In the late 1920s, as the first few movies managed to successfully synchronise sound and image, there was suspicion, and even outcry in the world of film. Silent film was seen by many as a pure visual medium which, uninhibited by sound, offered a unique aesthetic virtue, for it ascribed a primacy of expression to the muted body, which had to convey meaning through dumb mime, gesture, touch, and even dance. Film was an art of the body, to be undercut, diluted and radically altered by the new-found opportunity to express meaning through speech. Many asked themselves: of what interest was a form which synchronised sound and image? Which reflected reality so intimately?
Of course with any technological or cultural advance, there are those who embrace change and evolve, and those who cling to what they cherish and know best, despite what the status quo may dictate. Silent films are made today, but when was the last time you saw one? The times change, and the sad fact is that certain media forms are overtaken by others, and find themselves lingering on dusty archive shelves. But does this really have to be the case? The old debate between the silent film traditionalists, and the advocates of the ‘talkies’ is not mentioned in vain, for we find a similar debate at play in contemporary society, regarding what is often referred to as the ‘digital revolution’ in film.
Three months ago the UK’s last professional lab to be printing 16mm film, based in Soho, was sold. Its new American owners say that they will discontinue 16mm. Within a couple of days of this announcement thousands of signatures had appeared on the ‘Save 16mm’ petition, and a number artists faithful to the medium spoke out against the development. As the grip of the digital age tightens, could the death of 16mm in the UK signal the start of a more widespread and damaging revolution, involving celluloid en masse?
Despite 16mm’s status as a growing medium for artists in recent years, it is becoming less and less economically viable to produce, the cost of shooting a DV film and using digital post-production software pales into insignificance when put in contrast with the time and money involved in preparing celluloid. But doesn’t celluloid have a certain inimitable warmth? Doesn’t it carry an aura of sorts? Isn’t there something comforting about its grainy texture, something vaguely nostalgic, something soulful? Isn’t that alone something worth fighting for?
Advocates of digital film will no doubt tell you that it’s cheap, quick, and offers brighter and clearer images, but isn’t the artistry of using celluloid bound up to a certain extent in its preparation? In cutting the film from the rush print, sticking the shots together with tape, spooling, splicing, colouring each individual image in a transformative, alchemical process. Working with super16 requires the film-maker, as Tacita Dean has stated, to become both artist and artisan, in a hands-on creative process which requires more than just the clicking of buttons.
There have been claims that 16mm is an ‘outdated’ medium, which few use. Contrary to popular belief some of the most successful movies of the past few years have been shot on super16, including Oscar winners Black Swan, and The Hurt Locker. But as digital begins to take over, we find ourselves more and more concerned with clarity, high definition, ‘quality’, and the ability to shoot, produce and edit films to short time frames.
Far from stating that celluloid is better than digital it is clear that both mediums have their unique benefits, but why should we have to compromise one for the other? Celluloid finds itself at increasing danger of being trampled under hoof by digital. Digital film seems more and more to satisfy a dominant cultural mode of transparent mediation, allowing for a crispness and clarity of image which celluloid could never attain. But just because celluloid offers a different aesthetic effect to the consumerist norm doesn’t mean it should be cut. In fact this is precisely a reason to fight for its longevity. But as HD and 3D become increasingly desirable and profitable, celluloid’s downward spiral seems set to continue.
The ascent of one form of film-making shouldn’t mean the destruction of another. As a progressive society, and patrons of art, we should be encouraging and incubating open-mindedness in the process of filming and editing, and this should include protecting celluloid from excinction. However, the form can only be protected so long as there are people willing to fight for it. Like the transition from the silent films to the talkies, there is no doubt that digital is the way forward, but the ability and opportunity to experiment with celluloid should not be denied anyone.
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