Movie Stills

In 1937 Tom Harrisson founded the Mass-Observation Project. He had previously conducted anthropological research in Sarawak using a variety of observational methods, noting everything that he saw or heard, to form what we might today call a data base from which he could go on to hypothesise and write up his research. On his return to Britain he suggested that the same methods might be used to record and study the everyday lives of ordinary people in Britain. He chose to base his work in the north of England industrial town of Bolton, renaming it “Worktown” for the study. Harrisson’s team of unpaid, untrained volunteer observers kept diaries, distributed open-ended questionnaires and anonymously recorded people's conversations. They considered behaviour during family life, at work, on the street and on various public occasions, including public meetings, leisure activities, holidays, sporting and religious events. The Project was brought to an end because of the Second World War. However a vast amount of material was gathered, some of which was published at the time.

In “The Town that Vanished” (2018 Worktown Publishing) Ian Robinson brought the study up to date. However the subtitle of the book, “The Rise and Fall of Lancashire’s Biggest Mill Town” speaks for itself. If the Worktown team were recording Bolton at its zenith, Robinson’s book chronicles its nadir.

The first chapter is a study of the town’s cinemas in the late thirties. In 1938 the Mass Observation Team recorded that there were a staggering 47 cinemas within a five radius of the town centre. This was a time before television. Most working class people went to cinema twice a week since the programme was changed mid-week and another film shown. It seems that there was a pecking order of cinemas. The most prestigious were known as first run cinemas which got to show the latest films on release. Other films were shown but after a three or four week period the film returned for a second run. There were then third, fourth and even five run cinemas that would screen films that had been shown around the town several times already. The prices in the lower tiers were reduced as the films moved around the town. 

Bolton Odeon

The site and seating capacity of all cinemas was recorded. The premier was “The Odeon” (above) which had 2500 seats. Working its way down the list eventually the catalogue gets to that it calls unexceptional picture houses in the outlying districts. This group of cinemas were unfalteringly called flea pits or bug huts by local people since they were allegedly infested. “The Empire” on Howard Street, “The Ritz” on Fletcher Street, “The Carlton” on Mount Street, always called “The Mount” by locals. In 1959 as a ten year old boy I lived on Mount Street.

Mount Street was the archetypal “two up, two down” street of terraced houses. No hot water and outside loo. The opening sequence of “Coronation Street” always reminds me of it. It was a long street, winding down from St Matthew’s Church at the top to “The Mount” at the bottom with St Matthew’s School on the left in the middle. I lived at Number 77 opposite the School.

To a little boy the inside of the cinema and what it showed on its silver screen seemed wonderful. I very rarely got to see films at night with my mum and dad but what I did get was Saturday morning “flicks”. Film shows just for kids. Cowboy movies. Hopalong Cassidy. Dale Arden dressed in tight space suits enough to arouse sexual feeling in little boys before they were supposed to get them.

During the film you could feel movement under your feet. It wasn’t the bugs. Seats at the front were cheaper than those at the back and so during the film you got kids, who had paid peanuts to get in, crawling under your seats to get to those at the back that offered a better view. When the film broke down, as it frequently, did the juvenile audience booed and hissed. The doors were flung open and usherettes started hoofing kids out onto the street. Wonderful indeed.

But what was more wonderful for me were the movie stills displayed in glass cases outside the cinema. These were shots taken from the films themselves often showing the highlights. There could be up to a dozen in each case. The stills in the early years of cinema were black and white with pinpoint focus and superb depth of field in a quality that a mobile phone camera can never hope to achieve. Film Noire particularly lent itself to these style shots. Black and white. Shadow and light. Evoking poignant atmosphere of dozens of exotic and secret places. On the other hand they could be scenes in down to earth locations from the Bowery to the Bronx. They all whisked you away to somewhere else.

movie stills on the foyer wall

By the late fifties most of the stills in the cases were in colour. A colour palette that looked like nothing else. Vibrant and unrealistic in contrast to the vivacity of black and white stills. Nevertheless still enticing for a little boy.

The concept “Movie Stills” is a tremendous contraction in itself. Caught on camera something that is moving and making the meaning still. Captured in the millionth of second to stand still and be evocative for all time. It has often struck me that this is what poems are. Ideas formed into words and caught to stand still and be evocative for all time.

The cinema was at its height as a place for a night out at the end of the Second World War in the late forties. I have written a drama sequence of poetry, song and dialogue for four readers which chronicle my mum’s time in and after the War. In one set of lyrics I have tried to capture some of the sensation of going to the cinema. It is in the style of the Andrews Sisters, one of the original all girl, all spice, groups. It takes place where a man, and his brother invite my mum and her friend out. They ask the girls where they would like to go. The reply comes………

Take us to the pictures,
A place where we can dream.
Take us to the movies
to watch the silver screen.

Ride us to the place where cowboys roam the range.
Red Indians live in tepees all the across the plains.
Drums beat along the river, tomahawks and the rest.
Pow wow wow and digger de dog we love the Wild West.

Chorus

Fly us to Casablanca or down to Marrakech.
Smoke rings rising from foreign cigarettes.
Film noir in the shadows as Peter Lorre stares,
shuddering in the darkness on the edge of our chairs.

Chorus

Middle Eight

Girls with ice cream trays slide down the aisles.
One movie ends and another one begins.
Frozen choc or orange pop
and off we go again.

Put us on the dance floor with Ginger and Fred Astaire.
Long legs, swirling dresses, Busby Berkeley stairs.
Champagne breakfasts, Deco nights, Hollywood glamour (more).
Handsome heroes, beautiful women, give us more, more, more.

Chorus

They must have enjoyed the film because the man later married my mum and became my dad.

So finally onto a favourite film. Well almost. But first a poem.

Afternoon Theatre

Made up and dressed as walk-ons to look fine and fancy free,
they arranged to bump into each other from time to time.
Lingering on corners until the other came into view
only then daring to reach out, touch hands and peck cheeks.

With every day as regular as well hung wall paper,
their own marriage lines were too well rehearsed to forget.
Missing their cues, waiting in the wings, they had met too late
to step out of well-worn characters and audition for new parts.

Stars in each other’s eyes for a while, albeit in their own,
for the duration of drinking tea or smoking a cigarette.
Sitting outside, making giddy conversation across the table
to find something meaningful to patch their threadbare years.

Too scared to reach for freedom, take chances or improvise,
needing to watch the clock in what was their own golden time.
Knowing type casting brought security but repetition caused pain
prompts called them back to the parts they had played for life.

When they left the stage without curtain calls or encores,
there were no keepsakes, nor ovations, nor flowers.
He caught the bus and she drove home in a round-a-bout way
not even imagining there might be others just like them. 

People have said about my poem how clever it is to incorporate all the theatrical elements and terms that it does. This was, of course, very kind of them. That was always my intention. What no one has ever said is that it seems like a rewrite of “Brief Encounter” on stage rather than on film. That wasn’t my intention but every time I read the poem now I can’t help but recall the film and that rather large clock that still stands on Carnforth Station where some of it was shot. And look at the poster below. Movie stills indeed, capturing all and everything, just like poems.

Brief Encounter Poster

Thanks for reading,

Bill Allison