BondTO: Dr. No

As the James Bond film series marks its 60th anniversary this year, my wife and I are doing a marathon viewing of all of the Bond flicks, providing an excuse for a series of posts on the movies and Toronto: how they were covered, how they were promoted, where they played, and other related stuff.

Evening Standard, October 4, 1962.

While the first official Bond movie, Dr. No, debuted in British cinemas in October 1962, Torontonians, along with much of North America, had to wait awhile before getting their first big screen glimpse of 007 thanks to an eight-month long lag in release dates.

Daily Telegraph, October 6, 1962.

The People, October 7, 1962.

The Guardian, October 8, 1962.

A trio of opening reviews from the London press.

The week Dr. No opened in Great Britain, writer Hugh MacLennan discussed Fleming’s Bond novels in his “A Writer’s Diary” column for the Toronto Star Syndicate. Here’s how he summed up the literary version of Bond.

For Bond, though he is not a bounder, is unquestionably a cad…He uses with relish every dirty trick in the book from the trained edge of his hand against the Adam’s apple to a harpoon shot into the back of a half-naked man surprising on a springboard. He drinks and swears hard, and every woman between 17 and 25, providing she is slim and not a virgin—the latter point is superfluous because he does not believe virgins exist any more—is his natural prey. Moreover, he leaves them to their fate after he has enjoyed them.

Showcase #43, cover dated March-April 1963. Art by Bob Brown.

Comic book readers received an early glimpse of the movie when Showcase #43 hit newsstands in January 1963. The adaptation was originally published in the UK as part of the Classics Illustrated series, but the American edition wound up with DC Comics. They slotted it in Showcase, an anthology series that over the course of its original 93-issue run from 1956 to 1970 introduced readers to the “Silver Age” versions of the Flash, Green Lantern and the Atom, along with heroes such as the Challengers of the Unknown, Space Ranger, Adam Strange, Rip Hunter, Metal Men, Creeper, Hawk and the Dove, and Bat Lash.

Inside front cover of Showcase #43.

Flipping through the adaptation, what sticks out is the colouring of all black characters as Caucasians. I suspect this was done to satisfy distributors and retailers in the southern US.

Artist Norman Nodel muted the iconic introduction of Ursula Andress coming out of the sea, which was probably far too racy for the educational-minded editors of Classics Illustrated. Nodel’s take is too blandly photorealistic – it would have been interesting if DC had decided to do the adaptation in-house with one of their top regular artists (I’m imagining a gritty Joe Kubert take, an adventurous Alex Toth rendition, or plenty of Gil Kane nostril shots).

Toronto Star, June 25, 1963.

Dr. No made its Toronto debut on June 27, 1963 at Loew’s Yonge Street, a complex which marked its 50th anniversary that year. Today the site is the Elgin and Winter Garden Theatre Centre.

The first title sequence by Maurice Binder. Several elements that will stay throughout the series are already in place: the gun barrel, the silhouettes of women, the presence of Bernard Lee as M and Lois Maxwell as Moneypenny in the credits (I’ll cover Lois Maxwell’s Toronto connections in a future post).

Globe and Mail, June 22, 1963.

Review by David Cobb, Toronto Star, June 29, 1963.

We enjoyed Dr. No as a first step, but couldn’t resist doing some Mystery Science Theatre 3000 style riffing at certain moments, mainly during Jack Lord’s first few appearances as Felix Leiter…

…which involved humming the Hawaii Five-O theme (which was only six years away for Lord) and making “Book ’em Dano” jokes.

Toronto Star, June 27, 1963.

For its Toronto opening, Dr. No was accompanied by two vintage Tom and Jerry cartoons. Puss Gets the Boot (1940) was the pair’s debut, though they didn’t receive their names until their second appearance. Here’s Leonard Maltin’s description of their initial appearance.

Tom (or Jasper, as he’s called here) is mangy, moon-faced, and designed with a plethora of drawing details (no less than three eyebrows, for instance)., He’s convincingly real as he chases after the mouse, harassing his prey with undisguised delight—and equally credible when he cowers in fear, certain that the smashing of a vase or dish is going to get him kicked outside. The mouse bears a strong resemblance to the later Jerry, although this one is skinnier and more angular than the cuter version that evolved. However, he already possesses the range of expression—registering everything from mischievous glee to cocky pride—that made him so endearing. There is no dialogue between the cat and mouse, and none is necessary. The situations establish their adversary relationship, and the animation pinpoints their character traits.

The other cartoon, 1942’s Fine Feathered Friend, saw the pair engage in henhouse hijinks.

Why would cartoons over 20 years old be paired with a potential blockbuster? United Artists, which distributed Dr. No, had no connection to any theatrical cartoon studio at that point, and would not until it began releasing DePatie-Freleng’s Pink Panther series in 1964. MGM (which had once been owned by Loew’s Inc.) closed its cartoon studio in 1957 but tested the waters for a Tom and Jerry revival via 13 shorts produced in Czechoslovakia by American director Gene Deitch in 1961 and 1962. Despite the obvious low budgets of the Deitch shorts, they were popular enough for MGM to hire Warner Brothers veteran Chuck Jones to produced a new series, which reached theatres with Pent-House Mouse in July 1963.

Toronto Star, June 27, 1963.

The major blockbuster opening that week in Toronto was Cleopatra at the University on Bloor Street. The uncredited writer sounds disappointment people weren’t tying up traffic or acting like screaming teens to get a good view of VIPs like recently retired Broadview MP/former Diefenbaker cabinet minister George Hees.

