Walk virtually around the birthplace of Delta Airlines, and learn about the company's links to Chicago and in-flight entertainment. Below, I take you to Monroe, Louisiana—the surprising birthplace of Delta Air Lines, which began in 1925 as a crop-dusting company before evolving into Delta Air Service and launching passenger flights in 1929. Along the way, I explore the origins of Delta’s iconic logo, its expansion through a 1953 merger with Chicago and Southern Airlines, and even share a personal family connection to the airline. The virtual tour also highlights a fascinating Chicago tie-in: a 1921 aviation event often credited with the first in-flight movie screening. Blending aviation history, film history, and regional storytelling, this preview offers a glimpse into an upcoming virtual tour connecting Delta, Chicago, and the evolution of in-flight entertainment. This virtual mini tour (approx. 12 min.) was filmed live on Facebook in Monroe, Louisiana, on Thanksgiving morning 2023.

Celebrate Oscar winners from Chicago and other areas of Illinois In this excerpt from Oscar Winners in Chicago (25 min.)—our fourth program counting down to the 2024 Academy Awards—learn about a game-changing figure in Hollywood for practical and special effects. His innovation in creating environmentally friendly, biodegradable fake snow led to an Academy Award for Scientific and Technical Advancement. 👇 Check out all the 2024 Oscar-related programs before you scroll down to watch the excerpt. Countdown to the Oscars 2024 How a Beach House Built the Oscars : Unravel the Oscars' origins through tales of unions and a movie mogul's beach house The Oscar Statuette and Chicago : Hear about Chicago's connection to the world's most recognized trophy! Scandal and Controversy in Oscar History : Rehash some of the Oscars' most controversial and scandalous moments! Oscar Winners from Chicago : Celebrate Oscar winners from Chicago and other areas of Illinois What Is Oscar Bait? (And Why Is It Maestro?) : As we countdown to the Oscars, let's answer the question "what is Oscar bait?" Watch Excerpt: Oscar Winners from Chicago Join our movie club to watch the full virtual event, or browse upcoming virtual events .

In an interview with Donte Diesel Williams, I explore why Chicago shines in romantic comedies, how the city shapes cinematic storytelling, and my own journey from film professor to Chicago Movie Tours founder. Donte and I chat in La Grange, IL, about romantic comedies filmed in Chicago. I had the pleasure of sitting down with Donte Diesel Williams —TV news photojournalist, filmmaker, and Chicago film historian—for his YouTube series The Chicago Film Experience .   In our 23-minute conversation, Donte asked some great questions: What attracted you to the film landscape of Chicago? Why do so many romantic comedies choose this city? Before you moved here, were you into Chicago films?   We explore all of this and more, diving into romantic comedies filmed in Chicago—from While You Were Sleeping  and My Best Friend’s Wedding  to Groundhog Day  and Love Jones —while also unpacking the blurry line between rom-com and screwball comedy. We talk about why Chicago works as a backdrop for love stories, how the city shapes character and narrative, and what makes certain films—like The Blues Brothers  and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off —feel like true cinematic love letters to the city.   Along the way, I share my own path from teaching Shakespeare and Gene Kelly in the university classroom to running Chicago Movie Tours .   If you enjoy thinking about genre, film history, and Chicago onscreen, I believe you’ll enjoy our full conversation —which you can watch below.

