Trick or Treat: A Lost Halloween Top Ten

With October comes all things spooky and frightening: carved pumpkins; Halloween costumes in a seemingly infinite range of shapes, sizes, and subjects; decorations in the form of skeletons, black cats, and tombstones; Fall festivals with food, fun, and games; haunted houses of both the kid-friendly and extreme jolt variety; and an overabundance of candy that is as frightening to parents (knowing of the resulting dentist bill) as it is enticing to kids. Part of the traditional delight to the season is in a good (or bad) scary movie, of which there is also an infinite roster. After all, horror movies have been around almost as long as film itself, and it may be the special seasonal nature that allows the older classics to be embraced so easily by new generations – just as Christmas classics like It’s a Wonderful Life and White Christmas find fresh converts every December. Still, there are those who feel that the modern horror film has lost all subtlety and mourn the glory days when true horror was derived from what was not seen on the screen but only hinted at. In today’s age of gore and sadism, there is little left to the imagination. On the flip side, there are many teens who refuse to see a movie unless it is in color; black and white, like subtlety, is way too old fashioned.

Perhaps it was the restraint used that makes these earlier films so memorable; indeed, several studios became synonymous with the genre because of their ability to make horror fun to watch. Universal cornered this market in the thirties and forties, just as Hammer did in the fifties and sixties – even though the latter pushed the envelope of the time by not only showing more blood and filming it all in vivid Technicolor, but also accenting the scenery with scantily clad females and ample cleavage.

But the horror film took shape well before Universal, with early versions of Frankenstein by Edison, and even magician-turned-filmmaker George Méliès. Indeed, there is a wealth of shockers from the silent era that have withstood the test of time: The Hunchback of Notre Dame (Lon Chaney, Sr.), Nosferatu, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, The Golem, Häxan, and Phantom of the Opera (Chaney again) among them. Phantom has always been a popular choice around this time of year, and despite the numerous film adaptations of the Gaston Leroux novel made since then, the Chaney version still remains the best of the lot. Continued demand for this eighty-five-year-old film is evident in the new Blu-Ray release of both the 1925 and 1929 reissue version due out this next month. By the time that sound arrived in 1927, the horror genre was already well established, and a few of these have never been matched. When it comes to a good fright, sound is obviously optional.

For all this, it is worth considering that an estimated 80 to 90 percent of all silent films have been sacrificed to time and neglect, and we should consider ourselves fortunate that many of the Chaney’s films have survived, along with the other horror classics of the period (screen vamp Theda Bara’s existing films can be sadly counted on two fingers). For all this, there are the others that are irretrievably lost, and with each passing year, the chances of their being rediscovered in some film archive or private collection continues to shrink to near nothingness. While there are many “most sought after” lists, some titles (such as London After Midnight) remain at the top, while others are interchangeable. A recent list was compiled and posted on cinemassacre.com, representing a top ten of the most sought out silent/early sound films in the horror genre. While the Cinemassacre list represents only one person’s preference of titles, it is a good indicator of what once was but no longer is. Here is a rundown of the list:

The number ten spot is Phantom of the Opera – not the Chaney version (although I am still waiting for someone to do a proper restoration of the film to it’s original 1925 cut – an omission to the upcoming Blu-ray) but a lesser-known version made in 1916. Number nine is The Cat Creeps, a 1930 remake of Cat and the Canary (itself a wonderfully fun chiller in the “old dark house” mold). The film was shot simultaneously in both English and Spanish, a not so uncommon practice that was also done later with Dracula (many consider the Spanish version to be far superior to the Bela Lugosi film). A few clips of The Cat Creeps do exist.

Position eight is The Vampire (1913). There were a number of vampire films made in the silent era, although not all of them were of the blood-drinking variety, others ranging from Theda Bara’s vamp in A Fool There Was to the brilliant early French serial, Les Vampires.

This is followed by number seven, Henry MacRae’s The Werewolf (1913), which was destroyed in a fire in 1924. Number six is The Mummy, or mummies, as there were numerous mummy films made during the silent era, including versions in 1911, 1912, 1914, and 1923. Spot five is Life Without a Soul (1915), the second version of Frankenstein after Edison’s.

The Golem movies occupy the number four slot – three films were made on the subject, all written, directed, and acted in by Paul Wegner. Only the 1920 version exists in full, and it is considered to be one of the great expressionistic films to have come out of Germany during the silent era. Of the other two, only a scant three minutes exists of the 1915 version, and the 1917 version is thought to be wholly lost.

Number three is Dracula’s Death (1921), the first film version of Dracula… sort of. The Hungarian film centers on a girl in a mental institution who dreams of Dracula.

