To Excite, Educate and Elevate:
Movies That Do More Than Amuse

Undated view of a Hale's Tour's car (Moving Picture World, 17 July 1916, Page 372)

Preview

Even though they also showcased live entertainment, nickelodeons helped popularize moving pictures with the public. In urban settings, in particular, these new theatres were popping up everywhere, offering patrons a mixture of story, documentary and travel films at an affordable price. Women attended nickelodeons while running their daily errands, children congregated there after school, and men dropped by on their lunch hour or after work, while families attended in the evenings or on weekends. The average nickelodeon showed a variety of films, whisking the viewer away to new locations, both real and imagined – a ranch in Wyoming, a bustling street in New York or (as George Méliès had done earlier) on a rocket ship to the moon. They offered an escape from the day, where one could be entertained by a wide array of subjects at a minuscule price.

But while nickelodeons were quickly becoming popular destinations, that’s not the only way motion pictures were experienced in the first decade of the 20th century. Film had multiple uses; at the same time Northwest audiences were beginning to fill these popular movie venues, the public was also viewing motion pictures in other contexts, sometimes outside the theatre space.

 
 
 
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To Excite, Educate and Elevate:
Movies That Do More Than Amuse

Reel 1: Crazy Train

One use of film kept it within the realm of entertainment, but applied it in a novel way. Motion pictures were a key element of Hale’s Tours, an early amusement ride that presaged any number of modern-day theme park attractions. Developed by George Hale, a former fireman, Hale’s Tours was introduced at the 1904 Louisiana Purchase Exposition in St. Louis, where Hale not only ran his novelty ride but also a fire-fighting demonstration for Exposition crowds. Both were huge hits. The fire demonstration was big and spectacular, full of dangerous scenes and daring rescues – a splashy show not uncommon for such gatherings. The Hale’s Tours ride, however, while smaller and more intimate, had commercial potential. With that in mind, George Hale set about improving his design at the Exposition’s close and, in the spring of 1905, opened the first official Hale’s Tours in Kansas City.

Hale’s Tours riffed on the concept of the “phantom” ride – in this case, one that simulated the experience of train travel. Patrons bought tickets at the booth outside, then entered a space that was made up to look like the interior of a railcar. A conductor stepped in, punched tickets, then announced that the train was about to depart, after which the lights were dimmed and the show began. Phantom rides weren’t new, but George Hale was using modern techniques to create the illusion of motion, which included using moving pictures as part of the show. As “passengers” watched a film projected before them – usually a point-of-view film taken from the front of a train or streetcar – fans blew air on the audience, painted scenes scrolled past the side windows, whistles and other sound effects could be heard while the car rocked back and forth. For this last effect, a belt with metal pieces ran underneath the car, striking a second metal piece as it passed by, simulating the clackety sound of a train, while also causing the faux railcar to bump and jostle. This belt was also designed to move at varying speeds, which helped give riders the sensation of starting and stopping.[1]

Some Hale’s Tours shows used regular movie projection, with the images coming from a projector situated behind the viewer, much like a movie theatre. Others, however, enhanced the experience by placing the projector in front of the audience, then back projecting the images onto a two-way screen. This reverses the onscreen image but avoids projecting the film over the heads of the audience, a tiny detail that somewhat detracted from the overall experience. The films themselves were taken in a variety of locations – from the front of streetcars in famous cities, from trains running through mountain ranges, or just the scenes from an exotic part of the world. These pictures were typically made with the Hale’s Tours ride in mind, but on some level they tapped into the emerging travelogue movie genre, allowing patrons to view far off places that most would never visit. Some shows enhanced the travelogue feel by hiring a lecturer to narrate the scenes, offering details on the locations being shown. A handful of Hale’s Tours films even incorporated narrative elements or temporarily ditched the point-of-view structure, but by and large the films tended to show scenes that complimented the ride’s mimicry of forward motion. “Except for the lack of color,” claimed Raymond Fielding, “the illusion was quite convincing; all the more so because of the way in which the moving image of the tracks [onscreen] slipped away under the forward edge of the coach. According to a trade paper account, the illusion was so good that when trolley rides through cities were shown, members of the audience frequently yelled at pedestrians to get out of the way or be run down.”[2]

Hale’s Tours made its first Northwest appearance in the summer of 1906. This was at Spokane’s Natatorium Park, an amusement destination at the end of the local streetcar line, much like the Madison and Leschi Park Pavilions in Seattle. The Natatorium’s main feature was a public swimming area, but the park also offered picnic spaces and a variety of fair-like entertainments – seasonal outdoor recreations to which Spokanites flocked in the warmer months.

For the 1906 season Jacob “Dutch Jake” Goetz, who operated many of the Natatorium’s side attractions, opened a pair of Hale’s Tours shows, both housed inside a larger building. “The inside is arched and 2,000 electric lights have been installed,” noted The Spokane Press. “On each side is a Hale’s touring car. Each car carries 60 people and is accompanied by a lecturer, one showing Market [S]treet, San Francisco, from Thirteenth [S]treet to the Ferry and the other [showing] scenes from the first car after the earthquake.”[3] The two cars at the Natatorium were among the estimated 500 Hale’s Tours shows running nationwide at the height of their popularity.

The San Francisco scenes didn’t last all season. George Hale sold the ride equipment and film scenes to men like Dutch Jake; the pictures cost between 15 and 22 cents per foot per subject. Once those scenes were played out, however, the proprietor could sell the footage back to Hale at a discount, then use the funds to offset the cost of obtaining new films.

In its heyday, George Hale updated his rail scenes with contract films shot by the Edison, Pathé and Selig companies, among others. The length of each film could vary, but they were typically short – roughly five to seven minutes each.[4] Most rides showed scenes from more than one location, allowing the viewer to experience both Chicago and Paris in one sitting, but the combined effect was more akin to an amusement ride than a cinematic experience. As with a regular moving picture show, however, variety was the critical element in keeping a Hale’s Tours attraction fresh. This was perhaps doubly important because the ride itself was essentially a one-trick pony, delivering the same experience over and over, the film being the one and only difference. The show was also quite short; arguably the boarding of passengers and taking of tickets took as much (if not more) time than the ride itself. These were factors that ultimately limited the success of Hale’s Tours – even with a regular supply of new films, the ride wasn’t so novel or spectacular that it would draw people over and over.

With two cars running simultaneously at Natatorium Park, Dutch Jake appears to have gone all-in on Hale’s Tours as an attraction, and he kept at least one (and possibly both) running in the summers of 1907 and 1908 as well.[5] And while San Francisco held the initial spotlight in 1906 (the famous earthquake and fire occurred in April, so the subject matter isn’t too surprising), he probably changed films on a regular basis. Natatorium advertisements, however, fail to indicate how often that was done. In fact, once this new attraction was debuted at the Natatorium, Hale’s Tours took its place alongside the park’s many other features, which included a children’s pony track, the House of Trouble and the Foolish House, dances, bands, acrobatic acts and balloon rides. So despite some initial excitement, little was written about Hale’s Tours after its introduction – not even the bill changes were advertised. Then again, Hale’s Tours wasn’t a film show in the traditional sense, but a sensory experience that just happened to incorporate motion pictures. From that perspective the movies shown inside Hale’s Tour were subordinate to the overall experience. And because the pictures tended to be repetitive (a trolley view in Philadelphia, a trolley view in Munich), it’s easy to dismiss the films themselves.

The Hale’s Tours attraction at Spokane’s Natatorium appears to have run for just three seasons, and was no longer advertised after the summer of 1908. Its disappearance roughly coincided with the demise of Hale’s Tours as a form of popular amusement, the technology being limited beyond its novelty appeal. But while parks or fairgrounds were obvious places to find an attraction like Hale’s Tours, sometimes these units were carried from city to city like a touring theatrical show. This, in fact, was how Seattle experienced Hale’s Tours, when it turned up about a month after Dutch Jake opened his shows at the Natatorium.