Six years ago today, I launched Chicago Movie Tours.   I’m marking the anniversary of my business by going back to where it all started: a porch, a camera, and a last-minute pivot to virtual programming in the early days of the pandemic.   The short video  below revisits that moment and fast-forwards to everything that’s followed:   walking tours  across Chicago talks  for libraries and other communities virtual programs , and even a few appearances  on local news along the way.   Thanks for following along and helping make it all possible! Kelli

In educating 1930s Chicagoans about the dangers of syphilis, movies played a couple of roles In the mid-1930s, syphilis was widespread in the United States: Roughly 1/10 Americans suffered from the venereal disease 18% of deaths from heart disease were attributed to syphilis 60,000 children were born each year with congenital syphilis (Brandt 129-30). With penicillin 10 years away, doctors treated syphilis with arsenic, bismuth, and mercury. Treatment was not cheap, costing some patients $300-$1,000! To curb this spreading disease, the New York State health commissioner proposed several plans to enact nationally. Among his suggestions: Offer free testing centers Make blood testing mandatory before marriage and early in pregnancy Educate the public concerning syphilis In educating the public about the dangers of syphilis, movies would play a couple of roles. Syphilis Movies for Doctors In the 1930s, syphilis movies were aimed at doctors . The American Medical Association and U.S. Public Health Service created training films like Syphilis: A Motion Picture Clinic to show doctors, step by step, how to examine patients and test for the disease. These movies offered physicians the latest information about causes, effects, and treatment of syphilis. They also included "explicit images of affected genitalia" and, thus, were not deemed suitable for the general public of the 1930s. (Little did the films' creators know at the time that their work would eventually circulate on something called YouTube!) Syphilis Movies for the Public In the 1930s, syphilis movies—and movie-like propaganda—also targeted the general public , Chicagoans included. As these clippings from the Chicago Tribune and surrounding Chicago newspapers point out, in the late 1930s, Chicagoans could attend free movies and talking-slide films about syphilis. High schools, women's and men's clubs, and parent-teacher associations were invited to view these "clean, educational picture[s]" and slides designed to help eradicate "the menace of syphilis." One talking-slide movie called For All Our Sakes (1936) was reportedly produced in Chicago at Burton Holmes Studios, 459 E. Ontario St. Its first screening took place off Lake Shore Dr. and Superior St. For All Our Sakes featured 100+ projected slides operated in connection with a phonograph disc recording. From 1937-38, it was shown in several states in addition to Illinois. Based on the letter from the American Social Hygiene Association that accompanied For All Our Sakes , Chicagoans were assured they were not watching "a Chamber of Horrors picture ." Rather, the approach to the spreading problem was "sane and enlightening" and designed for mixed audiences. In short, no one would be embarrassed, not even the "most sensitive individual." While we no longer have visual evidence, For All Our Sakes was evidently "attractively photographed" and "accompanied by a voice of unusual variety and vividness" (Pinney 167). In 1936, Dr. Jean B. Pinney writes that social hygiene "naturally lends itself to interpretation through the motion picture." She cites Damaged Goods (1915) as "the first social-hygiene drama film" and similar films that were created during WWI, the latter of which may have kept a low rate of syphilis among U.S. soldiers. We've known from their inception that moving images are powerful and can be used in various ways: to narrate, entertain, promote, scare, express, and persuade. We can add to the list: to educate Chicagoans on the potential dangers of widespread diseases. Sources Brandt, Allen M. No Magic Bullet: A Social History of Venereal Disease in the United States Since 1880 . Oxford UP, 1987. Englund, Kristin MD. " Syphilis 100 Years Later: Another lost opportunity? " Cleveland Clinic Journal of Medicine , 2017. Pinney, Jean B. " The Motion Picture and Social-Hygiene Education ." The Journal of Educational Sociology. Vol. 10, No. 3, The Motion Picture in its Educational and Social Aspects (Nov., 1936). 158-67.

Explore how movies like The Breakfast Club and Singin’ in the Rain use March 24 to master cinematic time—and watch a montage of March 24 cameos. Filmmakers can manipulate time  using several techniques:    Montages  condense Rocky’s training  to a few minutes  Slow motion  stretches time in The Untouchables  shootout  Flashbacks  interrupt Casablanca  to show earlier events Dissolves  indicate passing years between WWII and 1993   Time can also be relayed through dialogue .   A character may tell us what day it is—and experience that day over and over—as Bill Murray's does in Groundhog Day  (1993). A character may also give us a "red letter date" to change the course of the narrative, as Doc Brown (Christopher Lloyd) does in Back to the Future .   Then, in the very next shot, the camera may reiterate that timeframe. Finally, in movies (and on television), time can be communicated through onscreen text .   In this screenshot from Netflix’s The Night Agent , we see how much time has passed since the previous episode. A time and date that likely stick out to Chicago movie fans is 7:00 AM on Saturday, March 24, 1984 . On this day, over the course of 9 hours, five teenagers from different social cliques are forced to spend detention together in The Breakfast Club . In a voiceover , one character sets the time and place:   Saturday, March 24, 1984 Shermer High School Shermer, Illinois, 60062   Another film that (at least briefly) lands on March 24 is Singin’ in the Rain . Just before the musical number “Good Morning,” a character flips a calendar and realizes it’s now 1:30 AM on March 24—a new day that brings a new outlook. I was curious how many other major movies and television shows spotlight March 24, so I went digging. Below is a short video compilation of some of my findings. See how many you can identify before checking the answers in the video description .