Ironically, London After Midnight is given the number two position in this list. The last known print of this 1927 film burned in an MGM vault fire in 1967. Every few years, a new story appears about its supposed rediscovery, but then is revealed to be yet another hoax. At present, the closest we can get to experiencing this film is in a 2002 reconstruction by Rick Schmidlin using still photos (no moving footage) based on the original shooting script. TCM runs this from time to time.

Cinemassacre gives the top position to the lost King Kong films, most notable the spider sequence from the original King Kong – a sequence that may or may not have been shot, depending on what story you believe. What does exist of this sequence are sketches and photos, which may have been test shots to a sequence never completed. Another less known film is a Japanese version of the film, King Kong Appears in Edo.

Is this a definitive list? Not at all. Any rating list is based on individual preferences, and this is no different. Ask another film enthusiast and they will no doubt produce another list that might – or might not – include some of these titles. What is most notable is that over a short hundred years, so many films have been forgotten, left to disintegrate due to its unstable nitrate stock, or in some cases, were destroyed deliberately. Early studios did this regularly, seeing no value in their older silent product, or in the case of A Woman of the Sea (1926), a non-horror film by Josef Von Sternberg, the only existing print was destroyed by no less than Charles Chaplin, supposedly for tax-related purposes. Now that is the real horror.

A detailed video of this top ten list can be seen on the Cinemassacre website:

http://cinemassacre.com/2010/10/14/top-10-lost-horror-films/

Terrorism in the age of innocence

This month marks the ten-year anniversary of 9-11. There is nothing to be said here that has not already been said in countless books, articles, documentaries, films, reports, and other forms of coverage chronicling the event and its aftermath. What is clear is how the concept of terrorism has been redefined both here and abroad. The list of such instances is not a short one: Columbine, Fort Hood, unprovoked shootings at schools, universities, post offices and other institutions, bombings and arson – the list goes on and on. More recently, the Tucson shooting in January 2011, which killed six and injured thirteen, including representative Gabrielle Giffords, makes it clear how dangerous the actions of a small number of men (or even one) can be. Even as I penned the first draft of this blog, there was a report across the newswires of a mass shooting at an IHop in Nevada. Terrorism, it seems, has become a way of life, whether we desire it or not.

It is worth noting that terrorism is not exclusive to present day. A good example of this can be found in the book, American Lightning by Howard Blum, which chronicles the bombing of the Los Angeles Times newspaper building in October 1910, along with the investigation and subsequent trial. And for those who are wondering what a column about terrorism is doing in a blog usually reserved for movie theaters and film preservation, yes, there is a movie connection–but more of that later.

The America of the early 1900s was one caught in a vicious industrial war between capital and labor, with Los Angeles being called its “bloodiest arena in the Western World.” Harrison Gray Otis, a staunch capitalist and owner of the Los Angeles Times, who had been an unswerving opponent of organized labor for the previous two decades, fueled much of the fire. His newspaper was only one weapon in his arsenal to drive the unions out of the city. It came as no surprise that when the Times building was bombed  – a massive explosion that leveled the building and killed 21 people – it was immediately assumed that labor supporters were responsible.

American Lightning follows the lives of three men during this set of events, the first being William J. Burns, a detective who had been acclaimed as the “American Sherlock Holmes.” Burns was appointed to solve this crime of the century. His investigation led him across the United States, while connecting the Los Angeles explosion to other similar bombings in other cities. In the end, two men – J.J. McNamara and his brother, Jim McNamara –were arrested and set for trial, thus bringing the labor wars to the legal system. Brought in to represent the McNamaras was the second of the three men central to American Lightning, lawyer Clarence Darrow, best known for his involvement in the Scopes monkey and Leopold and Loeb trials of the twenties. After much legal wrangling, the defendants eventually pleaded guilty in exchange for lesser sentences (Jim received a life sentence, thereby avoiding a likely execution).

D.W. Griffith

The third person in this account was the pioneer filmmaker D.W. Griffith, during his latter days with Biography, and just prior to his work on Birth of a Nation. Griffith had already worked with Billy Burns, having made an early film with the express intention to snare a suspected child murderer who regularly went to the movies (the strategy worked; the suspect was so unnerved by seeing his crime reenacted on the screen that he confessed soon after his arrest). While all three men were of radically different backgrounds and experience, they all shook the world in their own manner, and it was a matter of pure coincidence that they would all come together for one brief moment in the lobby of the Alexandria Hotel. The meeting lasted only a minute, greetings were exchange along with light banter – and then it was over; each departed to their separate destinies. Darrow still had his landmark trials before him; Burns took on new cases that interested him. For Griffith, he still had his masterstroke, Intolerance (1916), along with Way Down East (1920) and Orphans of the Storm (1921), both made with his muse, Lillian Gish. In what is considered to be a cruel stroke of irony so appropriate to what Hollywood would become, he would earn the moniker of “the Father of Film,” while becoming virtually forgotten by the industry he helped to create. He died in 1948.

