder Theater†or not. (Kind of reminds me of those debates about who should be Miss Rheingold or who should win an MTV award — both great advertising ploys by Rheingold and MTV, respectively!)
It is true that, ultimately, the Loew’s Corporation gets to decide which theaters belong or not (just as, I assume, MTV gets to decide which are the best videos in the various categories), so it is interesting to figure out what criteria and reasoning they had in their original advertising campaign â€" hence my original question. But I also find it interesting to find out what criteria other people thought Loew’s had in mind, too.
I finally got a chance to look at my copy of the Hall book, and I discovered something very interesting. In my copy, page 205 has nothing at all about any “Wonder Theaters”! Instead, there are two photographs of Balaban & Katz presentations on that page: 1) a scene from “Pearl of Baghdad” (on top) and 2) a scene from “Watteau Come to Life” (below).
BUT, on page 201 of my copy, as I mentioned in my February 6 post, there is a caption to a photo of the interior of the Loew’s Kings that does mention the various Wonder Theaters. In my copy it reads: “The Kings (named after Brooklyn’s county) was opened in 1929 as one of the five Loew"s "Wonder Theatres” (others: Valencia in Jamaica, Long Island, Paradise in The Bronx, JERSEY, JERSEY CITY, 175th Street in Manhattan.“ [The emphasis is mine.]
Possible explanation?:
I believe my copy is a cheap reprint from the mid-1970s. (It was published by Bramhall House, a division of Clarkson N. Potter.)
At a number of points in the text, it refers to color photos — although there are no color photos in the book. I’ve never bothered to check to see if the photos are instead included in only black and white, but maybe they just left the photos out altogether and just re-numbered the pages?
Also, since the book was originally published 15 years or so earlier, maybe they discovered that the substitution of the Pitkin for the Jersey was a small Ben Hall mistake, or perhaps, instead, just a typographer’s error? (But then, again, the dust jacket of this edition gives a brief bio of Hall as though he were still alive, when apparently he had been killed in the late 1960s or early 1970s. So it’s not really clear when this edition was published or what they conciously decided to change and what, if anything, they decided to leave alone.)
Actually, I’ve noticed a number of what I believe are mistakes in the Hall book. And Warren has also pointed out what appears to be a pretty big one regarding the auditorium of the Loew’s 72nd Street Theater, which Hall seems to feel is one of Lamb’s best: “His atmospheric Loew’s Pitkin Theatre in Brooklyn and the auditorium of his Loew’s 72nd Street Theatre, while lacking some of the subtlety of the Eberson touch, turned out quite well, and did, indeed, ‘retain their novelty character for a considerable length of time.’†And the photos of the interior of the 72nd St. Theater (pgs. 114-115) do, indeed show a really stunning atmospheric. But Warren points out on the Loew’s 72nd St. page on this site, that there is an article in an issue of the Theater Society’s journal that says it was Eberson who actually designed the auditorium â€" Lamb, according to the article designed the rest of the theater. What’s more, according to the article, this information was pretty well known when the theater was built.
Regarding Ben Hall’s mistakes: While his book is really terrific — a monumental work , really — nevertheless he was a pioneer in the field and was thus almost bound to make a number of mistakes. I see the same thing with other early writers on historic preservation. One can do just so much research at the time, and years later, with a lot more researchers spending a lot more time on the issues, inevitably more accurate information comes to light.
The location shots in “My Favorite Year” are amazing. I forgot about the one at the beginning with the Rivoli — although now that you’ve mentioned it, I do remember enjoying getting a charge out of it when I saw the movie.
I think I too assumed that it was shot on location for the movie, and that they hired a few “antique” cars (cars from the 1950s) to go down Broadway for the few seconds of this scene.
I think the most amazing location shot in the movie, however, was the one looking east towards Broadway along W. 45th St. It’s looking towards the Criterion, I believe — although I don’t remember if you actually see the Criterion in the shot. What you do see, among other things, is the Astor Hotel (currently the site of the Minskoff Theater and One Astor Plaza).
What’s so amazing about this shot? I think you see one of the featured actors of “My Favorite Year” walking down the street, and the street is so “real” — you can see people walking and cars moving — but the Astor Hotel had already been torn down for about fifteen years before the movie was made!
If it was indeed a location shot (and I’m not misremembering something that was instead just cleverly used stock footage), I think the scene was a matte shot — filmed through glass that had the Astor Hotel painted onto it.
The other day I was in the Virgin Mega store on Union Sq. and saw a book devoted to this kind of special effect. I looked for this scene in the book, but didn’t find it. If the shot in the movie was indeed a matte shot, perhaps it was too “unspectacular” and too “non-glitzy” to be included in the book. (The book has a lot of sci-fi scenes in it.)
ziggy — Hi! I can see where your explanation makes sense, especially when thought of in the following context:
The sound era becomes the rage in late 1927(?). To capitalize on this new phenomenon and to tap into a very fast growing market in the newly burgeoning areas outside of Manhattan, Paramount-Public (and subsequently Loew’s) plans to construct in the “outer boroughs” FIVE very large(3,000+ seat) and eye-poppingly lavish theaters — built specifically for the “talkies.” (Other large, lavish theaters, like the Capitol, 5,200 seats, and even the Roxy, 5,900 seats, were originally built, of course, with silent films in mind.)
These theaters would be designed by the greatest names in movie theater architecture (Eberson, Rapp & Rapp, and Thomas Lamb) and would all open, more or less, at the same time — hopefully, in the fall of 1929.
Unlike other such grand theaters in the region, the “Wonder Theatres” would be located outside of midtown Manhattan, in the “outer boroughs” (Upper Manhattan and nearby Jersey City being, in the context of the Wonder Theater advertising campaign, “outer borough” communities). They would bring a super-modern version of the grand movie palace of midtown Manhattan to the middle-class “subway suburbs” of Queens, Brooklyn, etc.; and they would create an entirely new intermediate level of movie theatergoing — something between the experience of traveling all the way downtown to go to a gigantic, first run movie palace in Manhattan (like the Loew’s Capitol) and the experience of walking to a nearby local shopping street to go to one of the many small neighborhood theaters spread throughout the metropolitan region.
Such theaters would bring a new level of grandeur and beauty to the outer boroughs — and they would be bound together by their post-Manhattan run “exclusivity” (second run after the Loew’s Capitol in Manhattan).
So how is the Loew’s marketing department going to publicize this chain of five spectacular new modern theaters that are located, so daringly, far from the Great White Way? — as the five “Wonder Theaters”!
So what was so “wondrous” about them? Giving the Loew’s PR department a little bit of room for puffery — they are a PR department, after all — these theaters would be among the very first, large-sized theaters to be built specifically with “talkies” in mind. They would have all the latest and greatest theatrical equipment on hand (including twenty-three rank Robert Morton organs). Each of the five would be designed by one of the three greatest firms in movie theater architecture, and would bring to the Bronx, Queens, etc. a level of movie palace grandeur and beauty previously unheard of for these relatively modest communities.
So that would help explain why the Valencia was a “Wonder Theater” and the Loew’s Triboro and Loew’s Pitkin were not. As neither of the second two would — or could — be part of this “second run” chain (since the Valencia and the Kings would occupy those places of honor in Queens and Brooklyn, respectively). And this would explain why it was “logical” for the Jersey (not really in an outer borough, but in “downtown” Jersey City) to be included with the other Wonder Theaters — because it too was part of this “second run” chain of magnificent new modern theaters.
Looking back, I find it really “wonder-ful” that so much construction was taking place in New York City and its “outer boroughs.” Imagine FIVE totally new 3,000+ theaters — and that’s not counting all the other theaters (and other buildings) also being built in Manhattan and other relatively close-in areas of the region. Cities were really a beehive of activity then. But then again, it was the “Roaring 20s”!
I took a quick look at the Krinsky and Loth books to see what they had to say about the underground concourse. I was kind of surprised to see that, at least from a quick glance, they really don’t have much to say about it — most of their comments are actually about the “entry plaza” to the underground concourse (the “entry plaza” is the area that was eventually transformed into a winter ice skating rink) and about the stores that were around the sides of this plaza when it first opened (where the restaurants are now).
It is with regard to these shops that they say business in the pre-subway years was bad. But I suppose it’s fair to assume that the shops further into the concourse were probably even worse off — as they were even more inconveniently accessible.
Some quotes:
Loth (pgs. 100-101) “On the whole, Rockefeller Center was successful in achieving its shop objectives [i.e., renting out to desirable, financially worthy tenants]. But the mortality of such establishments in the 1930’s was high … . Not the least of the difficulties concerned the underground maze of corridors and concourse … . the concourse was planned to link up with the station of a new Sixth Avenue subway. But the rackety old elevated train still ran.”
Loth (pg. 149) “[The Lower Plaza — the site of the skating rink — was] Orphaned by the long delay in the Sixth Avenue subway … [and] failed as a passage bringing pedestrians from the promenade into the shops that originally lined it. After a couple of years of hesitation and debate, the shops were replaced by a couple of restaurants, and the Lower Plaza [where the skating rink is] was no longer even a passage into the concourse.”
