Johnny Showtime: Mailbag

 by JB

Questions, comments, and great thoughts from readers.

Q: What did you think of last weekend’s big new release, Project Hail Mary?
What gives? —Lloyd Tolan, Albuquerque, NM

A: I enjoyed it so much. It was big, ambitious, original, not based on an existing movie/TV/game/toy IP, not a sequel, devoid of superheroes, and full of ideas. I saw so many movies last year that people hemmed and hawed over (“Well, this one was not for me...” and “I was only able to get on board in the last half hour...”) It was nice to see a big, unapologetic crowd pleaser. The preview audience I saw it with last week were floored by it. Is it a perfect movie? No, but it’s just so goddamned entertaining. See it on the biggest screen you can.

Q: The other day I was enjoying a favorite Warner Brothers/Merry Melodies cartoon, I Haven’t Got a Hat, on television, when I noticed something was off. It was like the color on my TV set went all funny. I never noticed it looking this way before. What gives?
—Hugh Rumpole, Augusta, GA

A: The cartoon you were watching was originally filmed in two-strip Technicolor, sometimes used for Hollywood films between 1922–1932. According to the website for George Eastman House (aka the International Museum of Photography and Film), “[It] was an early color motion picture process that captured images using only red and green filters, skipping blue. A beam-splitting camera recorded these two-color records onto black-and-white film, which were then dyed red and green, glued together, and projected to produce a distinct, limited-spectrum look, focusing on red-green tones. The camera used a beam-splitter to split light into separate red and green paths, often recording them on a single black-and-white strip. The process could not reproduce blue, yellow, or purple accurately, resulting in a color palette dominated by shades of pink, red, orange, and blue-green. Because the two strips were often cemented back-to-back, the prints were often fragile and susceptible to scratching [...] While limited, it was used for several major productions, including early scenes in The Phantom of the Opera (1925) and The Wedding March (1928), before being replaced by the far more vibrant three-strip process in the mid-1930s.

Q: Last fall, I attended a special advance screening of Spinal Tap II: The End Continues at my local IMAX theater. I found the theater underwhelming and the screen rather small, not to mention that most of seats were either broken or that the upholstery had been repaired with thick, unsightly vinyl tape. Aren't IMAX screens supposed to meet “advanced standards” or something, to justify the higher price for a premium product? I guess I’m asking “When is IMAX not IMAX?” What gives?
—Barbara Connors, Oceanside, CA

A: True, not all IMAX theaters are the same. They vary significantly in screen size, projector technology, and aspect ratio. While "true" IMAX features massive screens and 70mm or dual-laser projection, many multiplexes use smaller, converted "LieMAX" screens with lower-resolution digital projectors. IMAX 70mm film theatres are the largest, original-sized auditoriums often found in museums or specialized venues, using 15-perforation/70mm film or Dual Laser (4K) to display a 1.43:1 aspect ratio. True 70mm IMAX requires a dedicated, massive screen (often 7 stories high) and a specialized projection booth that few theaters possess. IMAX with Laser features laser projection, providing superior brightness, color, and contrast over older digital systems. IMAX digital/xenon theaters ("LieMAX") feature smaller screens retrofitted into existing auditoriums, usually with 2K digital xenon projectors, resulting in a smaller aspect ratio. For the best experience, look for locations that offer 70mm film or Laser capabilities, as these provide a much larger and more immersive picture than "LieMAX," screens. There are only 19 theaters in the United States equipped to screen authentic IMAX 70mm films.

Looks like you saw Spinal Tap II in “LieMax,” which is the mockumentary version.

Q: I purchased Flicker Alley’s latest Laurel and Hardy release, Laurel & Hardy Year Two: The Newly Restored 1928 Silents; I must say I was underwhelmed. My favorite of their short films, Two Tars, was presented in a cleaned-up, though not pristine, version. Am I so spoiled by other recent, groundbreaking restorations that standard restoration work no longer has the power to impress me? What gives?
--James Finlayson, Culver City, CA

A: Let’s start by saying that we are lucky to still have these films at all, given that 70% of all silent films no longer exist in any form. It’s particularly amazing that the Laurel & Hardy shorts you mention survive, and here’s why. They were very, very popular when they were first released in the 1920s, meaning the original negatives were overprinted and eventually wore out. Original prints were returned to film exchanges damaged and with scenes missing. Replacements were often spliced together from several different damaged prints. Nitrate fires in theaters claimed many original prints; prints were also often stolen. Storage space cost money. Producer Hal Roach didn’t think about preservation; he was busy producing new films. Every sale of the rights was seen as the last time these films would generate money. The film library backlog was the responsibility of studio executives who would never spend a cent on preservation unless the new licensees paid to finance it, and they never did.

Film historian Richard W. Bann, on the website Film Preservation: Another Fine Mess, writes that Hal Roach Studios executive Herb Gelbspan "used to tell the following incredible story of how the studio took desperate measures each year to dodge a personal property tax the state of California imposed on film negatives. Every March 1, during the period when a physical inventory needed to be conducted, Hal Roach Studios would empty the Culver City Studio film vaults, and load all those precious nitrate negatives into tractor-trailer trucks. Then [...] the trucks were driven out of town and across the state line into Nevada, where they would be parked by the side of the road for days or weeks on end. All those [original negatives and prints] parked there in the hot desert sun with no shelter, as a tax shelter! Every year the materials were driven back and forth, risking explosions and fires in the event of a traffic accident. One thing that happened was that all the heat inside those trucks speeding along desert highways... caused the adhesive labels and leaders to fall off the reels and cans.

Through the years, whoever tried to re-label many of these film cans would optimistically call any positive image they found inside a 'master,' when often it was only a battered release print. Or a stock shot. Or test footage. To this day, there has never been a rigorous physical inventory conducted for the purpose of adequately identifying all of the studio holdings. So even now, opening old Roach film canisters offers surprises – some happy, some not.”

With the coming of sound, the perception was that the films no longer had worth and were junked for their silver content. I find it ironic that these amazing, funny films were first victims of their popularity... and then victims of their perceived unpopularity. Throughout the 1930s and 1940s, almost no one wanted what was widely regarded as surplus, out-of-favor material.

The saddest fact that I came upon in researching this question involves the ultimate fate of the Mack Sennet Studios original prints and negatives. After Mack Sennett went bankrupt in 1933, his entire physical inventory was liquidated in an auction; the winning bid was $875! The mind boggles. Before any of you can scream about the superior buying power of 1933 dollars, you need to know that $875 in 1933 is equal to $22,175 today. Not exactly a fortune for this irreplaceable treasure trove of comedy— literally hundreds of original negatives and prints. This collection of original Sennett elements was likely junked for its silver content, and another priceless piece of our cultural heritage was lost.

Q: What did you think of this year’s Oscars? What gives?
--Grace, age 7, Myrtle Beach, SC

A: I wrote a column about it last week.

Q: Oh, I stopped reading your column years ago.
--Grace, age 7, Myrtle Beach, SC