The prediction that Cleopatra would run two years didn’t hold up. A quick scan of the January 4, 1965 Star shows it wasn’t playing at any of the listed first- and second-run theatres, even though other films released around the same time in 1963 (such as Donovan’s Reef and The List of Adrian Messenger) were still kicking around.

Toronto Star, June 29, 1963.

The following week saw another legendary film make its premiere: The Great Escape.

Additional sources: Of Mice and Magic by Leonard Maltin (New York: Plume, 1987); and the October 6, 1962 edition of the Calgary Herald.

Farina Takes the Stage

Originally published as a Historicist column on Torontoist on September 4, 2010. Warning: black stereotypes written during the 1930s are included in this piece.

The Telegram, February 12, 1932.

Like children elsewhere across the continent, young Toronto moviegoers in the 1920s and 1930s eagerly awaited the next installment of the Our Gang series of shorts. The adventures of an ever-changing cast of rough-and-tumble kids entertained audiences during their original theatrical run from 1922 to 1944 and in reruns on televisions (often as The Little Rascals) for decades afterwards. Among the most popular performers, and one who bridged the silent and sound eras, was pigtailed Allen “Farina” Hoskins. The attention given to the Toronto stop of the vaudeville act he toured with after departing Our Gang in the early 1930s provides a glimpse into both his drawing power and the stereotypical manner in which non-white performers were depicted by the city’s media.

Legend has it that Allen Clayton Hoskins earned his stage name from an executive at Hal Roach Studios who felt the chubby toddler was as agreeable as a bowl of cereal (on set, and in scripts, he went by his normal nickname, “Sonny”). He starting acting in the Our Gang series just short of his second birthday in 1922 and became one of the series’ anchors within a few years, often being featured prominently in promotional material. Producer Hal Roach felt that Hoskins was “one of the finest natural actors we had in the gang. He could cry big tears in just a few seconds. You’d think his heart was breaking, then they’d cut the camera and he’d be back playing again.” Farina’s exact gender was not made clear for many years, a situation that was later repeated during Billie “Buckwheat” Thomas’s first few years in the series in the mid-1930s. By his final season in the series, Hoskins was the highest-paid member of the ensemble, earning $350 per week at a time when new recruits earned forty dollars.

Having grown out of Our Gang after 1931’s Fly My Kite, Hoskins and his younger sister Janey (a.k.a Mango) developed the vaudeville act that brought them to Toronto. Their engagement began on February 12, 1932 with a Friday night spot as a special attraction at the Imperial Theatre (now the Canon) amid the “Co-Eds” revue and opening night for the William Powell film High Pressure. The next morning, they performed at a matinee at the Imperial, then made brief appearances for adoring fans at two Kresge stores along Danforth Avenue.
The Star provided a teaser of their appearance:

Farina, with the eyes and corkscrew curls, the personification of inferiority complexity, who was a laugh in so many of the famous Our Gang Comedies, will be at the Imperial tomorrow in a big whoopee song, comedy and dance offering. Little sister Mango will assist the popular Farina in making this a thumb-nail whoopee spectacle. Few actors at seven can boast that they were knocking ‘em dead at three. Farina could but doesn’t.

Allen “Farina” Hoskins signs his copy of the Just Kids Safety Club membership card as his sister Janey (Mango) looks on. The Globe, February 13, 1932.

In terms of press coverage, the limited amount printed in the Globe would be considered the most palatable today. No derogatory terms were used in the paper’s brief biographical sketch, which focused on Farina’s signing of a membership card for the paper’s Just Kids Safety Club. The accompanying picture presents the siblings as two well-dressed children who could have been out for a winter walk. The Globe clearly depicted Farina as a boy, unlike the Telegram’s stance of keeping the gender of the “dark cloud of sunshine” fluid:

Yo’all remember this adorable little black fragment of that young band of hellions! For who could forget those pathetic eyes and the comic mass of kinky wool bound with muslin (or was it cotton)? It was christened Farina and they dressed it in rags and the moment it made its appearance it was hit with a lemon or custard pie.

And then there’s the Star. To modern eyes, reading the paper’s coverage makes you want to slap your head repeatedly each time reporters think phrases like “pickanniny sunshine dispenser” are a charming way to describe Hoskins. The paper’s photographers coaxed him to pose for the camera with his eyes bulging in a spooked-out way that echoes the way most black comedians had to play their roles at the time. “Darky” shows up too many times for comfort. An interview on the day of the first performance indicated that “two dark clouds descended upon Toronto today.” In that piece, Hoskins noted that he loved the previous stop, Montreal, for its “foreign atmosphere,” praised his sister’s hot dancing skills, mentioned that his favourite actors were Douglas Fairbanks and Joan Bennett, and, when asked if he had a girlfriend, noted “Yes I have. She lives in Los Angeles and she goes to school. But that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

Toronto Star, February 12, 1932.

On matinee day, the Star featured a front-page interview with both children and their mother. Reporter Archibald Lampman (the son of the 19th century poet) noted that Janey “didn’t think we were so hot.” The girl’s instincts were on target, as the printed interview with “the doggy pickanins of the movies” was a shambling, condescending, and cringeworthy affair. The occasion was deemed to be so special that the paper set up “chairs all around.” The children’s responses to questions like “do you have a man teacher?” and the number of times it was noted that their mother kept them in line, indicated boredom on their part (Janey perked up only when asked if she liked Alice in Wonderland). Lampman made lame attempts to act as if he was trying to keep up the façade of dignified reporter before giving in to a case of the cutes whenever Hoskins flashed a toothy grin.