As far as I can recall, I first visited the underground concourse in the mid-1960s, and I don’t really remember the box office opposite the underground entry into Radio City Music Hall being used then (although the corridor into the Music Hall was apparently in operation). But, of course, it may have been open other hours, or maybe it was open and I just didn’t notice it, or I noticed it and don’t remember it now. But in my memories, at least, it was a “funny” presence in the underground corridors (like those abandoned stations or corridors that you sometimes see in the subways).
As mentioned in a previous post, I think when I took my tour groups into the Music Hall in the late 1970s we were told to use this entrance.
While it is possible that the Rockefeller Center management may have future plans for the box office, my interpretation of the meaning its presence post-renovation is different.
It seems to me that the one of the main reason the management renovated the underground concourse was to close off corridors and use the space to create new storefronts or enlarge existing ones. (Larger storefronts are seen, I believe, as more appropriate for modern day retailing and easier to rent out to financially sound large companies.) It seems to me that holdovers from the past, like the box office, were left alone if they didn’t interfere with this or other goals of the renovation. I think this would be especially true with a small “oddity” such as the box office and the stairs behind it — why tear them out unless you have something specific in mind to replace them with?
If I recall correctly, the Landmark Preservation Commission did review the changes to the underground concourse (along with other changes that were done all throughout the Center). While it’s possible that they may have protected it, I tend to doubt it, as they let so many other, much more noticeable and more important, features of the Center be demolished. (For instance they allowed management to totally close off some functional, handsome art deco entrances to the buildings on Fifth Ave. in order for these corridors to be incorporated into larger storefronts.) And when you think about it, how aesthetically and historical important can this box office and stairs be if even the cinema enthusiasts of Cinema Treasures know so little about them?
I doubt that a box office would be structurally important. At the very least, it’s easy to imagine them boarding it over or re-paneling it if they wanted to use it and the surrounding stairways differently.
As I mentioned previously, as magnificent as the Hall book is, in my opinion it is also very chaotically organized. Therefore, although I may have missed it somewhere, as far as I could tell, the Hall book never really addresses why the five Loew’s NYC “Wonder Theaters” are called that, which is why I asked my question.
As far as I could tell, Hall only mentions the “Wonder Theaters” as a group in one instance, in the caption to a photo of the Loew’s Kings, on page 201 — although, of course, he does mention individual “Wonder Theaters” elsewhere in the book (such as on pg. 102, where he mentions that Eberson designed both the Valencia and the Paradise).
He doesn’t say anything in the page 201 caption, at least, about the phrase “Wonder Theaters” being just advertising gimick slogans. Rather he mentions that the Kings was one of the five “Wonder Theatres” and goes on to say that all of them had identical twenty-three rank Robert Morton organs.
In my post, I mention that I did not think one could “copyright” the “concept” of the atmospheric. (Perhaps “patent” would have been the better word for “copyright” and “idea” the better word for “concept.”) I wasn’t talking about “copyrighting” the phrase “Wonder Theaters.” (I think “trademarking” is the more legally precise word in this case, rather than “copyrighting.”)
Regarding patenting the concept of the atmospheric: in the “old days,” I don’t think one could have patented it. I am not a lawyer, but judging from what one reads in the newspapers about the new rules regarding patenting — where Amazon.com can get a patent on the one-click method (!) of internet shopping — I think it is conceivable that Eberson might have had a good shot at patenting his idea today. Or, at least, it wouldn’t be quite as far fetched a possiblity as it probably was in the early 1920s.
Regarding tradmarking the phrase and an overall “concept” of the “Wonder Theater”: it is true that a phrase can’t be too common if it is to be trademarked. Again, although I am not a lawyer, I get the feeling from what I’ve read that Loew’s would have a decent chance, if it did things “right” in the first place, to trademark this phrase and overall “concept” (if it indeed was a concept) — if they had thought of it and wanted to do it. In order to do things “right” they would have to have found ways to make the phrase and the “concept” distinctive (e.g., unique identifiable logo, etc.) — like “Band Aid” brand adhesive bandages and “Scotch” brand adhesive tape.
Since Eberson’s first premiered the atmospheric, according to Hall (pg. 95) in Houston (not Dallas) in 1922 (not 1923), my thought was that Paramount-Publix (or, later, Loew’s) might have thought of introducing gigantic atmospherics to New York as part of its “Wonder Theater” program to make gigantic atmospherics one of the distinguishing features of the Wonder Theater “brand” — its all atmospheric “line” of gigantic theaters, so to speak.
But since I found out that only two of the five “Wonder Theaters” are actually atmospherics (the Valencia and the Paradise) and that one of Wonder Theaters (the Jersey) was built near a giant atmospheric that was built the previous year (the Stanley), the question then came up what (if anything) did the five “Wonder Theaters” have in common that made the title “Wonder Theater” a plausable — and not laughable — adverstising slogan.
So far, the only things that seem to fit the bill are the seating capacities of the theaters (especially when one considers their distance from midtown Manhattan, the “traditional” home to large-sized theaters in the NYC region) and the lavishness of their decoration (in either the hard-top or atmospheric style). (Although, since Hall mentions that all five had twenty-three rank Robert Morgan organs, perhaps in those times, that particular kind and size of theater organ also put these theaters into the “Wonder” class?)
Seating capacities of the five “Wonder” theaters: Kings (3,700); Valencia (3,600); Paradise (3,885); Jersey (3,200); and 175th St. (3,444). (All figures are from the Cinema Treasures website.)
Since all five “Wonder” theaters were built at approximately the same time, perhaps this, in addition to their large seating capacities and non-Midtown Manhattan locations, may also have been part of what made them wonder-ful. (Although, I would think that Loew’s would have been happy to welcome into its “Wonder” class of theaters subsequently built large-sized theaters with similarly lavish decor, like the 3,290 seat atmospheric Triboro. And the fact that the Loew’s Jersey is in “downtown” Jersey City rather than “subway sububan” upper-Manhattan, the Bronx, Queens or Brooklyn, would seem to make it just another downtown movie palace, rather than a “subway suburb” Wonder Theater.)
Further exploring the Cinema Treasures website to get an answer to my question, the closest I got to an answer was a Mar 4, 2004 post on the site of the Loew’s Pitkin which mentions that the 2,827 seat Pitkin was advertised as a Wonder Theater although it was not “offically” considered one. (Maybe because it wasn’t large enough?)
Another thought, maybe the Triboro wasn’t considered a Wonder Theater because by the time it was built the “Wonder Theater” concept — or advertising campaign — had come and gone as a “big thing” with the Loew’s corporation?
Interesting sidenote:
Although Hall mentions that atmospherics “were comparatively cheap to build [a few paragraphs earlier he says that they cost only ”… about one-fourth as much to build …“!] and simple to maintain … ” (page 100), he also quotes some negative comments about the economics of atmospherics from Thomas Lamb (who, at least early in his career was apparently skeptical about them) on pg. 117:
“My personal opinion is that this type of work will not be lasting. My objection to it, mainly, is that valuable space is used up on each side of the auditorium for effects that otherwise could be sued for seats. Another thing, these various effects and ornamental details are very likely to be accumulators of dust and dirt, therefore increasing greatly the cost of upkeep.”
Thanks Warren for the fascinating info — especially with the date of the article itself. With the date, it was a cinch to find the article to check it out. Given what I’ve read about Rockefeller Center in Krinsky and Loth, however, I’d like to offer a slightly different interpretation of what it says.
From the very beginning of the construction of Rockefeller Center everyone knew that there were plans for the Sixth Avenue elevated to come down, and for a subway to be built in its place. The underground concourse was planned with the subway in mind. The underground concourse was to provide a weather-controlled passageway between all the buildings of Rockefeller Center and the subway — and the corridors would be lined with shops.
But as it happens, until the subway was actually built, Rockefeller Center had a hard time getting people down underground to shop there. Which makes sense, really, when you think about it: who wants to go downstairs a full-story below the street in order to shop in small stores along narrow dead end corridors — and, especially during the Great Depression, when even more conveniently located street-level stores were having problems attracting customers?! (And what kinds of stores are going to be able to survive in such an inconvenient underground environment? With probably few store owners willing to risk it, there were also probably too few stores to attract shoppers — a vicious cycle.)
Actually, even unto this very day the concourse has some trouble attracting people outside of “rainy day” traffic and people using it during the rush hours. This is one reason that the landmarks preservation community didn’t raise a fuss (a grave mistake, in my opinion) when the new owners of Rockefeller Center decided to remodel large portions of it a few years ago.
The original (and much more severe) problem with the concourse was due, I think, to a combination of naivete on the part of the builders of Rockefeller Center (being pioneers, they didn’t realize it wouldn’t work at all without a subway) and the subway being built a little behind schedule (leaving them stranded a little longer than they thought they’d be). I don’t have the Krinsky and Loth books handy, but I think they discuss the specifics.
By the way, the creation of the skating rink at Rockefeller Center is related to the problem of getting people down to the underground concourse. Originally the area was intended as a plaza / grand entryway to the underground concourse (which is why the pedestrian way from Fifth Ave. slopes down towards the skating rink). With the concourse attracting far fewer people than expected before the construction of the subway, the owners of Rockefeller Center decided to make it into a skating rink in the winter — and the rest is history!
