Forward to Glory

by Brian Paul Bach

At the very same moment, Sonny Projector was engaged in a press conference, conducting the media through their exposure to this new sensation that was Butterbugs.

  Because he, Butterbugs, was a sensation.

  ‘Hark ye, hear ye!’ Sonny sounded off amidst the chatter and hubbub of the gathered scribes at the Pan-Pacific Auditorium, ‘I invite you to be my guest! The topic: last night’s super-sensational new talent performer: Butterbugs!’

  A general noise went up from the crowd, who displayed great and insistent enthusiasm.

  For a Projector production, it was surprisingly austere. The hall was draped in starry blue and sea green crepe. There were no pictures of the personality in question, just some very well-lighted graphics, specially-commissioned for the occasion by Paul Rand, and non-objective watercolors, specifically done for today, by Dong Kingman. The extensive display succeeded in putting all in a good mood.

  Sonny had his usual unconventional wardrobe ensemble for such occasions. Today Didgeri 700 pulled it off: bib overalls, thin, thin 16mm tie, and black sport jacket. His footwear was most eye-catching: holey Crox, one cyber-chartreuse, t’other electronic-blue. As usual, the babes in the audience eyed him droolishly, while the guys stared in pure admiration. Everybody thought Sonny was super. That didn’t mean that all were slavish to him, however.

  ‘I know, I know, you want to know everything, all at once. Peace! Remember the first rule of ballyhoo: wait in quietude and it will come to you! Ain’t a thing you have to do ’cept mind what I say. Y’all hear me now!’

  Sonny liked to ‘slang-out’ his promo talks in public. Hip folksiness always put shoppers at ease, so as not to intimidate them. The effect was topped off by his strikingly Bolivian features, worthy of a mountainside.

  ‘Alrightie, evverboddy’s wondering about him. Who is he? Where did he come from, anyway? And why? Why him? At such a time! I tell you, I scarcely know any of these things myself! In these, our times, is it not a reasonable observation to make: that we know too much about too many things? And none of it well enough? Is it not revitalizing though, to encounter a situation where, when we witness something extraordinary, we can simply enjoy it for what it is – a moment in time – and not question it, or even know anything about it? Just to experience it – that’s the thing!’

  Sonny liked to abandon the hip folksiness trip after a few sentences, and then get all ‘philosophical’. A little intellectual intimidation worked wonders in making a sale. But Sonny never, ever lied.

  ‘What’s his angle?’ someone was heard to say to someone else.

  The Press knew their cue, and piped up.

  ‘Gresham Pine-Carkles, ‘Santa Rosita Inkpaddings’. So, Mr. Projector, he’s just a fleeting moment, is he? Andy W’s fifteen minutes of the day, huh?’

  ‘Well Gresh, I wasn’t really ready to take questions quite yet, but since you barged in so, I can only smash that notion to bits with my nine-iron! What a thing to ask! I was talking about dramatic experiences, not the dehumanization that you, Mr. P-Carkles, refer to. Why can’t you people come down off your agony perches and be glad?’

  ‘Sharna Tickleswits, ‘St. Louie Postal-Dispatch’. We are glad, Sonny, but we’re a cynical bunch of bitches and SOBs. You know that! Humor us. Come on, fella! Tickle our pink. We shouldn’t have to surrender it!’

  ‘Well, I do laughingly agree with you, Sharnykins. (Yes, you’re a real bitch, all right. Just kidding! But, uhhh…) I don’t know, maybe I thought you all could change somehow. Don’t really know what I’m talking about? Now you got me asking you questions! Bad sign, bad sign. Well, ANYWAY, now that my exciting concentration has been broken, go ahead, ask whatever questions strike your fancy. On subject, please.’

  ‘Heydabub-baya Ekkeesapay, ‘Zamboanga Star-Triangle-cum-Gazette’. Sonny, where is the man himself – he of whom you speak so rapturously?’

  ‘You know, Baya, ahem, it is you newsies who have been rhapsodizing him, not me. I come not to praise him, but to present him. And wouldn’t you know, there’s someone who asks, ‘Where is he?’ I tell you, I do not rightly know at the moment. That isn’t the point. At a future date, he himself can and will talk to you. He will! That much I promise you. Right now we do not want too much too soon. You’ll pardon me if I pose as a protectionist for my client’s welfare. As for him, he is – a man! He’s fully growed and can take his lickin’s. But, uhhh…’

  ‘Projector the Protector!’ someone was heard to say to someone else.

