RECHARGEABLE SINGLE-8 CARTRIDGES WITH SUPER-8 FILM. Cartuchos de Single-8 recargables con película de Súper-8

(Spanish translation at the end)

Even before Fujifilm — rather ungratefully, in my opinion — abandoned in 2012 the system that had once opened for them the doors of the Western market, the remarkable Single-8, I was already reloading Single-8 cartridges with film stocks from other origins, including the beautiful y only one Kodachrome.

Opening the cartridges

The Single-8 cartridge offers a number of technical advantages that, even today, make it one of the most intelligent designs ever created for amateur cinematography. Unlike Super-8, the pressure plate is located in the camera itself, not in the cartridge, ensuring a much more precise film positioning. In addition, the cartridge uses two parallel axes for the film core (like a cassette tape), which allow full rewinding and keep the film travelling in a perfectly flat plane, making jamming virtually impossible — unless, of course, the film has been badly slit or reperforated, something that, in my experience, never happens with Kodak stock.

Another often forgotten advantage is that Single-8 cartridges were designed from the beginning to be reusable. During the early years of the system, when Fujichrome was still a true substantive colour process comparable to Kodachrome and processing was centralized, Fujifilm itself recovered the empty cartridges from its laboratories for reuse.

Gabriela was my first film loader, 15 years ago

Whenever I obtain a new batch of used cartridges for my stock, I carefully remove the remains of old labels or printed markings, and replace them with custom stickers, leaving a blank space where I write in pencil the type of film loaded inside. 

Before reloading each new cartridge with film in the darkroom, each one, where the roll rests, is lubricated with a drop of Singer sewing machine oil. It is a small ritual that reminds me that working with film is not merely recording images, but participating in a complete mechanical and chemical process.

Removing remnants of paper adhesive with Zippo or Ronson oil

I must clarify that I do not sell reloaded cartridges nor reload film for others. Loading Kodak film into Single-8 cartridges is a strictly personal activity, reserved for my own productions, or for those of my faithful factotum Álex. It takes time, patience, and a certain stubbornness, but it is also the closest one can come, today, to the old dream of making one’s own film — since the rest of the chain, from shooting to processing, editing, and projection, is also done by ourselves.

That is precisely why the result feels different, as every frame has passed through our hands more than once before reaching the screen.

• If you would like to see the vast world of creative possibilities with Super-8 products, please click here: Pro 8mm

CARTUCHOS DE SINGLE-8 RECARGABLES CON PELÍCULA DE SÚPER-8.

Aun antes de que Fujifilm  (de forma que no puedo evitar calificar de poco agradecida) abandonase en 2012 el sistema que le había servido para darse a conocer en el mundo occidental, el admirable Single-8, yo ya recargaba cartuchos de Single-8 con películas de otras procedencias, entre ellas el maravilloso Kodachrome.

El cartucho de Single-8 presenta numerosas ventajas técnicas que, todavía hoy, lo convierten en uno de los diseños más inteligentes jamás concebidos para el cine de pequeño formato. A diferencia del Super-8, el presor se encuentra en la cámara y no en el cartucho, lo que garantiza una colocación de la película mucho más precisa. Además, el cartucho utiliza dos ejes paralelos, como una cinta de cassette, lo que permite el rebobinado integral y mantiene la película siempre en el mismo plano, haciendo prácticamente imposible cualquier atasco, salvo, claro está , que la película esté mal cortada o reperforada, algo que jamás me ha ocurrido con película Kodak.

Otra ventaja, a menudo olvidada, es que los cartuchos de Single-8 fueron concebidos desde el principio para ser reutilizados. Durante los primeros años del sistema, cuando el Fujichrome era todavía un proceso cromático substantivo, en un sistema idéntico al Kodachrome,  y el revelado se realizaba de forma centralizada, la propia Fujifilm recuperaba los cartuchos vacíos desde sus laboratorios para volver a utilizarlos.

Cuando consigo una nueva partida de cartuchos caducados, elimino cuidadosamente los restos de antiguas etiquetas o serigrafías, y les coloco pegatinas personalizadas, dejando un espacio en blanco que relleno a lápiz con el tipo de película cargada en cada uno. 

