ALKALINE vs. LITHIUM BATTERIES (Part One of Two). Test Report for the ZC1000

Since I was a secondary school student, my reference camera has been the Fujica ZC1000. What always fascinated me most was its remarkably low power consumption. According to the instruction manual, four AA alkaline batteries are sufficient to film approximately seven cartridges. In my own experience, however, I consistently reached fifteen cartridges — and even then, the batteries still had usable charge left. I would replace them almost out of mechanical "shame" rather than necessity.

It is worth remembering that the ZC1000 also features an external leather battery pack for four D-type batteries, designed specifically for sub-zero filming. With that accessory, autonomy increases dramatically, allowing the camera to operate for hours in extreme conditions.

Panasonic Alkaline Power, Panasonic Evolta and Varta Lithium

TEST REPORT WITH 4 AA BATTERIES.

The purpose of this test is to determine, as objectively as possible, how many actual cartridges the ZC1000 can film with a single set of four AA batteries.

Given that many of my projects take place at temperatures of –20 °C or lower, and that I aim to minimize waste wherever possible, the analysis will not be limited to a single brand.

The Three Contenders:

• Standard Panasonic Alkaline Power (made in Europe);

• Panasonic Evolta (high-performance alkaline, made in Europe);

• Varta Lithium AA (made in China!).

Panasonic Evolta batteries are widely regarded as among the best alkaline cells on the market. Varta lithium batteries, on the other hand, promise longer endurance, better performance in extreme cold, and reduced voltage drop under load.

Planned Methodology

• Continuous running of 3.355 meters (11.000 ft) of film; 

• After every ten cartridges, cheking voltage drop;

• Partial repetition of the test in a very cold environment;

• Observation of the weight and volume of waste generated by each battery type.

This test is not only about endurance. It is also about reliability in extreme cold, waste reduction, and cost-to-performance ratio. When filming under severe conditions, the battery is not a minor detail: it marks the boundary between captured images and mechanical silence.

If the ZC1000 has proven anything over decades, it is that when properly powered, it is an almost indestructible machine.

As a curious technical note: for the test I used only one and only one single Single-8 cartridge loaded with 15.25 meters (50 feet) of polyester film. I ran it forward and backward a total of 220 times!!! continuously at 18 fps, in daily sets of ten runs (five forward, five reverse).

In the next chapter, I will share the results.

Stay tuned.

I ran this cartridge 220 times!, in the ZC1000 

LET FILM BREATHE: triacetate film needs to “breathe.” Notes from a Film Archivist

If I´m not projecting valuable triacetate titles of my film archive for a while, them, I make a point of rewinding the prints from head to tail and back again at least once a year. This practice is, of course, unnecessary with polyester film, whose chemical stability and base characteristics make it far less vulnerable to the same risks.

Many years ago, during a preservation course I attended in Rochester, Kodak recommended that for proper storage of triacetate film, the emulsion should generally be kept wound inward. However, they also advised that the winding direction be occasionally reversed. This simple action helps relieve tension and promotes a healthier internal balance within the roll over time.

In that respect, projectors such as the long-play Fumeo VI, which rewinds the receiving reel in reverse orientation, are ideal for the archivist with limited time. With each screening, one can automatically comply with Kodak’s recommendation, combining projection and preservation in a single gesture.

VENTILATED STORAGE BOXES.

An adequately ventilated archive vault would be of little use if triacetate films were stored in airtight cans or sealed containers.

When archived in boxes, reels should have ventilation openings to allow proper air circulation. Without airflow, degradation byproducts can accumulate within the container, accelerating chemical decay rather than slowing it. A film vault protects the environment around the reel; ventilation protects the environment within it.

Preservation is not only about temperature and humidity. It is also about allowing film to breathe—subtly, invisibly—so that time moves more slowly across its surface.

SUPERNATURAL GIFT FROM SOLEDAD MIRANDA

Some gifts seem to arrive carrying a historical weight, almost metaphysical. About ten years ago, following my advice, Soledad Miranda purchased a Bauer C109 from the fondly remembered French shop of André Egido. Recently, she decided to part with two Super 8 cartridges she would not be using, which had been resting in her dressing table drawer for years. With a generosity I deeply appreciate, she has given them to me.

