The African Queen (1951). United Artists/Photofest ©United Artists.

The African Queen (1951) is an interesting anomaly in film history.  An American director, with American stars, in a British film.  Director John Huston was under suspicion from the House Un-American Activities committee in the early 1950s, and as a result he moved to Ireland.  He set up a British film company and made several features before he returned to the US in the early 1960s.

This caused The African Queen to be in precarious position for many years.  The original negatives, in the old Technicolor three-strip format, were in storage in England.  It is quite expensive to reprint three-strip negatives on modern film, and that expense is compounded by the location of the materials.  There are only a few labs in the world that can reprint three-strip negatives today, and they are all located in the U.S.  The British owners usually would license the film to a particular distributor only for a limited time, which made it even less likely that new prints could be made.  Studio executives are hesitant to spend $100,000 reprinting a film that they are only leasing.

The last film prints of The African Queen were made in the United States for a reissue in 1967.  These prints were literally beaten to death through multiple screenings in drive-ins and grindhouses.  Projectionists routinely broke the film and spliced it back together carelessly, sometimes losing many frames in the process.  By the 1990s, there were only a few projectable prints left.  By 2000, the rights shifted to another studio, and those old prints were abandoned.

At this point, I have to step out of character.  Normally, I can report as an impartial observer, but as a film historian and collector, I personally became part of this story.  Since I have a reputation for being able to find difficult-to-obtain prints, I would frequently receive calls from repertory theaters asking for a copy of  The African Queen.  I didn’t have one–no one did–but I kept looking.

In 2003, a collector called me, telling me that he’d acquired the last three prints of the film from the previous distributor.  They were in the legendary Technicolor dye transfer process, but they were so tattered that no one wanted them.  Knowing that the original materials were out of reach, I thought it might be worthwhile to try to combine the three prints into one.

Fortunately for me, Technicolor was a forward-thinking laboratory, and they marked every print with uniform edge codes.  Every foot was marked with a code like 1A006, which in this case means Reel 1A, 6 feet from the start. With sixteen frames in a foot, it becomes only an exercise in counting to restore the print.

I carefully screened each reel and made notes about which was the best one.  Using the best for the reference, I cranked through it by hand until I felt the first splice.  I located the footage markers, counting how many frames were missing.  I then went to one of the other prints, found the corresponding frames, cut them out, and spliced them into the “good” reel.  Each one of these took 20 minutes or so to do, and had to be very carefully checked so that only the correct frames were restored.

The African Queen is on five and a half reels.  There were 150 splices in the first reel alone!  It took two weeks for me to get through the whole feature.

Normally, I would have preferred to use whole scenes and reels that were better in one print than in another.  I didn’t have that luxury.  There were several occasions in which two of the three prints were missing the footage I needed, so there was no room for being picky.

The resulting restored print runs very nicely, even though it sounds like a machine gun going through the projector, which, fortunately, is a sound that only the projectionist hears.  The new distributor was more than happy to issue theaters a license to show the restored print, because they didn’t have one of their own.  This print of The African Queen has been screened in Europe and all over the United States.

In the intervening years, the negatives have been reprinted and The African Queen is now available in new prints.  However, this print is still in demand by museums and repertory theaters, because it is the only print in general circulation that is in the original Technicolor dye transfer process.

Dye transfer Technicolor gives a beautiful, rich range of color that modern processes only approximate.  This print shows that off beautifully, with lovely photography by the legendary Jack Cardiff.  It also shows one of the limitations of the old process: color balance between prints was often a problem.  Some were a little more blue, others a little more yellow.  There are a few points at which alert viewers will notice a sudden color shift as the restored print changes its source.

The African Queen is undeniably a classic, with extensive footage of real African locations, some shot for the first time in color.  The screening on January 27th will be one of the rare times it can be seen as it was originally photographed.  Bring a friend, a drink and a couple of good, strong mosquito nets!

A Matter of Life and Death (1946). Eagle-Lion Films Inc./Photofest ©Eagle-Lion Films Inc. Photo by Fred Daniels.

