Movie film, not video. Think stringing a reel of film through a projector and hearing the rattle and hum of a hot bulbed machine that flickers images onto a wall. Imagine a pre-digital age where cutting out a scene of a home movie meant getting out a razor blade and cutting out a scene. How does something as imperfect and flawed as super 8mm film cast such a spell on its followers? When I shot Anne and Julien’s wedding in still photography, I agreed to their request to bring along my vintage movie camera to shoot a just a few minutes on good old fashioned movie film. I stipulated this movie shooting would take a distant back seat since I would shoot only in brief moments when it didn’t interfere with me capturing the events of the day with my still photography. Two short rolls of constantly jamming movie film reluctantly staggered through my 30 something year-old cinema camera. The moving images that resulted clarified my adoration of super 8mm cinema. No matter how aging your equipment, or how careless your film handlers, or how much you fail to give shooting the attention it deserves, super 8mm cinema gives back only love.
In this posted film, only the opening and closing text titles are manipulated in software. Every single frame of the wedding day, however, is authentic untouched Super 8mm movie film in all its glorious imperfection. Every speck of dust, every motion blur, every piece of lint, every light leak, every strand of fiber, every partially exposed frame, every textured speck of film grain, every jitter, roll and flicker is genuine. Super 8mm takes all these unappealing scraps and blends them into a brew that casts its spell on viewers. Maybe this explains the fiercely loyal cadre of enchanted followers super 8mm cinema enjoys nearly 40 years after industry pundits proclaimed that the birth of video tape marked the death of celluloid film in home movie making.