The English Hollywood that wasn’t: shadow history and Esher’s unbuilt film studios

This article explores proposals to erect film studios on parts of the Esher Place and Ruxley Lodge estates at Esher, a prosperous and predominantly residential town to the south-west of London. Even though the studios remained unbuilt in the face of sustained local opposition, the schemes left numerous traces in the historical record. The archival legacy of these unrealised projects, and others like them, allow for the writing of a ‘shadow history’ of British film production infrastructure in the 1930s, which demonstrates that understanding what doesn’t happen, and why, is an important complement to our knowledge of what does. Having outlined why Esher, and the two estates, were thought suitable sites for the building of film studios, the article then gives details of the proposals and assesses their viability, before providing a detailed account of the local council’s reasons for rejecting them. This last section makes clear that the film industry, despite its reputation for glamour, was not always welcomed by those it neighboured or sought to displace, and so explains the council’s determination to ensure that Esher remained the English Hollywood that wasn’t.

been essayed and the texts that might have been, and as importantly on the various processes that ushered them part-way into existence and then snuffed them out before commencement or completion. 5 Given that unmade or unfinished films are likely to outnumber completed films by as many as one hundred to one, these projects show us the workings of the industry in ways that might otherwise be missed if attention is trained only on films that made it to the screen. 6 Seeking an understanding of why films were not made can, as Dan North posits in relation to the British production sector, 'illustrate what the industry tries and fails to do, as opposed to simply assessing its problems from the deficiencies of those films which are able to reach an audience (or at least an exhibitor).' 7 This article will adapt these ideas and apply them to the spaces of film production.
All projects have their origins in particular moments, and so bear the imprint of what Ashley Carse and David Kneas have termed that moment's 'conditions of possibility.' 8 The creative labour and economic resources that went into the formulation of unrealised (and sometimes unrealisable) projects remain visible in the historical traces left by these projects, as do the reasons for and legacies of their unrealisation. Yet if, as Brian McFarlane has demonstrated, the shadow history of a film such as I, Claudius, which was started, but not completed, at Alexander Korda's Denham Studios in 1937, is worthy of detailed attention, then so too is the shadow history of the place where it went into production. 9 Indeed, we might not know 'Korda's folly' as Denham had it been built at Elstree, as was tentatively mooted at one point, and so further strengthened that town's claim to be 'Hollywood, Herts.' 10 Contemporary reports also imply that the studio might have taken a different aesthetic form. Early drawings by F. E. Simkins for the possible Elstree studio show an administration block drawn in a 'cubic and somewhat Germanic' style, rather than the International style buildings that Messrs Joseph designed for Denham (see Figure 1). 11 However, the possibility that Korda might have built his studios on a more modest scale is likely to have made a bigger difference to its working practices, and hence its efficiency and long-term viability. Korda's nephew and biographer observes that when Korda obtained financial backing from the Prudential Assurance Company he 'discovered that the larger he made Denham, the more money the Prudential was prepared to put up'; in response he 'doubled the original number of sound stages.' 12 Expanding the number of stages increased overheads whilst enlarging the studio's footprint and undermining operational efficiency, the result of which were ever increasing debts and a tense working environment that, as McFarlane shows, eventually scuppered Korda's chances of successfully completing I, Claudius. 13 Might a tighter budget have necessitated the construction of a different and possibly more successful studio, and might this have allowed for the production of a different and possibly more successful film? We cannot be sure, and there were, as McFarlane makes clear, other important reasons why I, Claudius was eventually abandoned. But even if it is difficult in hindsight to be certain how advanced or realistic some of Korda's alternate building plans actually were, they still offer glimpses of a more sustainable London Films studio (notwithstanding Korda's own well-documented profligacy and 'non-existent' financial sense). 14 The studio at Denham was converted from idea to concrete reality, even if its exact form and location might well have differed from what was built. However, the majority of studio proposals announced in the British trade press in the decade or so after 1925 remained unrealised, and in all likelihood most of these schemes were speculative at best, announced not as serious, immediately enactable plans but rather as means of drumming up greater interest in, and capital for, what initially were extremely marginal proposals. 15 And whilst it might at first be tempting to dismiss these unrealised proposals in order to focus on studios where lamps were lit and cameras turned, the fact remains that unbuilt studios share similar 'conditions of possibility' with those that were built. As such, they can comment on the origins and nature of the expansion of the British studio sector in the late-1920s and 1930s, not least in that they suggest that the infrastructure of filmmaking, the creation of enduring bricks-and-mortar assets akin to more established industries, might have been as, if not more appealing to some investors than the production of films.
