Los Angeles Travelogue Part 1: Old Hollywood

Los Angeles is the first place I’ve ever been where everything that everyone told me would be true about it actually was: it is very spread out, you have to drive virtually everywhere, the famous laid-back vibe is a reality, it is possible to get lost in fantasy and the food and drink are outstanding. It has been over a decade since we’ve had a proper vacation, and, while I have never regretted the decision to live in New York City, I have always been curious about the big city on the opposite coast. I am aware of both a gentle rivalry between the two cities as well as a significant number of people who maintain residence, however informally, in both. So with an eye towards adventure and, yes, potential relocation, we decided to go to Los Angeles.

photo: John Wilson

My first view of L.A. was from the air, as after summoning my courage I looked out the window when advised that we had entered Los Angeles air space. This was 45 minutes before the relief of actual touchdown, and downwards through the clouds was a patchwork of the outlying suburbs that are part of the city but are as far as hours away from downtown by car. Downtown was a crown of spikes in the far distance, with the blessed tarmac of LAX just as distant in another direction. We emerged from the gate to the welcome sight of a California institution: a See’s candy counter. My favorites are nutty/sweet Toffee-ettes and John’s, potent Little Pops. With a quick snap in passing of the neon LAX sign, we found our way to our hotel in Hollywood.

Hollywood is every bit as vulgar and showy as you’d hope, but the current of nostalgia is almost tangible, and makes it possible to almost completely immerse yourself in the fantasy. Mid-century bungalow hotels dot the area, where guests channeling Hayworth and Hudson chill under awnings poolside. Except for the unavoidable sight of strip malls, every vista looks composed as a scene for a movie: the sleek Deco lines of municipal buildings, the atomic-age spikes of googie coffee shops, the Hollywood sign itself, overseeing all from an ironic position of power.

As we had flown backwards in time from New York, so that first night we traveled backwards in time to Hollywood’s golden age. The gateway for this was the Formosa Café. Outside, the building, just this side of ramshackle, evokes the period of Duesenbergs depositing fur-swathed movie stars under the striped awning. Entering the Formosa is entering a time warp. The black and red interior is as dimly and strategically lit as the shadows in a film noir, and the very air seems rarefied. We had been advised that people go to the Formosa mostly for the atmosphere and the drinks, but not the food. I wouldn’t argue about the atmosphere – I will always remember the Formosa on a Sunday night as a perfect Hollywood moment – but I thought the food was fine, especially the wasabi fries I had heard about.

From the Formosa we proceeded to The Frolic Room. This downtown watering hole is as famous for its mural as it is for its Old Hollywood atmosphere. But if while twiddling your saketini at the Formosa you’re imaging Edward G. Robinson and Virginia Mayo skulking in the booths in the back, at The Frolic Room you’re imagining Robert Mitchum and Ava Gardner hunkered over a bottle of scotch two seats away. Another thing everyone said would be true about L.A. and was: the effort involved in finding a place to park. We found a spot around the corner from The Frolic Room, steps from the noteworthy Capitol Records building. To welcome us to Hollywood proper, as we got out of the car our footsteps fell upon the Walk of Fame stars for Roy Rogers and Joan Crawford: two of our favorites and a most fitting welcoming committee to our first night in Los Angeles.

photo: John Wilson

We returned to Hollywood Boulevard a few times during the ensuing days and nights. Another thing everyone said would be true of L.A. and was: Hollywood Boulevard is the epicenter of tourista L.A., and is crawling with hucksters. They hawk fake movie-star tours or, costumed as icons, try to ingratiate themselves into photographs. I had been warned that they are as aggressive and as hard to discourage as gnats at a picnic, but they are no worse than the buskers on Times Square and I had no problem swatting them away.

The grifters cluster around Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, perhaps the most famous Hollywood landmark outside of the Hollywood sign itself. Though they were conceived for publicity purposes, seeing the cement foot- and handprints is a surprisingly intimate experience. Gloria Swanson’s tiny feet only add to her stature as an icon of such influence in her day that, to paraphrase Billy Wilder’s reference to her legend in Sunset Boulevard, crowned heads used to barter jewels for one of her silk stockings. Now that I’m an honorary citizen of Hollywood, am I allowed enough ego to have noticed that Doris Day signed her prints on my birthday?

The Walk of Fame is great fun, and again, a gateway to the fantasies of old Hollywood. According the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce, in the 1950s, a member of the Chamber proposed the idea of setting stars in the sidewalks on and around Hollywood Boulevard “as a means to maintain the glory of a community whose name means glamour and excitement in the four corners of the world.” After some negotiations, the final star design was agreed upon: the honoree’s name in brass lettering along with a brass medallion designating the honoree’s contribution to one of the fields of entertainment. After characteristic discussions about color scheme, the decision was made to adopt black sidewalks with coral stars. The first set of inductees included Cecil B. DeMille, Samuel Goldwyn, Jesse Lasky, Walt Disney, Hal Roach, Mack Sennett and Walter Lantz.