Getting back to the box office. My guess is that the box office was built and operated with the completion of the subway in mind. (Given the paucity of shoppers before the subway, it’s hard to imagine them building and staffing it for seven years solely to catch the nearly non-existent shopping trade.)
I wonder if maybe the box office wasn’t actually put into operation until maybe just a few months or so before the subway opened — which, given the way things usually happen, probably opened later than originally announced. The article just says that use of the box office tripled — it doesn’t indicate, however, the period that they are comparing it to. So my guess is that they are comparing the period just after the opening of the subway with the few months prior to the subway opening (a period when the subway was supposed to be open, but wasn’t).
“Use of the subway-level box-office in Radio City Music Hall has more than tripled since the opening of the Sixth Avenue subway, it was reported yesterday by the management.”
I’m not sure if this is the right place to post this comment/suggestion, but I didn’t see any other place specifically set aside for suggestions — and I noticed that others have used this thread as a “suggestion box” of sorts. So here goes:
One thing I am surprised about is that neither the profiles at the top of each theater thread (e.g., architect, number of seats, etc.) nor the “Theater Guide” link (which appears to be a “summary” of the various profile topics) have a “field” that would allow for the inclusion of the date that a theater first opened.
Now I realize that it’s already probably pretty complicated (and expensive) to include all the topics that are already provided for, but if it is not too difficult or expensive to add an additional slot for “date theater first opened,” I think such a slot would contribute a tremendous new dimension to your website.
Viewers would then be likely to get a surer sense of which theaters were built when, and be better able to trace trends in theater construction (e.g., popular architects, seating sizes of auditoriums, configuration of seating plans, styles of decor, etc.).
Plus a “Theater Guide” listing that would allow one to list in chronological order all the theaters for which opening dates have been posted would really help viewers get a handle what was happening during certains “eras.” One would be able to see at a glance, for instance, all the theaters built in 1927. Looking at one theater on the list, say the Roxy, one could see at a glance all the other theaters that were built around the same time — and get a better perspective on both the Roxy and the theater building boom that was occurring at that time.
Since such a field (i.e., “date first opened”) seems like such an obviously wonderful “research” tool, I suppose there are probably some very good reasons (especially regarding money or time) that it is difficult to do. But, I thought I should at least throw such a “dream set up” on the table just in case it is something that is actually quite feasible.
That’s it! “Lowe’s” Paradise is brilliant!!! So clever — and so economical!
I’d love to see them do that whether or not the Loews Corporation ever puts up a fuss. What great PR! (And so cheap to do!) It would be such a delightful contribution to the folklore of the Bronx.
It reminds me a bit of Damon Runyon renaming “Lindy’s” as “Mindy’s” in his short stories. Even if he never really “had” to do it (one supposes Leo “Lindy” Linderman would have loved the publicity), the fact that he changed it just enough to make it a bit of a “mystery” — but not enough to make the mystery the least bit difficult to solve — made it a lot of fun for everyone involved.
Brian Wolf: Interesting points, and you could very well be right!
But I think what makes the Loew’s case a bit more interesting than some others (and I’m not that familiar with the examples you gave) is that Loew’s is still a company that owns and operates many movie theaters in the NYC area — so there is a potential for confusion if the Paradise is publicized and actually operated under the name “Loew’s Paradise.” (And given people’s feelings about today’s Loew’s multi-plexes, such confusion might be either good or bad — it might enhance the Loew’s brand [“They were a classy company that used to build very nice theaters.] or detract from it ["Wow, what happened that they started building such crummy new theaters?].
In terms of Sears, I think a case could be made that if we were talking about department store buildings rather than an office building, that a Sears corporation that operated many department stores in an area might object if someone bought and fixed up one of their old stores and operated it under the name, say, “Sear’s State Street Store.”
Also, to further play devil’s advocate, I think the situation with a non-Loew’s, “Loew’s Paradise” might be similar in a way to that of the “Loew’s Paradise” page on the Cinema Treasures website. Apparently Cinema Treasures finds it necessary (possibly to avoid legal problems?) to post at the bottom of this page: “Note: Cinema Treasures is not affiliated with Loew’s Paradise Theatre. If you have a question about a recent ticket purchase or need to contact theater management, pleae contact the theater directly.” So maybe a “Loew’s Paradise,” officially named and operated as such, might be required to do the same?
And the other thing that came to mind that seemed to make this a possibly special case is that sometimes brands have to “crack” down on trademark infringement even when they might not really feel like it because, if they don’t, they lose the right when they really need it. (Again, not being a lawyer, I don’t know if this is really applicable here. But that’s one of the issues that come to my mind.)
And just to add another example of why it seemed to me that Warren’s original question might have at least some merit, there is the famous example of the original Roxy Theater (1927) and the Roxy Center Theater (1932) where the courts ordered that the Roxy Center relinquish the Roxy part of its name. (But of course in the Loew’s case, there is possibly the difference that you imply — that a Loew’s Paradise would probably not subtract business from other Loew’s theaters in the Bronx the way a brand new Roxy Center Theater might have subtracted business from an older Roxy a few blocks away.)
Anyway, although I too have my doubts that there is any problem with continuing to call the “Paradise” the “Loew’s Paradise,” I was hoping that people would take up my light-hearted challenge and come up with some witty substitutes for “Loew’s” in the signs on the theater. (For the owners of the Paradise, it could be a nice bit of long lasting publicity along the lines of naming that restaurant near Lincoln Center “O'Neal’s Balloon” — the story behind the restaurant’s unusual name gave it free “good” publicity for many, many years.)
P.S. — It occured to me after my last post, that commercial laws are probably federal not state, so the same laws would probably govern theaters in both New Jersey and New York.
I don’t think there’s any question that they can continue to call the theater the “Paradise,” it was the “Loew’s” part — especially as it concerns the exterior signage — that could be problematic (especially since the signage is, in at least one instance, an integral part of the building’s exterior architectural design).
By the way, two other examples came to mind of designated NYC landmarks where a company’s name was part of the exterior design and the question arose as to what to do when the old owner (still in existence) was no longer the owner: the former McGraw-Hill Building and the former RCA Building (which I think is still in existance?).
In the case of the McGraw-Hill Building, the name of the company was set into the top of the building in some kind of ceramic or terra cotta tiles — not easy to change. Fortunately, given the new name of the building, it was relatively easy though (I believe) to change the name since the new company was known by its initials “GHI” (Group Health Insurance) and they were contained in the old name.
In terms of the Loew’s New Jersey, don’t know if New Jersey’s commercial laws in this regard would — or would not — be similar to New York’s. (Again, I’m not a lawyer.) Also don’t know how similar or dissimilar their laws regulating landmarks are to those of New York City’s.
Interesting that you should bring up the NYC landmark regulations and signage, because there is another interesting precedent to this question.
There is a turn of the century (?) building on the northeast corner of Union Sq. Park that used to be the headquarters of an insurance company (Guardian Life?) but was turned into a luxury hotel (a “W” hotel). The building was an officially designated landmark and, if I understood the news stories correctly, the neon sign atop the building (Guardian Life) was (foolishly, in my opinion) considered to be part of the landmark designation.
Again, if I understood the news story correctly, the new owners were able to convince the landmark preservation commission that replacing the “Guardian Life” sign with a similarly styled “W” sign would be in keeping with the landmark designation.
I’m assuming (but don’t really know) that the building didn’t have such a sign when it was originally built. So, personally, it seems to me that the building might be an even better landmark without any sign on top whatsoever. And while the sign doesn’t bother me, the efforts to preserve it (or something similar) strike me as possibly being ideologically “precious.” (The reason I say “possibly” is I think there may be water towers or a giant air conditioning unit on the roof, and maybe the sign helps camouflage them a bit.) It seems to me that the Landmark Preservation Commission would be better serving its mission if it turned its attention and energy towards preserving what seem to me to be true NYC landmarks, like the Beekman, etc.
Warren: That’s an interesting question. Though I’m not a lawyer, I wonder if the private owners would really have a right to continue to use the name. In my experience, the term “grandfathered” usually applies to a new government regulation which does not apply to already existing conditions. I’m not sure if it would apply to something like this.
While not exactly the same issue, there are two movie related law cases that are somewhat similar. When Samuel(?) Goldwyn parted from Metro Goldwyn Meyer, I think the court ruled that he could use his own name (which was a fabricated one to begin with) as long as it was made clear that he was no longer associated with MGM. There was also a fascinating legal case a few years back (in the 1980s or early 1990s?) where Shirley Temple sued the makers of a prepackaged version of drink that people had come to know as “Shirley Temples.” Don’t know remember how it was decided, but I think the judge made a similar kind of decision whereby they could use the name as long as the package indicated that Shirley Temple herself was not associated with the product.
There is also the funny case in New York of a restaurant opposite Lincoln Center that was called “O'Neal’s Balloon” because it was against a NYC ordinance to use the word “saloon.”
Also, while not a legal case, when they changed the name and signage of the Alvin Theater to the (Neal) Simon, they were “lucky” because the new name had the same number of letters, so it could be neatly done.