Every time we cleared our throat and adjusted our tie, Farina unloaded a façade of juvenile porcelain to our direction. His jet hair was got up in kinky little knobs with white ribbon and he wore a tattered black and white ensemble. It got us every time.

Mrs. Hoskins hinted at the discrimination the family faced, noting that she felt far more accepted on the west coast than the east. With a voice Lampman described as flowing “like an old darky melody,” she praised the efforts of Scopes Trial lawyer Clarence Darrow to improve conditions for blacks in America (presumably a reference to the Ossian Sweet case) and believe that her children’s generation would overcome prejudice.

After a final preview which noted that “Farina fascinated because he, or rather, she, was the perfect incarnation of poor witless man’s struggles against inscrutable fate,” the Star reviewed the performance: “Seated on a flour barrel on the stage last night,” the paper noted, “he gave even further promise. The boy has a natural comedian’s drawling accent and a nicely developed sense of pantomime.”

Hoskins gradually drifted away from show business and the name Farina. After a stint in the army during World War II, he took drama classes in Los Angeles but then, as he admitted during an Our Gang reunion on the television show You Asked For It! in the 1950s, “I decided I’d like to eat regular.” He moved north to the Bay Area and eventually found deep satisfaction as a supervising director of workshop programs for people with intellectual disabilities in Alameda County. Hoskins was inducted into the Black Filmmakers’ Hall of Fame in 1975 and died of cancer five years later.

Sources: The Little Rascals: The Life and Times of Our Gang by Leonard Maltin and Richard W. Bann (New York: Three Rivers Press, 1992) and the following newspapers: the February 13, 1932 edition of the Globe; the February 13, 1932 edition of the Telegram; and the February 11, 1932. February 12, 1932, and February 13, 1932 editions of the Toronto Star. Thanks to Eric Veillette for assistance with the images.

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

A poster for the 1926 Our Gang short Thundering Fleas, which involves a flea circus, a wedding, and appearances by many members of the Hal Roach stock company, including Oliver Hardy as a cop.

From the February 12, 1932 edition of the Toronto Star, photos of the visiting Hoskins siblings. Janey (Mango) looks relaxed on the left…while Allen (Farina) is “turning the juice on” with an expression bordering on the stereotypical pop-eyed look black comedians were expected to employ onscreen at the time. The publicity photo in the middle was likely taken in the late 1920s, around the time the series transitioned to sound.

Oakland Tribune, August 4, 1968.

An interview with Hoskins regarding his later work as an administrator of programs for the intellectually disabled in the Oakland area.

Oakland Tribune, February 14, 1975

Another interview with Hoskins, reflecting on his life the week he was inducted into the Black Filmmakers Hall of Fame. Others inducted with him that year included Eddie “Rochester” Anderson, Ruby Dee, Abbey Lincoln, Hattie McDaniel, Butterfly McQueen, and Sidney Poitier.

1195 Danforth Avenue (Allenby/Roxy Theatre)

This installment of my “Ghost City” column for The Grid was originally published on October 23, 2012.

Allenby Theatre lobby, 1936. Image courtesy Silent Toronto.

A suggestion for anyone hitting the town in their best Rocky Horror Picture Show finery this Halloween: Make a pit stop at the Esso/Tim Horton’s at Danforth and Greenwood. Walk through the restored front doors underneath the marquee of the old Allenby theatre. Buy some snacks to fuel an evening of time-warping. Take a look at the old ads in the showcase by the front doors and take a moment to pay tribute to the place where the movie became a Toronto cult favourite.

Toronto Star, May 9, 1983.

Debuting at what was then known as the Roxy in May 1976, Rocky Horror showings reached their peak in 1980, when audiences performed their routines twice a night on Fridays and Saturdays. The screenings drew a devoted following, with participants driving in from as far as Rochester and central Michigan. Friendships developed, romances blossomed, and some attendees even named their children after the ushers. Parties celebrating the anniversary of the first screening turned into grand occasions for fans—during a fifth-anniversary party, Debra Yeo and her friends rented a limo to take them from Castle Frank station (intentionally chosen as a play on Frank-N-Furter’s castle) to the Roxy where, she later recalled in the Star, “we confounded Jeanne Beker and a NewMusic film crew when they realized we weren’t VIPs.”

Toronto Star, June 17, 1936.

Toilet paper wasn’t thrown down the aisles when the Allenby opened at what was then 1215 Danforth Avenue on June 18, 1936. Built by theatre architects Kaplan and Sprachman, opening ads claimed the Art Deco-inspired cinema offered “the newest in luxurious equipment” and was “scientifically air conditioned.” It remained a first-run theatre until 1970 when, renamed the Apollo, it switched to Greek films. Within months, it changed name and format again to become the Roxy rep house.

When a plan to run five months of top-quality Japanese films flopped, programming was handed over to three young film buffs, Robert Buchanan, Neil McCarthy, and Gary Topp. Billed as “The Original 99 Cent Roxy,” the theatre offered art films and classic double-bills that brought in older customers during the week, and rock-music films greeted with cheers by younger audiences on weekends. Live novelty acts were mixed in, such as a pianist who attempted to play for 110 hours straight.

 Toronto Star, October 20. 1973. Click on image for larger version.

That vibe continued when Jon Lidolt took over programming in 1976. Under his watch, the theatre became one of the first in Canada to be equipped with a Dolby sound system. Besides Rocky Horror, the theatre frequently showed Led Zeppelin’s The Song Remains the Same. Midnight screenings of any film were accompanied by a haze of pot smoke. “The sweet smell gives the place a distinctive atmosphere,” the Star observed in 1977, “and the high sharpens the audience’s willingness to burst out in laughter or scream as some arch villain does his dirty work.”

