The Brief

The New Beverly Cinema has had many, many lives. It’s been an ice cream factory, a nightclub and a porn theater. Today it’s the home of director Quentin Tarantino’s personal film collection — a place where you can always catch a classic double feature, or a marathon of, say, all the Twilight movies, on 35mm.

“Quentin has a vast collection. Cartoons, trailers, 35 features, 16 features,” says the theater’s operations manager Jules McLean. “We have a warehouse full of film.”

The importance of film

At the New Beverly, the projection booth is where the magic happens. Everything at this revival house is always on film, which means specialty and rare prints, vivid colors and sound, and that inimitable warmth and grain that appears on screen.

(And don’t worry if you don’t know the difference between 16mm, 35mm, and 70mm. To put it simply, that’s the difference in the width of the film strip. The bigger the number, the higher quality the image.)

“I think there's a tendency to think film is precious, which it is, and we should be preserving it. But I think it's more important to be screening the prints,” says New Beverly projectionist Danielle Wakin.

Projecting film isn’t just hitting play on a movie — there’s a whole show going on up in the booth that audience members never get to see. Before the movie starts, the projectionist checks the film reel for dust and debris. They measure the reel and mark out “changeover cues” — that’s where they’ll literally load and change reels. Most feature films take up between five and nine reels. 

“There's an art to it, there's timing … but yeah, there's nothing better than whenever you hit every changeover and it's a perfect show,” Wakin explains. “Or watching my coworker have a perfect show is also a very, very good feeling.”

Given the effort that goes into projecting film, this isn’t an experience you can get at any movie house (and it’s the center of a contentious debate in the moviegoing world). But it should be noted that the additional effort of a movie house and projectionist to screen a print that might be decades old, does turn a screening into something special.

Danielle Wakin, New Beverly Cinema's projectionist, splices film building up the pre-shows for the following showing on Monday, Feb. 12, 2024.

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Julie Leopo

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LAist

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Danielle Wakin, New Beverly Cinema's projectionist, splices film building up the pre-shows for the following showing on Monday, Feb. 12, 2024.

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Julie Leopo

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LAist

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With the emphasis on film — and the Tarantino connection — it’s easy to assume that The New Bev might be intimidating, or full of “film bros” ready to judge. But the programming is accessible and diverse.

“I think that is what makes the New Bev cool is [the movies] we show isn't just, you know, like Jeanne Dielman, which like a bunch of film school people show up. But then we had like a Twilight marathon for Twilight fans,” says Wakin. “It's like we kind of show something for everyone.”

The New Bev welcomes kids too — weekend screenings always include family matinees, where you can catch films like A Goofy Movie, The Muppet Movie, or E.T.

But one of Wakin’s favorite moments was the screening of the cult classic Phantom of the Paradise.

Phantom of the Paradise is a 70s rock musical directed by Brian De Palma with music by Paul Williams. It’s a blend of Faust, Phantom of the Opera, and a critique of the music industry, with fabulous costumes, musical numbers, and a dash of horror. While it didn’t get rave reviews upon its release, it found a dedicated fanbase, even inspiring the French duo who would become Daft Punk.

“I remember sitting there in the theater, and when Beef came on screen the whole audience roared and I was just smiling and I was like, 'this is why I work here,'” she says.

From candy to porn to 'respectable movies'

So, how exactly did Quentin Tarantino end up owning the New Bev?

Well, it’s kind of a long story.

The building’s been around since 1929, and in the '30s it was occupied by a candymaker, and then an ice cream manufacturer.

“Then it became Slapsy Maxie's Nightclub in 1937, starring the once famous Maxie Rosenblum,” says theater historian Ross Melnick.

Slapsy Maxie's was a Mid-City nightclub that is now the home of the New Beverly Cinema.

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Courtesy of the Huntington Gardens Digital Library

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Slapsy Maxie’s was a celebrity hotspot run by actor and former boxer Maxie Rosenbloom, nicknamed “Slapsie” for how he liked to throw a punch with an open glove.

Slapsy Maxie’s moved locations and other nightclubs moved in and out of the space throughout the 1940s. In the '50s, the space became a venue for live theater — The New Globe. The demographics of the Fairfax area were shifting and the neighborhood was starting to become primarily Jewish.

“The New Globe became a venue for actually Yiddish and other theater … it was actually in part because of the location, the Jewish community was leaving Boyle Heights and coming to Fairfax,” says Melnick. “And so this was a place where Yiddish theater could actually survive for a time.”