One of his films, Hearts of the World (1918), was filmed on location in Britain and in part near the front lines during WWI, and like his other works, brought the human aspect to the subject of war. Like the bombing of the Times building, warfare of the time was radically different from the conflicts to be found in the following century. Only the numbers of the fallen can be seen as a constant.

American Lightning is a fascinating book that covers a dramatic moment in American history, as related to three unique individuals, and leading to a singular passing moment in a hotel lobby. Most notable is that for all the changes that have taken place in the last century, there are just as many similarities that tie our present to the past. What is equally clear is that our inherent desire to destroy is just as potent now as our need to create.

Adding more thrills to the thrill ride

An exhibition model of the D-Box seat on display in the lobby of the Premiere Renaissance Theatre - an easy way to sample the experience beforehand.

Movie theatres have always been in direct competition to other forms of entertainment. The early threat of radio luring patrons away from the silver screen gave way in the fifties to the allure of television, and later still, home video, cable TV, satellite, DVDs, Netflix, etc. Through all of this was the rise of new movie technologies, some being pure gimmicks, while others were true improvements to the art form. The mainstays have included sound, color, widescreen, and improvements therein, such as Technicolor, THX, IMAX, and the like. On the gimmick side are such landmarks as Smell-o-Vision.

For new millennium audiences, the leading drivers have been digital projection (which is here to stay) and 3-D, a gimmick that has been around since the fifties and has been going in and out of vogue since then. Many people still have trouble wrapping their hands (and eyes) around 3-D, the glasses, and the additional cost. A case in point: neither my wife or two kids enjoy the process and would prefer the conventional 2-D experience. Having seen my share of incredibly bad 3-D over the years, I can easily say that–if done well–I enjoy the effect.

This brings us to D-Box, the latest trick to be added to the theatrical arsenal. The technology itself has been around for decades and is usually found in major theme park thrill rides: a seat that moves in all directions in sync with the movie visuals, thus suggesting that the viewer is actually experiencing what is on the screen. It seems only logical that it would find it’s way into traditional film exhibition, but it’s entry has been slow, no doubt due to the investment involved in setting up the equipment in a theatre. To date, Houston has two movie houses with D-Box– the Santikos Silverado Theatre on 249 (in Tomball) and the new Premiere Renaissance Theatre at Greenspoint Mall.

Like 3-D, it has some obstacles to overcome. Some people just don’t like to be tossed around, or the nausea that sometimes can be an unpleasant side effect to those with sensitive constitutions. There is also the cost. At the Renaissance, the D-Box experience adds another ten dollars to the normal cost of a ticket. At present, it is only in one screen there, taking up two rows of seats in the middle of the auditorium. If a family of four goes there and pays normal price plus the additional ten times four… Well, you can do the math.

So the bottom line… Is it worth it? For the right person who enjoys adding dynamics to their movie going, I would say yes. I recently tried it out for a showing of Conan the Barbarian, a film that includes lots of action, extreme gratuitous violence, and an abundance of opportunities to shake the seat. I found the experience to be a true enhancement to the film, with by whole body surging, tilting, and vibrating to every loud explosion on the screen. I dug it. Worth another ten smackers? Maybe, depending on the film.

What is worth noting is that as our technology continues to improve, these enhancements eventually end up in the tried and true model of theatrical exhibition, by playing to our key senses of sight, sound and touch. As to smell, we all saw what happened with Smell-o-Vision, didn’t we?

Dinner and a Movie Theatre

El-Real patrons dine to "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre."

As of two years ago, it seemed a sad state for the old Tower Theatre on Westheimer. The building had served as a neighborhood movie house from it’s opening in 1936 to it’s closing four decades later in 1978. It then enjoyed a second life as a venue for live events, with talent such as John Prine, Burt Bacharach, Tori Amos, Laurie Anderson, and The Pretenders, as well as ensemble productions, “The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas” being the most noteworthy. I saw several shows there during this time, including an evening pairing of Sarah McLachlan and the amazingly underrated October Project. Sadly, all good things come to an end and the Tower was no different.

After it’s closure as a live event hall, it sat dormant for a while, before becoming part of the Hollywood Video chain. On the plus side, the exterior marquee and neon was restored to it’s original vibrant glory. Unfortunately, the interior was gutted, the floor leveled, and made to look like any other of the video stores. No trace of it’s theatrical past remained inside, at least to what was visible under the newly added drop-down ceiling.

