Woman: OK, here we are.

Masters: All right.

So this is it right here?

Woman: Yeah, this is it.

Masters: OK.

So, you know, I've worked in this building for more than a decade, and I've heard all about this, but I've never seen it.

Woman: Well, there's a good reason for that.

It wasn't here until recently.

It was at the Villa Aurora, and I just brought it over a few months ago for preservation and because we have been using it in classes so much.

Masters: Here it is.

It's a dartboard.

Woman: Yeah, it's a dartboard.

Masters: With a--boy, a pretty menacing face on one side at least.

Woman: Yeah.

Masters: And on the other, kind of a cartoonish face.

So, wow, OK.

So this just provokes so many questions.

Woman: OK, yeah.

Let's take it with us and look at it more closely.

Masters: All right.

And I'll grab some of these other boxes, too.

Woman: Sounds good, yeah.

Why don't you grab those?

Announcer: This episode of "Lost L.A." was made possible in part by the Frieda Berlinski Foundation.

Masters: This is the dartboard.

Woman: Mm-hmm.

Masters: I mean, what really sort of strikes me is that, you know, this is the face of genocide.

Woman: Yeah, yeah.

Masters: Right?

Which is about a serious a subject as you get.

And yet, like a game of darts is not a somber affair usually.

Woman: Exactly.

Masters: So the exiles who presumably played with this board, they--I mean, what was going on through their heads?

Woman: Anger and frustration.

Masters: Some of these holes go pretty deep.

Woman: Yeah.

The only thing they could do really being an exile and not being able to do that much more.

And then if you want to get that other flat box.

Masters: All right.

Woman: Let's see what we have here.

I think it's this one.

So what do you think this is?

Masters: Oh, this is the burned book.

Woman: Mm-hmm.

It's--yeah, it's two pieces of burned pages from Feuchtwanger's "Jud Suss" that was burned during the book burnings in Germany.

And a passerby picked it up, and then later on sent it to the Feuchtwangers.

Masters: I mean, it's kind of shocking to find a fragment of a burned book in a library, right.

But it tells so much.

Woman: So much.

Masters: Every reason to--for it to be here and to keep it.

Woman: Yeah, absolutely.

Masters: Wow.

Woman: This one has the list of people who were deprived of their citizenship from between 1933 to 1938.

Masters: Ausburgerungslisten.

Woman: Perfect.

Masters: OK. Woman: Ausburgerungslisten.

Masters: What does that mean?

Woman: It means people who are, you know, no more German citizens.

Masters: People who are just singled out by the Nazi government.

And what does this mean to lose your citizenship?

Woman: I mean, it meant everything.

I mean, you don't have a home anymore.

You don't belong anymore.

You can't go back to your home.

Masters: It's just amazing to see these in person.

Woman: Yeah.

Masters: All right, let me help you pick up.

Yeah.

As World War II approached, Jews and anti-fascists in the German-speaking world desperately needed to escape the horrors of the Nazis.

But by and large, U.S. immigration policy made this difficult.

Some with the right connections or resumes did manage to reach our shores, but even these lucky few faced curfews, Nazi sympathizers, and anti-Semitism in their place of exile.

And so, far from home, they leaned on each other, gathering to form friendships and share ideas.

A favorite meeting place was Villa Aurora, the home of author Lion Feuchtwanger and his wife Marta in the Pacific Palisades.

I had to see this place.

And I brought along a copy of that dartboard, which I presented to Villa Aurora's director Claudia Gordon.

Gordon: Hello.

Masters: Hi, I'm Nathan.

Gordon: I'm Claudia.

Masters: So just through here?

Gordon: Yes, please.

This is the main entrance.

Come on in.

We have another guest here.

May I introduce Randy Young, a local historian.

Young: Hi, Nathan.

Masters: Nice to meet you.

Gordon: And a friend of Marta Feuchtwanger, and he's actually the one who can tell you a little bit more about this dartboard.

Master: I wonder if you recognize this.

Young: Oh, yes.

We were clearing out a room that's part of the great organ set up.

And here's the organ room.

This whole house was built around an organ.

I'll open this up for you.

Masters: Oh, I bet this sounds great.

Young: It's a bit of a pit.

