"Explosions of Distant Stars"  

http://xcentric.cccb.org/en/programas/fitxa/explosions-of-distant-stars/240621 

 

Xcentric/CCCB 

Barcelona

Sunday, 19 Feb 2023 

6:30PM

 

PROGRAM:

Lake of the Spirits (1998) 16mm 7m

The Crossing (2007) 16mm 5m

Los Caudales (2004) 16mm-to-digital 15m

Drifter (2010) 16mm 25m

Quartet (2005-08) 16mm-to-digital 12m

 

 

 

 

Two Minds about Kodak's new Ektachrome 100D 7294 color reversal film

More than a year after it hit the market I had a chance to try Kodak's new Ektachrome color reversal film 100D/7294 (E100 in still format). 

The resurrection of Ektachrome was something I thought I'd never see, and it was a long time coming--eight years to be exact since it was unceremoniously pulled from the market. It had been more than long enough to process all the grief, anger, acceptance, and finally reconciliation of losing my artistic loved one. Now I'm ready for a sane assessment of this new old kid on the block.

Over the past year I shot 3 rolls of Super 8, 1 roll of 16mm, and 1 roll of 35mm slides. All were processed (flawlessly, I will add) by Dwayne's Photo of Parsons, Kansas in March 2020.

(Disclaimer: I receive no freebies from Kodak, nor Dwayne's; I paid full price for everything, out of my own pocket, as I have for decades. In fact I'm a little disappointed I wasn't among the multiple filmmakers contacted for the beta testing of this filmstock, and I'm even more troubled that my friend Nathaniel Dorsky wasn't either. You see, Nathaniel's work is a big part of the inspiration for the color reversal film comeback at Kodak. Back in 2015, Mr. Dorsky hosted a personal screening of his 16mm Kodachrome original footage for Kodak's then-new CEO, whose reaction was nothing less than ecstatic at the beauty of what he saw. He even told Nathaniel that the footage left him convinced of the need to bring back Ektachrome, yet he never got in touch with Nathaniel again...But that is another story for another time...)

All images are actual frame enlargements from 16mm and Super 8 Ektachrome 7294

WELL

I'm of two minds about the new Ektachrome. I'm divided enough that I could write two entirely different reviews: One would heap on praise for this film's existence as nothing short of a miracle, a re-awakening of a lost art form, and an astounding achievement in film manufacturing.

My second review might read something like a bleak, post-apocalyptic, paean to the end-of-cinema; full of aesthetic and monetary defeat and exasperation, finally asking "what's the point?"

And both of those imagined reviews would be truthful. But I think it's more useful to interweave my thoughts as they happen and let the reader decide whether this film stock is worth it. These days you'd have to be either a fool or an advertising agency to recommend anything without reservation.

By the way, this review is about the aesthetic possibilities of a cinematic art. For the precious few of us concerned with such things, ambiguity is a place where we feel most at home.

A "REVIEW"

First, an apology in advance to those of you who don't have 40 years of intimate involvement with color reversal motion picture film. Though I will try to be as lucid as possible in my descriptions, some of this will inevitably fall back on my experience with previously manufactured film stocks, like Kodachrome and the many other iterations of Ektachrome dating back to the 1980s, or currently made films like Velvia.

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

SHARPNESS/SHADOW DETAIL

Ektachrome 100D/7294 is probably the sharpest color reversal film ever made. Beating out Kodachrome 25, all the previous Ektachromes, and perhaps even Fuji Velvia 50! No, I can't back that up with science, but to my eyes, 7294 gives an impression of sharpness that I haven't seen before in any of those other bitingly sharp reversal films. These eyes have viewed a lot of original reversal over the years but I must admit I was actually startled by the new Ektachrome's capacity for ultra-fine detail.