Then Hollywood Video went belly-up and the theatre was abandoned once more, susceptible to the fate that has claimed nearly all of Houston’s vintage movie theaters.

Ah, but now movies have returned to the Tower Theatre, but in a way quite different from what it once was. The former Tower is now the El-Real Tex-Mex restaurant, an upscale eatery serving up yummy Mexican food.

This change was first announced last June in Nancy Sarnoff’s Houston Chronicle Prime Property column. The then-unnamed restaurant was the venture of Bill Floyd and chef Bryan Caswell of Midtown’s Reef restaurant and Robb Walsh, former food critic for the Houston Press.

Like it’s video predecessor, El-Real has retained the theatre exterior for it’s cinematic visual value. Under the front marquee, the entrance previously sealed by Hollywood has been reopened and the space converted into a covered outdoor dining area. The main changes are left to the interior, but with only hints of what it once was.

There is no restoration to what the Tower auditorium once looked like. The drop-ceiling has been removed, leaving bare walls above. Stairs have been added to the reopened balcony area, used as additional table space. In the rear, the remains of the original projection booth can be seen. And as a nod to the building’s previous life, a new movie screen has been installed in front, running a steady stream of western movie excerpts and trailers.

What is unique about the space is that is serves as a shrine – not to its older life as a theatre, but to another Houston landmark.

It is well understood that you are not a true Texan unless you have an insatiable love for Tex-Mex, which is why there are so many Mexican restaurants in town, both good and otherwise. Among the greats was Felix, a small restaurant a few blocks away at 904 Westheimer just past Montrose. It originally opened in 1948 by Felix Tijerina and served good family-style Mexican food for six decades before finally closing down in 2008. Now much of its interior trappings  – tables, chairs, doors, menus, and multiple shelves of articles, clippings, and photos – can be found in the Tower. A large wall display cabinet that features mementos of Felix’ history is located along one wall in the balcony.

With that as the backdrop, El-Real serves up their upscale brand of Tex-Mex to hungry Houstonians in need of a fajita fix. One thing is certain; unlike the Felix menu on display, the price of a regular dinner is considerably more than fifty cents.

Hopes as High as a Kite

The Silverado Theatre

Welcome 2011. We’re already a month in, and as I have let a couple of months slide by on the blog, it seems a good time to look backward.

In the film, “Holiday Inn,” Bing Crosby crooned, “Let’s watch the old year die with a fond good-bye, and our hopes as high as a kite.” The year 2010 was one of equal highs and lows for Houston theatres. At first, I thought it would be worthwhile to examine the changes over the last year. But since Cinema Houston was first published four years ago, a number of other changes have taken place. So here is a year-end review that also covers that gap.

First off, let’s ring in the new. Theatre openings over the last few years have reflected not only the latest technical advances of the industry, but also the trends and preferences of the public. One of the most notable openings was the stunning all-digital Santikos Silverado Theatre on Texas 249 in Tomball, featuring a massive two-story lobby, 19 stadium seat auditoriums, an IMAX screen, and the Cowboy Grill restaurant. It opened in 2008. Yes, it is a bit of a drive from central Houston, but it has my vote as the best projected image setup in town. Unlike all the other chains in the area, Santikos is a regional chain based in San Antonio, so for those who believe in buying local, the Silverado is a wise choice.

In recent years, there has been a rise in theatre/bar/eateries. The Austin-based Alamo Drafthouse led the charge with two superb locations. Unfortunately, both are a good distance from the Houston inner loop. Other similar chains have followed. Now there is one in the Town and Country shopping district. This is interesting since at one time, Town and Country had two movie theatres: the AMC Town & Country 6 and Loew’s Town & Country Twin (later a three-plex). Both have been long gone, and the entire Town and Country mall and complex has likewise been razed. In its place is CityCentre, a combination shopping/living area that includes shops, restaurants, and lofts. Studio Movie Grill opened up its theatre eatery last year.

These and others helped to counterbalance the theatres that closed, the most recent being the downtown Angelika Film Centre, which shuttered its doors on August 29 of last year. This came as a serious blow to Houston’s art house film scene, which had already lost the Greenway Theatre earlier in the decade. After Angelika’s closing, AMC announced that it would try to fill the void at its Studio 30 Theatre. To date, the Angelika space is still unoccupied, with rumors that everyone from Alamo Drafthouse to Regal Entertainment will be the next tenant.

