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Long before bamboo bars and flaming cocktails became the hallmarks of mid-century Tiki, Los Angeles was already experimenting with exotic escapes. One of the earliest and most glamorous playgrounds was The Tropics — a cocktail lounge and dining spot that proudly billed itself as “the informal cocktail lounge and dining room of the motion picture industry.”

In both its Beverly Hills and Hollywood incarnations, The Tropics was less about faux-Polynesian idols and more about creating an atmosphere of adventure, leisure, and cinematic flair. It was a place where Hollywood’s brightest stars could slip away for an evening that felt both informal and exotic.

In the 1930s and ’40s, America was fascinated by the “South Seas.” Movies like Mutiny on the Bounty and travelogues of the Pacific filled imaginations with sandy beaches, swaying palms, and romance under tropical skies. Restaurants capitalized on the trend, borrowing just enough island décor to transport guests without straying too far from familiar comforts.

This was the era before carved tikis and flaming bowls. Pre-Tiki venues like The Tropics relied on bamboo accents, rattan furniture, and murals of palm huts. It was atmospheric, escapist, and perfectly suited to Hollywood’s glamorous elite.

The story begins with charismatic entrepreneur Harry “Sugie” Sugarman, who opened the original Tropics around 1934–35 on North Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. Mixing American fare with Chinese dishes and serving cocktails with a whisper of the exotic, the venue quickly became a fashionable hangout.

By 1939, Sugarman expanded into the heart of Hollywood with The Hollywood Tropics at Sunset and Vine, one of the busiest intersections in the city. With NBC, studios, and nightclubs nearby, it was the perfect magnet for producers, actors, and starlets looking for a stylish but casual retreat.

And the stars came. Charlie Chaplin was spotted dining under its bamboo beams, while a young Shirley Temple was photographed enjoying dinner with John Agar. For Hollywood insiders, The Tropics was both a watering hole and an extension of the industry itself — a place where contracts could be discussed over cocktails and gossip flowed as freely as the rum.

The advertising for The Tropics painted a vivid picture: palm trees swaying, bamboo lettering, and a promise of connection to the movie industry. Inside, guests sipped cocktails beneath Chinese lanterns and tropical plants.

Unlike the immersive Tiki palaces of the 1950s, The Tropics struck a balance between novelty and sophistication. It was, in many ways, Hollywood’s exotic living room — close enough for stars to stop by after filming, informal enough to ditch the formality of supper clubs, and exotic enough to feel like a tropical movie set come to life.

Though it never reached the legendary status of Don the Beachcomber or Trader Vic’s, The Tropics was a proto-tiki powerhouse. Its menus featured playful movie-themed names and the famous “three wise monkeys” motif. Its Hollywood run lasted until about 1945, while the Beverly Hills location endured longer. In 1953, Sugarman sold it to Steve Crane, who transformed it into the iconic Luau, helping ignite the postwar Polynesian craze.

In the story of American cocktail culture, The Tropics occupies a critical transitional space. It wasn’t yet about carved idols or waterfalls. Instead, it was about atmosphere and escapism, filtered through Hollywood glamour.

For the film industry, The Tropics was more than a lounge — it was a statement. Hollywood wasn’t just making movies about the exotic; it was living them. Before most Americans had even seen a tiki torch, stars like Chaplin and Temple were already sipping cocktails beneath bamboo beams at Sunset and Vine.

Today, The Tropics is mostly a footnote, overshadowed by bigger tiki names. Yet it deserves recognition as the warm-up act that set the stage for tiki culture — an exotic detour with a distinctly Hollywood twist.

We’ve recreated The Tropics logo and vintage ad art into a limited-edition graphic tee — a wearable tribute to one of Hollywood’s forgotten pre-tiki havens. Slip it on, pour a rum cocktail, and keep the story alive.