Wherefore Film?
Two decades after Canon released its last professional film camera, film photography is anything but dead; in fact, it’s experiencing a veritable renaissance. The used market in vintage cameras and lenses is vibrant, and although a few beloved film emulsions are now sadly extinct, many other favorites are still in production. What’s more, a cottage industry of sorts has sprouted up, with new and interesting types of film coming on the market like so many microbrews. And digital camera makers are taking note: with Fuji leading the way, more and more manufacturers are building film simulations into their equipment, and Nikon recently released its retro-looking Z fc mirrorless camera based on the vintage FM2 design. So what is driving this revival of what many consider an inferior and obsolete technology?
It’s tempting to make a comparison to the music industry. Recently, sales of vinyl records exceeded compact disc sales for the first time since the CD took the world by storm. This has less to do with the popularity of vinyl than with the fact that, with streaming now commonplace, fewer people buy CDs. However, it’s undeniable that vinyl is still very much alive. Indeed, the reason given by audiophiles who prefer vinyl over digital music is the same reason photographers give for preferring film over digital photography: analog has soul, whereas digital is seen as cold and sterile.
This is an unfair assessment, of course. In photography as in music, it all depends on what you do with the digital signal you record, and the medium allows for unlimited creativity. Just as some sound engineers use hardware or software emulators to mimic the effects of tube amps, tape saturation and the like, many photographers like to edit their photos to have a “filmic” look, such as muting colors and adding simulated film grain. No matter how accurate some of these effects are, however, the process of editing digital photos to look more analog isn’t the same as shooting on actual film. Just as in the music industry, where the unique qualities of a true analog signal path are being rediscovered, a close-knit community of film enthusiasts has sprouted up in recent years.
The cost and benefit of film
At first blush, it would seem that the obvious downsides of film outweigh whatever soulful character it imparts to images. After all, between in-camera film simulations and photo editing plugins, it’s fairly easy to give a warm, analog feel to digital photos. Even considering that none of those simulations are particularly accurate at rendering specific film stocks, what could possibly make photographers give up the ability to immediately see the result of their effort, and shoot as many pictures as they like without having to pay for film or developing? And don’t underestimate that cost: on average, a roll of professional color or black and white film will set you back around $8, and sending it to a lab for development can easily run $15 per roll plus shipping. At 36 exposures per roll, that comes out to roughly $0.70 for every time you trip the shutter.
Believe it or not, this high cost per exposure is a big reason why so many photographers are coming back to film, at least as a sideline. With digital cameras, we tend to take a bunch of shots of the same scene, “just to be sure”. Then we upload everything into Lightroom and we’re stuck with a dozen or more nearly identical photos from which we somehow have to pick out the best one. We might be afraid to delete the ones we didn’t pick, so they end up eternally hogging space on our hard drives and cloud accounts. In contrast, the high cost of film forces us to be more selective about each frame we shoot. Rather than indiscriminately take pictures left and right, we become more alert to what are truly worthwhile photo opportunities around us; and when something catches our eye, we take just one or two shots of the subject or scene. Even if money is no object, we know that each roll only holds a limited number of frames, so we take care not to waste any. And because we don’t have the ability to “chimp” (check the image right after taking it), we spend more time composing each shot and making sure the exposure is correct before we release the shutter. All of this extra care translates into a more thoughtful—dare I say mindful?—engagement with our photography.
The simple pleasures of film don’t end there. Waiting for the negative scans to come back from the lab creates an almost childlike sense of anticipation, and when they arrive they don’t need a lot of editing—not that the JPEG-formatted scans allow much editing anyway. Those of us who do our own developing and printing experience a similar sense of excitement as the images we captured appear on paper. The analog nature of the process, involving only simple mechanics and basic chemistry, allows us to step back from the ubiquitous LCD screens, confusing in-camera menus and complicated computer software, and embrace a slower pace of picture-making. Far from being a source of frustration, it becomes a source of joy.
Transferring film habits to digital
Quite often the result on film far exceeds our expectations. Those of us who learned about photography on digital cameras aren’t used to how greatly various film stocks can influence the character of an image. Once we realize this, we start buying different types of film to see which ones we like best under different shooting conditions. Pretty soon we begin to scour eBay and used camera shops for additional film cameras and lenses. We experiment with SLRs, rangefinders or basic zone focusing systems. We might even start to feel confined by the 35mm format and dabble in medium format photography. A beautiful analog world begins to open up to us. The chemical process initiated by light interacting with a film emulsion gives us a better understanding of exposure. Our hesitation to trip the shutter until we’ve really evaluated a scene allows time to analyze the light—its color temperature, how it falls on a subject, the highlights and shadows it casts. As a result, we improve our “seeing”: we develop the photographic eye. By working with film, we become better photographers overall.