This article will first explore why the area around Esherand the Esher Place and Ruxley Lodge estates in particularmight have been attractive to filmmakers, and then discuss the schemes themselves and the reasons for the council's strident opposition to the construction of film studios. This last section will consider some of the impacts that studios might have on their local environments whilst reintroducing a narrative of resistance and opposition into the history of film studio construction. I have focussed on the unbuilt studios at Esher because they seem to have advanced further towards realisation than many other unsuccessful schemes and so left behind a more substantial record, even if there are some obvious gaps in our knowledge, especially in terms of who exactly was financing the schemes and how well capitalised they actually were. Whilst different unbuilt studios would tell different stories, the process of bringing the unrealised Esher proposals into the spotlight casts a new shadow, within which exist other histories, other possibilities, other studios.

The Esher proposals and film production infrastructure in Britain
The Esher Place and Ruxley Lodge schemes emerged at a time when the British production sector was expanding in the wake of the implementation of the Cinematograph Films Act of 1927. This legislation sought to stimulate the domestic film industry in the face of established American dominance by obliging film Historical Journal of Film, Radio and Television renters and exhibitors operating in Britain to offer and screen a minimum proportion of British films (starting at 7.5% and 5%, respectively, with both rising to 20% by 1936). There were numerous studios in Britain prior to the passing of what became known as the Quota Act, but the need for more films was held to necessitate greater production capacity. This prompted moves to increase the number, size and quality of British studios: in the decade after 1927, studios opened at Welwyn (1928), Elstree (one in 1928 and another in 1929), Shepperton (1932, a.k.a. Sound City), Denham (1936) and Pinewood (1936).
In the same period, extensive renovations and/or expansions were undertaken at Shepherd's Bush, Ealing and Teddington, amongst others, to accommodate changes to filmmaking practice and technology brought about by the introduction of synchronous sound. A number of smaller studios, not suitable for conversion to sound, including one at Esher that had opened in 1914, closed; and the time it took to acquire and install sound recording equipment left others temporarily idle. It was believed that money could be made making films in Britain, or at least in owning the infrastructure that facilitated such activity, but the inherent riskiness of this opportunity attracted speculative capital and investors with limited knowledge of the production sector. New companies were formed -'a plethora of prospectuses with strings of unknown names … blossomed overnight into new "magnates"'and sought to exploit the resources of 'certain opportunist sections of the City' to finance their plans. 16 Few of these companies succeeded; many, indeed, enjoyed only mayfly existences, leaving little behind except grandiose statements in the trade press. The proposals to construct filmmaking facilities at Esher therefore need to be understood against the backdrop of a more general period of often speculative infrastructural expansion in the British studio sector. The local council might have found the idea of new studios being built in Esher preposterous, but prospective studio builders recognised that Esher, and Esher Place and Ruxley Lodge in particular, had much to offer. Esher and Claygate were located in northern Surrey in what, to misapply an astronomical term, we might call the 'Goldilocks zone' that surrounds London. By this I mean that they were close enough to the city in terms of distance and time to be easily accessible to actors and others employed in the West End theatre industry (an important source of labour for British film studios), but far enough away that producers would not be forced to contend continually with some of the challenges that attended filmmaking in a heavily urbanised environment. This zone was home to many British film studios, running in a ring around the capital from Welwyn and Elstree in the north, through Denham and Pinewood in the west, towards Walton-on-Thames and Shepperton. The Esher and Claygate schemes would have extended the ring slightly further south.
Good transport links to London were vital to the successful operation of studios built outside the capital. Both the Esher Place and Ruxley Lodge estates were within walking distance of railway stations offering direct access to the Waterloo terminus in central London, a journey of approximately 30 minutes. Neither of the proposed studios, though, would have been positioned too close to the train tracks. Some of the older British film studios were built immediately next to the railwayat Twickenham, for example, 'the railway metals [were] only 20 yards distant'and this became increasingly problematic after the coming of sound. 17 As the promoter of another unbuilt scheme noted in early 1930, proximity 'to railways, public works and main roads render [many existing studios] practically useless, as they are incapable of being fitted with the necessary sound-proof equipment to adequately alienate them from surrounding disturbances and vibrations.' 18 Both proposed Esher studio sites were also well-served by road making it easier to import the materials and personnel needed to make films. Esher was on the main road between London and Portsmouth, and contemporary sell particulars for Esher Place stress that a regular motor-coach service ran from Esher to Oxford Circus. 19 The newly built Kingston bypass would also have reduced travel times from central London.
This distance from London was also important from a climatic point of view. Until the mid-to late-1920s, many of the film studios that were situated in London were forced to contend with thick, anthropogenic winter fogs that could force their way inside stages and compromise shooting. In some instances, this caused studios to cease production during the winter. Moving outside the London 'fog zone' was one way to counteract the disruption caused by a 'pea souper', and in part explains the decision to build new studios at Elstree, Beaconsfield (1922) and Welwyn. 20 When new housing was built on part of the Ruxley Lodge estate in the late 1920s, the site was advertised as having 'No fogs.' 21 The potential for weather-based disruption was further reduced by the comparatively low-density housing that characterised much of the Esher district; the suburbanisation of London in the interwar period was a factor in reducing occurrences of dense winter fog in the city. 22 Whilst building a studio at Esher could not guarantee freedom from fog, its position did offer a degree of protection against it.
