It’s a little offbeat to eat at a cafeteria these days, especially one where you get the senior discount. I thought this very thing last Wednesday night while I meditated in front of a plate of overcooked salmon and a “tomato platter” at Clifton’s in downtown LA. Now, to be fair, the senior discount was not because I had reached a certain age, but because tonight, I was going to see King Kong (1933) at the historic Los Angeles Theatre, a movie showing as part of the Last Remaining Seats series, and Clifton’s offers a promotion.
There’s a tendency in Hollywood to forget. Stars only last so long, careers evaporate overnight, and the next hot thing (Miley Cyrus) seems to fade all too quickly into last week’s salvia smoking scandal. As a member of twitter and facebook, sure, I ascribe to that ethos, but I’m also a bit of a rebel. Hollywood, and Los Angeles, the actual city, sometimes feels like a historic theme park to me. I only need to look down on Hollywood Boulevard and see Myrna Loy’s name or venture to Hollywood Forever to visit with Valentino to know that this place bleeds history.
For me, it’s the old downtown movie palaces of the teens and twenties—before Hollywood became the West’s film center—that are my true historical interest. Last year, I saw Peter Pan (1924) at the beautifully refurbished Orpheum, and even wrote a piece for LAist.com on the program, Last Remaining Seats, that makes it all possible. For twenty-five years now, the Los Angeles Conservancy has opened these theatres to silents, short subjects, and two reel Technicolors, so for just one night we can experience what it may have felt like in the twenties and thirties to belong to one of these glitzy movie palaces.
But there is something far more exciting about LRS than the mere experiencing of film history. For me, it’s a way to connect with my history. I think especially of my grandma Ann, who recently passed. While a true Detroiter, she visited Los Angeles during the Depression, even going so far as to write she would be attending UCLA in her Detroit Central High yearbook. Family responsibilities tugged, and except for a few trips, she never made it out here. But I remember how much she loved the movies, especially the classics. I don’t remember her television being tuned to anything but TCM. To watch King Kong in a movie theatre that may have been open when she was here reminds me of her and forges a deeper connection with her memory.
But those connections do not end there. Turns out my girlfriend’s grandmother even worked at Clifton’s as a cook. It’s exciting to learn these things, and to dive deep into a fascinating Los Angeles history, one that constantly yields pearls.