Lisa McElroy remembers walking down Church Street and realizing something was off.

First was the new “Rated XXX” bookstore across the street from St. Paul’s Catholic Church, definitely out of place in the sunny residential neighborhood. She passed a pawn shop, abandoned cars and trash heaps that didn’t move in the wind, before she finally realized she was on a movie set.

“Being pre-internet times, I had no idea what movie was being filmed, but I guessed it was some type of apocalyptic road-warrior type genre,” McElroy wrote about the filming. “There would no doubt be screeching car chases and explosions, a dirty cop, drug deals. Imagine my surprise when I found out it was a sunny musical comedy featuring singing nuns.”

San Francisco has been invaded by body-snatching aliens, overrun by talking apes and featured as a fighting arena for Godzilla. But the most unbelievable cinematic moment in the city’s history happened in 1991, when Disney came to town and transformed a block of lovely Noe Valley into a graffiti-covered den of sin.

The location was greeted with surprise, as Noe Valley was already an upper-middle-class neighborhood when “Sister Act” began filming there. The movie company “in town shooting Whoopi Goldberg’s ‘Sister Act’ decided the real thing wasn’t enough,” Chronicle columnist Herb Caen wrote. “So, at considerable cost, the Hollywoodenheads slummified a formerly pin-neat block at 29th and Church.”

But it almost defies comprehension in 2019, as Noe Valley has developed into one of the most desirable neighborhoods in the city, a land of Acuras and expensive baby strollers, where a single-family dwelling starts around $1.5 million.

San Francisco was a late decision for “Sister Act,” which originally had Bette Midler set to star, and filming planned for Chicago. After Whoopi Goldberg was attached, the location shifted to San Francisco, where the comedian began her stand-up career. Goldberg starred as Deloris, a Reno singer who witnesses a killing, then goes into hiding as a nun at a San Francisco church.

Noe Valley resident Eddie Knox learned about the movie when a Disney representative knocked on his door, offering $5,000 to shoot at his Church Street home. The catch: They would cover the structure in graffiti and trash, and haul a broken telephone booth in front of his house, promising to restore everything better than new after they departed.

“They created their own concrete with plywood and plaster,” said Brooklyn-born Knox, who has lived in the neighborhood since 1980. “They had these artists come down who were phenomenal. They were given free hand to just do graffiti everywhere. They loved it. They graffitied all the houses.”

Knox said one owner on his block wanted to negotiate for more than $5,000. Disney responded by parking a double-decker bus in front of the house, plus a big tree and planter, blocking light into the house. The owner eventually capitulated.

“I came home one day, and all the nuns in the movie were sitting over here,” Knox said, pointing to some steps. “It was a hot day, and they all had their habits pulled up, and they were drinking something out of a bag. I don’t know what it was. Could have been a soda, could have been a beer. I said, ‘Where’s my camera when you need it?’ We didn’t have the camera phones we have now.”

The best stories came from the retail sites on the block, which continued doing business despite the wholesale storefront changes.

“Hall Realty’s tenants were caught off guard last month when they went to drop off their rent checks at the agency’s Church Street office, and found an X-rated adult bookstore in its place,” the Noe Valley Voice newspaper reported in November 1991. Owner Mary Hall “said one tenant even mailed her rent check in an envelope addressed to ‘Hall Realty and Sex Shoppe.’ Another sent his check to ‘Hall Realty and Videos?’”

Hall Realty is still there and, 28 years later, still flaunts its bright red “Sister Act” paint job. St. Paul’s Catholic Church, built in 1911 and saved from closure in the 1990s, is similarly frozen in time. But a recent visit to get some “now” photos to match with screenshots from the film reveals the block is all but unrecognizable to anyone taking an impromptu “Sister Act” reality tour.

On a recent sunny Friday afternoon, a black Tesla Model S sits where three nuns in “Sister Act” once worked on an abandoned junker of a VW bug. There are no sex workers or visible drug sales in the neighborhood, other than the pet store that sells CBD dog treats.

In the movie, 1679 Church St. is a pawn shop, with several homeless people out front, squatting in a Mercury Cougar covered in graffiti with its engine missing. It is now the pristine home to Melander Architects Inc.

“Sister Act” was the fourth-highest-grossing film of 1992, making more than $140 million at the domestic box office. Disney rushed out a sequel the next year. But in Noe Valley, the reviews were mixed.

Down the block from the main set, Drewes Meats co-owner Dave McCarroll told The Chronicle in 1993 that he lost $16,000 worth of business during filming, which closed streets and took up all the parking spaces. St. Paul’s Catholic Church has a 1,500-word history section on its website, and it inexplicably makes no mention of the “Sister Act” filming.

But for the most part, Knox said, the locals who remember the neighborhood’s transformation have fond memories.

“To this day, I mention to people that my house was in the movie ‘Sister Act,’” Knox said. “And they know what I’m talking about. Because everybody saw that movie.”

Peter Hartlaub is The San Francisco Chronicle’s pop culture critic. Email: phartlaub@sfchronicle.com Twitter: @PeterHartlaub

Back to Gallery ‘Sister Act’ transformed Noe Valley into a den of... 4 1 of 4 Photo: Peter Hartlaub / The Chronicle 2 of 4 Photo: Peter Hartlaub / The Chronicle 3 of 4 Photo: Peter Hartlaub / The Chronicle 4 of 4 Photo: Peter Hartlaub







Lisa McElroy remembers the ‘Sister Act’ transformation of Noe Valley I was living in a drafty old flat on 26th and Church in 1991, the year “Sister Act” was filming down the street at St. Paul’s Catholic Church. My cousin grew up down the street from St. Paul’s. It was her school and eventually she got married there, so I knew the area well from childhood on. Still, I, like many in my neighborhood, would head up 24th for most of my mercantile needs. Occasionally I’d wander in the other direction, past the church, to go to the 100-year-old Star Bakery, or to the little diner near 30th with its red countertop and built-in stools. The day I was walking in that direction, I don’t remember if I was on an errand or just taking a nostalgic stroll, but something about the neighborhood was off. The huge RATED XXX bookstore on the corner across from church was startling. I gawped at the signage promising “marital aids” and “24-hour videos.” What a bummer for the church, I thought. But there used to be a topless bar on the corner of my grandma’s street near the Cow Palace, so sometimes with city real estate, these things happen. As I continued my stroll, it got stranger. A mountain of garbage lined the sidewalk along with junked cars. The once-pristine street of homes and family-run businesses had turned into a dystopian cityscape. A pawnshop , a gaudy video arcade, was there a bail bonds storefront? — I can’t recall, but if not, that was an oversight. The church itself was covered in graffiti with strangely permanent garbage clogging its entryway. Why wasn’t the garbage blowing around, I wondered. I walked over to the iconic stone walls to investigate. I discovered wads of newspaper tucked behind nearly invisible chicken wire, and the stones were a clever facade covered in neon paint scrawl. I was on a movie set. Being pre-internet times, I had no idea what movie was being filmed, but I guessed it was some type of apocalyptic road-warrior type genre. There would no doubt be screeching car chases and explosions, a dirty cop, drug deals. Imagine my surprise when I found out it was a sunny musical comedy featuring singing nuns. — Lisa McElroy