Toby Talbot, a formidable force in American cinema, passed away at her Manhattan home on September 15th at the age of 96. Alongside her husband, Dan, she dedicated her life to nurturing a vibrant community of cinephiles, bringing a diverse array of foreign and independent films to New York City’s beloved art-house theaters and distributing them nationwide.
Her daughter, Sarah Talbot, confirmed that the cause of death was complications from Guillain-Barré syndrome.
For an incredible six decades, Toby and Dan Talbot were at the helm of four groundbreaking art-house cinemas on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. These included the iconic New Yorker Theater (1960-1973), Cinema Studio (1977-1990), the Metro Theater (1982-1987), and the much-cherished Lincoln Plaza Cinemas (1981-2018).
Through their theaters, the Talbots became cultural gatekeepers, introducing countless moviegoers to the visionary works of avant-garde directors like Federico Fellini, Werner Herzog, Robert Bresson, Claude Chabrol, Rainer Werner Fassbinder, and Ousmane Sembène.
Reflecting on their mission in a 2017 interview with The New York Times, Ms. Talbot famously stated, “We often will play a film that we know has no commercial value, but we admire it and respect it and would like to share it with our audience.” This philosophy underscored their unwavering commitment to artistic merit over mainstream appeal.
A striking black-and-white portrait from 1980 captures Toby Talbot, a woman whose vision, alongside her husband Dan, shaped the art-house cinema landscape of Manhattan for sixty years. They were truly pioneers.
Even a young Peter Bogdanovich, then an aspiring filmmaker in his twenties and a local resident, became a friend and collaborator, suggesting ‘Forgotten Films’ for screening at the New Yorker. The theater itself earned a cinematic footnote, serving as the backdrop for communications theorist Marshall McLuhan’s unforgettable cameo in Woody Allen’s Oscar-winning 1977 hit, ‘Annie Hall.’ It’s worth noting that by this time, the Talbots had already sold the theater to the Walter Reade Organization, though it continued their legacy until 1985.
A glimpse of the New Yorker theater in 1965 reveals the marquee promoting ‘Black Orpheus’ and ‘The Treasure of the Sierra Madre,’ a testament to the diverse programming the Talbots offered during their stewardship from 1960 to 1973.
Beyond her cinematic endeavors, Ms. Talbot was a woman of profound intellect and diverse talents. Holding a bachelor’s degree in Spanish, she served as the education editor for the Spanish-language newspaper El Diario Nueva York and powerfully translated Jacobo Timerman’s gripping memoir, ‘Prisoner Without a Name, Cell Without a Number’ (1981), detailing the Argentine journalist’s horrific experience of abduction and torture by the military junta. Additionally, she shared her knowledge as a Spanish teacher at East Rockaway High School in Queens, lectured on Spanish literature at esteemed institutions like Columbia and NYU, and even taught a documentary film class at The New School.
Her literary contributions were equally extensive, with dozens of books to her name. These included ‘A Book About My Mother’ (1980), a poignant blend of memoir and biography, and ‘Early Disorder’ (1980), a novel published under the pseudonym Rebecca Joseph, exploring a teenager’s struggle with an eating disorder. Following her husband’s passing in 2017 at 91, she meticulously edited his memoir, ‘In Love With the Movies’ (2022), which proudly featured a foreword by Werner Herzog, a testament to their enduring connection.
Among her many publications was the 1980 memoir, ‘A Book About My Mother,’ its cover featuring a contemplative image of a woman seated outdoors, reflecting the personal nature of her written work.
Beyond their theaters, the Talbots’ influence extended nationally through New Yorker Films, their distribution company. From 1965 to 2009, it brought over a thousand titles to screens across the country, notably including Claude Lanzmann’s monumental nine-and-a-half-hour Holocaust epic, ‘Shoah’ (1985).
At the New Yorker Theater, Dan oversaw daily operations, while Toby, despite her initial resistance to selling the venue to pivot towards film distribution, wielded final say over the cinematic selections. The theater was truly a family affair: her mother managed the snack bar, famously offering lox and carrot cake, and her father often stood guard in the lobby, which quickly evolved into a lively salon where film enthusiasts gathered and debated.
