A movie company once rented a parish hall of mine. It was in the middle of nowhere but, as they were filming a horror movie, and we were adjacent to an ancient cemetery and a creepy Victorian house they had rented for filming, it was perfect for their needs. They were new and naive; I seemed to meet with a different producer every day and they were always in their early '20's and would come to meetings without anything to write with and nothing to write on. Really, they were like those kids who would come to my classes without pen or paper.
Anyway, when they finished filming, and just like the kids they were, they didn't clean up after themselves. Their "property manager" left behind plywood, 2x4's, a ton of drywall, and sundry other construction mungo that was of a very high quality. That quality surprised me a bit, since they were just building temporary sets that would last only a few days, but I was assured by parishioners [including the star of a then-popular crime show and another who was on a comedy] that this was a normal procedure in movie and TV productions.
I didn't mind at all, of course. Since the production company, without permission and against our stated instructions, filmed a scene in the middle of the night in our sanctuary, I felt justified when I loaded the mungo they discarded in the parish hall and churchyard into my pickup truck and used it to renovate the kitchen in my home. Thanks, Hollywood geniuses.
The paradigm of spending gobs of money unnecessarily for temporary structures may have been established during the filming of Mutiny on the Bounty in the 1930's. Apparently, in that golden age of Hollywood, no expense was spared for one of the early blockbusters.
Even though some of the filming was done in the South Seas, most of it took place on Catalina Island off the coast of California. While hardly a remote location, in order to appease the cast and crew during the four months of filming, in addition to the construction of a fake Tahitian village and replica of the HMS Bounty, the producers built a glorified "hut" to serve as an after-hours watering hole. In fact, the movie's star, Clark Gable, was given an apartment above the bar so that he might have time to "study lines" with the young Tahitian women imported to serve as extras. For sure, he and others used the downstairs of the hut to get riotously drunk in the evenings.
When the production left Catalina, they, like many before and since, left the detritus of the village and the hut where they were. Here is where a common story of Hollywood self-regard becomes the uncommon story of Yankee ingenuity in service of a business plan.
Joseph LaShelle, who would eventually become an Academy Award-winning cinematographer, was a fledgling cameraman on set and happened to mention to his brother, Art, how much fun they were having at the hut and, as Art lived in nearby Los Angeles, he hopped the ferry over to the island and hung out with the crew. Since he shared some avocational interests with Clark Gable, mainly those of drinking and carousing, the two became good friends and, upon the conclusion of the filming, Art LaShelle convinced Gable to buy the hut and permit him to turn it into an actual bar and restaurant.
However, Art was not some frat boy exercising the dream of owning a bar in which he could sit around and drink every night and day. Recognizing the burgeoning popularity of things with a South Seas cache, and knowing that Mutiny on the Bounty would be a hit in the theaters, LaShelle transformed the abandoned hut into one of the first tiki bars and Chinese restaurants in the United States. He was aided considerably by the work of the bartender, Ray Buhen, from Don the Beachcomber's, who had originally been hired, in another example of Hollywood excess, to serve the Bounty's personnel, and who decided to stay and develop a drinks menu that fit the theme. Needless to say, the restaurant, now named "Christian's Hut", after the character of "Mr. Christian" portrayed in the film by Gable, was a hit. Especially so, since Gable was listed as the Hut's owner.
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| LaShelle, one of Gable's script assistants, and the bartender, Ray Buhen |
The idea caught on and, after a short time, there were Christian's Huts popping up all over Southern California. By the late 1930's, the original Christian's Hut was moved to the more-populous Balboa isthmus in Newport Beach, adorned by an enormous tiki head on its roof. The head was nicknamed, no one is sure exactly why, The Goof.
Nightlife under The Goof was particularly appreciated by the Hollywood crowd on the weekends. One could hang out with everyone from Johnny Weismuller to Red Skelton to John Wayne to even a pre-madness Howard Hughes and enjoy the "Chinese-style" food on the menu. Actually, according to critics of that era, the food was apparently pretty good.
In fact, one of the most sought-after "lost recipes" in gastronomia is that of Christian's Hut's crispy filet mignon. No one has ever quite gotten the combination of rare steak with seared exterior right ever since.
The popularity of Tahitian themes eventually subsided and was replaced by whatever the next craze would be. I think it was restaurants shaped like derby hats or something. All of the Christian's Hut locations eventually would close, save for the one in Newport Beach. A fire [ahem] would eventually destroy the restaurant in 1963 and, with that, three decades of "America Go Crazy" would surrender. It would be replaced by condominiums. Art LaShelle would continue to serve the community of Newport Beach for the remainder of his life through a variety of other hotels, restaurants, and civic organizations. He would succumb to mortality in 1985 at his home at the Balboa Bay Club; his remains would be buried off the coast.
However, for those interested in off-beat American history, there is one spectacular remnant of Christian's Hut still to be found. The Goof was saved from the fire and is now found on the roof of a great example of googie archetecture in San Diego, the Bali Hai.