Another closing was that of the Hollywood Video store, housed inside the gutted interior of the former Tower Theatre on Westheimer. It shut its doors on November 2009. The outside marquee has since been restored, and according to a June article in swamplot.com, it may find new life as a Tex-Mex restaurant. It is apparently a joint project of Bill Floyd and Bryan Caswell of Reef, along with former Houston Press restaurant critic Robb Walsh.

AMC had its own casualty with The AMC Meyer Park Theatre, which closed in May of 2007. It originally opened in 1987.

The surprise closing was that of the Cinemark Tinseltown Westchase, at Beltway 8 and Richmond. It opened in 1996 and closed in January 2008, to make room for an office building. The theatre was still doing brisk business at the time of it’s closing. Go figure.

The cornerstone for independent filmmakers, the Aurora Picture Show, moved out of its 1920s church building at 800 Aurora Street, having outgrown the space. The building has not gone unused: Cressandra Thibodeaux, curator and live-in owner, has screened films at the location including “Latino indies.”

After sitting abandoned for many years, the Santa Rosa Theatre (later known as the Star, an XXX house) was razed. Few people noticed that it was gone. It was originally built in 1946.

On the other hand, the old 1929 Heights Theatre on 19th Street found new life as Gallery M Squared The space has done quite well, serving not only as a venue for art events and exhibitions, but also as a rentable space for galas, proms, and other special events.

Many of the city’s theatres experienced temporary closures on September 12, 2008, when Hurricane Ike blew through the town. Of course, the storm shut down most everything else as well.

Most of the attention over the last four years has been on the River Oaks Theatre and the Alabama Theatre/Bookstop, following the media attention on their possible demise. To date, the River Oaks is still in operation. Barnes & Noble shuttered the Bookstop after opening its new store on West Gray (another source of irritation for preservationists when the historic deco shopping center there was torn down to make room for the bookstore). The old Alabama Theatre still remains vacant, and a rumor has circulated about a clause in a lease agreement for the center that prevents the former cinema from being used as a theatre exhibition space. It’s future is, at present, uncertain, however an unsettling report last March inCulturemap.com indicated that plans detailing a near total interior demolition of the Alabama were prepared at the specific request of Weingarten. This does not bode well for the 1939 theatre that once ran 70mm epics like “The Empire Strikes Back.”

A few of the movers and shakers of the Houston theatre scene have since passed away. Howard Skelton died on August 15, 2007. He was the Manager for Interstate and Plitt Theatres, including the Delman Theatre. Ray Boriski and Al Zarzana operated a number of theatres in town, individually and together, including the Al*Ray Theatre, one of Houston’s older art houses. Zarzana’s last theatre was the Garden Oaks. He passed away in 2009. Ray died in 2006.

One can only hope for the best in 2011. This is especially true of the Tower Theatre (which may have a promising future, based on advance scuttlebutt in the media) and the Alabama (don’t hold your breath). We will have to wait and see.

In the meantime, use the power of your patronizing and go see a movie at your favorite theatre of choice. And mark your calendar for the Oscars on February 27.

Houston’s Astro Playground

Ed Henderson and David Welling stand behind the minature model of the AstroWorld complex, as it was originally designed in 1968. The model is currently on exhibit at Optical Project.

Houston has seen a lot of its entertainment venues rise and fall. For the most part, these have been in the form of individual buildings, but in 2006, a whole world was leveled.

It went by the name of AstroWorld.

When it opened in 1968, I was ten years old. I went there during its first year, and lost count of the subsequent times I went back, usually being dropped off by my parents for a full day. It was a magical place, with only a fraction of the rides being “thrill rides.” This was very different from the AstroWorld that closed in 2005, with a long roster of roller coasters and similar thrillers.

It, along with its neighboring water park, WaterWorld, was razed the year following its closure. As of today, it still remains… (drum roll, please)… a vacant lot. A very big vacant lot, and used as a parking area on occasions such as the rodeo. Hey, good use of property, guys!

A recent exhibition opened with a unique bit of AstroWorld memorabilia. When the park was first constructed, Ed Henderson was commissioned to build a miniature three-dimensional model of the entire park. Henderson has had quite a career, from working for Walt Disney in California, to Judge Roy Hofheinz in Houston. He also ran the State Theatre on Washington at one time (and spoke to me about it at length when I was first starting work on the Cinema Houston book).

After the closure of AstroWorld, Henderson found his old miniature in a warehouse and has spent the last few years on its restoration. The replica is currently on exhibit through December 11 at Optical Project, 1125 East 11th Street. Regular viewing hours are noon to 5 p.m. Saturdays. For information, call 713-863-7112.

Goodbye Angelika

From the very beginning of the 20^th century, downtown Houston had a movie theatre. Up through the end of the twenties, going to the movies meant going downtown, since practically all of the theatres were located there. These ranged from the simple nickelodeons to the grand movie palaces: the Majestic, Loew’s State, Metropolitan, and Kirby.

