I am a student of movie advertising, fascinated by the art of the coming attractions trailers, posters, and print ads. I peruse the displays in newspapers for extended periods and remember doing so in earnest as early as age eight. That's when I noticed the Plaza Theatre had its own slogan.There it is, the ever-present, "House of Hits."
How cool is that? No other theatre in Atlanta dared boast such a high platitude upon itself, which was strange, considering other theatres ran the same mix of pictures as the Plaza.
Few, if any, were knowingly and actively booking flops, seeking the title of "House of Bombs."
Oh, the Fox did brag conceit about its fabulousness and being "The South's Finest," but those were descriptions of environment, not the product on the silver screen.Much like the Capri, or I should say, "The Comfortable Capri," a curious, milquetoast claim.
That's the best they could come up with?So, if the Fox is "fabulous" and the Capri is "comfortable," we're comparing a tuxedo to a muu-muu and bunny slippers.
I've got news for them. The Capri was never comfortable. It was somewhere between a wedgie and flesh caught in a zipper.
Truth be told, few of us buy tickets to look at the interior design or lavish in relaxation splendor. We purchase admission to see a particular show and it had better score!
The Plaza believed, apparently, the world revolved around it, so competitors would have to be content to acknowledge their subordinate status to the bold, overlordy "House of Hits," settling for lesser slogans, such as, "Tool Shed of Hits," "Garage Apartment of Hits," Mother-in-Law Cottage of Hits," "Slave Quarters of Hits," or "Hash House of Hits, Now With Butter Squirts."
Obviously, such verbiages could sap too much valuable advertising space. I, frankly, don't recall seeing these particular bombasts used. Any possible exhibitors' turf war was fought in private.
"House of Hits" are the three little words I remember most from throughout the 1960s. Unfortunately, the catchphrase ceased to apply during the next decade, as the Plaza dabbled and splashed in the seedy cinematic underbelly of skin flicks. The beloved term, altered slightly, made way for, the obvious, "House of Hims."
Actually, I don't comprehend what happened to the slogan. Whatever the new wording became, they probably chickened out like I did. Titular decisions are problematic.
For the past four decades, since the Plaza dropped the phrase, I've been known to answer my humble abode's telephone, "House of Hits."
I like the sound and, subsequently, no one ever inquires about "Ishtar," "Hudson Hawk," nor "Howard the Duck."
In recent years, I've drifted to answering my phones with either "Funhouse," "Funmobile," or "FunWalmart," depending on the globetrotting.
I do drop in the occasional "House of Hits" for sentimental reasons and to keep the franchise alive. Use it or lose it.
In closing, I know this story had you at "House of Hits," but I thought you might also be interested in my preferred method to conclude telephone conversations.
Because "Good-bye" is so shopworn, so 1920, so civil, I opt for either "Plenty Free Parking" or "Member F.D.I.C."
It all depends on my mood and area financial regulations.
Plaza Theatre marquee photo by dbking, Creative Commons license.
1964 movie theatre ads courtesy The Stan Malone Collection. Closed Mondays.
