The Elliman Cinema Empire

From the Archives – Constructing a narrative of the Elliman Family’s role in Dublin film exhibition.

Seán Sourke

Introduction

The story of Maurice Elliman can be told in a myriad of ways depending on what aspects of the life are chosen and how they are used to construct a narrative. Any narrative constructed is not just a conscious creation of the author, but also encapsulates the prevailing assumptions of their milieu and the ideologies encoded in the language at the time of writing. 

Any historical narrative constructed is also a creation afforded by what the various archives have permitted to be preserved, and therefore, what can be said. Either through deliberate intent, or unintentionally, the selection criteria of an archive will always privilege certain data over other alternatives, thus selecting what is to be remembered; controlling what can be said in the future.

These concepts have been explored by Jacques Derrida in his 1994 text Archive Fever, which deconstructs the notion of the archive as an authoritative place from where fact can be derived. The concepts explored, particular his etymological treatment of the word archive – originating from the Greek arkhē meaning to commence, but also to command; and its related concepts of the arkheion, the place of the archive which was originally the home of the controllers of the archive the archons, those who command (Derrida, 9-11), have had profound implications on how we have come to understand the concept of the archive and on how we view the creation of narratives derived from archival sources. 

Michel Foucault also tackled notions of the archive in The Archeology of Knowledge, of which the following passage elucidates some of the key concepts;

The archive is first the law of what can be said, the system that governs the appearance of statements as unique events. But the archive is also that which deter-mines that all these things said do not accumulate endlessly in an amorphous mass, nor are they inscribed in an unbroken linearity, nor do they disappear at the mercy of chance external accidents; but they are grouped together in distinct figures, composed together in accordance with multiple relations, maintained or blurred in accordance with specific regularities; that which determines that they do not withdraw at the same pace in time, but shine, as it were, like stars, some that seem close to us shining brightly from afar off, while others that are in fact close to us are already growing pale (Foucault, 129). 

These explorations of how an archive is an apparatus designed to select and control information may seem like abstract philosophical concepts remote from an exploration of a family’s role in the entertainment industry of a capital city, but they elucidate the factors that control what can be said, and how any account is determined by ideologies in the structures of the sources, and in the subjective reading of those sources, filtered through a multitude of lenses and frames, before being interpreted and reframed by an author, and again by the reader. These insights must always be kept in mind in reading any narrative which purports to recall statements and events, and attempts to make sense of the past. For all such utterances are constructs, acts of creation, but creations built from finite sources, archives, controlled by archons of one kind or another. 

The archives used in this survey were compiled in different ways and with different motivations. The Elliman file in the Liam O’Leary archive, held in the National Library, was compiled with the intent of writing a book on early Irish cinema; the Elliman Family Memoir was compiled for a family to know the achievements of its paterfamilias; the National Library archives and the National Archives of Ireland were both compiled to act as the memory of a nation; and the Irish Newspaper Archive was compiled with the intent of monetising reproduction rights to out of print newspapers. The latter archive is an example of a collection of materials which were created to be ephemeral, but ephemera written always with the long term ideological goals of its creators in mind. 

Newspapers will always structure a message from a certain political or ideological perspective, but other factors come into play, such as advertising. The Elliman family developed a large stake in Dublin’s theatre and cinema sector, a sector which relied heavily on newspaper advertisements as part of their marketing strategy. Newspapers will not tend to be overtly critical of businesses that provide regular revenue in the form of paid advertisements, unless that revenue stream is deliberately denied them. This was the case in the mid 1930s when the Elliman cinemas, along with two other companies, boycotted the Irish Press’ entertainment pages, in ‘An attempt to silence “The Irish Press”’- to borrow the headline on that newspaper’s front page on Wednesday February 6 1935. The advertising boycott was in retaliation to that paper’s editorial of the 3 January discussing the need for a “clean cinema” in relation to the perceived corrupting influence of the medium. 

Using newspaper and other available sources, what kind of narrative can be constructed around the life of Maurice Elliman and his family? What can be said? Was he the “penniless but pious Jewish immigrant” who arrived in Ireland in 1892, founded a Synagogue, a family, and a theatre and cinema empire? (Ó Gráda; Elliman and Elliman) Was he the man who defied the moral crusade of the Catholic Church and de Valera’s Irish Press against the corrupting influence of cinema by withholding his advertising in an attempt to “silence” the press (“An attempt to silence “The Irish Press””), or was he the charitable unassuming man who donated the proceeds of opening nights at his cinemas to Christian charities, and for whom deValera as Taoiseach sent his outriders to accompany his funeral cortege? (Elliman and Elliman) Was he the “Scab” of the only cinema lockout of 1913 (Irish Transport and General Workers’ Union), or was he the good employer honoured by his staff after his death with a bronze bust unveiled in the Metropole in 1956? (“Quiet Ceremony”) 

Any number of narratives could be constructed intentionally through a deliberate selection of available sources. However, what is not available in the archives, and how the archives frame what is available, affect the narrative possibilities – controlling what can be constructed of his or anyone else’s life.

Moshe ben Moshe Hellman

Let us begin the story with the birth of Moshe ben Moshe Hellman on March 9 1872, in the small village of ‘Lucniken’, possibly Luokė, about 165 kilometers north-west of Kaunas, in present-day Lithuania. He was the second son of Moshe ben Moshe Hellman and his wife, whom the family memoir does not name; highlighting the Orthodox Jewish focus on paterfamilias and, in effect, the first of many archon filters encountered in constructing a narraitve of his life.  His father had died a few months before his birth and his mother remarried and had two other sons before her second husband died. She made her living by running a wine shop. (Elliman and Elliman; Rivlin; Elliman)

At the age of twenty, like many other Jews, Moshe decided he would escape the dim prospects that lay in store for the Jewish populations living under Imperial Russian rule and the Tsarist anti-Semitic May Laws – introduced when he was ten. He walked to Hamburg in Germany with the intent of emigrating from Europe to the USA. His first port en route was Liverpool, where he was persuaded to travel to Dublin by two Latvian boys. He entered Dublin, according to the family memoir, as Moshe ben Moshe Hellman, which was transcribed by an official as Moses Helman. At his next encounter with officialdom, when asked to spell his name, Moshe pointed to an advertisement for Elliman’s Embrocation and said, “like that” (Elliman and Elliman). This story of how the family name came into being, relayed in the family memoir, is a typical motif of immigrant narratives. It serves to illustrate how tenuous the facts, even concerning such a fundamental aspect of identity as a surname, can prove to be; since we have no way of proving its validity. Any such change in name was more likely to have taken place upon his entry into Britain at Liverpool, before reaching Ireland and Dublin. Regardless, we can be certain that he was born Moshe ben Moshe Hellman in Lithuania, and died Maurice Elliman in Ireland.

