At the cusp of my teenage years, my grandparents lived just a block from Franklin in Bronson Canyon. They would ruminate and share their tales of finishing dinner and strolling down Hollywood Boulevard; they would continue their stroll westward toward what is now the TCL Chinese Theatre, formerly Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, where they indulged in window shopping. The notion that Hollywood Boulevard was once an enchanting destination for an evening walk struck me with awe, even at my tender age.
The authentic urban charm, nostalgically recalled by some New Yorkers in Times Square, had already found a formidable counterpart in Hollywood Boulevard. For valid reasons, this iconic image of the street resonated strongly with Los Angeles residents. It persisted through the years, despite the emergence of trendy restaurants and hotels nearby, as they attempted to encapsulate contemporary coolness in their guest rooms and rooftop bars. While Angelenos have returned to Hollywood for various aspects of life and leisure, I was intrigued to discover if the same sentiment extended specifically to Hollywood Boulevard. To unravel this, I began by parking in front of my grandparents’ former residence, where my grandfather once swept away the aftermath of passionate coitus left by those cruising the boulevard.
Strolling down Canyon towards Franklin, I intentionally slowed down, taking in the Craftsman-style homes along the street. Many of these residences outshine their more conventional counterparts, featuring second floors and expansive footprints. Meticulous restoration efforts along this stretch evoke a sense of pride akin to a row of elegant wedding cakes neatly arranged on a table. These homes represent another aspect of old Hollywood, where the past gracefully steps forward, rivaling, if not surpassing, the allure of the present.
Franklin Village exudes a tranquil mid-afternoon atmosphere, almost as if the neighborhood is napping before the anticipated evening activity. A handful of late lunchtime patrons still sit at their tables, their meals’ remnants scattered around them. The waitstaff refrains from clearing the aftermath until the diners have vacated. In the mid-afternoon lull, the local newsstand continues to captivate passersby, attracting eyes from the daily planet.
Entering Hollywood Boulevard at Gower, its distant charm is akin to Las Vegas. The Fonda and Pantages marquees, projecting over the sidewalk, catch the eye. The Fonda’s recent plastic marquee update seems more fitting for a suburban movie theater, while the Pantages remains a neon haven, sharing its radiance with The Frolic Room next door. The absence of grandeur is palpable unless tonight’s performing groups stir your excitement.
The original Pantages marquee, now flanked by an ever-changing digital screen, not only promotes the ongoing show but also advertises various town attractions. This distraction can capture the attention of passing motorists, potentially leading to rear-end collisions with similarly preoccupied drivers. Wandering down the boulevard, Vine emerges as a crucial city crossroads. Travelers from the Valley or downtown exit the freeway, descending a gentle roller-coaster hill into Hollywood. Along the way, the Capitol Records building stands tall.
Between Vine and Highland, Hollywood Boulevard takes seven relatively short blocks. While traversing this section, one cannot help but congratulate Musso and Frank on their resilience and imagine a fresh martini from one of the bartenders there. Alternatively, you might be saddened by the state of the Pacific Theater, with its radio towers still proudly piercing the sky above what appears to be an empty building.
On the same block as Musso and Frank sits Jameson’s Irish Pub, where fatigued tourists sit, gazing out at the sidewalk and the boulevard. Their demeanor suggests surrender, as they question how they ended up here. Sipping on a $20 drink, they gaze at a street seemingly devoid of the enchanting fantasies that led them here. To recapture that allure, a movie visit may be the remedy.
Hollywood Boulevard is a must-visit destination for anyone new to Los Angeles, a place you can’t skip. Its reputation for disappointment is now legendary and extensively detailed in every guidebook. Nevertheless, it remains one of the city’s most-traveled pedestrian streets, excluding outdoor malls. The Walk of Fame, with its initial chaotic display of unacknowledged names marred by gum and other unsightly marks, is a compelling reason to visit. I witnessed a young man abruptly braking as he spotted Harrison Ford’s star. He excitedly points his phone at the actor and shares the actor’s name with his waiting friend. They achieve what they came for with the photo—a moment of discovery amongst the numerous dismissed.
Discovering surprises on Hollywood Boulevard proves challenging, with little luck in finding the unexpected. Approaching Vine, the identical souvenir shops stand crowded, enticing even the most resistant visitors to buy T-shirts and shot glasses. As these items are unpacked back home, the wonder at the allure of the past purchases arises.
For the wandering resident, hope remains. At the end of Artisan’s Patio, a passageway off the boulevard, a gem awaits—As the Record Turns. Operating for 34 years, this vinyl record store showcases jazz treasures from Coltrane to Dolphy, as well as a diverse range of music styles. Window shopping thrives, offering hidden delights along the storefronts, from full-size military figures at The Supply Sergeant to Mars-orange and Mercury-blue wigs on aloof model heads on the same block.
Arriving at Hollywood and Highland, the illusion of dressing up fades, marking the opposite end of Hollywood Boulevard. The indoor/outdoor mall features the Dolby Theater and the grand TCL Chinese Theatre, a draw for visitors from Bronson Canyon, particularly those with strollers. Yet, the true marvel is the bamboo art exhibition at Japan House L.A. This anomaly is the day’s highlight—a white-walled art gallery showcasing Japanese artists and crafts. The refined displays evoke perfection, whether in a man’s tie or a cooking utensil. Tanabe Chikuunsai IV’s bamboo artwork steals the spotlight, with tubular shapes freezing in action, spiraling and splashing across the gallery, resembling an alien growth. It’s both breathtaking and stranger than anything on Hollywood Boulevard.
Retreating from the bustling boulevard, I ascend Argyle towards Franklin, hunger unfulfilled, remembering the unassuming pizza joints and desolate chain restaurants I passed. At the corner of a mini-mall, tucked in the shadow of the 101 overpass, lies “For The Win,” a specialist in “smashburgers.” Choosing to forgo the burger, I place an order for fries and a Mexican Coke. Opting for an outdoor table in the parking lot, I divert my attention beyond the commuter traffic, captivated by the golden sunlight on the Hollywood Tower Apartments. A server promptly places a plastic tray before me, presenting the fries and Coke, looking perfectly ordinary. The noteworthy triumph for For The Win lies not in merely matching, but in surpassing McDonald’s in the fry game —a victory for the dreamers. In the future, their story may even become the subject of a cinematic tale.
