The First 'Talkie' Premieres

It's early in the year of 1925 in Manhattan, New York.

The car drives up to Bell Laboratories, the company at the cutting edge of technological innovations in America.

Sitting inside the vehicle is Sam Warner, one of four brothers heading up the fledgling film studio, Warner Brothers.

His driver opens the door and Sam steps out.

He's immediately greeted by Nathan Levinson, a sound engineer and all around genius with electronics.

Nathan has been helping Warner Brothers break into the still new field of radio.

But today, Sam is here to talk about a medium even more novel.

As they walk down the long hallways of Bell Labs, Sam can sense his colleagues' excitement.

Nathan has been experimenting with sound on moving pictures and he's invited Sam here today for a demonstration.

Led into a small screening room, Sam takes a seat in front of the silver screen.

The darkened room is suddenly illuminated by the bulb of the projector, before an image of a nervous looking man appears on screen.

The man begins to whistle and the sound appears perfectly in sync with the image.

Sam is awestruck.

The man then disappears, but is quickly replaced by another who sits at a piano and begins to play.

As more and more musicians join the piano player on screen, the sound becomes tremendous.

Sam jumps out of his seat, turns to Nathan and declares him a genius.

Sam Warner believes he has just witnessed a turning point in the evolution of cinema.

The future, he declares to Nathan, is sound.

But while Nathan is on his side, there are many more in the industry who are not, including Sam's brothers, Harry, Albert and Jack.

Most of the big players in Hollywood see the introduction of sound as a fool's errand, an expensive gimmick that will end up only costing them money.

After all, silent movies can be sold the world over without the barrier of spoken language getting in the way.

But Sam is convinced sound is the way forward, and he will do all he can to persuade both the filmmaking community and cinema audiences when Warner Brothers releases The Jazz Singer on October 6, 1927.

From Noiser and Airship, I'm Lindsay Graham, and this is History Daily.

History is made every day.

On this podcast, every day, we tell the true stories of the people and events that shaped our world.

Today is October 6th, 1927, the first Talkie premieres.

It's spring 1925 at the Manhattan Opera House in New York City.

Sam Warner walks into the newly leased building in a rush to get to work.

He's in the middle of shooting some short films that experiment with sound.

He's a long list of obstacles he needs to overcome.

He claps his hands, checking the room for echoes.

Due to the sensitivity of the microphones, any place where he can find sound reverberating too much causes a problem.

He and his men dampen those areas with rugs.

Second on his to-do list is to fix the noise of the film cameras themselves.

These huge machines make such a cacophony of whirring and clicking and grinding gears that nobody can hear when the actors speak.

Sam's work around for this involves placing the camera and its operator in separate wooden boxes.

It's less than a perfect solution for those inside the box with temperature soaring thanks to the hot and heavy studio lights and lack of airflow.

But it does a good enough job at soundproofing that it's worth the discomfort.

Next, Sam turns his attention to the actors.

He knows they're used to doing things a particular way, but Sam needs them to forget their stage performances and begin thinking like talking picture stars.

Unless the performers say their lines in the exact right place, the microphones, which are fixed in the ceilings, won't pick up the dialogue.

Sam's solution is to paint red marks on the floor for his actors to stand on.

And with plenty of practice and a great deal of trial and error, the actors soon change their ways and start hitting their marks.

These new ways of working with film are a frustrating challenge for all involved, but Sam Warner is on a mission to change cinema.

He firmly believes in the evolution of sound films, also known as talking pictures, and will do everything he can to make that dream a reality.

Though while there are some on his side, Sam is mostly alone in this pursuit.

Months earlier, Sam sat down with his brothers at their film studio in Hollywood.

He told them of the sound demonstration he witnessed in New York, but despite his obvious enthusiasm, none of his other brothers were convinced.

They know how complicated the process would be to add sound to moving pictures.

They're also very aware that any films with dialogue will limit how well they sell around the world.

