|
|
 
|
|
Author
|
Topic: nice history of Austin TX Paramount theater
|
Harold Hallikainen
Jedi Master Film Handler
Posts: 906
From: Denver, CO, USA
Registered: Aug 2009
|
posted 11-02-2014 11:39 AM
web page
The year was 1980, and the Paramount Theatre on 713 Congress Avenue was struggling for its life. The theatre was 65 years old, and the former vaudeville house reopened in September after a yearlong renovation. At the same time, Burt Reynolds' "Smokey and the Bandit II" was No. 1 at the box office. The Paramount wasn't showing the Texas-based cowboy comedy, even though it could use the money.
A young actress had a friend who worked as a manager at the Paramount, and the theater desperately needed volunteers. The theatre had little to no money, and the electricity was about to be turned off. As a product of the Hutto cotton patches, the young actress rolled up her sleeves, grabbed a bucket, and hit the streets to raise money for the ailing theatre. Her act to grab a bucket and go, is just one story of many.
People from all walks of life - ushers in red bow ties, vaudeville performers, university students and even Dolly Parton - want to keep the lights on and the show alive. It's the pulse of the theatre. After nearly a century, the Paramount Theatre has seen its fair share of urban legends and famous faces, to fears of the looming wrecking ball, but a behind-the-scenes look shows the courage of a little theatre that could.
Act 1
THE HEYDAY OF VAUDEVILLE
The first theatre review in Austin was published in the winter of 1850. Austin's population was a meager 629 people. A group of local young men, clad in moss wigs and blackened faces, performed a minstrel show at the wooden Texas State Capitol.
Despite its first taste of theatre, the Civil War isolated Austin from touring theatre companies for political and economic reasons. It wasn't until the emergence of the railroad, in 1870, that isolation was finally broken.
From there, Austin's theatre count continued to rise. There were sixteen different performance places. Halls, opera houses and theatres called Austin home.
Despite their abundance, magic tricks and ladies wielding feathers were missing from the theatre scene.
Austin's population, in 1915, was 32,368 people. Imagine men in top hats and ladies who attend charity lunches.
With the population rising, Austin society craved highbrow entertainment and would censor any performances that would question moral sensibilities. However, a new type of entertainment would take center stage in Austin and knock their top hats off.
On Oct. 11, 1915, the Majestic Theatre opened its doors. Built in eight months by Austin businessman Ernest Nalle, the cost to build the neoclassical theatre was $150,000. The Majestic, a Publix Theatre chain, was leased to five local men who operated it for the next 10 years.
Located four blocks south of the now stone and cast iron Texas State Capitol, the Majestic was built by and large to be a vaudeville house.
Even though the Hancock Opera House on West Pecan [6th] Street was still considered the place for legitimate theatre, the Majestic made vaudeville more fashionable.
For 10 or 20 cents, you could see magic tricks by Harry Houdini and burlesque shows by Sally Rand.
Harry "Handcuff" Houdini captivated audiences at the Majestic Theatre in 1916. The Hungarian-American illusionist graced the Majestic stage with hands and feet handcuffed, needles coming out of his mouth and with his feet off the floor. Quite an endearing way to introduce yourself to an audience. Houdini had the charm and grace, even with his hands and feet tied.
One trick Houdini performed at the Majestic was the "east Indian Needle Trick." Austin resident Katharine Hart recalls her time as a 10 year old girl sitting in her parents reserved seats.
Sitting in a wooden chair, the hot air circulating by the ceiling fans, Hart watched Houdini carefully swallow and then pull 100 needles on 20 yards of thread out of his mouth. The moment was palpable.
Hart watched on, fully mesmerized by what she had seen. Houdini in a suit, standing triumphantly, his hair wet-like and parted down the middle.
It wasn't until a more sophisticated friend revealed the magician's secret: The thread and needles were already hidden under his lip. He never swallowed it.
Magic tricks revealed, today, Houdini's magic lives on. Urban legend has it that Houdini created a small hole at the tip top of the theatre for his levitation trick that required a rope and pulley.
The hole was never filled, and some say the hook is still hanging inside of it.
During the roaring '20s, another illusionist performed at the Majestic Theatre.
Burlesque dancer and actress Sally Rand brought her "ostrich feather dance" to the Majestic, and gave quite a tantalizing performance, until a young buck in production gave her magic trick away.
For her performance, Rand would wear a flesh-colored body suit. Using huge ostrich feathers, Rand would strategically place one fan over the other, as she twirled around.
