Follies Theater

(Oct. 29, 1927) HOT MAMMA CHORUS HAS COURT SKIT Institution of a campaign to sweep Main street clear of questionable shows brought forty-six persons into Municipal Court yesterday on charges of violating city ordinances. Among the congregation which thronged the courtrooms were twenty-seven girls of the 'Hot Mamma' chorus, somewhat more completely clad than when they were arrested Thursday night by Sergt. Sweetnam in the Follies Theater at 337 South Main street, twelve chorus men, arrested at the same time, four tattooed women, wearing their working clothes, and last, but not least, Ili Ili, an untamed tree-climbing South African pygmy. The last group was arrested late yesterday at 530 South Main street on a charge of advertising on the street, by Chief Investigator Vail of the City Prosecutor's office. The group arrested at the Follies Theater on a charge of giving an indecent exhibition, including Dorothy Walton, leading-woman, and T.B. Dalton, manager, all pleaded not guilty when arraigned before Municipal Judge Georgia Bullock and demanded a jury trial. They were ordered to appear monday at 10 a.m. before Municipal Judge Blake to have a date set for trial, and were released on $50 bail each. The four tattooed women, appearing before Judge Bullock, and the barkers and Ili Ili, appearing before Municipal Judge Wilson, also pleaded not guilty. Their trial will be set next week. The defendants were represented by Attorneys R. Lee Heath and Charles B. Hazelhurst. LA Times

Lark Theater

(Dec. 22, 1923) W.F. Tierney, manager of the Northwest Mutual Fire Insurance agency and of the Martin Insurance Agency, was in a critical condition at the Methodist Hospital last night as the result of a plunge from the window of his office at 822-825 Central Building, Sixth and Main streets. Tierney crashed through the roof of the Lark Theater, six stories below, while the theater was filled with a motion-picture audience, causing a near-panic in the place. He did not fall clear through the roof, however, his body lodging on some girders. Theater officials hurried to the roof and found Tierney lying unconscious some distance beyond their reach. They called police and Detectives Wild and Blythe on turn called the fire department, which used a ladder to reach Tierney. The insurance manager was fond to be suffering from a basal skull fracture, which physicians said probably would prove fatal. T.E. Audet, and inspector for the agency, was in the offices at the time and said he believed Tierney had leaped from the window. He said Tierney came into the outer offices, where Audet was at work, talked with him for a time and then said: "Well, I must be going." A few moments later, Audet said, he heard the noise of the crash and when he attempted to enter the inner office, found the door had been locked from the inside. LA Times (March 29, 1925) ALL-NIGHT FILM THEATER GIVES HAVEN TO BELATED OR HOMELESS NIGHTHAWK BY ARTHUR L. MARECK Hereafter, when father stays out all night-ish alright, by dear, hic. he's been sittin' up-not with a dear sick friend, but at the "all-night movies." Likewise, whenever the milkman is late with his morning delivery or the cook fails to show up for work, each probably has a perfectly good alibi in the newest amusement enterprise, the all-night moving-picture show. For Los Angeles now has its first all-night cinema palace and can make the boast that the silver sheet is never dark in the film capitol. The film fan's thanks are due to C.H. Drane, Main-street exhibitor, for, while other theater owners have been content to lock their doors and count up the receipts at midnight, it remained for Drane to meet the demand for longer programs. A sign displayed across the front of his Lark Theater announces to the film public that his is the only all-night theater in the city. "We Never Close" and "We Cater to Ladies and Family Trade," are additional announcements regarding the policy of the unique house. That Drane's idea has met with popular approval here is evidenced by the fact that his house, with seating capacity of 250, always is packed to the doors, even in the small hours of the morning, when one wonders where the crowds come from. The Lark Theater is located in the 600 block in Main street and directly opposite the Pacific Electric station, from which place, with its groups of passengers waiting for early morning trains, Drane draws his heaviest patronage. And, save for a sprinkling of all-night lunch rooms, the Lark, with its lobby illumination and the merry tunes of an electric piano, is the only bright spot on Main street during the dull hours between midnight and dawn. The audiences are cross-sections of a night life in our cosmopolitan city. Seated in the narrow rows of chairs are representatives of all of the types and races that make up the metropolis-all responding to the common lure of the celluloid drama-either that, or finding it a convenient haven of rest when there is no other place to flop for the night. For the sleepy ones, however, there is not much rest. A special officer in uniform, whose combined office is that of night manager and guardian of the law, walks the aisles at regular intervals and with gentle taps and an occasional poke preserves the peace and dignity of the house. On the occasion of the writer's visit he found the audience either especially drowsy or unappreciative of the fine acting of John Barrymore, who was doing his best to keep the customers interested. On this particular morning (it was about 3:30 o'clock) the house was filled mostly with sailors from the visiting fleet at San Pedro. A few made brave efforts to sit upright in their seats out of respect to the great actor, others rested with a hand supporting the chin, but the most of them were either draped over the backs of their seats or let themselves sink to the floor. Here and there a "down-and-outer," with coat collar turned up close around his neck, propped his head against the wall for forty winks. In the last row, a young gallant stifled his yawns as he tried to be entertaining to both of the ladies who sat on either side of him. Farther down in front a sailor lad was all attention to the sweet young thing whose arm dangled across the back of his chair. The pictures? Well, they are not first run, as might be expected, but they are the pick of the second pickings. They are clearly projected and the programs are of sufficient length and variety to suit every taste. On the morning of my visit the offering consisted of an eight-reel feature, a five-reel western and five reels of comedy-for those who cared to look at them. There's no limit to the magnitude of the productions. D.W. Griffith's "America" showed last week at 10 and 20 cents. LA Times