This came to an end in the seventies. One by one, all the grand palaces were torn down. Even newer ones such as the Allen Center shut their doors (Only the Majestic Metro, survived, but it had to sit dormant through another decade before finding new life as a special events hall).

After a long drought, the downtown areea regained a movie theatre in 1997. This was the Angelika Film Center – but following its thirteen-year run, the drought is back. The Houston Angelika is no more.

The theatre shut its doors on August 29^th without any advance notice. Those who showed up to see a movie found doors and windows taped over with brown paper. As its official statement, the Angelika offered the following on its corporate website:

“After 13 years of continued service to the Houston community, the Angelika’s lease has been terminated by the Angelika’s landlord, Bayou Place Limited Partnership, an affiliate of the Cordish Company. Since it opened in 1997, the Angelika has been committed to exhibiting the best in specialty, foreign, and independent films to Houston film lovers. Houston has been an important market for Angelika and its family of theatres for years. The management and staff of the Angelika Film Center have enjoyed being a part of Houston’s Theatre District and we leave Bayou Place with the greatest appreciation to all those who have supported the Angelika for so many years.”

Meanwhile, a statement by Gary Rhodes, general manager of Bayou Place Limited Partnership, was issued:

“The Angelika Film Center had a terrific run at Bayou Place over the past 13 years. We had hoped that they would stay longer but unfortunately, after saying they would commit, Angelika changed its mind. It is amazing to think how far downtown Houston has evolved since Bayou Place first opened and helped spark the rebirth of downtown. Bayou Place is extremely proud to have a played a leadership role in the renaissance of downtown and looks forward to being a part of the community for years and years to come. We will be upgrading Angelika with an operator of the highest quality and we will be making the announcement shortly.”

Apparently, there had been rumors floating around suggesting such a possibility, and many of the grand aspirations of the theatre had fallen apart. The lobby café, which once offered bottles of Dom Perignon (for a mere $175 a bottle), had closed down years before. There had been air conditioning and heating problems, and there was the key issue that had been in place for many Houstonians since day one: why drive all the way downtown and pay for parking when there are so many other theatres to choose from?

Of course, for those living and working downtown, that was never an issue, and its location in the Theatre district, neighboring the Verizon Wireless Theatre, Alley Theatre, Jones Hall, and Hobby Center was perfect… and for art film lovers, releases were usually limited to a single theatre.

As suggested by Rhodes, downtown has not lost a theatre, just the operating company, and many are hoping that someone like Alamo will step up to the plate. In the meantime, Houston is without yet another art house. With patrons still grieving over the loss of the Greenway Theatre, this now leaves only the River Oaks and Museum of Fine Arts as the key torchbearers for foreign and indie films.

Marion Luntz, curator of film and video of Museum of Fine Arts Houston, commented that MFAH may be able to help fill the void: “I will be speaking with distributors and seeing if we can rearrange some of our commitments later in the fall to fit some of their new releases in.” Luntz encountered the closing firsthand, having gone down to the Angelika on Sunday morning (on her birthday, no less) for a noon screening of Animal Kingdom. Instead, she found the latest in a long line of shuttered cinemas.

Some have noted that this is indicative of all that is wrong with the city. Houston loses its independent art house, it is losing its indie college radio (KTRU) but it is gaining Wal-Marts in neighborhoods that don’t want them.

As to the Angelika space, only time will tell what will end up in the space. What is clear is that in a town of this size, an additional venue for the independent voice is desperately needed. What we don’t need is a mainstream house showing movies that can also be seen in twenty-five other theatres around the city.

The day the music died

What if there was a film and no one came?

It might have been the greatest movie ever made, but unless there was a way to present it, a venue to show it in, then its impact would be worth nothing. Art needs a home, and without this, it is all for naught. For the motion picture, it begins with the theatre.

So it is with all forms of art, be it painting, live drama, photography, or music – and it is here that the usual themes of this blog are abandoned… sort of.

You see, Houston is in danger of losing yet another of its creative venues, and while some say that this is already a done deal, it is worth bringing up, simply because for far too long, this town has lost one institution after another.

I speak of the proposed sale of Rice radio station KTRU to the University of Houston, with plans to turn it into an NPR affiliate ­– and the subsequent death of the college radio format that has been in place for decades.

The events have already been well reported in a number of media outlets. Jeannie Kever of the Houston Chronicle covered it on August 17 – UH board considers plan to buy Rice radio station – along with a follow-up article – UH deal finding no fans at KTRU: Staff ‘totally opposed’ as sale of radio station moves forward. Likewise, Mark Brubaker at Houston Press covered the opening volleys as a growing effort is made to keep this from happening – We Want the Airwaves.