Antes de recargar cada cartucho con película en el cuarto oscuro, se lubrica cada uno de los compartimentos donde descansa el rollo con una gota de aceite para máquinas de coser Singer. Es un pequeño ritual que me recuerda que trabajar con película no consiste solo en filmar imágenes, sino en participar en todo un proceso mecánico y químico.

Debo aclarar que no vendo ni recargo película para terceros.
El uso de película Kodak en cartuchos de Single-8 es una actividad estrictamente personal, destinada únicamente a mis propios trabajos, o a los de mi factótum Álex. Es una tarea que requiere tiempo, paciencia y cierta obstinación, pero que permite acercarse como pocas cosas hoy en día al viejo sueño de fabricar uno mismo su propia película, ya que el resto del proceso (la filmación, el revelado, el montaje y la proyección),  lo realizamos también nosotros.

Por eso,  el resultado tiene algo especial, pues cada fotograma ha pasado más de una vez por nuestras manos antes de llegar a la pantalla.

FUMEO 16 MM PROJECTORS: INTERCHANGEABLE MECHANICAL HEADS. Proyectores Fumeo de 16mm: cabezas mecánicas intercambiables.

(Spanish traslation at the end)

One of the many virtues, and by no means a minor one,  of Fumeo 16 mm projectors is that the true heart of the intermittent movement, namely the assembly containing the claw, shutter, gate and pressure plate, forms a self-contained unit which the Italian factory itself referred to as the mech head, and which can be replaced in little more than a minute using nothing more than an ordinary screwdriver, without the need for complex adjustments or specialised tools.

What might at first glance seem a secondary refinement is in fact a clear indication that these machines were designed not only for  educational projection, but also for professional environments, as film archives, cinematheques and laboratories, where each print may present different physical conditions and therefore requires a specific mechanical configuration. 

Thanks to this modular design, I keep several different mechanical heads, each intended for a particular purpose: the full-aperture swing-open type, exceptionally convenient for cleaning and maintenance; the version with variable pressure plate, indispensable when handling fragile prints; the head with adjustable gate height, extremely useful for masked 1.85 prints; the Super-16 mech head, essential for anyone who, like myself, regularly works with different picutre formats; and finally the one shown in the photograph below, fitted with a two claws instead of the usual three, a solution especially suitable for projecting films whose base has shrunk with age,  a condition far from uncommon in older triacetate materials.

A projector capable of adapting its own internal mechanics to the physical condition of the film is not a luxury but a necessity for anyone who understands projection as a natural extension of archival work, and it explains, once again, why Fumeo projectors continue to occupy a privileged place in the booth of those who refuse to treat photochemical cinema as if it were merely a relic of the past.

PROYECTORES FUMEO DE 16 MM: CABEZAS MECÁNICAS INTERCAMBIABLES

Una de las muchas virtudes, y no precisamente menor, de los proyectores Fumeo de 16 mm es que el auténtico corazón de su mecanismo de arrastre e intermitencia, es decir, el conjunto donde residen el garfio, el obturador, la ventanilla y el presor, forma un bloque independiente que en la propia fábrica italiana denominaban mech head, y que puede sustituirse en apenas un minuto con la ayuda de un simple destornillador, sin necesidad de ajustes complejos ni herramientas especiales.

Este detalle de ingeniería, que a primera vista podría parecer secundario, revela en realidad hasta qué punto estos proyectores fueron concebidos pensando no sólo en la proyección doméstica o educativa, sino también en el uso profesional, en archivos cinematográficos, filmotecas y laboratorios, donde cada postivo fílmico puede presentar características físicas distintas y exige, por tanto, soluciones mecánicas específicas.