In 1892 he arrived in Dublin with just three words of English; Rabbi, Synagogue and Jew (Elliman). Using these he made his way, with the aid of strangers, to Clanbrassil Street. This area around Portobello, known locally as Dublin’s ‘Little Jerusalem’, had become the hub of Jewish life in Ireland with many Jews from Latvia and Lithuania settling there (Harris, 30). Here he saw a shop bearing the Star of David and entered, thereby, finding his way into Dublin’s Jewish community (Elliman).In Russia, he had sung with a travelling choir performing in different villages every weekend. He had hoped to get a position as a Cantor in a Synagogue here but was told that there was already a surplus of people capable of taking up such a position in Dublin and that this kind of job was not a realistic option. He managed to find lodgings in Lennox Street with a Jewish family from Riga by the name of Smullen. The Smullens were peddlers and Maurice adapted to this work – going door to door selling household items; all the while making an effort to improve his English (Elliman and Elliman). 

After four years living and working with the Smullen family, Maurice married their 16 year old daughter Leah in 1896 and the first of twelve children, Abraham (known all his life as Abe), was born in 1897. Four years later, in his 1901census return, Maruice describes his profession as a “Dealer”. The family were living at 24.2 in St. Kevin’s Road close to the canal in Portobello (Census of Ireland 1901). The division of the address’ number, ‘24.2’, indicates that this was a flat, possibly just one room, in the modest terrace. 

As the family increased Maurice sought new ways to increase his income. He rented premises in Dalkey, which included a swimming pool and a restaurant, and Leah took up the role of cook. The family memoir tells us that the children, Abe, Rose, Louis, and Max, helped in this enterprise. This introduces a conflict between the narrative of the family memoir and the official documentation available. It is only the first of many such conflicting chronologies that present difficulty in constructing a family narrative. Ultimately, this forces a privileging of one source of information over another. Usually the sources favoured, as is the case here, are those sources traditionally considered more authoritative, i.e. official government documentation and dates derived from newspapers; as opposed to the more fallible nature of oral accounts and family memoirs, types of sources where chronologies can be easily misrepresented due to a heavy reliance on human memory. These choices have a bearing on the final narrative constructed, and it must be acknowledged that alternative chronologies could have been presented here.

By 1905, Maurice had rented a shop at 42 Aungier Street and was operating as a fruiterer and florist. This we know from his naturalisation papers. His children at this stage only numbered three, Abraham Isaac (7); Rachael Rose (4); and Louis (2). Maurice is by this time 32 year old (see image below: Naturalisation document of Maurice Elliman). If indeed the children numbered four at the time of his Dalkey enterprise and they helped out in the work, it could only have been concurrent with his fruit shop business. This would not be out of character, as we will see later, he was still a fruit shop owner when managing his third cinema, Theatre de Lux, in 1913. Having many business concerns at the same time was to become a trademark of the family.

Naturalisation document of Maurice Elliman (Elliman Family Archive)

The family memoir states that the Dalkey enterprise failed and he moved his family to live over the fruit shop on Augnier Street in 1910. The census return for 1911 shows that the family already consisted of nine individuals; Maurice (37), Leah (32), Abraham (13), Rosy (10), Louis (8), Maxwell (6), Bernard (4), Jacob (2), and Rebecca (4 months). Maurice describes his profession as “Fruitier” and fills in his and Leah’s place of birth as “City of Dublin” (Census of Ireland 1911). With the addition of a horse and cart he expanded the business and his older children would have been able to make a valuable contribution to the business.

Travelling shows

Maurice and Leah always shared a love of music and Maurice had developed a great interest in the nascent technologies of moving pictures. According to an unreferenced account in Ray Riviln’s Shalom Ireland, Maurice’s interested in moving pictures was initially stirred by seeing an early projector which was part of the attractions in a business operated by one of his friends, Joshua “Sam” Honigbaum. The business was Samuel’s Bazaar at the top of Henry Street close Nelson’s Pillar and was later destroyed in the 1916 Rising. Samuel’s Bazaar incorporated a shop on the ground floor with the upper floors containing a music hall with performing variety acts, and sections devoted to various kinds of amusements. Attractions also included wax works and some form of magic lantern or moving picture show, for which Joshua Honigbaum failed to see the potential and offered the equipment to Maurice Elliman (81 – 82).

[Tramore Races. Toft’s Show. Tramore Amusement Field, 1901, National Library of Ireland]

Maurice was determined to involve himself in this new medium. While still operating as a fruiterer and florist in Augnier Street, he acquired a tent and established a travelling show – possibly with a bioscope projector. Elliman’s travelling show was not exclusively a picture show and offered other attractions (Elliman). This type of travelling variety show with a moving picture display had been a feature of festivals and carnivals in Ireland since at least 1901, as attested to by the image above taken in that year (see above image Tramore Races. Toft’s Show). Maurice Elliman’s version was likely to have been a more modest affair than the one pictured. Elliman’s show borrowed from the variety tradition offering, in addition to the moving pictures, a mixed programme of locally sourced music acts and a resident boxer who was employed as added attraction; a prize of 10 Shillings being offered to any member of the audience who could last a three-minute round against him (Elliman and Elliman).

They set up the tent when pitches were available and also rented local halls. Initially the projector was hand-operated but Maurice improved the technology as funds would allow. Maurice’s eldest son Abe became an adept electrician and projectionist – skills vital for the new family business. According to the family memoir, Maurice’s daughter Rose and son Louis, still children, were also involved in necessary support work (Elliman and Elliman).

The family travelled from Monday to Friday – always returning to Augnier Street by Friday night to prepare for Sabbath in keeping with Maurice’s Orthodox beliefs (Elliman). Maurice was one of three men who were instrumental in buying two adjacent houses in Walworth Road, Portobello, and converting them into a Synagogue in 1915. He was an honorary Cantor there for many years. This building now houses the Irish Jewish Museum (Ó Gráda).

The success of the travelling show convinced Maurice of the potential of moving pictures. However, with his family growing Maurice looked for premises in Dublin suitable to establish a picture house, in order to end the necessity to travel (Elliman). 