The Esher Place and Ruxley Lodge schemes both constituted part of a trend of adapting country estates for filmmaking purposes that dates back at least as far as 1914 when G. B. Samuelson converted Worton Hall in Isleworth, Middlesex, into a permanent studio. The availability of such landed properties increased in the early decades of the twentieth century for a number of reasons, including increased taxation, economic changes in British agriculture and the decreasing political influence of landowners. 23 Numerous grand houses were pulled down when new owners could not be found, whilst other estates were repurposed as schools, country clubs or golf courses or, as was the case with parts of both Esher Place and Ruxley Lodge, sold off piecemeal to housing developers. 24 However, a select few, all close to London, came to the attention of 'the wealthy potentates who run the film business' and some of these found a new lease of life as studios. 25 In late 1931, one unnamed British producer claimed that he had in the course of a single month been contacted about seven different country houses that might be suitable for conversion to film studios. 26 Grand houses offered obvious advantages to filmmakers, with some choosing to make use of their ornate and well-furnished interiors as 'ready-made sets' which could offer savings in terms of labour and props. 27 The houses' photogenic facades were, and continue to be, used more frequently. Heatherden Hall and Littleton House (Figure 2), which respectively formed part of Pinewood and Shepperton studios, have featured in films from the opening of these facilities to the present day. Although Esher Place was not included in the studio scheme devised for its groundsit instead became a children's home and remained as such until the 1950sits estate also included the fifteenth-century Wayneflete's Tower, which would later feature in It! (1966) (Figure 3). Ruxley Lodge, however, was included in the studio proposal, and it is not difficult to envision ways in which its sixstorey tower and Italianate colonnade could have been used by producers. Indeed, the house would later appear in The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner (1962) (Figures 4 and 5).
Existing buildings could also be put to administrative and industrial uses. At Worton Hall, 'The two wings are used as dressing-rooms for the artistes in the stock company. The ground floor of the centre of the mansion has been converted into business offices, while the upper floors are at the disposal of those who are  kept late at work.' 28 In the mid-1930s, Denham's cutting rooms were adapted from existing stables on the Fishery estate, whereas when Down Place in Bray was converted for film production in the early 1950s, the mansion's greenhouse became a plasterers' shop. 29 Ruxley Lodge would have been turned over for administrative, creative and artisanal use, saving the cost of constructing new buildings whilst retaining its exterior appearance. 30 The estates that surrounded many country houses were also of great value. Many included formal gardens such as those at Pinewood, and/or mature parklands, both of which could be exploited in the production of the kind of "authentic" cinematic representations of Britain and its culture that were considered to have 'international commercial appeal.' 31 When Korda announced his intention to build at Denham, a local paper declared that the Fishery's grounds would be of 'immense value,' noting that 'the estate offers meadows, woods … and contains almost every variety of English tree.' 32 Denham was, moreover, situated on the banks of the Colne, and films such as George in Civvy Street (1946) and Treasure Island (1950) made use of the river, the latter augmenting flora native to the Home Counties with palm trees manufactured on site or imported from the south of France. 33 Shepperton boasted in the 1935 edition of the Kinematograph Year Book that its 'over 70 acres of unrivalled exteriors' allowed for the production of four different films simultaneously: The Iron Duke on the lawns in front of Littleton House; Sanders of the River on a 'huge African Village set' on the river Ash; and smaller exterior sets for both Rolling Home and Lady in Danger. 34 One contemporary studio reviewer proclaimed that the advantages of grounds 'literally at the backdoor of the studio cannot be gainsaid': 'Production units remain under executive supervision, and also have the advantage of the studio power supply, stores, accommodation, and catering arrangements.' 35 Urban studios, such as Gaumont-British's facility in Shepherd's Bush, rarely had extensive backlots, and were often compelled to shoot exteriors at other studios -Lady in Danger was a G-B productionor purchase land in a rural area specifically for outdoor work: Gaumont-British acquired an 84-acre site in Northolt where it shot sequences for films such as King of the Damned (1935) and Sabotage (1936). Building studios in places where land for contiguous backlots was more readily available, and at a cheaper price than in the metropolis, made financial and logistical sense. Supply chains between workshops and shooting locations were shorter, and it was easier to keep crews occupied in bad weather if they could quickly retreat to the studio's sound stages.