Gracias a este sistema modular, disponge de varias cabezas mecánicas diferentes, cada una destinada a una función concreta: la de abertura total (swing-open type), extraordinariamente cómoda para limpieza y mantenimiento; la equipada con presor de presión variable, imprescindible cuando se trabaja con copias delicadas; la que permite regular la altura de la ventanilla, muy útil en determinadas copias de formato 1.66 o 1.85; la correspondiente al formato Súper-16, imprescindible para quien, como es mi caso, convive con distintos anchos de imagen; y, finalmente, la que muestro en la fotografía inferior, provista de un garfio de dos uñas en lugar de tres, solución especialmente indicada para proyectar películas cuyo soporte ha sufrido contracción con el paso de los años, circunstancia nada infrecuente en materiales antiguos de triacetato.

Que un proyector permita adaptar su propia mecánica interna al estado físico de la película no es un lujo, sino una necesidad para cualquiera que entienda la proyección como una prolongación natural del trabajo de archivo, y explica, una vez más, por qué los Fumeo siguen ocupando un lugar de privilegio en la cabina de quienes no se resignan a tratar el cine fotoquímico como si fuese un simple recuerdo del pasado.

VINEGAR SYNDROME: NO CURE

In the photograph that accompanies these lines I appear visibly saddened, holding several of my favourite Tex Avery cartoons, prints that I´m now forced to discard after confirming that they are irreversibly affected by vinegar syndrome, the most feared disease of triacetate film, a slow chemical decay for which, despite everything that has been written, there is still no real cure.

My sadness

At the end of the 1980s I had the opportunity, in the United States, to acquire the complete filmography of Tex Avery for MGM and Warner in brand-new 16 mm laboratory prints on Eastman LPP stock, struck at the time for telecine transfer to video and distribution to television stations. These were not worn rental prints, but fresh positives, with perfect colour, excellent density and, at the time, the reassuring promise of the low-fade LPP emulsion, which indeed has preserved the colours beautifully until today.

Because some of those cartoons were among my favourites, I decided, with the best of intentions, to protect them using Vitafilm, a product widely recommended in certain circles as a cleaner, lubricant and supposed preservative for film. It seemed logical: if the film was kept flexible and lubricated, it would age better, but it was a mistake!!!

Spaniard professor Sara Valiño check VS on a reel in my film vault: yellow level is critical

Every single print that I treated with Vitafilm has developed vinegar syndrome, all of them, without exception. The others, stored in the same room, in same reels and cans, bought at the same time, from the same laboratory batch, and kept under identical conditions for nearly forty years, remain perfectly stable today.

Some of them have hardly been projected since the day I received them, while the treated ones —ironically, the ones I cared for the most— were occasionally aired, inspected and projected, something that in theory should have helped their preservation. The only difference between them is the use of that product.

To understand what has happened, one must recall what vinegar syndrome actually is. Triacetate film base, widely used from the late 1940s until the arrival of polyester, contains plasticisers that give the film its flexibility.

With time, humidity and temperature fluctuations, the acetate polymer begins to break down, releasing acetic acid, the unmistakable smell of vinegar that gives the syndrome its name.
Once the process starts, it becomes autocatalytic: the acid accelerates the decomposition, which produces more acid, which in turn accelerates the decay. The result is shrinkage, warping, embrittlement, channeling of the emulsion and, eventually, complete loss of the film.

Certain chemical products, especially those containing solvents or oils intended to soften the film, can interact with the plasticiser and destabilise the base, accelerating the process instead of preventing it.
This is why the use of cleaners, lubricants or conditioners on acetate film must always be approached with extreme caution.

In my case, the conclusion is painfully clear. The prints that received Vitafilm treatment are the ones that have succumbed to vinegar syndrome, while others, stored untouched for decades, remain in perfect condition. It is difficult to avoid the suspicion that the very attempt to protect them may have contributed to their destruction.

For the past year I have tried to stabilise the affected reels:
ventilation, separation from healthy prints, storage with molecular sieves, periodic inspection, buy nothing has worked, and the shrinkage progresses: projection is no longer safe.

There comes a moment when the archivist must accept defeat. Discarding a film is never easy, but keeping a print with active vinegar syndrome can endanger the rest of the collection, as the acetic vapours may accelerate the decay of nearby reels if storage conditions are not perfectly controlled.