In Seattle, this roadshow engagement was a throwback to the early days of projected film, when a traveling exhibitor rolled into town, rented commercial space and played for as long as the public stayed engaged. In this case, in late June 1906 Seattle’s version of Hale’s Tours set up shop at 1416 Second Avenue, one door down from the eventual site of the Odeon Theatre, playing at least six weeks and making weekly bill changes. Tickets for Hale’s Tours cost 10 cents for adults and five cents for children, with “[t]rains leav[ing the] depot from 1 to 5 p.m. and 6:30 to 11 p.m. daily, Saturday and Sunday every 15 minutes.”[6]

Unlike the Spokane engagements, the exhibitors behind the Seattle run of Hale’s Tours advertised, at first, the featured scenes, which provides more detail on what passengers were viewing. For its initial week, the attraction was a trolley trip through downtown Boston, along with scenes taken around the Grand Hotel in the Catskills. On Monday, July 2nd, the views changed to an odd juxtaposition – a trip through Ceylon (modern-day Sri Lanka), coupled with a train ride through the Engadin Valley in the Swiss Alps. The bill changed again the following Monday, July 11th, with scenes taken in the south of France and the Hudson River Valley.[7] After the third week the show remained in town, but curtailed its newspaper advertising.

To help promote the ride, the Seattle Daily Times ran a photo of the Hale’s Tours attraction on Second Avenue, which was installed in an existing storefront space but looked like the back end of a caboose jutting out onto the sidewalk. Emblazoned across the top awning was “Dawson, New York & New Orleans R.R.,” while the Hale’s logo (“Trains to all Parts of the World”) was closer to the ground, on a platform the patron ascended to enter. The accompanying text for this photograph was straight out of the touring company’s advance materials.

          From [the 1416 Second Avenue location] the train leaves every fifteen minutes. The cars are filled, the conductor blows the whistle, the bell rings and the passengers start on a trip as realistic as though they were on a moving passenger train. The swaying of the car, rounding curves, going through tunnels, crossing bridges and other train accompaniments are faithfully experienced. The car goes through wonderful fields of corn, coffee, cotton and then beautiful tropical scenery, with coconut and banana groves.
          As quick as a flash the passengers ride through mountains of snow and in another instant they are riding in the streets of London, Paris, New York or other large cities. The illusion of the trip is vividly impressed upon the mind of the passengers, and regular patrons of the train consider it the best amusement that the town affords.[8]

Whereas the Spokane shows were somewhat drowned out by the Natatorium’s other amusements, Seattle papers gave Hale’s Tours much more notice during the first weeks of its stay. Calling the show not only popular but “instructive and amusing,” the Daily Times observed that “[t]he illusion is perfect and very pleasing.”[9] But there was a second factor that helped make the Seattle opening a success: Hale’s Tours offered a cool place to relax during a stifling heat wave that extended through the July 4th holiday. “The coolest place in the city is the Hale’s touring car, having many electric fans, which are now working overtime keeping hundreds of patrons cool,” observed the Daily Times. “The trip this week is by far the most interesting yet offered by the management. Ceylon has many attractive points of interest for the tourist. The trip through the cocoanut [sic] and palm gardens cannot be surpassed for scenic beauty. The snow-clad Alps are shown, and the trip through the Engadin Valley comprises the finest mountain scenery in Europe.”[10] With respect to the Ceylon film, at least part of this picture cut away from the forward-looking view used in most Hale’s films. In this case, the Daily Times highlighted a sequence in which the train stopped on a bridge and train passengers in the film were shown throwing coins into the river while locals dove to retrieve them. This sequence was the highlight of the week’s show, and elicited hearty applause each time it was shown.[11]

Hale’s Tours ended its Seattle run at some point in mid-August. On the 15th, a classified ad in the Post-Intelligencer stated that the company was looking for 20 girls to come on tour with the show – those interested were asked to report to 1416 Second Avenue for an interview. It’s not clear what the operators had in mind with this request, though perhaps they were looking to staff their “train” with an all-female crew. Regardless, it’s the last time the show was referenced in Seattle. Shortly thereafter the attraction made its final run and pulled out of town.[12]

This Hale’s Tours engagement in 1906 appears to have been the only time the ride was featured in Seattle. It did well initially, but because this was a touring version of the show it wasn’t going to be around long enough to wear out its welcome, which somewhat liberated the organizers from the need to re-engage the public week after week. By contrast, the fact that at least one Hale’s Tours ride operated at Spokane’s Natatorium Park for three consecutive summers is probably because the park wasn’t open year-round, and that it was one of several attractions. People went to Natatorium Park for the full experience, of which Hale’s Tours was only one part. Under either scenario, however, it was clear that while Hale’s Tours may have been interesting and amusing, it didn’t provide much in the way of variety, so its shelf life was limited. After the Spokane Natatorium shows closed in 1908, in fact, the last known Washington engagement for a Hale’s Tours ride occurred in the summer of 1909, when the C.W. Parker Amusement Company was touring eastern Washington with a carnival tent show. In that context Hale’s Tours looked even more like a fairground attraction, being part of their “magnificent aggregation of 18 shows.”[13] By that time, however, with nickelodeons operating in towns all across America, there was plummeting interest in an attraction like Hale’s Tours, which was a limited use of motion picture technology constrained by the experience it was trying to simulate.

As an attraction Hale’s Tours was largely played out by 1910, though not before paying its inventor handsomely. George Hale sold the basic equipment and territorial rights for these units, making the kind of money that the operator of a Hale’s Tours show probably never saw. “Hale’s crude attempts to simulate reality may seem ludicrous to us now,” observed Raymond Fielding, “but the influence of this little show on the emerging motion picture should not be underestimated. It served not only to introduce and popularize the early projected motion picture, but also acted as a bridge which linked the primitive arcade peep shows and vaudeville presentations of the day with the makeshift motion picture theaters which spread across the United States between 1905 and 1910.”[14]

With Hale’s Tours moving pictures were still being used to entertain, just in a slightly different way. But film had other uses, as well – they could also instruct. The Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition of 1909 was a perfect example.

By Eric L. Flom – January 2025

Notes:
[1] Raymond Fielding, “Hale’s Tours: Ultrarealism in the Pre-1910 Motion Picture,” Cinema Journal, Volume 10, Number 1 (Autumn 1970), Pages 39-40.
[2] Ibid., Page 41.
[3] “New Attraction at the Park,” The Spokane Press, 26 May 1906, Page 1.
[4] Fielding, Page 44.
[5] See Natatorium advertisements, The Spokane Press, 22 June 1907, Page 3; and 20 May 1908, Page 3.
[6] Hale’s Tours advertisement, Seattle Daily Times, 30 June 1906, Page 3.
[7] See Hale’s Tours advertisements, Seattle Daily Times, 2 July 1906, Page 2; and 11 July 1906, Page 9.
[8] “Hale’s Tours are Proving to be a Drawing Card Here,” Seattle Daily Times, 11 July 1906, Page 12.
[9] See “Hale’s Tours are Popular,” Seattle Daily Times, 1 July 1906, Page 8; and “Hale’s Tours in Seattle,” Seattle Daily Times, 1 July 1906, Page 52.
[10] “Hale’s Tours,” Seattle Daily Times, 3 July 1906, Page 5.
[11] “Hale’s Tours,” Seattle Daily Times, 5 July 1906, Page 7.
[12] See “WANTED – 20 girls…,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 15 August 1906, Page 11.
[13] See C.W. Parker Amusement Company advertisement, The Yakima Herald, 8 September 1909, Page 8.
[14] Fielding, Page 47.