Toronto Star, April 6, 1993. Click on image for larger version.

After a brief spell as part of the Festival rep chain, the building was sold in 1987. The new owners turned the theatre into an after-hours club, which raised the ire of neighbours and police. While operating as the Hollywood Dinner Theatre, the site was host to 70 major incidents that required police attention between 1990 and 1993. Beyond infractions for drug dealing, teenage prostitution, and selling liquor without a licence, there were stabbings and shootings. One of the most gruesome incidents occurred in March 1992, when a pair of 15-year olds was arrested for partly scalping one teen and slicing the ear of another in half. Residents overcame their fears of recrimination and convinced City Council to unanimously pass a motion recommending to the Ontario Liquor Control Board that any future attempts to secure a liquor licence were not in the public interest.

Apart from brief periods as an Indian theatre and banquet hall decorated with air-brushed homages to Indiana Jones and Star Wars, the building remained vacant until it was purchased by Imperial Oil in 2006. As the site was on the City’s heritage inventory, the gas giant contacted historical property conversion specialists E.R.A. Architects. Rather than just preserve the façade, elements like the marquee and ticket booth from the Allenby days were recreated. Restorations were authentic, employing bricks from the original supplier in Pittsburgh and recreating the style of window that would have been used during the 1930s. The neighbourhood welcomed the project as an opportunity to spark a community revival, hoping that a touch of time-warp would redeem its reputation as a rough stretch of the Danforth.

Sources: the October 14, 2010 edition of the Globe and Mail, and the June 17, 1936, October 20, 1973, January 22, 1977, May 9, 1983, April 5, 1993, April 27, 1994, and October 1, 2005 editions of the Toronto Star.

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

Toronto Star, August 27, 1971.

The headline on this story? “Japanese movies often demand patience.”

Some recent photos of the Allenby, taken November 2, 2020.

Monsters of the Movies: The Invisible Man

Dracula. Frankenstein’s Monster. The Mummy. The Invisible Man. The Wolf Man. For nearly 90 years, the classic lineup of Universal monsters has provided a set of iconic characters that have thrilled and inspired generations of film lovers. This Halloween, let’s discover how Toronto’s press and theatres introduced these classic films.

Eerie, stylized rays shooting out of the Invisible Man’s eyes, Toronto Star, November 30, 1933.

The stranger came early in February, one wintry day, through a biting wind and a driving snow, the last snowfall of the year, over the down, walking from Bramblehurst railway station, and carrying a little black portmanteau in his thickly gloved hand. He was wrapped up from head to foot, and the brim of his soft felt hat hid every inch of his face but the shiny tip of his nose; the snow had piled itself against his shoulders and chest, and added a white crest to the burden he carried. He staggered into the “Coach and Horses” more dead than alive, and flung his portmanteau down. “A fire,” he cried, “in the name of human charity! A room and a fire!” He stamped and shook the snow from off himself in the bar, and followed Mrs. Hall into her guest parlour to strike his bargain. And with that much introduction, that and a couple of sovereigns flung upon the table, he took up his quarters in the inn.

H.G. Wells, opening paragraph of The Invisible Man, 1897.

Preview, Toronto Star, November 27, 1933.

Preview, The Globe, December 2, 1933.

The following year, Claude Rains would appear in the film version of The Man Who Reclaimed His Head. One fact to quibble with: Rains had appeared in one British silent movie, 1920’s Build Thy House.

Rains had appeared on Toronto stages as early as December 1913, when he appeared in a touring production of George Bernard Shaw’s Fanny’s First Play at the Royal Alex. While’s Rains’s performance isn’t mentioned, Globe theatre critic E.R. Parkhurst felt that while there were some typically good Shavian satirical jabs, “the weakness of the comedy is its diffuseness, which becomes slightly tiresome towards the close.”

Review by Lawrence Mason, the Globe, December 2, 1933.

Toronto Star, December 1, 1933.

Of the added attractions, Jack Arthur was the music director for the Famous Players chain – more about him over at the Canadian Encyclopedia. Aileen Stanley was a popular American singer in the early 1920s whose career shifted to England in the 1930s. Your guess is as good as mine as to what the “Russian Revels” were, as the PR flacks gave few hints.

The Invisible Man is the only one of the classic Universal monsters I ever dressed up as for Halloween, for a party during my university daze . In concept it was great: tensor bandages, sunglasses, a nice coat with shirt and tie. It looked good. For the first few minutes, everything was fine, other than my glasses constantly fogging up. Kind of like dealing with masks in the COVID age, but even more annoying. By the time I got to the party, I was sweating like crazy. I’m not particularly claustrophobic, but this outfit was getting stuffy and uncomfortable. After a few minutes of not being able to see anyone and feeling a little fuzzy, I tore the bandages off. If memory serves, I drew on a pencil-thin moustache and spent the rest of the night as a 1930s actor after their audition for The Invisible Man.

Sources: the December 2, 1913 edition of the Globe.

Monsters of the Movies: The Mummy

Dracula. Frankenstein’s Monster. The Mummy. The Invisible Man. The Wolf Man. For nearly 90 years, the classic lineup of Universal monsters has provided a set of iconic characters that have thrilled and inspired generations of film lovers. This Halloween, let’s discover how Toronto’s press and theatres introduced these classic films.

Toronto Star, February 24, 1933.

From the Globe‘s preview:

Dead 3,000 years—alive again!—the crumbling mummy of yesterday, becomes the fighting man of today—battling modern science with the black art of a buried past in his frenzied search for his long lost love.

