"It all began with leaving a gold pencil at a gin game," Ben Sack tells it. Sack is a heavy-set, determined man. A light grey business suit complements his wavy, greying hair. Black cameo cufflinks are the only pieces of ostentation he allows himself. His no-nonsense manner at first appears belligerent. The intimacy of his conversation, however, soon betrays his grim seriousness. "When I went back next day to get the pencil," he continues, "a young boy whose father owned a movie chain asked me if I would like to make an investment in a theatre he was building." Sack contributed $100 when the house opened in Lowell. The theatre only managed to gross $43 on its first day.
At the time, Ben Sack was primarily involved with a copper and smelting plant. In 1949, he was again offered the chance to invest in a movie house. Again he accepted. This time it looked even rougher. The theatre, which had to be refurbished and reopened, was located in Fitchburg, a factory town of 43,000. It had only one competitor, an already successful operation right next door. Within a year and three months, Sack's group bought out the neighboring opposition. It had been owned by Joseph P. Kennedy '12.
For Ben Sack, movie houses became more addictive than Frito's. In 1952, Sack found himself again in another project. This time he was to re-open the defunct Beacon Hill. Days before his first Boston opening, the other investors pulled out. Sack hung on and ended up in the black. The pattern became a familiar one. Choose an unsuccessful or closed theatre, buy it, refurbish it, re-open it. With standardized procedures and good publicity, Ben Sack began to make good.
Simultaneously, the movie industry was staging a comeback. Attendance, which had dropped off sharply after the war, began to increase slowly after the turn of the decade. In 1956, the Saxon, formerly a legitimate stage theatre known as the Majestic, opened with a 70 mm. Todd-AO production of Oklahoma! A year later, the Gary introduced itself with Gigi. Road shows of that magnitude became the foundation of Sack's enterprises. Last year, nine road shows accounted for 43 per cent of gross admissions. Movies may not have become better, but they had become profitable.
The executive offices of the Sack Theatres are the final proof of Sack's accession. They are located in the Sack Savoy. To reach them you must take a small, antiquated elevator, with a hand-operated grate and an erratic control button. It climbs slowly, cautiously--rather like the temperamental lift that displayed more personality than Julie Andrews in Thoroughly Modern Millie. The elevator opens--hopefully--onto a nondescript corridor. You pass a press room, then a secretary's office. The inner sanctum is a large room that, despite its heavy furniture, appears empty. There is an imposing mahogany desk, a matching conference table, an antique, roccoco grandfather's clock. The room is a flashback to a past generation. The beige telephone seems anachronistic.
"The elevator would only allow three people at a time to come up," Sack explains. "The only thing different is that we don't have the guards he kept here. That antique clock, this table, that desk over there--they all belonged to Ambassador Kennedy, too, when he owned the RKO chain." Yes, Ben Sack, having acquired a Kennedy theatre, went on to inhabit a Kennedy office. Why, Norman Podhoretz couldn't have done it any better.
The Gimmicks
"We don't do anything stereotyped," Ben Sacks keeps insisting. As a showman, he seems to have taken the advice of the three jaded strippers in Gypsy--namely, you've gotta have a gimmick if you want to get ahead. While the Sack Theatres are basically fairly conservative establishments, they are not above a few well chosen publicity stunts.
His innovations--as Sack euphemistically prefers to call the gimmicks--can range from serious advancements in film exhibiting to mere trivia. After all, the Cheri is Sack's prize innovation: it is the only indoor movie complex in the country where you can park your car, step into an elevator, and arrive in the theatre's lobby. On the other hand, the much heralded ice cream parlor in the lobby is quite another matter. For 65 cents, you can make your own sundaes. So there you are. A Man for All Seasons finally reaches intermission. Quick, Harry, get into that line. Uh, vanilla, please. But Harry, I'm allergic to that strawberry sauce. Pardon me, sir, but I didn't mean to spill the chocolate. Helen, really, is it my fault if there are only four tables, can't you stand? And so with only five minutes of intermission remaining, you must gorge yourself on all that gluttonous ice cream. You miss Scofield's first scene. But movies really are becoming more stimulating.
The publicity stunt which quite literally ended all publicity stunts isn't even mentioned by Sack. At 1:00 a.m. on the morning of last May 4, 15,000 students began to collect outside the Sack Savoy for a 4 a.m. preview of Casino Royale--free, if you wore a "super sleuth trenchcoat." With the aid of police, a bona fide riot broke out. Meanwhile the theatre's assistant manager, having filled the 2,800 seats to capacity, began rolling the film early. He later told police, "They were fighting in the aisles every time someone left his seat. [About 1, small fires broke out under the seats.] Patrons carried a fire hose down the center aisle, but the hose broke loose from a standpipe fitting. The water spurted and under pressure knocked six people from their seats." The Globe hysterically reported that 20 persons were arrested, 30 injured. Mayor Collins was promised that there would be no more pre-dawn previews.
But the Sack Theatres do plan to expand in other areas. Cheri-type theatres are to be built in Hartford and New York. The Music Hall and the Savoy have already presented performances by the Bolshoi Ballet and the New York Metropoltan Opera. More legitimate theatre will be presented in the large houses in an effort to reduce the high ticket prices currently charged by Boston's smaller legitimate showcases.
Ominous Future
Movies are another matter. Twelve road shows--each expected to run from two to 12 months--will clog the Sack schedule during the coming year. Films guaranteed a showing must wait months to get into town. If Doctor Doolittle must be postponed, there is little chance to see a smaller film like Edith Evan's The Whisperers. This fall, in an unprecedented move, Funny Girl is to be opened simultaneously in the three Cheri theatres. It will be easier to see Funny Girl, but there will be fewer new films because of a lack of theatres. In any case, there is yet no evidence that the Sack Theatres will be adventurous enough to capture films which are either stylistically or thematically inventive. In past years, they did not exhibit The Endless Summer, Alfie, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, or Bonnie and Clyde.
The future should be even more ominous. As Alan Friedberg, Sack's vice-president, film expert, and resident visionary, sees it, "automated theatres, automatic ticket purchasing, and even automated transportation to and from theatres will be introduced. The film patron will have the advantage of knowing that every film being shown has been pretested as to its effect, impact, and pleasurability. There won't be any 'bad' movies. Motion pictures will be fitted to the patron's personality." Perhaps, the Czechs were correct to suggest at Expo '67 that movies could ultimately depend on the audience. For if the audience is allowed to determine the twists of a movie's plot, they determine the film's form.
"A good film is one that makes money," concludes Sack. Don't knock the profit motive. It has permitted Ben Sack to bring new life to the Boston theatre district. Certainly, Sack's success has encouraged the creation of Boston's new independent theatres like the Abbey and the Charles Cinema. Sack makes no promises about his films. You can be sure that the popcorn will be buttered better, even if the film isn't quite up to par. And when your great-grandson gulps down his soma and runs out for a night at the "feelies," you can also be sure, that he will be going to a Sack Theatre--possibly the Cheri 73