Today's Hiatal Bleat concerns a newspaper page of movies from 1944. They're one of the most potent remnants of a bygone age you'll find in the paper.

What does thismean?

"Mike Freespeech."

Took me a while to figure this out, and I’m still not sure I have it. Although of course some in the shipping business get it right away. If I’m right.

FOB (free on board) is a term in international commercial law specifying at what point respective obligations, costs, and risk involved in the delivery of goods shift from the seller to the buyer under the Incoterms standard published by the International Chamber of Commerce. FOB is only used in non-containerized sea freight or inland waterway transport. As with all Incoterms, FOB does not define the point at which ownership of the goods is transferred.

In other words, we’re paying for the cost of bringing the war to them, but at some point the cost shifts to them. In a real and metaphorical sense.

The newsreel theater:

That would be the Pix.

Designed to be a newsreel theatre, the small, 250-seat Time Theatre ended up opening as a first-run film house September 1, 1934 with “The Lost Patrol”.

The simple Art Deco style Time Theatre began showing second-run films in 1936, which had played as long as two years earlier at near-by palaces like the Pantages Theatre and State Theatre. This remained a successful format until October 3, 1939 when it switched over to adult films, and was renamed the Esquire Theatre.

The Esquire Theatre would have several run-ins over the years with the police, mostly due to the names of the then-risque-sounding names of the films on its marquee. As ridiculous as it sounds today, in 1941, when the Esquire Theatre showed a movie starring former fan dancer Sally Rand called “Nude Ranch”, the authorities ordered the theatre’s owners to change the name of it to “Dude Ranch” on the marquee or face fines.

After a few years of strong business during World War II, the Newsreel Theatre once again changed its name and format. It became the Pix Theatre on January 8, 1947, and briefly was a roadshow house, but by 1952, had closed it doors. This time, it was for good, and was converted into retail space not long after.

I’m stunned: I had no idea.

This is what’s known now as the Teener Theatrical building. I didn’t know it was a theater,.

This one has left no impact:

As if "based on a play" wasn't enough to make your average guy sign a bit when the wife suggested seeing it, it was based on a Keats poem.

St. Mark's Eve falls on April 24, the day before the feast day of St. Mark the Evangelist. In northern English folklore, it was believed that if a person took up watch in the church porch on St. Mark's Eve one would see the spectres of those destined to die during the year pass into the church.

So I'm guessing it's not a light romance. In the play, the main character is stuck in the Phillippines, manning a gun, and has dream chats with wife and girlfriend about whether he should stay at his post or leave. Well:

To comply with the Motion Picture Production Code, the script was modified to avoid the play's sexual references and language. The film originally included the play's closing scene, but it was overwhelmingly rejected by war-weary test-screening audiences. A new ending was filmed with a more hopeful tone.

People wanted that.

It's ship-shapley!

After application of joy tonic, nerves, rested:

We are so fortunate to have these trailers, no?

This . . . is not exactly the most honest ad.

You might get the impression that we're in for a salacious account of SS brass having thier way with womenfolk.

A fan trailer:

I've seen it. A portrait of one guy who goes all Nazi, cold-blooded intellectual variety with barely contained rage and hate. It's worth seeing, but I imagine it disappointed the moviegoers who expected heaving bosoms and ripped blouses.


Various odds and ends today.

This next file has two ads. First ad: The way this guy says “NEW” bothers me here and bothers me in every ad he does. It’s as if it was his specialty. NYUEW! The mixed duo with the dulcet guitar was common for the era, and I’d date it in in the early days of the 50s.

Second ad: this is insane

Ocusol, from our old friends at Norwich. The big reveal may surprise you, and make you think hey, where did that idea go, anyway?


I swear I recognize every one of these people, but is that because they’re archetypes? The voice of the first “reporter” is particularly familiar.

We conclude with this week's Hiatal Contest:

A 1924 newspaper contest that went on forever.

I couldn't find the answer key, so we're going to be on our own.