 
 
 
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To Excite, Educate and Elevate:
Movies That Do More Than Amuse

Reel 2: An Inside (Sales) Job

Hale’s Tours was one way that the public saw motion pictures outside the traditional theatre setting. This was also true for the film shows given at the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition (AYPE), held on the University of Washington campus in the summer of 1909. There, audiences were exposed to motion pictures as an educational and promotional tool in a series of illustrated lectures not unlike the ones gracing local stages a generation before. At the same time nickelodeons were lining the streets of downtown Seattle, over at the AYPE moving pictures were being used to instruct and engage, connecting with people who might not have attended a nickelodeon theatre in their own right.

Gatherings like the AYPE had a long history in the development of film. While Thomas Edison’s kinetoscope made its public debut in 1894, other inventors were intent on bringing competing technologies to the marketplace. Regional and national expositions were common in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, and offered an ideal venue for inventors to demonstrate their machines to the public (not to mention potential investors).[1]

These early inventors typically used the exposition format to demonstrate moving pictures as a technology. But once movies were no longer viewed through the lens of science, they began to be harnessed for the stories they could tell. They could be used, for example, to highlight the country’s natural wonders, its industrial prowess, and the management of its lands and resources – things that showcased America and what it meant to be American. This new effort was originated by James C. Boykin, who organized an exhibition of films on Indian schools for the 1901 Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo.[2] Boykin’s idea was expanded upon at the 1904 Louisiana Purchase Exposition, held in St. Louis, where E.B. Thompson presided over an exhibition showcasing Native Americans in Arizona and New Mexico, organized for the U.S. Department of the Interior. They weren’t the only government agency with a picture show in 1904 – the Department of Agriculture hired the Selig Company to shoot footage for a series of films on American farming. The following year, at the 1905 Lewis and Clark Centennial Exposition in Portland, E.B. Thompson created an even larger exhibition for the Department of the Interior, this one featuring scenes from Yellowstone Park and other parts of the western U.S. He also organized a second set of films for the U.S. Navy that was eventually used for recruitment purposes.

Following a successful run at the 1907 Jamestown Exposition in Norfolk, E.B. Thompson (with James Boykin overseeing the effort) turned his attention to the 1909 Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition in Seattle, getting his biggest assignment to date: curating film and slide programs for the U.S. Department of the Interior, Navy, War Department, Treasury Department and the Reclamation Service. A total of $4,906.67 was allocated to create these film exhibits, which included preparation, maintenance, freight and transportation charges, salaries and other expenses. Although some pictures were selected from existing footage, others were made specifically for the AYPE by Robert K. Bonine; all told, some 15,000 feet of film were projected by the U.S. government, along with 1,500 glass slides, in a series of programs that changed intermittently throughout the Exposition.[3]

For Theodore Kling of the trade paper Nickelodeon, these presentations were not simply a way to bring America to life for visitors, but “another illustration of the [educational] possibilities for the future in moving picture work.”[4] He was particularly keen on the ability of motion pictures to help the public grasp complex issues, showing scenes of far-flung places, animal life or industrial practices that would have been difficult for a speaker to depict in the minds of an audience. “A great deal has been accomplished when the moving picture film has even imitated successfully the effect of ordinary objects in motion,” Kling noted. “How much more, then, is the art to be credited when it can bring before our gaze the living counterpart of those things which otherwise we might never see.”[5]

The Thompson shows weren’t the only attractions using motion pictures. Individual exhibits incorporated films as well, with Washington, Oregon, California, Spokane County and the Philippines announcing plans to do so, each to highlight their principal cities, industries, natural resources or landmarks. Not all were successful. A planned set of films on the industrial might of Chicago, for example, was scrapped due to cost. And Idaho, which didn’t initially plan to show films, decided to switch gears at the 11th hour even though their Exposition building couldn’t accommodate the change. Instead, they set about raising funds to construct a small outbuilding where their proposed film show could be shown.[6]

Industry, too, took an active role in bringing pictures to the AYPE, showcasing a variety of commercial goods and services. The National Cash Register Company, for example, resurrected an existing illustrated lecture on the company that incorporated motion pictures. Films on the Alaskan fishing industry were also shown, depicting the catching, processing and shipping of fish to market. These contrasted nicely with films being shown at the Eskimo Village on the Pay Streak, the Exposition’s amusement section, where pictures depicted traditional Indian and Eskimo fishing, whaling and seal hunting techniques. Railroads were also well represented. The Canadian Pacific Railway had a popular exhibit where they showed scenic films (narrated by a lecturer) taken along their rail lines, some of which were shot by Seattle-based cameraman William Harbeck. The Oregon Railroad and Navigation Company showed views of their line that ran along the Columbia River; similar films were taken on the Southern Pacific’s Oregon route through Cow Creek Canyon, Willamette Valley, Rogue River Valley and Umpqua Valley.[7] In all, one local paper estimated that more than 100,000 feet of film were being shown at the AYPE – educating, instructing and “pressed into service to tell the story left untold by [the] exhibits.”[8]

The E.B. Thompson programs screened daily in a 500-seat theatre in the south wing of the Hawaii Building. This space had been outfitted specifically for picture shows, with ample ventilation, a sloped floor, a white plaster “screen” on the far wall (28 feet long and 20 feet high), with a special lecture platform to the side. The operator had ample room to project the films, it was said, in a booth that had been completely fireproofed.[9]

Each film program ran for about 30 minutes, with a 15-minute break in between, allowing for at least 10 screenings per day; there were no film shows given on Sundays. Theodore Kling, writing in Nickelodeon, reprinted a typical day’s program from early in the Exposition’s run, complete with the lecturers assigned to accompany each presentation.

Time Days Title Lecturer
10:15 a.m. Monday-Saturday Picturesque Hawaii Loyd Childs
11:00 a.m. Monday-Saturday The Life of a Soldier E.C. Culver
11:45 a.m. Monday-Saturday In the Navy W.T. Crone
12:30 p.m. ·       Mon./Thurs.

·       Tues./Wed./Sat.

 ·       Our Neighbors of Latin-America

·       A Trip Through Alaska

 ·       Alfred Hart

·       C.L. Andrews
1:15 p.m. ·       Mon./Wed./Fri.

·       Tues./Thurs./Sat.

 ·       Tuberculosis

·       The Nation’s Treasure House

 ·       Dr. M.W. Glover

·       E.C. Culver
2:00 p.m. Monday-Saturday Saving the Forests Don Carlos Ellis
2:45 p.m. Monday-Saturday Good Roads M.O. Eldridge
3:30 p.m. Monday-Saturday The Call of the West Clarence Blanchard
4:15 p.m. Monday-Saturday Yellowstone National Park E.C. Culver
5:00 p.m. Monday-Saturday The Volcano Kilauea Augustus Knudsen

The programs and lecturers changed over the course of the AYPE. For example, the Good Roads lecture given by M.O. Eldridge, of the U.S. Office of Public Roads, was also given by Andrew Anderson and B.F Heidel, while W.H. Dunlap sometimes took over for W.T. Crone to give the lecture for In the Navy. Clarence Blanchard, from the Reclamation Service, not only provided narration for The Call of the West but also lectured for a film called The Land That God Forgot, which highlighted the prehistoric cultures of the American Southwest as well as various government projects in the area. Similarly, Dr. M.W. Glower not only gave the lecture for Tuberculosis but also narrated a second health subject called Fighting the Plague. Other films and lectures playing the Hawaii Building that summer included Hawaii’s Charms, The Cross Roads of the Pacific, Improving the Highways, Mount Rainier, and two shows lectured by Fred Prince, Yosemite National Park and The Grand Canyon of Arizona.[10] The films of Hawaii and Yellowstone brought in the largest crowds, though picture attendance certainly wasn’t hampered by the fact that the Hawaii Building made a regular practice of serving fresh pineapple, an exotic treat at the time, to visitors.[11]