Where Ektachrome 7294 falls down is in it's inability to render shadow detail. Venerable Kodachrome had an especial ability to tease out detail in underexposed areas of the image that the new Ektachrome doesn't even attempt. This was one of the most unique qualities of dearly departed Kodachrome: an ability to pull hints of shape out of the shadows, to the point where darkness could take on a life of its own. For me there was a quasi-spirituality in the Kodachrome way of rendering darkness, like the murmur of prayers in an old, dark church. Yet Kodachrome was a film with ostensibly the same behavior as other reversal films: little latitude, high contrast and excellent d-max. It still amazes me how they pulled off such a contradiction so many decades ago. 

The new Ektachrome is a normal, projection-contrast reversal film that behaves much as you would expect. The exposure latitude is quite narrow, and I would venture to say that even though it is a bit lower in overall contrast than the hyper-saturated Ektachrome 7285, it's blacks seem to "fall off" into oblivion a little bit faster than even that stock. Put another way, 7294's shadow behavior harks back to Ektachrome VNF 7240 in that there's an odd sense of milkiness at the point where the film ceases to render any image and falls off into blackness. It's also similar to the short-lived Ektachrome 64T (7280) in that respect.

COLOR, EVER IMPORTANT COLOR

 

Now this is the part of the review where my tone could take a turn for the worse, but reversal film is so important to my aesthetic as a filmmaker, I'm going to do a little soul-searching instead.

Simply stated, 7294 is the most natural, neutral color reversal film I've ever seen. It renders the world exactly as it "is". It doesn't favor any one color cast or tone. Flesh tones are particularly exact in this regard, and if you are accustomed to dealing with the reversal films that came before, you're going to find the flesh tone reproduction a little uncanny in its accuracy. This is a color film that lets none of it's own personality intrude, and that is quite an achievement in terms of film technology. However, it's important to remember that there has never, ever been a film that didn't impose some of its own character over the imagery it recorded--and that's a big part what makes this art form so interesting.

As an experimental filmmaker, neutrality is not a desirable quality; if it were, I'd have eagerly embraced digital long ago. But I do want to say something in this film's favor: 7294 presents a challenge to me where Kodachrome and 7285 did not. Those other film stocks, particularly 7285, had an almost too-easy tendency toward psychedelia. They could be called on to create an idealized pastiche of certain schools of painting or pop-art, overwhelming otherwise mundane visuals with something along the lines of dream-logic. (In other words, right up my alley).

Sitting in my back room, projecting these newly processed rolls of 7294 for the first time, I said to myself: "Why did they bother to come out with a reversal film that looks basically the same as Vision 50D or Ektar?" And I feel completely justified in that knee-jerk reaction; it's obvious the engineers responsible for developing 7294 were slavish to the current Kodak "house look" when designing this stock.

Yet, yet, yet, despite what my mouth was saying, my heart and soul were deeply excited by this film stock, not just because I like a challenge, but because it is, indeed, beautiful. (And beautiful is not a word I would ever use to describe Vision 3 color negative: nice, yes, sometimes interesting, yes, but never beautiful.) 

Aside from the obvious reason for the existence of reversal, Ektachrome does retain just enough of the color pop I've come to love in reversal film, particularly in subjects like neon signs at night and those deep, clear blue skies. And of course, it can't help but have the solidity and now-ness that only an original film or slide can have--being an object that is wholly unique in the world and can be appreciated with little or no additional equipment or electronic rigmarole.

GRAIN

It goes without saying, Kodak has been on an anti-grain kick for several decades now, and the new Ektachrome is no exception. I don't believe it is simply marketing when they claim it is the 'finest-grained 100 speed color reversal film in the world'. But thankfully Kodak still have to abide by the laws of physics, so it does have grain. 

One of the advantages of being a filmmaker is that we understand film grain as something alive and in motion: A pulsating, energetic field of random molecular movement within and beyond our images, whether they be representational or abstract. This, like variances in color rendition, is a grossly underappreciated element in the aesthetics of film-based cinema; it is an added extra that can compliment, contrast with, and even become its own meaning.

The new Ektachrome 7294 has very similar grain structure to the previous Ektachrome 7285: Its individual grain particles are just slightly scaled-down by comparison. Here is where Super 8 filmmakers are at a distinct advantage--the grain is just lovely in that format. About the old Ektachrome, I felt Super 8 had never looked better as a format and the new Ektachrome retains this wonderful quality. The grain is present enough to be appreciated, but not obtrusive; and the overall image density holds together in Super 8 so there's none of that small format washout. 