One is a Kodak Tri-X, a black-and-white emulsion I have always loved: noble, contrasty, with that organic grain that turns light into substance.

But the other cartridge is something else entirely: a Provia 100 in Super 8, an absolutely cult emulsion, packaged for a brief period by Tak Kohyama of Retro Enterprises from the glorious Fujichrome Provia 100 slide film. It belonged to a strange, almost twilight era, when color reversal seemed destined to disappear and Fujifilm was the only remaining option, since Kodak had, at that time, abandoned Ektachrome.

Tak undertook a considerable investment in a machine capable of reperforating 35 mm film down to Super 8. For a small company, this was no minor technical feat. Adapting a film designed for still photography to the demanding 8 mm Type S gauge required precision, risk, and faith in a market already wounded.

Retro Enterprises began selling Provia 100 in Super 8 cartridges at a moment when no other color reversal stock existed. It was also offered in Single-8, the system created by Fujifilm in 1965, and “killed” by the same company in 2014, although the format survives thanks to those of us who continue to reload our own cartridges.

Then, suddenly, without warning (very much in keeping with the enigmatic nature of Fujifilm), the film supply was cut off. The project was abruptly terminated. Thus ended that brief golden age of Provia in motion picture form.

The cartridge now in my hands is therefore a relic of that adventure. There is no way of knowing which batch it belongs to whether it is from the early runs, now quite expired and potentially affected by perforation issues, or from a later, more stable production. It is, quite literally, an encapsulated unknown.

Shooting with it will be a game of photochemical Russian roulette. Will there be chromatic stability? Unpredictable color shifts? Perforation deviations?

In any case, risk is part of the charm. This is not merely a cartridge: it is a capsule of industrial history, of technical resistance, of romantic stubbornness.

Thanks to Soledad Miranda, I now have the opportunity to face that challenge.

And ultimately, what is photochemical cinema if not precisely this? To measure the light,  and to accept that sometimes uncertainty is part of the miracle.

RESTAURACIÓN DE LA ZAPATA DE LOS RODILLOS DENTADOS DE UN FUMEO 9119 DE SÚPER-8 (2 de 2)

Tras la introducción de la entrada precedente, toca ahora aplicar la fórmula que le fue revelada a Álex por un ingeniero de nuestras Fuerzas Armadas que, en sus ratos libres, se dedica a restaurar aparatos militares obsoletos, en una mezcla de saber empírico, paciencia monástica y liturgia química que funciona sorprendentemente bien. Esta receta para el aluminio herido debe seguirse con exactitud casi bíblica.

Zapata sin restauración

EL BAÑO PURIFICADOR.

Las zapatas o presores de aluminio, una vez desmontadas del proyector de cine Fumeo 9119,  se sumergen en vinagre blanco no seis minutos, ni ocho, sino exactamente siete.
Ni uno más ni uno menos, pues la precisión es importante para atacar la oxidación del aluminio sin dañar la física de la pieza.
Siete minutos, siete, como los días de la Creación.
Tras ese tiempo, la superficie comienza a mostrar signos claros de que la costra de óxido ha sido debilitada.

Zapata casi restaurada

EL DESPRENDIMIENTO DEL PECADO.

Inmediatamente después, se procede al frotado con cepillo, agua y jabón de lavavajillas marca Mistol.
En este paso se eliminan los restos de óxido reblandecido por el vinagre, y la pieza empieza a revelar su auténtica naturaleza metálica bajo la pátina de abandono.

Zapata casi restaurada

LA TRIPLE LIJA (AL AGUA).

Seguidamente llega el trabajo de finura ucraniana: la lija con la zapata mojada, lo que se denomina “lija al agua”. En un primer paso se utiliza lija de grano 400 al agua para eliminar irregularidades profundas. En un segundo paso se emplea lija de grano 600 al agua para refinar la superficie. En el paso final, con lija de grano 1000 al agua, se borran los últimos rastros de arañazos visibles. Cada fase del lijado es un proceso lento, casi meditativo, en el que cada pasada devuelve al aluminio su dignidad original.