They were reluctant to give the idea any credence, and Sam had to coerce them into watching the same demonstration that blew him away.

Knowing the decision maker, Harry Warner, was the brother he really needed to convince, Sam set up a meeting with some investors and showcased the footage of the man whistling, followed by the band playing in perfect sync.

The hard-to-please Harry couldn't help but be impressed.

Yet he held his position.

He was still a no to talking pictures.

He was convinced they'd be a risk.

But the idea of music on film intrigued him.

Harry knew theaters around the country were paying huge figures to hire orchestras to play alongside silent films.

If he could cut out this costly fee, maybe the theater owners would buy more of his pictures and turn a bigger profit.

So he offered Sam a compromise.

Sound in the form of music and song.

Sam reluctantly agreed and told himself that films with music can be a stepping stone to his future dream of full dialogue features.

So Sam returned to Brooklyn and his new sound studio.

Here he puts together a number of short sound films, mostly centered around song and dance numbers.

Warner Brothers will show these shorts in between their main silent features.

But at first audiences don't like what they see or hear.

They like their silent movies, and the scratches and surface noise that accompany this new sonic evolution are grating.

Some members of the audience even throw tomatoes at the singers on screen.

Yet nestled among the shorts that don't hit home are a few that do.

One of the short films Sam picks out delights audiences.

It features a young man in blackface wearing overalls, singing the song, April Showers outside a log cabin.

The performer's name is Al Jolson, a song and dance man considered by many to be the biggest name on Broadway.

And his talent appears to convey to the screen.

Soon the positive response for Al Jolson short film convinces the other brothers what Sam has always known.

There is a future in sound.

The brothers announced they'll make their first major sound feature out of Warner Brothers Studio.

But it isn't Al Jolson that Sam wants to front it.

That honor will go to the star of the moment, John Barrymore.

The film will be a true swashbuckler entitled Don Juan.

And over the next few months, Sam and his brothers will spend hundreds of thousands of dollars trying to bring the project to life.

It will be the first feature film to synchronize music to the screen action, seen by many as a major gamble in Hollywood at a time when audiences are content with silent pictures and few have been asking for change.

But Sam has his vision, and he's not gonna wait to be asked to change the rules of the game.

Okay.

Thank.

It's August 1926 on 52nd Street in New York City.

Inside Warner's Theater, Broadway sensation Al Jolson sits and watches a packed theater enjoy a series of featurettes before the main presentation, the motion picture of the moment, Warner Brothers' Don Juan.

Despite tickets being a record $10, the thousand seat screening is completely sold out.

And when the films begin, it's clear to see why.

Al is just as dumbstruck as the other patrons in the auditorium as he gazes upon the shorts that precede the main feature.

Some of these movies are musical numbers.

One is a speech about what a tremendous technological breakthrough Warner Brothers is about to achieve.

All are connected via Sam Warner's new Vitaphone system, which makes the audience experience sound and picture in perfect unison.

The effect is extraordinary.

Before the main feature even begins, those in attendance clap, cheer and stomp their feet.

Al, ever the shrewd businessman, as well as being one of the biggest names in entertainment, knows he's just witnessed the future and he wants in.

But the future of the Talkies is still uncertain.

Despite a claim from audiences and critics alike, Don Juan loses Warner Brothers money.

It's only in two theaters, one in New York and one in LA, as they're the only ones set up to play this brand new Vitaphone system, guaranteeing that despite packed screenings, the film can never bring a return on its oversized budget.

Still, the enthusiastic response for the experiment is enough for the Warners to keep pursuing sound for their next groundbreaking project, a feature length film with synchronized dialogue.

And lucky for Al Jolson, there's only one person Sam Warner wants to star in his next role of the dice.

Sam calls a meeting with Al and tells him that Warner Brothers are ready to follow up Don Juan with their next big swing, an adaptation of the hit Broadway play, The Jazz Singer.

Al gives Sam a confused look.

He's been in the business a while, and he knows the ins and outs of Hollywood.