In 16mm, the grain is present, but one can sometimes forget it is even there, depending on the imagery. Under normal, properly-exposed daylight shooting, 7294 is disappointingly similar to a Vision 50D workprint. In 35mm slides, grain is nearly invisible. The grain of new Ektachrome is both tighter in structure and has a more regular-seeming pattern than even the slow Kodachrome 25 of yore.

 

COST

It's too expensive and because of that I'll shoot far less than I used to. But it will make me a more efficient filmmaker. Yes, it will.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SHELF LIFE

The new Ektachrome has a very good shelf life, even when exposed but undeveloped. 

Color negative, on the other hand, should be shot and processed within a month, maybe 2, if it is to retain its intended contrast and color. When I was shooting Vision 3 I really grew to despise that little gnawing worry: constantly having to ask myself when I bought the film, how long it had been in the refrigerator, and can I wait just a little longer before sending it off for processing? 

I'm overjoyed the new Ektachrome retains the excellent stability that us 'amateurs' have historically come to expect with reversal films. 7294 can easily hold up for a year in the refrigerator after it has been shot without losing contrast or color saturation. At room temperature I'd have no problem letting it sit for 3-4 months after shooting. In today's world, with so few labs, rising shipping costs, and minimum footage charges, the ability to wait is a crucial convenience.

FINAL THOUGHTS

Despite the new Ektachrome's reluctance to take up the mantle of spokesfilm for the virtues of analog photography in a digital world, there is a certain je ne sais quoi to the film's plain-speaking rendition that belies my particular criticisms. 

Is 7294 capable of more than the sum of its parts? Possibly! 

I'm reasonably certain there is a personality lurking in there somewhere.

To Nederland and Lump Gulch: A Sort of Pilgrimage with Jane Wodening

For those readers not familiar with Jane Wodening, she is perhaps one of the most gifted and unique writers working today. Her recent books include Driveabout, Brakhage's Childhood, and Wolf Dictionary. Jane was married to Stan Brakhage from 1957-87, and is both collaborator on, and subject of, many Brakhage films, notably, Window Water Baby Moving, Hymn To Her, The Stars Are Beautiful, and others. 

I finally got a chance to spend some time with Jane last Fall.

November 19, 2017, Sunday
I picked up Jane early; we needed about an hour (from Denver) to get up to the Blue Owl Book Store & Coffee Shop in Nederland where Jane is to sign copies of her books from 11:00 to 1:30. Jane brings mandarins, nut bars, sparkling water and some extra copies of LIVING UP THERE, and a few others. Janette, Jane's publisher, has helped organize the Nederland Books & Coffee Festival in which a number of local authors have been invited to sign books at The Blue Owl and other locations around town. I've already torn through BRAKHAGE'S CHILDHOOD with zeal, and am now half-way through the excellent DRIVEABOUT which Jane so graciously gave me last week. I'm very much in Jane-space right now.

Oddly, I don't believe I've ever been to Nederland, even though I lived in Boulder for several years. Perhaps I passed through there as a kid on one of those many family outings to the mountains, but I don't remember it. I am struck by the town's timeless feel--it is amazingly untouched by chain-store blight. As Jane's cousin Betsy (from Jane's father's side of the family) later explained to me, the citizens have fought hard to keep it that way. We arrive early in Nederland, and Jane treats me to quiche and coffee.

Upon arriving in Nederland, I had already noticed myself experiencing a deja-vu-like sensation. Something about a certain row of 100 year-old buildings...I feel I've seen them before. I realize fairly soon that I'm recognizing the locale from one (or more) Brakhage films, including, perhaps, the amazing TRIP TO DOOR (1973) which Suranjan Ganguly showed at the Celebrating Brakhage screening at CU this month. This little-known film also happens to be one of the most straightforward, documentary-like film portraits of Jane during those years. There are lengthy shots of Jane driving a massive old truck; passing through the forest; parking in town and jumping out to run errands at several shops.