LAVADO Y SECADO.
A continuación, una nueva limpieza con agua y jabón, tras lo cual se seca cuidadosamente la zapata con un paño limpio.
En este punto, el presor ya no parece un resto arqueológico, sino que vuelve a revelarse como una auténtica pieza mecánica, incluso mejor que cuando salió de Via Teocrito, 47, en Milán.

Sidol: imprescindible

EL BRILLO FINAL.
Se aplica Aladdin (de Sidol) con algodón, no como quien pule una cacerola, sino como quien restaura un instrumento científico. Poco a poco aparece un brillo profundo, metálico y elegante, en el que el aluminio recupera su presencia.

Las dos zapatas ya instaladas

LA PROTECCIÓN.

Por último, se aplica una gotita de WD-40 con un paño limpio, no para engrasar, sino para proteger. Fumeo pintaba estos presores precisamente para proteger el aluminio: la pintura era la barrera contra la oxidación. Pero, como demuestra este caso, en ambientes con humedades superiores al 80 % durante más de treinta años, aquella protección no fue suficiente. En esta restauración en concreto, conscientemente, se ha decidido no repintarlos. La pintura original todavía se fabrica (disponemos de la referencia exacta), pero el acabado pulido del aluminio desnudo es tan bello que merece quedarse así. No es una traición al diseño original, sino una reinterpretación respetuosa.

Primera parte del artículo: CLIQUE AQUÍ PARA LEERLA

RESTAURACIÓN DE LA ZAPATA DE LOS RODILLOS DENTADOS DE UN FUMEO 9119 DE SÚPER-8 (1 de 2)

En los proyectores Fumeo de 16 mm, las zapatas (o presores) de los rodillos dentados, denominados guards en inglés,  fueron siempre un elemento casi filosófico: la propia fábrica los consideraba innecesarios y, por ello, los ofrecía como accesorio opcional (aunque todos mis modelos de xenón de 16 mm los incorporan).

Mis dedos señalan los dos presores o zapatas de cada rueda dentada en el Fumeo 9119, ya restaurado

En el caso concreto del Súper-8, Fumeo sí decidió montarlas siempre de origen. Ahora bien, su utilidad real es limitada: solo resultan verdaderamente necesarias cuando se proyecta en marcha atrás o cuando se trabaja con película muy contraída por el paso del tiempo o por malas condiciones de conservación. En proyección normal, con película en buen estado, suelo proyectar con las zapatas abiertas.

Estas zapatas están fabricadas en aluminio y protegidas por una capa de pintura. En el Fumeo 9119 que estamos restaurando (por puro placer mecánico, sin otra finalidad que devolverle su dignidad original), nos encontramos con un problema serio: los guards estaban en un estado lamentable, profundamente dañados por la oxidación del aluminio.

¡Nunca ví una zapata tan dañada!

No sabemos con certeza el origen del mal. Podría tratarse de una partida defectuosa de fundición (quizá el aluminio no alcanzó la temperatura adecuada en el proceso) o, más sencillamente, de décadas de conservación deficiente en un ambiente húmedo. El resultado, en cualquier caso, es claro: superficies rugosas, material debilitado y un aspecto infame, incompatible con una máquina concebida con la solidez industrial de Fumeo.

El objetivo es devolver estos presores o zapatas de aluminio a su estado original, tanto funcional como estético, y hacerlo además con un método reproducible, que pueda servir para futuras restauraciones. Para ello vamos a aplicar una fórmula que le pasó a Álex un ingeniero de nuestras Fuerzas Armadas, pensada precisamente para la recuperación de piezas de aluminio degradadas por oxidación.

No se trata solo de limpiar, sino de rescatar una pieza mecánica olvidada, respetando su geometría, su función y su espíritu original. Esta es, al fin y al cabo, nuestra filosofía al restaurar todo lo relacionado con el cine fotoquímico: no basta con que funcione, tiene que volver a ser lo que fue. Porque incluso las piezas que parecen prescindibles, como estos humildes presores de rodillos dentados, forman parte de una concepción industrial en la que nada se hacía al azar y todo estaba pensado para durar.

