movies

THE FUTURE PROJECTED

Jeff Elliott Leave a comment

Here’s everyday life in the near future, according to the 1912-1913 Santa Rosa newspapers: Someone in your family might go to the theater after supper to catch the latest blockbuster, but the rest of you will probably watch a movie or something in the living room. As a special treat there may be an occasional trip to San Francisco to see a much-hyped film only playing in certain theaters because it required special movie equipment, which made the audience feel the movie was almost real.

That may not seem much different from today, except: The movie at the local theater would be black and white but have sound synchronized from a recorded cylinder. Being watched at home would be a silent, flickering image shown by a hand-cranked machine. And what made the movie in San Francisco worth the trip was it being in color, made possible by the theater having a special color projector.

There were several methods of adding color or sound to movies in the early 1900s, but this isn’t cinema technology history 101; the topic here is limited to what was mentioned in the local papers, and in the spring of 1912 the excitement in Santa Rosa was the opportunity to see movies in “natural color.”

(Your obl. Believe-it-or-Not! factoid: 1912 was also the year when the word “movie” first appeared in the papers, and it was almost always used in quotes to show it was slang. The origin of the word is unclear, but the first use I can find is in a 1911 Central Valley newspaper where it was mentioned as being coined by “a bright El Centro youngster.”)

“Kinemacolor” movies were quite the rage that season; the Cort theater in San Francisco sold out for a month (including most matinees) with a three hour Kinemacolor spectacular showing the pageantry of the coronation of King Edward VII as emperor of India. The film itself was 150 minutes – the longest movie produced up to then – with the show padded out with a live speaker and “orchestra rendering Oriental melodies” (a fragment can be seen here). Also produced were Kinemacolor travelogues along with hundreds of short comedies and melodramas with titles like, “Dandy Dick of Bishopsgate” and “Detective Henry and the Paris Apaches.” In New York J. P. Morgan’s daughter threw herself a party showing Kinemacolor home movies of the hostess colorfully prancing around the family’s Italian villa. Editors at both Santa Rosa papers were clearly excited such a high-falutin’ event was coming to town – and it would be free admission, too!

The Kinemacolor films were shown in the Native Sons of the Golden West ballroom (that impressive red brick building which still stands at 404 Mendocino Avenue). The big Columbia theater in town couldn’t be used because a special Kinemacolor projector was required. The film – which ran through the projector at twice the speed as normal – was still black and white, but alternating frames were captured through a red or green filter and the projector had a synchronized red and green color wheel. More about the process is explained in a BBC documentary (the five minute section on Kinemacolor begins at 13:23) and in a video showing how the frames were merged. The result is awful; when there is any movement onscreen red or green fringing follows like a ghost. How anyone could watch such a thing for more than a couple of minutes without suffering a ripping headache is a mystery, as is why Kinemacolor was widely praised for its “natural color.”

But even if the color effect was far from perfect (far, far, far away) at least it was a free evening at the movies; perhaps there would be scenes from exotic lands or an exciting yarn about those “Paris Apaches.”

“There were pictures, true to life in color, of aeroplane flights, of automobiles busy about the factory,” promised an ad disguised as a Press Democrat news item. “Views showed the process of molding brass castings. The lighted furnaces and the men pouring the metal made the scenes seem real. They showed improved machinery turning out its products. Then there were views of the men and women at work, and leaving the factory.” As exciting as it might be to watch factory workers shuffling home at the end of their shift, the movie was actually an industrial film produced by a company to sell cash registers. “All the residents of Santa Rosa, especially the business men, are invited,” chirped the advertisement.

Okay, so maybe color movies with actual entertainment weren’t in Santa Rosa’s immediate future – at least there would soon be sound movies in the theaters and films to watch at home…right?

The movie projectors mentioned for home and local theater were versions of Edison “Kinetophones,” which were also called Phonokinetoscopes and Kinetoscopes, the latter also being Edison’s name for the peep show cabinet he had introduced twenty years earlier (old Thomas Edison may have been a maniac for inventing things, but he certainly fizzled when it came to naming them).

Like many papers nationwide, the Press Democrat in January 1913 ran a front page story on Edison’s announcement that he was about to revolutionize the entertainment industry. Where there had been earlier gizmos which played music on a phonograph while a movie was shown (including some of Edison’s peep-show boxes), his Kinetophone “delivers at the exact instant of occurrence on the film any sound made at the moment such action took place. Every word uttered by the actors is recorded and delivered in time with the action,” Edison boasted. A segment of the short sound film made to introduce the system can be viewed on YouTube and it’s still impressive to watch, once you keep in mind it is over a century old.