The lecturers for these subjects were curated as much as the films themselves – each speaker brought a liveliness and expertise to their subjects that engaged AYPE crowds. For Yellowstone Park, E.C. Culver drew upon a dozen or more trips he had made through the area since the 1880s, while Loyd Childs, Augustus F. Knudson and W.J. Cooper (all of whom lectured on Hawaii) not only educated audiences but also entertained them with personal anecdotes about the scenes being shown. They were about as popular as Clarence Andrews, who normally worked in the Alaska Building but who also provided the narration for A Trip Through Alaska. “Information concerning Alaska that Mr. Andrews hasn’t on the tip of his tongue isn’t worth wasting pen, ink and paper on,” Theodore Kling noted.[12] “A few of the lectures failed to arouse enthusiasm,” observed the summary report on the AYPE, “but the average of excellence was high and expressions of appreciation constantly heard.”[13] A big hinderance for the speakers, though, was the venue itself. Most AYPE buildings were constructed solely for the Exposition itself, not for the long term, and that was certainly the case for the Hawaii Building, resulting in a screening room that looked fantastic but had terrible acoustics. At these shows it behooved the lecturer to be engaging – and very loud.

The films shown in the Hawaii Building fell into several categories. First there were scenics, which allowed fairgoers to see views from other places. This certainly applied to films such as Yellowstone Park, Picturesque Hawaii, and Hawaii, the Paradise of the Pacific, all of which focused on the visual splendors of their subject and tended to be the most popular. Our Neighbors of Latin-America also seems to have fallen into this scenic category, at least with respect to the images themselves, which showed the region’s forests, mountains, coffee plantations, and offered glimpses of the larger cities in Central and South America. In this case, however, it was left to the lecturer to carry the proceedings beyond the actual film footage. “[Alfred Hart] also conveys a very lucid idea of the commercial relations with the countries in question, and he elucidates interestingly the history and functions of the international bureau of American republics.”[14]

A second category of motion pictures showed the U.S. government in action. The Life of a Soldier and In the Navy, narrated by E.C. Culver and W.T. Crane respectively, were essentially recruitment films. Both showed various drills and training exercises, with In the Navy also offering glimpses of sailors entertaining themselves aboard a ship. The most thrilling moment in The Life of a Soldier came during a set of cavalry exercises, when a rider’s horse suddenly took a nosedive at full gallop. But audiences cheered when, in true hero fashion, the young man sprung up after the fall with a beaming smile, completely unharmed. “It is something of a relief to learn that the victim isn’t seriously hurt,” Theodore Kling remarked, apparently giving no thought to the welfare of the horse.[15] The Nation’s Treasure House, on the other hand, was a purely educational film showing scenes from the Treasury Department in Washington D.C., in particular the Bureau of Printing and Engraving. There were glimpses into the cash room and gold vaults, but most of the picture focused on the creation of paper money and postage stamps. Engravers were shown creating the plates for the large printing presses, followed by shots of the presses and cutters going full bore, then the counters sorting the new bills into bundles. This would make The Nation’s Treasure House far more exciting, one would think, than Clarence Blanchard’s lecture for The Call of the West, which was centered on government irrigation and reclamation efforts.

The final category of motion pictures at the 1909 AYPE were along the lines of advocacy, typified by the screenings of Tuberculosis and Road Improvement. In the former, the film centered on prevention, with Dr. Glover’s lecture focusing on safeguards and possible ways to cure the disease. Road Improvement, on the other hand, was an appeal for upgrading public roads, a subject that drew interest from rural visitors to the Exposition. The screen images not only allowed M.O. Eldridge to lecture on safety and comfort, but also to highlight the value of good roads from an infrastructure and economic standpoint. “What it means in the marketing of crops, in the haulage of materials and products, and the wear and tear on horseflesh and vehicles – all these points are pushed home irresistibly – so irresistibly as to send away even the most phlegmatic of men to become missionaries in the cause of good roads.”[16]

A curious addition to this last category was the film Saving the Forests, an appeal for conservation. Don Carlos Ellis of the U.S. Forest Service gave the accompanying lecture, with a film that depicted the damaging effects of clear cutting and deforestation on rivers and streams, fire prevention and ways to better manage natural resources.[17] It was an interesting selection given the role that lumber played in Seattle’s early history, and continued to play in communities throughout the Pacific Northwest; on some level Saving the Forests looked like counter-programming. The film may have been tied, however, to the First National Conservation Congress, organized by the Washington Conservation Association, which opened a three-day gathering at the AYPE in late August. Part of the growing conservation movement, the Congress’ stated goal was to raise awareness for preserving all kinds of natural resources, including timber, minerals and water.[18] Theodore Kling described Saving the Forests for readers of Nickelodeon:

          Our thoughtless, not to say criminal, wastefulness in stripping the land of its timber is strikingly demonstrated by [lecturer] D.C. Ellis. He tells, in word and picture, what destruction has been wrought in the way of obliterating the primeval woods. He tries to bring home to us the difference between intelligent use and wanton waste, and makes exceedingly clear the influence of forests upon the climate, the soils, the flow of streams and upon the atmosphere. What the forest service is doing towards the betterment of conditions is pointedly brought out.[19]

Interestingly, not only was Don Carlos Ellis a key speaker at the 1909 AYPE, but a pioneer in the field of educational cinema.[20] After heading the Educational Department at the U.S. Forestry Service, in the teens he moved over to the Department of Agriculture to perform similar duties, before eventually going into film distribution and becoming Secretary for the Visual Instruction Association of America. In addition, in 1923 he co-authored (with Lisa Thornborough) Motion Pictures in Education: A Practical Handbook for Users of Visual Aids, a manual promoting the use of motion pictures in U.S. classrooms.[21]

E.B. Thompson oversaw the shows at the Hawaii Building, often handling projection and slide duties himself. But his stay in the Pacific Northwest also offered a canvas for his own film work. As the AYPE stretched into the summer, Thompson took leave from the fairgrounds and traveled up into Canada to shoot scenes of the fishing industry in the Strait of Georgia, which separates British Columbia from Vancouver Island. He used Bellingham as his base of operations, shooting 200 feet of film from the dock of the Pacific American Fisheries before returning, later, to photograph their cooking and canning operations. He also joined the crew of the Callender, flagship of Pacific American’s fleet, as they fished west of Lummi Island. Particularly interesting was footage E.B. Thompson took of local Indians (presumably Lummi) fishing from canoes in and around the commercial operation. When Thompson inquired as to why the fleet allowed these small boats to pluck their catch directly from company nets, he received a surprisingly modern answer from representative Bert Huntoon. “‘They don’t hurt us much,’” he explained. “‘Besides, they have a moral right to fish here. In the early days this was their fishing ground.’” Efforts to halt commercial fishing in the area had run through the court system, Huntoon explained, but were unsuccessful. When Pacific American purchased the rights to that location, tensions were such that they made a corporate decision to allow Indian fishing in and around their site – it was easier to co-exist than to fight.[22]

Overall, Theodore Kling considered the government’s use of educational film at the 1909 AYPE an unqualified success.