And he's aware that the play's original star, George Jessel, has already agreed to the lead role in the film.

So Sam lays it out flat.

George has been pushing for too much money and causing too many problems for the studio with his demands.

This gives Al the opportunity to put his name forward for the role, should anything change.

And when a further disagreement with George sees him leaving the project, both Sam and Al are ecstatic.

Sam always saw Al as the bigger draw for audiences anyway, but it's still a gamble.

And if Al Jolson and The Jazz Singer don't pay off, Warner Brothers could be filing for bankruptcy by the end of the year.

Sam works tirelessly day in and day out on The Jazz Singer.

So strong is his devotion to the project, his new wife begins to worry for his health.

He complains of intense, debilitating toothaches, but refuses to see a doctor.

Still the stresses of long days and tooth pain are nothing compared to the tension Sam bestows upon himself when Paramount, a rival film company, offers him a huge opportunity as executive producer.

It's a dream come true for Sam, but the offer comes with a large stipulation.

He has to bring his new Vitaphone system with him.

To do so would mean turning his back on his own brothers after they'd pumped millions of dollars into rejigging the studio around his vision.

So after much deliberation, Sam decides to stay with Warner Brothers and doubles down on The Jazz Singer, throwing himself into the work like never before, determined to make it the best film the studio has ever released.

But one minor problem with his plan is Al Jolson's performance.

After years of working his magic for the stage, Sam's brothers have serious reservations about whether Al can replicate his magic on film.

Their concerns only deepen after Al begins ad-libbing on set.

But Sam, taking yet another calculated risk, chooses to keep these glimpses of the real Al in the film, complete with sound.

After a lengthy shooting process in which Al's paycheck alone puts serious strains on the studio, the film is finally in the can.

But Sam and his brothers will miss their moment of crowning glory.

Sam will be hospitalized just ahead of The Jazz Singer's opening.

And on October 5th, 1927, one day before the film's premiere, Sam will die on the operating table of an LA hospital, succumbing to pneumonia.

His brothers will all miss the premiere as well, choosing instead to be at Sam's bedside.

But The Jazz Singer's star will make it to New York.

And there, Al Jolson will bear witness to one of the most pivotal moments in cinema history.

It's October 6th, 1927, at Warner's Theater in New York City.

Al Jolson takes to the stage, tears in his eyes, as the crowd gives him the ovation of a lifetime.

He wipes at his cheek with the back of his hand, unable to hold in the emotion.

The Jazz Singer has just debuted to a near hysterical reaction from audiences and critics alike, and Al is the main recipient of the praise.

From the moment the performer opened his mouth on screen, declaring that the audience ain't heard nothing yet, the film's place in motion picture history was assured.

It's almost too much for Al to bear.

Just a few hours before the premiere began, the actor was sure that his big movie was going to be a flop.

He had to be strong-armed into even showing up, but the incredibly enthusiastic audience in front of him shows the complete opposite is true.

Sam Warner's big gamble has paid off, and his tragic and untimely death won't stop progress in Hollywood either.

The Jazz Singer will mark the end of an era and the beginning of a new one.

It won't be instant, but once the general public sees the stars they love talking as if to them personally, they'll quickly tire of the trite title cards of the silent era.

Theaters all over the world will soon be wired for sound.

Sam Warner's dream to change the face of the motion picture industry will be one he never lived to see, but his vision and belief in the power of sound will absolutely change the course of film history, ushering in a revolution with the premiere of The Jazz Singer on October 6, 1927.

Next, on History Daily, October 9th, 1963, a landslide in northern Italy triggers a tsunami-like wave that spills over the Viant Dam, constituting one of the worst man-made environmental disasters in history.

From Noiser and Airship, this is History Daily, hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Lindsay Graham.

Audio editing and sound design by Molly Bach.

Music by Lindsay Graham.

This episode is written and researched by Owen Paul Nichols.

Executive producers are Alexandra Curry Buckner for Airship and Pascal Hughes for Noiser.