If you walked past Joe Rinaudo’s house in La Crescenta-Montrose, you probably wouldn’t think anything extraordinary of it. You wouldn’t expect, for example, that it contains a 20-seat silent movie theater with a semi-complete organ, a mini museum dedicated to instruments of the silent cinema era, or an extensive basement workshop whirring with the sounds of power tools. And you certainly wouldn’t expect the 74-year-old Rinaudo seated at a century-old instrument, yanking pull-cords and pushing pedals while the machine in front of him whirs and whistles to a rag-timey tune.
The instrument is Rinaudo’s primary passion in life, an American invention that was key to the viewing experience of silent films in the early 20th century but has been forgotten by most of the country: the photoplayer.
Joe Rinaudo plays a photoplayer in his living room.
A cousin to self-playing player pianos, photoplayers automatically play music read out of perforated piano rolls. During their slim heyday — from their invention around 1910 until about 1930, when the silent film era is thought to have ended — photoplayers delighted audiences (mostly in the U.S.) as accompaniments to silent movies, especially Buster Keaton-esque comedies. But then the talkies came, and photoplayers were rendered obsolete, slipping out of public awareness as quickly as they came on scene. Rinaudo, in love with these instruments and their role in silent cinema, has spent more than half a century tracking down, restoring and sharing the word about old photoplayers and similar instruments. And as he ages, Rinaudo hopes to guarantee the preservation of the photoplayer’s legacy with the creation of a nonprofit organization dedicated to the restoration of and education about these instruments and silent cinema.
Among the small community of people who adore the photoplayer, Rinaudo is something of a patron saint. “When people think of photoplayers, they think of him,” says Nate Otto, a restorer of player pianos and similar instruments including photoplayers in Anoka, Minn. Rinaudo’s notoriety is in no small part thanks to the visibility of the many YouTube videos of his playing, including a clip of his 2006 spotlight on “California’s Gold With Huell Howser” that’s been viewed 2.6 million times. Rinaudo is also a central connective figure for the dozen or so folks who actively restore or play photoplayers. “He knows pretty much all the American photoplayers that are currently being restored,” says Otto, “because all of us have contacted him for one reason or another.”
Preserving this slice of American culture and passing it down to younger generations is “my life’s work,” says Rinaudo. But it’s no easy task given how few exist today and how little access the public has to see them. Of the approximately 4,500 instruments produced between 1911 and 1926 by American Photo Player Co. — one of the earliest and most prominent photoplayer producers, and the brand of photoplayer Rinaudo is specifically passionate about — only about 50 still exist worldwide, and only about a dozen of them are in playable condition. Just one photoplayer, which Rinaudo restored and donated to the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, exists in a public space. The rest are tucked away — some owned by people like Rinaudo who play them and put them to use, but most stashed away by private collectors.
Of the known remaining photoplayers, Rinaudo has either owned or helped restore about six of them over the years — and at one point he owned four at once.
Born in Santa Monica in 1951, Rinaudo grew up when silent movies still aired on his family’s black-and-white television. His parents had a player piano in the living room, and at a young age Rinaudo learned how to service it when it needed repairs. As a teenager, he thought, “Wouldn’t it be great if the player piano could play along with a silent movie?” But that wasn’t really doable. Player pianos have space for just one piano roll, so when the track you’re playing runs out, you’re forced into a moment of awkward silence as you wait for the instrument’s spool to rewind so you can swap in the next track. At first he tried jerry-rigging his own setup to accommodate two rolls. But then, Rinaudo recalls, “An old timer said, ‘What are you doing that for? Why don’t you buy one of them photoplayers?’ And I said, ‘What’s a photoplayer?’”
Joe Rinaudo has a museum area in his home dedicated to preserving the history of photoplayers and other bygone film accessories.
Rinaudo spent the next few years searching for one, cold-calling player piano sellers, theater owners and antique shops. When he was 19, he got his first real lead. Word was that the Hoyt Hotel in Portland, Ore., had a photoplayer and a performer who could put on a show. Rinaudo cajoled a buddy to drive them up in his Volkswagen van one weekend. “This hotel was fabulous,” remembers Rinaudo, with a ballroom styled like a turn-of-the-20th-century bar with gas lights. And then there was the photoplayer.
“I was blown away by the sound coming out of it,” says Rinaudo. “People were singing and screaming and clapping — it was just unbelievable. And I thought, ‘I’ve got to have one of those.’”