Masters: Oh, wow.

It's like a little hidden compartment.

Very cool.

And where was this found?

Young: It was found on the ground right there by a workman.

Masters: By a workman.

Young: I mean, it totally is part of the surreal aspect of that whole time.

On to the darts.

Masters: Yeah.

So where would we want to put this up?

Gordon: Well, there is one very iconic photograph by Brigitte Maria Mayer.

She's an artist and also was the wife of Heiner Muller, a German playwright who we are kind of claiming as our first artist in residence.

And they staged a photoshoot where the dartboard was right there.

Masters: It just sort of set it up there.

Now, you're not gonna actually let us throw the darts at this--at this thing in a historic house, are you?

Gordon: Well, it depends on how well you throw.

[Laughter] Masters: Walking through the house, I thought about all the brilliant people who filled these rooms, the stimulating conversations echoing off the walls.

Sometimes total strangers would come here and make lifelong friendships.

Other times bitter debates erupted, factions developed, people took sides, made enemies.

But they all had one thing in common--they were the cream of German culture.

And when they brought their talents to our shores, they transformed our culture forever.

Gordon: This actually is Hanns Eisler's sofa.

Masters: Hanns Eisler's sofa.

Can I sit in it?

Gordon: Absolutely.

And this-- Masters: So this was the master bedroom by design, but it was used differently.

Gordon: Yeah, it was used as Feuchtwanger's study.

And this was also where he would have these famous readings from his works for friends and colleagues.

Masters: So this is where the famed salons happened.

Gordon: Yes.

Yes.

Masters: This is where, you know, Chaplin or Mann would start things off.

And how many people--I mean, how many people could they pack in here?

Gordon: Well, we have some guest lists.

If you stack it, you can easily get 40 people in here.

Masters: 40 people.

Wow.

OK.

So this place would have been buzzing, lots of energy.

I guess the sherry would be flowing.

And why is it--I mean, I've heard there really aren't many or any photos or videos of these events.

I mean, why is there such little surviving documentation?

Gordon: That's interesting, because there is an--and I've been asking myself that, too.

There is in a lot of the writing a great sense of it being a historical time and also this being kind of a historical group, but there's not a lot of photographical evidence.

That was just pre-selfie times, I guess.

Masters: Yeah.

Or pre-Polaroids.

Gordon: Yeah, yeah.

Masters: That makes sense.

It wasn't just the spirited discussions that brought folks to Villa Aurora.

Food played a big part.

German dishes, it turns out, taste just as great on this side of the Atlantic, especially that old favorite apple strudel.

The Feuchtwangers always had a batch going in the oven, and I got a chance to bake some using Marta's original recipe.

I was speaking with Michaela at USC.

I think when she was editing Feuchtwanger's diary, she made a pretty interesting discovery that potentially Feuchtwanger inspired Chaplin's "The Great Dictator."

Gordon: That might very well be true, because one of Feuchtwanger's very important books is "Jud Suss," is either Jew Suss or power of translation titles.

And Feuchtwanger and Chaplin were actually in talks of doing a movie version.

And initially Feuchtwanger was hesitant because he wasn't sure that Chaplin could pull off kind of a serious role.

And after "Limelight," he changed his mind about him, but it never came to fruition, that specific project.

But it could definitely be that this was an inspiration for "The Great Dictator."

Masters: I mean, that's just astounding because "The Great Dictator" is a pretty influential film.

Young: It's iconic.

Masters: Yeah, iconic.

Gordon: Absolutely.

Masters: And you see its relevance today.

I mean, movies like, you know, most recently like "Jojo Rabbit," right?

There's even the through line from that to then Lion Feuchtwanger.

Gordon: Absolutely.

>> [Indistinct] Emperor of the world.

Hmm.

My world.

Ha ha ha!

Masters: The salons became the ultimate networking tool.

People made connections.

They found work.

Many did well.

For example, Bertolt Brecht, composer Hanns Eisler, and director Fritz Lang collaborated on the classic film "Hangmen Also Die!"

Novotny: I am Professor Novotny.

Whom are you looking for?

Man: For you.

Woman: No!

Masters: One place where that spirit of collaboration triumphed was Paramount Studios, and that was my next stop.