Discover why, in cinema's early days, Max Factor’s panchromatic movie make-up was considered "horrifying." ​ Early movies used two types of film: orthochromatic and panchromatic . Orthochromatic film sees limited colors; it is blue- (or green-) sensitive and is unable to capture reds. For example, on the screen, blue skies look white, blonde hair appears washed-out, and red lips look black. To combat these issues, industry pioneers used lens filters, location choices, lighting—and makeup. Panchromatic film sees all colors and reproduces them closer to what we experience daily, albeit in shades of black, white, and gray. For differences between the two film types, look at Kodak's advertisements above ( Movie Makers , 1930). When panchromatic film became trendy in the late 1920s, makeup artist Max Factor —whose Chicago office sat at 444 W. Grand Avenue—was there to assist with the transition. ​According to Max Factor: The Man Who Changed the Faces of the World , Factor toiled for months to create a new type of makeup "that reflected the correct degree of light required by [panchromatic] film." Factor succeeded and was even awarded a certificate by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences to recognize his contribution to “Incandescent Illumination Research.” You can see in the 1929-1930 ads below from International Photographer that Max Factor's movie makeup is front and center. In some instances, his name and the words panchromatic make-up are as about as large as—or larger than!—the titles of the films being advertised. Also, International Photographer informs its readers, presumably cinematographers, that these films use Max Factor’s makeup exclusively. Thus, for these professionals to work on a film NOT using this makeup would arguably be a step down in status. By the 1930s, Max Factor’s panchromatic make-up—although reportedly " horrifying to look at " in daylight since it was designed for black-and-white movies and not everyday wear—became an industry standard.

Decades before Hollywood’s The Wizard of Oz , Chicago’s Grand Opera House staged its own hit version—funded, in part, by a patent medicine called Wizard Oil. Promotional still for The Wizard of Oz (1939), IMDb. It's January 1872, barely 3 months after the Great Chicago Fire . Despite the frigid weather, rebuilding is in full force . Hotels, churches, offices, banks, museums, and theatres begin to rise skyward.   Over at 546 N. Clark St. (now site of the Daley Center ), brothers John  and Lysander Hamlin are doing their part to facilitate the city's rebuilding process. Using family wealth, the Hamlin brothers, ages 65 and 63, have just forked over $130,750  (about $3.4 million today) to purchase property on which they would build Chicago's  Grand Opera House —a theatre that would soon become a cultural landmark. The following story of Chicago’s Grand Opera House reveals how the city’s resilience after the Great Fire and the Hamlin family's entrepreneurial vision shaped a stage history that would give the world its first musical version of The Wizard of Oz —decades before Hollywood and MGM made it famous. The family name, Hamlin, is centered near the roofline of the Grand Opera House, Chicago, IL. c. 1880 . Nine Lives of Chicago's Grand Opera House The Grand Opera House, which sat about 1,500 patrons , boasts a colorful history. The building served  as a billiard hall, beer garden, and vaudeville house before settling into its status as a theatre in 1880. The transformation from billiard hall to beer garden must have been fascinating for regular patrons. They would've watched workers replace the 30+ billiards tables with an elegantly carpeted ladies' gallery and an additional room that mimicked "scenery of mountain and field, rivulets, bridges, cascades, an old mill or two, a 24-foot waterfall, miniature lake, and other rural work on an expensive scale" ( Chicago Tribune , July 18, 1875). A 24-foot waterfall and a miniature lake—indoors! Women enjoying drinks in an indoor beer