Review by Lawrence Mason, the Globe, February 25, 1933.

The press agent reports noted that Karloff supposedly “closeted himself in his country home for two months previous to the production fate, reading over 25 books on the subject of ancient Egyptian religion and history. So well versed was he when filming time arrived that he acted in the capacity of technical adviser in many instances.” When he might have had time to do this, if this wasn’t a story concocted by a press agent (which it probably was), is a good question, as Karloff appeared in nine films in 1932, most notably The Mask of Fu Manchu, The Old Dark House, and Scarface.

The Globe, March 5, 1932.

As far as I can tell, there were no tie-ins with any mummies displayed at the Royal Ontario Museum. Digging through the Globe and Star archives, the only story I found was a letter published the previous year in the Globe‘s “Circle of Young Canada” section from a girl attempting to write a sonnet about her recent encounter with a ROM mummy.

I’m surprised they didn’t report on the makeup process required for the scene where Karloff was in full-on mummy mode. Universal makeup genius Jack Pierce worked on the actor for eight hours, covering his face with collodion, cotton, and spirit gum, his hair with clay, and his body with linen treated to look decayed. Two painful hours were required to remove the makeup.

For its debut at the Imperial, The Mummy was presented with a short starring radio comedian Jack Pearl and a live revue, Girl Trouble, which was described as “a gay musical comedy” and headlined by comedian Chester Fredericks. The Star praised three brunette gymnasts as “outstanding” and noted that “the costume tableaux is also good.” Ads mention “5 thorobreds,” which makes me wonder if live horses were hauled on stage, some actors were dressed in wacky pantomime horse costumes, or it’s just another 1930s term for eye candy.

The Globe, February 9, 1933.

Also at the Imperial was Carnival on Skates, shot a few weeks earlier during rehearsals for the 1933 edition of the Toronto Skating Carnival presented by the Toronto Skating Club at Maple Leaf Gardens. “There are some smart shots,” the Star‘s “Over the Tea Cups” column observed, “some taken from above and some from below, with one in particular, when the chorus of the ballet passes directly over the camera itself.” The ice spectacular was officially opened on February 23 by Governor-General Lord Bessborough. Perhaps his presence inspired the Globe to publish an editorial praising the club’s effort, noting that the organization “is doing a notable work in popularizing, and revealing the possibilities of, a delightful, health-giving winter pastime.”

Next: The Invisible Man

Sources: the February 20, 1933, February 23, 1933, and February 25, 1933 editions of the Globe; and the February 23, 1933 and February 25, 1933 edition of the Toronto Star.

Monsters of the Movies: Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein

Dracula. Frankenstein’s Monster. The Mummy. The Invisible Man. The Wolf Man. For nearly 90 years, the classic lineup of Universal monsters has provided a set of iconic characters that have thrilled and inspired generations of film lovers. This Halloween, let’s discover how Toronto’s press introduced these classic films.

Toronto Star, January 4, 1932.

The Globe, January 1, 1932.

One classic 1930s horror film replaced by another. At this time, American movies reached Toronto within a month or two of their opening south of the border. In Frankenstein‘s case, the movie premiered in November 1931, went into US wide release in December, and showed up here after New Year’s.

Before reaching Toronto, Frankenstein had wowed American critics. The New York Times’s Mordaunt Hall named it one of the 10 best movies of 1931, calling it “a most impressive piece of work in which the gruesome is overshadowed by the dramatic suspense.” By contrast Dracula didn’t make his “Other Worthy Films” list, which isn’t surprising if you’ve seen how creaky that film is compared to Frankenstein or other movies on Hall’s lists that still hold up, such as Chaplin’s City Lights and the pioneering gangster movie tandem of Little Caesar and The Public Enemy.

In his short review, the Globe’s Lawrence Mason was happy that some of the filmgoing public was banned from seeing the film:

It was pleasing to see children being turned away from the Tivoli box office yesterday, for the talking picture now being shown in that playhouse would be too rightly severe a nightmare for the little people…The picture has been somewhat softened and has been given a happy ending, but it is horrifyingly ghoulish in all conscience, even for taste hardened by Lon Chaney’s gruesome thrillers and Dracula. The main part, setting forth a student’s creation of an inhuman monster which throws off his control and wages war upon humanity, is as effective allegory warning us that the scientific inventions of which we are so proud may eventually be our ruin.

Toronto Star, January 2, 1932.

Notes from the PR flacks:

Extensive use of the term “picturized,” as in “picturized on the immense scale which the importance and scope of the subject demands.

Colin Clive was praised for giving a “restrained, magnetic performance that is uncanny and fascinating” as Dr. Frankenstein. “But it is Boris Karloff who holds your undivided attention. You will be fascinated, shocked, even unnerved. Yet you are bound to acclaim him for his uncanny skill, his brilliance and his keen, dramatic sense of the unusual.”

Director James Whale on how he told Clive to play the doctor: “I see Frankenstein as an intensely sane person, at times rather fanatical, and in one or two scenes a little hysterical.”

Accompanying Frankenstein was Close Farm-ony, a musical short featuring the Boswell Sisters. PR flacks called it “another Tivoli triumph.”

Toronto Star, May 10, 1935.

Three years later, Karloff, Clive, and Whale returned with the delightful Bride of Frankenstein.

Review by Lawrence Mason, the Globe, May 10, 1935.

Nice to see a shout-out to Una O’Connor, who’s always a hoot to watch in movies from this era.

