The exhibit continues in a celebration of the advent of atomic energy, film noir, and drive-in picture shows. Our eyes are immediately drawn to the center of one salon wherein what appears to be an industrial-sized, copper-rust electric powered insulator from the set of James Whale’s 1931 fright feature, Frankenstein. It is breathtaking to behold and fits in perfectly with the surrounding lithoes.
Nearby is a glass case featuring a small selection of lobby cards. These were smaller photos on thicker stock that were used to dress the lobbies of cinemas. These lobby cards are mana to collectors and while there are still plenty out there in abundance, they are increasing in value as supply in the market begins a slow descent. They have been beautifully preserved and many of the images shown are actual screenshots from the films they promote.
The philosophy being, that if audiences were unsure of what creature feature to take in next, they would be inspired by the colorful action shots they were guaranteed to see on the big screen. No pretentious posing in the photos, what you saw was what you’d get. The lobby cards were also less expensive for Hollywood promotion houses to print and duplicate. Hammett’s are a joy to take in and are in the finest of condition.
No collection would be complete of course without a heaping helping of Karloff, Lugosi, and Chaney. Classic one-sheets from Hollywood’s golden age of horror cinema and into the 1940s are well-represented; Browning’s 1931 Dracula, Freund’s 1932 The Mummy, Waggner’s 1941 The Wolfman, and Arnold’s 1954 The Creature from the Black Lagoon all framed with care, stare back at us in monstrous malevolence. Featured in the show are two beautifully commissioned life-sized figures; Boris Karloff from Ulmer’s 1934 The Black Cat, and Bela Lugosi from Halperin’s 1932 White Zombie.
Hammett’s sheets from the 1950s reflect much of our fears and trepidations of the decade’s technological innovations; Korean War weaponry, hydrogen bombs, nuclear attacks, and the launch of the Soviet “Sputnik,” an innovation that effectively began the space race.
It was also about this time that the process of creating these advertising marvels moved from stone lithography to offset printing. Hammett himself has observed that a comparison of poster designs from the ‘20s and ‘30s and those of the ‘40s and ‘50s are as disparate in design concept as they are in topic. Whereas the earlier one-sheets exhibited a wide array of artisans, techniques, styles, and palettes, the later years conveyed a style more formulaic.
When atomic age epics such as Haskin’s 1953 War of the Worlds filled the silver screen during Saturday afternoon matinees, the cinemas were plastered with depictions of sci-fi scenes to assault the senses; damsels fleeing in fear, Martians invading rural America, interplanetary battles, infernal machines, and giant warships from outer space destroying everything in their path with death rays.
Hammett has these carefully protected artifacts in seeming perpetuity. His assessment is true. If one lines the posters up side by side it is possible to see the beginnings of the ‘floating heads’ phenomenon so rampant in our present-day distilled culture of quick, cheap, and fast photo-shop. The fonts used for titles are similar, almost identical in many cases, and the colors, a revolving palate of red, yellow, green, and black.
A few pieces are suspended in the glow of track lighting giving respect to the later films of the ‘60s and ‘70s. Polanski’s 1968 Rosemary’s Baby, Friedkin’s 1973 The Exorcist, and Scott’s 1979 Alien bring Hammett’s collection to a chronological stopping point at the twentieth century. For metal enthusiasts, a selection of Hammett’s monster-laden guitars are on display as well.
Though overall, the It’s Alive! experience is an excellently curated and crafted showcase of genre treasures, it is not without its challenges. This particular art show is theatrical in nature and would have benefitted from a few effects that would have enhanced the observer experience. Conspicuously glaring was the white-hot track lighting in the galleries. Though it is a common and standard approach to display (after all this is a visual artform), such bright light hitting the sheets, props, and costumes betrayed the genre. A dimmer setting of vintage incandescence might have provided an atmosphere more befitting the gothic milieu.
Absent from the experience was the use of low underscoring throughout the museum. Instrumental soundtracks and/or orchestrated music of the Wagnerian catalog would have set the mood at a higher level of stimulus. As it is, the absolute silence does nothing to benefit the tour. One oversight appeared to be an original standee promoting Cooper and Schoedsack’s 1933 King Kong. The cut-out is placed too close to a wall so as not to give the observing eye the benefit of depth and dimension. To pull it out from the back wall even a couple of feet would have made a marked difference in the illustration of Kong’s glory.
In the end, Hammett’s collected works are a stunning visual representation of a long ago time, in darkened cinemas, where the crunching of popcorn, the sipping of sweet cola and the screaming of teenagers at mutant, malformed Martians up on the big screen was as splendid a Saturday afternoon as one could imagine.
