Monday, May. 05, 1980

Lighting the Darkened Palaces

Born-again splendor for many great old moviehouses

In Hollywood's heyday the films were only celluloid, but the cinemas that showed them were marbled citadels of fantasy and opulence. From coast to coast, Paramounts and Paradises, Orpheums and Roxys enfolded audiences in some of the most exuberantly romantic architecture ever conceived in the U.S. As Cinemogul Marcus Loew insisted, "We sell tickets to theaters, not movies." Indeed, from their razzle-dazzle marquees to their wondrous Wurlitzers, from soaring, Sistine ceilings to ankle-deep carpeting, the great old houses were themselves worth the price of admission.

They are worth infinitely more today, as many cities have begun to realize. Though only a few years ago they seemed doomed by downtown decay and the decline of the movies, some of the great palazzos that survive have found born-again splendor as performing arts centers and magnets of revitalization. At least 50 --from the Olympia in Miami to the Orpheum in Dubuque, Iowa, and Washington's Warner--have been restored to pristine glitter.

The fight to preserve these landmarks has been largely a grass-roots movement. As theater operators opted for small suburban houses, and redevelopers razed whole swaths of inner cities, people realized that destruction of the old palaces was not only aesthetically but also economically senseless. With the remarkable growth of the performing arts across the U.S., there has been a desperate scramble to raise funds for new theaters. Yet here were existing facilities with magnificent spaces, often excellent acoustics, huge stages and sumptuous interiors. Thus in one city after another, people have joined in crusades to save and refurbish the pleasuredomes of movieland.

The nagging problem, particularly in a sagging economy, is raising the necessary money. This was the principal topic of a three-day national symposium on the "American Movie Palace" held last week in Milwaukee, under the sponsorship of the School of Architecture and Urban Planning of the University of Wisconsin Milwaukee. The most significant message came from Washington. It was delivered by Paul C. Pritchard, deputy director of the Interior Department's new Heritage Conservation and Recreation Service, who bore the bad news that direct federal support for theater preservation projects is drying up. The good news was that under the 1978 Tax Reform Act, individuals and corporations who help renovate buildings on the National Register of Historic Places can write off their contributions in only five years. Declared Pritchard: "We're saying let us work with you and you do it." Though 130 theaters are listed on the National Register, as yet only two--the Strand in Shreveport, La., and the Paris in Portland, Ore.--have benefited from the tax incentive.

Even without help from the tax law, dozens of doomed theaters have been saved by their communities. The largest restoration under way is in Cleveland, where three old treasures--the Palace, the State and the Ohio--are being refurbished as an entertainment complex that is an integral part of a downtown renewal plan. The Palace lobby, biggest in the U.S., has already been converted to a chic restaurant seating 400.

Another successful rescue effort has recycled the regal Paramount in Oakland, Calif. A 49-year-old masterpiece of art deco, the building was shuttered in 1970. The Oakland Symphony, lacking funds for a hall of its own, decided to acquire the theater. With contributions from 35,000 citizens and many businesses, the symphony bought the building for $ 1 million and spent another million to reproduce the original carpeting, upholstery and gold leaf. It would have cost some $20 million to build such an edifice from scratch. The resurgent Paramount is home to the symphony and the Oakland Ballet; it also offers special movie showings, rock and jazz concerts and such diverse performers as Vladimir Horowitz, Benny Goodman and Harry Belafonte.

Civic leaders of Aurora, Ill., have saved another Paramount, which was built the same year as its Oakland namesake. The theater, once known as "Aurora's most precious jewel," was leaky and its geometrically patterned exterior brick walls were coated with grime. Reopened in April 1978 as the keystone of a downtown revitalization program, it is used for visiting theatrical and ballet troupes. Similarly, the Ohio Theater in Columbus, a baroque marvel that was once dubbed "the shabby old dowager of State Street," has been returned to glory; it now presents 300 films, concerts, plays and other events annually.

In both aesthetic and civic terms, the salvation of Atlanta's "fabulous Fox" Theater has possibly been the most important of all. When the 50-year-old structure was headed for demolition to make way for an office tower in 1974, an energetic "Save the Fox!" fund-raising campaign was launched. The minareted building, whose interior resembles a Moorish courtyard, reopened in 1975 with a Linda Ronstadt concert, under the management of Atlanta Landmarks, Inc., a nonprofit corporation. The Fox now has no trouble earning its keep, and then some, as a much-used theater, concert hall and cinema.

George Rapp, one of the owners of the Chicago architectural firm that designed many exotic movie palaces, regarded them as "a shrine to democracy, where there are no privileged patrons." That may not be quite true today, but three of the Rapp brothers' most splendiferous theaters--the Omaha Orpheum, the St. Louis Theater and the old Penn Theater in Pittsburgh--are all now being used by the city orchestras.

In Boston, Sarah Caldwell's opera company has bought and is restoring the lavish Savoy (formerly the B.F. Keith Memorial). Modeled on the Paris Opera, the 52-year-old jewel was built as a vaudeville and movie showcase. In New York City the sputtering Beacon was relit in February 1977 when Japanese-born Kazuko Hillyer (wife of Violinist Raphael Hillyer) took a lease on the building through her nonprofit Concert Arts Society. The theater is becoming an international performing arts center.

The save-the-palaces movement burgeoned too late to spare some of the great houses, notably Manhattan's Roxy, the Orpheums of Seattle and Portland, Ore., and the Paradise (lost) of Chicago. Many that still exist have become porn houses. Others were stripped and chopped into two, three or even four cinemas. Manhattan's Radio City Music Hall, the grande dame of U.S. movie palaces, only narrowly survived last year. Nor do all those that remain cater to the arts. Chicago's old Century Theater metamorphosed into a multilevel shopping center. The old Loew's Valencia in Queens, N.Y., restored at a cost of $250,000, now houses an evangelical church; angels' wings and clothing have been added to the 12-ft.-tall Indian maidens inside.

It took Americans a long time to realize that their darkened palaces were not risible anachronisms but a priceless part of their urban heritage. Now these monuments to the halcyon days of movies are not only being restored but are restoring in return the cities that gave them birth. They should all be called the Phoenix. -

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