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Why Are They Wrecking Our Houses of Worship? by Davell Swan
The legendary Strand Theatre—the adventure continues?—was recently spared the wrecking ball by ACT for conversion to a live-theater for students. photo: D. Swan
IMAGINE FOR A MINUTE THE LATE-1960s
through mid-80s counter-culture San Francisco. The city is packed with numerous repertory and other cinemas, some the notorious "grind houses," many featuring cheap admittance and the equally-meaningful aroma of weed. Near Seventh and Market Streets alone stood the legendary Strand, the St. Francis, the Electric and the Embassy theaters.
The much-reviled Embassy, demolished during April of 1995, one of the city's oldest theaters, opened in 1905 as the Bell. The earthquake of 1906 greatly damaged the building but in 1907 it came back as a vaudeville house. Prior to its more recent ignominy, it was variously named the American, the Rialto and the Rivoli. The also-lost Embassy Lounge, featuring one of SF's few round bars, abutted it.
One of SF's more charming repertory houses was the Pagoda on Powell at Columbus: born in 1907, it was demolished just this April. The northeast corner of the Cannery, on the end of the Embarcadero, where now stands an upscale bar, The Parlor, once housed the cozy Cannery Cinema (1971-78).
The New Mission Theatre: The last wrecked vestiges of a once glorious cinema palace. photo: D. Swan
Toward the end of its vital period, at the Northpoint Theater at Bay and Powell, we watched Scorsese's "Last Temptation of Christ" (1988) and stupidly refused the priceless propaganda that sweet little-old Catholic church-ladies were handing out outside in protest.
The conservative Sunset District was not without its own claim to bohemian intellectual culture in the form of the Surf Theatre. We saw the most obscure and unforgettable underground film Robert Duvall ever imagined participating in—"Tomorrow" (1972)—in that very cinema. (NetFlix it immediately, you'll be glad ya did.)
All good film buffs quickly took to the VCR advent in the late-70s and started catching up on the obscure stuff at home, thereby becoming part of the problem—backing "progress"—while leaving most of our favorite neighborhood movie houses to rot. These are our cinema houses of worship, but unlike Notre Dame in Paris or Grace Cathedral here, we are letting them go.
Fortunately and surprisingly, the Roxie has endured, and even added a small, less atmospheric room, the "Little Roxie" two doors down. Likewise the glorious Castro Theatre is thriving as is the Paramount in Oakland.
The Clay is functioning and The York, on 24th Street in the Mission, though no longer showing films has evolved into a successful and down-home, live-theater venue, The Brava. In fact, the legendary Strand Theatre, has been acquired by the American Conservatory Theater which plans to revive it as a 300 seater—down from its 800-seat glory—for productions by its master degree actors.
The projectionist supplied negative headroom further bolstering the audience's surrealistically-enhanced experience. photo: D. Swan
But it was the aforementioned Market Street grind houses that provided maximum adventure for the buck.
One night, during a screening at the Electric featuring Herschell Gordon Lewis, known for his pioneering of "Splatter Horror", a very young boy in the first row standing near his mother, began whining about being scared senseless by the gore. She gave him a few good whacks while repeatedly screaming for him to shut up. No one said a word.
Across Market Street, the St. Francis Theater also provided plenty to think about besides what was on the screen. Patrons regularly disrespected each other with impressive threats. This led to the house lights being kept on throughout each showing.
Similarly, the Strand's balcony could always be counted on for excitement. Once, while we were watching something currently unmemorable, the man directly behind us began to grunt loudly. Before anybody connected the sound with a specific private bodily function, the odor sent us all running for our lives.
Four long-closed grind houses still have facades standing on Mission Street in the Mission District: the Grand, now a dollar store, the El Capitan which can now be driven though to enter the hipster bar Bruno's parking lot, the New Mission and, the last to close, the Tower.
The Tower, circa 1975, before the slow deconstruction began, featuring the SF premiere of a Mexican film. photo: courtesy S. Harnett & G. Vigfusson
I remember a Roger Corman "Horny Nurse" series (including "Night Call Nurses", 1972, and "Candy Stripe Nurses", 1974, among others) at the Tower during the early-80s. The projectionist refused to, or else simply could not, due to equipment failure, center the frame vertically, leaving the print negative headroom, a kind of primitive split-screen.
And we thought we had it bad.
What will happen to our cinephile-freak children when they are obliged to watch "Lawrence of Arabia" (1962) or "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly" (1966) on an iPhone10?
Can a cult of acetate survive? Can any of these dream palaces be preserved or resurrected? I await alongside you, dear film-fanatic reader, with bated breath.
(For more info on SF's lost theaters see the Sam Harnett and Gundi Vigfusson excellent article "Standing Dead")