There are some old movies that just grab you—heart and mind—and carry you away before you even realize it.  This is one of those films, a British film made during the final days of World War II, that is still on the favorites list of British filmgoers 60 years later.  It is wonderful, especially on a big screen. Oliver Sacks, Martin Scorsese and Steven Sondheim loved it as teenagers.  Teachers–bring your students. Anyone looking for a great night out will be captivated by the drama, the humor, and love despite great difficulties.  If you would like to know more about the work of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, you will enjoy visiting The Powell and Pressburger Pages.

And if you want to enjoy the film without any more preconceptions, you can stop reading now.

I became interested in this film 22 years ago, having just put my 2-year-old son down for an afternoon nap.  I am a nurse practitioner with a specialty in neurology and epilepsy.  I just turned on the TV and began to enjoy an old movie I had never seen before. Suddenly I had one of those “Hang on!” moments. And then I saw several layers of this film unfolding at the same time—a wonderful love story, a magically impossible story, and a story of the 1946 frontier of British and American neuroscience  all mixed in together.  I have taught medical and nursing students and residents.  I know how difficult it is to master the nuances of neurology—and here it was all correctly portrayed in this film with both ease and intensity.

This started my research question—who did this—and why—and how?

Through my years of medical historical research, I have been stunned to learn that film historians and medical historians had no idea what was embedded in this acclaimed film.  If you are a person with interest in medicine, history, law, literature, astronomy or even chess, you may be watching this movie and have a flash of recognition.  Hang on—you might say to yourself—did they just show that person having a homonymous hemianopsia? Or using chess to make a statement about the French revolution? Or invoking legal or surgical procedures of Andrew Marvel in the cockpit of a British Lancaster bomber? The filmmakers Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger made a number of films together (including The Red Shoes, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, Black Narcissus, I Know Where I’m Going and A Canterbury Tale) and one of their fundamental artistic convictions was that technical accuracy adds essential dramatic power to a story and draws people in, without their knowing why. Imagination, passion, creativity was not enough for the filmmakers. They needed the power of human intellect and life to make their works have special impact.  So for each film, they would consult with experts, such as a young Arthur C. Clarke for the opening sequence of A Matter of Life and Death,  as well as spend enjoyable research hours in the British Library and in used bookstalls.

Then Powell and Pressburger would jointly create a film with all the evidence of research erased, leaving its essence as the sinews of the work.  The credits would read “Written, directed and produced by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger.” Oh yes, and they were doing this while V1 and V2 rockets were bombarding London.

I have worked backwards from the film to learn about its origins, and have published my findings in a neurology journal, and more recently in a book to help non-neurologists understand the wealth of details in this film.  I have new findings which I hope to present this summer at a film conference in Scotland. Along the way I have had the kind and generous assistance of many librarians including those at the Ruth Lilly Medical Library, the library at the IMA, and the British Film Institute. In addition there have been many kind people including Indianapolis residents Tom A.  Krudy, Nancy Eschelman, and Gerald Flack. Most importantly, I have had the kindest support of Oscar-wining film editor, Thelma Schoonmaker, who was also Michael Powell’s wife in the last ten years of his life. At Friday’s screening, there will be a Skype conversation with Ms. Schoonmaker before and after the film with her.

But after having said all of this—just come see the film.  You will smile and laugh and cry.

The first color photograph, a tartan ribbon, using Maxwell’s method.

Maxwell’s idea was to use standard black and white film and to take three images: the first with a red filter, the second with a green filter, and the third with a blue filter.  It was a clever idea that merged the idea of art’s color wheel with the scientific ideas of light frequency.  Almost all color imaging uses Maxwell’s principles to this day.

When motion pictures were invented in the 1890s, there was once again a desire for color images.  By 1900, the Pathé company in France had designed an elaborate system to hand-color film frames with the use of stencils.  Others developed ways of tinting film to make certain scenes have a different artistic feel.

Still photographers had no trouble using Maxwell’s method of making color images, but it was more difficult for motion picture cameramen.  While the still photographer could simply load a new plate, put up a new color filter, and reshoot, the motion picture cameraman had to take at least 16 images per second!

By 1910, The Kinemacolor company perfected a way to synchronize a camera to take red and green alternating frames. It was the first system to record any form of actual color in motion pictures.  They were unable to make the third color, blue, work in their camera.  Kinemacolor’s owners discovered that the film could not move fast enough to record three images.  The film shredded in the camera whenever they tried it.

