In 1893 Edison's crew built the Black Maria on this town's ground — a black shack that swiveled on a track to chase the sun, and the first film studio on earth. West Orange has known ever since that the show is only as good as the crew behind it. From the Park's Victorian villas to the capes on the mountain, we keep every hearth's long feature running — and the box office never closes.
A good house posts its program in the lobby and shows exactly what it posts. Eight features below, one crew behind all of them, nothing on the card we don't actually run.
Every season of fires leaves its residue on the print. The brushes take the flue back to a clean image — rod by rod, pass by pass — until clay, brick or steel reads clear along the whole reel.
The whole chimney reviewed the way a projectionist checks a print before showtime — unhurried, in order, missing nothing — and admission is nothing. Camera footage joins the review whenever a sale or a mystery calls for it.
When a stack has failed past patching, it comes down to the last sound course and goes back up plumb, level and weather-crowned — planned thoroughly enough beforehand that the rebuild needs no reshoots.
Nothing ruins a scene like a patch that doesn't match. Failed joints are cut back to firm mortar and refilled with a blend mixed to the wall's own color, texture and softness — so the repair never breaks continuity.
An open flue on this mountain takes in whatever the ridge sends — rain, leaves, squirrels and gusts that shove the draft backward. A fitted stainless cap closes the house to all of it, and a cowl steadies hillside downdrafts.
A ceiling stain is the final scene of a story that started somewhere above — a hairline in the crown, a lifted flashing edge, brick drinking rain. We rewind to the true opening shot, then cut the water out of the plot for good.
Cracked tile is a print full of splices, and splices fail mid-show. A stainless liner runs the flue in one continuous reel — a single piece from appliance to cap, sized for what it vents and insulated where required.
The fireplace is where the household screens its evenings, so it gets star treatment: burnt-out firebrick relaid in refractory mortar, smoke chambers parged for a certain draw, inserts and stoves set square in their frames.
Chimneys foreshadow. Long before anything fails outright, the warning reel is already running — and whoever catches it early pays for a scene, not the whole production.
Same script every time, no improvising: pitch it, screen it, budget it, wrap it.
Call at whatever hour and tell a tradesman what the chimney has been doing. The visit goes on the calendar before you hang up.
The full review, base to cap, free of charge — and a verdict delivered at the door in plain English, not jargon.
Line items, not lump sums: every fix priced separately, urgent ahead of optional, and the numbers hold.
Work finished to standard, the set struck and the yard spotless, the craftsmanship guaranteed in writing.
When the first real cold climbs the mountain, the chimneys already on our schedule light up on opening night without a hitch. One call — at whatever hour the thought strikes — puts yours on the bill.
(862) 233-2068Frames pulled from the season's work — crowns, caps, sweepings and new-struck joints between the Park and the ridgeline.
The office is on Northfield Ave near Gregory; the trucks cover the whole town, from the Park's private lanes to the ridge-top streets.
Street not on the card? Call (862) 233-2068 — the trucks range past the printed program.
Honestly nothing, top of the bill. The first screening reviews the firebox with its damper and throat, the flue along its complete run, and the top of the stack — crown, cap, flashing, every course the weather auditions against — and it closes with the tradesman giving you the verdict at your door in language that needs no subtitles. No visit charge, no fee wearing a costume, no invoice in next week's mail. Only one line on the bill carries a price — the written report: the screening's findings printed with photographs for $149, and printed only on your order.
Someone who has run a brush up a flue, not an answering service reading a script. The line is crewed in shifts so a live tradesman is always on it — one who can coach a jammed damper loose over the phone, weigh whether the cap the wind just took can wait until morning, and send a truck when it cannot. One rule sits above the whole schedule: if flame shows where flame has no place, or you suspect carbon monoxide even faintly, get every person out the door first — the opening call belongs to 911, and ours is the follow-up.
Gladly — those chimneys are the best scenery in town. The Park's Victorian and Romanesque villas carry tall corbeled stacks with multiple flues, and they deserve conservation-minded hands: each flue swept and reviewed separately, lime-based mortars matched to the originals rather than hard modern mixes, and ornamental brickwork rebuilt to its pattern when a course has to come out. We treat a hundred-forty-year-old stack as a leading player, never an extra.
Ridge wind is the usual director of that scene. On the Watchung slope, gusts roll over the crest and press down on chimneys that sit below it, shoving air back down the flue — the classic hillside downdraft. The fixes run from simple to structural: a draft-inducing cowl designed for exactly this, added height where the stack sits too low against the roofline, or a damper-and-cap pairing that keeps the column of warm air primed. The screening sorts out which one your chimney is asking for before you spend a dollar.
Think of it as one cleaning per season of showings. A fireplace that ran regularly through the winter should be swept once its season wraps; one that has sat dark since spring should be reviewed before it gets a comeback. Furnace and boiler flues book a yearly slot of their own — their residue is acidic, invisible from below, and always further along than anyone guesses, because it corrodes quietly instead of smoking.
Fast — say the word closing when you call and your file moves to the front. The free screening is booked within days, the disputed flue gets the camera so the debate is settled by footage rather than adjectives, and the $149 written report follows within two working days, photographs bound in. It is laid out so the buyer's side quarrels with the pictures instead of with you, and pictures are hard to out-argue.
Our own cast, on our own payroll — no borrowed crews performing under this company's name. Every man is vetted before his first call sheet and works under the firm's liability and workers'-compensation coverage the entire time he is on your property. Say so at booking and the insurance paperwork reaches you before the first ladder comes off the truck. A roofing crew that cannot produce that document has told you everything you need to know.
Not on our set. The floor gets dressed with clean drop cloths from door to hearth, the fireplace opening is sealed before a single rod goes up, and a filtered vacuum stays running start to finish, swallowing the soot as the brushes free it. Most sweepings wrap within the hour, the equipment exits the way it entered, and the room looks exactly as it did before we rolled — that is the whole performance.
No forms and no hold music with a script. The tradesman who answers can size a flue from your description, quote an honest range, and set the visit — morning showing, midnight showing, your pick.
The smell after last night's fire, the flakes below the stack, the closing date circled in red — one telling is enough. You hang up knowing whether a truck rolls, on which day, and what the honest range is.
(862) 233-2068 Tap — the Studio Picks UpOpen 24 hours, all year
This marquee has never gone dark