So these cartoons —films that made me laugh, that I projected countless times, that I once considered almost eternal because of their LPP stock— must now be removed from the archive. This is the harsh lesson of photochemical preservation: colour may last, image may survive, but the base itself can betray us, as once vinegar syndrome begins, there is, in truth, no solution.

BEFORE 4K DIGITISATION: RESTORATION AND CLEANING OF SUPER-8 ORIGINALS

In this particular case, the work entrusted to us by a well-known institution in Galicia consists in the digitisation in 4K of a collection of Super-8 films shot between the late 1960s and the end of the 1980s by a figure of some notoriety, a man whose name even appears in the Guinness Book of Records, which already gives an idea of the historical interest of the material we are dealing with.

When one is faced with footage of this nature, simple telecine is not enough. If the films are to remain worthy of their origin —and if we want these very same reversible originals, which were physically present at the moment of filming, to retain their dignity when, sixty years from now, they are digitised again with technologies we cannot yet imagine, or perhaps even projected directly— then the first obligation is restoration.

We are the main Fujifilm splicing tape customer in Europe

As mentioned in the previous entry, the vast majority of this archive was shot on non-substantive colour stocks, mainly Kodachrome and Dynachrome on polyester base, which means that the chromatic stability of the image is, for all practical purposes, guaranteed for eternity.
Only about fifteen metres were filmed on the far less stable AGFA Moviechrome, whose presence reminds us that not all colour processes of that era were created equal.

We found splices with ordinary adhesive paper!!!

The first task, therefore, is mechanical: the rebuilding of splices. Some of them are made on acetate cement, others with ageing adhesive tape, and a few —to my astonishment, although after so many years nothing should surprise me— with ordinary household adhesive paper. Over the decades I have encountered every imaginable solution, from carefully sewn joins with thread to repairs held together with metal staples.

All of them must be removed and replaced. The new splices are made using Fujifilm pre-perforated polyester splicing tape, a material of proven stability, rated for archival use and expected to last a century under proper storage conditions.

When redoing ECS ​​splices, they are not cut, they are simply reinforced with pre-perforated Fujifilm tape.

Work on the editing viewer allows, at the same time, a careful inspection of the film itself: scratches here and there, but nothing serious; occasional emulsion cracking in certain passages; identification of the type of sound track, when present —in this case laminated magnetic stripe—; and the inevitable perforation damage, which must be repaired one by one.

We clean even the reel and boxes

New white polyester leaders are added to every reel, both for protection and for future handling, and each roll is then cleaned and polished, as are the original boxes, using specialised products that we import from the United States and that are suitable for archival film without attacking the base, the emulsion or the magnetic coating.

Only after this painstaking preparation is completed do we proceed to the next step: a full projection check of the entire footage, to confirm that the film runs smoothly and safely before undergoing liquid cleaning in our JoBo machine, the final stage before 4K digitisation.

But that, as they say, is a story for another day.

DYNACHROME 40, IN GALICIA

While restoring and digitising in 4K a series of Super-8 films belonging to a Galician family —a collection that spans from the late 1960s to the end of the 1980s— I have once again been reminded that working with photochemical film is never a routine task, but rather an archaeological exercise in which, reel after reel, unexpected discoveries appear that justify every hour spent cleaning, repairing and scanning material that, in many cases, has not passed through a projector for decades.

The films are, in general, very well shot. One can see that the person behind the camera knew what he was doing: steady framing, careful exposure, even occasional titles and, in some reels, laminated magnetic sound.

The condition, however, is another matter entirely. Dirt, scratches, broken perforations, splices of doubtful quality —including, to my astonishment, some splices made with ordinary adhesive paper— remind us that home movies, unlike professional productions, rarely enjoyed the care they deserved.

Film come with splices made with adhesive paper!!!

The surprise came while inspecting, against the light, the reel of a wedding filmed in 1970. Among the familiar translucent tone of Kodachrome triacetate, I suddenly noticed something different: about fifteen metres of polyester stock, unmistakable for its slightly different reflection.

Dynachrome polyester in the middle of Kodachrome triacetate

My first thought was that it had to be Fujichrome Single-8, which was always manufactured on polyester base. But when I examined the edge markings more carefully, the result was completely unexpected.