Much legend and ritual surrounds each star’s star. When you walk the sidewalk, you will notice that stars are oriented with the names to be read as you walk, not from storefront to street. However, you will also notice that stars are oriented both walking directions; this is so that walkers in either direction will have the chance to see stars. You will also notice that many stars have more than one star. Stars are awarded by field of contribution, so there are many stars who have two or more stars. The only performer so far to be awarded a star in all categories is Gene Autry.

The legend of fan upkeep on the Walk of Fame is also true. We were in Hollywood the day the great Lena Horne died. As we happened upon her star, it had been cordoned with gold rope by the city, and was strewn with the memories of red roses. A man in a plaid shirt and worn jeans toiled with a rag over a star just down the street from the Kodak theatre. When I asked whose star he was tending he answered, as if it was odd that anyone would need to ask, “Chill Wills.”

photo: John Wilson

There is a complex protocol for how stars on the Walk of Fame are situated. For example, one of Alfred Hitchcock’s stars is situated in front of what was the theatre that was premiering Psycho when that star was unveiled. However, sometimes the story is less glamorous. The placement of Myrna Loy’s star may have a deeper story, but right now it is in front of a ubiquitous souvenir shop whose security gate is painted – as all of the security gates are painted with movie star images -- with Myrna’s beatific face. Also within walking distance of Myrna Loy’s star, and with much concerning Myrna awaiting inside, is Larry Edmunds Bookshop. In Hollywood, even book stores are devoted to the movies. As a silent film fanatic, I was delighted at their selection of titles on this subject, and scored both a great survey text and a vintage publicity pamphlet about one of my personal idols, Rudolph Valentino. However, the deepest communion with Valentino was yet to come, and so is the column about that.

Also nearby and also evoking a library of past movie stars is the legendary Musso and Frank Grill. This restaurant is an oasis of old-school stateliness entombed smack dab in the center of the Hollywood Boulevard tourist district. Here we met friends, one a born New Yorker who is now a Los Angelino, for a hefty dinner of prime rib and martinis. Another thing everyone said would be true of L.A. and was: the martini at Musso and Frank is the standard by which all others must be measured. It arrives at the table quartinoed in a cup of ice, the flask so icy that the condensation has turned to frost. It is poured by a courtly waiter in house livery into the correct 3-ounce martini glass. Olives, twists and cocktail onions are provided on the side, but only if you ask.

Our vacation coincided with our anniversary, and also on Hollywood Boulevard is Beso. As a devotee of Todd English both for his food and his design sensibility, we frequently celebrate our anniversary at his New York restaurant Olives. Beso, executed in partnership with Eva Longoria, addresses the great Hollywood traditions of glamour and the Latin influence by reimagining a churrascaria as a sexy nightclub. Showy chandeliers sway over a space decorated in black, tan and scarlet with the drama and sweep of an MGM musical. English’s signature open kitchen dispenses perfectly prepared cuts of beef. Beso’s steak with chimichurri was the single best meal I ate while on vacation, and with all due respect to both The Frolic Room and Musso and Frank, Beso’s raspberry gimlet was the best cocktail I drank.

Off of Hollywood Boulevard at the foot of the Hollywood Hills is the neighborhood of Los Feliz, where retro swank abuts arty funk. In a business district that encompasses retro diners, a chic bistro, and great bookstores, you will find The Dresden Room. This landmark will be recognizable to fans of the film Swingers, which captured some of its hipster cachet but failed to note its vintage grandeur. It is easy to imagine Angie Dickinson with elaborate hair and architectural eyeliner gracing the curved white booths of the dining room. If she was there, would she be tucking into plates of sixties cocktail cuisine such as escargot, veal marsala, or Chateaubriand? Or would she waft into the grotto of the cocktail lounge, where nightlife legends Marty and Elayne hold court over a trap set and a keyboard?

photo: Eric Diesel

If anything is true about Hollywood, it’s than underneath the stardust there is tarnish, and that underpinning all of the magic is cold hard cash. You may walk along an avenue of stars, but the true backbone of this stretch of Hollywood Boulevard is the tacky souvenir shop. It was in one such that we found, amid the bins of t-shirts, stacks of shot glasses, shelves of coffee mugs, walls of posters and carousels of post cards and magnets and movie-star maps, a stash of old-fashioned photo albums. While they are too new to be vintage, the albums are printed with embossed old-school graphics surrounding the title “My Hollywood Vacation.” Along with an oversized leather album bought for a more elaborate record of our vacation, these retro treasures will be the perfect place to store photographs from our trip across the country and backwards in time.