Edison should have ended the press conference with the demo; regrettably, he went on to say that thanks to his Kinetophone, performers would no longer have to tour – they could make “talkies” at the studios, which would probably be located in New York. “Entire operas will be rendered,” Edison told reporters. “Small towns, whose yearly taxes would not pay for three performances of the Metropolitan Opera company, can see and hear the greatest stars in the world for 10 cents.” The press twisted those egalitarian visions into a doomsday prophecy. “EDISON SEE FINISH FOR STAGE” was the PD headline, and the San Francisco Call warned the Kinetophone “Will End ‘Legitimate’ Careers.”

“Legitimate” performers soon discovered they had nothing to fear (although you gotta love how the SF Call put the word between cynical quotes). It may have worked flawlessly with engineers back in the lab, but real projectionists in real theaters struggled to keep the record and film in synchronization and often failed. Having never seen such a screwup before, audiences howled. Remember the end of “Singing in the Rain”?

But even at its best, Edison’s Kinetophone was a not-ready-for-primetime invention. Sound was recorded on large Edison cylinders which offered six minutes of playback (instead of the usual four) so forget the option of watching those entire operas Edison promised – most of the Kinetophone productions were of vaudeville acts. As the amplified loudspeaker was still years away, sound came out of a big metal horn behind the screen, making dialog hard to hear in all but the smallest theaters; one of the most popular Edison films was a comedy where two characters thought the other was deaf, causing the pair to continually shout at each other.

The Kinetophone wasn’t the only half-baked Edison invention Santa Rosa learned about in 1913. Just a few days before the Kinetophone announcement, the front page of the Press Democrat displayed the ad at right for the “Edison Home Kinetoscope.” It had no sound because there was no ability for it to synch with a phonograph, but it could show a film nearly twice as long as a Kinetophone, thanks to the bizarre, non-standard film it required.

Although the arc lamp was electric, the person standing in the silhouette was turning a crank which advanced film containing three streams of images side-by-side. The person acting as the, um, designated cranker, turned it one direction until the film stopped after about six minutes; the film gate was then shifted to the middle position and the projectionist cranked backwards – the images on the middle strip of film were printed in reverse. After another six minutes the film stopped again and the film gate was shifted to its final position, with the machine to be cranked forward. A photo of this ingenious layout can be seen here.

The ad proclaimed it was “not a toy,” but despite the high price (it cost up to $100, or about $2,500 in today’s dollars) it really couldn’t be taken seriously, either. Each image on the film was merely about 6mm wide so resolution wasn’t nearly as good as a 35mm film shown in a theater; nor was there pin registration to pause the film for a fraction of a second while it is being projected, resulting in vertical “motion blur.” And although the owner’s manual claimed it could throw an image thirty feet and a promotional photo shows a bright, clear image at about half that distance, the low resolution images and teensy arc lamp (with no reflector, either) meant that 3-4 feet was probably all that was practical.

As the Press Democrat ad noted, Home Kinetoscope owners could watch the same movies as were being shown in theaters – limited, of course, to titles produced by Edison’s studio. About 250 were listed (amazingly, copies of most still survive) and sold at prices from $2.50 to $20. A service was available to exchange your boring old films for others by mail, using pre-paid coupons purchased from dealerships such as the one on Fourth street.

The Home Kinetoscope was a flop, with only about 500 sold in the U.S. Nor did the sound Kinetophone system last very long; Edison and his staff continued tinkering with it for the next two years and in 1914 a magazine wrote, “Mr. Edison is at work now on some vital problem dealing with the synchronism effect and has promised that the day is near when the world’s greatest singers will be heard in grand opera scenes, with voice and action concretely reproduced.” But when a fire later that year swept through Edison’s West Orange, New Jersey complex and destroyed all Kinetophone negatives, Edison created no further talkies. Shortly after that he also discontinued making motion picture equipment of any kind, despite having ads running for a new, top-end theatrical “Super Kinetoscope.”