Because so much has already been noted on this, I will not go into the details, except to note the parallels here to far too many other similar local events, and how this is yet another example of Houston’s biggest problem: as much as it wants to be a great cultural city, it keeps destroying it’s own artistic culture.

This can be found in the architecture now absent in the city, from the Shamrock Hotel (torn down in 1986 and still mourned a quarter century later) to the many movie theatres that are now gone. Much of what I have written about is a direct result of their absence, and in many respects, they are just as important an art form as the arts they serve to exhibit. As each one has fallen, Houston’s importance as an architectural city and as proponent of the arts is diminished.

For me, KTRU would be a tragic loss, and one that I would miss. It has been one of the programmed buttons on my car radio for as long as I have listened to that station, beginning in the late 1970s. And like many Houstonians, part of my musical education has come from that station – music, I should add, that would not get airplay on any other radio station in town. KTRU has served as a springboard for many up-and-coming bands that need a venue to reach the public. Perhaps the most appealing aspect of all this is the station’s complete air of spontaneity – as I have found time and time again, I never know what to expect when I tune it. It is always different, always fresh, and always unexpected – and that is a benchmark for a learning experience. Likewise, the student body that operated the station over the years have crafted their own learning experience in the ways of media and communication.

On Friday afternoon, it was a top point of discussion on KTRU’s neighbor on the radio dial, Pacifica KPFT. While it makes perfect sense for KPFT to be a venue for discussion of how to help save KTRU, it says something about the nature of non-commercial radio and their common bonds. You would not hear anything like that on any of the majors.

Already, there is a growing movement to save KTRU, with options in which concerned Houstonians can play a part. Visit www.savektru.org for a complete list that includes links, petition drives, and who to contact.

There is also an article on Texas Watchdog that suggests the sale process did not conform to the open meetings act. That article can be found here: Generic agenda item for Regents meeting did not name KTRU radio station; descriptions must be specific under Open Meetings Act.

In may ways, this is the classic David vs. Goliath story, with the underdog going against a force way beyond his means. Sadly, Goliath wins most of the time, and each time that happens, Houston is the poorer for it.

Shame. Shame. Shame.

Speaking of silents

What are movie theatres without the movies to show in them?

For me, the interest in movie theatres is directly tied into movies themselves. I admit it, unabashed, that I am a hopeless cinema addict, no apologies. And while there are many genres that I have an affinity for – classic film, foreign, art, film noir, science fiction, horror, as well as current fare – my true love is in silent film. True, this is a niche genre, considering that the silents died out over 80 years ago. But what I love about this period is that in a span of roughly 30 years – from the latter 1890s to about 1928 – a complete art form was created, one that incorporated all the existing forms of the time: art, photography, stage drama, set design, writing, and music into a very new one.

It is estimated that about 80 to 90 percent of all the films made before 1930 are lost. Yet the interest in silents is greater than ever before, and there are still films from that period that are being rediscovered. A good case in point is from earlier last month, with the announcement of 75 “rediscovered” films from the New Zealand Film Archive and the National Film Preservation Foundation. Heading the list is John Ford’s full-length feature Upstream (1927). Other titles include Maytime (1923) with Clara Bow and the first surviving film directed by and starring Mabel Normand.

Another landmark discovery was a print of Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, located in a vault in Buenos Aires, which included footage not seen since its original release in 1927. The new restoration of this film will be shown at the San Francisco Silent Film Festival (www.silentfilm.org), which runs from July 15-18 at the Castro Theatre in San Francisco. Other films to be shown there include Häxan (1922), L’heureuse mort (1924), The Iron Horse (1924), The Strong Man (1926), The Flying Ace (1926), The Woman DisputedRotaie (1928), (1929), The Shakedown (1929), Diary of a Lost Girl (1929), Man with the Movie Camera (1929), Big Business (1929), and A Spray of Plum Blossoms (1931). Metropolis will have its DVD/Blu-Ray release later this year.

Other film festivals pay equal tribute to the silents. Scheduled the same weekend as the San Francisco Festival is Slapsticon (www.slapsticon.org) in Arlington, Virginia, a festival that specializes in early and silent comedy. Among the highlights to the festival will be a previously unknown Charles Chaplin performance in the recently recovered Keystone comedy A Thief Catcher (1914). While many of the popular names are represented at the festival – Buster Keaton, Harold Lloyd, Charley Chase, Harry Langdon, and Roscoe Arbuckle, to name a few – Slapsticon is a showcase for the lesser-known names such as Larry Semon, Lupino Lane, Max Linder, Billy West, Bobby Vernon, Snub Pollard, Ford Sterling, Andy Clyde, and Raymond Griffith.
And on Labor Day weekend in September, Cinecon 46 will take place in Hollywood, also showcasing a full roster of silent and early talkies (www.cinecon.org).