Kinemacolor was very flickery and required a special projector, two factors that caused it to be abandoned fairly quickly.  Given that it was a red and green process, it did not fully reproduce the color spectrum and gave even its best images a strange look, with greenish, washed-out skies.  Gaumont’s Chronochrome process solved the problem of film shredding by making the frames smaller, becoming the first viable three-color process, although it died out before 1920.  Its odd film size combined with the need for a special projector doomed it.

A 3-strip Technicolor camera from the 1930s.

Technicolor started up in 1917 and was able to record simultaneous red and green images.  They struggled with projection and printing issues throughout the 1920s, until they developed their dye transfer process in 1928.  Technicolor faced the same trouble that Kinemacolor had–they would destroy the film by recording three images on the same strip.  Red and green would work, but blue was out.  Technicolor immediately realized that their films must work in standard projectors without the use of special equipment, a factor that made their process more durable that others had been.

Several other rival color companies started up during the 1920s and 1930s, including Prizmacolor, Cinecolor, and Multicolor.  Again, these processes were only able to produce red and green images, without the full spectrum of color.  It was not until the introduction of Technicolor’s three-color camera in 1934 that the first viable full-color system came to the movies.  It was a smashing success and it rocketed Technicolor into profitability.

Technicolor’s solution turned out to be bulky and cumbersome, however clever it was.  Instead of using a single piece of film, the three-color camera used bulky optics to split the image so that it could be recorded simultaneously on three strips of film.  This meant that Technicolor had to be shot with a special camera that weighed several hundred pounds.  It also required much more light than black and white cameras: the lights often made the temperature on film sets rise over 100 degrees, and swimming star Esther Williams still has to wear protective eyewear because of her exposure to the lights.

Technicolor looked wonderful, with its rich hues and vibrant color, but Hollywood hated it because it was expensive and required special equipment.  When Kodak developed Kodachrome in 1935-6 there were high hopes that it would become the new standard.  Unfortunately, Kodachrome, which also produced beautiful, vibrant color, was difficult to process.  Hollywood needed something that was easy to process and could make good quality copies for distribution, both of which were difficult for Kodachrome.

It was not until 1948 that Kodak released its first Eastman color films, which were all that Hollywood had ever wanted–easily developed, easily copied, color prints.  As always, the ease of use and cost benefits came with problems.  Early Eastman color prints tend to be unstable.  Many films shot using the process have faded drastically, some irretrievably.  Still, it was so much easier and more flexible that most studios quickly favored Eastman color.

"Gentlemen Prefer Blondes," 1953.

By 1955, Technicolor discontinued its bulky, heavy three-strip camera.  They still were a dominant force in the color industry, because the studios discovered that their method of printing, their patented dye transfer process, produced superior color prints.  Eastman color prints, while nice, did not have the color range that Technicolor’s prints produced.  Technicolor maintained their dye transfer line until 1974 in the US, until 1977 in the UK, and until 1980 in Italy.  At that time, Technicolor became an Eastman color laboratory.  Eastman was cheaper and easier to process, and by the late 1970s, the color prints had improved significantly.

Film collectors and archivists still value the old dye transfer prints highly.  While Eastman color prints fade an unflattering pink color after 15 years or so, the dye transfer prints retain their full color range for many years.  Even some nitrate dye transfer prints from the 1940s still look as stunning today as they did when they came out.

Each color process had its own advantages and disadvantages.  Many of them have a distinctive look.  The History of Color in Film class on February 10 will showcase as many color processes as possible, mostly in original prints.  It will start with an actual, not Photoshopped, demonstration of Maxwell’s color experiment, and continue with examples of Technicolor (both two-color and three-strip), Cinecolor, Kodachrome, and Eastman color.  The class is designed to be as hands-on and non-technical as possible.  Come have fun and see how color changed the movies!

Design is generally a pretty subjective endeavor, so when starting a new project I like to do a little research into the subject in order to guide the generation of formal elements. Fortunately Technicolor offers a wealth of visual elements to play with, but the methods and appearance of color film varies a lot depending on the time. The earliest versions of color motion pictures involved three separate rolls of film—black, cyan, and magenta—that were layered together in order to produce the color projection. It’s a very distinctive look, and is wholly different from the colors you see in The Godfather: Part II, the last American film made using Technicolor’s dye transfer process. The early three-strip technique provided inspiration for the initial Winter Nights designs, involving a large and somewhat abstract W made from shaded cubes to reference a frigid, icy winter.

