35 mm, we will miss you.
by emmitunknowing
July 22, 2010
July 22, 2010
At the moment, being a projectionist is quite interesting. 35mm is being phased out and the days of winding and luging films around will be a thing of the past soon enough.
Films will no longer get scratches, reels will never be put in upside down, bits of film wont get cut out due to a projector deciding to eat it.
I think this is very sad indeed, so with your help I would like to create something that celebrates all that is and was good about 35mm.
The story I've added is a bit cynical, I know, but that's mainly down to my personal experinces over the last few months.
Anyway, enough cynicism, lets get creating!
Films will no longer get scratches, reels will never be put in upside down, bits of film wont get cut out due to a projector deciding to eat it.
I think this is very sad indeed, so with your help I would like to create something that celebrates all that is and was good about 35mm.
The story I've added is a bit cynical, I know, but that's mainly down to my personal experinces over the last few months.
Anyway, enough cynicism, lets get creating!
Well, today has finally arrived. My last day as a projectionist.
It's strange to think that I have made up and broken down my last film, changed my last trailer, inspected my last bulb. Weird to think that after 40 odd years, I wont walk down these halls again, see these faces any more.
Today is mayhem. People are everywhere.
There's guys in the auditoriums taking down the perlux screens and putting up silver ones. There's men in the booths putting in new portholes, bringing in bases and bulbs and wires.
They're removing head units, stripping down platters, leaving them strune and forgotten. I stare at them there, wondering what will happen to them. More than likely they'll just get thrown away. I empathise.
More people arrive bringing even more equipment and tools. They start installing new power points and lining up the new projectors.
I just sit and watch the chaos. Watch them move the old 35mm bases that house the amps, and are therefore still needed, watch them ingesting content so they can test and line up the images. See them run around trying to get everything done before the day is out.
They see the old timer observing, try to explain to me what they are doing and how it will all work.
"It'll be great," they say, "no more luging huge reels around, all you need to do now is click and drag."
I just smile and nod, look like I'm taking it in, even ask some questions, but inside I'm screaming. 100 years of an art form, 40 years of my life just brushed aside for the push button generation. Soon they wont even need projectionists any more. Just hire some one in to do the maintenance, while some guy in a room a thousand miles away tells the projectors what to do.
But I'll be the one with the last laugh, they'll see.
At last all their work is done, and they all head home.
"See you tomorrow, Joe" says my manager.
No you wont.
Finally the USB stick that has been burning a hole in my pocket can do it's job. I load it on to the system, then I take one last look around, a tear fills my eye, but doesn't quite spill over. 40 years of my life, loving what I do and taking pride in how I do it. I close the door, locking it behind me.
I leave the building that became my second home and walk toward the bridge that crosses the river. I look down at the water, watching it flow onwards to the sea. I stand there for a few minutes and think of my life, see it being washed away in the rush of white below me. I climb the railing and I take a deep breathe and jump.
As I fall I think of what will happen tomorrow when they find the virus I planted. I image the pandemonium of the entire network crashing, the painic as films disappear forever. This thought fills me with peace, and the smile on my face is the biggest I'd have for years.
It's then I hit the water.
It's strange to think that I have made up and broken down my last film, changed my last trailer, inspected my last bulb. Weird to think that after 40 odd years, I wont walk down these halls again, see these faces any more.
Today is mayhem. People are everywhere.
There's guys in the auditoriums taking down the perlux screens and putting up silver ones. There's men in the booths putting in new portholes, bringing in bases and bulbs and wires.
They're removing head units, stripping down platters, leaving them strune and forgotten. I stare at them there, wondering what will happen to them. More than likely they'll just get thrown away. I empathise.
More people arrive bringing even more equipment and tools. They start installing new power points and lining up the new projectors.
I just sit and watch the chaos. Watch them move the old 35mm bases that house the amps, and are therefore still needed, watch them ingesting content so they can test and line up the images. See them run around trying to get everything done before the day is out.
They see the old timer observing, try to explain to me what they are doing and how it will all work.
"It'll be great," they say, "no more luging huge reels around, all you need to do now is click and drag."
I just smile and nod, look like I'm taking it in, even ask some questions, but inside I'm screaming. 100 years of an art form, 40 years of my life just brushed aside for the push button generation. Soon they wont even need projectionists any more. Just hire some one in to do the maintenance, while some guy in a room a thousand miles away tells the projectors what to do.
But I'll be the one with the last laugh, they'll see.
At last all their work is done, and they all head home.
"See you tomorrow, Joe" says my manager.
No you wont.
Finally the USB stick that has been burning a hole in my pocket can do it's job. I load it on to the system, then I take one last look around, a tear fills my eye, but doesn't quite spill over. 40 years of my life, loving what I do and taking pride in how I do it. I close the door, locking it behind me.
I leave the building that became my second home and walk toward the bridge that crosses the river. I look down at the water, watching it flow onwards to the sea. I stand there for a few minutes and think of my life, see it being washed away in the rush of white below me. I climb the railing and I take a deep breathe and jump.
As I fall I think of what will happen tomorrow when they find the virus I planted. I image the pandemonium of the entire network crashing, the painic as films disappear forever. This thought fills me with peace, and the smile on my face is the biggest I'd have for years.
It's then I hit the water.
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