          Uncle Sam is running a moving picture show at the Seattle exposition. It’s a good show, too, and the people seem to like it, if one may judge by the fact that about 4,000 of them patronize it every day, and the attendance to date has overrun the 100,000 mark. Of course, Uncle Sam charges nothing, the pictures are the best that money and talent can procure, and the accompanying lectures are delivered by experts who have gained their knowledge at first hand and whose heart is in their work…
          The first mention of moving pictures sometimes raises an incredulous smile – surprise that the federal government should be the sponsor and director of such an enterprise. A study of its workings, and attendance at the lectures, including observations of those attending them, brings home the conviction that it is one of the most efficient agencies in educating the public as to what our government is, what it does, what it holds in trust for the people and, in general, its duties and responsibilities. A regular college course in government reports could not begin to teach so much, nor could it be done in any other way likely to make a lasting impression.[23]

The idea of using film as an educational tool would play an important role in how moving pictures were perceived over the next few years. With the rapid growth of nickelodeons, there were many who viewed moving picture shows only in negative terms, with concerns about screen content and the venues in which they were shown. The proliferation of small movie houses was, for lovers of amusement, an affordable way to spend one’s leisure time. For others, however, these houses were dark, cheap and depicted stories that were often morally questionable – the type of businesses that needed strict regulation. Though not designed as such, E.B. Thompson’s film shows at the 1909 Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition were a rebuttal demonstrating that motion pictures weren’t always problematic, and in the right context they could be beneficial, even educational.

Battles over motion picture content would become a prime focus in the movie business over the next few years, particularly before World War I.

By Eric L. Flom – January 2025

Notes:
[1] Gregory Waller covers government film programs across several prominent gatherings (including the 1909 Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition) in his book Beyond the Movie Theatre: Sites, Sponsors, Uses, Audiences (Berkeley: University of California Press – 2023).
[2] Theodore T. Kling, “Motography in the Government Service,” Nickelodeon, September 1909, Pages 73-76. In this case, Kling’s article appears to have been written several months earlier, and not necessarily for Nickelodeon. An except of this article (credited, incidentally, to James Martin) appeared in the July 31 edition of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer. See James Martin, “Uncle Sam’s Moving Picture Show,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 31 July 1909, Page 6.
[3] “Report of the United States Government Board of Managers, Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition, Seattle, Wash., 1909” from Smithsonian Books of the Fairs, Microfilm Reel 167 (1908 London to 1910 Berlin), No. 1590, Pages 17, 70 and 72. Boykin and Thompson were able to bring in the AYPE film program right on budget, with $88.88 left to spare.
[4] Kling, Page 75.
[5] Ibid.
[6] See “Idaho Pictures at Seattle,” Nickelodeon, June 1909, Page 160; and Kling, Pages 75-76.
[7] “Railroads Showing Pictures at Seattle,” Nickelodeon, August 1909, Page 42.
[8] “Pictures Used to Illustrate Many Features of Great World’s Fair,” Interlaken, June 1909, Page 1.
[9] Smithsonian Books, Page 71.
[10] Ibid., Pages 70-71.
[11] See Alan J. Stein and Paula Becker (and the HistoryLink Staff), Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition: A Timeline History (Seattle: History Ink [in association with the University of Washington Press]), Page 150.
[12] Kling, Page 74.
[13] Smithsonian Books, Page 70.
[14] Kling, Pages 74-75.
[15] Ibid., Page 74.
[16] Ibid.
[17] Smithsonian Books, Pages 70-72.
[18] See Jennifer Ott, “First National Conservation Congress opens at the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition on August 26, 1909,” HistoryLink (https://www.historylink.org/File/8775), accessed 9 February 2020.
[19] Kling, Page 74.
[20] See Gregory Waller, “Institutionalizing Educational Cinema in the United States During the 1920s,” from Marina Dahlquist and Joel Frykholm, The Institutionalization of Educational Cinema: North America and Europe in the 1910s and 1920s (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press – 2019), Pages 234-237 and 246-247.
[21] See Don Carlos Ellis and Lisa Thornborough, Motion Pictures in Education: A Practical Handbook for Users of Visual Aids (New York: Thomas Y. Crowell Company, Publishers – 1923).
[22] Kling, Page 75.
[23] Ibid., Pages 73 and 75.

 
 
 
1
1

To Excite, Educate and Elevate: Movies That Do More Than Amuse

Reel 3: The Film Flock

Movies and religion have had an off/on, love/hate relationship. On the one hand, the growing popularity of moving pictures seemed to draw people away from institutions like the church and sometimes did so with subject matter that was considered immoral or that challenged traditional authority structures. But, at the same time, there were a good many films that drew on the Bible for story material, either directly or indirectly, employing themes and imagery that reinforced the country’s longstanding Christian traditions. One of those pictures, in fact, was among early cinema’s most popular releases. This was The Passion Play, a subject filmed multiple times that remained a box-office attraction for more than a decade. A significant movie subject in its own right, The Passion Play played a key role in introducing motion pictures to a segment of the public that sometimes avoided theatrical presentations of any type. In an era when organized religion could be discouraging (and sometimes hostile) toward popular entertainment, here was a film that embraced the values of that very group. While churches and civic organizations continued to rail against moving pictures from time to time, The Passion Play demonstrated that it was possible for the same groups to view films in a more positive light.

Interest in The Passion Play came from staged versions of the Christ story that had been performed every 10 years in the Bavarian town of Oberammergau going back to the 17th century. In 1879 dramatist Salmi Morse adapted the play for the American stage, though his version was met with controversy – among other things, many felt it sacrilegious to portray the story of Christ for a paying audience, a notion that persisted for years. Still, there was widespread interest in the Oberammergau stage productions, spurred in part by news accounts and traveling lecturers who highlighted them in their talks, detailing the play’s long history. With the development of motion pictures in the mid-1890s, several early filmmakers looked to capitalize on interest in the play.[1] Unfortunately, because there are several film versions of The Passion Play, it’s difficult to determine which one an audience may have been seeing during any particular engagement. The Horitz Passion Play, for example, was shot in 1897 in present-day Austria, and was the first to be shown in the United States. Running 90 minutes in length, this production used a combination of film, projected slides, lectures and music to tell its story, though it doesn’t appear to have come through the Pacific Northwest.

Other versions, however, were more widely seen. One was The Passion Play of Oberammergau, a film that bore a close relation to Salmi Morse’s stage play. Unlike the Horitz version, filmed in Europe, The Passion Play of Oberammergau was filmed on a rooftop in Manhattan; it contained 23 individual scenes, each about 100 feet in length, and ran for a total of 19 minutes. Due to the short run time, public presentations typically used a combination of motion pictures, lectures, hymnals and other features that sometimes stretched the program to the two-hour mark. This version of The Passion Play, much more widely seen by the American public, was presented in both traditional theatres as well as church settings.

Seattle’s first chance to see The Passion Play took place during the week of October 23, 1898, when an unknown version of the film turned up at the Third Avenue Theatre as part of a bill headlined by the stage play The South Before the War.[2] For this visit, however, it might be more accurate to say that Seattle was seeing portions of The Passion Play, because they almost certainly weren’t viewing the entire production. This initial engagement of the film was part of a show headlined by the stage offering but also featured the “genuine and original” Pickaninny Band, an act that dovetailed into the show’s Southern theme, along with the motion picture. Under this format the film probably wasn’t shown in its entirety, so the presentation was limited to selected scenes that were shown in between acts. Accounts from the Third Avenue don’t elaborate much on the presentation, and the reviewers almost certainly wouldn’t have known what was or was not being left out. Local papers seemed to give The Passion Play second billing behind the stage performance and though acknowledged as the first Seattle presentation of the film, it still came in for a bit of criticism. “…[T]he machine throws the views too rapidly, thus making the figures move too fast,” griped the Times. “The management’s reply to this criticism is that were the views shown as slowly as to reproduce real life the time required for the performance would be a drawback.”[3] Still, the uniqueness of the screening made it a standout, and the faithful made the pilgrimage to the Third Avenue throughout the week, with large crowds at every matinee and evening performance. Arguably, The Passion Play was second on the bill but may have been the bigger audience draw.[4] (Interestingly, the same week the Third Avenue was showing The Passion Play they were also showcasing some Spanish American War films in the space immediately next door, where they booked variety entertainment for a separate admission. That coincidence made the Third Avenue Theatre – for one week, at least – the Northwest’s first multiplex cinema.)

