Allen Theatre (1919–21)
Undoubtedly the outstanding element in the life of the young in a small town is the movie. . . . It is the big emotion, the adventure, the escape. . . . Home life itself is a dull interval between shows, and must be enriched with perusal of a movie magazine or a practical simulation of the current heroine, with the help of a beauty box. – W.H. Bridge, U.S. theatre critic, 1921, quoted in Fuller, “You Can Have the Strand in Your Own Town,” in Waller, ed., Moviegoing in America, p.96.
The Allen Theatre opened on Sept. 1, 1919, taking over the space of what had long been the Royal Theatre.
Now, with this takeover by the Allen chain – after twelve years of primarily local ownership – movie exhibition in Peterborough truly became a corporate affair. Although there would always be attempts at independent theatres, things would never be the same.
In spring 1919 Mike Pappas of the Royal Theatre — at 348 George Street, between Charlotte and Simcoe streets — fashioned an agreement with Paramount Theatres. He became, as he put it, a “link” in the Paramount chain, a franchise that had been held in Canada since 1914 by the showmen-brothers Jule and Jay J. Allen (though not for much longer). As Moving Picture World announced in April, “Paramount Theatres, Ltd., of Toronto, a subsidiary of Regal Theatres, Ltd., has added to its chain of theatres in Eastern Canada by the acquisition of the Royal Theatre, Peterboro, Ont. Manager Pappas will remain in charge of the house.” The sale to Paramount did assure the Royal, and Pappas, of the best first-run films available.
For the sake of continuity, over the following months Pappas continued to place his name on the newspaper theatre ads. But the corporate transactions were far from over. That summer the Royal Theatre became “The Allen,” and Pappas was no longer either owner or manager.
The U.S.-born Allen brothers, Jule and Jay J., had begun “in the early days of store shows” by opening theatres in Brantford, Ont., the first one in November 1906. After some career twists and turns (including founding the Canadian Film Exchange and a move to Calgary), the Allen brothers expanded their business and eventually owned a country-wide chain of “Allen Theatres,” including a number as well in the northeastern United States. The Allens usually had their own theatres built from scratch – some of them known as “mammoth palaces” – but in Peterborough they contented themselves with taking over and renovating an already established property.
The word was that throughout their rising empire the Allens were building theatres “with the aid of local capital,” which was most likely the case in Peterborough as well. The local paper carried a report looking back in time – and crediting the Allens with being pioneering entrepreneurial visionaries of a modern phenomenon. They had plunged in and over the following years, the Examiner reported, had placed themselves “on the crest of the wave that swept over the world” – a wave that represented “a marvellous story of these days of new and undreamed of wonders, but Peterborough has concrete evidence of it.”
Peterborough’s Allen Theatre would have the “advantage of this immense organization.” Acting as gatekeepers who protected the public interest and carefully responded to questions of taste and interest, Jule and Jay Allen personally selected the films shown at their theatres across the country.
After a slight delay Peterborough’s Allen Theatre opened on Labour Day, Monday evening, Sept. 1. The space was newly refurbished – “citizens will scarcely be able to recognize the theatre,” said the paper. It was the “Commencement of [a] New Chapter in City’s Theatrical History.”
A crowd gathered on the main street long before the time billed for the first show, with a queue that stretched from the theatre north to the corner of George and Simcoe. For the afternoon and evening shows, 1,200 people reportedly turned out – so many that the management had to add a second cashier. All went well. The “ushers proved models for courtesy and efficiency.” The Allens reportedly had a contract that called on them to pay $800 ground rent for the “Opera House Block” property to 1941.
For the opening the Allens extended invitations to local dignitaries, including labour leaders and “several prominent business men.” Jule Allen came from Toronto, along with the “famous violinist” Luigi Romanelli, who was in charge of music in Allen theatres across the country. The theatre’s orchestra, led by a Peterborough man aptly named William F. Leader, would have “six or seven pieces” and engage local musicians – who would only “be retained as long as they prove satisfactory, in other words while they measure up to the Allen requirements.” Mrs. Agnes Fenwick, the mother of violinist/pianist Mrs. Eveline Foster, was one of those musicians. The local manager was Morris Rosenthal, a Pittsburgh-born theatre man. County Judge E.C.S. Huycke, asked to dedicate the theatre, “spoke of the splendid name the Allens hold in the theatrical world and of their absolutely unbreakable policy of keeping faith with the public.”
In general the Allen theatres across the country promised “Canadian content.” In association with Pathescope of Canada, Ltd., the theatres would present “a Canadian Weekly” production – an “all-Canadian reel with news and scenic views along with a collection of editorial jottings from Canadian newspapers.”
When Mabel Normand’s film Upstairs (1919) came to the Allen, manager Rosenthal fabricated a “scandal” for the sake of publicity. He submitted a letter to the newspaper to tell how a woman – said to be new to town – had gone around in the style of “the girl from Upstairs” and succeeded in leading the son of a wealthy citizen astray.
While the manager was doing everything he could to draw in patrons, his intervention also hints at the new phenomenon of a film star influencing style, inducing behaviour, and otherwise having an effect on the culture – in this case, supposedly, not for the best.
During its short lifespan the Allen had lavish window displays aimed at drawing crowds.
The period witnessed continuing controversy around subject-matter. When the “flaming photoplay” Open Your Eyes (U.S., 1919) came to the Allen for three days towards the end of November 1920 (at the relatively high prices of 32 cents for matinees and 55 and 32 cents evenings), the issue of censorship came to the fore – with the film’s focus on venereal disease and with subtexts such as the “lure of the city” and prostitutes (spreading the disease to young innocents) and quack doctors. Many thought the film should not be shown; but it drew big crowds.
