Press Clippings about The Panida theater in Sandpoint, Idaho

Cream of the Crop, a two-day film festival at the Panida Theatre this weekend, offers a unique opportunity to see the work of award-winning Sandpoint cinematographer Erik Daarstad.

He will introduce his films on Saturday and Sunday, as will filmmakers Terry Sanders and Freida Lee Mock, who will also attend. All three will be available to answer questions following the showings.

"It really makes it special to have all three filmmakers together," said Karen Bowers, the Panida's executive director.

Daarstad, who was born in Norway, discovered an interest in black-and-white still photography while growing up. He became quite taken with movies. particularly those of John Ford. During his last year of high school, Daarstad applied to the film school at the University of Southern California.

"I was meaning to go back to Norway and work there. he said. "But it didnÕt happen that way."

His wide-reaching career, primarily as a freelancer. includes PBS documentaries, National Geographic productions, television commercials. and feature films. In addition, Daarstad has a 30-year relationship working with film-makers Sanders and Mock. The husband-and-wife team alternates roles producing, directing, and writing for their films.

Daarstad's family lived in Sandpoint from 1976 to 1986 after residing in Los Angeles. Daarstad and his wife returned to Sandpoint five years ago, relocating this time from Seattle.

With his return to North Idaho, Daarstad intended to retire. However, in the past year alone, he has filmed two documentaries and begun a project that will trace the history of Butte, Montana. He also continues to work on a historical documentary of Sandpoint comnissioned by the city.

"The role of the cinematographer is to work with the director to translate the story or idea to film," said Daarstad. "It has to do with designing visuals to best help tell the story. I constantly hear in mind how it will fit together in order to tell the story or what images would be important."

Three films at the Panida on Saturday evening. June 15, will show the breadth of Daarstads experience, talent, and ability to focus the camera on the documentary subject. "Sing" was a 2001 Academy Award nominee for Best Short Documentary. "Never Give Up: The 20th Century Odyssey of Herbert Zipper" is also an Academy Award nominee for Best Short Documentary. And "bird by bird with Annie," which follows best-selling author Anne Lamott, is back by popular request after showing at the Panida last year.

"Both "Sing!" and "Never Give Up" revolve around music and music education," said Daarstad. Theformer is about a community-based childrenÕs chorus fighting to continue teaching its young members despite severe cutbacks in grants to the the arts. The latter tells of a Vienna-born Herbert Zipper who survived Dachau and Buchenwald concentration camps to become a renowned music educator.

Zipper has since died.

"Most of the funding for these films came from people interested in seeing these stories told" said Daarstad.

On Sunday evening Frieda Lee Mock's 1994 Best Feature Documentary Academy Award winner "Maya Lin: A Strong Clear Vision" will be shown. The full-length film is about sculptor/architect Maya Lin, who designed the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington. D.C.

"As they delve into the human condition, what we discover in these films is so rich and deep in the human potential. All four films are definitely inspiring for people to watch," says Bowers.

The Panida Theater is currently celebrating its 75th anniversary year.

"In that the Panida is owned by the community," continued Bowers, "we want to celebrate. We're trying to have shows that celebrate the community."

By Renee E. D'Aoust, Correspondent
Reprinted by permission of the Spokesman-Review
Monday, June 10, 2002

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F.C., YOUR GHOST CAN DANCE

It was a damn sad sight. Half a dozen theater people were packing stage sets into the old Panida Theater. Tennessee Williams' "A Streetcar Named Desire" had closed to a packed house the night before. A packed house that sat, not in the Panida, but on metal folding chairs in the trophy room of the Elk's Club, where three walls of stuffed elk heads loomed over the audience and the acting troupe had emptied its bank account to buy enough lumber and plywood to extend the miniature stage.

With its gilded proscenium arch and crescent-shaped orchestra pit, the downtown movie palace would have been a better venue.

But the Panida, on this spring day in 1984, was every bit as dead as the glassy-eyed antler mounts around the corner at the Elk's. It had been reduced to a temporary warehouse for storing props. And not a very good one at that.

"Not there," one actor told another who was leaning backdrops against the auditorium wall. "The roof always leaks right on that spot."

From the stage, the theater people could see where rows of seats had been removed to outfit the new four-plex cinema a few blocks away. Two chunks of plaster the size of import cars had fallen from the ceiling since the last time anyone had been inside. Like heavy usherettes, they landed squarely in the aisles at stage right and stage left. The seats around them were coated in a chalky dust that settled after the impact.

"If the ceiling falls in a theater and there's no one there to hear it," someone on the dark stage asked, "does it make a sound?"

Well, yes. This one tumbled media types from their beds. It shook bankers and spinsters and heretofore peaceful merchants out of their sleep. On waking, they looked in the mirror to find they had become community activists overnight.

The Panida Theater was down and on its way out. Sandpoint rallied to save it. In what may go down as its finest hour, the town ponied up $50 here, $100 there, for bricks and tiles that would march out of the lobby, sweep around the ticket booth and spill out onto the street. One at a time, the bits of pavement paid off the theater's outstanding mortgage. They raised money for roof work and plumbing repairs. They read, today, like a Who's Who of small town folk who cared enough to get involved.

It is said there is a ghost in the Panida. Most people believe it's the earthbound spirit of F.C. Weskil, who built the place in 1927. Ten years ago, he was a malevolent lost soul. The movie house where he measured his life in double features was caving in.