During her performance, the actress always had a low blue light on her at all times. With the feathers and light, it gave the illusion that she was, well, naked.
Charlie Root was that young buck on that fateful night.
He was operating lights. Rand was performing.
The orchestra played slow melodic music. Rand's face became serene as she put the feathered fans over herself, one after another after another. Suddenly, she stopped. Feathers down. Her performance came to a screeching halt.
Looking out into the audience, Rand started to curse under her feathery breath. She glided off the Majestic stage, and at a quick pace she began to walk down the aisle of the Majestic, cursing along the way.
Every head in the audience turning, watching her go.
Where was she going? Why did she stop?
Her wavy updo bobbed along, as if agreeing with every foul thing that came out of her mouth. She finally made it to the lighting booth and began to curse Root out. Like a sailor.
After she was done, she made her way down the aisle and began to perform again, feathers up, as if nothing had happened.
Root hit her with a white light.
Hitting her with the wrong light might not seem like that big of a deal, but for Rand's performance it meant everything. Under a white light, her body stocking became visible. She was no longer naked. The mystery was gone.
She was arrested four times that day for perceived indecent exposure. The police thought she was naked. As you can guess, it was her most famous appearance.
The lease was up for the five men who operated the Majestic. Management began to change, and fears of bankruptcy set in, until a market crash led to a brighter future.
Act II
THERE'S NO BUSINESS LIKE SHOW BUSINESS
Wall Street crashed, in 1929, but it did little to stop the growing theatre presence in the South -- at first. The Majestic Theatre was renamed the Paramount Theatre in 1930. Publix became a subsidiary of Paramount Pictures.
Riding on the coattails of the popular vaudeville shows, the Paramount underwent glamorous renovations. With financial despair in the air, the show went on.
The wooden chairs were replaced in favor of upholstered seats, the sound system became state-of-the art, the six opera boxes were torn out, a majestic sign (also called a blade) with a sunburst was put on the facade and the theatre became air conditioned. Those plush red seats, that sometimes squeak when you fold the chair to sit, are the chairs you watch performances in today. The renovations cost almost as much as the original theater, giving it a dignified Art Deco look.
One of the selling points of the theatre was the AC: Pay a couple cents to get off the hot streets, but even that could not save the theater from the depths of a financial meltdown.
As the Great Depression reared its ugly head, attendance started to decline, which led to the bankruptcy of many theatres across the nation. The Paramount was almost one of them.
The Paramount had its first brush with financial failure in January 1933. Three years after its expensive renovations. The theatre went into receivership.
The first white knight of the Paramount soon came to the theatre's rescue.
Karl Hoblitzelle began a vaudeville empire in the South. In the '20s, he owned theaters in Texas, Mississippi, Louisiana and Arkansas.
He was the founder and president of the Interstate Amusement Company.
As a good 'ol boy from Missouri, Hoblitzelle dropped out of grammar school to support his family, and later, would drop out of retirement to save his friends.
Before Black Thursday, Hoblitzelle had plans to retire. He sold most of his theatre interests to RKO Pictures, and then he set off to Europe with his wife.
When he returned, the depression was hurting the major studios. Many of Hoblitzelle's former employees, and friends, would be out of a job.
He wasn't going to let this happen.
Once again, another person rolled up their sleeves to save the theatre.
He organized all the Texas theatres owned by RKO and Paramount Pictures, and he formed two companies: The Interstate Theater Circuit and the Texas Consolidated Theatres. He served as president of both.
The man single-handedly saved theatres across the state. The Paramount was back in business.
Hoblitzelle made vaudeville a more family oriented and wholesome form of entertainment. He also created a "vaude-film" policy. The vaudeville acts were balanced with motion pictures.
The pioneering theatre man maximized his selling potential in Austin by bringing the wholesome entertainment he promised: The finest local ballerinas, mystery flicks for high school students and some of the biggest stars in the business.
In 1935, the 'First Lady of the American Theatre,' Helen Hayes, was accused of snubbing local interviews after her superb live performance in the three act play, "Mary of Scotland."
Despite her reported snub, Hayes must have been fond of Austin.
In 1982, Hayes founded the National Wildflower Research Center, now the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center, with friend Lady Bird Johnson.
When America entered World War II, the Paramount played a part in securing funding for the war.
Hoblitzelle's slogan was "dedicated to community service."
The Paramount was a huge promoter of war bonds. It sold $8.4 million in war bonds from the first drive in 1942 until the very end of the war in 1945. It also ran films to recruit and train people for the war. "Paris Under Ground," "G.I. Joe" and "Pride of Marines" were all shown at the Paramount.