But by 1958, live theater was no longer drawing crowds. A film producer purchased the space and divided it into two cinemas, named the Riviera-Capri.

When the 1960s hit, almost every theater in the city had to make the decision — pivot to porn, or no?

The theater was renamed again in 1970 to “the very appropriate Eros Theater, which had not only films, but also live nude dancing,” says Melnick. “The Beverly name was inaugurated in 72, and adult films continued until about 1977.”

At the end of the 1970s, local publishers started banning ads for adult films. Business started to dip for the Bev, creating an opportunity for yet another buyer.

How Tarantino got involved

In 1978, Sherman Torgan, a location scout described by the Los Angeles Times as a 33-year-old “mild mannered UCLA graduate in sociology,” took over the theater. He’s quoted as saying he “wanted to get in a business that really had sort of a positive vibe. Movies put a smile on people’s faces.”

The Times headline ran: “Theater Returns to Respectability.”

Early double features at the now “NEW” Beverly that summer included Cabaret and Sweet Charity, and Robert Altman’s 3 Women paired with Ingmar Bergman’s Face to Face.

It was during this time that a young Quentin Tarantino started going to the movies here. It was his childhood movie house, so his love for the place started early.

When Sherman Torgan died in 2007, it was a tough time for movie theaters. DVD sales were booming and services like Netflix started streaming.

Tarantino had already been subsidizing the theater for $5,000 a month, so he decided to purchase the theater outright in 2010, and took over operations in 2014. He’s quoted as saying: “As long as I’m alive, and as long as I’m rich, the New Beverly will be there, showing double features in 35mm.” 

Torgan's son Michael continues to help operate and program the theater.

Jules McLean, director of operations, in the auditorium of the New Beverly Cinema on Monday, Feb. 12, 2024.

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Julie Leopo

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LAist

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Jules McLean has now been running the New Beverly for 10 years. And her history with Tarantino goes back even further.

“I knew Quentin because we worked at Video Archives together. So we have a long history and friendship,” says McLean.

She worked as his personal assistant for years, saying “one of the things you do for a film director is try to facilitate his dream.” That’s the attitude she brings to the New Beverly.

“I'm facilitating Quentin's dream, which was part of, you know, Sherman's dream.”

Tarantino's house, a community hub

There is a LOT of film here.

According to McLean, “probably 60, 65% of the stuff we show is Quentin's collection.”

The New Bev often screens Tarantino’s films as midnight movies every few weeks — titles like Kill Bill, Pulp Fiction, Django Unchained — the whole filmography, really.

The projection room at the New Beverly Cinema only projects film.

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Julie Leopo

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LAist

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McLean says even the weekday matinees sell out. It’s a relief. After the pandemic shut theaters down, there was a question about whether places like the New Bev could bounce back. But it has indeed come back, and McLean says it's attracting new audiences.

For her, it’s all about passing on that communal moviegoing experience to the next generation.

“I cannot stress how important it is to see films with an audience. That communal feeling, you can't replicate that,” she says. “I think you get something emotionally and even though you might not know the 200 people you're sitting with, you just had a collective experience.”

And she’s seen those collective experiences turn into relationships: “I know so many people that have met their husband, wife, partner here, you know, friendships just because they came to the New Beverly.”

“I know it sounds antithetical because you're just sitting passively,” adds Melnick. "But in fact, you're connecting with the filmmaker and the actors and everyone else who put that film together. And then you're connecting with everyone else around you.”

Whether you bring a date, make a friend or go solo and find a friend in the movies, you won’t be alone catching a movie on film at the New Bev.

Thanks for joining us at the movies. It’s all part of a new series from How to LA called Revival House. Check it out wherever you get your podcasts.

When California voters open their ballots this November, they will find 14 statewide measures on issues such as immunology research funding, voter ID requirements and billionaire taxes. Add in various city and county propositions, and it’s — a lot.

How do Californians feel about all these propositions padding out the ballot? When pollsters ask, they tend to get mixed signals. People say the measures are too complicated. There are too many. And they can’t get enough of them.

The state’s love-hate relationship with direct democracy is on full display in surveys by the Public Policy Institute of California. Seventy-seven percent of respondents said recently there are too many ballot measures, and 89% said the wording of propositions is too confusing.

But two years ago, 79% of those surveyed also said propositions are a “good thing,” and 87% agreed that they “bring up important public policy issues that the governor and legislature have not adequately addressed.”

Feeling both overwhelmed and empowered by all this decision-making is a byproduct of deeply rooted California political traditions.

