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©2009 by Alan White

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1975 - SO THIS IS SHOW BIZ?

Joe Mass had found another shady film distributor in one Don Reynolds who started Golden Films in the auspicious 9000 Building on Sunset Blvd. My first day of work began on an interesting note. As I was driving to the building, there were police cars directing everyone off the boulevard, forcing me to access the building through the side entrance. After making it to the umpteenth floor to find everyone looking out the fire exits on the west side of the building. Next door to the building was a bar, I think it was the "Telephone Booth" at the time. In the driveway between the two buildings lay a body issuing a stream of blood that ran down the driveway.

The story we heard was the unfortunate guy had been shot by someone in the bar. Passersby heard the shot, and called the police who were busily casing the joint and planning their assault.

When the mystery unravelled, it turns out the guy had jumped from the roof of the 9000 Building and the "Bang!" noise was the sound of him hitting the roof of the bar, ripping the rain gutters from the building.

At least Golden Films had some movies in the works; crap to be sure but they had product. The first potboiler was a stinker called "Treasure of Jamaica Reef", a dreadful thing about treasure hunting. One of those movies that starred wellknown people on their way down and unknowns on their way up. Stephen Boyd played the lead followed by David Ladd, son of Alan Ladd. Also in the mix was a cute filly named Cheryl Stoppelmoor, Rosey Grier and if you looked close, you'll find Michael Minor in art direction and Joe Viskocil as photographer.

After the dust settled on the movie what happened? David Ladd became a leading film producer, he married Ms. Stoppelmoor who then became Cheryl Ladd and continues her acting career today.

Our job was not to make the film better - that would cost money but to have the film become profitable. So an advertising overhaul was in order. The first conceit was to change the theme, from treasure hunt to shark attack! Jaws had been released that year and sharks were hot. No, there were no sharks in the movie, but hell, who's counting? Next, a title change to "Evil in the Deep". Joe Musso did the poster. Since none of the existing material had any sharks, we'd fake our own. We picked up some big-ass shark jaws and had Stephen Boyd, David Ladd and a couple of cuties come to the office for a photo shoot.
 

Office shoot with Stephen Boyd. Me and Joe on the right

David Ladd, Stephen Boyd
and a couple cuties

With William Marshall in the recording studio

 

Next we needed a sterling voice to narrate the trailer and radio spots. Joe was thinking big. . . too big. He wanted Orson Welles, but a call to Orson's agent got a reply of "Mr. Welles doesn't fart for less than $5000." Well, that baked our apple, but who has a voice better than William Marshall? I called and he agreed to do a night of narration for a pittance. The recording went fine, he was terrific and the trailer was in the bag.

Florida would bear the brunt of our advertising blitz, where word of mouth would destroy the film we had scheduled 83 theaters to play the movie for one week, simultaneously. I flew to Florida and spentthe next two weeks visiting every one of those theaters to decorate with posters, rubber sharks and good cheer. From Mcclenny to the Keys, it was a fabulous adventure in my little rented car. Florida is quite a state; I've never sweated so much or ran over so many bugs!

The film, by the way, made piles of money. Not so much the bosses would pay the film distributors for their efforts and the 83 prints, which, for all I know are still in Florida. Evidently, cheap-assery was the way of doing business in Hollywood.

The next film began with more promise. The Doberman Gang was a clever, if inane meller about dogs trained to rob banks! Super cheap, ridiculous but oddly clever and appealing. It made enough money to spawn a fair sequel: The Daring Dobermans. We connected with director Byron Chudnow and hatched plans for yet another sequel The Amazing Dobermans, boasting a bigger budget and a popular cast: Fred Astaire, Barbara Eden, James Franciscus, Jack Carter and Billy Barty.

Fred was a class act, Barbara is the cutest, sweetest thing on the planet, Jack Carter was a cranky old fart, James Franciscus was a prick and Billy Barty, I think was an underrated actor who seldom got a chance to really excel as he did in Day of the Locust.
This time, the dogs are the good guys, but in the end, whatever charm there may have been in the first two movies was lost on this outing despite the cast and bigger budget.

A date, me, Greg Koudoulian, Steve and Ve Neill,
Ricky Schwartz

Me and Fred Astaire

Barbara Eden

Doberman Premiere

Funny how things work out. My first day on the job, Joe Mass asked "Are you gay?" I answered in the negatory to which he replied "Good, I hate fags". Odd I thought someone working closely with artists in Hollywood having such a strident dislike. Turns out he was one of the biggest, closeted fruitcakes in Hollywood hosting a steady stream of live-in "cousins".

<Me, Javier (Joe's "cousin" who died of AIDS), Fred Astaire (died of natural causes), Don Reynolds (the boss, died of AIDS), Joe Musso (Artist - still alive!), Joe Mass (died of AIDS).