The presentational details are clearer for the next Seattle engagement of The Passion Play, which took place beginning June 26, 1899, at the Jefferson Theatre, located at the corner of Fourth Avenue and Jefferson. Promoters called this engagement the “official” motion pictures, shown under the auspices of the Austrian government, and claimed to be presenting the same show that had already played 200 nights in New York and 10 full weeks (over two engagements) in San Francisco. Seats were 25 cents (reserved seating was twice that), with proceeds from several shows benefitting the local Wayside Mission. “For unique and unusual interest, grandeur of dramatic effect, historical fidelity, reverential and soul-inspiring feeling it has no equal,” claimed one ad. “Through the eye it conveys to the soul…The child, the adult, the scholar, the curious, the lover of art and the seeker of truth should see it.”[5]

It can’t be known with certainty, but this version of The Passion Play seems to have been the one shown at the Eden Musée in New York City beginning January 30, 1898, 17 months previous. If that’s correct, then the Jefferson was showing The Passion Play of Oberammergau, though it’s impossible to know how many of the 23 scenes were screened during the Seattle engagement. Shot by the Edison Company, each scene was listed separately in their film catalogue. An exhibitor or touring company, like the one that played the Third Avenue earlier, could purchase some or all of them, then show them in whatever order they chose, using a lecturer, scripture readings or song selections to cover gaps in the narrative. In this way the show’s organizers could essentially curate what the audience did (or did not) see.

So we can’t know with certainty what exactly audiences were seeing at the Jefferson Theatre, but we do know what they were hearing. Dr. Alexander de Soto accompanied The Passion Play as a lecturer, with a Mrs. Edmunds (hailing from Seattle) and a Mr. Dyke offering a series of hymnals and popular religious selections during interludes.

These shows were packed. “The Passion Play at the Jefferson theater continues to draw large houses,” observed the Seattle Star. “The performance is in the nature of moving pictures, and presents well-known Bible scenes. The performance is enjoyable for old and young alike, and for all classes, and everyone should witness it.” The Daily Times also endorsed the show. “Children and ladies were prominent [last night] and some noted ministers were especially interested and pleased with the production. It fulfills every promise made by its manager and will undoubtedly draw full houses the entire week.”[6]

With The Passion Play‘s appeal to the faithful, the film was often shown outside the traditional theatre setting. One such presentation took place in December 1901, in what was then known as the city of Ballard, when Reverend H.H. Gowen delivered a lecture entitled “Cathedrals of England.” Gowen, from Seattle’s Trinity Parish Church, gave his talk in the Ballard City Council chambers where he also showed a series of stereopticon slides – he was giving, essentially, an illustrated lecture. However, Reverend Gowen deviated from his topic toward the end of the evening to project scenes from The Passion Play. In this case he appears to have been showing only excerpts, not the entire film, but it gave him an opportunity to narrate the scenes himself. Where Reverend Gowen obtained these prints wasn’t documented, though he certainly partnered with someone to obtain the film and operate the projector while he spoke to the gathering. However this feature came about, Gowen’s lecture was open to the public and seems to have been given as a one-off community event.[7]

Reverend Gowen was using The Passion Play as an educational tool, but traditional theatres also found innovative ways to present the film. In 1903, yet another showing of The Passion Play occurred in Seattle when Edison’s Unique booked it over the Easter holiday. This was one of the rare occasions where Edison’s Unique, a family-style vaudeville theatre, put together a show anchored by a moving picture. Booked at the request of patrons, this version of The Passion Play got a much more elaborate presentation than the venue’s typical movie fare. For one, Edison’s Unique created a special musical program to accompany The Passion Play, while also constructing a large, stylized border in which to “frame” their screen.[8] Moreover, they took the unusual step of securing the print (it’s unclear which version) well before the engagement began, allowing them screen it privately, in advance, and rehearse how they intended to roll out their Easter week attraction.

With a program running almost 60 minutes in length, on weekdays The Passion Play was shown only at the 2:30 matinee, after which it was followed by a handful of unnamed vaudeville acts. Over Easter weekend, however, The Passion Play screened twice daily, with prices held at the 10-cent level despite the extra attention lavished on the presentation. None of Seattle’s papers reviewed this show (not surprising given the venue’s small size), but the popularity of The Passion Play engagement was strong enough that the film ran for an entire week, with Edison’s Unique changing the live bill midway through.[9]

Two years later, in 1905, The Passion Play once again turned up, this time in a meeting space. For this engagement, a version of the film was booked into St. Mary’s Hall at 20th Avenue South and Lane Street, in Seattle’s Central District. There, for three days only, June 30 through July 2, the “marvelous Cineograph reproduction” of the film played St. Mary’s under the auspices of Reverend Father W.J. Metz. This engagement was widely advertised in Seattle-area newspapers but went unreviewed since it was more of a church event than a traditional film show. And, as usual, it’s impossible to tell exactly what was being shown – which version of the film, whether it was shown in whole or in part or, in this case, whether The Passion Play was shown as part of a broader religious program. What’s clear, however, was that the exhibition was part of a larger West Coast tour of the film, where organizers specifically targeted church congregations as venues; earlier stops included shows in churches or meeting halls in San Francisco and Portland, among other places. “There is certainly nothing more conducive to foster Christian sentiments than to bring before the public scenes from the last great drama enacted on Calvary’s Heights for the redemption of man,” went the show’s advance publicity. “Christian thought cannot but be stimulated by such realistic productions.”[10] Admission at St. Mary’s was 15 cents for children and 25 cents for adults.

A less reverential treatment for The Passion Play occurred in December 1907 when the film was booked into the Eden Musée, a short-lived dime museum at First and Cherry near Pioneer Square. Again, there’s nothing definitive indicating which version was being screened or whether it was shown in full, but the Eden Musée was said to be showing a print that was 3,200 feet in length, portions of which were hand-colored, and played it with an unnamed lecturer who talked the audience through the images. (The timing and description suggest that the Eden Musée was showing a version of The Passion Play shot by the Pathé Company in 1903, but rereleased in 1907.) This feature headlined the Eden Musée’s grand reopening, as the house had recently come under new management.

There were several reasons why the Eden Musée was an interesting place for The Passion Play to screen. One was its location. Whereas most entertainment venues were at street level, where audiences could be enticed inside, the Eden Musée was located at the top the five-story Stewart & Holmes Building. They had a good deal of street-level advertising and ballyhoo, of course, but no one could see anything until they trudged up five flights of stairs. Then, once they paid their admission, the audience wound their way through at least two floors of exhibits, one of which was the film, before ending their visit by descending the stairwell back to street level.

Even stranger than the location was the Eden Musée itself – a highbrow picture like The Passion Play was completely out of place amongst attractions that were more akin to a circus sideshow. According to a pair of later advertisements, the Eden Musée featured a historical war museum, variety artists, baby incubators, glass blowers, a Japanese massacre scene, a chamber of horrors and a penny arcade. This was a grab bag of cheap entertainment, open every afternoon and evening for 10 cents a head.

Nothing demonstrated that better than the featured acts appearing the same week as The Passion Play. These included Harry S. Harrison, the so-called “human ostrich” who puzzled visitors by eating tacks, screws, razors and broken glass on demand. There was also bearded woman Madame DeVers, Mademoiselle Hardy and her collection of (so-called) venomous snakes, and a “Hindoo magician” named Cladi Cheriff who reportedly delighted onlookers by chewing on a red-hot iron poker. And none of those folks were the freak of the lot. That honor went to Jean Libbera, who appeared onstage showcasing his conjoined twin Jacques, whose “head” was buried inside Libbera’s torso but had two small protruding arms and legs. (Libbera, who toured widely in the early 20th century, frequently dressed Jacques in an outfit, including shoes, that mirrored his own.) Yet the kicker of this motley crew had to be the Eden Musée’s special attraction, an educated horse. Now, pause for a moment, because that meant one of two things. Either management had that animal transported, every day, from a stable to the upper floors of the Stewart & Holmes Building, or they kept it tied up inside for the entire weeklong engagement. Under either scenario, in December 1907 a horse spent a good deal of time cooped up near the top of a Pioneer Square building, and stayed there regardless of whatever noise it made or bodily functions it performed. The building’s other tenants must have been thrilled.