When the Hoyt shut down a year later, that very same photoplayer went up for auction. Rinaudo drove back up, but was outbid at $8,600 (limited as he was by a 20-year-old’s income). A year later, he got wind of a man looking to sell a photoplayer for $5,000. He went to go see it, but once again he “just couldn’t afford it.”
But providence kept giving Rinaudo chances. A year later, the seller of that photoplayer came back to Rinaudo and offered it to him for just $3,500. Rinaudo’s first photoplayer was secured, and he would spend the next two years restoring the instrument in the living room of his parent’s house. “At first they were a little worried,” he says, about how he was spending his time and the mess in their house, “but they came around.” To learn how to restore his instrument, Rinaudo enlisted the help of a mechanic friend who taught him how to fix all the valves, gears, pipes and bellows. (For work, using the skills he learned, Rinaudo entered the automechanic business, but later left to start his own lighting business, which he still operates.)
A collection of photoplayer rolls sits on top of Joe Rinaudo’s photoplayer.
As soon as his photoplayer became playable, Rinaudo sat and practiced every day. Now, “I don’t know of any other players that can perform like I do,” he says. And when a photoplayer is performed live, “the whole room vibrates,” says Bruce Newman, a restorer of pneumatic instruments, including photoplayers, in Oregon who had the pleasure of seeing Rinaudo play in his home about 25 years ago. “You’re feeling it in the core of your body and it’s exhilarating.”
Over the years, Rinaudo continued to hunt for photoplayers, incessantly putting out the word to whoever might hear of a lead. He finally managed to purchase the Hoyt Hotel photoplayer, which wound up in Arizona. Other adventures included traveling to a warehouse in Seattle, but he couldn’t afford the asking price; getting outbid at a Las Vegas auction; driving to an old theater in Fresno that was said to have a photoplayer, only to learn that the building had been torn down; hopping through antique stores in Bakersfield after hearing a rumor; and searching an old 19th century San Diego hotel and coming up empty.
While Joe Rinaudo mostly focuses on photoplayers, he also has other memorabilia in his home, including this old film camera and a phonograph.
“One time, one guy told me, ‘There’s a photoplayer buried in the belly of the Regent Theater in downtown Los Angeles,’” says Rinaudo. He tracked down the owner in 1969, who brought him inside the dark, rat-infested building with a sledgehammer. The owner smashed through the stage, but there was no photoplayer. “That was one of many wild goose chases that I had to go on, because you never know,” Rinaudo says. “It was like I was on a hunt, or an archaeological dig.”
As he searched over the years, Rinaudo found a community of restorers who shared leads, expertise and parts. He built up a reputation. “I do see him as an authority,” says Newman. “If I have trouble identifying something, I call up Joe and he can help me figure it out.” And when YouTube came along, Rinaudo started sharing videos of himself performing, which many photoplayer lovers, including Newman and Otto, credit as their introduction to these instruments. A few thousand loyal followers keep tabs on Rinaudo’s work and performances via Facebook or through his Silent Cinema Society blog posts and newsletter.
Despite these admirers, whether photoplayers will survive the coming decades is in question. Most restorers are about Rinaudo’s age. At 61, Bruce Newman is on the younger side, and at 36, Otto — who Rinaudo calls “the future” — is the youngest by far. As Rinaudo sees it, photoplayers are meant to be played and enjoyed, but while his videos have undoubtedly helped grow an international awareness of and enthusiasm for photoplayers, the pool of restorers is not growing. And the future of the instruments’ playability is at stake.
“I’ve taken it upon myself to carry that torch,” says Rinaudo. To that end, he and a few friends and collaborators are starting a nonprofit group, Silent Cinema Art and Technology, dedicated to the preservation of and education about silent films and instruments like the photoplayer. The hope is that the organization can be a sustainable vehicle for raising money to fund future restorations. Rinaudo plans to use his home theater and museum space — a temple to his passion — to put on shows and screenings for benefactors and offer limited group tours and educational opportunities for children. He hopes that the nonprofit can preserve and use the theater and museum even after he’s gone.
“It’s a calling,” says Rinaudo, referring to the desire to share the gospel of the photoplayer and keep the history of silent cinema alive. “My dad always used to tell me, ‘You must leave this Earth in better condition than you found it,’” he says. “Everybody has to find their path to do that, and I hope I found mine. I think I have.”
Joe Rinaudo hopes to host tours and educational opportunities at his home theater and museum through a nonprofit group dedicated to preserving photoplayers.