The Mickey Mouse cartoon mentioned here was Mickey’s Kangaroo, while Flying Down to Zero was the next-to-last short the comedy duo of Bobby Clark and Paul McCullough made before McCullough, recovering from a spell in a sanitarium, killed himself the following year.

The Globe, May 14, 1935.

Notes from the PR flacks:

The movie was frequently referred to as the screen’s “strangest drama.” It is also noted for showing “an exceptional array of highly artistic setting filled with sombre beauty.”

Karloff was praised for bringing humanity to his second outing as the monster. He “gives a truly remarkable characterization of the menacing, lumbering brute, savage and yet filled with misunderstood kindness. In spite of his ruthless crimes, he is at all times an object of sympathy and pity.”

Toronto Star, May 29, 1935.

After opening at the Uptown, Bride of Frankenstein moved on to the Tivoli. The boxing match “exclusive” was one of three welterweight championship bouts over the previous year between Jimmy McLarnin and Barney Ross. The final match took place in Seattle the day before this ad was printed, so either film was rushed to theatres, or older footage was used. If it was the last round, Ross won the title, which he held until May 1938.

Next: The Mummy

Sources: the January 2, 1932, January 4, 1932, January 7, 1932, January 14, 1932, May 11, 1935, and May 13, 1935 editions of the Globe; the January 3, 1932 edition of the New York Times; and the January 7, 1932 and May 11, 1935 editions of the Toronto Star.

When TIFF Was a Festival of Festivals

Originally published on Torontoist on September 12, 2011.

Program cover, 1976 Festival of Festivals.

Glitz, glamour, and stars galore. Beyond the movies, these are what one tends to associate with the Toronto International Film Festival. While Hollywood embraces TIFF with open arms now, the welcome was anything but warm when it began as the Festival of Festivals in October 1976—it took skillful programming and the anger of American critics to make the major studios take notice.

During the mid-1970s, Hollywood studios ignored North American festivals and their requests for prints of various films, for fear the screenings would depress box office figures when the movies later went into wide release. Though organizers in Toronto hoped that a less short-sighted mogul would let them show a potential blockbuster during the festival’s opening night, none were released to the festival—not even films partly shot in Toronto like Network and Silver Streak. Canadian subsidiary theatre chains like Famous Players wanted to help, but failed to convince the suits to release anything to the festival.

It was a situation that made organizers as mad as hell. Festival director Bill Marshall felt the American studios were “just masquerading as a part of the Canadian industry.” He told the Star that “They got a cheque worth $63 million in net film rentals from Canada last year. They take it out, and put nothing back in. To the New York offices, Canada is regarded like Cleveland or Cincinnati. They just look at us as a big bag of money and they don’t have to do anything about it.” The lack of major commercial entries proved beneficial for independent American films, and resulted in screenings of new documentaries like Grey Gardens and Harlan County U.S.A. that proved influential for future filmmakers.

Toronto Star, October 9, 1976.

Despite the dearth of Hollywood blockbusters, an American-themed gala opened the very first Festival of Festivals at the Ontario Place Cinesphere on October 18, 1976. For $150, attendees dined on a soul-food buffet provided by the Underground Railroad restaurant, guzzled Schlitz beer, listened to live jazz, and played some mean pinball. Thanks to the booking issues, the feature presentation wasn’t American but French—and it wasn’t even the French film festival organizers hoped to secure. Like the Hollywood studios, the distributor of Francois Truffaut’s Small Change claimed a festival showing would wreck the Canadian release two months later. Instead, Marshall told the audience “This is American night. Bon soir et bienvenue à Cousin, Cousine.” The film was a romantic comedy that Globe and Mail critic Robert Martin described as “a smooth, soothing and highly palatable film that has been charming audiences in New York City for almost three months. Just the right kind of upbeat film to bring gaiety to the first of the galas down at Ontario Place.”

Torontonians quickly took to the festival’s mix of documentaries, foreign films, all-night tributes to the works of Roger Corman and Sergio Leone, Canadian features, and special programming devoted to children, women, and German cinema. All-inclusive (except for evening social events) ticket packages that cost $25 for students and $50 for the general public sold out in advance. When the Sun’s George Anthony asked a man in a long line outside the New Yorker Theatre (now the Panasonic) for the Hollywood Ten documentary Hollywood on Trial if 9:30 a.m. was an ungodly hour to see a film, he responded “not if it’s a good movie.”

(We should note that the Sun was then the festival’s official newspaper and treated that role with the respect the programming deserved. Present-day ownership might have a different opinion.)

Posters for two of the films given gala presentations at the 1976 Festival of Festivals: Cousin, Cousine and Illustrious Corpses (which was titled The Context during its festival run).

One series of events was even moved to the Cinesphere due its popularity: workshops related to all aspects of the film industry. Among the wisdom provided in these sessions was this nugget from screenwriter/director Paul Bartel (Death Race 2000): “My advice to someone starting out now would be to write the kind of exploitation screenplays for which there is always a market. Your first screenplay is probably going to be a turkey anyway. In a market of apples and oranges, why try for a pomegranate?”

Despite early buzz from the festival and invites from federal Secretary of State John Roberts, no major Hollywood executives bothered to show up. Their no-show status and continuing refusal to provide films angered Los Angeles Times critic Charles Champlin. “At a time when Hollywood needs all the friends it can get,” he wrote to his West Coast readers, “some minions of the majors have been giving a grand demonstration here this week of how to lose friends and alienate potential customers.” Champlin was impressed by the organization of the festival and its daily average attendance of 7,000. “Hollywood should have been here,” he concluded. “It’s a chance blown.”