Originally known as the Yorktown, the theater on Broadway and West 88th Street was transformed by the Talbots. They christened it the New Yorker, inspired by a Miami Beach hotel owned by Ms. Talbot’s uncle Harry, and meticulously renovated it, even installing 900 seats salvaged from the recently closed Roxy theater.
In her 2009 memoir, Ms. Talbot fondly recalled their vision for the New Yorker: “We thought of it as our living room, playing movies we wanted to see.” This sentiment perfectly captures the intimate, community-focused atmosphere they cultivated.
The New Yorker opened its doors as a revival house, delighting audiences with a double feature of Laurence Olivier’s ‘Henry V’ (1944) and the enchanting French short ‘The Red Balloon’ (1956). Its eclectic programming ranged from uproarious comedies starring the Marx Brothers and W.C. Fields to more serious fare, including ‘Point of Order!’ (1964), a documentary about the 1954 Army-McCarthy hearings which Mr. Talbot co-produced. Controversially, it also hosted the city’s inaugural full-length public screening of Leni Riefenstahl’s notorious propaganda film, ‘The Triumph of the Will’ (1935), chronicling the 1934 Nazi Party Congress rally.
In her 2009 memoir, ‘The New Yorker Theater and Other Scenes From a Life at the Movies,’ Ms. Talbot beautifully articulated the theater’s role, stating, ‘The theater became a cocoon for young people getting schooled in film.’ She reiterated, ‘We thought of it as our living room, playing movies we wanted to see,’ highlighting the personal and educational impact they sought to achieve.
She further emphasized the profound connection fostered there, adding, ‘We were our best audience. It was a place of communion, where the customers, the owners, the programmers and the filmmakers all seemed to be part of the same family.’ This captures the unique, collaborative spirit of their venture.
Later, their six-screen Lincoln Plaza Cinemas, nestled in the basement of a high-rise apartment building, became another beloved destination. It was distinctively adorned with a statue of Humphrey Bogart and featured lavender-painted walls covered in posters for often obscure yet compelling French films.
The final image shows the Lincoln Plaza Cinemas on its last day in January 2018, its marquee a silent sentinel. Just a week prior, Dan Talbot had passed away, a poignant moment following the landlord’s decision not to renew the theater’s lease.
Indeed, Dan Talbot’s death occurred tragically just a week after the Lincoln Plaza Cinemas’ landlord chose not to extend their lease. Reflecting on their immense impact, movie critic Richard Brody wrote in The New Yorker, ‘The Talbots have been crucial to the formation, sustenance and perpetuation of film culture in New York — for that matter, in the United States.’
On its closing day, January 28, 2018, the Lincoln Plaza fittingly screened ‘Darkest Hour,’ a film about Winston Churchill, marking the end of an era.
Born Toby Tolpen on November 29, 1928, in the Bronx, she was the elder of two daughters to Joseph and Bella (Neger) Tolpen, Jewish immigrants from Poland. Her father owned a window-washing business, while her mother managed their home.
Raised in the Pelham Parkway section of the Bronx, Toby graduated from Christopher Columbus High School and earned her bachelor’s degree from Queens College in 1949.
A photograph from 1958 shows Ms. Talbot as a young woman, two years before she and her husband embarked on their groundbreaking venture, transforming an Upper West Side movie theater into the celebrated New Yorker.
Ms. Talbot’s legacy lives on through her three daughters, Sarah, Nina, and Emily Talbot; her sister, Roslyn Gamiel; and her four cherished grandchildren.
A lifelong passion for movies led Toby to meet Daniel Distenfeld en route to a Bronx movie theater. They married in 1951, the same year Dan, then a book editor, adopted the surname Talbot. His daughter later revealed this change was a direct response to prevalent antisemitism within the publishing industry at the time.
Their journey into cinema ownership was quite serendipitous. Dan had initially envisioned opening a bookstore in New Hampshire. During their scouting trips, the couple would pass the time discussing their favorite films. It was only by chance, upon learning that her sister’s accountant had acquired the Yorktown movie theater, that the Talbots made an impulsive decision to lease the venue, changing the course of their lives and New York’s film scene.
Reflecting on the pivotal moment her husband decided to sell the New Yorker to concentrate solely on film distribution, Ms. Talbot candidly stated in 2009 that it was ‘the only moment I considered divorce,’ underscoring her deep emotional attachment to the theater.