The Daily Times, which reviewed the engagement, was willing to overlook the fact that the picture was wholly out of step with the venue’s other attractions. “The Passion Play has proven a great benefit to mothers desirous of impressing this wonderful story of our Savior upon their children. Once the pictures are seen by them the life and death of Christ is indelibly stamped upon their memories.”[11] In their eyes the picture was a strong enough attraction to overcome the burden of playing opposite so-called educated horses and men who snacked on razor blades.

There were fewer distractions the next time The Passion Play appeared locally, which occurred a few months later. In what was its most elaborate presentation to date, manager John Cort booked it into the Moore Theatre for two nights in April 1908, an engagement timed to coincide with the Easter holiday. This also seems to have been the 1903 Pathé version of the film, shot on location in Oberammergau at a reported cost of $700,000. Cort, the Seattle theatrical magnate, booked the film for his houses up and down the West Coast, and stocked the show with accompanying features. A quartet of singers were engaged to offer songs, including “The Holy City,” “In His Steps,” “Nearer My God to Thee” and “The Palms,” and a lecturer was brought in to accompany the film. “Each scene will minutely and correctly be described by the great Biblical lecturer and historian, Mr. J. Francis Wilson, who witnessed the original performance of The Passion Play at Oberammergau.”[12]

At the Moore, opened four months previous, the show was given twice a day, a matinee performance at 2 p.m. and an evening performance at 8 p.m., with ticket prices ranging from 15 to 75 cents. Demand was high for each of the four performances, which fell on a Monday and Tuesday, with the Moore promoting The Passion Play as an experience for Christian believers. “One…has practically all the advantages that he would have after traveling thousands of miles across land and sea to see the Oberammergau production, by witnessing these beautiful, hand-colored pictures at the Moore.”[13]

The show did not disappoint. “The exhibition of the wonderfully accurate films of the production of the Passion Play…drew out a large audience of people who do not usually make a practice of theater going,” said the Post-Intelligencer, “…a majority of whom were deeply impressed with the entertainment.”[14] Not only was the music well selected and expertly delivered, but the film’s lessons were impactful on viewers. “A large and enthusiastic audience witnessed the moving pictures of The Passion Play at the Moore Theatre yesterday afternoon and night,” reported the Daily Times. “Prof. Wilson, the well known [sic] lecturer, explained the scenes as they appeared on the canvas in a telling manner. By seeing The Passion Play [and] listening to this lecture, one can learn much of Biblical history in a short order.”[15] The picture was so well received during its two-day engagement at the Moore that the Circuit Theatre, a nickelodeon farther down Second Avenue, piggy-backed off the show by bringing in a slightly different version of the film to play beginning April 27th.[16]

John Cort’s 1908 presentations of The Passion Play marked the high point for screenings of the film in Washington state. Indeed, Richard Abel noted that the 1907 Pathé rerelease of their earlier film was one of the biggest blockbusters of its day. “There can be little doubt that in the United States, between 1907 and 1908, more people saw Pathé’s Passion Play (and many probably more than once) than any single film.”[17] But it was also the last time the show was given such an elaborate presentation, at least in Seattle, though it continued turning up in the Northwest for several years. In 1911, for example, both the Dream and Odeon Theatres in Seattle, both operating in the nickelodeon space, booked the picture during the Easter season, while the Circuit Theatre brought the film back the following year, in 1912.[18]

By Eric L. Flom – January 2025

Notes:
[1] Charles Musser, The Emergence of Cinema: The American Screen to 1907 (Berkley, California: University of California Press—1993), Pages 208-209.
[2] See Third Avenue Theatre advertisement, Seattle Daily Times, 20 October 1898, Page 4. This engagement was, incidentally, the same theatrical troupe that stiffed the residents of Olympia when touring through the Northwest the previous year, when they promised (but did not deliver) a cinematographé feature as part of the show.
[3] “Third Avenue Theatre,” Seattle Daily Times, 26 October 1898, Page 2.
[4] “Third Avenue Theatre,” Seattle Daily Times, 28 October 1898, Page 12.
[5] See Jefferson Theatre advertisement, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 25 June 1899, Page 18.
[6] See “Amusements,” Seattle Star, 29 June 1899, Page 2; and “Passion Play,” Seattle Daily Times, 29 June 1899, Page 9.
[7] “Ballard,” Seattle Daily Times, 7 December 1901, Page 30.
[8] “To Show Passion Play,” Seattle Daily Times, 5 April 1903, Page 14.
[9] See Edison’s Unique advertisements, Seattle Daily Times, 9 April 1903, Page 5; and 12 April 1903, Page 5.
[10] See St. Mary’s Hall advertisement, Seattle Daily Times, 26 June 1905, Social Section, Page 8; “Passion Play,” Seattle Daily Times, 25 June 1905, Social Section, Page 10; and St. Mary’s Hall advertisement, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 2 July 1905, Page 43.
[11] “This Week’s Playbills,” Seattle Daily Times, 28 December 1907, Page 28; see also “The Eden Musee [sic],” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 25 December 1907, Page 7; “Dramatic Notes,” Seattle Daily Times, 5 January 1908, Page 28; Eden Musée advertisement, Seattle Star, 18 January 1908, Page 3; Eden Musée advertisement, The Argus, 1 February 1908, Page 7; and Paula Becker, “Baby incubator sideshow display opens at the Wonderland Exhibit in Seattle on November 4, 1906,” HistoryLink (http://www.historylink.org/File/10410), accessed 29 September 2017.
[12] “The public will be interested…,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 29 March 1908, Magazine Section II, Page 2.
[13] “The Passion Play,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 19 April 1908, Magazine Section II, Page 8.
[14] “The Passion Play,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 21 April 1908, Page 10.
[15] “Passion Play Pictures,” Seattle Daily Times, 21 April 1908, Page 9.
[16] See “Circuit Theater,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 27 April 1908, Page 7.
[17] Richard Abel, The Red Rooster Scare: Making Cinema American, 1900-1910 (Berkeley: University of California Press – 1999), Page 61.
[18] See “Passion Play Coming,” Seattle Daily Times, 12 April 1911, Page 11; and Odeon Theatre advertisement, Seattle Daily Times, 26 April 1911, Page 22.

 
 
 
 
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1

To Excite, Educate and Elevate: Movies That Do More Than Amuse

Reel 4: Flipping the Script

Engagements of The Passion Play declined in Washington state after 1910, but the film’s longstanding popularity didn’t wane in certain quarters. The picture had been embraced by Christian America – something didn’t go unnoticed by production companies, some of whom were willing to gamble on the built-in audience for religious-themed films, just as they also gambled on the built-in audiences for boxing pictures. The Kalem Company, for one, sent an entire film crew to Palestine for their 1912 release From the Manger to the Cross, a picture that eclipsed The Passion Play as the most important religious-themed film of the early silent era. It was a significant triumph for Kalem, and quite a step up from their earlier take on the Bible, when they shot a version of the stage play Ben Hur in 1907 using a beach in Brooklyn as a stand-in for the Holy Land. From the Manger to the Cross was successful, in part, because it was shot on location – a coveted angle when marketing a religious film. This was important since films like Manger appealed to an audience that demanded faithfulness to the source material – to the point where it drove up production costs. Sometimes way up.[1]