It was Dynachrome, in Super-8. And not only Dynachrome —but Dynachrome in an astonishing state of preservation.

Checking film after redone splices

The colours are practically perfect. Skin tones remain warm and natural, with that slightly ruddy complexion so characteristic of northern families, reproduced with a fidelity that one finds only in Kodachrome films. There is no visible fading, no colour shift, no loss of density. It is, quite simply, as if the film had been shot yesterday.

This is the first time in my life that I encounter a Dynachrome reel. Probably is the only one in Galicia. The explanation of the perfect colours lies in its very nature. Like Kodachrome, and like Fujichrome of that same era, Dynachrome was a non-substantive colour process, meaning that the dyes were not formed within the emulsion itself but introduced during processing, resulting in an image of extraordinary stability.

Photo with the mobile of the projection screen

When such emulsions are combined with a polyester base —immune to vinegar syndrome and mechanically far more stable than triacetate— the word permanence ceases to be a metaphor and becomes a technical reality.

What I held in my hands, therefore, was not just another home movie, but a fragment of time preserved with a durability that its original filmmaker could never have imagined. Moments of a Galician family, filmed more than half a century ago, surviving today with colours intact, on a strip of polyester that will very likely outlive all of us.

Photo with the mobile of projection screen

Discoveries like this make the long hours of restoration worthwhile.
They remind us that photochemical film, when properly made, properly processed and, even by chance, reasonably preserved, is still the most faithful witness of memory ever invented.

This Dynachrome 40, found almost by accident in a wedding reel from 1970, is not only a technical curiosity. It is, quite literally, a small cinematic document for the history of Galicia.

If you would like to see the vast world of creative possibilities with Super-8 products, please click here: Pro 8mm

EL LÍQUIDO LIMPIADOR DE PELÍCULA TETENAL HA MUERTO, VIVA EL DE ADOX

Hace unos pocos años, en 2018, la histórica firma química Tetenal, probablemente la empresa fotográfica más antigua del mundo aún en activo, se vio abocada a la quiebra, dejando tras de sí más de siglo y medio de historia. Fundada en 1847 en Berlín, Tetenal había sobrevivido a imperios, guerras mundiales, cambios tecnológicos y al propio colapso de la fotografía química, pero no pudo resistir la combinación letal de la digitalización masiva, la reducción del mercado profesional y la desaparición progresiva de los grandes fabricantes.

Con su caída no sólo desaparecía una marca, sino que se perdían formulaciones únicas, productos que durante décadas habían sido estándar de la industria y que, en algunos casos, la propia Kodak utilizaba o había utilizado como proveedor externo. Entre ellos, uno muy concreto que a mí me afecta directamente: el fluído limpiador de película Tetenal, que durante años he empleado para preparar positivos fílmicos, míos o de clientes, antes de telecinarlos o proyectarlos.

Era un producto extraordinario. Limpiaba bien, secaba rápido, no dejaba residuos y, sobre todo, resultaba mucho más amable con el material que otros líquidos muy populares entre profesionales de lo fílmico, como Film Renew, que, si bien es eficaz, tiene inconvenientes conocidos: por un lado, puede deteriorar rodillos de goma o presores de plástico en determinadas máquinas y, por otro lado, obliga a trabajar con mayores precauciones, tanto por su olor como por su agresividad química.

El fluído limpiador de Tetenal, en cambio, siendo inflamable como casi todos los productos de este tipo, resultaba relativamente más inocuo en el uso cotidiano, algo que se agradece cuando uno pasa horas manipulando película.

Durante un tiempo pensé que aquel producto había desaparecido para siempre, como tantas otras cosas del mundo fotoquímico que se han ido perdiendo sin hacer ruido. Pero cuando ya lo daba todo por perdido, cuando estaba acabando las últimas gotas de mi último botellín con el preciado elixir, la pujante firma alemana Adox, bien conocida hoy por haber relanzado nuevas emulsiones fotográficas y por su decidida apuesta por mantener viva la fotografía química, con películas como las recientemente introducidas ADOX CHS, HR-50 o las series inspiradas en emulsiones históricas de Agfa, ha adquirido la patente del limpiador de película de Tetenal y lo comercializa ahora bajo su propia marca.