This was one of the few films that would actually get local play and of course we had some hokey (and cheap) publicity. Much of the action in the movie revolved around an armored truck, so we got the truck from the movie to drive down Hollywood Boulevard during the Hollywood Christmas Parade! I lived two blocks from the Boulevard and 5 blocks to the starting point of the parade, so the plan was filling 500 imprinted balloons with helium, tie strings and carry them to the boulevard handing them out as we walked to the starting point.

I picked up the helium tanks, Joe picked up the balloons and we met at my place with some friends to help. For the next several hours we filled those balloons, tied strings and covered the ceiling with balloons.

Mike Myers, Richard DeSiato, Me, Joe Mass, Dale Winogura>

The five of us loaded with balloons made the ungainly trek to the Boulevard and began dispensing balloons to anyone who looked like they wouldn't get carried away as we cut a path through the sea of human scrofula and indeed ran out by the time we reached the armored car. Joe and I hopped on, a trainer with one of the dogs rode on the roof and down the Boulevard we drove, somewhere between a highschool marching band and a team of crapping horses. What a night!

We had our hands on a musical called Dr. Copelius based on the ballet Coppélia. Starring Walter Slezak as the title character. Debatable whether we had the rights to it or not; another fellow claimed to be the owner, but it was a lovely film and we thought how grand a publicity stunt than to show the film as a charitable event. And thus it came to pass, there was a hoity toity event in Denver where the film would be screened to a well healed and charitable audience.

Yes, there were furs, white ties, canapés and brie. There was also a crazed individual claiming to be the owner bursting into the projection room moments before the screening with two jars of acid, smashing them against the projectors. The movie was destroyed on the spot and the entire evening cancelled.

There was one more potboiler in the works as well. Bad Georgia Road with Gary Lockwood and Carol Lynley. Filmed on a shoestring in the middle of nowhere.

<with Carol Lynley
Despite the quality of the films, it was quite the life. I'd get to the office about 10am, read all the trades and work on some campaigns for one thing or another. I was even able to score some work for friends Bill Stout and Dave Stevens.

I was mad about Diane the secretary and every afternoon we'd retreat to my place for a quick one and get back just in time to show a movie that just came in. We had our own screening room with two 35mm Simplex projectors and I would project all the wacky films that came through our office. Once in awhile I'd get to visit someone like Herbert Strock and chat about his career in low budget sci-fi flicks or someone interesting would walk through the door like Robert Clarke late of The Hideous Sun Demon. He was a great guy and we became fast friends. Unfortunately, his script to remake the scaly pot-boiler just didn't cut it and never happened, but he kept working till the day he died in 2005.

 

Me, my mother and Robert Clarke at one of my parties> Damn, I just couldn't hook them up.

 

The time came when certain fiscal improprieties came out and despite the money made, they were broke and crashing.

The boss came in one day and said "I don't have enough money to pay anyone. Help yourself to anything in the office." Considering what happened at the end of Cougar Films, this was a blessing and how I scored an entire art department. It was 1977 when the place went belly up. The boss, Don Reynolds moved to Prescott, Arizona and died of AIDS . Joe Mass went off in another direction and he too died of AIDS. His last words were "I wish I'd been nicer to everyone."

 

The thing about time is, it never stops and much as I'd have liked to have stopped the clock on many, many occasions, it was never to be (sigh). But there was a time in the 70s, in my naive way, I thought would go on forever.

I had an interesting (if not great) job, a lot of interesting stuff going on about me and meeting people like Muggsy>. What a heartthrob who I still think about more than I really should. We met through the Count Dracula Society, stuffing letters for Don and general stoop labor for the Society.

She was creative, smart as a whip, damn cute and introduced me to Tom Waits, Leon Redbone, raw oysters and advanced "kicking back". Had a terrific little cabin if you will, right behind the Historic Papa Bach's Bookstore on Santa Monica Blvd., just across the street from the Nuart Theater.

Saturday nights would find us loading up with cold cuts, pounds of cheese and muchies, hitting the Liquor Warehouse for an exotic brew, turning on, tuning in and dropping out with Saturday Night Live and a bag of Maui's finest. In the morning we'd blearily stumble to this incredibly dark Mexican bar around the corner, that evidentially never closed. Sitting at the bar we'd score a couple drafts and sit there dodging the blazing sunlight peeking through a crack in the door while 3 strung-out musicians played half-hearted romantic ballads. It was heaven. AND, on the chance we sobered up, would drive to the Gordon Theatre for a Sunday morning Sci-Fi Academy, avoiding the sunlight any way we could. After the movie we'd cross the street and fetch a hot Pink's hotdog from the stand across the street; life was good.

Oh yeh, she also introduced me to my first hit of acid (what a gal!). I suppose it was Saturday night, who knows? But we dropped our tabs and I swear I lit up the room. I couldn't wait to go outside and found the night as bright as day, the trees and plant life was alive and bursting with color. Walking into Papa Bach's, I swear the magazine covers came to life. What a night; when I got back to Muggsy's, I stared at the phone for the next 4 hours and became one with the electricity.

At some point, Muggsy and I went our separate ways and that was that.

<What was once the Gordon Theater

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