It’s not just the skills developed through film photography that influence our digital work. The mindfulness it engenders can have a profound effect on the way we connect with the process of making pictures, whether that process is analog or digital. One reason I love the higher-end Fujifilm mirrorless cameras is that the physical layout is very similar to a film camera, with dedicated dials for shutter speed, ISO and exposure compensation, and an aperture ring on most lenses. Some models, like the X100 and X-Pro series, also have a hybrid optical viewfinder that really gives the photographer a sense of shooting with a vintage rangefinder. To discourage chimping, you can turn the LCD screen off and shoot just by adjusting the dials and looking through the viewfinder. To this end, Fuji has placed the LCD screen on its X-Pro3 model on the inside—a polarizing “feature” that has received both praise and intense criticism, but which gets my wholehearted support. Regardless of what brand or model of digital camera we own, the habits we develop through engaging with film—taking the time to check composition and exposure, and shooting fewer frames overall—eventually transfer over to our digital photography. With fewer images being uploaded into our editing software, we spend less time wading through near-identical shots to select the right one. This also gives us the luxury of keeping the shots we didn’t pick on the first pass—something I’ll come back to in a bit.
What I’ve been attempting to convey up to this point is that photography is not just the result of our efforts—the image—but an entire process that leads up to that result. Picking a camera is part of that process, and so are developing and printing (for analog) or post-production (for digital), if we choose to do those things. But film photography reminds us that the most important part of the process is the immersive act of shooting. I know it’s a cliché, but there is, in fact, such a thing as “the zone” when one is engaged in photography. And the more we can focus on our surroundings and on capturing the things we see without being distracted by menus and settings, the better our photos turn out. In the case of film—especially with purely mechanical cameras—there’s also something strangely meditative about the various motions involved—turning physical dials and rings, pulling the film advance lever—that deepen our connection with the camera, and through the camera, with our subject matter. Getting rid of distractions, then, should be our goal when setting out to do photography.
The paradox of choice
Up to this point we’ve explored how the limitations of film photography can create a sense of freedom: freedom from scrolling through menus, from second-guessing and chimping every shot, from spending hours editing in Lightroom. This raises an important question: are there additional limitations we can impose on the process—either analog or digital—that spark even more artistic freedom?
If you’re anything like me, you’re always worried about missing a photo opportunity. Whenever I set out to do photography I instinctively want to be as versatile as possible. What if I’m shooting landscapes with a wide lens, but I suddenly see an animal in the distance? I should pack a telephoto zoom just in case, right? Wrong. Most of the time, the more options we have at our disposal, the more likely we are to miss a decisive moment. Changing lenses, switching a camera setting, or even just thinking about whether we should do something different—anything that takes our attention away from our surroundings can be detrimental to the immersive process of seeing and capturing. As mentioned before, the goal is to get rid of distractions. In my experience, one of the best ways to reduce distractions is to only bring a single camera and a single lens—preferably a “prime” lens with a fixed focal length.
Whenever weather permits, I like to go on daily walks through my neighborhood, either by myself or with my wife. Naturally, I never leave the house without a camera, and when I do, I try to make all the important decisions up front:
Do I want to shoot film or digital today?
Do I want to shoot in color or black & white?
What focal length do I want to use?
And if shooting digital:
What specific film simulation do I want to use?
What aspect ratio (3:2, 4:3, 1:1) do I want to shoot in?
Having all of these decisions made before setting out to do photography does two things. First, it ensures that all of the pictures I take on an outing are visually consistent. Second, it allows me to focus on my environment, and to “see” the images I want to capture as they would look in my camera, even before putting the camera to my eye. Being limited to a single focal length also forces me to get creative. For example, on a short drive last year I passed a small river. I stopped near the bridge so I could get a shot from above, but the lens I had on my camera was too wide to properly frame the river. So I was forced to try a different perspective; I walked down to the river bank and discovered a dramatic interplay of shadow and light cast by the bridge onto the water. By not packing a more versatile zoom lens, I had avoided taking a boring postcard and instead captured a much more interesting scene.
A second look
I have a terrible time throwing anything away. My basement is full of things that can and should probably be thrown out, but I’m terrified of tossing something important that may have gotten mixed in with the junk, and I never seem to have the time to sort through it all. It’s the same with photos I’ve uploaded into Lightroom.
I used to be in the habit of “machine-gunning” a lot of my digital shots, even if they were relatively stationary subjects. Out of a hundred or more frames, I’d come away with perhaps a handful of usable images. Years later, ashamed of the enormous waste of space but unwilling to take the time to search for hidden gems, I resorted to simply deleting every image that I hadn’t originally picked. But since I started working with film, and having incorporated some “film habits” into my digital photography, I have far fewer images to upload into Lightroom, resulting in a much higher percentage of “keepers”. And when, a bit later, I decide to take another look at the images I didn’t pick in the first round, it won’t be such an overwhelming number, and I might be able to find some “gold nuggets” among the unpicked ones.
Conclusion
Film photography isn’t just a purist’s hobby—although it certainly is that. Even if you’re completely happy with your digital photography gear and workflow, working with film can be incredibly rewarding. Not only is it enjoyable and relaxing, it can improve your photographic skills, which means it can have a significant positive influence on your digital work as well. It can even get a little addictive. The good news is that getting started in film is easy and it won’t break the bank (as long as you’re not shopping for Leica or Hasselblad gear). I encourage every photographer who is serious about their work to invest in at least one quality SLR or rangefinder film camera and do a little analog shooting on the side. You’ll be surprised at how much fun it is!