Es, en esencia, el mismo producto, tan alabado durante décadas por no dañar ni las pistas magnéticas de sonido ni atacar el plastificante de las películas de triacetato.

Pero aparece entonces el problema moderno, que no tiene nada de químico y mucho de burocrático: al tratarse de un líquido inflamable, ni Correos ni la mayoría de las empresas de mensajería lo envían a España desde Alemania, al menos no sin trámites absurdos que hacen que el envío resulte imposible o ridículamente caro.

Uno, como buen gallego, no se achanta ante los problemas de la vida y busca, como siempre, una solución. Podría decirse que mi vida es una sucesión de soluciones a problemas, uno tras otro.

Un amigo mío, capitán de la marina mercante, que navega regularmente por puertos del norte de Europa, se ofreció a traerme el producto directamente desde Alemania. Nada de etiquetas peligrosas, ni formularios interminables, ni prohibiciones administrativas: mi cargamento de botellas de líquido limpiador de películas ADOX viajó como siempre han viajado las cosas importantes en Galicia: en barco.

De esta forma, el limpiador de ADOX llegó a La Coruña, y no sólo eso, sino que fue entregado en mano en mis propias instalaciones, con un precio de transporte razonable, decididamente razonable: una hamburguesa 4×4 con pepinillos en su querido Gasthof de La Grela, que para algunos será un simple restaurante de polígono, pero que para ciertos marinos tiene algo de puerto seguro.

Así está hoy el mundo del cine fotoquímico: para conseguir un elixir alemán hay que recurrir a un capitán, a un barco y a una hamburguesa.

Pero, al menos, podemos seguir limpiando las películas antes de telecinarlas sabiendo que, si son de triacetato, su soporte permanecerá seguro.

Tetenal ha muerto.
¡¡¡Viva Adox!!!

• Si desea ver el inmenso mundo de posibilidades creativas con  productos Súper-8, por favor, pulse aquí: Pro 8mm

THIS IS HOW A SUPER-8 DOCUMENTARY IS MADE: "PERFECT ANTARCTIC MADNESS"

While many digital projects belonging to the fashionable subsidy-driven audiovisual world are promoted with great fanfare — financed by generous public grants extracted from the sweat of taxpayers and distributed by committees populated by the usual ideological gatekeepers — some of us, working with genuine film and craft, move forward in a much quieter way: frame by frame.

Alan and Chloe

In this short recording, captured simply with a mobile phone, you can see one of those everyday moments of my work: I´m checking, through a low-resolution telecine, a sequence already edited from Perfect Antarctic Madness, a documentary filmed entirely on Super-8 film that was manually transferred into Single-8 cartridges in order to be shot with my half-century-old Fujica ZC1000.

In the sequence, filmed on the bridge of the ship, we see the officer Eline, while Chloe speaks with Allan White, and Vide and Michael scan the horizon as enormous waves roll past the vessel during a violent storm in the Southern Ocean.

Bridge official Eline looking for a enormeous iceberg

The anemometer had already exceeded 100 knots of wind, which is the maximum it can measure, when a gigantic wave suddenly crashes against the bridge windows with tremendous force.

At this latitude — 77° South — the roaring, howling and bellowing winds that we left behind days earlier in more “human” latitudes, which many sailors consider fearsome storms, are remembered by us almost as gentle breezes.

Vide, from the Arctic, in the Antarctic!

Everything was registred — one might say notarized — on Super-8 film, without artificial intelligence, algorithms, or digital trickery.

And that, friends, is how this project progresses: at my own pace, calmly, without haste, and without depending on public subsidies or the fashions of the publicly funded audiovisual world.

When one works in complete independence, there is no other way: patience, perseverance, and the conviction that, week after week, little by little, Perfect Antarctic Madness continues to take shape.

If you would like to see the vast world of creative possibilities with Super-8 products, please click here: Pro 8mm