Ask any theater person who entered the place alone to retrieve sets back then there was an angry, unsettled presence dogging your heels. Their last few steps to the exit door were always accompanied by looks over the shoulder and a final lunge for the sunlight outside.

If F.C. meant to haunt those who came later, he never got the chance. An army of workers stormed the theater with scaffolding, paint buckets, carpenter's belts and brooms. Maybe the ghost picked up each night where the work crews left off and busied himself right out of a bad mood.

Nowadays, the old apparition hardly has a moment's peace, what with all the rehearsals and stage shows. No sooner has he survived one crowd than the seats are filling up again for a summer musical, a one-night rock concert or a weekend movie.

Relax, F.C. - the Panida is in good hands again. Find a seat and enjoy the show.

Dave Gunter is a writer, photographer, actor and musician who well knows the Panida. (from "Sandpoint Magazine")

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GREAT AMERICAN CINEMAS

When Sandpoint's premier theater opened its doors on September 21, 1927, it was "dedicated to the people of the Panhandle 0f Idaho" by owner F.C. Weskil. The words "panhandle" and "Idaho" were combined to come up with PanidaÑthe name 0f the theater that, for over 50 years, served as the centerpiece 0f Sandpoint entertainment.

Built in the Spanish mission style, the theater with its stucco exterior gave way to a sumptuous lobby complete with plush carpets and a working fountain. A 1927 newspaper account describes the theater's interior: "Rich deep colorings in the wall panels, the brocaded, round ceiling with its Spanish design lanterns, the oval windows with their bronze iron Spanish grille work high up on either side of the stage and the handsome burnt orange curtain-all combined for a refinement and beauty which cannot be approached by any other building in the city and which can be equalled by few theaters in the west." In many ways, the Panida's interior remains unchanged.

A small 565-seat theater, the Panida flourished throughout the 1930s and '40s when movies were at their zenith. A "cry room" in the back of the auditorium allowed mothers to quiet their children while still viewing the film, and Saturday and Sunday matinees catered to children, who had their very own water fountain. On Friday nights in the late '40s and '5Os, the town mayor and theater manager, Floyd Gray, hosted his own stage show under the guise of "Farmer Gray"- giving away groceries and charming live and radio audiences with his down-home humor. However, even Farmer Gray couldn't halt time. The Panida began to fall on hard times in the mid-1960s, though it managed to stay in operation until 1980. Quickly deteriorating, the Panida was saved by a group of local citizens who were determined to restore the area landmark and make it useful. Eventually, $90,000 was raised to secure the building as a community-owned property and the restoration process began. Enthusiastic public support and a volunteer army of community residents have returned the Panida to its proper place as an area entertainment center. The roof and ceiling were repaired, the lights, fountain and lobby doors restored, a sound system installed and upgraded and the stage extended. Renovations continue, with much of the funding coming from innovative projects such as the "brick" program, where, for $50, a brick to be laid in the Panida sidewalk will be stamped with any name.

Considered a local treasure by Sandpoint residents, the Panida now boasts a schedule that ranges from opera and symphonic concerts to classic films and local theater productions. The theater received the Orchid Award from the State of Idaho for historic preservation.

- by Ann McGuire
March 1993, American Movie Classics Magazine

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HOW TO SAVE A THEATER

If you're planning a capital campaign,
read this success story from Sandpoint, Idaho.

Whoever said a sequel is never as good as the original has never heard of the Panida Theater in Sandpoint, Idaho. The remarkable story of the theater's rebirth, and in particular the successful capital campaign that has reclaimed it as a resource for the entire community, is well worth noting.

If your theater company is about to launch a funding campaign, you'll want to study the Panida phenomenon, not only for the original reclaiming of the historic building, but for the sequel, told to us ten years later.

We first read how the city of Sandpoint- population 5,000- rescued, restored, and reinvigorated its 566- seat Panida Theater (pronounced to rhyme with Canada) in theater Classics, the publication of the League of Historic American theaters.

Built in 1927, the Panida, "dedicated to the people of the panhandle of Idaho," boasted Spanish Mission-style architecture and fine acoustics. Beyond its intrinsic worth, it also had sentimental value; for years the Panida had been the town's cultural hub and a general gathering place. Vaudeville, concerts, melodrama, recitals, films, and town meetings: if it happened in Sandpoint, it probably happened at the Panida.

Gradually, however, the building fell out of use. Early attempts at reviving it as a concert hall were unsuccessful. By 1985 the structure had been closed for two years and was facing the demolition ball. It was supposed to yield its space to a mini mall. If the Panida was to be saved, it had to have the support of the entire community and have it quickly.

Research was Key

Luckily, those in charge of the project knew they had to do some major homework. The Panida Theater Committee of Jane Evans, Susan Bates-Harbuck, and Laurel Wagers did the background research that was needed even before the city heard the first cries for help. Learning the costs, the building codes, and the rules for nonprofit incorporation took months. The committee sent an invitation to other arts organizations who might want to participate, but learned that most had their own concerns. An exception was the Unicorn theater Company, which had performed at the Panida, and which put up earnest money for the purchase.

The committee struck a deal with the theater owner: It could purchase the building for $200,000 if a $40,000 down payment could be raised in 90 days. After a promise to return all donations if the project collapsed, the committee convinced the town's business people to support the venture.

The fundraising began. Hand-painted lobby tiles sold for $100. Personalized bricks for the sidewalk at the theater cost $50. Such pricing made it possible for more people to contribute and participate in rescuing the building. With everyone accepting responsibility for the fundraising's success, committee members found people competed to see who could do more to make it happen.