Considering all this, maybe they should change the name to the “John’s Paradise” (in honor of Eberson)? Or maybe Cinema Treasures should run a “contest”? (The winner should have five letters and an appostrophe that take up the same amount of space as Loew’s. Extra credit is for a name that involves the least number of changes to the word “Loew’s.”)
For the fun of it, I did a database search of “the New York Times” for the term “Wonder Theaters” using the “Proquest” database service available at NYU’s Bobst Library.
What I found were mostly display ads (although there was also a brief news item about, I think, the opening of the Valencia). (I should have taken better notes!; but I didn’t think I’d find anything to really report back to Cinema Treasures.)
On page 33 of the March 4, 1930 issue of “the New York Times” there is a display ad that says the following: Loew’s ‘BIG 5’ Wonder Theatres [i’ve copied the capitalization and punctuation that was in the ad]. Below this headline they’ve listed five theaters: 175th St., Paradise, Valencia, the Pitkin and the King’s.
So, to be fair to Ben Hall, there was a legitimate reason for him to include the Pitkin and exclude the Jersey in that original photo caption! (Of course, it also makes sense for Loew’s not to include the Jersey in a display ad published in a New York City newspaper — especially in the late 1920s when Jersey City was probably less of a “satellite” of NYC and more of an economically independent city than it is today. It’s my guess that in those days it have been considered a poor use of advertising funds to advertise the Jersey in a NYC newspaper.)
I also looked at some of the later ads as the year went on. It seems that a number of the theaters were dropped out of the Wonder Theater group advertisements. I didn’t note the dates or the theaters, but at first I think the group went down to three and then down to two (the Paradise and Valencia). I didn’t check all the advertisements on the page to see how the “dropped” theaters were advertised — perhaps they had separate ads that also used the term “Wonder Theater” but were advertised separately because they were showing a different show.
Towards the end of the year only the Valencia and the Paradise were grouped together in the same Wonder Theaters ad (again, possibly, because these two were the only two with the same show).
By the way, both of these theaters, and some others too I think, advertised midnight showings on Saturday night! Fascinating to think that in 1930 this was a profitable thing to do in Jamaica, Long Island (which is the way the ads identify the Valencia’s location) and the upper Grand Concourse!
I think the ads also mention something about de lux shows. But I’m not sure what they mean by this — or even it this applies to any of the Loew’s theaters. (I found the ads a bit confusing as the ads seem to me to kind of run together.)
jabrams: In answer to your question, there was an article in the January 27, 2005 “Lenox Hill Edition” of “Our Town” (a free newsweekly distributed via those platic news boxes on street corners). The article was about the rumored closings of both the Beekman and Cinema 1, 2 3. (“Our Town” does not appear to publish an on-line edition.)
The good news in the article is about Cinema 1, 2 3 — contrary to rumors, it will not be closed.
The bad news is that the Beekman is indeed scheduled to close this spring. Charlotte Eichna, the author of the article reports that, “The lease will officially terminate in June and construction should begin soon thereafter … .”
More bad news is that the Landmarks Preservation Commission appears to be offering only token support for preservation of the Beekman. Seri Worden, executive director of “Friends of the Upper East Side Hitoric Districts,” a preservation group, is quoted as saying that “her group has been working since 2001 to get the Beekman designated as a city landmark … . We’ve met with them [the Landmark Preservation Commission] many times. They say they’re sympathetic and they’ll look into it, but you have to actually do something.”
Also, at the end of the article it is reported that, “The Beekman is not currently scheduled for a hearing, according to [Diane] Jackier [a spokeswoman for Landmarks] … which would be the first step in the designation process.”
If experience from the recent past is any indicataion, this means that the LPC has already made up its mind not to designate the Beekman. Refusal to schedule a hearing [or “calendar” (used as a verb) — in the lingo of the preservation community] is their sneaky way of voting “no” when a landmark designation does not have the support of the Mayor, etc. (This is the current tactic being used to frustrate the possible designation of 2 Columbus Circle, which has the dean of Yale’s School of Architecture, among many other knowledgeable and distinguished supporters, lobbying for a public hearing on its possible designation.)
A ray of hope found in the article is that Seri Worden’s group hopes to “work with industry heavyweight Harvbey Weinstein, the founder of Miramax Films, who has publicly stated that he plans to fight for the Beekman.”
By the way, I wonder if the reason the management of the Valencia, and presumably other theaters too, used usherettes rather than ushers to screen patrons who had loge tickets was based on a variation of the “good cop, bad cop” idea.
This is what I suspect management was thinking:
We’ll have a lady (it could be either a pretty, young one, or a motherly or grandmotherly type) screen those going into the loge seats. This will make most people think twice about trying to “beat the system.” (“Don’t want to upset the pretty young thing, or make ‘mom’ or that nice little old lady cross with us.”) And for those who have no shame, the usherette can always call for one of the big guns (a bouncer-like usher) if they persist and continue to be a problem.
But if we start off with the guy ushers 1) it becomes more of a challenge for certain kind of people to try and beat the system and 2) we would have already used up one of our big guns at the very beginning, so where would we go from there? But with a sweet young thing, or a “mom” or granny “authority figure” followed by a “now we’re getting down to business” hulk, we really have an effective “one, two” punch that will wear down most people who might try and beat the system.
Better that we start out “small” and move on up from that level, then start out “big” and wind up with a big argument/fight on our hands.
Thanks BoxOfficeBill and Warren for the terrific information!
Of course, my gut feeling was that the Valencia was in Jamaica, but I was also curious as to what the exact boundary line between Jamaica and Hollis was — in part, I guess, to figure out how the author could have made such a “weird” mistake. (To give an example of how such a mistake can be seen to be somewhat sensible: the Manhattan apartment I once lived in was officially part of one post office (same zip code), had mail delivered from a different post office (where my mail carrier was actually based), and was actually physically closest to yet a third post office (where I went to buy stamps, etc.)!
So I think the author’s mistake would have been more understandable if, for example, the official boundaries of Jamaica ended at say, 167th St. or 168th St., even though the activities of “downtown” Jamaica might have in reality “spilled” over to the next “town,” Hollis. But given that the boundary is, if I understand Bill’s post correctly, about 15 blocks away it’s hard to understand how in the world the author came up with a Hollis location for the Valencia.
And I was also curious as to what the publishing “history” of this book was like. So it’s very interesting to find out that this mistake was in the original edition, the publishers were contacted and yet did nothing about it.
So far, the most disturbing (“biggest”) mistake I’ve found in the book (and although I’ll still buy it, I could only skim it last night) was that it says that “What’s My Line” (which, I’m pretty sure was a CBS show done from the theater that later became Studio 54) was done in the NBC studios at Rockefeller Center. (And “What’s My Line” is not a trivial show. I believe it sets records for both being a top rated show and for overall longevity.) And while this could be seen, in a sense, as a trivial mistake, especially since TV shows are understandably an afterthought in a book about movie making, what really makes this mistake “serious” in my eyes is that the author also does a profile of the Studio 54 theater (which might have actually been CBS Studio 52?) and never mentions, if I recall correctly, anything about any CBS shows, let alone “What’s My Line,” being broadcast from there! (In fact, the entry seemed solely a brief history of the disco and the movie celebrities who went there.)
And I also saw some other “facts” that seem to be in error, which I’ll also have to check out some day. It seemed to me that the book was really best when in looked at the “big” picture — explaining, for example, why “Splendor in the Grass” and other films were / were not actually filmed in NYC rather than Hollywood or on location (in the case of “Splendor in the Grass,” Elia Kazan, the esteemed director didn’t want to leave his sickly father’s side).
So, it seems to me that one has to take the info in this book with more than a grain of salt! (A “pinch”?; a teaspoon?; a tablespoon?)
Which brings up the topic of Loew’s “Wonder Theaters” again. If I understand Alleman correctly, he says that the theaters were Wonder
Theaters because they all contained Robert Morton “Wonder” organs. I get the sense that besides providing a glowing nickname for this model of a Robert Morton organ, “Wonder” was in a sense a brand name — like “Wonder-bread” or “Miracle” Whip. So, if Alleman is to be believed, the five Loew’s “Wonder Theaters” were billed as they were because they contained identical models of the “Wonder” line of Robert Morton organs — which, to be fair to Alleman, seems to be the same thing that Ben Hall is saying in the caption in “Best Remaining Seats” that we’ve been discussing. In fact, his explanation seems to make the caption a little clearer to me than it first was when I read it.
However, I still like Ziggy’s explanation, and I suspect the “real” explanation is probably a combination of the two of them — as that’s the way things seem to actually work in the real world (i.e., one thing feeds off of another and the final event is a product of many “coincidences”).
I was just at the Virgin Mega Store on Union Sq. and noticed a new book (official publishing date, Feb. 1, 2005) that I think will be of interest to posters at Cinema Treasures: “New York: The Movie Lover’s Guide: The Ultimate Insider tour of Movie New York.” There is also a Los Angeles version, also having a Feb. 1 publishing date. (I just skimmed the New York book, but I get the feeling that both the L.A. and N.Y. books are revised and expanded versions of books that the author, Richard Alleman, originally wrote in the 1980s, or so.)