While working on this abstract and wintry version, we also pursued a more literal direction using film as the starting point. Keeping the W, this solution retains the grainy texture that characterizes many of those older movies. While each had its merits, ultimately we decided to go with the film-centric version for this year’s series, and a final version was created that made very clear the series’ relationship with film, as well as including the Technicolor theme in the graphic.

Using film stills in a campaign for Technicolor movies is a no-brainer, but this was not as straightforward as one might think. In the 1940s, Technicolor threw out a large volume of color negatives after the studios didn’t reclaim them, and unless they’ve been re-mastered those movies are now only available in black and white. Fortunately, we were able to find some great color images from Charade and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. The beauty of these movies speak for themselves when you see them, and in order to try imparting some of that drama and motion in print pieces, I relied on careful crops.

One particularly seductive image of Marilyn Monroe offers plenty of details to highlight—Marilyn’s face, her eyes lightly closed, could be mistaken for being asleep when viewed alone. The diamond bracelet and thick gray fur are a glimpse of luxury, sensuality, and elegant excess. The full image, my favorite among Marilyn’s publicity shots for Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, shows the actress dressed in red, wrapped in fur, and draped in diamonds. Her open mouth, even more red than her dress, completes a frozen moment of ecstasy, and was the perfect image to use for our Winter Nights banner.

Detour (1945), tonight’s Winter Nights film, comes from a little independent studio despised for its cheap pictures.  The studio, PRC, was said to be an acronym for “Putrid, Rotten Crud.”  (Well, it wasn’t actually “crud,” but you get the idea!) This moniker was so pervasive that today, when a PRC movie is recovered, we often find that this phrase has been marked on the film can by an unhappy projectionist.  Why then would the IMA choose to show a film from such a studio?

The answer is simple. Detour (1945) is an exception to the rule.  Director Edgar G. Ulmer never let a tiny budget hamper him.  Like many film noir directors, Ulmer had a background that stretched back into the German Expressionist era in the 1920s.  The Black Cat (1934) was his first major American film as director, and it was made at a time when Universal was strapped for cash.  Rather than shoot it as a traditional horror film in a drippy castle, with expensive sets, Ulmer rewrote the movie to take place in an ultra-modern fortress, with spartan interiors that cost little to make.  The film was a hit, and Ulmer seemed on his way as a top director.

Shortly afterward, Ulmer met his future wife Shirley, who was married to producer Max Alexander, nephew of studio boss Carl Laemmle.  Shirley and Max divorced, she married Ulmer, and the new couple were banned from the Universal lot.  Ulmer’s career was over before it had really begun.  He was banished to small studios for many years, where his talent for stretching a dollar was tested every day, especially at bottom-of-the-barrel PRC.

PRC specialized in westerns and cheap horror films.  At the time, theaters would pay a flat fee for a movie that could play in the bottom half of a double feature.  If PRC could make a movie for less than that fee, then it was profitable before it ever played in theaters.  Their profits went up as the film budgets went down.  Who cared if it was any good?

Ulmer cared.  By crafting Detour as a road-trip sort of film, the need for sets was minimal, and he could concentrate on action and dialogue.  His leading man, Tom Neal, was reliable, although somewhat temperamental, and the rest of the cast were competent B-movie actors who could deliver a decent performance with minimal rehearsal time.

Detour begins with a hitchhiker (Neal), who assumes the identity of a dead man.  The man had died accidentally during a road trip, and to avoid suspicion, Neal assumes his identity.  Things go downhill from there, as he meets up with a woman who knew the dead man.  She uses this knowledge for blackmail, and Neal gets in over his head.  The  plot twists a great deal, so the less said about it the better!

The film died away soon after its release, but it became a sleeper hit as it was released to endless television broadcasts.  PRC went out of business and failed to renew the copyrights on many of its films, including this one.  TV managers loved it, because they could show the film for free.  Audiences appreciated Detour’s stark black-and-white photography, dank mood, and double-dealing characters.  Its reputation grew to the point that Detour is now considered a landmark film noir.