Other states ask voters to weigh in on far fewer contests. About half have no initiative process. Even those that do tend to use it far less often than California does.

Between 1904 and 2024, California put 396 initiatives before voters, more than any other state.

“We set up a system where we wanted to vote on things,” said John Matsusaka, executive director of the Initiative and Referendum Institute at the University of Southern California.

“People just believe that if they think there's something wrong with what the government's doing, they have a right to bring it before their fellow citizens and get an opinion on that,” he said. “It's just in the DNA of the state.”

Where did all these propositions come from? 

Ballot initiatives have become a big business in California. Collecting signatures, producing ads, paying political consultants — an entire industry depends on this system. Between 2020 and 2024, nearly $1.9 billion was spent on California ballot measure campaigns.

But the system was initially supposed to be a check on monied interests.

California’s adoption of citizen initiatives, referendums and recalls dates back to the early 20th-century Progressive Era. At the time, states across the Western U.S. expanded direct democracy in the hopes of countering dominant political machines and corporate monopolies.

Ed Lascher, a public policy professor emeritus at Cal State University, Sacramento, said he believes Progressive Era reformers probably would not recognize their vision in today’s initiative system.

“It’s doubtful to me that they would, because of the amount of money involved, the fact that decisions are made basically through advertising and the sort of overwhelming nature of things,” he said.

Then there’s the question of whether asking voters to decide complex issues makes for good policy. Over the years, Californians have approved some dubious, regrettable and ultimately illegal initiatives. Some have a whiff of absurdity, such as 1964’s Proposition 15, which sought to ban cable television. The California Supreme Court overturned it on First Amendment grounds.

Others reveal a darker side of the Golden State. Now a hotbed of resistance to federal ICE raids and deportation efforts, California passed Prop. 187 in 1994. Though it was quickly ruled unconstitutional, the law sought to ban undocumented immigrants from receiving public education, healthcare and other social services.

Less than two decades ago, Californians voted to outlaw same-sex marriage through Prop. 8, an outcome many would find unthinkable just a few years later. And in 1964, nearly two-thirds of Californian voters opted to allow racial discrimination in housing sales and rentals through Prop. 14.

“Most initiatives fail,” Lascher said. “But most initiatives that have targeted minorities in the state have passed. … If you look at things like gay rights, if you look at civil rights in the early '60s, these have been, generally, better protected by the Legislature than by the ballot initiative.”

Should California have fewer ballot measures? 

There have been various attempts to rein in the initiative process. Lascher himself supported making it harder to amend the California Constitution by initiative. That proposal sought to raise the voter approval threshold from a simple majority to two-thirds support. Such a reform would’ve doomed Prop. 8.

But there hasn’t been a groundswell of support for chipping away at the power held by voters.

“Most Californians — and we know this from polls — value having this opportunity,” Matsusaka said.

Though many say the number of ballot measures is too high, research shows it’s not driving Californians away from the polls. Political scientists say initiatives typically have the opposite effect, increasing turnout by about 3% to 8% compared with states that lack initiatives.

Matsusaka said this slight boost could be the result of certain measures turning out voters who care deeply about a particular topic. “When there's an issue they care about, I think it is valuable for them to have the opportunity to vote on it,” he said.

Voters may turn out more in initiative states, but Lascher said research suggests they often feel conflicted. He co-wrote a 2019 book on this topic called Initiatives Without Engagement.

“The bottom line is, voters aren't feeling more efficacious or more ability to control things in states that make heavy use of initiatives,” he said. “They're actually somewhat less trusting.”

Critics argue that today, rather than empowering citizens to directly enact popular political changes, California’s initiative process has evolved into an expensive tool for deep-pocketed interest groups to carry out their agendas.

In some cases, interest groups don’t intend to get their initiatives on the ballot, instead using the process as leverage to get what they want from elected leaders. They’re essentially saying: Cut a deal with us, or we’ll drag you into a costly ballot measure fight.

Other measures end up on the ballot because legislators are required to put them there. Lawmakers cannot pass bonds without approval by a majority of voters. They also cannot amend the state constitution or alter previous voter initiatives without a new ballot measure.

Could technology change how Californians handle confusion?

Matsusaka said despite feeling overwhelmed, most Californians are able to cut through the confusion and make up their minds.

Voters may lack the time or expertise needed to fully research every ballot measure, but they know how to turn to ideological groups for cues on how to vote. Others consult non-partisan guides written by fact-based journalists, such as the LAist Voter Game Plan (shameless plug).

