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C I NEMARECORD

The Times theatrette in Bourke St. was the last of the old Newsreel theatres. By the late sixties it went the way of other
"Hour" shows, and began a policy of screening "Adult" features. By today's standards, these were very tame fare, but at the
time were considered very lurid. A new type of audience was now to be found wandering down the stairs to the Times.
Known as the Raincoat Brigade, and preferring to keep a very low profLie, it was a far cry from the weary shoppers who used
to escape the bustle of the city for an hour and catch up on the news and relax with a colour cartoon. The elderly Usherette,
who had worked at the theatre for more years than even she probably cared to remember, suddenly found herself being cursed,
ignored a~d vilified as she valiantly attempted, with trusty torch in hand, to maintain the tradition of seeing each and every
patron comfortably seated into the best available seat.

I was working as a Doonnan at a Sydney cinema in the early 1970's. One of our Booking Clerks was a lovely vivacious girl
who kept an electric kettle in the Box Office, constantly on the boil, to maintain her copious consumption of coffee • strong,
black, and liberally laced with Dewars Scotch!
As the hours clocked up, and the coffee went down, the smile became ever larger, and the customer service impeccable.
Despite her joyous inebriated state, I have never seen a Booking Clerk able to sell so fast, balance the house, write up the
dockets and cash up to the exact cent with such speed and accuracy. Many was the night the Manager or myself would have
to escort her to the bus-stop to ensure she caught the right bus home. Without fail, next day she would be back at work, bright
as a button, with the same request · "Fill the kettle for me, would you luv"?
Another Cinema I once worked at was virtually home to one of our dear Usherettes. Despite her claim of being "near sixty" it
was common knowledge that she would never see seventy again. As it turned out, she lived in a very depressing bed-sit, and
would find countless excuses to never go home. Indeed, she once spent the entire night cleaning the theatre single-handed
when the night cleaners failed to show. The only disability was her failing eye sight. Whilst very thorough to ensure all
patrons were attended to, the beam from her torch was shone direetly in front of her path to enable her to see where she was
going. One can only imagine the number of lame and hapless patrons who stumbled behind her in the darkness.

Many of the female staff were far more glamorous than the stars on the screen. One in particular, who worked in various
Melbourne Cinemas over the years was the epitome of charm and beauty. One was never sold a seat in her cinema, they were
called "chairs". How quaint and pleasing it was to be offered "Two lovely chairs in the Lounge."

And finally, on the subject of chairs, one is reminded of the gentleman who stood in queue for a great length of time to
purchase his ticket. On finally reaching the counter, and obviously concerned about the availability of seating, he asked the
Booking Clerk "What are your seats like?''. Qukk as a flash she replied "Green vinyl, eighteen inches wide, and two ann
rests."

All lovely people, devoted to their work, and with a wonderful talent for dealing with the public. But sadly, I can't imagine
any of them fitting in with the image of the modem cinema complexes of today.

STORIES FROM AUSTRALIA'S FILM PRODUCTION AND EXHIBmON INDUSTRY

Projectionists were considered to be very important people during the fust 50 years of cinema. They after-all new how to
operate the equipment, understand the electrical and mechanical services associated with the theatre and be the overall
presenter and co-Ordinator of the show. They were the key person and technically, the most highly qualified person on the
cinema staff and so it was a terrible loss of prestige if a projectionist had to do anything outside of the bio-box during the lead-
up to, or during the picture show.

One night at St Arnaud, the ticket usher did not arrive in time to allow patrons into the theatre and so with much reluctance the
assistant operator was sent downstairs to take the tickets. Much embarrassment! But not as much embarrassment as the real
ticket usher was facing at that time, for right at that moment, his car was balanced on top of a now dead kangaroo which he
unfortunately hit on his way to the cinema. He could not move forwards-or backwards and was stuck! Meanwhile the picture
show went on.

Keith McDonald Assistant Projectionist Sr Arnaud 8/8/96

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