Mainly the book is a listing of movie/TV locations, places where movie/TV people lived or grew up, location and history of New York movie/TV studios, movie star grave sites, etc. But it also includes info about movie (and “legit”) theaters, including the Loew’s Valencia, the Stanley and Loew’s Jersey, Moss Colony, Cadillac Winter Garden, etc. In fact it has a “rare” photo of the interior (stage, east wall of the “courtyard” and part of the balcony)of the Loew’s Valencia. I suspect it is a photo taken in the theater’s last days as a theater, but before the church took it over, because the “sky” seems to have a few patches of water damage and falling plaster.
While the book seems to be pretty good, I did notice a number of things that seemed to me to be really glaring errors. Now, in a book containing so many facts, I suppose this is to be expected. But it’ll be interesting to investigate to see how error prone this book is.
As part of this effort, I have a question. One — very minor — thing that struck me as an error (or sloppy writing) is that the author says the Valencia is in Hollis (not Jamaica) Queens. Although I grew up in Jamaica, I’m not exactly clear where the boundary between Hollis and Jamaica is located. But, it seems to me that the Valencia is in Jamaica as much as anything else (including the rather substantial Jamaica post office only a block or two away) is in Jamaica.
Does anyone know the “official” boundaries of Jamaica and Hollis, and whether the Valencia is “officially” in Jamaica or Hollis? (I assume, but I’m only guessing, that ever since Queens became part of NYC in 1898, the “official” boundaries for “town” names were in fact the postal district boundaries.)
Some questions:
Here is a list of the pre-Jamaica Multiplex movie theaters that were located in “downtown” Jamaica: the Savoy and the Fox Jamaica, (two theaters I know very little about); the Hilllside, the Merrick, the Alden and the Valencia (four theaters that I remember to some extent from the late 1950s and early 1960s). Were there ever any others in “downtown” Jamaica? And, if so, where were they located and what became of them?
I recall an empty theater on the south side of Jamaica Ave. just west of Parsons Blvd., which I believe is the Fox Jamaica referred to by Warren.
Where exactly was the Savoy, and what was on the site in the late 1950s or early 1960s?
Thanks in advance for any info that anyone has.
Correction to my post above:
It seems to me that it was probably the Trans-Lux West Theater (on west side of Broadway, south of 49th St.) that was demolished in 1987, not the World Theater (north side of 49th St., between Sixth and Seventh Avenues).
Since corrections and elaborations about the identity and history of this theater have been scattered over a number of different posts, I’d like to try and summarize in one place what I think seems to be the correct information.
The WORLD THEATER, located “midblock” on the north side of 49th St., between Sixth and Seventh Avenues, started out as a cinema theater with the name the Charles Hopkins. (It had been built as a playhouse, called the Punch and Judy.) It then became the Westminster (1934), the World (1936), and finally the Embassy 49th (1982). It was demolished in 1987(?).
The TRANS-LUX WEST THEATER, on the west side of Broadway between 48th and 49th St. (but almost on the corner of 49th St.), was renamed the Embassy 49th after the theater that was midblock on the north side of 49th St. (i.e., the Hopkins, Westminster, World, Embassy 49th) closed down. Sometime after receiving the name of this other theater, the formerly named Trans-Lux West was renamed once again, this time as the “Pussycat Theater.”
It was the Trans-Lux West Theater (not the World) that was replaced by the Holiday Inn Crowne Plaza (a hotel, not an office building). The site of the World Theater was, instead, the site of an office building (not a hotel) built by the Rockefeller Center people — after what seemed like years of being an empty lot. (I think the main tenant in the building is Lehman Brothers?)
It was the WARNER/CINERAMA (originally the Strand), which was located on the west side of Broadway between 47th and 48th Sts., that was replaced by the skyscraper office building referred to in one of the previous posts on this page. (I forget the name of the eponymous major tenant, but I believe it is a financial services firm.) This is the building that has three rows of “ticker-tape” lights, each going at a slightly different rate of speed, running across its facade.
In response to a comment I made on the Roxy page regarding pricing policies for “neighborhood” theaters like the Valencia, Warren posted some very interesting info on that page. Thanks Warren! Since I’m particularly interested in the scale of prices at the Valencia, however, I thought I’d reprint parts of Warren’s original post here, and then ask Warren or other posters about the pricing policy at the Valencia (in, say, 1960).
Here are the relevant parts of Warren’s Roxy post:
“In the ‘old days,’ movie theatres, regardless of rank, always had a sliding scale of admission prices. From opening until 5 or 6PM, it would be cheaper than in the evening. Weekday performances were cheaper than those on weekends. On Saturday night, and all of Sunday and holidays, the highest prices prevailed. Children under 12 usually paid half the adult price. There were no discounts for seniors.
Movie theatres with balconies often had a segregated section at the front called the ‘loge’ where seats were bigger and wider spaced. Loge tickets were always priced higher than general admission, from maybe 25 to 50 cents or even $1, depending upon time of day."
When I went to the Valencia in the 1950s and 1960s I was a kid, so I really didn’t pay that much attention to prices. (My recollections are probably from the daytime and pretty simple: $1.00 for adults, $.50 for kids, if I remember correctly.) So I’m wondering what the full price scale for the Valencia would be in, say 1960, if one went on a Saturday evening, Sunday or holiday (when the prices would be highest).
In particular I’m wondering if (in 1960) they charged more for seats in the loge and/or balcony and, if so, how did they “enforce” it? Did the patrons get specific reserved seats (which, I believe, are referred to as “hard tickets”) in the higher priced sections? Or were ushers stationed at strategic spots to screen out those with the less expensive tickets?
Since I think it would really be interesting to see what the “top” prices for various forms of entertainment were across the board (for example, non-“hard ticket” Times Sq. theaters, “hard ticket” Times Sq. theaters, Radio City Music Hall, and Broadway plays and musicals), I’m not as much interested in weekday prices or daytime Saturday prices. (Actually, it would be interesting. But since it makes everything so complicated, it seems too much to ask!) But it would be interesting to know what the top ticket prices were in 1960 for a neighborhood theater like the Valencia in order to see how they compare with the top prices for other forms of entertainment at that time. (I think it would also be interesting to find out the pricing policies for other Queens theaters, like the Alden, Merrick, RKO Keith’s, Triboro — but only if they had pricing policies that differed from the one that the Valencia had for Saturday nights, Sundays and holidays.)
Thanks in advance for any info that anyone has!
Warren: interesting point! But, just to illustrate the complexity of the “problem” when one tries to do valid cost comparisons, I would think that the ticket prices for the first run road shows would also vary by location. And since BoxOfficeBill’s original comment was about the price of standing room — which also depends upon one’s location — the comparison between these three still holds.
But, as you point out, it is important to remember that Radio City Music Hall (and I’m guessing, the Roxy too) also offered many, many seats (in fact, the vast majority of seats) at a lower price, one that should also be brought into the “equation” — as they are comparable to the seats offered at first run non roadshow theaters and at neighborhood movie houses.
I’m assuming (but am not really sure) that first run, non roadshow Times Sq. theaters and neighborhood theaters, like the Valencia, had a single price policy for seats throughout the theater (depending, of course, on the time of day). So at the Valencia, for instance, a seat cost at a particular time of day cost the same price whether you sat in the orchestra, the loge or the balcony (which allowed, I believe, smoking).
I have to wonder if the photo at the top of this page (the interior of an auditiorium with apparently at least eight slender cast iron columns placed in the “middle” of the orchestra seating level) is REALLY the interior of Hammerstein’s Victoria — a theater built in 1899 in our nation’s largest metropolis? It just seems to me that at this “late” date, in such a large sophisticated city like New York, that they didn’t build theaters like this anymore. Plus, the type of decoration at the top of the columns seems to be something that was no longer popular in 1899.
To me, the photo looks like the interior of what I imagine to be some “opera house” in some small town somewhere. (It’s hard to tell from seeing the photo on a computer screen, but it almost looks like there are sun-filled windows along the right side of the photo, which if true, would seem to be further “evidence” that this is not really Hammerstein’s Victoria.)
Also, from photos of the exterior of the Victoria (in, for instance, the Mary Henderson book, the “Theater and the City,” 1973 edition), it seems highly unlikely that such an auditorium as that pictured above was inside a building of the size and style of Hammerstein’s Victoria.
Although the Mary Henderson book says (I believe) that the Victoria was gutted for the new Rialto (thereby implying that much of the building remained), other sources seem to paint a different picture. (I’m inclined to think that this is just sloppy language on her part.)
Comparing photographs of Hammerstein’s Victoria and the second Rialto, and from a history of the second Rialto and Hammerstein’s Victoria provided in Ben Hall’s “Best Remaining Seats” (pgs. 44?-45?), one gets the impression that pretty much the entire Victoria was demolished to make way for the Rialto.
From the photographs, for instance, the buildings seem to be entirely different kinds of structures — with different floor levels, different facades on at least two sides (the Seventh Ave. and 42nd St. sides), etc.