Matsusaka said he believes busy Californians could increasingly offload their decision-making to another time-saving resource: AI chatbots.

“You have an app on your phone, and it reads the text for you, and it also knows your party, and it knows your political affiliations and your issue positions, and it says, here's how you should vote,” he said. “We're not quite there yet, but I don't actually think we're very far.”

This story first appeared on The LA Local.

It’s Thursday night at Eastwood Bar in Koreatown, and the place is packed with about 300 people chatting under sparkling disco lights. Haystacks, wooden guitars and retro beer signs decorate the space. In the center, a metal stool holds a Mac laptop, and a big screen displays a visual sales presentation, or pitch deck. A beaming young woman steps to the mic and begins her slideshow pitch. But she’s not selling anything. She’s trying to get someone in the audience to date her friend.

This is Pitch-A-Friend Los Angeles, one of LA’s hottest dating events, where singles looking for a match rely on a good friend with great slideshow skills as their wingman.

The goal is to connect people to dates in real life, but the unique concept also allows singles to see their friends say nice things about them in creative ways, Pitch-A-Friend Los Angeles organizer Jackson Wise told The LA Local.

“I get to see best friends kind of hype each other up and talk about their friends’ characteristics and sometimes that’s not always spoken,” Wise said. He added that he often notices the friend being pitched sitting in the audience and getting teary-eyed from all the encouragement.

Wise began the LA offshoot of Pitch-A-Friend nearly two years ago. The original event began in Philadelphia. After spending several years struggling in LA’s notoriously difficult dating scene, Wise scrolled past the Instagram account for a Philly-hosted event of Pitch-A-Friend. “I reached out to them, and they said I should start it in Los Angeles,” Wise recalled.

He said his LA offshoot was not very successful early on, drawing small crowds. But he kept at it, relying on social media and word of mouth to grow the event, which now draws crowds in the hundreds.

Pitch-A-Friend Los Angeles leader Jackson Wise opens the night at Eastwood Bar in Koreatown.

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Cristabell Fierros

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The LA Local

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What is Pitch-A-Friend?

The concept is simple: Instead of single people promoting themselves on a dating app, their friends do it for them, live, in front of a room full of strangers. Each presenter gets four to five minutes and a slide deck, usually made in Canva or Google Slides, to show off a single friend’s best qualities, quirks and what they’re looking for. Singles in the crowd who like what they see can find that person afterward, in the room or through the Hooked Up app.

The LA Local got a front-row seat to an LGBTQ+ singles event at Pitch-A-Friend Los Angeles. Here’s how it went down.

Half an hour before presentations, Wise made sure all participating friends were signed up. He checked that their five-minute Canva or Google Slides decks were good to go. Soon after, he energized the crowd with lively announcements like: “At the end of every presentation, I get, ‘Hey, I didn’t meet anybody.’ My first question is, ‘Did you talk to anybody?’ It’s usually no.”

Then he encouraged everyone to scan the QR code for the Hooked Up app or to break out of their circles, mingle and help their friends connect. He introduced stickers to help direct singles on queer night: green for women or friends, red for men and white for both or nonbinary.

Among the crowd was Elektra Armenta. “We don’t really get many mixers or dating events for queer folks in LA. So, I was really excited to be here, to experience all of us,” Armenta said.

The first presenter used colorful and playful multimedia slides to hype up her 23-year-old gay male roommate as someone who is intelligent, supportive and attentive and, above all, has a gift for listening.

Next, two young women took to the stage to introduce their accomplished friend, a 35-year-old retired three-time Olympian now thriving in tech at LA28. “Lauren is looking for something serious,” one of them declared. Someone in the crowd shouted back, “Yeah, we don’t play.”

As the night went on, each presenter was greeted with cheers and applause for their creativity, thoroughness and appreciation of their friends’ achievements. More importantly, singles were finding potential matches.

“Getting to know people through their friends is actually a really special experience,” first-time attendee Brex Garay told The LA Local. “It’s been really impressive to see people’s creative sides on pitching their friends.”

Jacaranda. Jacaranda. Jacaranda. We love those purple canopies across Los Angeles.

But have you seen the Chinese flame tree — sporting happy yellow blooms that brighten everything around them in the fall, before giving way to pink or reddish capsules that are reminiscent of paper lanterns?

“The genus for that group of plants is Koelreuteria,” said Donald Hodel, a landscape horticulture adviser with UC Cooperative Extension, part of the University of California’s Division of Agriculture and Natural Resources.

