Leopoldo Antonio Carrillo (August 6, 1881 – September 10, 1961),

Actor. (Newscom TagID: dpphotos056937)     [Photo via Newscom]leo_carrillo13-646039_2img_1282fillwind

IT WAS down to that astounding home he’s fashioned, down in old Santa Monica canyon that I went to meet Carrillo. His ancestors used to own the whole southern end of California. Time and fate took it away from them. But now Leo has bought back ten acres of it, and he’s built a house that’s three years old and looks and feels a hundred! Into it, he’s crammed the sight and feel of life as it was lived here a century ago. That’s one spot where his sentimentalism runs riot. The tradition of old Spanish California is his fetish. “Might as well dynamite Plymouth Rock,” he mutters, “as forget California’s traditions!”

He exults in that house. His own hands pushed the plaster around, laid the home-made bricks. “Built it myself,” he glories, “and tried to give it the savour of the things my forefathers had.” Architects call it a crazy house. “Can’t put it in blueprints a-tall!” they complain; “all y’c’n do with a house like that is build it!” And love it, Leo adds. There’s a fence all around his ten acres, but the gates are never closed. There’s no door-bell to his house; they didn’t have ’em in old California. When I drove in, Carrillo’s voice was booming laughter from an upstairs room with a veranda that climbed down to the patio. I mounted and found myself walking into his bedroom. He was deep in a big chair, with not a thing on but a grimy beret, an ancient pair of trunks and a pair of canvas sneakers. His body was nut brown, because he roams like that, all over his domain when he’s not working. Three neighbours were there with him, sprawled on his bed, his chairs. Folks drop in What Life Has Taught Leo Carrillo on him all the time, unannounced. Friends, neighbours, utter strangers. You’re as likely to see a banker from New York or a tourist from Iowa wandering about the place. Leo doesn’t mind; he likes it. Hospitality —old California tradition. Except when they steal souvenirs from his house and run up long-distance bills on his phone. There was the time at a party when a stranger, but a guest, asked if he might use the phone. “Sure,” said Leo, and showed him a private booth. There was a ninety-seven dollar charge on Leo’s next phone bill for the New York call that the man had put in. “A lousy trick,” commented a Hollywoodian who heard the tale, “No—I don’t think a man can be a louse. When he seems to be, it’s only that he’s sick inside, sort of.” But, the next party Leo gave, he had the phone company disconnect his number until the party was over! “Y^TELL, anyway, as I was saying, * * there were these three friends there when I walked in, and Leo as telling a story about a souse. It seems the souse went on the wagon and was pouring away all his liquor. But in farewell, he took a goodbye drink from ch bottle. Well, Leo was acting it all out, and by the time the yarn was over, all of us were laughing like idiots, because Leo’s as good an actor off the screen as he is on. Though he can portray a drunkard perfectly, the most he, himself, drinks is a glass or two of wine with his meals. He doesn’t smoke either, and yet there’s always cigars, cigarettes, even pipe tobacco for his guests. “I’m glad you came,” Leo yelled to me when the story was over. “Come and see the place.” He waved adios to his friends, and off we went. Down into the patio, we went. Huge hand-shaped bricks created a towering fireplace. Walls were of aged plaster,—time-worn beams. “How old do you think it is?” he crowed.”Looks a hundred,” I admitted. “Three years!” he grinned. “Look at the crooked bricks. Had some Swedish bricklayers, with square minds. They wanted to lay ’em mathematically straight. ‘You bane make das house all screwy,’ they told me when I pushed the bricks around. The plasterers called me names when I’d come along to their nice straight edges and push the plaster around with the heels of my hand till it’s like that!” He showed the doorways, the arches, irregular, rough, lumpy, mad—and beautiful. “That’s the way my fathers’ fathers had it. That’s the way I wanted it. My house is my personality, and the only way I could