And at about the same time, the last Kinemacolor film was made. Public interest in the odd system still remained high; they were starting to produce feature films and much-desired footage of early WWI battlefields and armaments. But their undoing was their constant drumbeat about displaying “natural color.” A competitor challenged this on their patent claim and Kinemacolor lost, because it could not, in fact, display any form of the color blue.

MOVING SCENES IN NATURAL COLOR
Unique Entertainment Will Be Given Here on Monday Afternoon and Evening

Much interest is taken in the public moving picture entertainment that will be given at Native Sons’ Hall next Monday afternoon and night. The pictures will show the famous Kinemacolor process.

Kinemacolor, the new motion picture process in nature’s colors, is an English invention and was developed in all its details by an American. The process is fairly simple and somewhat similar to the three-color process in printing.

The camera taking the subject resembles the ordinary moving-picture camera, save that it operates at double the speed and interposes alternate red and green colored filters by means of a rapidly revolving wheel operated by a very nicely timed mechanical device, 1-32 or a second is devoted to the production of each picture, of which there are sixteen to the foot of film. This film is remarkably sensitive to the colors of nature, is produced by an American concern.

The films are developed in absolute [illegible microfilm]  reproduction of the colors on the screen, the picture made through the red filter is projected through a similar red filter, and the green picture through a green filter. These appear upon the screen 32 to the second, too rapidly for the eye to detect the color changes that take place. As a consequence, the colors blend harmoniously, giving the remarkable effects which you are about to witness.

120 feet of film moves through the delicately adjusted apparatus starting and stopping 1920 times in one minute. You can readily see from these figures that it would be absolutely impossible to hand color or tint this enormous quantity of film with such gorgeous hues as are shown by this marvelous process, Kinemacolor.

– Press Democrat, March 8, 1912
Rare Treat for Santa Rosans
Wonderful Moving Pictures Are Shown in Natural Colors At Business Show
THE FIRST TAKEN IN AMERICA

Scientists and photographers have worked for years on processes for photographing in Nature’s own colors. The solution of their problem has been found.

By the Kinemacolor process, moving pictures are now taken in colors and thrown on the screen with the motion and tints of actual life. The Kinemacolor film differs from other moving picture films in that it is not colored by hand nor by chemicals.

The first Kinemacolor pictures made in America were taken at the plant of the National Cash Register Company, Dayton, Ohio.

While A. J. Strayer, the local representative of that concern, was attending a business efficiency convention at the N. C. R. plant, he saw these pictures.

There were pictures, true to life in color, of aeroplane flights, of automobiles busy about the factory, of scenes at the N. C. R. Country Club, where baseball, tennis, running races, horseback riding and games are enjoyed Saturday afternoons during the summer.

Views showed the process of molding brass castings. The lighted furnaces and the men pouring the metal made the scenes seem real.

They showed improved machinery turning out its products.

Then there were views of the men and women at work, and leaving the factory.

Fireless locomotives drew their loads to and from the receiving and shipping platforms.

The green grass, the shrubbery and the vines clinging to the walls, made pictures in color which no artist could equal.

Mr. Strayer asked that the film be shown in this city at the earliest opportunity. His request was granted.

These beautiful pictures in natural colors will be shown in the Native Sons’ Hall, March 11th at 2:30 p.m. and 8:00 p. m.

All the residents of Santa Rosa, especially the business men, are invited to see these Kinemacolor views.

Admission free.

– advertisement in Press Democrat, March 8, 1912
NO ADMISSION TO SEE PICTURES
First Kinemacolor Entertainment Tonight

Everybody is invited to attend the lecture and exhibition of the Kinemacolor pictures at the Native Sons’ Hall this evening, and the entertainment is absolutely free. The pictures to be shown are the first to be taken by a new process of moving pictures, that show nature in all of her wonderful moods and colorings. Flowers are shown in their original tints without any hand coloring.

The lecture is delivered by H. C. Ernst, who arrived here on Monday with his operators of the moving pictures. A. H. Walker and E. C. Deveny.  included in the entertainment are many beautiful scenes of landscape gardening and suggestions for the beautification of homes, and the adornment of the exterior and interior of residences. The progress of the past twenty-five years in machinery is graphically shown, it being greater than all the progress of the ages preceding that time.

The reproduction of flowers and nature in the original colorings is the latest thing in the moving picture world and these pictures are the first to be taken and the first that have come to this city. They are interesting, educational and instructive, and should attract a crowded house to the Native Sons’ Hall this evening. No admission is charged, the expense being defrayed by the National Cash Register Company. Arthur J. Strayer is the local representative of the company, and he has arranged for the entertainment of the people of Santa Rosa by his company.