Films like The Passion Play and From the Manger to the Cross demonstrated the value of religious-themed films and led some to explore the idea of using motion pictures to further Christ’s teachings. One such effort was detailed in the April 25, 1908, issue of the Interlaken, in an article describing a multi-purpose venue nearing completion in Seattle’s Madison Park neighborhood. Spearheaded by Major Cicero Newell, “the philanthropist and former Indian fighter” who founded the Industrial School for Boys on Mercer Island, this project looked to harness the popularity of motion pictures for the greater good. Slated to open on May 1st, the venue was a small one, seating only about 225, and would operate between 1 p.m. and 10 p.m. daily. The catch, however, was that Newell envisioned the space to operate partly as a niche movie house, showing religious films such as The Passion Play and The Holy City. This was one feature in a larger set of programs, since Major Newell’s venue would also be used to host an array of lectures and sermons. Newell even got a commitment from Reverend Mark Matthews to teach a series of Sunday classes designed for the uplift of young men.[2]

How long Major Newell’s venue operated isn’t known. Motion pictures were only a small part of what he envisioned, and there weren’t enough religious-themed films on the market to make them a key feature. Newell was also going head-to-head with the Madison Park Pavilion, located within spitting distance, which offered a variety of summertime music, stage and film entertainments, much like the Natatorium in Spokane. David versus Goliath indeed.

Major Newell’s project may have been rooted in idealism, but he was also onto something – the idea that moving pictures could be used as an instrument for enlightenment. A pioneer in this area was Reverend Sydney Strong of Seattle, who began incorporating films into his Sunday programs at the Queen Anne Congregational Church. On May 14, 1911, for example, Strong partnered with E.W. Jones of the General Film Co. to show three pictures during a sermon entitled “A Good Son of a Good Mother.” These included The Deluge, a Vitagraph release telling the story of Noah, plus their 1909 film The Life of Moses; the third offering wasn’t identified. Strong gave the presentation twice, once in the afternoon as a children’s sermon and again that evening. At each, Reverend Strong not only taught a short lesson but stood next to the screen as the pictures unfurled, narrating the action.[3] He also gave a pair of sermons on Monday, December 21, 1913, illustrated with another trio of films. This time he showed Israel in Egypt, the 1910 French film St. Paul and the Centurion and Vitagraph’s 1911 release Though Your Sins be as Scarlet. Reverend Strong lectured during these pictures as well, part of the Church’s weeklong holiday services. These and other programs lead up to special Christmas day screenings of From the Manger to the Cross, which Queen Anne Congregational showed at 4:30 and 7:30 p.m.

These church shows are less surprising than they seem. Whereas the faithful were sometimes discouraging of motion pictures in general, they had different feelings about programs curated by the church itself. In fact, church shows became so frequent in certain parts of the country that they rivaled traditional theatres in terms of popularity. Nor were such shows limited to Washington’s bigger cities; in 1913 the YMCA of Doty, in unincorporated Lewis County, “added a first-class moving picture outfit for use in educational and religious work,” or so they claimed.[4] “Church shows represented to some social critics…a way to remake the moviegoing experience into a more ‘respectable’ small-town, middle-class activity,” noted Kathryn Fuller-Seeley. “…This was a substantial threat to the small-town nickelodeon. If the cream of exhibitor’s audiences was ‘skimmed off,’ the nickelodeon’s position as a community mainstay would be weakened.”[5]

By 1915 church shows had become somewhat of a trend in the Pacific Northwest. Seattle’s Queen Anne Congregational, for one, bought a small home projector setup to use with their Sunday school program.[6] And the practice was so prevalent in Spokane that S. Clark Patchin, writing in Moving Picture World, devoted an entire column to the use of film in local churches. When St. Paul’s Methodist Episcopal Church was erected in 1913, for example, Reverend Dr. U.F. Hawk made sure the new $60,000 structure came fully equipped to show movies as part of their programs. Not to be outdone, the First Methodist Episcopal Church had “permanent” motion picture equipment installed in 1914.[7] Many other congregations in Spokane, Seattle and other cities were also buying portable projection equipment in the teens and twenties so they could use motion picture technology to benefit their programming needs.

It wasn’t always the church using motion pictures to their benefit – sometimes it was the other way around. On Thanksgiving Day, 1918, Tacoma exhibitor H.T. Moore opened his Rialto Theatre for a special program by Bishop Frederic W. Keator of the Episcopal Diocese of Western Washington. With Henry Spiller manning the Rialto’s Hope Jones Wurlitzer organ, Bishop Keator oversaw a packed service that included a sermon and remarks from representatives of nearby Camp Lewis. Motion pictures weren’t part of this bill, so the Rialto was simply being used as a gathering space. But despite the venue’s large size, the event was so packed that an estimated 500 people had to be turned away at the door.

The Rialto service was a special occasion, but period movie theatres often made themselves available to local congregations, both for special events or when they were temporarily displaced by construction or after a fire. It was a smart public relations move – an opportunity for movie men to demonstrate community involvement. Savvy exhibitors were about building bridges, so staying on the right side of religious leaders was a good idea. In Tacoma, H.T. Moore had been wooing Keator for some time, alerting him whenever an appropriate film was booked into one of his theatres, attempting to bring the Bishop on board as a supporter of the business. It was a relationship that might come in handy at some point, Moving Picture World observed. “Mr. Moore considers…that there may be come time when the question of Sunday closing may come up, and [with Bishop Keator’s help] he will know that the ministers are on his side.”[8] In 1918 Jack Kauffman of the Liberty Theatre in Hoquiam was orchestrating a similar charm offensive on Reverend F.M. Beard, a leading proponent of Sunday closing there. Beard had seen few films in his day, and didn’t particularly like any of them. So as Kauffman booked shows, he kept an eye out for titles that might appeal to Reverend Beard, then extended a personal invitation to attend the picture for free. These offers were usually declined, but eventually Kauffman landed a feature that enticed Reverend Beard into the Liberty. Not only did Beard enjoy the show, but he became a semi-regular picturegoer – but only when the manager tipped him off to an appropriate film. And Beard’s agitation for a Sunday closing law in Hoquiam? According to Jack Kauffman, the good reverend eventually abandoned the cause.[9]

Moving picture exhibitors may have found ways to make inroads with the local religious community, but it was still a tenuous relationship that ebbed and flowed over time. Films like The Passion Play and others drew on the Bible in reverential ways, and met with acceptance from a wide variety of Americans. And yet, at the same time, there were plenty of film releases that either pushed boundaries or were viewed as unfit by members of the religious community.

The movies would struggle with matters of content for years. That wouldn’t come to a head in the Northwest for a bit, but it nonetheless simmered beneath the surface. Motion pictures had the power to inspire the mind and lift the soul, but they could also, potentially, send the wrong messages to the most impressionable. That debate would come in due time.

By Eric L. Flom – January 2025

Notes:
[1] Kathryn H. Fuller, At the Picture Show: Small-Town Audiences and the Creation of Movie Fan Culture (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press – 1996), Page 87.
[2] “Madison Park,” Interlaken, 25 April 1908, Page 8.
[3] “Motion Pictures in Church Second Time,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 13 May 1911, Page 7; “Queen Anne,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 13 May 1911, Page 7; “Seattle, Wash.,” Moving Picture World, 3 June 1911, Page 1247.
[4] “Y.M.C.A. to Use Movies,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 28 October 1913, Page 3.
[5] Fuller, Pages 77 and 85-88.
[6] See “In the Northwest,” Moving Picture World, 4 November 1911, Page 404.
[7] S. Clark Patchin, “Films in Spokane Churches,” Moving Picture World, 24 July 1915, Page 686.
[8] S.J. Anderson, “Gives Use of Theatre for Worship,” Moving Picture World, 28 December 1918, Page 1531.
[9] S.J. Anderson, “What Kauffman Did with Hoquiam’s Liberty,” Moving Picture World, 23 February 1918, Page 1080.