And from the way Ben Hall describes the problems that developed between Hammerstein and the builders of the Rialto (Hammerstein only agreed to sell if he could get space in the new structure) one further gets the impression that most, if not all, of the structure was replaced.
But then again, these kinds of things can be tricky. Near where I live, I once saw them build a modern apartment house, with balconies and everything, that incorporated the brick walls of rowhouses from the 1830s! At first I though they were just restoring the rowhouses until I saw they were actually adding floors and bricking over the original walls!
Let me say that I agree with those who say that this theater should really be listed under another name — perhaps the Victoria, since that was its most famous, and longest running by far, name as a cinema. Actually, I had a very difficult time finding this listing, as I had no idea that the theater, or any theater, had ever been called the “Embassy Five.” Like a number of posters above, I too thought of this block as being the block of the Astor and the Victoria. (I also believe that most references in theater history books, etc. would be to either the Gaiety or the Victoria, with very few, if any at all, being for the Embassy Five.)
I seems to me that the picture at the top of this page is “misleading” and that there is a much better, much more “accurate” picture of the Victoria, as the newly built Gaiety, in the Mary Henderson book (pg. 237), “The Theater and the City” (1973 edition).
The theater itself (i.e., the bulk of the auditorium, the main facade and the original lobby) was really on 46th St., just to the east of the Helen Hayes — originally the Follies Bergere and then the Fulton and the Helen Hayes — which was built about two years after the Gaiety. Both theaters had the same architects, Herts and Tallant, and the facades (which were unusually handsome) had strong similarities.
Judging from my knowledge of the Helen Hayes and from what I’ve read about the Victoria, it appears that the Gaiety’s (Victoria’s) auditorium looked south — i.e., the seats faced south, the stage was in the center of the block and the original lobby on 46th St. to the rear of the orchestra level seating. Which makes me wonder how they moved scenery in and out of both the Gaiety and the Helen Hayes theaters — my guess is that they moved in through a very long [and probably inconvenient] alley that was also used for fire egress?
In later years the main 46th St. facade was covered by a billboard, and I remember in the late 1970s noticing that you could peak under the billboard and catch a glimpse of what appeared to be the original facade.
The structure pictured in the photo at the top of the page, however, appears to me to be a separate office structure which contained a “tunnel entrance” to the Gaiety / Victoria. This would make the Gaiety’s tunnel lobby through this office building similar to, for example, that of the Roxy’s (with the Hotel Taft), the Globe’s (with ?), and the Warner Hollywood/Mark Hellinger (with ?).
I haven’t seen the Morrison book — which sounds quite interesting — but there is similar info about the 1948-1949 remodeling in “New York, 1960” (pgs. 447-448?) by Robert A.M. Stern, et al. There is also a picture of its remodeled lobby entrance and the very unusual remodeled auditorium interior.
According to Stern the capacity of the theater was increased from 700 to 1,100 during this remodeling which more or less follows the descriptions posted above. If I remember correctly, however, Stern et al. describes the aluminum mesh screenwork ,or aluminum medallions, along the lines of it being aluminum “chain mail,” constructed from something like fake (or real?) movie reels (!), and affixed to the walls of the theater. I wonder how they kept it dust free or cleaned it!
By the way, I’m wondering if this unusual alteration (extending an auditorium through the stage and out all the way to the back wall of an adjacent theater) helps explain why the Hagstom map of the theater district shows such unusual footprints for the Victoria (and also for the Astor theater to the south of it). (On my Hagstom map, from around 1960, there is no Bijou theater — although there is an unlabled space left between the Astor and the Morosco, to the south of BOTH the Victoria and the Helen Hayes. Perhaps, the Bijou was in one of those periods when it was “temporarily out of commission” when the map was drawn?) While the footprints on the map don’t seem to quite correspond to the renovations described, perhaps this is what the cartographer was trying to show in any case, but just did not do a good job of it. (Or maybe the map is correct, and the renovation has been slightly misdescribed.)
By the way, according the architectural historian Carol Krinsky in her book “Rockefeller Center,” Edward Durell Stone was the architect in charge of designing both Radio City Music Hall and, I believe, the Center Theater. Many, many years later he designed the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C. So Stone, who was once quite famous (the cover of Time Magazine) but whose career seems to have fallen somewhat into obscurity (I something of a fan, and I’ve only discovered some of these things recently), seems to have quite a diverse roster of theaters to his credit!
I don’t know if I’d really like his redesign of the Victoria if I saw it in person. In photgraphs, it looks uncomfortably like the weirdly decorated interior of a shoebox. And with those white sculptural “do-dads” on the walls — ATOP his chain mail of movie reels (!) — it seems almost Salvador Daliesque! Nevertheless, it’s quite interesting to find out that he’s the one who designed it — especially considering all his other work (e.g., the first international style modern house on the east coast, Radio City Music Hall, the original Museum of Modern Art building, the American Embassy in New Dehli, etc.).
BoxOfficeBill: Thanks for all that terrific pricing info. With regards to the 1956 prices, I assume “Around the World in 80 Days” at the Rivoli was a “hard ticket” roadshow engagement. If so, then it would seem that for all three years, 1956, 1960 and 1964, roadshows had the highest “top” tickets ($3.50, $3.50, and $5.50); Radio City Music Hall, or the Roxy, had the second highest priced top tickets ($2.50, $2.75 and $2.75) and first run, non-roadshow theaters had the third highest priced top tickets ($2.00, $2.00 and $2.00). I assume the neighborhood theater prices I remember from around 1960 (which I’m guessing were top priced tickets for a neighborhood theater like the Valencia, Alden or Merrick), $1.00 for adults and $.50 for children, would then have been the fourth highest priced ticket.
I think I now see your point about standing room ($2.00, in the evening) being equivalent to the price of a movie — a first run, non roadshow movie in Times Sq. ($2.00 in the evening). That is a bargain, especially when you consider that standing room is right on the orchestra level, right behind the last row of seats where, in 1960, people were paying around $9.00 (for Friday or Saturday evenings).
Although it’s possible, I tend to doubt that I ever received a questionnaire from you as I think that would have been a “big thing” to a kid like me, and I don’t remember something like that happening. Actually this is the first I ever recall hearing about such a polling project — sounds interesting.
And thanks for the info on “El Cid”! I vaguely recall seeing it with my class in the springtime (which is also a “natural” time for a class trip of that sort). In any case, “spring of 1962” makes it a grade school trip, instead of a junior high trip as I had thought — pretty “neat” for a grade school trip!
I looked up the McCourt book and hope to at least take a look at those pages when I get the chance.
I guess the “Wonder Theater” slogan was really good advertising if movie theater buffs, 75 years later, can be discussing which theaters should or should not have been included! And it’s not just about the Pitkin, I’ve notice other theater threads that have also included discussions about whether the theater was a “Wonder Theater†or not. (Kind of reminds me of those debates about who should be Miss Rheingold or who should win an MTV award — both great advertising ploys by Rheingold and MTV, respectively!)
It is true that, ultimately, the Loew’s Corporation gets to decide which theaters belong or not (just as, I assume, MTV gets to decide which are the best videos in the various categories), so it is interesting to figure out what criteria and reasoning they had in their original advertising campaign â€" hence my original question. But I also find it interesting to find out what criteria other people thought Loew’s had in mind, too.
I finally got a chance to look at my copy of the Hall book, and I discovered something very interesting. In my copy, page 205 has nothing at all about any “Wonder Theaters”! Instead, there are two photographs of Balaban & Katz presentations on that page: 1) a scene from “Pearl of Baghdad” (on top) and 2) a scene from “Watteau Come to Life” (below).
BUT, on page 201 of my copy, as I mentioned in my February 6 post, there is a caption to a photo of the interior of the Loew’s Kings that does mention the various Wonder Theaters. In my copy it reads: “The Kings (named after Brooklyn’s county) was opened in 1929 as one of the five Loew"s "Wonder Theatres” (others: Valencia in Jamaica, Long Island, Paradise in The Bronx, JERSEY, JERSEY CITY, 175th Street in Manhattan.“ [The emphasis is mine.]
Possible explanation?:
I believe my copy is a cheap reprint from the mid-1970s. (It was published by Bramhall House, a division of Clarkson N. Potter.)
At a number of points in the text, it refers to color photos — although there are no color photos in the book. I’ve never bothered to check to see if the photos are instead included in only black and white, but maybe they just left the photos out altogether and just re-numbered the pages?
Also, since the book was originally published 15 years or so earlier, maybe they discovered that the substitution of the Pitkin for the Jersey was a small Ben Hall mistake, or perhaps, instead, just a typographer’s error? (But then, again, the dust jacket of this edition gives a brief bio of Hall as though he were still alive, when apparently he had been killed in the late 1960s or early 1970s. So it’s not really clear when this edition was published or what they conciously decided to change and what, if anything, they decided to leave alone.)