The war did not prevent other high-profile entertainers from performing at the Paramount.
On Jan. 7, 1941, an A-list movie star came to Austin's show row to restart her failing career. The starlet left Hollywood for a stage project after the movie industry labeled her "box office poison."
There were whispers that she wouldn't be able to make the Southwest leg of her tour due to filming schedules, however, Hepburn kept her word. The play was a huge hit, and it played a major part in recreating her public image. Eventually, the play turned into a film after Hepburn acquired the film rights. It was nominated for six Academy Awards.To rejuvenate her career, Katharine Hepburn was set to star in the new play, "The Philadelphia Story."
By her own doing, Hepburn was no longer box office poison. Below is an original playbill from the Paramount.
After the war was over, there was a postwar chocolate shortage. University of Texas announcer Wally Pryor, known as the "Voice of the Longhorns," was an usher at the Paramount in 1947. He would hide chocolate rations for his friends, most of them University of Texas swimmers. Pryor died on March 1, 2014. He was 86 years old.
The Great Depression and World War II were over, but another threat to the theatre's security was near.
Slowly, but surely, the "vaude-film" policy started to falter. Motion pictures brought on the slow death of vaudeville and stage productions. The Paramount could only play one movie at a time, unlike other multi-screen movie theaters that were built specifically to show film. Film killed the vaudeville star, and the suburbs would soon kill downtown Austin.
What was next for the Paramount Theatre?
Act III
THE RISE OF THE SUBURBS
By 1940, Hoblitzelle acquired over 150 theatres in Texas alone.
To the outside world, it seemed like Hoblitzelle was creating a monopoly.
It wasn't long until the federal government stepped in to investigate. The Department of Justice began to investigate allegations of antitrust in the motion picture industry as a whole.
In 1948, the DOJ issued the "Paramount Judgment."
Essentially, the judgment was an antitrust ruling that made every studio in Hollywood classify itself as one of three operations: Production, distribution or exhibition.
Most studios opted to get out of ownership and maintenance of the theaters they owned. Paramount Pictures still held onto the Paramount Theatre.
Hoblitzelle sold 100 percent of his Interstate Theater Circuit stock to the new "exhibition arm" of Paramount Pictures, but he still maintained subsidiary control of the theater.
He remained the president of the company that operated the Paramount until his death in 1967. A new, darker era was about to begin for the Paramount Theatre.
New management, coupled with new technology, now threatened the theatre. The Civil Rights Movement served as the backdrop.
The Paramount saw new management with ABC Interstate Theatres, and the '60s saw a rise with modernization. Plainly, people did not like historical buildings, and they tried to cover them up -- plainly.
People would put metal over the brick and rip out signs to modernize buildings.
For some mysterious reason, the sign (blade) on the front of the Paramount was taken down for "renovations." No one knows the real reason why it was taken down, and no one knows where it went.
Cue conspiracy theories.
To this day, the good folks of the Paramount still get calls from people who have spotted the blade from Amarillo to Seattle. For the Paramount's 100th birthday, they plan to fully restore the blade.
It wasn't just building getting the modern treatment, black and white television would soon follow its modern footsteps.
On June 25, 1951, 400 guests watched the first commercial broadcast in color. It was considered a "turning point in broadcasting history." From there, television only became more popular. By 1972, half of American households had a color television set.
During this time, the Paramount was largely considered a movie house. Then, a switch happened. Americans stopped going to theaters. Especially, downtown theaters.
Downtown Austin was buzzing with politically charged activity.
On Feb. 13, 1961, nearly 450 "segregationists" targeted the Paramount in a series of citywide stand-ins. They did not want theatres to be integrated. Up until this point, the Paramount was a segregated theatre. African-American patrons could only sit in the upper balcony.
Their efforts failed.
The Austin Chamber of Commerce adopted a resolution recommending the "immediate and complete integration of all public facilities." A headline in The Austin Statesman (The Austin American-Statesman) read, "City Action Is Praised." That was on June 13, 1963.
Despite civil rights advancements, potential audience members would rather sit at home and watch television than trek downtown.
Thanks to a little box with a screen.
By the '70s, the once revered Paramount Theatre became a seedy B movie house.
The theatre that once had powerhouses - Houdini, Rand, Hayes and Hepburn - on the marquee, now showed kung fu and exploitation films.
ABC Interstate played a large part in the decline.The company wasn't taking care of the theatre.