This was right at the start of the first great period of picture house development and expansion in Ireland. Premises were being converted into picture houses at an increasing rate until 1914 (Rockett and Rockett, 41). Indigenous film production had been sporadic and the main Irish producers of fiction, the Film Company of Ireland, and the main non-fiction producers, General Film Supplies, had both ceased to exist by the late 1910s (Condon 2008, 7), which gives an indication of the relatively low level of home produced films. Irish exhibitors had to rely on imports. There was no shortage, however, as there was an increasing supply of titles from abroad. From 1910 to 1913 the number of titles, in theory at least, available for Irish exhibitors to rent had almost doubled (Rockett and Rockett, 40). This reliance on imports had advantages as well as disadvantages. On the negative side the time lost in sea transport cost foreign distributors up to two days loss in revenue, therefore, Ireland was at the end of the list when it came to accessing new releases. But these later release times had an advantage for renters in that it was cheaper to rent older releases. Cheaper renting cost led to more affordable entry fees and therefore increased attendance numbers (Rockett and Rockett, 40-41)

The relative cheapness of films as an entertainment option helped to make urban Ireland a cinema going nation in the early 1910s. The public’s increasing appetite was met by businessmen who could see that this form of entertainment had more potential to change and develop in sophistication, thereby maintaining public interest, unlike the earlier fad for roller-skating. A cinema in these early days could also be established with a relatively small investment. This encouraged the development of picture houses by small syndicates or individual businessmen (Rockett and Rockett, 42).

Maurice Elliman was one such businessman. He had rented vacant premises in Redmond’s Hill in close proximity to his fruit shop and set about renovating them. He installed wooden benches and set up his projector on the outside of the building in keeping with new regulations. He named this, his first picture house, the Coliseum. It received its licence on March 15 1910 (“Cinematography Show Licence”). 

The application proceedings before Mr. Drury in the Southern Police Court produced some prescient observations by Mr Drury, as well as some hilarity which arose when J.W. Davis acting on behalf of Maurice Elliman requested “a music hall and dancing licence for 16 and 17 Redmond hill, where it is proposed to run a cinematography picture show. The place had been improved and properly constructed for the purpose.” (“Cinematography Show Licence”)

Mr Drury observed that this was the most dangerous type of performance that might possibly be opened. In his reply Mr Davis said the “apparatus [projector] was fixed outside the building, and the pictures were shown through an opening in the wall.” He added that, “The pictures would not be objectionable.” To which Mr Drury stated that, “I have been greatly surprised at some cinematography pictures.” To which Mr Davis retorted, “Surely not in Dublin, your worship?” Inspiring some laughter, “Oh no; in Scotland”, came the reply to more laughter. The local police inspector had no objections and the licence was granted (“Cinematography Show Licence”).

The Coliseum was up and running and Maurice Elliman began to utilise newspaper advertising as a marketing strategy to promote the Coliseum’s programme. On Saturday June 4 1910 an advertisement in the Evening Herald for the Coliseum announced that “Very excellent pictures of the Late King Edward’s Funeral are being shown this week at the Coliseum, Redmond’s Hill”. The programme also promised “Numerous other films” (“The Coliseum, Redmond’s Hill”). King Edward’s funeral took place on April 13 1910.

The magistrates’ concern about the dangers of this type of entertainment at the original licence hearing was well placed. Nitrate was the base on which emulsion of films sat, at that time, and the high combustibility had resulted in numerous picture house disasters. New legislation, the 1909 Cinematography Act, was introduced the previous year and under its terms safety checks of premises were required along with a one year licence to operate. The law also stipulated that projectors should be placed on the outside of the building. Due to the slightly later development of picture houses in Ireland than on the Continent or Britain, a variety of unsafe picture house configurations, which had  developed in Britain in the previous decade, were prevented from becoming established in Ireland by 1909 legislation  (Rockett and Rockett, 19, 23).

However, none of these regulations were able to prevent the Coliseum’s destruction by fire on August 28 1910. The picture house was not in use at the time of the fire and the only people on the premises were the caretaker and her children, all of whom managed to escape (“Serious Fire in Dublin”).

The fire was so intense, according to a report in the Irish Independent the following day, that the flames licked the front of the shops opposite – in what was then a narrow street. The report continued, “The frontage of the building was sheeted with beams of pitch pine while the fittings and seats inside were of varnished timber, so that the flames found an easy prey. The roof fell in with a great crash, and the entire building burned and crackled like matchwood. In about an hour there was nothing left of the Coliseum but a mass of smouldering debris.” (“Picture Theatre Gutted”)

A Mr Graham is purported to be the owner of the Coliseum in the Freeman’s Journal article. His exact connection with Maurice Elliman is not known, however, his name was associated with another cinema, Irish Cinema Theatre, in Capel Street which, between 1912 and 1914, repeatedly failed to meet the standards imposed by the City Corporation. Dickie Graham’s chief profession was that of a dance instructor (Rocket and Rocket, 29, note 6). 

Although the family memoir misplaces the chronology by stating that Maurice’s first cinema was a converted garage in Brunswick Street – the opposite appears to be the case. The Brunswick Street cinema was his second venture with a 300 seat capacity. It opened in a converted Billiards hall at 30 Great Brunswick Street, now Pearse Street, on December 1 1911, just three months after the Coliseum fire (“Cinema Theatre, Great Brunswick St.”). This cinema didn’t make it into the 1920s and may have been a causality of the 1910s picture house boom when fierce competition and improving standards forced the closure of many less comfortable or less elaborate cinemas. Whatever the reasons for the closure of the Brunswick Street Cinema (and there is no reference to its closure in the family memoir), it was no longer operating in 1919, by which time Brunswick Motor Exchange occupied the premises (Rockett and Rockett, 28).

The Brunswick Street Cinema was not a solo enterprise. According to Kevin Rockett, a company had been formed called the Irish Amusement Company, Ltd, which included another Jewish businessman, Izidore Isaac Bradlaw, who would later open the Rathmines Picture Palace (or Princess Cinema), one of the first custom built cinemas in Ireland, which opened in March 1913 (Rockett and Rockett, 26)

The family memoir notes that following the destruction of the Coliseum Maurice Elliman turned to his good name to source funds amongst the business community, both Irish and Jewish (Elliman and Elliman; Elliman). This resulted in the formation of the company which would fund Maurice Elliman’s most elaborate venture up to that point, the development of the Theatre de Luxe in Camden Street. 