Also missing were the high-profile names rumoured to be coming. Due to scheduling conflicts, outright refusals or miscommunication, local paparazzi were denied the chance to chase after Claudia Cardinale, Julie Christie, Dom DeLuise, Sergio Leone, Marcello Mastroianni, Jack Nicholson, Martin Scorsese, or Robert Towne. Instead, they could only have snapped people like Dino De Laurentiis (who provided a 90-second preview of his remake of King Kong), Darren McGavin (the old man from A Christmas Story), and blaxploitation actor/director Fred Williamson.

By the time the first Festival of Festivals wrapped up with a gala featuring the Russian musical Gypsies Are Found Near Heaven on October 24, 1976, a second edition seemed all but certain. Beyond the general goodwill the festival generated, organizers had set up exchanges of Canadian, German and Scottish films with festivals in Berlin and Edinburgh. Critics like Kathleen Carroll of the New York Daily News threatened to phone major studio executives and “nail them” for not participating. The Globe and Mail’s Bryan Johnson declared that while the festival “featured nothing and nobody that would make headlines,” the week offered “an awful lot that was marvellously entertaining.” As a British reporter put it, the week “had all the bustle of other festivals, but none of the hustle.”

That came later.

Sources: the October 19, 1976 and October 25, 1976 editions of the Globe and Mail; the October 16, 1976, October 18, 1976, and October 25, 1976 editions of the Toronto Star; and the October 19, 1976, October 20, 1976, October 22, 1976, and October 25, 1976 editions of the Toronto Sun.

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

The schedule from the program’s centre spread. Larger version.

Toronto Sun, October 17, 1976.

Toronto Sun, October 19, 1976.

Toronto Star, October 22, 1976.

Toronto Star, October 25, 1976.

Globe and Mail, October 25, 1976.

Past Pieces of Toronto: The Odeon Hyland

From November 2011 through July 2012 I wrote the “Past Pieces of Toronto” column for OpenFile, which explored elements of the city which no longer exist. The following was originally posted on December 30, 2011.

Opening ad for the Odeon Hyland, Toronto Star, November 17, 1948.

It was a dicey proposition: testing out a brand new movie theatre, and the Shakespearian adaptation that was its opening attraction, by filling the first showing with high school students. It was especially dicey after rowdy teens had recently disrupted a recent festival honouring the Bard at the Eaton Auditorium (now the Carlu). But Odeon Theatres officials felt that filling the new Hyland theatre with students from Northern Vocational High School (now Northern Secondary) for the afternoon presentation of Sir Laurence Olivier’s version of Hamlet on November 22, 1948 was worth any potential mishaps.

According to the Star, the kids were alright:

The kids at the showing were well-behaved, far from rowdy, and occasionally spell-bound. But they also chose to laugh in the wrong places and spoiled, for some of us, the complete beauty of many performances…Incomplete understanding of the drama rather than any intended rudeness was undoubtedly responsible for these unfortunate outbursts.

We’re certain many other patrons laughed at the wrong time during the Hyland’s half-century of operation at 1501 Yonge Street. When the theatre closed in February 2001, the experience of moviegoing at Yonge and St. Clair vanished with it.

Opening the Hyland faced greater challenges than pleasing teenagers. During the fall of 1948, the city instituted daily blackouts due to power shortages. As opening day neared, power cuts increased to twice daily during the working week—one in the morning, and a 45-minute blackout starting at 7 p.m. These cuts affected the final stages of construction, including the installation of kitchen equipment and sales of advance tickets to Hamlet. With the front of the house not ready, ticket sales were moved to a nearby drug store which, as the Star reported, confused one customer:

A lady, who doesn’t believe in signs, joined a queue in front of the theatre, in hope of getting reservations for Sir Laurence Olivier’s screen masterpiece. Finally she got to the head of the line and was most provoked to learn that she’d wasted a half hour to be interviewed for a job as usherette.

Despite these problems, tickets for Hamlet sold quickly. By the beginning of December, the house was booked solid through Christmas.

Toronto Star, April 12, 1950.

One of the Hyland’s greatest assets in its early years was manager Vic Nowe. His promotional skills drew people to see both the feature attraction and the award-winning tie-ins he devised. A lobby display of Victorian wallpaper designs during the run of Oliver Twist in 1949 was so popular that it toured other Odeon locations. To promote Tight Little Island the following year, Nowe saluted the film’s Scottish setting by covering the theatre’s entrance in plaid and offering performances in the lobby by highland dancers and bagpipers. When The Lavender Hill Mob ran in late 1951, the Hyland let the first 50 men wearing bowler hats a la star Alec Guinness in for free.

Lobby of the Odeon Hyland. Archives of Ontario. 

As British cultural influences waned in Toronto, the near-exclusive programming of films from the mother country at the Hyland gave way to Hollywood blockbusters. When the theatre was split into two screens in the early 1970s, it followed a trend that affected several of the city’s remaining large single-auditorium cinemas.

By 1999, declining attendance led Cineplex Odeon to convert the Hyland into a showcase for art films. The theatre was still capable of drawing people—it grossed over $50,000 in three days in December 2000 as one of a trio of cinemas that carried the initial run of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon—but the move was seen as a sign its days were numbered. When Cineplex Odeon was granted interim bankruptcy protection two months later, the Hyland was closed immediately. Anyone who attempted to phone the theatre for the day’s bill on February 16, 2001 was greeted with a generic recorded message: “We are honoured to have had the opportunity of serving your community. Thank you for your patronage and support.” Those arriving at the theatre in person were advised to head to the Varsity.

