Soft spot for deflated penguin

PETER BUFFA

It’s not easy. Being new in town can be scary. Not knowing anyone,

unsure where things are, worried about fitting in -- all very

stressful. Like Teresa Brewer said, people are strange when you’re a

stranger.

But it’s even tougher when you’re from Antarctica, you’re 20-feet

tall and you walk funny. Did you happen to see the giant blow-up

penguin hanging out on top of the Lido Theatre’s marquee week before

last? A lot of people did, including me, and almost all of them loved

it, including me.

The very big bird was up there as a promotion for the Lido’s

current offering, the lavishly praised documentary “March of the

Penguins,” narrated by Morgan Freeman, which documents the lives and

loves of a stalwart band of emperor penguins.

It’s a hard-knocks life for penguins in Antarctica, and it’s no

cakewalk for them in Newport Beach either.

The penguin at the Lido, who spent his seven days above Via Lido

smiling at passersby and patiently posing for pictures when anyone

asked was mortified when Newport Beach code enforcement officers

ordered him to get down immediately. The folks at City Hall love

penguins as much as anyone, but you do need a permit for an

inflatable sign -- an administrative detail of which the Lido Theatre

was unaware. According to Lyndon Golin, president of the company that

owns the Lido Theatre, the black-tie bird was just a clever way to

promote their current offering.

“We didn’t know the penguin was a sign,” Golin told a reporter.

Newport Beach Planning Director Patricia Temple was not

unsympathetic but said the violation was hard to ignore, with the

Lido Theatre down the block from City Hall.

Now, the bird is gone, but not forgotten.

“It was the coolest inflatable penguin and everybody just loved

it,” Julie Mattson, a Newport resident who caught both the penguin

and the movie, said to a reporter.

Mail carrier Cyndy Lugaro said people on her Via Lido route have

been asking, “Where did the penguin go?”

And apparently, the Fourth of July revelers this year were lining

up six deep to get a picture of themselves with the big penguin.

The story caught my eye because I have a soft spot for the Lido

Theatre, penguins and large inflatable objects -- all for different

reasons.

To begin with, the Lido Theatre is a local, if not national,

treasure. The pre-war stunner opened in October 1939, was designed by

architect Clifford Balch, and was originally owned and operated by

the D.W. Griffith Company.

Ever been to a movie theater with a balcony? If not, you better

get to the Lido at your earliest possible convenience because once

it’s gone, the movie balcony in these parts will be no more. Those of

us who are being ravaged by time and gravity grew up in the balcony,

in more ways than one. We could tell you incredible tales about what

went on up there during many a double feature, but then we’d have to

kill you.

Years ago, I was producing a documentary for PBS that called for a

1950s, “Back to the Future” scene, with kids strolling into a

neighborhood theater. We dressed the outside of the Lido as if it

were 1954 and the main attraction was “Creature From the Black

Lagoon” -- an unspeakably bad, B, horror film that scared me

senseless and kept me awake between the ages of 6 and 9.

We had two blocks of Via Lido awash in extras, decked out in bobby

socks and poodle skirts, leather jackets and engineer boots, and a

parade of Studebakers, Chevy Nomads, and a red Buick Skylark

convertible that made people stop and gasp. Since we couldn’t close

the street completely, our biggest problem was intercepting curiosity

seekers who thought the Lido really was showing “Creature from the

Black Lagoon.”

The piece de resistance was a life-sized, totally cheesy plastic

replica of the creature -- a half-man, half-lizard, giant-frog thing

that came lurching up from the depths of a lagoon in the Amazon

forest now and then to terrorize a nearby scientific expedition. The

replica was originally used as a lobby promotion for the film and

somehow ended up outside a “retro” store on Melrose Avenue in West

Hollywood. I begged them to sell it to us. They wouldn’t. But they

did let us rent it for two days.

We dragged it down to the Lido Theatre, standing tall and proud

and ugly in the back of a pick-up truck, causing a frenzy of honking

and cheers all the way.

Coincidentally, for the same program, we shot a sequence in the

penguin room at Sea World in San Diego.

The penguin room was where about 60 emperor penguins lived, of

which a handful were on display for the public at any one time. It

was an unforgettable experience, being in close quarters with 60

emperor penguins. We were told to be as quiet as possible and to move

slowly, which we did, but the penguins followed our every move. If we

moved to the right, they all turned to the right. If we moved to the

opposite wall, they would all make a perfect about-face, with the

precision of a drill team. When we were done, they watched carefully

as we packed up our equipment, then all turned at the same time to

watch us leave.

Those fifteen minutes in the penguin room will always be fresh in

my mind. Needless to say, when I read about the giant emperor penguin

at the Lido Theatre, it didn’t ring a bell. It rang a gong.

What a combination -- a great old theater and a giant, blow-up

emperor penguin. I really hope the big bad boy makes it back to

Newport Beach -- this time, with the proper documentation. You can

never have too many penguins, especially when they’re 20-feet tall.

I gotta go.