A licence had been sought by Mr Davis on behalf of Maurice’s new company Kinematograph Theatre Ltd. on December 11 1912 for the premises at Camden Street, and was granted with the usual stipulations of a 10.30 pm closing time and no opening for music on Sundays (“Kinema Theatre Licence”).

The first advertisement for the new cinema appeared in the Freeman’s Journal on December 10 1912. Sandwiched between an advertisement for Hansel and Gretel at the Sackville Hall, and a lecture on Education under Home Rule by P.H. Pearse, the “Grand Opening” of the Theatre de Luxe was set for December 12 1912 (6), just over a year after the Brunswick Street Cinema opening.  The advertisement noted that the entire proceeds of the day’s takings were to be donated to St. Vincent de Paul. A similar gesture was made at the opening of the Brunswick Street Cinema, and would be a feature of future Elliman openings. As it happened the opening was postponed to the following Monday the 16^th (“Theatre De Luxe”). New ads ran over the weekend and on the Monday of the opening in the Evening Herald, Freemans Journal, and Irish Independent; as well as an advertisement in the Sunday Independent. 

Maurice’s new partners in the Kinematograph Theatre company included other businessmen who were neighbours of the Ellimans; F.B. O’Rourke (baker), P.A. Corrigan (undertaker), and G. J. Nesbitt (“Re-union Dance”; Rockett and Rockett, 28). These three businessmen would remain partners with Maurice, and later, with the inclusion of P.I. Wall, formed the Allied Cinemas Limited (discussed below). 

The family memoir described the Theatre de Luxe as, “Dublin’s first luxury cinema, with not only an auditorium, but also vestibules, lounges, a confectionery stall, 400 upholstered seats for viewers, and a modern projection room with the latest equipment for the continuous screening of films” (Elliman and Elliman). Possibly the first purpose built cinema in Dublin, since it predates the Rathmines Picture Palace, the Theatre de Luxe was designed by Frederick Hayes and featured an oriel window over the entrance (Rockett and Rockett, 28). Maurice became the manager of the venture “with his children providing the backbone of the staff”, according to the family memoir. However, the cinema could not possibly be run by Maurice’s children alone, the eldest of which, Abe, would have only been about fifteen years old.

In dealing with the lens of the family memoir we get a view of an individual family building an empire under the guidance of the patriarch. There is recognition of financial backing along the way, and Maurice was always very appreciative of the support he got from his Irish backers – never forgetting his humble beginnings (Elliman). However, the narrative is primarily one of a family effort with Maurice in control and his children as support. Real life situations and relationships are always more complex. 

Lockout 1913 

An ephemeral item preserved in the National Library of Ireland, which emanated from the labour disputes of 1913, provides us with material to construct an alternative narrative – one more complex and less favourable than the family memoir. The item, a poster, was produced by ex-employees of the Theatre de Luxe during a dispute with the management of the cinema and the organisation representing cinema owners. Of all the cinema owners and their representatives mentioned in the poster, the sharpest criticism is reserved for Maurice Elliman. As one of the directors of the Theatre de Luxe, (George J. Nesbitt is named as another but is mentioned in a more favourable light), Maurice was alleged to have broken an agreement that the delegate for the workers, who was sanctioned to discuss conditions with the cinema owners representatives, would not be “victimised” (Union, Irish Transport and General Workers). The worker’s delegate in question, Thomas Dalton, was later dismissed by Maurice Elliman on August 30. The criticism in the poster, however, is tinged with an element of xenophobia. 

The dispute had escalated with Dalton’s dismissal in August, and came to a head in October. The Evening Herald, a newspaper under the charge of William Martin Murphy – the virulent anti-trade unionist and nemesis of the Dublin workers – published the outcome of the court case on October 14 1913, in which the workers were being charged with insulting behaviour outside the Theatre de Luxe (“A Picture Theatre Scene”). The article appeared on page five – in between an item entitled “The Queerest Strike on Record”, and another entitled “Larkinsim”, which was continued from the front page and amounted to a diatribe against the labour rights leader James Larkin. The report on the case involving Dalton, and two other individuals, ignored the complexities of the substantive issues and was instead focused on the technicalities of the case. These concerned the rights of the defendants to “attend for the purpose of peaceful persuading any person to work or to abstain from working” as being dependent on a current trade dispute related to employment conditions.

[Dublin : ITGWU, [1913] This item is held in the Department of Ephemera. National Library of Ireland

Maurice Elliman gave evidence to the effect that there was no current dispute because Dalton was not a current employee. He had been dismissed for making threats and thereafter the other defendant left of his own accord. Being both ex-employees, no dispute existed in relation to conditions of work. The defendants were found guilty of insulting behaviour and fined 20s each (“A Picture Theatre Scene”). 

Maurice Elliman was back in court the following April but this time he didn’t fare as well. He was fined for overcrowding the Theatre de Luxe. The Corporation’s inspector of entertainment venues, Walter Butler, discovered fourteen patrons standing without seating resulting in ingress and egress being blocked. Maurice was subsequently fined 1s 6d (“Overcrowding in Picture Theatre”). 

It is perhaps an indication of the popularity that cinema had attained up to this point; becoming the chief entertainment choice for many Dubliners. Cinemas were regularly full to capacity. The number of theatres had also increased and the Theatre de Luxe had new competition in the Camden Picture House, which was developed at No. 55 Lower Camden Street. Later in 1920 Maurice bought the adjoining buildings of the Theatre de Luxe, demolished the narrow original building designed by Hayes, and extended over the three premises from 84 to 86 an expanded 1,200 seat cinema. It was these kinds of improvements in scale, comfort, and style that kept cinemas viable in an increasingly competitive sector. This was a continual factor as indicated by the later remodelled of the Theatre de Luxe with an art deco facade designed by Alfred E. Jones in 1934 (Rockett and Rockett, 43).

As late as September 1913 Maurice was still described as being a fruit shop owner when he was accused of locking-out workers from the Theatre de Luxe (Irish Transport and General Workers’ Union). Shortly afterwards, and attributed to the success of Theatre de Luxe in the family memoir, Maurice sold the fruit business and moved his family to a more comfortable house off the South Circular Road.