garden, Wikimedia Commons . George M Cohan's Grand Opera House, Ovrtur . Equally interesting, in 1912, composer-playwright George M. Cohan —he of " Yankee Doodle Dandy " fame—would co-lease the theatre from the Hamlin brothers and rename it after himself. In this photo, it's appropriate, I suppose, that a " grand ol' flag " would hang beneath the theatre's new name: George M. Cohan’s Grand Opera House. Perhaps more confusing, later, the same building was known briefly as the Four Cohans, which you can see via the marquee in this photo . Here's a final piece of Chicago's Grand Opera House history: On June 16, 1902, a stage musical based on a brand new and very popular children's book premiered there. We're Off to See the Wizard (Oil)   In 1902, while John Hamlin's sons Harry and Fred were managing the Grand Opera House, they were presented with a musical comedy for the stage. The production was based on L. Frank Baum 's book The Wonderful Wizard of Oz , published in Chicago only two years prior. According to an unnamed contemporary, the Hamlin family “knew little about musical comedy, but they thought anything with the name ‘Wizard’ in it should do well” ( Chicago Tribune , Apr 1, 1958). And they thought this for good reason. Poster advertising Hamlin's Wizard Oil. The Hamlins, we learned above, used their family wealth to purchase the Grand Opera House. All that money, if you can believe it, came from a patent medicine cure-all called Hamlin's Wizard Oil . Made of 50–70% alcohol and advertised heavily across the Midwest, Hamlin's Wizard Oil claimed to cure a variety of common ailments, including: rheumatism neuralgia headache toothache diphtheria sore throat sprains bruises menstrual cramps diarrhea Fun fact : you can still find Hamlin's Wizard Oil bottles, song books, advertising posters, and trading cards for sale on eBay . It’s no wonder the Hamlins believed a musical with “Wizard” in the title would be a hit—the name had already made them wealthy. The family's instincts were right: the play was a success. A Musical Oz in Chicago: Sufficiently Spicy The Wizard of Oz  musical extravaganza  was scheduled to open at Chicago's Grand Opera House on June 12, 1902. But the show was not ready. It was postponed two days. Then, it was postponed another two days. Surprisingly, rather than deterring audiences, the back-to-back delays stirred interest. When The Wizard of Oz  musical finally opened on June 16, 1902, the house was packed. Reports describe a "huge well-dressed crowd" with people "standing in the aisle at rear and behind the last row of seats." Interior, Grand Opera House, " The Complete Architecture of Adler & Sullivan ." Even L. Frank Baum attended the show and, afterward, addressed the audience : "Kind friends, thank you for your enthusiasm. It is heart-warming. You have been generous enough to call for the author, but I do not need to remind you that he is only one of many whose efforts you are enjoying tonight. [...] All of us are happy you have enjoyed the show, and we hope you and your friends will be back for a second helping ." Indeed, people did return for "a second helping," as Baum put it. The show consistently sold out and even broke attendance records for the Hamlin-run theatre. By the time production closed in Chicago on September 20, 1902, 185,000 people had seen the show. Its box office receipts totaled $160,000 (about $5 million today). Helping matters, I imagine, ticket prices were affordable: they ranged from $0.25 to $1.50, or only $8 to $50 today. In addition to the sold-out Chicago crowds and impressive box office returns, the production's stage effects, set design, costumes, and marketing were touted in reviews and in conversation around the city. First, based on contemporary descriptions, the musical's Poppy scene must've been dazzling. A large gauze curtain, well-positioned lights, and magic lantern slides  produced the illusion of rain, snow, and sunbeams as the main characters "fell asleep" onstage. A similar effect was used for the cyclone