Theatres like the Paramount were closing left and right across the nation. The Paramount was on its last leg.
A recent University of Texas graduate was visiting family in Houston.
During his time there, he caught a show at the Pacific Theatre. He had a funny bone, he used to do Bill Cosby impressions, and he was a Radio Television Film major -- emphasis on film.
Then, a switch happened. He thought about the Paramount in Austin.
What happened to that theatre? Did it too have a stage like the one in Houston?
Headed home, he boarded a flight to Austin.
He made a beeline from the airport to the Paramount. He still remembers the movie playing upon his arrival at three in the afternoon: "Five Fingers of Death," a Bruce Lee movie.
He walked into the darkened theatre.
A handful of guys were in the audience, strewn about. He recalled thinking how sad it felt.
He made his way down the aisle, ninja style, past the curtain and went backstage. No one noticed, or cared, about his snooping.
Then, he came across what he had been hoping for: This theatre had a stage -- a real stage.
John Bernardoni was going to save the Paramount from the "Five Fingers of Death." At the stroke of midnight on April 14, 1975, the ABC Interstate showed its last film.
It looked like the almost 40-year-old theatre would have a second chance by the grace of a man half its age.
Act IV
WE WERE TOO STUPID TO REALIZE IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE
Downtown Austin in the '70s was a quite a sight.
Many buildings were boarded up, and it was a ghost town by 5:30 p.m. A far cry from the downtown we enjoy today.
ABC Interstate was out, Paramount, Inc. was in.
John Bernardoni, along with Charles Eckerman and Stephen Scott, were ready to rescue the theatre from the impending wrecking ball.
They pooled $7,000 of their own money, but quickly went bankrupt in two weeks.
The Paramount was dirty, had worn out seats and it smelled like dead rats.
The boys had a lot of work to do. The only problem: They didn't have any money, contacts or influence in Austin.
Nobody cared about the Paramount Theatre, except for one.
Charlie Root had gone from kid usher to city manager for the seven theatres ran by ABC Interstate.
Remember Charlie?
He was the guy who got a mouthful from Sally Rand after he hit her with the wrong spotlight.
Charlie still cared about the theatre.
The first year of the theatre's rebirth was a struggle. Besides Charlie, most folks in Austin believed the Paramount was an old, broken down theatre.
The boys decided to do three test shows. It was the only way to find out if Austin still cared.
For their inaugural show, they chose jazz musician Dave Brubeck. The reason? All three of them really liked jazz. It was the Paramount's first live show in over a decade.
The night before the Brubeck show, Bernardoni and his partners were cleaning up the filthy theatre.
Well into midnight, they kept at it. With the border lights on, Bernardoni started lowering a curtain from the rafters.
It's called a fire curtain because, in the event of
It's called a fire curtain because, in the event of a fire backstage, it would drop down and block the audience from the flames. The curtain is made of abestos. The pastoral scene is painted on, and the colors are still vibrant because they had no contact with the sun.
As he began to lower it, they realized the curtain he was lowering was the original 1915 fire curtain.
No one knew it was there.
The fire curtain was hidden in the rafters for over 30 years, a piece of the Paramount's history preserved.
The curtain is still there today, but they only bring it down for special occasions.
Needless to say, the Brubeck show was a hit. The audience was levitating. The original fire curtain discovery was a good omen.
Within six months, Paramount, Inc. realized it was not going to make enough money to stay open.
They turned the Paramount into a 501c3 nonprofit organization, applied for Texas and national landmark status and received $1.9 million to restore the theatre to its original condition.
One year later, the Paramount Theatre of the Performing Arts was born, and they celebrated its first anniversary with the return of Dave Brubeck. He was their lucky charm.
Everything was going swimmingly, but there were a few hiccups along the way.
By July 1977, the dressing rooms were still not renovated. The theatre was almost "black listed" by the Actors' Equity Association -- meaning touring theatre companies wouldn't come perform at the Paramount. Bernardoni found a way around the black list to make it work. He always did.
He had a friend who owned a Winnebago dealership.
He had seven of those things jerry-rigged to stay running in the alleyway of the Paramount. You couldn't leave a car running, it was a fire hazard, so an electrician ran a cable under the Winnebagos, connecting them to the theatre as a source of power.
With the new dressing rooms, the all black cast of Guys and Dolls made an appearance at the Paramount to rave reviews.
The Paramount Theatre was on a winning streak.
Act V
THE PARAMOUNT FINDS A SAVIOR IN "THE BEST LITTLE WHOREHOUSE IN TEXAS"
The year was 1980, and the Paramount just reopened from a yearlong renovation.