TJE GRINNED at a brown-streaked, A * artificial, dirt-caked doorway. “Looks like a li’l Mexican kid had rubbed himself all over that trying to learn to walk, huh?” he grinned. “I had ’em dirty it up so it’d look that way.” And Leo laughed. A calf’s tail served as a door-pull. “They didn’t have door-knobs in those days,” he said. We stepped into a living room that sprawled like a lazy wench. And the room was mad with color. Great divans ; chairs of unborn calves’ skin ; huge hand-hewn tables; rawhide thongs, instead of nails, holding in place overhead beams of eucalyptus, cut whole from the trunk of the tree. Logs smoldered in a gigantic fireplace. Things, things, things everywhere—and all redolent of old California. I noticed names over the windows, doors — “Octavio,” “Eulogio,” “Atala”—there was a small red cross after that last one. “Adela,” “Elisa,” “Carlos” —these too had crosses. “My brothers and sisters,” said Leo, and his face showed pride and worship. “Eulogio—he’s in New York; chief engineer for the Rockefellers; started here with a shovel; I called him Jack. The crosses?—those are the ones who have gone on. It’s an old family custom to have their names over each portal—it helps keep them with us, living with us, even after they’ve gone.” Leo spoke sadly. There were other scores of things that breathed of days long since gone. And yet, by some miracle of arrangement, no air of a museum. It was a home, that was lived in and loved. That was all. And enough! He talked of love. “When a man ceases to think of love, he ceases to be interesting.” Love means, to Carrillo, love for mankind. He’s famous for his free gift of himself and his talents and his time to any and every worthy benefit that asks. “I feel it my duty and my privilege,” he stated, “to give of what talent or unique ability God has endowed me to those less fortunate.” He talked of his home, his philosophy —”There’s only one aristocracy —that’s not the aristocracy of birth I don’t lean on dead kin.” Bees hummed; water trickled plangent; the sun caressed. “People who count aren’t measured in wealth or family but in what they are and have done — their station doesn’t matter—the only aristocracy is the aristocracy of brains” A little later, I returned to Hollywood and telephones and street-cars and typewriters and 1935. Leo went fishing:

Leo Carrillo State Park has 1.5 miles of beach for swimming, surfing, windsurfing, surf fishing and beachcombing. The beach also has tide pools, coastal caves and reefs for exploring. Giant sycamores shade the main campgrounds. The park also features back-country hiking.

Nature walks and campfire programs are offered and a small Visitor Centre has interpretive displays. During the summer, children’s programs are available.

The park was named after Leo Carrillo (1880-1961), actor, preservationist and conservationist. Leo Carrillo served on the California Beach and Parks commission for eighteen years, and was instrumental in the state’s acquisition of the Hearst property at San Simeon. He was related by blood and marriage to a long line of distinguished original Californians. Leo’s greatest fame came from his portrayal of Pancho, the sidekick to Duncan Renaldo’s Cisco Kid, an early 1950s TV series.


“Little Hollywood.”

Kanab is nestled within a circle of beautiful vermillion cliffs, central
to Zion’s, Bryce, and the Grand Canyon.

Kanab gets its name from the Paiute Indian word KHAN meaning “the willow
basket in which the tiny papoose is carried on its mother’s back.” The
word KANAW means “the place of the willows.”
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The first settlers are thought to have arrived June 7, 1858. Several early
settlers came to the area; some remained, others stayed for a short time and
then moved on to other locations deemed more suitable to their needs, or
returned to their previous home.

Many movies have been made in Kanab, thus giving it the nickname of
“Little Hollywood.” The members of your group will be excited to know
they will be visiting the place where John Wayne and many other actors spent
much of their movie careers. That said, a journey to Kanab can feel like a trip
to nowhere. It’s far from freeways or major towns, tucked in the bottom of Utah
just north of the Arizona border. I drove to Kanab by departing I-15 at St.  George, Utah. After Kanab I went north to Bryce Canyon National Park (wow!) and ended up at Moab (Arches National Monument). In fact, Kanab can be “on the  way” to Grand Canyon’s spectacular but lightly visited north rim, Lake  Powell, Zion National Park, Bryce Canyon, Monument Valley, Arches, Mesa Verde  and plenty more amazing places.