Notably, its ad stated, that “By Government Order” no one under sixteen was to be admitted. The film was enough to tempt the provincial treasurer, Peter Smith, to suggest a change in the province’s censorship system. The day before the film opened in Peterborough, Smith went to a private showing in Stratford, Ont., on a mission to ascertain how the movie might be “received in the average small city.” Some people at that screening felt that it was a film that was “hardly needed” in their city; but a majority believed “that the small amount of harm it might possibly do would be more than made up for by the good it will certainly do.”
In Peterborough, the Allen announced Open Your Eyes, in keeping with its mission of filling seats, as “one of the strongest pictures ever made” – educational, maybe, but with “real entertainment value.” It went so far as to equate the film with one of the nineteenth century’s most formidable, and controversial, political campaigns.
It is a living, human delving of everyday American men and women, possessing great strength and sympathetic appeal, destined to be as potent a factor in combating social evil as was “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” in creating the overwhelming public sentiment against negro slavery.
Local doctors, nurses, and members of the Local Council of Women came out to the picture and gave it their hearty stamp of approval. Judge E.C. Huycke took it in and found it to be a “startling” picture, “but sadly and startling all too true. There are many warnings in it, and the lesson is beware of Quacks and Quackery.” Dr. D.C. (De Courey) King, a physician and surgeon with an office on Charlotte St., thought it was worth being seen by everyone, especially young men and women. It represented “what is taking place in the larger cities of the United States and Canada every day,” and with venereal disease on the rise, “ it cannot help but teach a lesson.”
But generally the Allen’s offerings were of the more straightforward commercial variety sent out from Hollywood, including the likes of the Toronto-born (but “America’s sweetheart”) Mary Pickford.
Taking another publicity tact, Rosenthal also made an arrangement with Walk Easy and Peterboro Shoe Stores to provide free theatre tickets to anyone who made a purchase at those stores. In February 1920 he brought in a singer, Miss Winnifred Evans, who had “appeared over the big time vaudeville circuits.” Another time, for the film Auction of Souls (1919), a story of the Armenian genocide, Rosenthal tried another gimmick. He warned readers, “Note! Attention!” — the picture was being shown under a number of conditions: no person under age twenty-one would be admitted; the matinees were “for Ladies only” (with absolutely no men admitted to them); and the ladies also had one special showing in the evening, from seven to nine, when no men would be allowed into the theatre (the men could come later, at nine o’clock). “This is the picture that Society People of the East Paid $10 a seat to see.”
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After seven months manager Rosenthal was replaced by Richard G. Furlong, who had previously been manager of Peterborough’s Strand Theatre. Rosenthal was feted at a “sumptuous” banquet held at the Grand Hotel. His pianist Agnes Fenwick presented him with a “handsome club bag” and H.G. White of the Walk Easy Shoe Store attested to the former manager’s “popularity about the city as well as amongst his business associates.” Rosenthal was leaving to take charge of a new Allen theatre in St. Catherines.
As another way of drawing crowds in Peterborough manager Furlong also resorted to offering prizes (four-week passes) for two boys who most resembled Wesley Barry, the freckle-faced movie star in the title role of Dinty (1920). The contest was so successful, he said, that he contemplated holding similar challenges at matinees for children every Friday. He also held a newsboys’ contest, awarding three weeks’ free admission to the boy who sold the most papers during the established time limit.
After closing for a month in summer 1921, the theatre reopened (after alterations) with yet another showing of the film that local audiences seemingly couldn’t get enough of: the notoriously racist Birth of a Nation (1915). Management proclaimed it to be “The favourite among all the moving pictures ever shown,” which had a ring of truth to it, however dismal. But the publicity then added: “It is a story with a thrill, a sermon in a play, a history in the form of a drama. The eminent fairness in the treatment of all parties in the story is perhaps one secret of the photo-play’s popularity.” Nothing could have been further from the truth. This is a film that made heroes of the Ku Klux Klan and contributed to their revival through North America, including Canada.
It was perhaps a bad sign that the Allen was resorting to recycling old films that were considerably cheaper than first- or even second-run movies. By the early 1920s, with the invasion of the Famous Players corporation in cities across the country, the ground under the Allen empire had crumbled.
The Allen brothers had become financially overextended. Their decline had begun in July 1919, shortly before their Peterborough theatre opened, when the brothers lost the Paramount franchise, which eventually ended up in the hands of the U.S.-based Paramount and Famous Players, with its Canadian affiliate led by Nathan Louis Nathanson and its new brand, Capitol Entertainment.
The Allens, cinema historian Paul Moore writes, “were roundly, quickly flattened” by the competition. By May 1923 they “were bankrupt and dozens of their best theatres were bought by Nathanson for less than the cost of a single movie palace. Most Allen theatres were renamed Capitol.” In all the Allens disposed of twenty-two of their theatres, and Famous Players ensured itself of monopoly control of the Canadian film market.
Significantly, the Allens had decided to leave Peterborough well before they declared bankruptcy. The Allen Theatre served up its final program on Saturday, Dec. 3, 1921. Early the next week surging crowds “crushed” into the theatre — but it was not for a motion picture show; it was to celebrate the victory of G.N. Gordon in his campaign for federal parliament. On Tuesday Mike Pappas announced that he was taking over the reins of the city’s longest-running motion picture space, which was once again to be called the Royal.