The book signing goes well and Jane seems happy to have been surrounded by friends, and I think she sold quite a few books. The Blue Owl has kept me in tea and empanadas for these two hours and I've gone out to the car and loaded the Beaulieu with some Kodak Vision 50D. Jane and I talked about visiting the cabins earlier--the road to the cabin at 10,000 ft (from LIVING UP THERE) is not passable according to the locals, but Jane says we can surely make it up to the cabin that was home to the Brakhages for 23 years.

Now: Jane on the Carousel (2017) (16mm frames)

But first, Jane is on a mission: To ride "The Carousel of Happiness" just across the street. A Nederland landmark, originally built in 1910 (moved to Ned in 2010), with hand-carved animals and a Wurlitzer Player Organ. It's a dollar to ride, and she approaches it with the excitement of a school girl. I position myself just ahead of her on the double-swan seat as she excitedly chooses the moose with large antlers. The rest of the roll of 16mm goes by quickly here, and I'm hoping I've captured something of the pure joy that was emanating from her face.

Then: Jane in Window Water Baby Moving (1958)

From Nederland, it takes about a half hour to get to the cabin, through Rollinsville and up several muddy, slushy dirt roads in the area known as Lump Gulch, Gilpin County, CO. Upon turning into the rutted driveway to the cabin I notice it has a street sign: Mountain Joy Lane (according to Jane, at first they had only a Rural Route number, and by the time they left, the county had put up a sign calling it Brakhage Road--but now it's something else again, and that fact seems to inform the journey). I worry though that we are intruding on the new owners, and will be driven off. 

The Brakhage Home from 1964-1987

But my fears are for naught--Jane had been here about 5 years ago, and the current owner comes out to greet us, recognizing Jane immediately. She even invites us in to chat. She's a quilter with an amazingly large loom occupying the length of what once was the bedroom. Until we were invited in, the whole thing felt somewhat different than what I'd remembered in the films--a little like a half-finished facsimile of a Place I'd built in my mind. Things were moved around. The whole building not quite oriented in the proper direction. But I absolutely recognized the view out the former bedroom (now workshop) window as 'correct' and began to feel more at ease.

About 30 years ago, a year after Stan and Jane divorced, the cabin was sold. Several owners have come and gone, and the current owners have been here since 2008. There have been quite a few minor structural changes, I learn (front steps enlarged and front door moved; front/bedroom window enlarged significantly). It was even under foreclosure for several years, and had become overrun with wild animals. The owner kindly gives us permission to explore the surrounding property as we please and I am excited: I'm about to go load the Beaulieu with another roll but I can't get myself to do it. What would such footage be to me? A trophy? I can't quite see what I would possibly do with it, and this is no longer the Brakhage House. After all, I'm not documenting the past, and I don't want to shoot Jane here--though she is clearly through any bitterness about the divorce, shooting here would seem to be a back-step away from my hope of capturing her honestly, as herself, now. (But a few phone-pix won't hurt in this case--I'll just 'document' for the sake of souvenir, but not art.)

Jane shows me where the wishing well used to be, and we climb the rock pile as Jane calls it (really it's an extensive granite formation rising about 20-30 feet from the ground behind the house). OK. Now I feel like a real sissy as Jane insists on going up ahead of me over the slick snow covered rocks--she's more nimble than I, and at several decades my senior! Even so, I'm scared she'll fall and I offer help, but she doesn't want it. Once at the top, we admire the spectacular view. Jane jokes that the rock pile seems to have gotten steeper in 30 years--the only part of the Rockies to have become higher, while the rest erodes!

