From neighbourhood theatres to premiere-quality palaces, Toronto’s cinema marquees would set the night aglow

Toronto loves its signs. When Fairmont proposed replacing the Royal York sign on the hotel, a vocal campaign ensued; the Royal York sign stayed. When the landmark El Mocambo sign on Spadina Avenue couldn’t be saved, businessman Michael Wekerle worked to get a replica back up. Toronto Metropolitan University rehung the iconic Sam the Record Man sign when after it was moved to allow construction. Spacing magazine has just published, “The Signs That Define Toronto,” edited by publisher Matthew Blackett and architects Kurt Kraler and Philip Evans. Here, read an excerpt: Jamie Bradburn’s introduction to a section on theatre and movie marquees. You’ll never look at them the same way again.

You’ve seen the romanticized images of moviegoing in mid-20th-century North America. On every major street, whether in a downtown theatre district, a cluster around a major intersection, or in the middle of neighbourhood, the flickering lights rolling around the cinema’s name or marquee would set the night aglow. Children and adults would line up at the ticket booth, where a teenager handed out a passport to a full evening of entertainment that, depending on the type of theatre, may have been headlined by the latest blockbuster or a double/triple bill of B-movie excitement.

Bloor Street and Danforth Avenue were no exception. Depending on the year, up to 35 cinemas were located along or close to each street. Every size and type of cinema operated at one point, from cheaply assembled theatres during the silent era to premiere-quality palaces like the University and the Uptown.

Most cinemas along Bloor and Danforth could be classified as neighbourhood theatres or “nabes.” These theatres relied on a steady diet of B movies, serials, and re-releases, and kept the customers coming by changing their bills up to two or three times per week. What they may have lacked in opulence compared to the grand downtown theatres was compensated for by the vitality they brought to their communities. “You usually walked to the theatre,” John Sebert noted in his book The Nabes, “and very seldom went to one outside your own neighbourhood. This made the manager a very important person locally. His main job, of course, was to get people into the theatre by promoting it visibly, and by doing this he became a local public figure. Part lawyer, confessor, policeman,banker, and other babysitter, he was referred to as the mayor of the district.” Donald Summerville, who managed the Prince of Wales at Danforth and Woodbine, would become the city’s actual mayor.

Regular promotions boosted attendance, especially giveaways and special offers provided during the depths of the Great Depression. One example of a popular gimmick used by theatres along the Danforth was “plate night,” where each week patrons could get pieces to build their kitchen collections. A salad plate would be available one week, a soup bowl the next.

These theatres began to decline during the 1950s, partly due to declining attendance as television sales rose, partly due to the cost of technological upgrades the major studios and theatre chains introduced to stay competitive, such as widescreen films and stereosound systems. Competition also arose from new suburban theatres, which offered multiple screens and free parking.

Staying in business meant new approaches or picking up on passing trends. The city’s growing cultural diversity created a market for foreign-language films during the late 1960s and early 1970s, which saw several theatres along Danforth convert to Greek programming,while the Paradise briefly catered to the Italian community. Following wider trends across North America during the 1970s, porn was seen as a salvation by both chains and independent operators, a trend that also saw theatre names changed to sound more titillating, such as the Eden and the Eve at Bloor and Bathurst. As that market waned, the final outcomes were to become rep houses, convert to other businesses through adaptive reuse, or face the wrecking ball. The few surviving cinemas — Hot Docs, Kingsway, Paradise, Revue,Varsity — have carved out their niches and continue to serve their communities with variations on the classic movie-going experience.

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