– Santa Rosa Republican, March 11, 1912

EDISON SEE FINISH FOR STAGE
Says His New Invention, the Kinetophone, Will Put the Legitimate Actor Our of Business and Reduce Prices to Minimum

New York, Jan. 6–Thomas A. Edison, in an interview today declared that he believed the legitimate stage doomed as the result of the completion of his “Kinetophone.” The success of its operation in the last few days was such as to make him believe that the $2.00 theatre must give way to the cheaper show with the better talent. He was sure that there would be no more barnstorming companies. The inventor declared that not one out of fifty had the right to spend the price of a theatre ticket. He believes that the legitimate action must leave the stage as more money is to be made acting for the new machines.

– Press Democrat, January 7, 1913
COLUMBIA WILL PRESENT EDISON’S KINETOPHONE

Morris Meyerfeld, Jr., head of the Orpheum Circuit, announced Wednesday that the Orpheum and affiliated theatres have secured the American rights for Edison’s latest invention, the kinetophone, by which talking motion pictures are presented, and that it will be put simultaneously in all the playhouses of the circuit in about three weeks. The kinetophone recently was demonstrated successfully and promises to revolutionize the career if the stage profession in some respects through its ability to transmit not only the actions, but the voice of the performer. The inventor has declared it will result in the stars leaving the legitimate stage to work for the “movies.”

Manager Crone of the Columbia Amusement Company has arranged to have the kinetophone at one of his amusement houses in the near future, which will give the lovers of “movies” a chance to see this latest invention by Edison.

– Santa Rosa Republican, January 20, 1913

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HEY, WE’RE IN THE MOVIES

Jeff Elliott Leave a comment

What did the Wild West look like? If you went to the movies in 1911, it looked like Marin and Sonoma county.

For six months of that year, the Essanay Film Company based its west coast operations in San Rafael, filming in West Marin and southern Sonoma County, including Petaluma and Santa Rosa.

The company had been moving around the west since leaving Chicago in the autumn of 1910, filming its short cowboy movies in Colorado and California, mostly in the South Bay and the outskirts of Los Angeles. Pretty much any of those places would seem like a better location for a western than San Rafael but as silent film historian David Kiehn explains in his definitive reference, “Broncho Billy and the Essanay Film Company,” Marin offered reliably nice weather and had other appeals:

There was a valley with farmland and cattle ranches. The little nearby towns of San Anselmo and Fairfax gave the area a decided western flavor. A stagecoach still ran over the mountains on a dusty road from Fairfax to Bolinas…San Rafael, population 5000, had a lot going for it when Esaanay arrived on May 31, 1911.

(Digression: The whole notion of filming westerns in Marin reminds me of a memorable incident on Groucho Marx’s radio quiz show, “You Bet Your Life.” Before starting the quiz, Groucho would interview and banter with the contestants. Once a guest was a movie location scout for a major Hollywood studio and the man sounded boastful when describing his prowess in finding perfect settings around Southern California. Groucho asked for an example. “Why, San Juan Capistrano looks more like Italy than Italy does,” the man said with assurance. “Have you ever been to Italy?” Groucho asked. “Well, no.”)

The head of the company was Gilbert M. Anderson, who directed hundreds of these short westerns and starred in many as “Broncho Billy,” a character he had invented just a short time before arriving in the North Bay. Broncho Billy was the prototype for all the rootin’ tootin’ celluloid cowboys that came after him, yet with a range of roles that might be surprising; instead of always being the guy in the white hat with a toothy grin, sometimes Billy was a drunk, an outlaw or a man haunted by personal demons.

Anderson also directed modern-day comedies during his Marin stint, but he was better known for the action-filled cowboy adventures. Some members of his Essanay troupe were former cowpunchers and included an amazing stunt rider, who could “throw his horse down and, while still in the saddle, make the animal rise again,” according to researcher Kiehn. An actor was at risk of drowning when a horse kicked him in the chest during a river crossing scene but saved by an expertly-tossed lasso.

Much of the filming was done around Fairfax, which Anderson called “Snakeville” as per his usual fictional town setting. But in the week around Hallowe’en, the troupe traveled farther north to shoot scenes in Petaluma and Santa Rosa. In Petaluma the scenes involved a bank robbery, and Kiehn’s book includes two photos of the filming around the intersection of Main and Washington.