Back in the car, we stop at the bottom of Mountain Joy road, among the now-bare aspen grove I've so often seen in the films. We eat a peanut bar and a couple mandarin oranges and decide to take the back way through Blackhawk and into Golden. After a few minutes on the road, we pass a large, modern Gilpin Co. Library building and Jane recalls volunteering there when it was only a one room cabin--she also recounts how instrumental her efforts were to its survival. Later, as we approach Blackhawk, we muse on the subjects of bottomless lakes connected by volcanic tubes and our shared desire to live in geologic time instead of the hurried human sense of time (Jane is working on a new book called A Biography of the Earth.) We talk about the discovery of photons in the brain and most importantly, the need to find one's true fate.

The clouds clear just enough so a last bright slit of daylight follows us all the way back to Denver. And after saying our goodbyes I head home under the most spectacular, mother-ship-like formation of reddening clouds stretching across the front range.

********

Jane Wodening's latest book, Driveabout, chronicles the period shortly after the breakup of her marriage to Stan.

  Taken largely from her journals, this is Jane's journey through identity crisis and into self-realization. 

  Finding herself alone--with all the children grown up, and many of her contacts in the art world missing-in-action--Jane decides to wander the backroads of the Western (and later, Eastern) United States. 
  Living primarily out of her car, Jane meets many interesting characters, both human and animal, and her epic quest takes shape. Jane's spiritual understanding of nature is primal. The deft, observational interweaving of her internal and external journeys gives me hope for the human race. (TW)

A TRIBUTE TO DAVID PENDLETON

Please join us for a Tribute to David Pendleton

Sunday, December 10th, 5:00pm 
at Harvard Film Archive 
24 Quincy St, Cambridge, MA 02138

I will be screening one of my films and 
saying a few words in honor of David, 
along with many other friends and colleagues.  

http://hcl.harvard.edu/hfa/films/2017decfeb/david.html

David, you are so deeply missed by everyone who had the pleasure of knowing you.

Premiere of Petrichor

WORLD PREMIERE!

PETRICHOR 

(2017)

16mm, color, silent, 15 min

(MFA Thesis Film / University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee) 

Screening this Sunday, May 21, 2017, 7:00pm

KENILWORTH SQUARE EAST GALLERY 

(1925 E. Kenilworth Place, Milwaukee WI 53202)

Free admission...Refreshments to follow

Shot on Kodak Vision 3 7203, 7207, 7219; Fuji F-64D; Eterna Vivid 160; Eastman EXR 7248 and EXR 7293 (quite expired).

 Print by Fotokem.

I had been dreaming of becoming a storm chaser for the past several summers. Since I was a child thunderstorms have always inspired a most delicious combination of revelry and terror within me. 

In the summers of 2015/16 I set out on a few of my own (timid) forays into storm chasing…hoping not so much to capture ‘the deadliest tornado’, but instead, portray, on film, some of the ethereal colors and impossibly dark atmospheres that are at the core of my fascination with this weather phenomenon.

On one level, the film is the narrative of a mid-western thunderstorm…with images of gathering cumulonimbus clouds, downpours, windswept landscapes…and a sense of progression. But there is also a willful subversion of this order, with a play of color fields, film grain, and flashes from a wandering mind’s eye. Finally, like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, we arrive at a locale that might exist only in dreams. 

My personal journey in making this film brought me to an unexpected feeling of childhood nostalgia…and a sense of mourning for a lost American landscape (a feeling not unrelated to the current horrors of the American political scene.)

Discovering Color Negative, An Introduction

Note: Everything in this writing regarding the filmmaking process and the particular visual qualities of film stock is from the perspective of viewing the film image directly, on a film projector; either camera original, or in the case of negative, a standard-lite, first-generation print.

Since the demise of Kodak's sumptuous Ektachrome 100D (7285) in 2012, I've been shooting quite a lot of their Vision-3 color negative stocks.*  The transition from reversal to negative was neither easy, nor welcome, however. After 30-odd years of finessing my cinematographic abilities, I was feeling pretty confident as long as there was reversal in my camera. But life is like that I suppose. There is never a right time to lose a material that is so central to one's artistic vision.

