Poverty Row — Wiped Out by Prosperity (1927) 🇺🇸
Poverty Row, that section of Hollywood noted for pictures produced on a shoestring, is becoming so affluent that the old days and practices have become just a memory.
by Louis William Smith
From far back in the very indefinite beginnings of picture-making, now sweeping along majestically, now struggling weakly to keep its uneven pace in the progress of the industry, comes Poverty Row.
Poverty Row — the melting pot — the meeting-place of those who pass in the light — the shaded studio block in Hollywood where, at some time or other, almost without exception, all the now-famous stars have struggled for a foothold.
Situated on Sunset Boulevard at Gower Street, it was, in the old days, just a row of shacks. Rising real-estate values have now eliminated any aura of cheapness, and successful production and competition have made of the shacks a neat row of small, but prosperously complete, studios. Here and there along the Row, there still remains a barnlike affair, a relic of the better, or worse, times.
This section, colored with all the romance and glamour of movie-making, steeped in legends of quick rises to fame, or of spectacular, inglorious flops, derived its name long years ago from the type of production made within its confines. Mushroom, fly-by-night companies struggled there, usually in vain, to attain places of importance in the world of the cinema; only a valiant few emerged from the crushing, cutthroat turmoil. From time to time, an obscure actor or actress, hired for a pittance, awakened to find himself famous in Hollywood, sought for by the big producers, as the result of a bit in a Poverty Row “quickie.”
Cheapness was the watchword. Producers worked in terms of mere dollars and cents. Well-known actors were hired by the day. Cameras, camera men, and studio space were rented in the same manner. Not how good, but how cheap, was the cry on every side. Short subjects, serials, and features were turned out with a speed which would have put even Henry Ford to shame in the matter of volume production. Shrewd little gamblers, real adventurers, often staking their every cent on the making of a picture, were the heart and soul of this famous, fast-moving section.
Its history is not replete with pictures that have been great successes. Program stuff, of little note or value in the public eye, was the outstanding product. Quick turnover and small profits were the goal. But its roster contains many now-famous names; many, too, that have never been and never will be heard of. Its directors developed a speed and ingenuity which enabled them to climb high when the chances and the “breaks” came. Even some of our now-noted screen writers laid their foundations there.
Three types of production made up the principal output of Poverty Row. They were called “quickies,” “cooties” and “cheaters.”
“Quickies,” known to have been made in as short a time as five days, occasionally, but not often, resolved into as good a product as that put out by the larger companies with all facilities at their command. A day or two in the studio, and the rest of the time on location in and near the much-photographed beauty spots of Los Angeles, and such a picture was finished.
“Cooties” were just the cheap, job-lot pictures, in which players of no importance, or stars whose importance had waned, were cast.
“Cheaters,” the best bet of all, were made up of casts in which there was at least one well-known player, generally hired for one day and scarcely visible in the finished picture. This, however, mattered little to the producer. He had the name, would use it in his blatant advertising, and thus attract the crowds.
Among the many pictures which emerged from the chaos of Poverty Row, Salvation Hunters was probably the most sensational in its success. This picture was made by Josef von Sternberg at a cost of about five thousand dollars, was sponsored by Charlie Chaplin, and was taken in hand by United Artists. It gained considerable favor as an artistic and very unusual piece of work.
It was this picture which brought Georgia Hale into fame. Opposite her played George K. Arthur, who has never since known the acute pinch of poverty that had haunted him up to that time.
During the filming of Salvation Hunters, according to a story which is now a legend in the industry, Stuart Holmes, playing the villain, refused to continue with his part unless paid in advance. There being the usual lack of funds, Von Sternberg donned Holmes’ costume, arrayed himself in a mustache, and played the remainder, of the villain’s role as a shadow, flashed onto a wall from off-set. This shadow idea turned out to be one of the high spots of the production.
A short two years ago, Malcolm St. Clair, now a director of sophisticated films for Paramount, was holding the megaphone on Poverty Row. He received the yearly salary of two thousand five hundred dollars, something less than his present, remuneration for one week. He guided the actions of Elaine Hammerstein and Lou Tellegen in a seven-reeler called “After Business Hours.” It took twelve days to complete this screen masterpiece.
The Poverty Row films took from a day to a month to make. Sometimes there was a scenario. More often not. Just a general idea, barely enough cash, and lo! — a finished picture. When a high-salaried star was employed for one day, he squeezed a week’s work into his allotted hours. No waits between scenes. No time for lunch. Quick changes of costume. Scenes and sets in readiness. Such things determined success or failure.
On one occasion, a moneyed group had hired a star for a whole week. The player, who was to enter into his contract with one of the larger producing companies on a certain day, was particularly anxious that the production schedule be adhered to rigidly. On location, however, a rainy day interrupted filming and delayed production. The actor fretted and fumed, watching the sky for a possible break in the weather, so that the piece might go on. Late in the afternoon he sought out the director and producers, wondering how the lost time could be made up so that he could meet the terms of his new contract with the bigger company. He was assured that it would be fixed all right.
“We’ll just stick a title in to cover the scenes we would have taken today,” was the unconcerned reply.
Of the little “quickies” now made along Poverty Row, the “horse opera,” or Western type of film, predominates. This type ever has a ready sale, can be made chiefly in the open, without sets, and is inexpensive from every point of view.
Names, famous names, can be conjured from out of the past of this street, now fast passing.
Madge Bellamy, lent by the producer to whom she was under contract, made “A Fool and His Money” on Poverty Row. Erle Kenton [Erle C. Kenton], who later directed Bebe Daniels in “The Palm Beach Girl” for Paramount, has struggled on the Row in his time. Wallace Beery once wandered along the shady pathway looking for a day’s work. Alice Terry, before Rex Ingram appeared on the scene of her life, came forth from there in a few pictures, wearing in those days the dark hair which is her own.
One producing company, now listed well up in the industry, bought its first studio on Poverty Row for the sum of fifteen thousand dollars, paying one thousand five hundred dollars down and the remainder from time to time out of the profits. The land alone, where a newly built studio now stands, is now valued near a million dollars.
A Santa Monica bus driver, an ex-cowboy, has a unique arrangement with an independent producer on the Row who, by the way, is also a high official in one of the larger companies. Twice a year, for two-week periods, the bus driver absents himself from behind the wheel of his machine to mount a horse and star as a dare-devil of the plains at seventy-five dollars a week.
Complete films, four of them a year, are made during these “vacations,” and are sold in the East to releasing companies that take charge of their distribution. The producer then returns to his job with the powerful corporation and watches his profits pile up on the side, and the bus driver returns to his route.
This, then, is Poverty Row, now passing — soon to be wholly a thing of the past. A legend in the making. A place where ascending stars met other stars on the downward grade. The stars-to-be passed the stars who had been. Always there used to be a job on Poverty Row, if the player cared to take it. Soon there will be no more Poverty Row, because prosperity will have crowded it off the map — prosperity, and the demand on the part of the fans for better pictures.
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Georgia Hale emerged from Poverty Row to sign a contract with Famous Players, on the strength of one picture filmed on the Row.
Hedda Hopper was not loath to work in cheaply produced pictures, and has lost no prestige by it.
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Helene Chadwick has retained her popularity by appearing in many quickly made films.
Independent producers have paid richly for Bert Lytell’s services on Poverty Row.
Alice Terry first came forth in a film made by a fly-by-night company.
George K. Arthur knew the pinch of real poverty when he played in Salvation Hunters.
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Collection: Picture Play Magazine, July 1927