Maurice’s brother had arrived in Dublin along with his mother sometime after Maurice received his naturalisation certificates in 1905. Jacob Elliman had first set up as a picture frame maker and later established a Theatre and Cinema furnishings business in Lower Camden Street as well as a Plastifoam company (Elliman; Obituary “Mrs. R. Elliman”). Perhaps with an eye on his brother’s success in the cinema business, Jacob and three other businessmen, Philip Sayers, George Goodman, and John Brown, formed the Blackrock Cinema Theatre, Ltd., and opened the 700 seat Blackrock Cinema Theatre, Main Street Blackrock, on February 28 1914 (Rockett and Rockett, 28; “Cinema Proprietors Fined”). 

Elliman Family in 1915. Back: Maurice, Rosie, Leah (nee Smullen) and Abe. Front: Maxie, Bennie, Hennie, baby Hymie, Jack & Louis (Elliman Family Archive)

With Maurice now managing the Theatre de Luxe, the Brusnwick Street Cinema was put under the management of Maurice’s eldest son Abe who had been his father’s projectionist from an early age when they were still travelling from town to town. Although he was not yet seventeen, Abe, as manager, was granted a seven-day licence to operate the picture house at 30 Brunswick Street on March 29 1915. At the same district court hearing both his father and Uncle Jacob were applying for seven-day licences for their respective cinemas, the Theatre de Luxe, and the Blackrock Picture House (“Before the Right Hon. the Recorder”).

Sunday opening of cinemas had only been tolerated since about 1912 because it was seen as a preferable alternative entertainment to drinking in public houses. The socioeconomic bias explicitly expressed in the courts and repeated in newspapers during this period justified the refusal to grant Sunday licences to cinemas in middle-class residential areas of the city and suburbs because they were deemed to be a disturbance and out of character with the Sabbath. To the contrary, seven-day licences were granted in poorer areas, and cinemas frequented by the working-class of Dublin, as this demographic were deemed to be most in need of temperance and alternative amusements on their only non-working day of the week (Rockett and Rockett, 51).

This condescending and explicitly discriminatory criteria for the issuing of Sunday licences based on the demarcation of an area’s predominant class demographic, can be clearly illustrated by the refusal, at the same hearing on March 29, of the application for a seven-day licence made by Abe’s uncle Jacob for the Blackrock Picture House in this predominantly middle-class outer suburb. The solicitor for the police did not consent and “the Recorder said it was more a residential than a working-class place, and granted only a 6 days’ licence” (“Dublin Picture Houses”). 

It seems, however, that in previous years the Elliman’s had been less ardent in both applying for licences and adhering to the licensing rules. The company headed by Maurice and I.I. Bradlaw, Irish Amusement Company, had opened the cinema on Brunswick Street in 1911 for which Abe was applying for the seven-day licence outlined above, presumably under the new company name Kinematograph Theatre Ltd. At the hearing it was stated that “the former owners did not close at all on Sundays, and that there was no licence for 1914.”  (“Dublin Picture Houses”)

1916

As 1916 approached Maurice Elliman was manager and part owner of the Theatre de Luxe, and part owner of the Brunswick Cinema with his son Abe installed as manager. The family had moved to a more comfortable house and business for exhibitors in Dublin was profitable, despite the ongoing Catholic campaign led by the Dublin Vigilance Committee (DVC) which had been protesting at cinemas and canvassing the public to make a stance against the corrupting nature, as they saw it, of certain types of film (Condon, 2014).  Things were about to change, however, and Dublin city was about to be given a taste of what was happening on the continent. 

On the fiftieth anniversary of the 1916 Rising the Irish Press published extracts from the diary of Joseph Holloway, architect of the Abbey, and also described as Dublin’s most famous example of “the first nighter” due to his reputation for attending first night performances in the city’s theatres. On the faithful day of Easter Monday 1916, Holloway describes going into the city and discovering the atmosphere of chaos. All the theatres and picture houses were closed, but he noted that on his return from the city “Brunswick Street Picture House was not” (“Joseph Holloway”). It is remarkable to think that Abe Elliman kept the cinema open in the midst of gun fire and troop movements; however, it was probably its last opening for some time to come. Holloway did not resume his theatre and cinema attendance until May 11. In common with many other businesses, theatres and cinemas were closed by military order (Condon, 2016).

For a number of cinemas and theatres the situation was worse than temporary closures and lost revenue. The British bombardment of the O’Connell Street area and the resulting fires had completely destroyed the Grand Cinema operating in O’Connell Street since 1913, the Coliseum at 24 Henry Street (a theatre – not to be confused with Elliman’s earlier cinema of the same name that burnt down in 1911), and the Coliseum’s close neighbour on Henry Street, The World’s Fair. Other cinemas such as the Carlton of O’Connell Street and The Masterpiece of Talbot Street were severely damaged (Rockett and Rockett, 62). 

The 1916 Rising was the beginning of a number of events which were to have a negative impact on cinema attendances in the run up to independence; the entertainment tax introduced in 1916, the effects of the Great Flu, the War of Independence – which saw the introduction of a curfew, and the Civil War. 

In an article entitled “Dublin’s New Curfew Hour Ruinous Prospect for Many” printed in the Irish Independent on March 5 1921, Maruice Elliman was canvassed for his views on proposals to bring Summer time forward to mitigate against the worst effects of the nine p.m. curfew. His practical response was to suggest that it was only necessary to start and finish work an hour earlier. For businesses whose main trade was carried out in the evening hours, such as cinemas, theatres, pubs, restaurants, dance halls, etc., the night curfews had a very serious impact during an already challenging time of street disturbances and skirmishes making people reluctant to be on the streets. 

Despite all these difficulties, opportunities were spotted by some who looked forward to conditions improving. The 1916 damage to O’Connell Street, for example, left many vacant sites on the capital’s main thoroughfare. This presented an opportunity for farsighted cinema developers such as J.J. Farrell. He bought the Dublin Bread Company’s ruined premises and developed on its site the 800 seat Grand Central Cinema which was opened on October 12 1921. (Rockett and Rockett, 33-34) 

Metropole

Maurice Elliman was another of these early Cinema developers who saw the opportunities. When the Metropole Hotel site came up for sale in 1919, Maurice formed a new company called Allied Cinemas Limited with his Theatre de Luxe partners. The new company bought the vacant site beside the G.P.O to develop the ambitious Metropole complex. 

Irish Independent on April 22, 1919. p.4.

The Irish Independent announcement (see image above), which appears to be a very accurate account of what transpired, provoked a curious response. A statement was issued in the same newspaper two days later by a Mr C.C. Shaw, solicitor for the purchasers of the Metropole site. Its ostensible aim is to deny Maurice Elliman’s involvement in the project. Mr Shaw declares that he was instructed to state: 

(a) That the Metropole site has not been purchased by Mr Elliman of the Theatre de Luxe, Camden St.