  ‘Tero Lemminkäinen, ‘Helsingin Sanomat’. Sonny, level with us now. For real, OK? You have something tremendous that you’re guarding us from, aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course, Tere. Why do you think I assembled you all here? Why ever would you come all the way out here, to Pan-Pacific’s vaunted Deco fins? For some free-of-charge junket? Free beverages, free cheese whirls, free jelly-dots? That sort of thing?’

  ‘Tadd Scrays, ‘Radio, Colour Television and Everything Else International’. So this fellow is a big deal?’

  ‘Here’s the deal, Taddy, baby: yes, I’d agree with that. Most agreeably, yes.’

  ‘Scheherazade Wong, ‘Chengdu People’s Daily’. That’s what they all say, Sonny.’

  ‘It’s true, Schehaire. Next?’

  ‘Sidney Banish, ‘The Sunday Times’. Sonny? I say, old rubbish, we’re all of a like mind: that is, we were lately party to an exceptional performance by this, this, ‘Butterbugs’ fellow, at, at Grauman’s Metropolitan yestereve. What, um, I’m keen on asking is, um, can we sort of expect his stage career to now, if, uh, not blossom, to um, at least come into its own? I can tell you, that um, starting about five minutes after the performance concluded, I’ve sort of, been, well, um, bloody well bombarded by my compatriots in Olde London Towne, all of whom, sort of, um, know that I was one of the lucky ones, um, in the balcony, to see it last night, and divers West End producers, agents and impresarios alike have sort of besieged me, um, with inquiries regarding this chap’s, well, availability. Will you not, um, mollify my plight by sort of embracing these applications? [feigns bad Brooklynese accent] Aw c’mon! Help me out heah!’

  Then, returning to his own drawl, ‘I’m, um, sure their interest alone will sort of cause a raw sort of excitement, um, with your novice client.’

  ‘No, no thanks, Sir Sidney. We’re going to put him in pictures, as you will soon see. This is so that more – many more; nay, many times more – of the public can see him, and simultaneously, um, to boot.’

  ‘Pare Pennemence, ‘The Hammer Report’. You know, Sonny, you’re sort of a control freak –’

  ‘That’s what they tell me, Pary. That’s what I do.’

  Then Sonny raised his palms into the air.

  ‘Now if you will excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I’ve got a call waiting from Sidney Patrick Grauman – the SID GRAUMAN himself. I ’spect you’ve heard of him. One more thing: be sure to tune in to ‘60 Minutes’ tonight on the CBS Television Network. (Just trundle next door to Television City, why don’t you, if evverboddy don’t believe yrs trly!) Mike – (Wallace-type) – has got something for you, in the second segment, concerning the person who is the subject of this event, just now closed. Thank you all for coming, and keep your eyes peeled and your TuckerLabs poised to ZapWire Butterbugs-oriented stories and items around the globe, at a moment’s notice! Follow the ‘Projector’ trail of icons on the social medium of your choice, dear ones! And yes, the Bar is OPEN!’

  ‘Sonny the Provider,’ someone was heard to say to someone else.

  The press then became particularly cacophonous.

  ‘Later!’

  ‘Yes, my good Sid-Pat! Hello dere! Yes, it was a pleasure, all right. The vinegar bars arrived by courier at 6:00AM! Yumbo! Yeah. That’s right. Well, I just closed the press-confab. They’re hooked, of course. Yes, I know you wouldn’t necessarily play hard-to-get at this juncture, but the CBS boost is tonight, and that’s fast approaching. Tomorrow morning the manatee will be out of the casket, so to speak. Thanks again
from the bottom of my impoverished heart for your generous help in co-producing my Bard shindig last night! You’ll never know how special it was. Sorry about the ‘Emil Boulderground’ washout, though. Really? No biggie? No refunds? Crazy! Cataclysmically cool! Uh-hunh. Glad you feel the same way, baby. If there’s anything at all I can do, let me know. Yeah, sure. Sure. His mobile phone number? By all means. You have my enduring trust. Let’s see, got a good pencil? Here it is –’