My relationship with color reversal motion picture film began in 1982 with Kodachrome 40 Super 8 purchased at a local King Soopers store in Littleton, Colorado. At the time, a roll of K40 would set you back $3.99, and processing, an additional $1.59. I don't know what lab did the processing for King Soopers, but the quality was bottom-of-the-barrel. Rolls often came back dirty and scratched, with less-than-inspiring color. Every once in awhile a roll was lost or destroyed, but King Soopers always happily supplied a new roll and a little note of apology. I was too young then to understand how film labs worked, but no matter: if it weren't for King Soopers, film might not have been such a feasible hobby for a teenager with a weekly allowance of ten bucks. 

At 18 I started film school at CU-Boulder and a year later purchased my first 16mm camera (a Bell & Howell 70DR) along with two rolls of Kodachrome 25. By then I had some ideas about film stocks, having been introduced to the stunning, beautiful, and challenging films of Stan Brakhage, Bruce Conner, and so many others. 16mm was a new and exciting animal and I couldn't wait to try to tame it.

Before I met Stan Brakhage face-to-face, I used to see him around "The Hill" (Boulder's retail district near campus.) My first encounter with Stan "in the wild" was while doing laundry at "Doozy Duds". Fearful of approaching him, I watched in awe/consternation as he solemnly sorted his underwear, socks, and shirts. My young mind had trouble reconciling the fact that one of the greatest artists of the 20th century did his own laundry. (Little did I know about the lives of experimental filmmakers.)

Other times I would see Stan dropping off or picking up his 16mm film from the developing counter at Jones Drug and Camera. (Jones was a Hill mainstay for so many years...and on a recent visit to Boulder I was grief-stricken to find it closed and converted to a Starbucks).

But back to 1989: I inquired at Jones about their processing...it was sent to Kodak and the cost was $36.99 per 100ft. (Ouch!) I wanted to be like Stan, but that price was out of my league. So I started researching alternative ways to get my Kodachrome developed. After some effort, I came across an ad in the back of Shutterbug for Dean's Grand Canyon Color in Arizona. I recall the lady who answered the phone seemed unfamiliar with 16mm (after all, this was well into the era of the camcorder). But after a little checking and a return phone call, she proudly informed me that yes, they could process it, and they would only charge twice the cost of Super 8...a very reasonable $12.50. 

I suffered what seemed like an eternity of anticipation/ butterflies during the week it took for those first rolls to return from their chemical sojourn in Arizona. When the package finally arrived, I can only characterize the ritual of threading up and witnessing those images as something akin to a first kiss; or first love; or first intoxication. It was physical...like the sensation you get in your solar-plexus during a roller-coaster ride.

Being well accustomed to the soft indistinctness of Super 8, my first viewing of camera-original 16mm gave me an almost visceral sense of both expansion and concentration. Yes, I had seen some incredible (and rare) prints of classic avant-garde films at CU...but this! This was camera original! Like finding a direct route to nirvana...a veil had been lifted.

From 1972-2005, Kodak produced Kodachrome with virtually no change in formula. That might well be a record for any film stock and it is most definitely a record for a color stock. 16mm Kodachrome was available in two iterations: Daylight balanced 25 ISO and Type A (Tungsten balanced) 40 ISO.

My last roll of Kodachrome 16mm, exposed in June, 2009 (with Dwayne's twin-check number.)

There were interesting differences in color palette between the two Kodachrome emulsions. Nathaniel Dorsky summed it up most eloquently when he likened it to the plumage of birds: K25 was 'male' (intensely saturated, demanding attention) and K40, 'female' (subdued, less conspicuous).

Yet the inherent characteristics of the two Kodachrome emulsions underwent further (albeit subtle) changes depending on the lab that processed it. From the mid-80s to the mid-2000s, there were a number of 16mm Kodachrome labs around the world. Of those I personally used, Kodak Switzerland and Kodak Palo Alto were the king and queen, respectively. Kodachrome from either of these labs was simply perfection, with fine, gentle grain, spectacular saturation, and the most subtle tonal gradations. Dean's Grand Canyon Color produced a grittier/grainier, less-refined look with colors that tended toward the primary (In the early 90s, Dean's was bought out by Fuji Trucolor and remained relatively unchanged until closing in the early 2000s). There was also Kodak in Dallas; a mostly capable lab with sometimes spotty quality control (particularly known for the infamous blue scratches on Super 8). For a brief time, A&I Color in Los Angeles were running Kodachrome and were excellent. After the year 2000, digital still photography was really taking over and the labs were starting to close/consolidate. Dwayne's Photo of Parsons, Kansas became the last K-14 processor, running continuously from about 1996 until the chemicals were no longer available in 2010. I believe their processing machine actually came from Kodak Dallas, but their look was fairly different. However it was consistent through those years--somewhere between the 'true-grit' of Fuji and the areté of Lausanne/Palo Alto.