at the start of Act 1. Second, audiences and critics consistently applauded the performances and costumes of Fred Stone and David Montgomery , who played Scarecrow and Tin Woodman respectively. Scarecrow wore a blue shirt and blue pants, both stuffed with real straw. Each night, his face was painted with pink and black greasepaint to remove Stone's actual eyebrows and create Scarecrow's face stitches. David Montgomery as the Tin Man. Poster for Fred R. Hamlin's musical extravaganza, The Wizard of Oz . Wikimedia Commons. Montgomery's Tin Woodman wore an actual tin hat and a "biblike collar" around his head. Every night, his face was painted with white greasepaint, with streaks of black around his eyes, nose, and mouth, and a tinge of red across his lips. Onstage, Stone's "fluid movements and rubbery legs" delighted audiences while Montgomery's "broad grin and creaky movements" rendered his character "funny and endearing." Part of their appeal no doubt, Stone and Montgomery had significant onstage chemistry: they had worked together as a vaudeville team before co-starring in Chicago's The Wizard of Oz  musical. Finally, in addition to the production's stage effects, set design, and costumes, the play's accompanying literature and vibrant posters clearly enticed Chicago theatre audiences and critics. Newspapers published teasers and short articles about the show. An 8-page promotional booklet including cast member photos and bios was also available. Moreover, this musical version of The Wizard of Oz was advertised as appealing to both children and parents—"sufficiently spicy and alluring to engross a sophisticated Chicago audience." Oz after Chicago... After its stint in Chicago, The Wizard of Oz  musical extravaganza toured through the upper Midwest. Eventually, it moved to Broadway , where it ran for 300 performances at the Majestic Theatre . A touring company would soon follow. In the transition from Chicago to New York, most of the original cast remained, including David Montgomery and Fred Stone, who had, of course, been key to the show's success as the Tin Woodman and Scarecrow. To be fair, I've only skimmed the surface of this Chicago production of The Wizard of Oz . For those seeking more information about the musical production, you might read Part 1 of Mark Evan Swartz's book Oz before the Rainbow: L. Frank Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz on Stage and Screen to 1939 . Fortunately, a great deal of primary and secondary sources about the play are available, many of which are referenced within.

Silent film titles suggest Hollywood took note of the bungalow explosion in America An Auto-Bungalow Fracas (1913)⁣⁣ The bungalow — a low house, with a wide front porch, having either no upper floor or upper rooms set in the roof — exploded in America around the turn of the 20th century. And Hollywood took note. Look at the titles of these silent films—two of which were made by Chicago’s American Picture Company:⁣⁣ The Bungalow Craze (1911)⁣⁣ Bounding Bertie’s Bungalow (1913)⁣⁣ An Auto-Bungalow Fracas (1913)⁣⁣ Ambrose’s Bungled Bungalow (1920)⁣⁣ Bungalow Troubles (1920)⁣⁣ Bungalow Love (1920)⁣⁣ Bungalow Boobs (1924)⁣⁣ For Sale, a Bungalow (1927)⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ Like 75-80% of films made during the silent era, most of these works have been lost to history. But as you can learn below, the bungalow is still very much alive in Chicago and its surrounding suburbs! More on Chicago bungalows

