FIRST ROLL

I stared at the black screen with my jaw dropped as reality set in. All the time, money, and energy I spent shooting my first roll of Super 8mm film went down the drain. Exasperated, I dialed the number to the film processing house. I knew there was no getting my film back, but I was determined to get answers.

The ‘answer’ I did receive on the other end of the phone was far from satisfying: “Looks like you got a dud.” A dud? “Yeah. You had a bad roll of film, nothing you could have done there.” I stuttered to muster a response; I was looking for some piece of retribution, a crumb of closure. It felt ​unfair.​ Truthfully, it was nothing but fair. Those are the risks of shooting film, the risks I was well aware of as I loaded up my Super 8 camera for the first time.

I always had and always will love the aesthetic of film photography. Some magic lies in its rich texture, a tantalizing mixture of light leaks, grain, and scratches that makes my mouth water. And yes, I am guilty of throwing a film look onto digitally shot footage, sue me. So maybe this was karma. That aside, my interest in film propelled me to try the real thing last summer.

As I started taking shots on my first roll, I experienced a whole host of new emotions. The cost of buying, processing, and scanning film isn’t exactly cheap. Every time I pulled the trigger, the sound of the camera’s motor started to sound more like a bill counter. And when I finished each shot, it felt, well, unfinished. Without the ability to quickly review the last take comes a sense of vulnerability. There’s no confirmation that your ‘cool idea’ to frame things a certain way, or to light the scene in a specific manner was indeed cool. I was trying to find a path in the darkness.

On the other hand, shooting on film sheds light on different aspects of filmmaking. There was an incredible feeling of excitement when imagining how the film will turn out. Navigating this new process came with a burst of creativity—I was thinking in ways I never had before and crafting each shot with elevated intention. As I sent off my precious first roll to be digitized, childlike anticipation ensued. That night, I laid wide-eyed in my bed like the night before Christmas.

But Christmas never came. My first roll of film was a dud. On my computer screen, the black film continued to roll. As I set my jaw back from the ground to clench my teeth, I took account of the experience. I had started something new, and with it came a fresh perspective: Not all beginnings have fairytale endings.