The exact part of the Esher Place estate that developers intended for use as a studio is slightly unclearcouncil minutes record two possibilitiesbut reports in the contemporary trade press suggest that the studios were to have been located close to 'beautiful trees, a country lane and winding river [and] grassy slopes.' 36 It is also possible that one of the sites, to the north of Esher Place itself, might have incorporated the river Mole ( Figure 6) and some part of the estate's pleasure grounds, which were similar to the formal gardens at Heatherden Hall visible in productions such as Warning to Wantons (1949). The Esher Place grounds constituted an important part of the studio proposal, and even if filmmakers were not able to make use of formal gardens said to 'rival those of Hampton Court' they would still have expected to utilise the grounds to shoot exteriors and build outdoor sets. 37 The grounds at Ruxley Lodge were not nearly so renowned or so carefully manicured but offered similar opportunities.
In terms of their location, their availability, and the combination of built and natural environments that they offered, the Esher Place and Ruxley Lodge estates fit closely within contemporary patterns of studio siting and design in Britain. These factors were, of course, not present in all British studios, and should not therefore be understood as being prerequisites for the creation of successful production spaces. However, the ways in which the Esher schemes speak to broader trends provides evidence for the emergence of a distinct British style of film studio design based on the recognition and exploitation of local circumstances.

The Esher Place and Ruxley Lodge schemes
Although details of the proposals for both Esher Place and the Ruxley Lodge are incomplete, it is possible to assert that both would have been relatively modest as compared to larger studios at Elstree, Shepherd's Bush, Denham, Pinewood and, following its expansion, Shepperton. Neither of the Esher schemes was intended to house a particular production company, but rather to attract filmmakers who did not possess a studio of their own.
I have not been able to find any of the plans or architectural drawings created by G. E. Clare for the Esher Place scheme, but written sources provide a sense of what the studios might have been like. Esher Council's records suggest that the studios would have occupied an area of between 5 and 10 acres on the Esher Place estate, and depending on their final location, the studios would have been approached from either Lammas Lane or from a proposed access road off More Lane, neither of which were main roads. 38 The proposed buildings consisted of 'one large erection containing three film studios with dressing rooms around, revue [sic.] theatre, projection theatre, administration block, canteen, property stores, workshops and garages.' 39 The dimensions of these buildings is not known: a sceptical report in Bioscope mentions a stage measuring 150 by 70 ft., whereas documents relating to another unrealised scheme in neighbouring Molesey, which shared personnel with, and was possibly the precursor of the proposed Esher Place studio, promised three stages each of 180 by 100ft. 40 Whatever their dimensions, the promoters were evidently concerned about how the council would respond to the proposed construction of industrial buildings, and Clare and his associates were quick to assure the authority that the studio 'would be designed in an artistic manner.' 41 The 'actual studios and accessory buildings' were to be erected 'as a dignified and symmetrical group [and] give a suggestion of the art to which they will be devoted,' although how this effect was to be achieved is not Historical Journal of Film, Radio and Television specified. 42 So as to ensure that studio buildings and operations would not negatively affect neighbouring properties, the studio was to have been 'surrounded by broad avenues, and enclosed with a belt of flowering shrubs and trees.' 43 Such awareness of, and concessions to, potentially hostile local municipal opinion echo the pains that the builders of early Hollywood took to give their studios 'a public face that might mediate local anxieties about the new industry.' 44 The promoters of the Esher Place scheme evidently wanted to convince the council that they would combine sympathetic architecture and carefully considered landscaping to create a studio that was in harmony with its environment, the presence and operation of which would not be 'detrimental to adjoining residential properties.' 45 Surrey County Council's archives contain architectural drawings of one of the studio schemes proposed for Ruxley Lodge (Figure 7). 46 The drawings, prepared by George T. Eaton and Austin Wyngate, contain both plans and elevations, and show that the studio was to have included two purpose-built 80 by 120 ft. sound stages, the curved rooves of which would rise to a height of approximately 60 ft., making them similar in size and appearance to the Whitehall studio in Elstree (1928). Each stage was to have been soundproofed with slag wool, plasterboard and breeze blocks, and was to have, sunk into the floor to a depth of 10 ft., a centrally positioned 15 by 30 ft. pit which could be used both for the shooting of water scenes and the more efficient construction of multi-level sets. The two stages were designed to be largely self-contained to allow simultaneous unit production of two films, and at the western end of each stage, nearest the mansion, were three-storey buildings containing scene docks and property stores, wardrobe and make-up rooms, and dressing rooms for extras, supporting players and stars, the last of which had private bathrooms. The stages were joined to the mansion by covered walkways. Ruxley Lodge itself was to be converted for administrative purposes, and while this would have required a degree of internal remodelling, many of the rooms would have retained their original dimensions. Each of the two studios was to be provided with dedicated offices for directors and assistant directors, cinematographers, editors, sound engineers, art and casting directors, scenario writers, stage and production managers, and continuity secretaries, with most of the rooms reserved for use by studio 1 on the ground floor, and by studio 2 on the first floor. The Lodge would also contain a restaurant with separate dining rooms for principals. The two studios were to share a small film processing laboratory and still photography darkroom, lamp stores, carpenters', plasterers', paint and machine shops, review and re-recording theatres, and a film vault.