Actually, I’ve noticed a number of what I believe are mistakes in the Hall book. And Warren has also pointed out what appears to be a pretty big one regarding the auditorium of the Loew’s 72nd Street Theater, which Hall seems to feel is one of Lamb’s best: “His atmospheric Loew’s Pitkin Theatre in Brooklyn and the auditorium of his Loew’s 72nd Street Theatre, while lacking some of the subtlety of the Eberson touch, turned out quite well, and did, indeed, ‘retain their novelty character for a considerable length of time.’†And the photos of the interior of the 72nd St. Theater (pgs. 114-115) do, indeed show a really stunning atmospheric. But Warren points out on the Loew’s 72nd St. page on this site, that there is an article in an issue of the Theater Society’s journal that says it was Eberson who actually designed the auditorium â€" Lamb, according to the article designed the rest of the theater. What’s more, according to the article, this information was pretty well known when the theater was built.
Regarding Ben Hall’s mistakes: While his book is really terrific — a monumental work , really — nevertheless he was a pioneer in the field and was thus almost bound to make a number of mistakes. I see the same thing with other early writers on historic preservation. One can do just so much research at the time, and years later, with a lot more researchers spending a lot more time on the issues, inevitably more accurate information comes to light.
The location shots in “My Favorite Year” are amazing. I forgot about the one at the beginning with the Rivoli — although now that you’ve mentioned it, I do remember enjoying getting a charge out of it when I saw the movie.
I think I too assumed that it was shot on location for the movie, and that they hired a few “antique” cars (cars from the 1950s) to go down Broadway for the few seconds of this scene.
I think the most amazing location shot in the movie, however, was the one looking east towards Broadway along W. 45th St. It’s looking towards the Criterion, I believe — although I don’t remember if you actually see the Criterion in the shot. What you do see, among other things, is the Astor Hotel (currently the site of the Minskoff Theater and One Astor Plaza).
What’s so amazing about this shot? I think you see one of the featured actors of “My Favorite Year” walking down the street, and the street is so “real” — you can see people walking and cars moving — but the Astor Hotel had already been torn down for about fifteen years before the movie was made!
If it was indeed a location shot (and I’m not misremembering something that was instead just cleverly used stock footage), I think the scene was a matte shot — filmed through glass that had the Astor Hotel painted onto it.
The other day I was in the Virgin Mega store on Union Sq. and saw a book devoted to this kind of special effect. I looked for this scene in the book, but didn’t find it. If the shot in the movie was indeed a matte shot, perhaps it was too “unspectacular” and too “non-glitzy” to be included in the book. (The book has a lot of sci-fi scenes in it.)
ziggy — Hi! I can see where your explanation makes sense, especially when thought of in the following context:
The sound era becomes the rage in late 1927(?). To capitalize on this new phenomenon and to tap into a very fast growing market in the newly burgeoning areas outside of Manhattan, Paramount-Public (and subsequently Loew’s) plans to construct in the “outer boroughs” FIVE very large(3,000+ seat) and eye-poppingly lavish theaters — built specifically for the “talkies.” (Other large, lavish theaters, like the Capitol, 5,200 seats, and even the Roxy, 5,900 seats, were originally built, of course, with silent films in mind.)
These theaters would be designed by the greatest names in movie theater architecture (Eberson, Rapp & Rapp, and Thomas Lamb) and would all open, more or less, at the same time — hopefully, in the fall of 1929.
Unlike other such grand theaters in the region, the “Wonder Theatres” would be located outside of midtown Manhattan, in the “outer boroughs” (Upper Manhattan and nearby Jersey City being, in the context of the Wonder Theater advertising campaign, “outer borough” communities). They would bring a super-modern version of the grand movie palace of midtown Manhattan to the middle-class “subway suburbs” of Queens, Brooklyn, etc.; and they would create an entirely new intermediate level of movie theatergoing — something between the experience of traveling all the way downtown to go to a gigantic, first run movie palace in Manhattan (like the Loew’s Capitol) and the experience of walking to a nearby local shopping street to go to one of the many small neighborhood theaters spread throughout the metropolitan region.
Such theaters would bring a new level of grandeur and beauty to the outer boroughs — and they would be bound together by their post-Manhattan run “exclusivity” (second run after the Loew’s Capitol in Manhattan).
So how is the Loew’s marketing department going to publicize this chain of five spectacular new modern theaters that are located, so daringly, far from the Great White Way? — as the five “Wonder Theaters”!
So what was so “wondrous” about them? Giving the Loew’s PR department a little bit of room for puffery — they are a PR department, after all — these theaters would be among the very first, large-sized theaters to be built specifically with “talkies” in mind. They would have all the latest and greatest theatrical equipment on hand (including twenty-three rank Robert Morton organs). Each of the five would be designed by one of the three greatest firms in movie theater architecture, and would bring to the Bronx, Queens, etc. a level of movie palace grandeur and beauty previously unheard of for these relatively modest communities.
So that would help explain why the Valencia was a “Wonder Theater” and the Loew’s Triboro and Loew’s Pitkin were not. As neither of the second two would — or could — be part of this “second run” chain (since the Valencia and the Kings would occupy those places of honor in Queens and Brooklyn, respectively). And this would explain why it was “logical” for the Jersey (not really in an outer borough, but in “downtown” Jersey City) to be included with the other Wonder Theaters — because it too was part of this “second run” chain of magnificent new modern theaters.
Looking back, I find it really “wonder-ful” that so much construction was taking place in New York City and its “outer boroughs.” Imagine FIVE totally new 3,000+ theaters — and that’s not counting all the other theaters (and other buildings) also being built in Manhattan and other relatively close-in areas of the region. Cities were really a beehive of activity then. But then again, it was the “Roaring 20s”!
I took a quick look at the Krinsky and Loth books to see what they had to say about the underground concourse. I was kind of surprised to see that, at least from a quick glance, they really don’t have much to say about it — most of their comments are actually about the “entry plaza” to the underground concourse (the “entry plaza” is the area that was eventually transformed into a winter ice skating rink) and about the stores that were around the sides of this plaza when it first opened (where the restaurants are now).
It is with regard to these shops that they say business in the pre-subway years was bad. But I suppose it’s fair to assume that the shops further into the concourse were probably even worse off — as they were even more inconveniently accessible.
Some quotes:
Loth (pgs. 100-101) “On the whole, Rockefeller Center was successful in achieving its shop objectives [i.e., renting out to desirable, financially worthy tenants]. But the mortality of such establishments in the 1930’s was high … . Not the least of the difficulties concerned the underground maze of corridors and concourse … . the concourse was planned to link up with the station of a new Sixth Avenue subway. But the rackety old elevated train still ran.”
Loth (pg. 149) “[The Lower Plaza — the site of the skating rink — was] Orphaned by the long delay in the Sixth Avenue subway … [and] failed as a passage bringing pedestrians from the promenade into the shops that originally lined it. After a couple of years of hesitation and debate, the shops were replaced by a couple of restaurants, and the Lower Plaza [where the skating rink is] was no longer even a passage into the concourse.”
As far as I can recall, I first visited the underground concourse in the mid-1960s, and I don’t really remember the box office opposite the underground entry into Radio City Music Hall being used then (although the corridor into the Music Hall was apparently in operation). But, of course, it may have been open other hours, or maybe it was open and I just didn’t notice it, or I noticed it and don’t remember it now. But in my memories, at least, it was a “funny” presence in the underground corridors (like those abandoned stations or corridors that you sometimes see in the subways).
As mentioned in a previous post, I think when I took my tour groups into the Music Hall in the late 1970s we were told to use this entrance.
While it is possible that the Rockefeller Center management may have future plans for the box office, my interpretation of the meaning its presence post-renovation is different.
It seems to me that the one of the main reason the management renovated the underground concourse was to close off corridors and use the space to create new storefronts or enlarge existing ones. (Larger storefronts are seen, I believe, as more appropriate for modern day retailing and easier to rent out to financially sound large companies.) It seems to me that holdovers from the past, like the box office, were left alone if they didn’t interfere with this or other goals of the renovation. I think this would be especially true with a small “oddity” such as the box office and the stairs behind it — why tear them out unless you have something specific in mind to replace them with?
If I recall correctly, the Landmark Preservation Commission did review the changes to the underground concourse (along with other changes that were done all throughout the Center). While it’s possible that they may have protected it, I tend to doubt it, as they let so many other, much more noticeable and more important, features of the Center be demolished. (For instance they allowed management to totally close off some functional, handsome art deco entrances to the buildings on Fifth Ave. in order for these corridors to be incorporated into larger storefronts.) And when you think about it, how aesthetically and historical important can this box office and stairs be if even the cinema enthusiasts of Cinema Treasures know so little about them?
I doubt that a box office would be structurally important. At the very least, it’s easy to imagine them boarding it over or re-paneling it if they wanted to use it and the surrounding stairways differently.
As I mentioned previously, as magnificent as the Hall book is, in my opinion it is also very chaotically organized. Therefore, although I may have missed it somewhere, as far as I could tell, the Hall book never really addresses why the five Loew’s NYC “Wonder Theaters” are called that, which is why I asked my question.
As far as I could tell, Hall only mentions the “Wonder Theaters” as a group in one instance, in the caption to a photo of the Loew’s Kings, on page 201 — although, of course, he does mention individual “Wonder Theaters” elsewhere in the book (such as on pg. 102, where he mentions that Eberson designed both the Valencia and the Paradise).
