By DON GROVES
Variety alumni David Stratton (Strat) has been remembered as a great educator, one of the last of the old guard of film critics and a passionate supporter of Australian cinema.
Sydney, Aug. 16, 2025
The following obit was sent to us by former Oz bureau chief Don Groves:
Beloved Variety alumnus, film critic, writer and educator David Stratton died on August 14 in a hospital near his home in the Blue Mountains, aged 85.
By Peter Besas
Madrid, June 5, 2025
The following are my reminiscences of how the first Variety Latin-American section evolved in 1975 -1976. The story may be of some interest to those who want to cast a nostalgic glance back at how some aspects of the paper worked at that time and the people, now defunct, who played a part in the old Silverman era.
Normally, Simesite is a place for short items, remembrances, obituaries, news concerning the activities of surviving muggs, as the scribes of the paper were jocularly called. However, given the capacity of our webpage, I felt that the following fifty plus pages, which it seems to me would not be of sufficient interest in a printed format, might easily find an appreciative audience on Simesite.
I have named the sections as follows (each section is a separate article on the site):
The Hotel Suisse in Cannes, May 1975
The Croisette and the origins of the Film Festival
Variety’s modus operandi,/Variety in Cannes
Syd’s “Go Ahead”/Variety’s International Expansion
Heading Northwards to New York
Should anyone wish to make any comments or observations on the following, please send them to:
If you’d rather download and read the article off line, it’s available here as a PDF:
The film festival in Cannes was in full swing. The Azure Coast glimmered in all its Gallic glamour and elegance, tricolor flags flapping in the Midi sun. The Variety crew were comfortably lodged in a venerable and slightly dilapidated family-run late 19th century villa called the Hotel Suisse which might have done the honors to the likes of Marcel Proust. The chalet was fronted by a large garden whose scent wafted through the open windows of the dining room, with its decorous sideboard and refined cutlery and table linen. There was an old metal-grilled elevator, with a clanging outer door and a pair of inner doors that opened to the cabin, which was provided with a small seat. At the rear of the spacious high-ceilinged lobby nestled a small reception counter behind which stood the telephone switchboard through which all incoming and outgoing calls had to be made once you connected with the operator. In each guest room a dial-less telephone was attached to one of the walls. Upon picking up the receiver, the persona at the switchboard then rang the number you gave him.
(more…)That year, as was customary, the Croisette was lined with deck chairs that could be rented per hour for a few francs (an elderly madame came around occasionally and gave you a paper slip when you paid her). Sitting there, you had a magnificent sweeping view of the Old Port with its outdoor restaurants and yachts and in the distance appeared the occasional ship, perhaps heading to nearby Nice. Lining the Croisette, opposite the luxury hotels, were fashionable beach restaurants shaded by colorful awnings that served Gallic delicacies, a few kiosks that sold newspapers and magazines, including the New York Herald Tribune and other foreign press, a string of palm trees, and large panels attached to the lampposts each of which promoted some new film that was in preparation or was being screened at the festival.
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