Meanwhile, more titles than ever before are finding their way to DVD and Blu-Ray. The restored edition of Metropolis will be released in November by Kino (www.kino.com). For those unfamiliar with Kino, it is one of the leading names associated with quality silent film on video and DVD. As a general rule, if a title released by Kino, it is oftentimes the best version available in terms of picture quality, music, and overall restoration. For anyone interested in silent film, browsing through the Kino catalog is akin to walking into a candy store.

Milestone (www.milestonefilms.com) has also been a top distributor in silent titles, from the Mary Pickford collection to Beyond the Rocks (1922), a film long considered lost, starring Rudolph Valentino and Gloria Swanson.

Another name associated with top-notch silent film DVD releases is Flicker Alley (www.flickeralley.com). Their most recent release is Chicago (1927), based on the 1926 hit Broadway play by Maurine Watkins, which also spawned the Oscar-winning 2002 film.

There are also a number of smaller distributors of silent titles to home video, such as  Grapevine Video (www.grapevinevideo.com), Sunrise Silents (www.sunrisesilents.com) and Unknown Video (www.unknownvideo.com). Picture quality varies from film to film, which is to be expected depending on the source material, however in many cases, these is the only sources for many of these titles.

Local exhibits of silents can be found on a semi regular basis at Discovery Green (www.discoverygreen.org) in association with KUHF Houston Public Radio. Their free presentations include live musical accompaniment by regional musicians. Their last showing was The Lost World (1925) with music by the Green Hornet Project.

And, of course, there is Turner Classic Movies (www.tcm.com) with their Silent Sundays program, and their ongoing efforts for film preservation.

Having seen hundreds of silent films over the years, I have found that my appetite for these cinematic relics has only increased. The more I see, the more I want to see those films that I have not yet seen. And as mentioned before, there is a good 80 to 90% that I will never have the chance to see, simply because they have been lost to the ravages of time.

So for those lost titles such as Lon Chaney in London After Midnight or Theda Bara’s Cleopatra, I can only hope that somewhere, they are sitting in a vault just waiting to be rediscovered and shown to an eager public.

When bicycles and theatres meet

The 1910 Majestic Theatre

Houston has had its fair share of notable people who were instrumental in its movie theatres. The list includes architects, builders, owners, managers, philanthropists, and visionaries. Architect Alfred Finn and businessman Jesse Jones built a number of theatres in the twenties­–along with hospitals, office buildings, and the San Jacinto monument. Dallas theatre man Karl Hoblitzelle founded a theatre empire by the name of Interstate. Will Horwitz ran a small but influential chain of local theatres, but this was eclipsed by his humanitarian efforts during the Great Depression. The list goes on and on.

These people were well documented over the years in the local media, so it was easy to include their stories in the book, Cinema Houston. However, there have been many others who played a part, and whose stories have been forgotten. This was perhaps the biggest obstacle in working on the book. Even now, there are still stories that surface that–had they come to light a few years earlier–would have been part of the book.

Here is one that has recently surfaced, courtesy of Massachusetts writer and historian David V. Herlihy in his book, The Lost Cyclist.

In the late 1880s, Frank Lenz of Pittsburgh, a renowned high-wheel racer and long-distance tourist, dreamed of cycling around the world. He finally got his chance by recasting himself as a champion of the downsized “safety-bicycle” with inflatable tires, the forerunner of the modern road bike that was about to become wildly popular. In the spring of 1892 he quit his accounting job and gamely set out west to cover twenty thousand miles over three continents as a correspondent for Outing magazine. Two years later, after having survived countless near disasters and unimaginable hardships, he approached Europe for the final leg. He never made it. His mysterious disappearance in eastern Turkey sparked an international outcry and compelled Outing to send William Sachtleben, another larger-than-life cyclist, on Lenz’s trail. This untold story culminates with Sachtleben’s heroic effort to bring Lenz’s accused murderers to justice, even as troubled Turkey teetered on the edge of collapse. (from the liner notes)

The Houston connection to all of this is in William Sachtleben, who later moved to the city to become the Manager of Karl Hoblitzelle’s second Majestic Theatre, and later played a part in local Interstate operations when the third Majestic on Rusk opened in 1923.

David Herlihy will be in Houston on Thursday, June 10 for a special book signing. 7 p.m., Blue Willow Book Shop, 14532 Memorial Drive.