Unfortunately, the same copyright status is hampering Detour’s survival today.  There is little money to make in preserving a film without copyright, since anyone can make his own copy.  There has been no definitive preservation made.  Many 16mm duplicate copies have made it to DVD and even internet download sites, but they generally have very poor image quality.  The 35mm print for this showing is the last one known to survive.  It comes from the collection of Wade Williams, who loves Detour so much that he remade it in 1992 with Tom Neal’s lookalike son!

After Detour, Edgar Ulmer recovered his career, although he often did low-budget films afterwards.  When the Library of Congress recently restored The Man from Planet X (1951), they discovered that the original negative was made up of dozens of different kinds of film.  Ulmer had snagged unused portions of film from other productions, sometimes a few feet at a time, to save money.  Over the years, some of these differing stocks reacted with each other.  Some sections got darker and some brighter.   It was virtually impossible to reprint the film properly!

Ulmer died in 1972.  His daughter Arianne, who is active in recovering and restoring her father’s films, was instrumental in helping the IMA get the print of Detour for this special showing.

Happy New Year! 2010 is shaping up to be a year filled with greatness. As I’ve been working on all of the marketing plans over the last few months, I’ve gotten really fired up about the new year at the IMA. Here are some of the things that I’m most looking forward to (in no particular order):

1. So You Think You Can Blog? – Want to write for the IMA? We’re taking applications now. Deadline is January 15. Check it out.
2. @imamuseum – Yep, we’re on Twitter. We’re starting out slow, but I guarantee there will be some exciting stuff along the way. Around here, it’s all an experiment, so you never know what you’ll find if you follow us.
3. IMA-produced Content Starring YOU – From the makers of ArtBabble, TAP: Sacred Spain, and all things cool at the IMA, comes completely in-house produced television and radio advertising. And the best part – we want you to be in them. Stay tuned in the coming weeks for a call for participation in IMA-produced spots.
4. The launch of the new IMA Web site (coming soon!) – The IMA’s brilliant Web team has been working on this for a long time. It’s gonna be amazing!
5. Touch of Evil introduced by Peter Bogdanovich – I love old movies. I adore Orson Welles. Mark this on your calendar as  date night at The Toby.
6. Oldfields Picnics – When the weather gets warm this spring and the flowers begin to bloom on Oldfields estate, I’m looking forward to grabbing lunch at Nourish Café and heading to a bench for a mini break during the work day. I may even take the bocce ball set that I keep in my office and challenge a few passersby (true story).
7. Summer Nights – The schedule is still top secret, but I’ve seen the proposed movies, and let me tell you, this might be the best summer yet.
8. Body Unbound: Contemporary Couture from the IMA’s Collection – I love the IMA’s Textile and Fashion Arts Collection. This exhibition will feature some beautiful, sexy, and iconic pieces created from 1960-2007. Jean-Paul Gaultier and Gianni Versace? Yes, please!
9. 100 Acres: The Virginia B. Fairbanks Art & Nature Park – We’ve been working and talking about it for years and now it is only 6 months away. Mark your calendar for June 20 when 100 Acres will open to the public. I’m pretty sure this is going to blow you away.
10. Unexpected Discoveries in the Galleries – Every time I go into the galleries, I discover something new. This is partly due to the fact that the collections often rotate on display and partly due to the fact that every day I have a different perspective that helps me to see new things. Whatever the reason, I’ll be spending a lot of time in the permanent collection in 2010 searching for new favorites.

To give you an overview of what someone who works in museum marketing does , I thought that I’d outline my typical day. In order to do that, I recorded my activities throughout the past Monday. While some of you were relaxing (or partying) on your Columbus Day off, I was hard at work with my fellow colleagues at the IMA.

Image taken from ugotbling.com

COLUMBUS DAY, OCTOBER 12, 2009*

8:27 Arrive at office. Plug in laptop.

8:35 Sip coffee and respond to emails sent over the weekend.

8:50 Research the 100 Acres: Virginia B. Fairbanks Art and Nature Park for IMA  Magazine article.