Two species of the tree flower this time of the year. Hodel said that despite their varied origins, they’re almost visually indistinguishable. Koelreuteria bipinnata is from China, and Koelreuteria elegans is from Taiwan.

The golden yellow phase of the Chinese flame tree.

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Fiona Ng

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LAist

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Pinkish, reddish capsules of seeds emerge after the yellow flowers.

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Fiona Ng

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LAist

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The genus, according to the UC Cooperative Extension, was introduced to the United States in 1763 — most likely by an arboretum or botanical garden, Hodel said. From there, they entered the nursery trade.

They are popular trees in greater Los Angeles — and can be found in El Sereno, Long Beach and Culver City — with a couple of knocks against them.

“They aren't water hogs by any means; [but] they can't really be considered drought-tolerant,” Hodel explained.

Close-up of a capsule from the Chinese flower tree.

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Fiona Ng

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LAist

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And they sprout easily if their seeds find a water source. “Which means you have to take them out, 'cause eventually they'll get too big,” he said.

No tree is perfect — he stressed — not even SoCal’s beloved jacaranda.

“If I could only have one or the other, I'd probably pick a Koelreuteria,” he said. “It's a good-looking tree.”

The post appeared first on LA Local.

Go past the dog walkers and strollers up the hilly street with the massive refinery. You’ll see an aerospace company’s moon buggy mural. Head toward a classic dingbat apartment and you’ll find a surfer-themed bar in a WWII-style Quonset hut.

Shh. There’s a secret comedy show happening in there where a comic is revealing secret techniques to make babies fart.

Don’t Tell Comedy shows like this one at Boardroom Brewery in El Segundo last month are happening all around Los Angeles County. They are stand-up shows where the crowd is only given venue clues ahead of time and only told where to be just hours before. The sites vary from parking lots, furniture stores, wine shops and other unconventional settings for stand-up comedy.

How to find a secret comedy show

• The first step is fairly simple. Visit the Don’t Tell Comedy website and look for a show in a city you don’t mind driving to.
• You’re going to have to buy tickets without knowing anything about the show. That means you won’t know who is performing or where the show is being held.
• The morning of the event, you will receive a text message or email with the address to the secret location.

What a typical show looks like

Go past the dog walkers and strollers up the hilly street with the massive refinery. You’ll see an aerospace company’s moon buggy mural. Head toward a classic dingbat apartment and you’ll find a surfer-themed bar in a WWII-style Quonset hut.

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Don Perez

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The LA Local

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Boardroom Brewery bartender Rick Mathiesen told The LA Local that the night started with folks “getting out of their Ubers with confused looks on their faces.” They were trying to figure out if they got the right place, especially when the beach town bar rolled down its see-through hangar door.

The secret comedy show organization started in 2017 with backyard and living room pop-up shows. It has expanded its clandestine comedy format to more than 200 cities, including areas across LA such as downtown, Los Feliz, Silver Lake and Pasadena.

Griffin James, the emcee of the night and a local producer for Don’t Tell Comedy, was seen putting 80 chairs away by himself — hey, legendary comic Sam Kinison got his start as The Comedy Store’s doorman.

The 26-year-old Griffin said the gigs are still as competitive as landing a stage at The Laugh Factory, where he’s performed. There’s an added benefit for the audience: There is no mandatory two-drink minimum, which makes it more affordable than a night at a traditional comedy club.

Go past the dog walkers and strollers up the hilly street with the massive refinery. You’ll see an aerospace company’s moon buggy mural. Head toward a classic dingbat apartment and you’ll find a surfer-themed bar in a WWII-style Quonset hut.

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Don Perez

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The LA Local

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Most comics at Don’t Tell Comedy shows are up-and-coming locals, but a few big names like Ali Wong, Nikki Glaser and Michael Che have appeared.

Jenna Lewanda told The LA Local that she and her boyfriend, Manny Aguilar, decided to take a trip from their West Hollywood home to the mystery spot in El Segundo. Their usual haunts for live comedy are the Hollywood Improv and a friend’s show, Hambone Comedy.

Lewanda received a message at 9 a.m. that Saturday with the location details. She looked it up and committed the odd curved building to memory. She was happy that night’s headliner was a famous stand-up: Brad Williams. 

Williams — a comedian with dwarfism who has two Showtime specials and a Netflix stand-up episode under his belt — closed out the seven-comic show that night.

He got a lot of laughs recalling a camping incident where a park ranger told him to “get big” when confronted by a bear. The 4-foot-4-inch Williams’ response: “How?”