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The 50’s “Picture Show!” by Karen Richman Back then they weren’t called “movies” very often. Even Hollywood-types referred to them as “pictures,” a shortened form of “motion pictures,” which was already a derivation of “moving pictures.” But we just called them “the movies,” and there was absolutely nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon than going to the movies. Back then, awash in the innocence of growing up in the ‘50s, there was almost a new show to look forward to every week because unless they were super blockbusters, movies came and went every seven days. So if we read in Photoplay or Modern Screen magazines – the popular “movie magazines” of the era - that a special movie had just been released and would be in theatres soon, we kept our eyes and ears wide open, so as not to miss it. There were three movie theatres near my home: The Palace, The Embassy, and The Hollywood. Actually, there was another, the Ormont, but they showed mostly foreign films, some of which were considered “not for children,” so we never went. But really, The Palace, The Embassy, and The Hollywood fulfilled our entertainment cravings just fine. They all had ornate marquees announcing what movie was playing that week and who starred in it, and The Hollywood had a Spanish style facade on the outside and a glass partition inside at the rear of the orchestra section. It was held together with detailed brass posts and was obviously a throwback to those days when the theatre had live acts and would be sold out to “standing room only.” I remember movies being 25 cents for children 12 and under, 50 cents for teens; if I went with my mother, she had to come up with an extra dollar for herself. But the most fun was going by myself with a giggly girlfriend in tow. We thought ourselves very grown-up, even though we were being dropped off and picked up by parents, but we still pretended to be two single women out on their own. Outside every theatre on each side of the building were two glass enclosures that held posters, one for the movie that was currently playing and one that was “Coming Soon.” These were enormous color
posters with photos of the stars: Rock Hudson, Doris Day, John Wayne, Gene Kelly, Tab Hunter, William Holden, Clark Gable, Kim Novak, Vincent Price, Marilyn Monroe, all our faves. The box office was always located outside the theatre, encased in a glass booth, and that always made me wonder how hot and miserable the lady inside that booth would get in summer or how cold she probably was in winter. Even if it were apparent that it was just me and my best friend, Jane standing in front of her, she routinely asked, “How many?” We would giggle, look around for a minute to drive her crazy, then cheerfully holler, “Two, please!” The moment we entered the theatre, the magic began. Velvet curtains, thick maroon carpeting slightly stained with soda drips, heavy crowd ropes hanging from steel partitions, and always that wonderful, intoxicating smell of freshly popped popcorn. Behind the counter in some theatres they had hot dogs rotating inside an enclosed heating element, giving off that wonderful hot dog smell. There were also Clark Bars and Chocolate Babies and Spearmint Leaves, Junior Mints, and Good and Plenty by the box. In the 1950s ushers were de rigueur at all movie theatres and always were immaculately attired. The ushers were always men and wore dark pants with a strip of satin going up the side of each leg. The rest of their uniform consisted of a white dress shirt, a bow tie, and either a vest or double-breasted Eisenhower jacket. They maintained strict quiet as they patrolled the aisles with their flashlights at the ready, waiting to quiet a noisy group or “cool down” an overly amorous couple. Jane and I loved to sit way upfront, even though it usually meant a stiff, sore neck at the end of the movie, but we didn’t care. We got to look deep into Rock Hudson’s big brown eyes, and that made our pain all the more worthwhile. We sure got our money’s worth back then. It wasn’t just one movie. It was Movietone News of the Day, a selected short subject or two, coming attractions that whetted our excitement for the ensuing weeks, a cartoon, and sometimes even a second feature! There were no multiplexes with recliners, nor hot pizza being made to order, accompanied by wine and beer; no pinball machines and other games in the lobby...there was just a screen, rows of attached seats with faded maroon suede bottoms, and a whole world of make-believe...an afternoon of escape supplied by the movie stars we pretended to know as friends. It was innocent fun, it was sweet - a unique, pleasurable experience that will not come again. But it did for a time, and as I look over my shoulder, I can see two young prepubescent girls with stars in their eyes looking up at the marquee and posters in silent wonder, then paying the woman in the outdoor ticket booth, and entering paradise.