  ‘Hello? Yes. Yes, this is Butterbugs. I am here. Speaking. Yes. This is my number. I – Yes! Well, it is an honor to hear from you, Mr. Grauman. Sid! Yes, if you want me to, I would be happy to. Yes! I was deeply appreciative of having had the opportunity to appear at your Metropolitan, sir. Sid, yes. If there’s anything I can do for you. Yes, Sid, I am familiar with your special Late Sunday Night Epilogues. That’s where anybody who is anybody in Hollywood goes! Yes, even though they have to go to work at six the next morning, the stars and crew don’t want to miss a Sid Grauman Late Sunday Night Epilogue! I have never had the high experience of going to one. Why yes, I would very much like to! You mean it? Wait a minute, Sid, I’m not sure I really understand you –’

  ‘– That’s right, Butterbugs. You heard correctly. I’d not only like you to go to one of my Late Sunday Night Epilogues, I’d like you to appear in one! How about tonight’s version? Are you booked already? No? Then my timing is favorable. Super! Well, can you tap dance? I’d like a little schlagobers to make your guest slot good-humored. Shows your diversity. Right. A little soft shoe, to glue a kind of a segue into place. No reason not to learn on the job. Sonny agrees. We think there’s no reason not to bring you in on a one-two-three punch. Nothing overdone, just an appearance. Oh, and you could do a monologue, if you want. Anything. About 4–5 minutes. I’d love it. Something a little less serious, but it’s your call. I have a feeling that it doesn’t really matter. Right? Super. Well then, can you be at my Million Dollar Theatre on Broadway, about half past 10:00 in the coming PM? The show is called ‘Living Paintings of the Old Masters’. Preceding photoplay is ‘The Private Life of Frans Hals’ (Lemon International). Should work nicely-nicely. We’re pretty happy with this one. Just check in with Pop at the backstage door. No, not Popp – he’s always at my Metropolitan. Just Pop. Everything will be taken care of. Everything is permitted. I think you’ll find the terms most agreeable. Curtain’s at 11:59PM. Thank you Butterbugs. This means a lot to me.’

  After he hung up, Sid got on the blower with Sonny and dozens of others, alerting media and word-of-mouth systems alike as to the surprise bonus appearance tonight at the Million Dollar.

  There were specific and easily explained reasons why Sid Grauman had long been a very big deal in Hollywood.

  You should see the newsreel footage of the premieres of ‘The Wonderful Country’ (UA, 1959), ‘House of Wax’ (WB, 1953), or even a fairly big picture like ‘Blueberry Crabapple’ (Mega|Goth, 1996). Well, all the ballyhoo is insufferably small-scale rubbish, without any style, with embarrassed celebrities, hardly any fans past the range of the newsreel cameras, pins-and-cardboard settings, pathetic attempts at showmanship, and icky and forced so-called ‘fun’. Such Bush-league activities were illustrative of the native tawdriness found so readily in this burg, without portfolio of merit.

  Those are just tiny examples of what exhibition without Sid can be like.

  It was Sid who pioneered the tactic of ceremony in this city of cinema. He brought class where there was oafishness, structure where there was amorphousness, strategy where there was drifting. Sid does stuff right, and the Industry has always been grateful. His famous Prologues (and then Epilogues), his exquisite taste in presenting the products of the Industry he loves, and, most triumphantly, the example he set in his stellar showcase movie palaces in LA: the Rialto, the Metropolitan, the Chinese, the Egyptian, the National Romantic, the Gothic, the Carpathian, and the Million Dollar, set the standards bar high from the start, and there it has stayed. Also, his invention of the theme-based entertainment experience inarguably inspired the great casino/hotel complexes of Vegas and elsewhere.

  He taught Hollywood not to live by pemmican alone. That is, there was a larger context to a picture than just exhibition; a whole culture could be created by relating a production to wider subjects. If he invented a higher strain of Hollywood ballyhoo, he could also be called the father of DVD and OnBeyondDigital (OBD) packaging, where not only the given picture is presented, but with features, interviews, documentaries, alternate versions, and with all miscellaneous matters of value included. It started with Sid’s Prologues, and continued with the more adventurous Epilogues (for which audiences always stuck around), the linking of picture with context. Of course, he’d never take the credit, but everyone in the Industry knew it full well. No wonder they called him ‘Little Sunshine’.

  Butterbugs, to add to the highs of his late history, was still reeling with thrills as a result of chatting a bit of business with none other than the legendary Little Sunshine himself. And a dim gong sounded in his mind, a recollection from a past that he consciously disdained, but below the surface, retained. Sounds changed to images.