In Santa Rosa the shooting was for a comedy with a chase down Fourth street. The Press Democrat summarized the action:

The story photographed here was that of “Hank and Lank” stealing a horse and buggy where it was left in front of Jacob’s candy store while the owner went inside on business. There was the chase and capture of the thieves, a fight and the return of the rig to its owner. Later the rig was stolen again, after a fight with the owner, and the chase and capture by the police and the finale with the prisoners taken to jail.

Anderson usually worked locals into the storyline and here it was James W. Ramage, the PD’s circulation manager, “with his auto loaded with a bevy of handsome school girls,” and 16 year-old Margaret M. Hockin riding her horse. As the chase was proceeding down Fourth, an auto unexpectedly shot across the intersection at B street causing the young woman to quickly rein up her horse, which was then struck by the buggy following her. The horse was badly wounded in the collision but the girl was unhurt.

While in Santa Rosa, the Essanay players booked the big Columbia theater at Third and B streets and put on a play, “The Man From Mexico,” a farce that was popular on Broadway fifteen years earlier. The plot centered on a man nightclubbing while his wife is away; after being arrested in a police raid, he is sentenced to thirty days behind bars for drunkenly insulting a judge. To coverup his jail time he tells everyone that he is vacationing in Mexico and upon his release, spins a tangle of silly lies about life in that country (the Mexican currency was supposedly the “flempf,” as an example). It probably was a helluva lot funnier than it sounds, with Anderson starring as the lying husband. Both Santa Rosa papers gave the production raves, the Republican stating the audience was “in a state of uproarious laughter from start to finish.” The expensive tickets – with the best seats going for $1.00, about half the daily income of the average Santa Rosan – also probably paid for their excursion. The play was also performed in Petaluma.

A month later Anderson briefly moved the company to the San Diego area, then in the early spring of 1912 settled down in Niles (near the town of Fremont). Here Essanay built a studio and produced some of the best films of the era over the next four years, including Charlie Chaplin’s earliest classics. Today the town has a theater owned by the Niles Essanay Silent Film Museum, which still presents silent movie programs every Saturday night. It’s quite fun – you should go next weekend!

There’s also a Believe-it-or-Not! angle to Santa Rosa’s first brush with the movies; just days before Essanay arrived here, Francis Boggs was shot to death in Los Angeles. Born in Santa Rosa, Frank was introduced here earlier in a profile of his grandfather, memorable Sonoma County “pioneer” William Boggs. Francis and Gilbert were doppelgangers; both came to California at about the same time to make movies for Chicago-based studios (the Selig Polyscope Company, in Boggs’ case). Both were prolific actors/producers/directors and both are credited with “discovering” a major silent movie comedian: Boggs launched “Fatty” Arbuckle’s career and Anderson sent cross-eyed Ben Turpin on the way to slapstick stardom (he also was responsible for luring Chaplin to Essanay).

Frank Boggs’ obituary in the Santa Rosa Republican also solved a little mystery. In May of 1910 there was another film crew here shooting footage of Luther Burbank, the Rose Carnival parade and other notable sights. There was much excitement that a newsreel of Santa Rosa would be available and the Columbia theatre even ran an unprecedented “coming soon” advertisement. From the obit we learn that the filming was done under Boggs’ direction and was part of a much larger project commissioned by the Southern Pacific for promotional advertising.

Alas, Boggs’ film was ruined, either by mishandling or technical problems. The Essanay footage from Santa Rosa and Petaluma is lost as well, and may actually not have made it into finished releases – no titles listed in Kiehn’s catalog seem to describe the plots as we know them.

When Anderson left the North Bay his best years were still ahead of him, and had Boggs lived he surely would have developed into an important Hollywood player. And speaking of which, we might not have a Hollywood at all if not for Boggs; he convinced the reluctant Selig office in Chicago in 1909 that he should open up a satellite studio north of Los Angeles. Within a year of his death the area was the hub of West Coast film production.

SEE YOURSELF IN MOTION PICTURE
Essanay Film Company Will Take Pictures Here Next Week–Will Present Fine Show at Columbia

The Essanay Film Manufacturing Company that has been making motion pictures at San Rafael for the past three months will visit Santa Rosa next Tuesday and perform a play at the Columbia Theater.

