Nostalgia has a role to play in the present
THE past has its attractions and that is maybe all that keeps us sane in these days of lockdowns, weird world leaders and 224page, $377,000 city council reports about horsedrawn vehicles in the Octagon. Something like that.
A recent column reminded me that people have a fondness for the old days. It had mentioned the Chums’ Club at the State Theatre in the 1950s and ignited a bonfire of memories. One reader, now a respected matron, was sure that a similar club operated at the Mayfair in South Dunedin but she couldn’t join because she was not old enough. Her coyness about her age prevented me from undertaking any meaningful research. What is it with women and their age? I’m sure she wouldn’t be 65 yet, a mere child!
What research I did attempt was made easier by the superb service of Dunedin City Council digital archivist Alison Breese who inundated me with info in less time than it takes to serve a takeaway hamburger. And more nutritious, too. I mentioned all this to my old mate, George, who was not impressed.
‘‘Get real, Jim. Nostalgia is a thing of the past. Get up to date, for goodness’ sake. Try some snap chilled coffee instead of the ‘nice cup of tea’ you always ask for. Stop living in the past!’’
George, despite his age, likes to think he’s trendy. He sports carefully manicured designer stubble and always drinks straight from the stubby. No glass required. He also has a Number One haircut but that’s due to baldness rather than a fashion fetish. His opinions I invariably ignore, as I do those of rugby pundits who insist that the Blues are really a great rugby team. Stories from the State of 70 years ago will do me.
In 1934, Amalgamated Theatres gave the old Plaza, the last Dunedin theatre still showing silent movies, a complete rebuild. Their publicity described the new State at 242 George St (look for the retained facade) as ‘‘tastefully arranged, sumptuously carpeted, and fitted with very comfortable seats. Its mural decorations are pleasing to the eye, and the drapings of gold and bronze around the dress circle, reflecting the gold tint of the lights in the proscenium arch, are particularly effective. The lighting itself is a feature of the new theatre, and so contrived that an effect of gradual dimming or intensifying is obtained along with some charming colour effects.’’ Better viewing than some of the films, I imagine.
Tano Fama, a member of the famous WW1 Diggers Concert Party, was manager and the theatre was a great success. The Saturday morning Chums’ Club started in 1946 and the kids wanted cowboys and Indians and cartoons and were delighted that the sumptuous carpet was restricted to the aisles, allowing noisy Jaffa rolling to be indulged in on the wooden floor under the seats. A picture paradise.
And if it’s nostalgia you want, go no further than Saturday Matinee, a superb drawing by Ralph Miller which appears in Brian Miller’s book Moments in Time. That boy in the school cap (everybody wore a hat then) counting his money could well be you, oldtimer. From the shilling pocket money, maybe ninepence to get in, tuppence for an ice cream and a penny for the tram home. Try telling that to the young people of today!
The movie didn’t matter much as long as cowboys featured. The Masked Rider was a 10yearold Bgrade western with Cgrade stars and nothing memorable about plot, acting or direction. The baddies were bandits rather than Indians and the story told of the beautiful owner of a silver mine in Mexico who wanted help to stop the baddies robbing her shipments. The beautiful mine owner (of little interest to the Chums’ Club) was played by Nell O’Day. ‘‘Who she?’’ you ask. Her horseriding ability landed her parts in a string of westerns. The star, Johnny Mack Brown, was an exfootballer who was a hero to millions of kids and among the big money makers of the great days of the cheap westerns. When he was obliged to speak in Spanish in this film the words had so obviously been dubbed by a completely different voice that he got unintended laughs. Every hero had a comical sidekick and for Johnny Mack Brown it was Fuzzy Knight, so named because of his soft voice.
Of course, this film lore meant nothing to the Chums. They were content to see the Masked Rider and his gang rounded up by the good guys with the hero riding off with, ‘‘My work is done here, Ma’am,’’ leaving the tearful beautiful mine owner alone with her gold. No kissing allowed.
Then off to the empty section to reenact the whole thing with toy pistols and imaginary horses. No women included. Don’t tell me nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.