Take a quick look at cats across movie history—from early film reels to Chicago’s own feline film stars. Cats auditioning for the title role in The Black Cat. LIFE magazine, Dec. 1961. Cats, like their canine counterparts, have always graced the silver screen. Perhaps the earliest example—that still exists—is the 20-second film Boxing Cats from 1894. (A similar silent short, Trick Dog Teddy and other Dog and Trick Cats, was filmed at roughly the same time in the same place. But as far as I can tell, it is lost.) Boxing Cats depicts a boxing match between two cats who are wearing boxing gloves. In the background, "Professor" Henry Welton referees the tussle as part of his (clearly not humane) road show called Cat Circus. Fun fact: Boxing Cats is often considered the first "cat video," despite the misnomer (it's not a video). Ad for Welton's Cat Circus, featuring 40 cats—with human brains! Boston Globe, 1891. Cats in Hollywood (and Online) EW.com ranks fantastic film felines. Screenshot. Thousands of feline actors have appeared onscreen since Boxing Cats debuted in 1894. Sometimes, cats are main characters that move the narrative forward, as in Homeward Bound or Puss in Boots. Other times, they are incidental to the plot, like a stray cat on a street or one in a window sill. Cats appear in live-action, animated, and documentary film. They also show up in virtually all of Hollywood's traditional genres: comedy (the Austin Powers series) science-fiction (Alien) crime (The Godfather) horror (Pet Sematary) western (The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly) rom-com (Breakfast at Tiffany's) action (Keanu) What's more, these days, online outlets frequently rank movie cats, choosing the most iconic, most adorable, coolest, and ones with the best cameos. Finally, blogs like Cinema Cats and Cats on Film (now defunct but also a book) take on the tasks of watching, analyzing, screenshotting, and categorizing decades of onscreen cat performances. In short, if you want information about cats in movies, there's no shortage. Chicago and the Clark Gable of Cats What about the presence of cats in Chicago-based (or -related) movies? Sure, those exist too. Here are a few: Harry and Tonto (1974) She's Having a Baby (1988) Next of Kin (1989) National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation (1989) Uncle Buck (1989) Excessive Force (1993) While You Were Sleeping (1995) What Women Want (2000) Cat City (2003) Garfield: The Movie (2004), voiced by Chicagoan Bill Murray Christmas with the Kranks (2004) Additionally, Chicago Film Archives—a non-profit that collects, preserves, and provides access to films representing Chicago and the Midwest—includes several home videos featuring cats and kittens in its collection. And let's not forget Morris, "the world's most finicky cat." In 1968, Morris was discovered just outside Chicago, at a Humane Society in Hinsdale, IL. After auditioning for the role of spokescat for 9Lives cat food and getting the job, the art director reportedly said, “He’s the Clark Gable of cats!” The Black Cat Auditions (1961) But perhaps my favorite cat-movie connection is illustrated in the photos below of hundreds of people lined up outside a Los Angeles movie studio with their (mostly) black cats. These are photographs from LIFE magazine, taken by Ralph Crane in 1961. They show 152 black cats (and their owners) standing in line to audition for the film adaptation of Edgar Allen Poe's short story The Black Cat, starring Vincent Price and Peter Lorre. According to an LA Times reporter, all manner of black cats were present: "...big black cats, little black cats, black black cats, gray black cats, black kittens, black and white cats, white and black cats, nervous black cats, gentle black cats. There was even a white cat. It was there to keep a pal, a black cat, company." LIFE's Picture of the Week, Dec. 15, 1961. Screenshot. The film's title role called for "a cat who gets plastered up in a wall [...] and reveals the crime with its ghostly mewing." As a result, cats were judged based on which had the most "sagacious" and "meanest" face. But all of this—including the audition process—was a lie. Unbeknownst to the crowd, the studio had already given the role to a professional cat actor. The heartening news: seven cats in line that day were chosen for understudies and studio publicity. So for a handful of participants, this visually striking audition was not necessarily "the biggest invitation to bad luck ever seen in one place," as LIFE magazine originally reported.