Unit I went on my first film location, I still remember the very first day on location and also it was my first “western” It was on the Kanab Movie Ranch its located in Kanab Canyon (Angel Canyon), approximately 5 miles north of Kanab, Utah.

The film was the “Red Canyon” (Universal 1949) Directed by: George Sherman. Cast: Howard Duff, Ann Blyth. Country Date Release dates for Red Canyon USA April 1949 (premiere.) It was one of several medium-budget, Technicolor westerns turned out by Universal-International between 1949 and 1959. Even now, I can recall my imagination running wild and what I felt like, I was filming a western. Crazy it may seem now, but that’s where and how this fascination for films and filming got me it was on locations. Some remarkable outdoor sets were planned over four-hour filming in Technicolor on location in Utah, and we were lucky if to get four hours of filming per day in. When the film came out the runtime was only 82 min the amount of waste that went onto the cutting room floor was crazy and it all good stuff we were shooting.


Consolidated Film Industries

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In a big building between the studios of Famous Players and R-K-0 in Hollywood a man was running a spool of film through a polishing machine. Something went wrong with the machine. A spark flew from a whirling gear and set the film on fire. A few seconds later every film in the room was on fire. Burning gas exploded and blew out the door, the flame rushed into other rooms. People staggered out of blazing doorways. Some were taken away in ambulances. One man died of his burns.

The use of nitrocellulose film for motion pictures led to the requirement for fireproof projection rooms with wall coverings made of asbestos. The US Navy shot a training film for projectionists that included footage of a controlled ignition of a reel of nitrate film, which continued to burn when fully submerged in water. Unlike many other flammable materials, nitrocellulose does not need air to keep burning as the reaction produces oxygen. Once burning, it is extremely difficult to extinguish. Immersing burning film in water may not extinguish it, and could actually increase the amount of smoke produced.

All day the building—a laboratory of Consolidated Film Industries, Since bringing colour to motion pictures 90 years ago, Technicolor has evolved into a global and diversified corporation that is now considered the preeminent worldwide provider of services to the media and entertainment industries. Headquartered in Camarillo, California, Technicolor is part of the Services division of Thomson (Euronext Paris: 18453; NYSE: TMS). In addition to being the world’s most prolific processor of motion picture film, Technicolor is also the world’s largest manufacturer and distributor of pre-recorded videocassettes, DVD-Video, DVD-ROM, and CD-ROM. On an annualized basis, Technicolor has the ability to process five billion feet of motion picture release prints, and the capacity to produce in excess of 1.5 billion DVDs, 330 million videocassettes, and 300 million CDs. The company is also a leading developer and supplier of comprehensive, end-to-end digital cinema distribution technology and services, and channel origination and broadcast playout services. Over its nine decades of operation, Technicolor has continued to pioneer the most advanced methods of delivering visual entertainment to millions of people through film, digital cinema, video, and optical technologies.

Consolidated Film Industries (CFI) provides integrated laboratory services to the film industry. The company offers independent film support services and film trailer services. It also provides restoration and preservation, telecine services, titles, opticals, digital imaging, and integrated laboratory services to motion picture image-makers, commercial advertising clients, and the independent filmmaking community. CFI is based in Hollywood, California. As of 03/06/2000, Consolidated Film Industries is a subsidiary of Technicolor, Inc.

959 North Seward Street

Hollywood, CA 90039

United States

Phone: 323-960-7444

Fax: 323-962-8746


The Old Warner Brothers Studio,

The Old Warner Brothers Studio, officially called today Sunset Bronson Studios and also known as KTLA Studios and Tribune Studios, is a motion picture, radio and television production facility located on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood, California. The studio was the site where the first talking feature film, “The Jazz Singer” was filmed in 1927.

In 1930, Warner Bros. announced the consolidation of its executive offices with those of First National Studios, with the executive offices being moved from the Sunset Boulevard studio to the First National site in Burbank, California. Warner also began moving its filming to the Burbank studios in 1930 and 1931, though the Sunset Boulevard studios remained in active use during the 1930s both for motion picture filming and “phonograph recordings.” Even after the move to Burbank, Warner continued to film motion pictures at its Sunset Boulevard studios in the 1930s. Warner Bros. classic “Looney Tunes” and “Merrie Melodies” cartoons were also reportedly made at the Sunset studio facilities.