My guide was Doris Berger, Senior Curator at the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures.

So it makes sense that, you know, when that--when exiles came over to Hollywood that they would work in the same style.

Berger: Yeah.

And they all came from Germany.

Many.

Many came from Germany, Berlin, where German expressionism was in vogue, so to speak.

It was really happening.

Great movies made that had a distinct style, really sharp edges, great cinematography in terms of light and shadow.

Movies like "M" or "Dr. Caligari," "Nosferatu" are key pieces of German expressionist filmmaking, and many of the emigres directors who worked in Germany had to flee Germany from 1933 onwards, because that's when the Nazis came to power in Germany.

And, I mean, granted so many years before World War II exiles and emigres lost their jobs immediately.

So, from that point on, they had to leave and find other jobs in other places, often in different places in Europe and finally in the United States.

Masters: And it makes sense that when they arrived here, then they would be sort of working in the same style that they've worked in Europe.

Berger: Totally.

They brought their styles with them.

Film noir, the term was coined much later.

That didn't exist in the 1940s.

It was coined in the 1950s by a French critic, actually.

It was specific to what happened here in film noir, which was the style from German expressionism, but also the writing of Americans in urban environments.

Masters: Yeah.

Berger: The grittiness.

Masters: And, I mean, there's probably no better example of that than "Double Indemnity," where you have Raymond Chandler, this master of gritty urban American stories collaborating with Billy Wilder.

Berger: It was interesting because normally he'd work with with Charles Brackett on his scripts, but he wanted to work with James Cain who wrote the novel, but he wasn't available, so they reached out to Raymond Chandler, which is a great idea.

Masters: Yeah.

Berger: Even I think the two men did not gel too well, apparently.

It was not an easy screenwriting process, so I've read.

Masters: Two very successful, creative people.

They clashed.

Berger: They clashed a little bit.

And also, we must say, Billy Wilder worked in screenwriting before he became a director, so he was an experienced screenwriter.

But Raymond Chandler was a novelist for urban detective stories, right.

So it's not the same as writing a script.

So that was the first script he was involved in.

So that was an interesting match, I would say.

Masters: Going through these corridors, staring up at the soundstages, you wonder what those transplanted artists must have experienced as they struggled to tell their stories not only in a new place, but in a language many of them were still learning.

It must have felt like starting all over again.

Stage 3 right here, this is where they shot the interiors for "Double Indemnity."

Berger: My god.

Masters: I know, right here.

Berger: Wow.

This is where it happened.

Where the murder was plotted.

Masters: [Laughs] Yeah.

But of course, not only did actors, writers, and directors work here, many displayed their skills behind the scenes like in the costume department.

That's where we met Paramount's Head of Archives, Andrea Kalas.

Kalas: So, Doris, here is the costume from "Double Indemnity" that we have.

Berger: I'm so excited to see this.

It's so good.

This just makes my heart beat faster.

"Double Indemnity" is a highlight of film noir, really.

And for us to still have costumes from that film in your archive is amazing.

Thank you for taking care of them.

Kalas: The execution of the designs was so incredibly detailed and wonderfully done.

And, you know, it was a whole army of people behind to make sure that these costumes were working with the stars and working with the story so perfectly.

Woman: What do we do now, Walter?

Walter: Nothing.

We just wait.

Woman: Wait for what?

Walter: Until we can take the train.

I told you it's got to be the train.

Woman: But we can't wait.

I can't go on like this.

Walter: We're not going to grab a hammer and do it quick just to get it over with.

Woman: There are other ways.

Walter: We're gonna do it other ways.

Kalas: We found this one room in one of our buildings where things were sort of moved and never gone through, and this was one of them.

So it's just people who worked in the costume department, and just their names, some of their information, what they did.

When we talk about emigres, you know, we often talk about the great composers, the great directors, the great writers, but obviously a lot of people had to do the actual work of making films.

Berger: And often we call those people below the line workers, right?

And often we don't talk about below the line workers in credits.

And this is a wonderful-- Kalas: And we don't know really what exactly the history of some of these people were.

Berger: And it also tells a story about labor, how much certain jobs were paid.

Kalas: And the different jobs that there were, too.

