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.*

*Update April 2025: I can no longer recommend Dwayne's Photo for film processing. In Feb 2025 they ruined 3 rolls of Ektachrome and refused to compensate me for the film. In fact the whole interaction was insulting to a customer of 30+ years and I will not be doing business with them again.

(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.

Reprint of AMIA piece

This article was first published in The Moving Image: The Journal of the Association of Moving Image Archivists, Spring 2012 issue. Though I am currently shooting color negative (due to the demise of Ektachrome in 2013) Film Ferrania is on track to manufacture a new color reversal film stock within the next year.

AT THIS MOMENT

I’m a committed color reversal filmmaker. I started shooting Super 8mm when I was twelve. At twenty, I discovered 16mm Kodachrome. Sometime later, I made a private commitment to explore the film medium until the end of my time here on earth.

Owning the simple, quality tools of amateur moviemaking (wind‐up camera, non-scratching projector, hot splicer, etc.) is easier today than when I started. They’re unobtrusive fixtures in my life and were built to last. Their effect on the psyche is far-reaching, however. The need to make films frequently springs to life in a reverie of hedonism, so much that even food or sex can’t compete. Projecting a color reversal original induces a superb high or, if you’re lucky, hallucinations.

I relish the anxiety of waiting for the film to come back from the lab and still get butterflies when I thread up a new roll. I can’t explain what kind of films I make. I’m an amateur with a day job. My films are public displays of affection.

Nearly ninety years after the advent of 16mm, I am aware how strange this lifestyle may seem. There are other mediums better suited to graphic imagery, but the sensual qualities of color reversal are what free my imagination. The definition of boring is trying to capture how the world really looks; capturing how it feels from an ecstatic state is profoundly interesting.

The ability to shoot, project, and edit from the same roll is a marvel of portability and economy. To work with color reversal is to sculpt elements forged in the explosions of distant stars at bargain‐basement prices. In skilled hands, color reversal film doesn’t have to resort to trickery. One of its gifts is a gritty, but otherworldly, perspective.

Yet I have doubts about cinema and myself. Is it wrong to dedicate oneself to the pursuit of beauty while there is so much ugliness and injustice in the world? Using film today is a willful partnership with uncertainty. It’s a corporeal dance with death but without the glamour. And I do understand the appeal of digital technology. Being a simulation of the corporeal, it affords some protection from doubt and a hint of immortality.

Making a print is the beginning of a more grown‐up effort, as my role shifts from pleasure seeker to preservationist. I do it because I’d like to share my work with a wider public. Someday I may project only my originals, accepting that they may be quickly destroyed. For now I accept the less‐than‐perfect materials we’ve been given.

Kodak’s Color Internegative II film (32/7272) is a high‐resolution print stock designed for low‐contrast color reversal originals. Yet a large majority of 16mm films have been made on projection contrast original, particularly those of interest to archives. In my work, every shot should be timed for maintenance—no change in color balance, no density correction, no scene matching. For this reason, I have learned to time my originals by eye, at least as a way of communicating my desires to the lab’s timer.

My sainted lab graciously humors me with a special internegative treatment: the lightest post-flashing combined with a 1.5 stop pull process. This is one bit of trickery that works and will greatly expand the limits of shadow detail, without compromising density. Shadows are the hinterlands where a large part of the magic of reversal occurs. Nathaniel Dorsky takes it even further. For him, a print can never be more than a facsimile. His reversal‐based films are edited to the qualities of the facsimile, not the original. He makes an internegative of many times more footage than the finished film and chooses only those shots that “translate” for the final cut.

A movie camera and body working in tandem can channel the subconscious. One could not set out to invent this rarified system on purpose. Its very lack of sophistication demands that you mean what you shoot and shoot what you mean. This is a form that exists at this particular moment, on this particular planet, due to an impossible confluence of factors.

Like many, I mourned the death of Kodachrome. My Bolex and I became one with it over the years. I almost never used my light meter with it. Kodachrome was the standard by which other films were judged. Its colors were forged in molten steel, and its blacks were more alive with shape and dimension than any 3‐D production.

Kodak then gave us Ektachrome 100D (7285)—a modern, “T‐Grain” emulsion. It is a happy film stock at first, and I’ve had to struggle to pull up the stakes of Kodachrome’s moodiness. But the initial amusement‐park rendition is not superficial; there’s a youthful wisdom there, in contrast to the stoicism of Kodachrome. I’ve learned to coax 7285’s subtleties to the fore. And I believe, as Stan Brakhage once told me, they are my subtleties—particularities of color that belong to no one else. This is one of them most profound mysteries of film, and it cuts across all genres: how so many people can use similar materials yet come up with such an infinitely shifting palate of possibilities. I guess that would be the definition of art.

I believe that as filmmakers, audiences, and preservationists, it is always in our interest to vocalize those ideas that might get us branded as “artsy,” “impractical,” and “crazy.” In years to come, these ideas will be more important. I hope it won’t be too late. I’m heartened to see a few younger people discovering the sensual delights of vinyl records, black‐and‐white photography, and filmmaking after having known only a simulated reality. After all, a life without a little hedonism is hardly worth living.