In 1933, the Los Angeles Times reported that Warner Bros., “contrary to the popular view, is keeping its Sunset Boulevard studio in active use, with a company or two shooting there each day, and is also using the old Vitagraph plant.” In December 1934, a fire destroyed 15 acres (61,000 m2) of the Warner Bros. studios in Burbank, forcing the company to put its Sunset Boulevard studio back into full use. At the time of the fire, Jack L. Warner noted: “We have ample facilities at our Sunset Boulevard studio to take care of all immediate mechanical and constructional requirements

In 1937, however, Warner had closed the Sunset Boulevard studio, and the property had been converted into a bowling alley and “sports center.” The Los Angeles Times reported on the conversion of the historic studio as follows:

“Note on the passing of an era: A painted sign hung over the front door is all there is to indicate that the Warner Brothers Sunset studio is no more. The birthplace of the Vitaphone is a ‘sports center,’ and Stage One, where many of the first talkies retched their way into being, is a battery of badminton courts.” “The birthplace of the talkies is disappearing into dust in Hollywood. Demolition crews are razing the older buildings of the old Warner Bros. Sunset Blvd. studio where the nasal voice of Al Jolson recorded on Vitaphone, first made talking pictures a commercial reality.” The old executive office building and large antenna which for years displayed the words “Warner Bros. Vitaphone” were preserved. However, the old theater where Warner executives watched screenings of the studio’s latest works was destroyed.There have been conflicting reports as to whether the soundstage on which “The Jazz Singer” was filmed was razed in the process. At the time, Klaus Landsberg noted that “only the older buildings, including the historic Stage 1, are being destroyed, that newer facilities on the big lot are being renovated and reconditioned for the television operation.

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The famous Hollywood symbol, originally read Hollywoodland, was constructed in the year 1923 as an advertisement of a new housing development. The sign was left to worsen until in 1949 the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce repaired and removed the last four letters. The sign located at Mount Lee, is now a registered trademark hence cannot be used without the permission of the Chamber of Commerce. The Hollywood Film Industry can be called the Mecca of film industries. Though geographically it is located in Hollywood, it resides in the hearts of millions of film lovers and film related personalities. Hollywood remains and will remain a king, without a scepter.

In October 1929, his Consolidated Film Industries took control of ARC (American Record Corporation, Film Industries, which was providing film processing and financing for many studios in Hollywood. It was as a darkroom accent on Sunset Boulevard for, Consolidated Film Industries in Hollywood, where he worked for four years.

In 1948, the United States Supreme Court handed down its decision in the Paramount case, which had been working its ways through the courts for almost a decade. The court’s decree called for the major studios to divest themselves of their theater chains. In addition to separating theater and producer- distributor companies, the court also outlawed block booking, the fixing of admissions prices, unfair runs and clearances, and discriminatory pricing and purchasing arrangements. With this decision, the industry the moguls built–the vertically integrated studio–died. If the loss of foreign revenues shook the financial foundation of the industry, the end of block booking (a practice whereby the exhibitor is forced to take all of a company’s pictures to get any of that company’s pictures) shattered the weakened buttress. Film making had become a real crap shoot.


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Pickford Building (The Lot)

Pickford Building at the Formosa Avenue entrance to The Lot, a busy, 11-acre compound of sound stages and offices on the south side of Santa Monica Boulevard. With a long history of film production, the studio is now used primarily for television filming. Historic conservation groups have decried the demolition work, part of owner CIM Group’s plans to modernize the facility. The firm acquired the property in 2007, spokesperson Karen Diehl said. The first phase of construction will remove the Pickford and Fairbanks buildings — both flank the studio’s entrance — to make way for a five-story, 92,827 square-foot building, according to a CIM statement. An artist’s rendering shows a glass and steel building that looks more at home in the 1960s of AMC’s “Mad Men” than the existing 1930s architecture.