The opera boxes were back, and with them came a beautiful Roman mural of St. Cecilia, the patron saint of artists and thieves.
Flo Thompson was a young actress when her friend asked her to volunteer at the theatre. After the renovations, the theatre was struggling to pay its bills and could use the help.
Once again, the theatre faced financial failure. By this time, Bernardoni's partners left. "They had the gall to want to eat," Bernardoni said laughingly.
Going back to its original roots, Bernardoni created the concept of a classic film series. It was the bread and butter of the theatre, he said.
Only three theatres in the nation were showing classic films at the time.
Bernardoni showed old films before it was cool to show old films.
The Summer Classic Film Series still runs today. It's a fan favorite.
Paramount tradition: Austin's own Hollywood Walk of
Paramount tradition: Austin's own Hollywood Walk of Fame is underground at the Paramount Theatre. Performers sign their names, along with a message, in a hallway downstairs by the dressing rooms.
(Photo: Gerry Marcelo / KVUE News)
Another fan favorite?
The Texas Tuna plays. Texas Tuna was a series of four comedic plays, all set in a fictional town of Tuna, Texas. The show's stars, Jaston Williams and Joe Sears, have a star outside the Paramount Theatre.
With so many ventures going so well, it was ultimately "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas" that saved the Paramount Theatre.
On a November day, in 1980, Bernardoni got a call from the producer of "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas." The play had an incredible and profitable run on Broadway.
The producer asked if she could rent the Paramount for a month to bring 32 performances to Austin.
It was a show about a whorehouse in La Grange, Texas, and it was choreographed by Texas favorites Tommy Tune and Thommie Walsh. Bernardoni knew it was a no-brainer. "Talk about a target audience," he recalled thinking.
This was the official cover from the world premiere
This was the official cover from the world premiere of "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas."
(Photo: Courtesy of John Bernardoni)
"In the history of the Paramount, going back to 1915 to the present ['80s] I am confident in saying there has never been a production that did a four week run," Bernardoni said.
All 32 performances sold out in a week, and the Paramount only got luckier.
Word on the street was "The Best Little Whorehouse" was going to be made into a film. Bernardoni set his sights on making the world premiere of the movie happen at the Paramount.
After cajoling and corralling, "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas" would have its world premiere at the Paramount Theatre. It was a major win for the theatre. Things were looking up.
July 11, 1982, marked another day that the Paramount Theatre had another shot at life.
“The power of television, of public exposure - it scares me. I swear, I could get the mayor's own children to throw rocks at him. ”
MELVIN P. THORPE IN 'BEST LITTLE WHOREHOUSE IN TEXAS'
The event was broadcast in 156 countries. All eyes were on the Paramount.
The film's stars, Burt Reynolds and Dolly Parton, were both there, shooting the breeze in a closet-sized workroom before the festivities started.
Just two years earlier, "Smokey and the Bandit II" was the No. 1 movie in America, and it wasn't even playing at the Paramount. Now, it was hosting its star at a world premiere.
Dolly had performed at the Paramount in 1977 when she was just starting out. The Paramount paid her $3,000.
“We [Paramount Theatre] can't function without our volunteers. ”
LORI MARTIN, DIRECTOR OF DEVELOPMENT FOR THE PARAMOUNT THEATRE
Flo, the volunteer who hit the streets to raise money for the theatre, played Dolly's mother in the movie "Wild Texas Wind." Flo has been a volunteer at the Paramount for over 30 years. She still works there today.
Over the years, the Paramount Theatre has woven a serendipitous fabric to relate the stories of the people who've passed through its all-knowing doors.
Even though its doors almost closed several times, it's like the Paramount Theatre knew this was its journey all along.
The year was 2014, and the Paramount Theatre was celebrating its life -- here's to you.
| IP: Logged
|
|
|
|
All times are Central (GMT -6:00)
|
|
Powered by Infopop Corporation
UBB.classicTM
6.3.1.2
The Film-Tech Forums are designed for various members related to the cinema industry to express their opinions, viewpoints and testimonials on various products, services and events based upon speculation, personal knowledge and factual information through use, therefore all views represented here allow no liability upon the publishers of this web site and the owners of said views assume no liability for any ill will resulting from these postings. The posts made here are for educational as well as entertainment purposes and as such anyone viewing this portion of the website must accept these views as statements of the author of that opinion
and agrees to release the authors from any and all liability.
|
Home
Printer-friendly view of this topic