Vayan comprando vinagre blanco, papel de lija de grano 400, 600 y 1000, Aladdin y WD-40: serán los ingredientes necesarios para poner en práctica la valiosa información que se facilitará en la segunda parte de este artículo.

CONTINUACIÓN DE ESTA ENTRADA: PULSE AQUÍ PARA LEERLA

Restauración casi terminada

COMPLETE RESTORATION OF A BRAUN VISACUSTIC 1000 STEREO PROJECTOR BY RENZO DAL BO

(Text, photos and videos by Renzo dal Bo)

Shortly before the Christmas holidays I received a desperate case from my friend Mauro Coscia: a Braun Visacustic 1000 p(rojector that had previously suffered serious damage, likely due to careless transport by the courier.

Mauro's request was to evaluate the possibility of recovery and, if necessary, a complete overhaul. However, several other problems emerged during the restoration, making it a typical case demonstrating the commitment required to bring machines, over 40 years old, back to life.In the following sequence of images and videos, I illustrate all the main phases, which required more than two full days of work, but with the full satisfaction of a successful final result.

The rewind reel shaft was bent and some plastic pieces of the clutch were broken.

The rest of the mechanics seemed in order though.

To disassemble the bent shaft, it was necessary to use the force of the hammer.

Luckily, I had all the parts I needed to replace, not only the shaft, but the entire rewind arm assembly.

This is the comparison of the two details, with the shaft no longer reusable.

I also had to replace the back cover.
However, I had a different back cover model available.
Some slight modifications were made during the production of the Visacustic projectors. Over time, two small screws were added to the top to better secure the back cover to the projector frame.
To fit the replacement back cover, which required two screws, I also had to drill and tap two small holes in the frame.

After installing the new arm, I checked that the clutch assembly works properly and that it disengages when the film is reversed.

It was time to try starting the projector, but another surprise awaited. Although the motor started, the projector's mechanisms remained stationary, indicating that the rubber belt was slipping on the motor pulley and needed to be replaced.
A very positive feature of the Visacustic series projectors is that replacing the belt is simple and can be done with a Phillips screwdriver, in less than five minutes.

After changing the motor belt, the projector started normally but reported a movement irregularity, a sign that some mechanical parts, typically a gear, needed replacing.

The original gear with plastic teeth showed small radial cracks and required replacement with a new one.

The imperceptible crack seen up close.

After a complete overhaul of the moving parts, including cleaning and lubrication with new grease, the projector finally ran properly at all speeds.

Then it was the time to check the electronics related to the sound, and another typical problem, that can afflict Visacustic projectors, occurred: a pulsating sound coming from the amplifier, due to the loss of some electrolytic capacitors. To resolve this problem, it is necessary to disassemble the sound board located at the base of the projector.
Since many parts must be disassembled to reach it, it is advisable to replace not only the electrolytic capacitors causing this defect, but also, as a precaution, others that can, over time, cause other problems such as lack of sound, the motor not starting, or a blown fuse among the many fuses this projector comes with

The difficulty of reaching some components in a crowded electronics system in a small space requires great care. Extreme caution must be exercised when handling the board to avoid interrupting any of the connections of the many soldered wires extending from the board itself.

I also replaced the double-sided adhesive on the plug holder that goes to the magnetic head.
Over time, the foam part flakes off, and the holder comes off the multi-pin plug.

Before reassembling the sound card, it is necessary to remove and replace the old conductive thermal paste, which allows the heat produced by the power transistors to disperse.

The sound card was reassembled in its original position, making sure that all connections were correct.

The power and motor control board also has a heat sink, which requires new thermal conductive paste.

Once all the connectors are in place, the cables must be arranged so that they do not interfere with the moving parts.

For this purpose, cable ties are used to secure all the cables.
Note the gem: I used the original design ones.

Finally, the time has come to check whether the extensive work on the electronics has paid off.
Indeed, the amplifier's pulsating noise has disappeared.
Bingo!

Using the microphone originally supplied with the projector, I checked that the first channel's output was working correctly.

I repeated the same operation for the second channel.