  The recollection of that time, in the Sideshow, across the street from the inimitable Chinese, seeing the weird shock of hair that topped off the Sid, in full glare of the lights illuminating the other side of the Hollywood ‘thing’; lights that he now trod towards. From link to link, it all made sense now. Think of it!

  Then he righted himself.

  ‘Don’t think too much of maybe. Just do the needful.’

  (Wasn’t that some commercial slogan, that had a ™ attached??)

  In this state, Butterbugs got lost in the Filipi’s Bar & Cigar Store, right next to the Million Dollar. When he asked for directions in the bar, the ceegar-and-swill hounds didn’t quite make the connection with a ‘60 Minutes’ broadcast they’d seen earlier in the evening, but a notion of recognition was introduced in their minds. Though many such folk as they inhabited this city of VIPs and VVIPs, there was still enough distance between the possessors and the dispossessed, so that regular sightings from the lower side, while regarding the higher, might happen at any time.

  Way up here in the more ancient tracts of northern Broadway, the Million Dollar sphere of influence was another of Sid’s remarkable universes. Parallel, but individual, wonderful – wild!

  The curviest marquee in the West (said to have been inspired by Theda Bara’s derriere), Sid’s Million Dollar was an institution. It wasn’t a patch on the Metropolitan, but this older, hoarier and more experienced 4000-seat house, here on the northern marches of the thiertre district, still grasped his showy sensibilities and would not let them go.

  Competition amongst the old dames of the LA movie palace league was pretty intense. It took a lot to keep a great house from dividing in on itself. To date, none of the great Broadway venues had been multiplexed, and this was solely due to Sid’s leadership. ‘How can we let our great achievements be bifurcated, subdivided, hacked up, and castrated?’ he’d railed at a NATO convention long ago. Thus were the moneymen’s scalpels stayed.

  Therefore, this strange environment absolutely encouraged the enterprising impulses within Butterbugs the actor, and those enhanced feelings strangely pleased him. If audiences experienced such altering sensations in the Graumanian style when approaching an encounter with Drama, would they not heighten the dramatic experience as a whole? Such an observation, coming from a generation raised with and entirely comfortable around generic multiplexes, with their borax, white-painted condo interiors! Wholly singular!

  Thus, by simple exposure, and now involvement, Butterbugs made decisive progress as an appreciator of environments.

  ‘When you walk into a new frame of mind, know its dimensions. Know its nature.’

  Thus spake the flautist in the wilderlands…

  Butterbugs found that the main lobby beggared any description his mind could grasp, and a peek into the auditorium, seen by means of the reflectin
g screen of projected, artistically-altered light from the picture now unreeling, a full-blown Churrigueresque production, frozen in plaster and Portland cement, though there were titanic Corinthian columns, as if from the late Penn Station, that commanded each side of the stage, just like the Metropolitan. Greek clarity amidst the florid conquistedorean seductions all around? And the proscenium arch was similar, too. Architect Woollett’s warm-up for the vaster climax down the road aways.

  The soundtrack from ‘The Private Life of Frans Hals’ was not exactly conducive to his absorption of the Million Dollar’s charms (a childbirth sequence was playing, interrupted by a mob scene: the arrival in Rotterdam port of a spice trader, fresh from the East Indies), but it meant that the thiertre was at work; after all, this rather large room was merely a decorated vessel for anything under the Sun that the Drama could offer up.

  He could only shake his head at the collective majesty with, ‘I’ll be daahned…’

  This was just as well, for an attendant directed him, as talent, to the backstage door, by way of the solemn fire exit corridor. Here indeed was the world of another, more protean Pop the Backstage Doorman, surrounded by bulletin boards, fussy dressers fiddling with billowing costumes, dandies with old bamboos, matrons with coffee urns, twinkies with lollipop props, and winkies with toy dirigibles (a late rehearsal for next week’s new Prologue, soon to take place on some level of this ant farm enterprise). There were fire code notices tacked on the wall, and ensanguined glow lamps pointing towards first aid kits and ways out. There were electrical switchboards of the most archaic kind (never upgraded because they still operated without flaw), and IATSE broom crews were ready to once-over the stage the very moment the picture ended, then the screen and horns flew, and the legs raised. Apprentice cabin boys were ready with glow tape to attach to the boards, in case blocking marks had degenerated.