In the United States, movies and religion have virtually always been at odds. One early point of contention between the motion picture industry and religious people, mostly Protestants, comes in the form of blue laws. Moving Picture Weekly shows exhibitors how their "town will look on Sunday morning after the passing of Blue Laws." What Are Blue Laws? Blue laws prohibit certain activities, such as going to the movies, on Sundays. Their purpose? To promote the observance of a day of worship or rest. ​ ​While presumably outdated in the 21st century (and arguably unconstitutional), blue laws are still in effect in states like these that prohibit selling alcohol on Sundays before noon. How Did Blue Laws Affect Movies? ​As you might imagine, in cinema’s early days, theatre owners and other prominent industry members were NOT fans of blue laws. The same goes for many theatre patrons, whose grueling work schedules allowed them to enjoy movies and other recreational activities only on Sundays. As a result, citizens in and outside the industry protested and petitioned for the laws to be abolished. ​Even the 1921 movie Blue Sunday, produced by Carl Laemmle (whom we celebrate in our virtual tour on Chicago’s Jewish pioneers ), tackles the subject. This silent film comedy led exhibitors to market the movie, rather hilariously, with “exploitation ideas” like putting public stocks outside their theatres to match those in the film (picture above) and creating silencer masks for patrons (below). How Did the Movie Industry Fight Back? In the early 1920s, the Chicago-based theatre chain Fitzpatrick & McElroy repeatedly called on producers, distributors, and exhibitors to protest blue laws because they “threaten[ed] the stability of the entire motion picture industry.” ​Fitzpatrick & McElroy was reportedly the first to start an organized national campaign to kill this legislation. ​In 1921, the company’s 16,000,000 Club—named for the number of petitions it intended to send to Congress—was positioned to be renamed the 50,000,000 Club. Evidently, people were supportive of this cause! The protests were perhaps also gaining traction because participants were not only against the closing of the theatres on Sunday, but they were also against any blue Sunday legislation "intended to curb the happiness, pleasure, and innocent pursuits of the American people.” Did Protests Work in Chicago? ​In 1923, a headline in Exhibitors Herald reads: “Public Protest Brings Early Demise for Blue Law Measure in Illinois.” Senator James E. MacMurray of Chicago—rather oddly—both introduced and killed the bill. ​An Illinois newspaper clarifies: Senator MacMurray “was opposed to the bill and introduced it only at the request of Rev. W. S. Fleming.” Wait, Is that the End of Blue Laws? Blue law regulations arose in the U.S. movie industry until roughly the 1940s. As you might expect, many more protests and petitions followed suit. ​As professor Gary Rhodes points out in The Perils of Moviegoing in America: 1896-1950 , "Changes in state laws did not necessarily prohibit individual towns or cities from enforcing their own Blue Laws" (193). ​It took nearly four decades of disagreements and demonstrations, but after WWII, in most states, movies would play every day of the week.

From movie set to Instagram backdrop—discover how Ferris Bueller’s Day Off may have inspired changes inside the Art Institute of Chicago. Art Institute of Chicago, Gallery 240, with screenshots from Ferris Bueller's Day Off . The artworks highlighted above reside inside the Art Institute of Chicago . You might know them from the 1986 movie Ferris Bueller's Day Off .   At left, Auguste Rodin's sculpture Portrait of Balzac  stands confidently on its chunky pedestal. At right, Georges Seurat's painting A Sunday on La Grande Jatte  brightens a gray wall.   Currently, the pieces are positioned across from each other in Gallery 240 . But that was not always the case. As the Art Institute of Chicago has renovated and expanded over the years, Rodin's sculpture and Seurat's painting, like many artworks in the collection (including those shown in Ferris Bueller's Day Off ), have moved around.   For example, in 2004, the Seurat hung in a tighter space  than it does now, and it was surrounded by stanchions and a bench .   Likewise, in 2010, the Rodin did not stand across from the Seurat. Rather, the sculpture welcomed visitors  as they walked into the Impressionism wing. In 2025, Rodin's sculpture stands confidently in the foreground; Seurat's painting hangs in the background. I am unsure when Portrait of Balzac  and A Sunday on La Grande Jatte  were configured in their current location in Gallery 240. But by 2015 , the two were already arranged similarly in Gallery 201. It seems likely, then, the artworks were brought together in the early 2010s—coinciding with the rise of social media and the growing influence of user-generated content . I often call attention to this shift on my guided walking tour inside the museum, The Art of Ferris Bueller . With both the Rodin and the Seurat in our sight, I ask guests, In an age of social media, why might the Art Institute so closely pair these two pieces—that (the still-popular) Ferris Bueller's Day Off prominently highlights? Then, as my guests mimic the positions of Ferris and friends, and ask me to photograph them for their own Facebook and Instagram accounts, potential answers to my question become clear. As does the realization that museums, like most long-running institutions, must adapt to survive .   Grab your spot on my next Ferris Bueller walking tour  at the Art Institute—so you can dive into the movie and the artwork yourself !