Having made sure that all the functions are present and working correctly, I moved on to regulating, using the strobe light, all four speeds that the projector is equipped with.

The most exciting and anticipatory moment: the first test with sound film.
It seems to have been successfully completed.

It's time to reassemble all the plastic parts that make up the projector's outer casing, after thoroughly cleaning them, of course.
Aesthetics are also important...

The back side, with all the sockets.

The front side, with the 1.1 lens.

The opposite side with the knob for manual advance.

And finally the main side with all the controls.

Final test screening a sound film.
Unfortunately, the cell phone footage doesn't do justice to the brightness and stability of this projector's image.
I hope the effort to restore this machine to full efficiency is rewarded by the owner's satisfaction.

LAS EXUDACIONES DE UNA CÁMARA SANTA

En 2009 rodé con película Kodachrome de Súper-8, cargada en cartuchos de Single-8, un viaje familiar a Tierra Santa. La mayor parte del material lo filmé con mi inseparable Fuji ZC1000N equipada con un anamórfico Iscorama, para la obtención del formato panorámico 2:1.

En primer término, la P2 Iscorama, y a su izquierda la Black y la Granangular, todas con obturador reducido a 150 grados

Pero en el interior del lugar de nacimiento de Jesús, en Belén el espacio era tan reducido que recurrí a una cámara mucho más pequeña, también diseñada por mi amigo Shigeo Mizukawa,  una Fuji P2, equipada con un diminuto anamórfico Isco de igual ratio que el Iscorama.

No se trata de la P2 que uso habitualmente desde hace años, a la que reduje el obturador de 220 grados a 150 para ganar definición en planos con movimiento, sino de otra P2 absolutamente original, a la que únicamente le había modificado la rosca de su objetivo para que el anamórfico, una vez colocado,  quedase en posición correcta. Conserva, eso sí, su obturador completo de 220 grados, lo que me permite ganar casi medio diafragma de luz, una bendición en interiores oscuros como aquel.

La P2 Iscorama con obturador de 150 grados, toma de mando a distancia fabricada por Mateu Bauzá y recordatorio de la tabla de profundidad de campo

Desde aquella filmación, en la estancia de la Natividad, esa cámara tiene un estatus especial. No exagero si digo que es, para mí, una auténtica reliquia: la cámara estuvo allí, en el lugar donde, según la tradición, nació aquel en quien se fundamenta buena parte de nuestra civilización humana. Por eso apenas la utilizo. Descansa junto a mis otras P2  (la negra, la de obturador reducido y la de gran angular), como una pieza singular dentro de la familia P2.

Pero, relataré a continuación lo extraordinario. Como ciertas reliquias veneradas a lo largo de la historia, esta cámara, estimado lector,  exuda.

Secreción de la exudación, en la P2 Iscorama de 220 grados

De su interior brota, de vez en cuando, una sustancia ligeramente viscosa. No es aceite común, ni grasa mecánica reconocible. Es algo así como una secreción misteriosa que aparece sin previo aviso. Lo más curioso es que ninguna de mis otras P2 hace lo mismo. Solo esta. Justo esta. La que estuvo en Belén.

Otras cámaras envejecen con achaques propios de su longeva edad: se endurecen las gomas, se secan los lubricantes o se oxidan los contactos:, pero esta P2 parece haber optado por un camino más místico.

Que conste que no afirmo nada, ni sugiero milagros. Tampoco es mi intención proponer canonizaciones técnicas. Pero los hechos son los hechos: es la única cámara de mi arsenal que “exuda”. ¿Será simplemente un lubricante antiguo que ha decidido reaparecer? ¿Podría ser una una goma interior que ha entrado en fase líquida? ¿O es, tal vez, ¡quién sabe!, un recuerdo inmaterial del Santo Lugar donde estuvo filmando?

Sea lo que sea, cada año la limpio con respeto y reverencia, recordando aquel momento en la gruta de la Natividad. Yo estoy convencido que las cámaras,  cuando han estado en ciertos lugares o ante determinadas personas, parecen adquirir personalidad propia. Esta Fuji P2 es la prueba.