As the drawings are undated it is difficult to be certain which iteration of the scheme they represent; council minutes indicate that revisions were submitted on multiple occasions. However, given that the plans proposed the construction of two sound stages abutting the existing mansion, a position that changed when a yard was introduced in later versions, it would appear that they were probably submitted in early 1935 (draft plans for a three-stage scheme drawn up by different architects had been submitted in April 1934). 47 This might explain why the layout of the studio is not entirely resolved. For example, a room on the first floor is described in different parts of the drawings as being both the general office for studio no. 2 and the managing director's bedroom.
The information contained in the plans can be used in conjunction with Helmut Junge's Plan for Film Studios (1945), which offered an analysis of the relationship between layout and studio efficiency, to think about how the Ruxley Lodge studios might have functioned had they been constructed. Although Junge's primary focus is on larger studios such as Denham and Pinewood, many of his ideas are applicable to smaller sites, providing a way of looking at the plans which concentrates on the spatial relationships between different departments and the likely impact that these might have on working practices. Parts of the Ruxley Lodge scheme seem ill-conceived, not least the position of the review and re-recording theatres, which share a party wall with the metal-working shop and which are adjacent to the studio's powerhouse (likely a significant source of noise and vibration, although the type of generator(s) to be used is not mentioned). That said, most of the noisier and dirtier trades are kept as far away from the stages as possible, whilst still being within easy reach of them: the carpenters' shop, for example, is approximately 225 ft. from the two stages a shorter distance than Junge proposed when he replanned Denham to increase that studio's efficiency. 48 This distance increased in revised versions of the plans, which inserted a 50 ft.-wide yard between the existing mansion and the new buildings, but was still not excessive. 49 Property rooms and scene docksthe latter of which were probably a little smaller than Junge might have likedare even closer.
The covered ways, an innovation of which Junge very much approved owing to the 'uncertainty of the [British] climate', are, with a ceiling height of 15 ft., lower than the 22 ft. he maintained was required 'to ensure easy movement of scenery.' 50 They are also, in places, too narrow, which would have slowed down the movement of sets and created bottlenecks, making it harder to move between the make-up rooms and studio 1 (although this problem would have been eradicated by the introduction of the yard). The stages themselves were smaller than the biggest that Denham or Pinewood had to offer, but were comparable to those at Ealing and Twickenham, and were larger than those at Islington. The commitment to unit production meant that each stage, and the offices and spaces that served it, was largely self-contained, although there was some shared use of corridors and accessways that might have resulted in overcrowding and confusion. The proximity of the various dressing rooms to the stages they served would have minimised the time actors spent travelling within the studio.
The plans suggest that the scheme's promoters had thought about how the studio might have served the filmmakers they hoped to attract, even if there are issues that needed to be, and might have been, attended to in order to ensure effective production practices. The studio's small footprint would likely have worked in its favour, and the general separation of the facilities serving the two stages was clearly conceived to maximise the chances of efficient unit production. It is, of course, impossible to know for sure how the Ruxley Lodge studios would have functioned, but even if they had opened in 1935 they would likely have been brought low by the production crisis that afflicted the British production sector starting in 1937: studio designers could control how their studios were intended to look and function, but there were numerous factors that remained beyond their control.

Opposition to the studio schemes
Although it is evident that the Esher Place and Ruxley Lodge estates had much to commend them to investors seeking to build film studios, the land around Esher was also attractive to housing developers, who sought to take advantage of the district's reputation as a 'a good-class residential one, within easy reach of London.' 51 Like many areas within commuting distance of central London, Esher's population grew rapidly during the early decades of the twentieth century, more than tripling between 1901 and 1931 and continuing to grow thereafter. 52 However, insofar as its powers permitted, Esher Council was determined to manage this growth, prioritising where possible low-density housing that might be expected to appeal to the professional upper-middle-classes and preventing the construction of new industrial buildings outside those parts of its district that already contained them (there were, for instance, a bronze foundry and a small car factory in Thames Ditton and a brickworks in Claygate). The erection of film studios at Esher Place and Ruxley Lodgewhose buildings might tower over their neighbours, all the while generating noise, light, traffic and rubbishwas therefore held to be in 'direct conflict' with the council's vision for a prosperous and genteel town. 53 Indeed, so hostile was Esher Council to the film industry that it objected in early 1930 to neighbouring Molesey's decision to approve the construction of the Hampton Court film studiosthree stages of 'unusual size' with 'stores, workshops, projection theatre, dressing rooms, canteen, garages, offices, &c.'on land initially earmarked for residential development. 54 Esher Council wrote to the Ministry of Health (MoH, which had oversight of town planning processes), objecting to the erection of 'industrial buildings on an area adjoining [its] district.' 55 The Ministry also received a letter of protest concerning the same scheme from developers hoping to construct an estate of 'high-class private residences' on land within Esher Council's boundaries and which was 'very closely adjacent' to the proposed Molesey studios. This letter insisted, in language which echoed many of the council's own concerns, that the erection of a building 500 ft. in length … with a height to the ridge of the roof of 70 ft. will seriously depreciate the market value of the estate and its existing amenities, and, in our view, will prevent the development of that land for the purpose for which it is zoned [and] entirely change the characteristics of the residences for which this land is clearly suited. 56 The Hampton Court studios were never built, but the Ministry of Health noted that Molesey Council had been within its rights to amend its town plan to permit their construction. That, when it came to the almost contemporaneous Esher Place scheme, and the later one at Ruxley Lodge, Esher Council did not make a similar amendment, nor sought to do so, speaks very clearly to its hostility to the presence of filmmaking infrastructure within the area that it administered.
