Today, I hope you will allow me to pause from discussing technology and techniques to discover a little bit of the pure joy that is the process of photography.
Last night, I went to see the movie “Fatal Attraction.” Yes, you’re reading it in 2022 (or sometime on the Internet in the future). No, you’ve been transported back in time to 1987, when your hair was long and your shoulders were even bigger. Instead, I found myself sitting in a small neighborhood movie theater, with the bottoms of my shoes partially inlaid to the floor by decades of spilled and partially cleaned popcorn butter, to watch director Adrian Lyne declared unfaithfulness because I love movies more than anything else. In the world. And, although I’ve seen the film many times, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen it on the big screen as it was intended. And, with all due respect to the advancements of mobile phones, movies are meant to be seen in theaters. So whenever I get a chance to watch a movie on the big screen instead of via a streaming service, I get in the car and make my way to the box office.
This special screening is courtesy of American Cinematheque, a film appreciation organization of which I am a member. In addition to the most famous “bunny in danger” movie, Fatal Attraction, tonight will also be a battle of wits, with another Lyne blockbuster, “Flashdance.” Even more intriguing, Adrian Lyne himself will be on hand to watch a live Q&A session between the films to talk about his process and shed some light behind the scenes. There were many memorable moments of the night, but for today’s post, I will highlight one.
It may not seem like a highlight to some. Others will know exactly what I am referring to. When I entered the theater, perfectly evenly from front to back as well as from side to side, at the brief introduction of the host, the lights began to dim. I’ve always liked this brief moment for what it is, either a confirmation that the projector is no longer in the gin and asleep in the control room, and, two, an opportunity for a brief moment of anticipation. shortly before the story begins. open. As the lights in the house fell asleep, the only light in the room came from the opening title card of Paramount Pictures.
It’s clear from this opening frame that this particular print has had better days. For those of you in an age where you’ve known only a completely clean digital projection world and your only interaction with film dust and scratches is an effect you apply DaVinci Resolve, just know that those effects are aimed at a rebound back to what was once the norm. After hundreds of trips through different film projectors over the course of several years, it is understandable that a traditional film print will begin to show its wear and tear. Studios regularly release new prints or attempt to revive old ones. But, in the case of this print, I seriously question whether it could have been one of the original soldiers sent into battle in 1987.
Scratches aside, the look and feel of the movie isn’t too striking for me, that’s how it sounds. Not the film’s sound design, but the literal sound of the movie itself. As you probably know, film prints arrive at the cinema on large physical reels, then uploaded and run through a physical projector at 24fps. There is a cinematographer there to watch movies from the booth and change reels at the right time for uninterrupted movie playback. Unlike the digital cinema print, which is the norm today and is essentially a data file that projects a video image onto a screen, a cinema projector is a much more tactile experience. And with the process of physical film running through the projector will emit sound.
So when I sit in the theater and the movie projector kicks into gear showing the movie’s opening silent title card, my ears are filled with the sound of 35mm film twirling around its reels to create the image. displayed on the screen. It’s not too noisy. Just hearing that sound so clearly in the silent credits suddenly reminds me of how that sound has largely disappeared in modern movies. I realized that I missed it. Something about listening to it brought me back to the thousands of other movies I’ve seen in theaters over the years and the subconscious physical sensation I get from a movie trip.
Today we talk a lot about technology. We debate megapixels and resolutions. We work to protect our own selected camera brands and protect our countries in times of war. We could go 12 rounds on some pretty trivial things and find it too easy to equate technology with performance art. But, the point of creating art, whether you are a photographer, a filmmaker or a painter, being an artist is not just the end product. It’s about the creation process. Nuts and bolts. The sound and rhythm of the moment is like the last moment of seeing your work spread across your digital screen.
When I think about photography, I’m obviously interested in getting the perfect (for me) image. However, I also love the feeling of turning the switch on and off on my Nikon camera before shooting. One of the things I miss most after switching to mirrorless is the loud clapping of my DSLR’s shutter whenever I snap a frame. Sure, you could hear it 10 blocks away, but something about that loud clapping provided me with some kind of initial emotional release. Before switching to mirrorless, when going from film to digital, the biggest joy I missed was my film upgrade lever. With digital, you just shoot frame after frame. With my old Canonflex 35mm manual, I had to manually film after each shot. It doesn’t work at all to simply let the camera autofocus for the next frame. But, there is something very satisfying about terminating the previous frame on its own and fully fulfilling that creative thought.
This is not meant to be a disparagement of new technology. All the new digital instruments that we can play in the modern age come with their own set of charms. And, no matter what set of toys you’re playing with, they’ll come with their own set of toys that, at the time, you might find annoying, but looking back, you’ll likely look back on the memories. beautiful concept.
How many times have I kept my C legs at an angle and spread them to the correct position? How many times have I heard the loud rattle of the latches on my Pelican box locking into place? How many times have I felt a power surge every time my strobe light shines through a softbox placed at the right angle to my subject? How many times have I heard that click signal that my lenses are securely in place?
Part of the joy of being an artist is the sheer sensory pleasure of creating. The sound of a pencil gliding across a white sheet of paper. The sound of the board clapping as the second bullet missed the next shot. And even the sound of an old-school movie projector making noises before the opening montage begins to play.
What are some of your favorite little moments when creating art? What are some seemingly inconsequential parts of the process that you’ll find yourself missing when they disappear with the next wave of technology? Creating art is about the process as much as it is about the product. And, as the processes unfold, there is nothing quite like it.
