... kitsch and splendor
Kitsch and Splendor
In the early years of cinema, projections took place in venues that were far from ideal. Herded into cramped, unsafe spaces, the customers had to tolerate poor ventilation and inadequate heating. Cinema owners in Lodz encountered daily challenges in operating delicate equipment without having quick access to replacement parts or even public electricity, as the city had none. Running a movie show required ingenuity and technical savvy.
The construction of the electric power plant for Lodz in 1907 radically changed the situation. Access to a reliable and plentiful source of electric power facilitated large-scale shows that were presented in spacious venues equipped with modern conveniences. More stringent safety codes were imposed by local authorities in the aftermath of a series of disastrous fires in theaters abroad. As permanent dedicated cinema-theaters were being established, venues for films accommodated increasingly larger audiences. Early screenings in Lodz typically seated 30 and allowed for about 60 more standing guests (though before a safety code was imposed, it was typical to pack double that number into the standing-room section). By the 1910s, the larger cinema-theaters could seat upward of 300. The new cinematograph Casino that opened in 1911 seated about 1,000 spectators!
Casino took the concept of comfort to a new level: it was the most lavish theater in the Polish lands under Russian control. The press, which was abuzz with glowing praises of the new venue, especially mentioned the arched ceiling, which was skillfully lit with electric light to underscore the architectural design, and frescos executed by respected artists, the Jewish Dawid Aleksander Haltrecht among them. But the commentators’ greatest approval was reserved for the “self-opening” theatre seats! Casino’s competitor, Luna, was smaller but could rival the former in splendor. Luna boasted a wide marble staircase, leading to a spacious foyer, and crystal chandeliers. The theater was lit with electricity and heated with steam. In contrast, cinema theaters that catered to the poor featured no such luxuries and often had difficulties meeting basic safety requirements.
Sound was an important element of cinematic screenings, even during the era of silent film. Owners of cinema-theaters, especially in poor neighborhoods, often hired narrators. They read the dialogues and captions out loud for the mostly illiterate audience. A vivid depiction of a film screening in a working-class cinema is offered by Israel Rabon, who grew up in Baluty, in a passage from his Yiddish-language novel, The Street (Di gas, 1928).
Music accompanied living pictures from the start: music served not only to illustrate the events on the screen but also to mask the noise of the projector. In the early years, the marvel of moving pictures was often complemented by technical novelties of an acoustic nature—mechanical pianos and organs of various sorts. Unsynchronized phonograph recordings continued to be used through the 1920s. Movie spectators in Lodz came to expect and even demand musical illustration, and newly built theaters had a designated space in the front of the auditorium for a pianist or an orchestra. Among the musicians accompanying the films, it was common to find Jews; for instance, one of the most successful leaders of cinema-theater orchestras was Leon Kantor. Advertisements, especially during the early 1930s, often emphasized the presence of appropriate musical illustration, as by that decade cinema-theaters presenting silent films were competing with venues equipped to show talking pictures.