Or, perhaps, that should be new filmmaking infrastructure, because there was already a studio in Esher, the Pavilion, which was situated just off the main London to Portsmouth Road. Opened in 1914, and still operational in 1929, the studio did not enjoy a particularly prestigious reputationby 1930 one newspaper columnist was amused to learn that as popular a star as Ronald Colman could have worked in so 'dingy' a space early in his career. 57 The studio does not appear to have made the transition to sound production, and its ownership changed hands on more than one occasion, making clear the unstable and precarious nature of filmmaking as a commercial enterprise. Whilst the council might not have been thrilled by the presence of the studio within its district, the Pavilion's modest size a single 80 by 25 ft. stageand the fact that it was converted from a pre-existing, glass-roofed dance-hall years before the council was empowered to develop and implement its town plan, meant that it had to be more or less grudgingly tolerated. Such acceptance was probably made easier by the relatively low levels of activity in British studios during and in the immediate aftermath of the Great War.
Moreover, the willingness of filmmakers to make use of Esher's built and natural environments as backdrops for their productions meant that they were not always entirely popular with local residents. 58 In 1920, for example, the rector of St George's erected a sign on the gate to his church's graveyard which read 'No film producers allowed': I gave permission once [said the rector, Rev. J. K. Floyer] but the privilege was abused. I had always suspected that film people, when in action, had few senses beyond the commercial, but I was surprised to learn, on returning from a holiday recently, that one company had actually enacted a drinking scene in the churchyard. And it had spent nine hours there, which might have been most offensive to mourners coming to attend the gravesor even to assist in a funeral service. 59 The sign was still in place in late 1930. 60 The clergy's opposition to the irreligiosity of British producers made for good copy, and spoke to wider concerns about the potentially immoral behaviour of those involved in filmmaking. 61 Ministry of Health inquiries into other unbuilt studios saw supporters compelled to insist that their schemes would not cause actresses to 'pollute the area' and a local council publicly express its concerns 'as to the type of people who might frequent the [studio] building.' 62 Rejecting the Esher Place proposal, it is evident that some councillors had similar concerns -'I have a hazy idea what Hollywood must be like … The man who made the suggestion should never have used the word Hollywood' 63and this prompted Bioscope to make accusations of 'misconceived zeal in the cause of urban respectability' and declare that the council was 'prejudiced' against the film industry. 64 Indeed, the presence of other industries in the district indicates that the council's opposition to the two Esher schemes was in part focussed on the particular nature of the proposed development and the impact that it might have had on the ambience and reputation of the town, and, perhaps more importantly, on its property prices. The erection of a film studio, it was feared, might bring about a fall in the value of existing homes, and make it more difficult for developers to justify the construction of, and then find buyers for, high-cost housing in the future. This, in turn, had the potential to dilute the exclusivity of the town by making it more affordable for working-class and lower-middle-class Britons who were in this period finding it easier to get a mortgage to buy their own home. 65 It is not surprising, then, to find that the council's opposition to the Esher Place studio was echoed by 'nearly all the principal residents' of Esher, 'representing in respect of properties in the Ward of Esher alone about £24,398 in … gross rateable value,' who signed a petition urging the council to stick to its guns. 66 The council's rejection of the Esher Place scheme did not go unopposed. A counter petition was organised and signed by as many as 1,500 local residents, whilst at least two councillors supported the studio proposal. 67 Mrs Jacob was said to 'disagree vehemently with the footling anti-film arguments of her male associates,' whilst Mr Gallop noted that welcoming the film industry to the area would 'enrich the district.' 68 In this he agreed with Captain A. C. N. Dixey -Conservative MP, solicitor for the vendors of Esher Place and soon-to-be managing director of Korda's London Film Productionswho advocated energetically for the studio plan, stressing 'the business such a scheme would take into the district and the amount of employment it would create in these hard times.' 69 However, although the council's considerations of the Esher Place scheme took place during the initial phase of the Great Depression, Surrey's relatively low unemployment rates made economic arguments for the studio less persuasive. 70 'There may be money in it,' the leader of the council conceded, 'but the plan is not the sort of thing that a solely residential place desires.' Another councillor observed that Esher 'would not like to rob any other place'presumably one less able to weather the economic turmoil of the early 1930s -'that might want' the economic boon that the studios potentially represented. 71 Having also declared the council's opposition to the studio 'a bad breach of patriotism' given the film industry's importance 'from the national point of view,' the proponents of the Esher Place scheme lodged an appeal with the Ministry of Health against the council's decision. 