William Randolph Hearst, already a big name in the newspaper publishing industry during the second part of the 19th century, had always been interested in new technology. Lucky for him, during the last decade of the 1800s a new medium was emerging: moving images. Hearst hopped on the trend, and as early as the Spanish-American War in 1898, he sent men out to record the action, though sadly none of this footage has survived. Hearst continued to make use of the brand new entertainment form in his failed campaign for governor of New York in 1906 and would go on to produce feature films (mostly starring his mistress, Marion Davies), documentaries, TV productions, and newsreels.  

 

Working in the business of news in paper form, Hearst realized the huge opportunity and advantage he had in the newsreel business. Taken as he was with the medium of film, he also had the manpower and advertising potential: his reporters and photographers were already out gathering stories and pictures, and his newspapers and magazines provided invaluable advertising potential. Add to that the necessary capital which he undoubtedly possessed, and there you had it. Hearst’s partnership with “newsreel pioneer” William Selig in 1914 sealed the deal, and weekly newsreels began to play in theaters soon thereafter (39).

 

As the title of this piece informs, Hearst's work in the newsreel world was the focus of the evening at the UCLA Film and Television Archive, as the Archive celebrated the 100th Anniversary of the first theatrical release of a Hearst newsreel.

 

UCLA archivist Blaine Bartell shared with the audience that evening that the Hearst newsreels are one of the crown jewels in UCLA's collection. They are routinely referenced by students, researchers, and filmmakers, including Martin Scorsese, Ken Burns, and most recently Ava DuVernay, who utilized the collection during the making of Selma (2014).

The History

One hundred years ago, Hearst partnered with William Selick, who had been producing short form news releases since at least 1903, to form the Hearst Selick News Pictorial. The company released news pieces twice a week through the General Film Company (85-86). Unfortunately, the partnership didn't last more than 2 years, and very little survives from that time. However, those of us in the audience were in for a treat, because the first newsreel we watched that evening was from that two year period.

 

Though the name, content, and commentators frequently changed with the times, the Hearst Corporation's newsreels spanned an impressive five decades, with the last newsreel produced in 1967. To bring it full circle after having the privilege of watching a rare reel from the early days, we ended the evening by watching the final newsreel made by the Hearst Corporation.   

 

Fourteen years after the last newsreel screened in theaters, the Hearst Corporation announced that it would donate the collection to UCLA. In a twist of irony, Bartell was working his first job at the Archive as a work study student when he was tasked with unloading the truck that contained the Hearst material!

 

Bartell also explained that we would view a great mix of material that night, including newsreels that were restored, preserved, not yet preserved, theatrically released, shown on television, tinted, silent, sound, and one newsreel trailer.

 

1914-1929

Jeffrey Bickel, one of the newsreel preservationists at UCLA, took the stage to present the program in chronological sections, the first of which focused on newsreels from the silent era. Accompanying these selections was Cliff Retallick, a fantastic pianist who I've heard several times before.

 

As promised, we watched part of one of the rare surviving Hearst Selick News Pictorials from 1915 covering the Vanceboro Bridge bombing. A major news story in its day, the bridge bombing is now relatively obscure, though when you hear the description of the incident, it's definitely a strange one: a German man was paid to destroy the Saint Croix-Vanceboro Railway Bridge, jointly owned by Canadian and American companies, so Japan couldn't send any troops through Canada, which was a legitimate (well, real) German fear at the time. Fortunately, the suitcase full of TNT the man carried did not destroy the bridge, but it did blow out windows in houses on both the American and Canadian sides and disrupt rail traffic for a few days. Considering the footage was almost 100 years old, I was surprised by how good it looked, though I was not taken aback by the bombing's aftermath:  once we saw the bridge (which was quite small) and the damage that had been done, it was hard to imagine that was the result of TNT - did it get wet or something?! How did it blow out windows but barely make a (visual) dent to the bridge? 

The silent section also included fascinating coverage from an assortment of presidential inaugurations, ranging from McKinley in 1897 (in a horse drawn carriage) to Coolidge in 1925. Observing how these momentous events have changed over the years, even in the first two or three decades of the last century, was a real treat. I also noticed how the outgoing President would accompany the President-elect in an open coach or car, and they would always have a blanket draped across them - they sure don't do that anymore!

 

The final selection from the silent era was a complete news edition from 1929 featuring a wealth of diverse pieces which, as we would learn, painted an accurate picture of the great variety of content these newsreels presented to audiences. This reel featured stories on Mussolini, the world's largest sea plane, and last but not least, a German wash tub derby. I was glad to see that amusing items such as the derby were still reported in the news, just as they are today, to balance out the serious events of the day.

 

1929-1937

The next section covered only eight years, but boy, were they eventful ones! In September 1929, Hearst began producing sound newsreels, renamed Hearst Metrotone News. Of course, one month later, the Stock Market crashed. The first piece screened was released theatrically on Thursday, October 21, 1929, just two days after the three day catastrophe of Black Thursday, Black Monday, and Black Tuesday. For the first time that evening, we watched something other than straight event coverage: now that the newsreels talked, suddenly there was commentary! Right after we saw footage of crowds milling about Wall Street, steel magnate Charles M. Schwab faced the camera to reassure the audience that the little economic hiccup was only a temporary downturn, and people had nothing to fear. I wonder if he really believed that, or was he just trying to calm the folks in the theaters?

 

In 1932, during the height of the Great Depression, one of the most highly publicized crimes of the century occurred: the Lindbergh baby kidnapping. This particular story reminded me of the frenzy that surrounds cases like this today, especially with the intense media intrusion and the emotional strain that comes with them; you could tell by their exhausted expressions that Lindbergh and his wife did not exactly welcome the media circus but hoped it may in some way help locate their child. That wasn't all: it pained me further when we saw the only film footage of the baby, happily playing in his crib and crawling around outside on the family's large, secluded grounds. Knowing the terrible outcome of this story made it all the harder to hear the commentator's hopeful voice and watch the family's tearful plea.