Occasionally I'd spice up my Kodachrome diet with a little bit of Ektachrome VNF "Video News Film" (1977-2005). VNF came in four different (and faster) speeds. In general, VNF produced a softer image with a rather nostalgic feel. The colors were subdued and the blacks not quite as deep. Color would be de-emphasized in daylight and vivid at night. It wasn't a 'realistic' stock per-se, and it could turn ugly if you weren't careful. VNF was Kodak's first attempt to engineer a film designed for video transfer rather than projection. Fuji also made their version of VNF. I only got to try it once when it was already quite expired. By the 90s I believe Fuji had stopped making any color reversal in 16mm.

Filmmakers working in the 50s, 60s and 70s had the delight of many, many reversal stocks from Kodak as well as a panoply of material from Ansco/GAF, Agfa, Ferrania/3M, Fuji, Perutz, Orwo and probably several others I haven't heard of. Most of these companies were either out of the film business or concentrating on still photography by the early to mid-80s, thanks to the ubiquity of the camcorder. Perhaps I will go into greater detail on those historical stocks in a future post.

I believe the alchemic nature of film manufacturing and processing is a major element in the delightfully varied visual landscape of film-based cinema, but it is far from the only factor. There's also the camera and lenses with their respective quirks (especially evident in equipment that is more than half a century old)...But ultimately it comes down to the individual behind the camera and at the editing bench. Gesture and personal idiosyncrasy are the unifying touches in this witches brew of alchemy...an artist must become the gatekeeper of (and conduit for) this unpredictable zone between science and superstition (as Rod Serling might say). How else could one explain the near-infinite visual variations in the history of cinema? 

At first glance, the recent generations of Kodak color negative (Vision-2 and Vision-3) seemed to represent the final nail-in-the-coffin for alchemy in cinema. It appeared Kodak had finally achieved cold uniformity and computer-like precision in a process that had been, until now, subject to so many uncontrolled variations. (In case I haven't been clear enough up to this point: the artist film--as opposed to the commercial film--do not reject, but rather embrace these variations, and utilize them for meaning.) 

On the other hand, commercial producers see something like film grain (god forbid) as an obstacle to the effective portrayal of soap, or sex...or whatever it is they're trying to sell. Kodak appeared happy to oblige, boasting of the Vision series as 'optimized for digital scanning' (in layman's terms: having color that was neither here, nor there). Kodak also claimed improved intercutability; that is, the idea that there would be no difference in 'look' between the different film speeds in the Vision series (an almost outright lie, as I will explain in part 2.) These changes, when combined with Hollywood's all-consuming love affair with the 'digital intermediate', meant there weren't many enticing examples of the Vision series to go by. My own small trials Vision 2 were pretty halting as well.

Though I'd managed to stockpile about twenty rolls of Ektachrome before it was sold out, 2013-14 proved to be bittersweet years (with emphasis on the bitter). Kodak was in bankruptcy and I was even more worried there would be no film at all by next year. If they managed to survive, I wondered how I was going to be able to work with such (seemingly) soulless stuff as Vision 3. 

Every time I loaded a roll from my dwindling supply of Ektachrome, it was a little death. 

(To be continued).

*Kodak announced the re-birth of Ektachrome for the fourth quarter of 2017: read about it here

**And Film Ferrania is (re)building a film factory for the next 100 years of analog film...with color reversal promised as a first product   

Stills from THE CROSSING (2007)