All the favorite characters that have appeared in the Western releases of this particular concern in the past three months will appear in “The Man from Mexico” at the local theatre next week.

The company will bring a carload of scenery and all electrical effects for the production. [illegible microfilm] is all built at San Rafael, where the concern keeps a number of mechanics at work building set pieces for the new productions.

While here the company will take several motion pictures to give the public an opportunity of seeing how the pictures are made. If you chance to be on the street that day you may have the pleasure of seeing yourself in pictures. The pictures that will be taken here will show at the Columbia a few days later.

– Press Democrat, October 25, 1911

FRANK BOGGS SHOT TO DEATH
Former Santa Rosan Killed in South Friday

Frank W. Boggs, whose death was told in the dispatches from Los Angeles, published Friday afternoon in the REPUBLICAN, was a former Santa Rosan. He is a nephew of Professor and Mrs. Alex C. McMeans of this city and a brother of Miss Florence M. Boggs, superintendent of schools of Stanislaus county.

The former Santa Rosan was murdered by an insane Japanese at Edendale, where he was having a consultation with William C. Selig, president of the moving picture company which bears his name, and other members of the company which produce the pictures in southern California.

The murder was Frank Minnimatsu, a Japanese gardner at Edendale, where Boggs had erected a handsome studio for the purpose of taking the moving pictures. This place was surrounded by magnificent landscape gardens and one of the real show places of the southland.

Early in life Boggs evinced a liking and an aptitude for the stage and in Chicago he made good on his chosen profession. He became manager for the Selig people in the Los Angeles vicinity and later was given charge of the Pacific Coast for the firm. He was singularly successful in handling the affairs of the company on this coast and recently Mr. Selig presented him with a splendid touring car for his personal use, in addition to one which the company maintained for business purposes.

The last time Mr. Boggs was in this city he came with three men from Los Angeles to secure moving pictures of the Rose Carnival and of Burbank’s Experimental Farm here. The films were spoiled in the manufacture after they had been taken and could not be shown. It was planned to take another set at some future time….

…Santa Rosans who knew the deceased are shocked at the tragic manner of his death. The Japanese, who had been discharged by Boggs, is believed to have gone suddenly insane. Selig, who was wounded, had a bone broken in one arm and was shot in the head, the latter being more of a scalp wound than anything else. He will recover.

– Santa Rosa Republican, October 28, 1911
PHOTOPLAY HAS PLOT LAID HERE
Daring Robbery of Horse and Rig on Fourth Street–Capture of the Thief–The Chase

The Essanay Moving Picture Company spent yesterday in Santa Rosa [illegible microfilm] During the afternoon they gave an exhibition of the method used in getting moving pictures for use in the thousands of moving picture houses throughout the country. The work was watched by a great crowd of people.

The Essanay Company keeps a company of thirty five well trained actors and photographers at San Rafael where the ball park has been fitted up as a studio for a setting, and where hundreds of scenes are enacted to be photographed and made into moving pictures. The company had a days’ outing coming here, but at the same time pictures were taken for a 500-foot reel.

The story photographed here was that of “Hank and Lank” stealing a horse and buggy where it was left in front of Jacob’s candy store while the owner went inside on business. There was the chase and capture of the thieves, a fight and the return of the rig to its owner. Later the rig was stolen again, after a fight with the owner, and the chase and capture by the police and the finale with the prisoners taken to jail.

The method of work is to take a picture of one incident at a time, and in any order of the chain of events which make up the whole of the story. Later these are developed, the films cut into sections and made up into one complete reel. The picture taken here yesterday will be released in about six weeks by the company and will be shown in one of the local playhouses, the Theaterette or Columbia.

In the chase after the stolen rig, Miss Margaret Hockin, mounted on her handsome bay horse was taken in the [illegible microfilm] W. Ramage, with his auto loaded with a bevy of handsome school girls, was also a part of the crowd taken as well as a number of other local people. They will no doubt be shown plainly in the moving pictures. An automobile which broke into the procession as it raced before the moving [illegible microfilm] B and Fourth street, caused Miss Hockin to rein up suddenly and a buggy following closely behind collided with her horse, forcing the point of the shaft into his flank, making a bad wound. Miss Hockin escaped unhurt.