72 The Ministry agreed to hold an inquiry into the studio on 9 February 1931, but before it could take place the scheme collapsed following the conviction of one of its key advocates, John Ramage Myles, for stealing sundry items from a woman whose house he was temporarily occupying. Myles, who styled himself 'Captain' despite not being entitled to, had previously been found guilty of embezzlement in Belgium, had run up extensive debts, and was described as 'impecunious.' 73 He also phoned the office of a leading trade paper to 'threaten and abuse' a reporter who questioned the bona fides of the Esher Place plans, and was warned not to intimidate witnesses ahead of his trial. 74 All this no doubt confirmed the Council and Esher's principal residents in their suspicions about the undesirability of the film industry and the disreputable nature of the people it attracted. Whether the studio at Esher Place would have been built had Myles's crimes not come to light is impossible to know: the Council's own records show that it was ready to engage lawyers in its further representations to the Ministry of Health, yet the trade press intimated that it might have acceded to the plan ahead of the inquiry and the remaining backers insisted that they had sufficient finance to build the studio. 75 Either way, Myles' prominent involvement in the ultimately unsuccessful scheme prompted Bioscope to warn about the opaque financing of the proposed studio, and others like it, and to suggest that 'paper projects' of this nature served only to damage the reputation of the British film industry. 76 Esher Council was similarly committed to making sure that film studios were not constructed at Ruxley Place, rejecting the proposals that were submitted to it in 1932, and then, separately, in 1934-35. At least four schemes were submitted this latter period, but even though the plans and personnel differed, the council seem to have regarded them essentially as individual battles in a single campaign. Again, the council initially rejected the scheme on the grounds that it sought to erect industrial premises in an area set aside for housing, and again the developers appealed to the Ministry of Health. The first appeal, heard in July 1934, resulted in the Ministry stating that it was minded to side with the developers, claiming that it saw 'no reason to suppose that any injury to local amenity or neighbouring property' would result from the building and working of the studio provided that the council and the developers came to an arrangement to minimise the impact that it might have on the area. 77 This decision did not impress the chairman of Surrey County Council, who accused the MoH, and the 'supercilious young man' it sent to Esher, of adopting a 'high-handed attitude' and of 'playing ducks and drakes' with town planning legislation. 78 Whilst local councils might have liked to believe that the Ministry's appeals process was committed to subjecting Britain to 'the degradation of ugliness,' it should be noted that the MoH did not automatically side with developers; in 1932, for example, it had rejected an appeal against Hendon Council's decision not to permit the construction of a film studio at Bentley Priory in Stanmore. 79 The Ministry would later laconically observe that differences of opinion were 'inevitable' when it came to the siting of 'miscellaneous forms of development' such as film studios, not least because all land that was not obviously and immediately suited to industrial or commercial purposes tended to be automatically designated as residential, even if it might also be suitable for other uses. 80 Having won their appeal, the Ruxley Place developers decided to submit a new scheme that 'varied considerably' from the previous plans. 81 Unsurprisingly, the council rejected it, meaning that the developers would be compelled to make, and win, a fresh appeal if they wanted to proceed on the basis of the revised scheme. Appeal they did, cheekilyand unsuccessfullyasking the council to agree that the Ministry of Health should decide the case without any further hearings. 82 A new inquiry was held on 20 February 1935, where the Ministry again found in favour of the developers. Although the council agreed to work with the developers to reach a compromise on the operation of the Ruxley Lodge studio, the terms of this agreement proved contentious in two regards. First, the council wanted to retain power of consent over the erection of temporary structures in the studio's grounds, a demand that might have required filmmakers to seek permission before the construction of any and every exterior setsomething that would essentially have involved the council in the production of individual films. Second, the council wanted work at the studio to cease at dusk, bringing to mind complaints by neighbours of other studios concerning the noise and light created by nocturnal filmmaking. 83 The developers believed that shutting the studio at dusk was 'unworkable,' which might explain the council's intention in insisting on such a clause. 84 In both instances, the Ministry sided with the developers, declaring that additional permissions would not be needed so long as exterior sets were struck as soon as they had served their purpose, and that work should be allowed to continue in the grounds until midnight and on the stages at any time. 85 Esher's councillors wrote to the Ministry to 'strongly protest' these conditions, but eventually conceded that 'no useful purpose can be served … by pursuing the matter further.' 