Construction is expected to wrap up by early 2013, and CIM said filming production would not be hindered by the work. Subsequent development phases have not been designed or scheduled, according to the statement. The Lot was placed on West Hollywood’s list of Historic and Cultural Resources in 1987. By Wednesday afternoon, city officials did not return calls inquiring what kind of protections are in place for sites on the historic property list, specifically when it comes to demolition work. There are 82 properties on the list, many of them single-family homes or apartment buildings. A development plan for The Lot was initially approved in 1993, and supplemental plans were approved in 2007. Because CIM went through the proper channels of gaining city approval for its plans, the demolition is an example of why community involvement is important, said Adrian Scott Fine, director of advocacy for the Los Angeles Conservancy. If more people had been aware of the development issues and involved in speaking out before final approval, he said, perhaps a different outcome could have been secured.

“This studio portrays so much of what L.A. is about,” he said. “It has kind of fabled connections in terms of early entertainers.”

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Before there was Pentax there was Asahiflex. Saburo Matsumoto, the founder of Asahi Kogaku, decided that he wanted to make cameras, but in a market already dominated by Nippon Kogaku (later Nikon) and Canon copies of Leica rangefinders, he decided that the SLR was the future of cameras. With only a couple of examples to draw design ideas from, he and a team of experts culled from pre-Konica Konishiroku came up with the Asahiflex after years of R & D. A breakthrough invention of his own was added in the Asahiflex II – the instant-return mirror, the first ever in an SLR.

Later models have a pentaprism, and there is a rare version with an M42 mount, possibly a prototype for its later incarnation. The evolution of the Asahiflex was the new flagship product from which the company would later take its name, reportedly taken from the words Pentaprism and Asahiflex, the Pentax. As you probably know, this then evolved into the Spotmatic and later the K1000, two of the longest-lived and best-designed mechanical SLRs in the history of cameras.

This is a treasure of a camera, with a smoothness of operation and machining tolerances I’ve never really experienced in person before. I can only imagine it’s as close to the quality of early Leica, Canon, and Nippon Kogaku as I’m likely to hold anytime soon. The body is squat, as were the rangefinders of the day, and very solid. Later Asahi cameras have the same unique octagonal footprint, from the Pentax to the Spotmatic to the K1000. The back is hinged, the controls are well-placed. This is obviously a camera into which much thought was given to design.


I’m lucky to have received this and a boxed extension tube set as part of a donation from a fellow collector in our northern neighbor, Canada. Thanks Bud for your generosity!

The year 1951 was later to prove of paramount importance in that Asahi manufactured the Asahiflex I, the first 35 mm SLR camera to be made in Japan. Further intensive development continued, but it was not until 1954 that what may be regarded as a somewhat revolutionary development in SLR camera design was announced ‑ the instant return mirror, allowing uninterrupted screen viewing.

In 1955 the Asahiflex II a was introduced, differing only from the II b in that it had positioned on the front of the camera a separate dial for the slow shutter speeds. Two years later the name Pentax appeared when the first Asahi Pentax camera was introduced, and it was at this stage that the new eye‑level Pentaprism finder was incorporated. Indeed, this model of the new Asahi Pentax set the basic design and shape of the latest models that we know today.

1960 will undoubtedly be remembered as a year of very real significance when Asahi perfected a through‑the‑lens metering system, which was eventually incorporated in the 1964 model and named the Asahi Pentax Spotmatic. Later developments include a motor drive unit and many accessories, both simple and complex. It may be of interest to many and perhaps a surprise to some, to learn of the true derivation of the Asahi Pentax name ‘Spotmatic’. When the prototype Spotmatic camera was introduced for the first time at Photokina in Cologne way back in 1960 the metering device was, quite literally, designed for use as a Spot Meter measuring a restricted area of the subject only. However, after intensive discussions and considerable testing in laboratory and field, the Asahi technicians finally decided ‑ albeit with some regret ‑ that the employment of the ‘Spot’ system would be too complex for the average user, from the actual operating point of view, and, to a lesser degree, the time factor involved.