Demolished in 2003, the site of the Hyland is now the entrance to a Green P lot and a walkway named after another former Yonge and St. Clair landmark, longtime CFRB morning show host Wally Crouter.

Sources: the November 19, 1948, November 23, 1948, and February 17, 2001 editions of the Toronto Star.

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

Globe and Mail, September 16, 1959.

During the late 1950s, the Hyland served as a venue for several local film societies, including the A-G-E Film Society of Toronto, the French Cine Club, and the Toronto Film Society. Until voters approved general Sunday screenings in 1961, the offerings of these societies were among the few legal ways to see a movie on the Sabbath.

Boxoffice, October 16, 1972. 

Vintage Toronto Ads: A Photoplay Palace Turns Ninety

Originally published on Torontoist on August 18, 2009.

Toronto Star, August 16, 1919 (upper left); Toronto Star, August 18, 1919 (the rest).

It was ninety years ago today that east-enders were first able to enjoy fine entertainment at the theatre that underwent numerous name changes between its opening as Allen’s Danforth and its current incarnation as the Music Hall. Growth in what was considered suburbia in 1919, along with the ease of reaching Danforth Avenue via the recently opened Prince Edward Viaduct, persuaded the Allen’s cinema chain to build a high-quality theatre in the neighbourhood.

The Mail and Empire provided a preview in its August 16, 1919 edition:

After having traced them half-way across the United States and a large portion of Canada, Messrs. Jule and Jay J. Allen received with great relief yesterday the news of the arrival of the 1,800 seats for their new Danforth theatre, which will be opened on Monday evening. The handsome structure is entirely complete and it is promised that it will show the people of Toronto something new in the way of cinema house construction. Although this house has been built largely for the convenience of the residents of the Danforth and Rosedale sections of the city, it is one of the largest motion picture houses in Toronto and among the most modern. There will be no formalities for the Monday evening performance, but the theatre will be open to the general public.

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

The Music Hall, March 30, 2010. My notes indicate Toxie hadn’t been on the premises for awhile. The poster slots are currently filled with upcoming listings deep into 2020. Click on image for larger version.

The theatre marked its 90th with a plaque presentation by Heritage Toronto, followed by a silent feature with live piano accompaniment. As the opening night film exists in fragments, viewers saw another Madge Kennedy vehicle, 1920’s Dollars and Sense. The admission price was sensible—only one thin dollar. It was a fun evening, despite a few technical hiccups.

The Music Hall is still a busy concert venue, marking its 100th anniversary in 2019.

Photoplay, May 1920.

From the Toronto Star‘s August 7, 1919 description of Through the Wrong Door:

Through the Wrong Door is playing to capacity houses at the Allen this week, and the exvellent feature which is offered more than justifies the large crowds. Light, gay, and amusing, Through the Wrong Door is frankly composed to chase dull care away, and it is so well interpreted by Madge Kennedy and the cast in general that the effect is a very pleasant one. She softens and beautifies by some very fine acting the role of a bright young girl who throws over her fiance abd elopes with a man she scarcely knows. In the new dignity of one who sympathizes with the man her own father has deliberately tried to ruin, who she is assisting to achieve natural justice, she plays the part so convincingly that the sudden change of mind and heart is not only excused, but approved most cordially.

Motion Picture World, June 5, 1920.

Vintage Toronto Ads: On Her Majesty’s Secret Service

Globe and Mail, December 20, 1969.

To some, On Her Majesty’s Secret Service is the best James Bond movie ever made. To others, it’s the one with…what’s his name…George Lazenby? Either way (and count me closer to the former), it was one of top movie attractions for Toronto moviegoers during the holiday season 50 years ago.

How did local film critcs feel?

The Telegram‘s Clyde Gilmour felt that “newcomer Lazenby’s amateurishness as an actor sticks out all over the place, but the role has become a comic-strip character anyway. Bond No. 2 does the job quite satisfactorily.” Gilmour also believed that Telly Savalas played Blofeld “with his accustomed air of amiable deviltry.”

In the Star, Dorothy Mikos felt Lazenby was acceptable, as the role didn’t require fine acting. “All that is required is a large conventionally handsome man who can fall down and stand up on cue.”

The sourest review was courtesy of The Globe and Mail‘s Martin Knelman, who found “the new 007 bats .000.” He also didn’t care for some of the film’s audience, if this sneering observation following a packed viewing at the old Odeon Carlton theatre is any indication:

Fighting my way out of the theatre, I heard a middle-aged woman say she had been lured into the city from a suburb for the first time in months to see this movie, and now that she’d seen it, she didn’t know what to look forward to. One could fake pity for people who don’t have anything in their lives to look forward to besides a James Bond movie, but that’s really beside the point.

Knelman ended his review by comparing people anticipating Bond movies to friends who eagerly awaited trying the “far-out specialty of the month” at their local ice cream parlour. “They play at the ritual of looking forward each month to going down to sample the new flavor, and I think people go to the James Bond movies in the same spirit. Dr. No and Goldfinger were yummy enough, but On Her Majesty’s Secret Service left the same taste in my mouth as peanut butter licorice sherbet.”

Whatever, Martin.

Of the other major new releases that week, Knelman found John Vernon’s performance as an evil Castro-esque Cuban the most entertaining thing about Alfred Hitchcock’s Topaz, and felt director Stanley Kramer’s The Secret of Santa Vittoria was “just a big, crude, stupid movie.”

Toronto Star, December 19, 1969. Click on image for larger version.

A sampling of other movies that season, along with some interesting double bills assembled by the 20th Century chain.