– Press Democrat, November 1, 1911

PICTURES OF ROSE CARNIVAL RUINED

Owing to some defect in the film the pictures that were taken here during the Rose Carnival were ruined along with about fifty thousand feet of film of views for the Southern Pacific for advertising purposes. The men came all the way from Los Angeles to take the pictures and it will be a big loss to the company. Among the carnival pictures were a number of Burbank views, and it meant much to this part of the state to have those pictures go on the circuit. It was through the efforts of the Chamber of Commerce that the men were induced to come here, and the loss will fall heavily on the Moving picture men.

– Santa Rosa Republican, November 8, 1910

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DID SHE REALLY SAY WHAT I SAW HER SAY?

Jeff Elliott Leave a comment

Who knew? The actors in those century-old silent movies were actually cussing up a storm. The lip readers knew about it, of course, and some were in high dudgeon as a result, demanding censorship. And who can blame them? While watching the hero profess his undying love to his maidenly ingenue, for example, it would be a bit disconcerting to discover he was actually swearing like a lumberjack on Saturday night.

Santa Rosa learned about photoplay profanity in a 1910 Press Democrat editorial, where Ernest Finley called it “one of the strangest stories of the year,” apparently because he was astonished that such a thing as lip reading existed.

But it is a bit of surprise (at least to me) to find that salty language was common in films so early.   Movie cussing was well known and acknowledged as a problem during the roaring part of the 1920s, and headed the list of “Don’ts and Be Carefuls” compiled by the studio execs in 1927. Some films – particularly “What Price Glory?” released the previous year – made no effort to rein in the actors; a review at the time noted, “Victor McLaglen takes the honors in acting and unbridled profanity, and the film leaves no doubt as to what words are being used.” (Those interested in exercising their lip reading skills can practice on this clip, starting at around the 5:15 marker.) Movie controversy of the 1920s is off-topic here, but for anyone wanting more info there’s a cinema blog that has an enjoyable discussion with clips from other movies. I’ll only add that, wow, Gloria Swanson really had a mouth on her.

The PD didn’t publish the original wire service story, but it’s pretty easy to find in other newspapers, given its sensational nature. It seems Mrs. Elmer Bates of Cleveland, a “noted deaf mute instructor and lecturer,” visited a half-dozen theaters and found “shocking language was used in all the shows visited.”


Mrs. Bates made a tour of the downtown shows yesterday accompanied by a reporter who wrote down the picture talk, and at times the language was so vile that she had to stop…Curses, vile names and vile comments are indulged in by the performers while being photographed, often without the least semblance of relation to the play being performed. The profanity and obscene language seem to be addressed by members of the companies to one another on the spur of the moment.

Mrs. Bates tried to get the mayor to do something, but he passed the buck to the Humane society. (Meaning the American Humane Association, not today’s Humane Society of the United States; the Association’s activities include the protection of children as well as animals.) The Association told her it wasn’t for them and she should take it up with the movie studios. Her protest presumably faded there. 

Obl. Believe-it-or-not twist to the story: Mrs. Bates’ husband was Elmer E. Bates, a famous Cleveland sportswriter. He was best known for covering the disastrous 1899 season of the Cleveland Spiders (later renamed the Indians) when the National League team lost 134 games, which still stands as the worst performance in baseball history. Had Mrs. Bates visited the ballpark with her husband during those games, I’m certain she would have heard language far, far more ripe than anything shown in one-reel melodramas and slapstick flickers.

 MOVING-PICTURE PROFANITY

 One of the strangest stories of the year comes from Cleveland, Ohio. The deaf-mutes of that city have protested against certain of the moving pictures exhibited in the theaters there. None but deaf mutes can detect anything wrong with those pictures, but to them they are objectionable. By reason of their affliction, the deaf become proficient in what is known as “lip reading.” This proficiency enables them to derive more enjoyment and profit from moving pictures than their neighbors get who are endowed with good hearing. That is, if the actors stick to the text of the play. But it has become a common thing for the performers whose “stunts” are photographed for the moving films to vary the text to suit their own moods and minds, and where the practice is allowed they have numerously lapsed into profanity and obscenity, meanwhile keeping up all the “stage business” so that to any but a lip reader their acting is correct. But to the deaf mutes the silent profanity is as real as vocal profanity is to the rest of mankind, and the mutes in Cleveland ask that the city authorities have the reels censored by a lip-reader before they are exhibited in public.

 – Press Democrat editorial, December 25, 1910

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