86 The council continued to oppose any amendments to the Ruxley Lodge plans that were placed before it, possibly on the off chance that the Ministry of Health would eventually find a reason to reject the developers' inevitable appeal, or in the hope that the developers would lose enthusiasm for the scheme and decide to build houses instead. Indeed, it seems that this latter strategy was successful, given that studios were not built at Ruxley Lodge and that much of the estate was subsequently given over to residential development. For all that the Ruxley Lodge scheme was lent an air of solidity by the involvement of George Eaton, who had been involved with the construction of the British International studios in Elstree in the mid-1920s, this was probably eroded by the committal for trial in September 1935 of Austin Wyngate, an architect who had been involved in developing the plans, for forgery and obtaining money by false pretences. 87 The project survived this embarrassment, but soon ran out of steam. As with the earlier Esher Place scheme, it can be difficult to ascertain how advanced or realistic the plans for Ruxley Lodge actually were; getting the funds to draw up plans and to persuade the Ministry of Health to override Esher Council was one thing, securing the money to actually construct the studios quite another. There's many a slip 'twixt cup and lip, and other studio schemes that gained approval from local councils or the Ministry of Health in this period also failed to materialise, in no small measure because larger, more transparently funded projects at Denham and Pinewood were nearing completion and raised fears of an oversupply of studio space in Britain. 88 The council had, as much by the vicissitudes of British film finance as its own prolonged efforts, won. Esher was safe from the studios, and its residents no longer needed to fear waking up one morning to find that an English version of the Hollywood sign had been erected on nearby Telegraph Hill.

Conclusion
It is perhaps inevitable that, as with the ratio of planned to completed films, there would be far more film studios proposed than constructed. Indeed, and again in parallel with the production industry, it might be easy to assume that unbuilt film studios have little to tell us; that because they ultimately failed, they could never have succeeded. This is clearly too simplistic: filtering out projects that were unworkable left space and money for those that were, whilst lessons learned designing an unbuilt studio and seeking to steer it through the planning process could be applied to subsequent schemes. The time, money and creative energy that went into preparing schemes for Esher Place and Ruxley Lodge represent an investment in an idea, and speak to a belief that in the early 1930s there was a demand for additional studios in Britain, and a market for the services they offered and the films they produced. The nature and location of the various Esher schemes also works to confirm the wider applicability of siting strategies and design features visible in studios that were built, helping us to recognise some of the distinct features of film production infrastructure as it developed in Britain. As such they make abundantly clear Carse and Kneas's 'conditions of possibility' prevalent in the British production sector following the passing of quota legislation.
There is, of course, more work to be done before we can claim to know the complete story of Esher as the English Hollywood that wasn't. The archival records on which my research is based tell us little about prospective studio developers beyond vague statements concerning how well capitalised they were, the names of some of their architects and spokesmen, and their confidence that building a studio in Esheror Stanmore or Rickmansworth or any of the myriad other places where studios were proposedwould benefit both the town and the British film industry. Additional evidence from inside these companies, most of which did not enjoy any great longevity, might afford a more definite sense of why these projects emerged in the form that they did, and why they remained unrealised. Such information would also undoubtedly provide greater insight into the dynamic financial networks that sought to capitalise on the popularity of the cinema and make clear how after 1927 the legal requirement to make films in British studios prompted speculative investments that in turn encouraged overcapacity and eventually transformed boom into bust. Indeed, the lack of a paper trail hints at the marginal nature of the schemes and so chimes with more widespread suspicions and prejudices that F. D. Klingender and Stuart Legg, in Money Behind the Screen (1937), indicate attached themselves revelations of economic sleight-of-hand within the British film industry. 89 But perhaps more important is the way in which opposition to proposed studios provides us with a deeper understanding of the way that the film industry was Historical Journal of Film, Radio and Television viewed and situated in interwar Britain. As film scholars, we often, and understandably, focus on stars and directors, on creative labour, on the internal economics of the industry, on film reviewers and fan culture, and this can have the effect of valorising the film industry and presupposing cinema's inherent popularity. But Esher Council's consistent opposition to the development of film production infrastructure paints a contrasting picture that omits glamour and pleasure, and instead posits the film studio as an invasive presence, the small armies of people who were employed in and travelled to it as a source of tension, and the work done and materials consumed there as polluting and damaging to the local environment. In this picture, a studio was not an asset to a community or a national system of media production, but a potential threat to local property values and established patterns of life. Whilst we might raise a knowing eyebrow at the council's pearlclutching opposition to the prospect of new studios being built in Esher, such opposition should also act to remind us that film studios are embedded in and relate, not always comfortably, to particular communities.