Masters: Yeah, can we-- Kalas: Tailors, seamstresses, finishers, jewelry makers, costumers, wardrobe clerks.

There's a whole set of different tasks that have to go.

And if we looked at how many people were working on this at one given year, it would be massive.

Masters: An army of people.

Kalas: Yeah.

Masters: That army of people didn't just show up.

So this-- Berger: That's New York Street.

Masters: Cool.

New York Street.

Wow.

Studio heads, and many others across town, helped arrange for visas, then provided the jobs and some money to help emigres find new homes.

That help was so important.

Like other immigrant waves throughout history, newcomers, no matter how well educated, often had to take whatever jobs they could find just to pay the bills.

Very famous location from another Billy Wilder film.

This is the writer's office in "Sunset Boulevard."

Berger: "Sunset Boulevard."

Masters: Let's go take a look.

Berger: Yeah.

Wow.

Master: Wow, I mean, it's instantly recognizable.

Berger: Yeah.

Masters: 70 years or however many years later.

Let's go up.

Joe: Just so you don't think I'm a complete swine, if there's anything in dark windows you can use, take it, it's all yours.

Betty: Well, for heaven's sakes, come on in.

Have a chair.

Masters: So stage 18, right here, I think this is where in "Sunset Boulevard," DeMille is shooting his picture, and Norma Desmond comes and visits him.

Desmond: Hello, Mr. Demille.

DeMille: It's good to see you.

Masters: Right here.

Berger: And it says "Stage 18" still.

Get a sense of where the magic was made.

Masters: Yeah.

That's amazing.

Man: Ms. Desmond, it's me.

It's Hog-eye.

Desmond: Hello, Hog-eye.

Hog-eye: Let's get a good look at you.

Man: There's Norma Desmond.

Woman: Norma Desmond.

Woman 2: Norma Desmond.

Officer: Well, I thought she was dead.

Man: Welcome home, Ms. Desmond.

You remember me, don't you?

[All talking at once] Masters: Just down the road from Stage 18, our last stop-- Production Park.

You've probably seen this grassy plaza in more than a few TV shows.

And right next to it, the Ernst Lubitsch building, named for the renowned German director.

Lubitsch arrived at Paramount in 1923.

He made dozens of films here.

First a handful of silent movies, then the talkies.

He also collaborated with a young writer, a fellow exile, Billy Wilder, who went on to make some of his greatest films like "Sunset Boulevard" and "Double Indemnity" right here at Paramount.

Right.

Berger: Wow.

Masters: So this is it.

Berger: This is exciting.

Shall we get up?

Masters: Yeah.

Berger: Wow.

Masters: This is where the magic happened.

Berger: This is--I mean, I can't believe it.

And this is the Lubitsch Building as well.

Like, I'm so happy to be here.

Ernst Lubitsch, the director, was production head for a little while at Paramount, but most importantly he was the mentor, really, for Billy Wilder, I think.

Masters: Right.

Berger: And Billy Wilder apparently had a sign in his office, says, "How would Lubitsch do it?"

Masters: Oh, wow, that's a sign of respect.

Berger: Yes.

Always reminding him, you know, how would my professional father do it?

Masters: How did the two meet up?

Berger: They worked together.

Ernst Lubitsch came here right in the 1920s from Berlin originally and was really a successful director here for comedies, in particular, sophisticated comedies, and developed something that was called the Lubitsch touch.

Masters: The Lubitsch touch.

Berger: Yeah.

And it's something that Billy Wilder's pretty good at too, actually.

And Billy Wilder worked earlier in his career when he came to the United States as a screenwriter.

And together with Charles Brackett, in particular.

He also worked with and for Lubitsch for "Ninotchka," for example, in 1939.

Amazing, amazing comedy with Greta Garbo.

Man: What a charming idea for Moscow to supply us with a lady comrade.

Man 2: If we had known, we would have greeted you with flowers.

Man: Listen.

Ninotchka: Don't make an issue of my womanhood.

We're here for work, all of us.

Let's not waste any time.

Shall we go?

Masters: You know, directors like Lubitsch, Wilder, writers like Salka Viertel, things worked out OK for them, but unfortunately, that wasn't the case for all of these exiles in and emigres.

Berger: That's very true, yeah.