(b) The proposed new cinema and restaurant has no connection whatever with the Theatre de Luxe.

(c) Mr. Elliman has not formed any company in connection with the scheme, nor is there any present intention of doing so.

The clumsy wording of the latter point would seem to betray knowledge of Mr Elliman’s intentions. Whatever the reason for the denial of his involvement initially, Maurice Elliman was later to become synonymous with the very successful landmark Metropole development, and the Elliman family viewed their connection with the Metropole as one of their most significant achievements (Elliman). 

The Metropole complex incorporated a ballroom, restaurants, and a modern cinema with a capacity close to 1,000 seats. The cinema opened on February 10 1922, with the restaurant and ballroom launched in August. The programme for the opening day of the cinema was advertised as “Peck’s Baby Boy”, and the music was provided by the Metropole orchestra under the direction of the renowned violinist Erwin Goldwater (“The Metropole Opens”).

Advertisement (Evening Herald Thursday February 9 1922); Right: architectural plan of the Metropole

Maurice appointed his eldest son Abe as the general manager of the Metropole. The Elliman’s now had two modern cinemas under their control, the Metropole and Theatre de Luxe. They had come a long way from running a fruit shop and showing pictures in a travelling tent show. They by now partly owned and managed one of the capital’s most prestigious entertainment establishments situated in a landmark building right in the very centre of the city next to the G.P.O. “Meet at the Metropole” became a common phrase on the lips of many Dubliners in the decades to follow. 

Maurice Elliman’s association with the Metropole was to firmly situate him as an influential member of Dublin’s business class. According to his grandson Edward:

[W]hen he built the Metropole, which was a very famous entertainment venue, cinema, dance, food, – that gave him the credibility of being a really up-and-coming business person and from then on prosperity found him and he didn’t have any problems getting money from banks anymore … I feel that it was the establishment of the Metropole that really put him in the position of being a serious businessperson and he became recognised by the cinema industry. (Elliman)

With the Metropole’s success the family prospered and in time their business interests expanded greatly (Elliman). The success was sustained and can be gauged by the fact that in 1929 the Elliman’s had to roll out the innovative practice of pre-booking cinema tickets in an attempt to reduce the queuing at peak times outside the cinema (M.A.T.).

Crowds queuing at the Metropole c. 1938. (National Library of Ireland)

Louis Elliman, the family’s second son, had graduated from the National University with a M.P.S.I. degree in Pharmacy and had moved to London to work at the Piccadilly branch of Boots Chemist.

In London, Louis acted as Maurice’s representative and maintained contacts with film distributors that Maurice had established in the 1910s. On a return visit to Dublin Louis informed his father that the workload of both jobs was too much and that he could not maintain both. Maurice allowed his son to choose and apparently the pull of the family business proved too strong to resist (Elliman). Louis’ time in London was beneficial, however, as the personal contacts he established in London resulted in him returning to Dublin in 1925 as the Irish representative of First National Pictures. His younger brother Jack was also to join First National Pictures as a salesman. This company was to later become Warner Bros. Louis left Warner Bros in 1930 to form his own distribution company Louis Elliman Ltd., taking with him his brother Jack. Another brother, Bertie, also became involved in this endeavour (Elliman and Elliman).

In 1932 Louis displayed an aesthetic interest in films in addition to his business interest, when, as a side project, he tried to reintroduce continental films to Ireland. Prior to World War I, silent continental films were part of the programme in many of Dublin’s cinemas. However, many factors, including World War I, the War of Independence, an abundance of American and British Films, and – not least – the advent of talkies creating a language barrier, conspired to make Continental films largely absent on Irish cinema screens from the 1920s through to the 1930s.

In the World of Films column in the Irish Independent on Sat 15 October 1932, the columnist J.A.P. highly commended Louis for his efforts in bringing Continental films back to Dublin, and compliments his choice of G. W. Pabst’s film Kameradschaft. Alas, the film only ran for three days (5). 

Evening Herald Sat 15October 1932

This particular enterprise did not find an audience and proved unviable. With little appetite in the capital for Continental films, Louis refocused his attention on the safer bets of British and American commercial films.

In the period around the opening of the Metropole, the family had once again moved home to the more affluent surrounds of Kenilworth Road in Rathgar. They bought a large two-storey-over-basement red-brick house in the leafy suburb. Rathgar was fast becoming the new area of choice for members of the Jewish community who had become successful in business since arriving in Dublin during the 1890s. Many such families were moving south from the modest South Circular Road area and new Synagogues were opening up in outer suburbs south of the canal to replace the shuls of the inner suburbs. In addition to the house, other trappings of affluence were to follow as the Metropole prospered including luxury cars (Elliman).

Despite these outward trappings of luxury, however, the house in Kenilworth Road was not characterised by a quiet refined atmosphere, but was described as a lively busy home, likened to a hotel, due to all the coming and goings of the men and the domestic work of the women. 

My father [Geoffrey] used to reminisce that … from 8 o’clock [in the morning] ‘till 12 o’clock at night, it was like a hotel. Because his sisters were cooking morning, noon and night – all the brothers were coming and going to the cinemas, which usually started at about 2:30 [pm] and went until 10:30 at night. So they’d be coming home late at night, they’d have to be fed, laundry, washing, cleaning, keeping the household going … The oldest brother, Abe – Abraham, he had a fabulous old Reilly [car], … and he used to be the chauffeur, and then, eventually, when they got more prosperous, they actually had a driver (Elliman).

The male Elliman family members and William Smullen gathered for Louis’ Wedding on March 18, 1931.
(Elliman Family Archive)

Only one of Maurice’s sons did not enter the family business – this was Hymie. He studied medicine at Trinity, graduating with an M.B. in 1936, and later gaining an M.D. in 1941. He then emigrated to practice in London. This meant that after Louis returned to Dublin from London to work for the family business and First National Pictures, the whole family, excepting Rosie who had married, lived in the house at Kenilworth Road. This was to remain the case for all of the 1920s (Elliman and Elliman). Louis got married on March 18 1931(Irish Genealogy), an occasion which was recorded for Pathé News (“Pretty Dublin Wedding”). 

Louis Elliman’s Wedding to Ettie Robinson on British Pathé’s – Pathé Gazette. Bertie’s wedding was also filmed.