He doesn’t say anything in the page 201 caption, at least, about the phrase “Wonder Theaters” being just advertising gimick slogans. Rather he mentions that the Kings was one of the five “Wonder Theatres” and goes on to say that all of them had identical twenty-three rank Robert Morton organs.
In my post, I mention that I did not think one could “copyright” the “concept” of the atmospheric. (Perhaps “patent” would have been the better word for “copyright” and “idea” the better word for “concept.”) I wasn’t talking about “copyrighting” the phrase “Wonder Theaters.” (I think “trademarking” is the more legally precise word in this case, rather than “copyrighting.”)
Regarding patenting the concept of the atmospheric: in the “old days,” I don’t think one could have patented it. I am not a lawyer, but judging from what one reads in the newspapers about the new rules regarding patenting — where Amazon.com can get a patent on the one-click method (!) of internet shopping — I think it is conceivable that Eberson might have had a good shot at patenting his idea today. Or, at least, it wouldn’t be quite as far fetched a possiblity as it probably was in the early 1920s.
Regarding tradmarking the phrase and an overall “concept” of the “Wonder Theater”: it is true that a phrase can’t be too common if it is to be trademarked. Again, although I am not a lawyer, I get the feeling from what I’ve read that Loew’s would have a decent chance, if it did things “right” in the first place, to trademark this phrase and overall “concept” (if it indeed was a concept) — if they had thought of it and wanted to do it. In order to do things “right” they would have to have found ways to make the phrase and the “concept” distinctive (e.g., unique identifiable logo, etc.) — like “Band Aid” brand adhesive bandages and “Scotch” brand adhesive tape.
Since Eberson’s first premiered the atmospheric, according to Hall (pg. 95) in Houston (not Dallas) in 1922 (not 1923), my thought was that Paramount-Publix (or, later, Loew’s) might have thought of introducing gigantic atmospherics to New York as part of its “Wonder Theater” program to make gigantic atmospherics one of the distinguishing features of the Wonder Theater “brand” — its all atmospheric “line” of gigantic theaters, so to speak.
But since I found out that only two of the five “Wonder Theaters” are actually atmospherics (the Valencia and the Paradise) and that one of Wonder Theaters (the Jersey) was built near a giant atmospheric that was built the previous year (the Stanley), the question then came up what (if anything) did the five “Wonder Theaters” have in common that made the title “Wonder Theater” a plausable — and not laughable — adverstising slogan.
So far, the only things that seem to fit the bill are the seating capacities of the theaters (especially when one considers their distance from midtown Manhattan, the “traditional” home to large-sized theaters in the NYC region) and the lavishness of their decoration (in either the hard-top or atmospheric style). (Although, since Hall mentions that all five had twenty-three rank Robert Morgan organs, perhaps in those times, that particular kind and size of theater organ also put these theaters into the “Wonder” class?)
Seating capacities of the five “Wonder” theaters: Kings (3,700); Valencia (3,600); Paradise (3,885); Jersey (3,200); and 175th St. (3,444). (All figures are from the Cinema Treasures website.)
Since all five “Wonder” theaters were built at approximately the same time, perhaps this, in addition to their large seating capacities and non-Midtown Manhattan locations, may also have been part of what made them wonder-ful. (Although, I would think that Loew’s would have been happy to welcome into its “Wonder” class of theaters subsequently built large-sized theaters with similarly lavish decor, like the 3,290 seat atmospheric Triboro. And the fact that the Loew’s Jersey is in “downtown” Jersey City rather than “subway sububan” upper-Manhattan, the Bronx, Queens or Brooklyn, would seem to make it just another downtown movie palace, rather than a “subway suburb” Wonder Theater.)
Further exploring the Cinema Treasures website to get an answer to my question, the closest I got to an answer was a Mar 4, 2004 post on the site of the Loew’s Pitkin which mentions that the 2,827 seat Pitkin was advertised as a Wonder Theater although it was not “offically” considered one. (Maybe because it wasn’t large enough?)
Another thought, maybe the Triboro wasn’t considered a Wonder Theater because by the time it was built the “Wonder Theater” concept — or advertising campaign — had come and gone as a “big thing” with the Loew’s corporation?
Interesting sidenote:
Although Hall mentions that atmospherics “were comparatively cheap to build [a few paragraphs earlier he says that they cost only ”… about one-fourth as much to build …“!] and simple to maintain … ” (page 100), he also quotes some negative comments about the economics of atmospherics from Thomas Lamb (who, at least early in his career was apparently skeptical about them) on pg. 117:
“My personal opinion is that this type of work will not be lasting. My objection to it, mainly, is that valuable space is used up on each side of the auditorium for effects that otherwise could be sued for seats. Another thing, these various effects and ornamental details are very likely to be accumulators of dust and dirt, therefore increasing greatly the cost of upkeep.”
Re: Radio City Music Hall underground boxoffice
Thanks Warren for the fascinating info — especially with the date of the article itself. With the date, it was a cinch to find the article to check it out. Given what I’ve read about Rockefeller Center in Krinsky and Loth, however, I’d like to offer a slightly different interpretation of what it says.
From the very beginning of the construction of Rockefeller Center everyone knew that there were plans for the Sixth Avenue elevated to come down, and for a subway to be built in its place. The underground concourse was planned with the subway in mind. The underground concourse was to provide a weather-controlled passageway between all the buildings of Rockefeller Center and the subway — and the corridors would be lined with shops.
But as it happens, until the subway was actually built, Rockefeller Center had a hard time getting people down underground to shop there. Which makes sense, really, when you think about it: who wants to go downstairs a full-story below the street in order to shop in small stores along narrow dead end corridors — and, especially during the Great Depression, when even more conveniently located street-level stores were having problems attracting customers?! (And what kinds of stores are going to be able to survive in such an inconvenient underground environment? With probably few store owners willing to risk it, there were also probably too few stores to attract shoppers — a vicious cycle.)
Actually, even unto this very day the concourse has some trouble attracting people outside of “rainy day” traffic and people using it during the rush hours. This is one reason that the landmarks preservation community didn’t raise a fuss (a grave mistake, in my opinion) when the new owners of Rockefeller Center decided to remodel large portions of it a few years ago.
The original (and much more severe) problem with the concourse was due, I think, to a combination of naivete on the part of the builders of Rockefeller Center (being pioneers, they didn’t realize it wouldn’t work at all without a subway) and the subway being built a little behind schedule (leaving them stranded a little longer than they thought they’d be). I don’t have the Krinsky and Loth books handy, but I think they discuss the specifics.
By the way, the creation of the skating rink at Rockefeller Center is related to the problem of getting people down to the underground concourse. Originally the area was intended as a plaza / grand entryway to the underground concourse (which is why the pedestrian way from Fifth Ave. slopes down towards the skating rink). With the concourse attracting far fewer people than expected before the construction of the subway, the owners of Rockefeller Center decided to make it into a skating rink in the winter — and the rest is history!
Getting back to the box office. My guess is that the box office was built and operated with the completion of the subway in mind. (Given the paucity of shoppers before the subway, it’s hard to imagine them building and staffing it for seven years solely to catch the nearly non-existent shopping trade.)
I wonder if maybe the box office wasn’t actually put into operation until maybe just a few months or so before the subway opened — which, given the way things usually happen, probably opened later than originally announced. The article just says that use of the box office tripled — it doesn’t indicate, however, the period that they are comparing it to. So my guess is that they are comparing the period just after the opening of the subway with the few months prior to the subway opening (a period when the subway was supposed to be open, but wasn’t).
“Use of the subway-level box-office in Radio City Music Hall has more than tripled since the opening of the Sixth Avenue subway, it was reported yesterday by the management.”
I’m not sure if this is the right place to post this comment/suggestion, but I didn’t see any other place specifically set aside for suggestions — and I noticed that others have used this thread as a “suggestion box” of sorts. So here goes:
One thing I am surprised about is that neither the profiles at the top of each theater thread (e.g., architect, number of seats, etc.) nor the “Theater Guide” link (which appears to be a “summary” of the various profile topics) have a “field” that would allow for the inclusion of the date that a theater first opened.
Now I realize that it’s already probably pretty complicated (and expensive) to include all the topics that are already provided for, but if it is not too difficult or expensive to add an additional slot for “date theater first opened,” I think such a slot would contribute a tremendous new dimension to your website.
Viewers would then be likely to get a surer sense of which theaters were built when, and be better able to trace trends in theater construction (e.g., popular architects, seating sizes of auditoriums, configuration of seating plans, styles of decor, etc.).
Plus a “Theater Guide” listing that would allow one to list in chronological order all the theaters for which opening dates have been posted would really help viewers get a handle what was happening during certains “eras.” One would be able to see at a glance, for instance, all the theaters built in 1927. Looking at one theater on the list, say the Roxy, one could see at a glance all the other theaters that were built around the same time — and get a better perspective on both the Roxy and the theater building boom that was occurring at that time.
Since such a field (i.e., “date first opened”) seems like such an obviously wonderful “research” tool, I suppose there are probably some very good reasons (especially regarding money or time) that it is difficult to do. But, I thought I should at least throw such a “dream set up” on the table just in case it is something that is actually quite feasible.