The remnants of papier-mâche still cover the projection booth wall.
American cinema is facing a crisis. As the first century of film fades into the second, so too do the prospects for preserving and restoring our filmic heritage. More than fifty percent of the films released prior to 1950 are already lost forever - their prints burned in some long-forgotten theater fire; their negatives long since salvaged for their silver content. And while organizations such as the National Film Preservation Foundation and the American Film Institute as well as worthy filmmakers like Martin Scorcese and Edward James Olmos strive to save these lost feature films, it is distressing to learn that one film form is falling through the cracks: The Trailer. Yes, the lowly "coming soon" teasers. And that's where Dan Mirvish and Dean Gonzalez come in.
But Mirvish and Gonzalez did not choose to become Trailer Restorers. Instead, it was the Trailers that chose them.
While on a location scout for a music video for the song "Cell Phone Brain Explosion" by the Finnish speed-metal band, Death Plönkt, Dan and Dean stumbled into the aging Torrance Majestic Theatre in Southern California. The theatre was originally one of the faux-picture palaces of the late 30s - part of an architectural trend that copied the grand picture palaces of the 20s, but was forced to use Depression-era WPA workers who often skimped on plaster. Many of these theaters collapsed shortly after they were built, but the Majestic's resourceful manager had used fishnetting to prevent plaster from falling on the heads of patrons. Eventually, in 1943, he defied wartime rationing of paste and repaired the ceiling with papier-mâche. The Majestic was saved!
But salvation was not to last long. The advent of television slowly led to the decline of the Majestic in the 50s and 60s and the management was forced to turn the beautiful picture palace into a second-run, $1.00 a show theater. When the advent of video forced an end to the second-run business, management changed the theater into the premiere porno venue in the South Bay, "Le Majestique-X." But roof leakage, sewer-backups, and the prevailing stigma of publicly accessible pornography drove the audiences away. One last stab at revamping into a calender-based art house seemed perfect for the 90s resurgence of American indie films, but Torrance audiences were even more afraid to be seen in public at an art house than they were when the Majestic showed X-rated fare.
The remnants of papier-mâche still cover the projection booth wall.
Now run as a weekly swap meet for Filipino immigrants, the Majestic seemed like the perfect venue for "Cell Phone Brain Explosion" (it fits in well with a common Finnish metaphor). Mirvish and Gonzalez spent a hot Tuesday afternoon exploring the decaying theater and found the dusty spiral staircase that leads to the projection booth. Pushing open the hulking fireproof door, they were stunned by their discovery. Tucked between the old Simplex arc-light projector and the rewind table, was a three-foot pile of 35mm film trims. Dan and Dean fell to their knees and instantly knew that they had stumbled onto a powerful discovery. The dove into the pile of trims and, holding them gingerly up to the light, they marvelled at the forgotten celluloid images. Some black and white; some in color. Some brittle to the touch; others supple as a baby's bottom. And finally, the clue that would make it all make perfect sense: a single frame that said simply, "Coming Soon."
But those two words spoke volumes: The Majestic's projectionist (which, for most of the theater's life span had been a curiously anemic gentleman known only as "Spindles" McGhee) had been trimming a few frames off of every trailer and coming soon teaser that had ever been screened. His fingernails were apparently too calcified to effectively tear the splicing tape off the heads and tails of films when they were ready to be shipped back, so he just cut the trailers off at will, leaving the pile of trims for Mirvish and Gonzalez to discover those many years later.
Instantly forgetting their obligation to Death Blönkt (and thus incurring the wrath of the Finnish law firm of Liikanen, Paasilinna, Pesälä, and Iso-Hookana-Asunmaa, Esq.), the young filmmakers started in earnest putting these lost pieces of film history back together again. Working in the cramped corners of the Majestic's projection booth and with the ghost of old Spindles watching their every move, the nascent film preservationists painstakingly starting pairing up trims that had come from the same trailers. "Here's a piece of Casablanca!" Mirvish hollered. "Yes, and this piece definitely looks like Bogey at Rick's," replied Gonzalez. "A match!" they both yelled.
A frame that definitely looks like it came from Casablanca.
For two years, they toiled. It was difficult, sweaty work in an environment that still bore the musty odor of 60-year-old papier-mâche mixed with the weekly aroma of Philippine expatriates searching for a clean pair of socks. To make matters worse, unlike either the lofty preservationists at places like the Library of Congress or the Hollywood-financed big-picture rereleases, Mirvish and Gonzalez are neither schooled very well in the history of cinema, nor financed excessively well. "But film preservation isn't about who's got a PhD from Columbia in film criticism, or which studio can I get to distribute this on DVD," says a defiant Mirvish. "That's right, dude," adds Gonzalez. "It's about living up to the magic of movies, and the spirit of old Spindles."
The Beginning of a Beautiful Relationship
Indeed, the first in a what is hoped to be a long series of recovered trailers is a bona fide classic: Michael Cortiz' 1943 CASABLANCA. "From the looks of it, this is clearly a very rare trailer," explains Mirvish. "It's obvious that this was a teaser that was put into theaters before the finished film had even been completed." Gonzalez, who to this day is still elbow deep in film trims adds, "That's the only way we can explain some of the footage we found. They must have shot it, and then the studio, or the director dude, or some other dude decided to take it out. This is a great clue into what a classic Casablanca might have become!"
We believe that this was from a scene that was deleted from the final cut of Casablanca, but still made it into the trailer.