It becomes apparent when we turn our focus to this domestic sphere that the socio-cultural norms of the time, dictating what is deemed important enough to be recorded, leave us with little trace of the female Ellimans. Within the various archives the female Ellimans are largely absent. Under Maurice’s guidance the family strictly followed Orthodox Jewish traditions, in which women were largely restricted to the traditional roles of home making. The family memoir mentions that Maurice’s business world was “mainly for the men”. Leah, Maurice’s his wife, along with their daughters, carried out the domestic work of washing clothes, cooking, taking care of the younger children, and when we remember that an age gap of over twenty years existed between the eldest and the youngest of the Ellimans, we can gauge that the domestic work was a very demanding task.

The absence of the female Ellimans’ experiences and accomplishments in the various archives reveals the ideologies at play on many levels. It reveals a privileging of success in the business world as of prime importance; and a privileging of the masculine world, which is equated with the world of business. The fact that these tendencies were carried through to a family memoir, which could have revealed insights into the female family members beyond simply recording who they married, indicates the deep-rooted filtering of what was considered noteworthy, significant, and therefore what was recorded and archived, and ultimately what will be remembered.

A new era of expansion

As the 1920s gave way to the 1930s, the older sons of the family were well established and working in high positions in the various family companies and cinemas. When the opportunity arose, Maurice once again began to expand the business – perhaps with opportunities for his younger sons in mind.

1930 Corinthian

Although the Metropole was a high profile success since the early 1920s and had become one of Dublin’s chief entertainment centres, it wasn’t until 1930 that a new cinema was added to the Elliman family’s interests when the Corinthian Cinema at Eden Quay was acquired by Allied Cinemas Ltd. (“Dublin Cinema Sold”).

The Elliman’s third son, Maxie, who had been a projectionist at the Metropole up until this time, was appointed manager of the Corinthian. He indulged in his great love of action films, in particular the Western genre, when it came to selecting the programmes; a niche which resulted in the Corinthian’s popularly nick-name “the Ranch” (Elliman and Elliman).

Theatres 

Since giving up the travelling cinema and variety show in 1910, the Ellimans had not worked with live acts beyond cinema musicians and the Metropole orchestra. This was about to change with the formation of a new company called Theoretical Enterprises Ltd, which was fronted by Maurice Elliman. Within a number of years the family were to acquire three of the capital’s theatres, The Queens Theatre in 1932, The Gaiety Theatre in 1936, and The Theatre Royal in 1939. This essay is primarily concerned with the Elliman family’s involvement with Dublin cinemas, and therefore, the extremely rich and noteworthy subject of the family’s involvement in Dublin Theatres – from the 1930s to the 1960s – is very much beyond the present scope.

The Savoy Group and the Theatre Royal 

In 1939 the Metropole and Allied Cinemas Ltd. took a controlling stake in Irish Cinemas Ltd., which ran the Theatre Royal and Regal Rooms in Hawkins Street, as well as the Savoy Group with its prestigious cinemas in Dublin, Cork, and Limerick. The Dublin Savoy was the cinema of choice for film premieres that took place in Ireland. The Donegal News reported that, at the time of the takeover, the combined capital of all the concerns connected to the Savoy Group was about one million pounds (“Cinema and Theatre Amalgamation”).

The Bells of St Mary’s Irish Premiere, Savoy 1946. Right: President Seán T. O’ Kelly greeted by Maurice Elliman 

1946 Partnership with Rank

Odeon, a subsidiary of the Rank organisation, owned a substantial number of cinemas in Britain. Rank, for some time, had been interested in gaining a stake in the Irish cinema circuit (Rockett and Rockett, 118). The company approached the Elliman family with “a proposal which was not well received by the family” (Elliman and Eliman). Having been told that the company would operate in Ireland with or without the Ellimans, the family accepted the deal knowing that the alternative would have meant certain ruin through aggressive competition (Elliman). 

The attractiveness of the Elliman holdings for the Rank organisation resided in prestige and box office returns. The ten cinemas to be taken over included some of the most prestigious cinemas in the country and represented 25% of Irish box office income, despite representing only 12% of the cinema seats in Ireland (Rockett and Rockett, 118).

Although the “partnership” was not one that the Ellimans would have entered into if they felt better options were open to them, the deal reached between the Rank organisation and the family resulted in various managerial positions for the Ellimans at the new company, Odeon (Ireland) Ltd, that was formed from the merger. Maurice Elliman became its Vice Chairman, Abe became General Manager, Louis became Managing Director and all other employees retained their jobs. J. Arthur Rank was the Chairman. (Elliman and Elliman; Elliman)

Despite the transfer of the ten cinemas to Odeon (Ireland), the Ellimans continued to add cinemas to the companies they still controlled. In this period Maurice was starting to step back little by little, and Louis was becoming the main player in the family business. Over the next decade he would continue to diversify his interests in cinema, distribution, theatre production, film production, and carry out much charity work. 

In the same year that Odeon (Ireland) was formed, the Elliman’s purchased six additional cinemas in Dublin and its suburbs. Geoffrey, the second youngest of Maurice’s sons, who had been a film salesman previously, was appointed General Manager of this chain of six cinemas (Elliman and Elliman).

1948 Amalgamated Cinemas (Ireland) Ltd. 

Another merger resulted in the formation of a new company, Amalgamated Cinemas (Ireland) Ltd. This was a merger of the McNally Family’s group of cinemas into the Ellimans’ holdings. The new company controlled eighteen predominantly regional cinemas, with Geoffrey appointed as the General Manager (Elliman and Elliman).

’Father’ of the Dublin film trade dies

On March 2 1952 Maurice Elliman died at the age of eighty after a long illness. His wife Leah and four of his children – one daughter and three sons, had predeceased him in the 1940s.

When Maurice died the following publications noted his passing: Irish Times, “Obituary Mr. Maurice Elliman”; Evening Herald, “Father of Irish Film Trade”; The Cinema, “Death of Irish Trade Pioneer”; Daily Film Renter, “Item on Maurice Elliman”; Irish Press, “Obituary – Mr. Maurice Elliman”; Irish independent, “Mr. M Elliman death notice”; Evening Mail, “’Father’ of the Dublin film trade dies”. His funeral was attended by Ireland’s leading entertainment figures and political leaders or their representatives (News Paper Cuttings).