And even for Salka Viertel, she was fine for a while working as a screenwriter for MGM, but she also was on an FBI list.

And towards the end of World War II, fear against communism got so strong in America.

We know about the McCarthy era.

Masters: Yeah.

It wasn't just fear, it was paranoia.

Berger: Yes.

Masters: Yeah.

Berger: And that led to a lot of moments where people were spied upon, and a lot of emigres were affected by that, Salka Viertel being one of them.

But also the screenplay writer and director Bertolt Brecht, also Hanns Eisler, the composer.

Masters: There's a pretty thick FBI file even on Lion Feuchtwanger.

Berger: Yes.

Masters: Yeah.

Berger: Yeah.

I mean, Lion Feuchtwanger didn't have a passport.

He was stateless, declared stateless in the United States until he died.

So he could never go back to his home country-- Masters: Yeah.

Berger: even after the war when it would have been possible.

Masters: And yet when we're talking about exiles who sort of--things worked out for them, he's in that group versus, I mean, people like Brecht, for instance.

He... Berger: Well, Brecht and Eisler, both of them, they had to go to these hearings that the House of Un-American Activity Committee instigated.

And it was like a witch hunt, really, to be honest.

Man: Is it true that you have written a number of very revolutionary poems, plays, and other writings?

Brecht: I've written a number of poems and songs and plays in the fight against Hitler, and, of course, they can be considered, therefore, as revolutionary.

Berger: People were asked and grilled about their allegedly Communist alliances.

And knowing that in the twenties in Germany where Brecht lived and Eisler lived, I mean the Communist party was also a party that fought against the Nazis at that time.

Masters: Yeah.

Berger: So it was a very different context that they faced here after being refugees from the Nazis, being in America, having a chance to work in the United States, both Brecht and Eisler did have a chance to work here, whether they were happy, yeah, maybe some were.

Brecht was not happy.

Masters: I read his poetry about L.A., no, not happy at all.

Berger: Nope.

But Eisler actually liked it here quite a lot, and he--his life and time in the United States is really tragic because he even was nominated for an Academy Award.

He worked on the score for "Hangmen Also Die!"

an anti-Nazi film in 1943 that Brecht was writing the screenplay and Fritz Lang directed.

He was really--he was quite successful here.

He liked it in Los Angeles, was able to adapt.

And yet, he was grilled and indicted to be a Communist, actually, in these hearings, and he was expelled.

He was expelled from this country.

Can you imagine?

Masters: Yeah, you're right.

Eiser's story is tragic.

I mean, in some ways, it's like really darkly ironic that as late as--I mean, 1930s, but as late as 1944, '45, Hollywood was a place of refuge for people who were escaping political repression.

And then in just a number of two or three years, it turned like that, and people were pushed out or had to flee a different kind of political repression.

Berger: Yeah.

And the whole blacklisting system started.

I mean, some of them had to testify in front of the House of Un-American Activity Committee.

And some of them were just blacklisted.

That means they didn't get a job.

They might not have to have testified, but they were on lists where they wouldn't be hired because they might have allegiances or might be friendly to friends who are Communists, you know, or alleged Communists.

It was very unclear, the whole thing.

But it influenced so many people in Hollywood and also a lot of exiles and emigres.

Masters: And Hollywood did the exiles a lot of favors in some cases.

These studio contracts allow them to get visas and gave them employment.

But Hollywood turned on some of them.

Berger: I would say also the exiles did a lot of favors to Hollywood because they brought their great talent to this country and to this industry that was in formation of becoming a real industry in the 1930s.

And so what we call the Golden Age of Hollywood or Classic Era of Hollywood is also partially shaped by exiles and emigres from different European countries.

Masters: Yeah, American cinema just wouldn't be the same without them.

Berger: I would wholeheartedly agree to that.

Masters: I know I'll never think of Hollywood quite the same way again.

So much of what we consider to be classic American filmmaking actually came from the hands and minds of German emigres.

They left a world of persecution behind.

Some rebuilt their lives and homes here in Los Angeles.

It was only a matter of time before their giant talents would end up on the big screen and influence American culture forever.

Announcer: This episode of "Lost L.A." was made possible in part by the Frieda Berlinski Foundation.