9:15 Write interview questions for article to send to Ed Blake, the  landscape architect for 100 Acres.

9:32 Email interview to Ed Blake.

9:37 Discuss signage in Efroymson Family Entrance Pavilion with Marketing Manager.

9:42 Register for Next Audiences Summit.

9:52 Review marketing budgets from last 2 years.

10:22 Read NYT’s article about the Louvre’s attempt to ‘Loosen Up.’

10:34 Get distracted by Jamie Oliver article in NYT’s Mag.

10:39 Review Web site content. Put together work plan to present in the afternoon’s Web team meeting.

11:22 Read Geoff Von Burg’s blog entry.

11:31 Email this week’s TV schedule for Sacred Spain commercials to Max, curator Ronda Kasl, and Nugget Factory.

11:38 Check attendance numbers from the weekend.

11:39 Organize opening weekend debrief meeting for Sacred Spain.

11:45 Polish up communication pieces for potential Winter Nights and Summer Nights media sponsorships.

12:18 LUNCH (Lean Cuisine and Fage Yogurt).

12:38 Watch Gentleman Broncos movie trailer.

12:41 Send movie trailer to Dan Dark.

12:44 Change Twitter name from @IndyArtGirl to @MegLiffick.

12:50 COFFEE.

1:00 Catch up on emails from the morning.

1:30 Web Team!

2:50 Review and edit Group Tours corporate mailer for Sacred Spain.

3:15 Respond to email from Contemporary Curator Lisa Freiman about the prestigious national award that her husband received. Congrats, Ed!!!

3:17 Create an initial inventory of marketing materials that can include media/corporate sponsor recognition during 2010.

4:02 Continue to draft 2010 marketing plan for Public Programs.

4:48 Brainstorm about communication ideas for TAP.

5:21 Respond to remaining emails.

5:42 Leave office. Head to gym.

6:13 Check email while running on treadmill at gym. DANGEROUS!

6:16 Attempt to respond to an email while on treadmill at gym. EVEN MORE DANGEROUS!

8:15 Read IBM’s social media guidelines while watching Will Ferrell on Man Vs. Wild.

8:30 Close laptop. No more work for the day.

*Please note that I have left out some details such as phone conversations, specific email correspondences, bathroom breaks, and Facebook and Twitter checks.

Next up (Oct. 28), I’ll tackle the ginormous topic of branding a museum. Stay tuned.

This winter, the IMA will debut Winter Nights, a counterpart to the IMA’s popular Summer Nights film series. Winter Nights will feature classic films with familiar names. All films will be screened in the IMA’s Tobias Theater (aka The Toby) which will open this fall. (Which means…unlike Summer Nights, the IMA will provide the seats AND climate control.)

Below are some of the films that you will get to see this winter on The Toby’s big screen:

• The Maltese Falcon (dir. John Huston, 1941, 101 mins, B & W)
• La Dolce Vita (dir. Federico Fellini, 1960, 180 mins, B & W)
• The Bank Dick (dir. Edward F. Cline, 1940, 72 mins B & W)
• Blade Runner: The Final Cut (dir. Ridley Scott, 1982, Color)
• The General (dir. Clyde Bruckman and Buster Keaton, 1927, 75 mins, B & W) with live accompaniment by the Indianapolis Chamber Orchestra.
• Lolita (dir. Stanley Kubrick, 1962, 152 mins, B & W)

BUT THAT’S NOT ALL FOLKS! Back by popular demand – the IMA’s Film Poll. We want to know what you want to see. Polls close on July 18 and at that time the movie that has the most vote in each one of the categories below will be chosen for the 2009 Winter Nights Series. You can vote as often as you like, so vote every 15 minutes, every day or just once. It’s up to you, my friends!

Here are the categories:

AntiWestern/Revisionist Western/Acid Western (January 2)
AntiWestern, Revisionist, Acid. Call ‘em what you will, but these counter-culture Westerns favor realism over romanticisim.

Rough & Tumble Action Epic (January 30)
Nothing beats a great car chase. Except maybe deception, betrayal, gunfights, escapes and explosions. But no, nothing beats a great car chase.

French New Wave (February 6)
In true esprit de francais, New Wave directors snubbed their noses at classical cinema by experimenting with unique editing and narrative styles.