On the day of his funeral, the following Dublin cinemas owned or managed by the Elliman family advertised late openings as a sign of respect to Maurice: Royal Theatre, Regal Rooms, Theatre de Luce, Metropole, Corinthian, Cabra, Phibsboro, Pavilion (Dun Laoghaire), Fairview, The Strand, Drumcondra, Royal (Bray), Regent (Blackrock), and Broadway (Evening Herald, 4).

Louis at the Helm

With Maurice gone, the brothers continued to work closely together. One in particular, Louis, would be remembered as contributing greatly to Irish cinema, theatre, and even the film making sector in the country. Louis had run the Theatre Royal during the war period, championing and developing Irish talent in a country cut off from an outside world at war. He also produced shows under the nom de plume T.R. Royal. Before and after World War II, Louis was responsible for bringing many international acts to play in the Theatre Royal, such as Gene Autry, Gracie Fields, and Judy Garland. When the family acquired the Gaiety, Louis invested an equal amount of energy into the development of that theatre, taking a particular interest in bringing major international ballet troupes to Ireland (Elliman and Elliman). 

When his father Maurice arrived in Ireland he was alone and without contacts in his adopted country. By the 1950s the extent of the family’s contacts and influence, built up by Maurice and developed by Louis, can be gauged by the photographs in the family archive depicting Louis together with many of the Irish political leaders of the era such as Seán T. O’ Kelly, Seán Lemass, and Eammon de Valera; and with international celebrities like Gene Autry, and members of the Hollywood elite such as James Cagney, Cecil de Mille, and Walt Disney (copies of which are in the Liam O’Leary Archive at the National Library of Ireland).

Louis goes to Hollywood: Joan Fontaine, Louis Elliman and Ginger Rogers at a party thrown by the infamous Hollywood agony aunt Louella Parsons in 1950. 

Louis had developed an interest in film production over the years and was involved with two short film productions using the Abbey players in the early 1950s, Return to Glennascaul and From Time to Time (Rockett, et al., 98). In 1958, along with Emmett Dalton, he opened Ireland’s first film studios at Ardmore, outside Bray in Co. Wicklow. This venture, in which Abe was also involved, was plagued with problems almost from the start. The studios came under pressure from British film producers who saw it as a threat and attempted to undermine its potential (Elliman). The British technicians’ union gained a stronghold in the studios – effectively baring Irish technicians. The establishment of Ardmore Studios had been partly funded by the Irish Government, although not transparently, and it continued to receive Irish state subsidies. Despite this, the studios effectively became an outpost of British film production. This caused serious industrial relations problems with the Irish technicians’ union and resulted in political controversy. The studios were also plagued with financial difficulty (Rockett, et al., 98-112).

It was a major setback for Louis and Abe, and unfortunately, neither lived to see the Irish film industry develop. It was to be their last enterprise together. Abe died as 1962 began, and Louis died towards the end of 1965. Both brothers had married but neither had children. Of the surviving four brothers, Jack and Bertie, were already extremely ill and were to die in 1971. Ill health, early deaths, combined with the problems at Ardmore studios, signaled a change in fortune for the family. As Geoffrey and Hymie, Maurice’s two surviving sons, had reflected in the 1985 family memoir, “The family interests declined along with the family.” (Elliman and Elliman) 

Conclusion

Arriving in Ireland at the age of twenty in 1892, Maurice Elliman was unable to speak English and was without any family or contacts in his new adopted home. Eighteen years later, along with his burgeoning family, he was to open one of the first cinemas in Dublin – the Coliseum in 1910. Constantly expanding and improving his business, Maurice opened possibly the first purpose-built cinema in the capital, the Theatre de Luxe, in 1912. With his long term business partners, Maurice went on to build Dublin’s premier entertainment hub located in the heart of the city, the Metropole, which opened in 1922.

In the 1930s Maurice extended the family’s interests into theatre, and together with his sons, enticed many famous and popular artists to perform in Dublin. During the shortages and restrictions of the Second World War period, the Elimans provided Dublin with popular home grown entertainment in the Queen’s Theatre and the Theatre Royal. In the first decade after the war, they again brought many popular international acts to the Dublin stage and Louis championed international ballet at the Gaiety. 

Ardmore Studios, co-founded by Louis, suffered many setbacks in its troubled early years. It had many financial and industrial relations difficulties – being characterised as little more than an outpost of the British film industry transposed to Ireland. However, eventually, it did provide jobs for Irish technicians and film crews and proved that a film studio could be a viable enterprise in Ireland. In more recent years, Ardmore has been successful through the development of high production-value TV series.

From a hand cranked projector in a tent in 1910, Maurice, Leah, and the family built a cinema and theatre network numbering 32 individual premises, a film studio, and film distribution businesses, and various members of the family were also the Irish representatives for internationally companies such as Warner Bros (Elliman). 

With the death of Louis, however, and the early deaths of so many of his brothers before him, the family interests in various exhibition, distribution, and production business were too many and too complex for any one individual to cope with. It was also an era when television was starting to have a major impact on these industries. Therefore, the only remaining member of the family involved in the industry, Geoffrey, disposed of the family’s interests in most of these businesses (Elliman). Geoffrey’s son, Edward, was the only Elliman of the third generation to become involved in a film related industry, when he took over his father’s distribution business. Edward worked through the transition from film to VHS format, and later to DVD format. Distribution is a backroom profession without all the glamor of premieres and mixing with the stars. Unlike the previous generations, Edward worked away busily with a low public profile. “All I needed was my father’s office, a phone, and the contacts, which I had” (Elliman). He retired before the advent of online digital media. The Elliman family, for so long synonymous with film and entertainment in Dublin, no longer have any involvement with these industries. However, the family provided generations of Dubliners with the joys of the silver screen and the pleasures of the stage. 

But this is just one possible narrative, among many possible alternative narratives, which could have been constructed from the available archives, newspaper columns, and family memories. Those archives have enabled this interpretation, others could have been constructed. However, the selection and filtering processes of the various archival archons have determined, according to their criteria, what was salient, worthy, or significant enough to be archived. Conversely, what has been considered inappropriate, unimportant, or irrelevant, in their milieu, is absent from the archives, and ultimately, will be forgotten. This means that certain narratives which could have been constructed will never be. 

We need to remember also that we could never hope to construct such a narrative for those who enabled families like the Ellimans to build their businesses. The countless individual theatre and cinema workers, who will remain largely absent from such archives because their lives, their achievements and failures, their struggles, have been deemed of lesser significance by the archons of the archives.

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