"LA VOZ" DE GALICIA EN EL ÁRTICO: APRENDIZAJES JUNTO A SANTIAGO FERNÁNDEZ

Cuando rodé "Spitsbergen, O Gardián do Ártico", tuve el privilegio de contar con la voz de Santiago Fernández para la locución. Y escribo "LA VOZ" de Galicia, en mayúscula, porque, para muchos en Galicia, Santiago es exactamente eso: la voz que dignifica el idioma gallego.

Santiago Fernández, recogiendo el premio Sellier de Cine el año del coronavirus

Pero Santiago es mucho más que un intérprete de doblaje. Docente vocacional, fue director del Colegio Labaca y responsable de los cursos de locución de Casa Hamlet, un centro que, sólo por su nombre, ya da lecciones de principios y pasiones.

Tuve la suerte de trabajar con él, y a pesar de llevar décadas sonorizando en Súper-8, aprendí mucho a su lado. Porque Santiago, como todo buen maestro, no enseña desde el pedestal, sino desde la práctica, compartiendo secretos que no vienen en manuales.

Uno de esos secretos fue revelador: grabar una locución escuchando al mismo tiempo por cascos lo que se está registrando. Es una técnica básica en el doblaje profesional, que desde entonces aplico siempre. Esa escucha en tiempo real afina el ritmo, el tono, la intención, y te hace consciente de cada palabra mientras brota de los labios.

Otro consejo suyo, que confieso no siempre sigo, es grabar siempre de pie, frente a un atril. La razón es sencilla: sentado, la respiración se limita, se corta el aire, y eso afecta a la entrega vocal. Tiene toda la razón, pero ya se sabe que el oficio también está hecho de manías y costumbres arraigadas.

Trabajar con Santiago fue una experiencia que sobrepasó lo técnico. Fue una lección de respeto por la palabra dicha, de compromiso con la emoción que se transmite a través del sonido. Una lección que me acompaña en cada proyecto, porque una buena voz no sólo se escucha: se queda resonando, como eco, mucho después del último fotograma.

El plano y contraplano de esta sesión de grabación en Súper-8 está inmortalizado con una película fotográfica que no existe desde hace unos años pero que, en mi opinión, era extraordinaria para fotografíar en color con luz ambiente: la Fujifilm Natura 1600. Dada su sensibilidad extrema, es, desde hace unos años, imposible de llevar a los aeropuertos y otros lugares con elementos de control de acceso, pues la velan. 

AHU VISION FILM: KODAK REMOVES REMJET FOR FUTURE VISION STOCKS. WHAT IT MEANS FOR SMALL LABS AND SUPER-8 FILMMAKERS

Big news is quietly circulating through the world of real cinema, the cimema with motion picture film: Kodak is preparing to eliminate the remjet layer from its VISION3 film stocks. For many, this might sound like an obscure technical footnote. But for those of us who process film independently, it marks a turning point.

The remjet layer  has historically been an integral component in professional color negative motion picture films.  It served a variety of purposes: anti-halation to prevent light from reflecting back through the base and fogging the image, anti-static to reduce dust, a lubricant for high-speed transport in cameras and projectors, and a protective shield against scratching. In short: essential for industrial usage.

Catalogue code for AHU stock starts with numbers 751

But in the world of Super-8, some of these benefits are less relevant. Super-8 cartridges run at standard speeds, are less prone to static build-up, and don’t face the same mechanical stresses as 16mm or 35mm. Yet, until now, the remjet remained standard on all professional motion picture stocks, including those reperforated for Super-8.

For independent filmmakers, like myself and others who process Super-8 or 16mm at home or in small labs, removing the remjet has always been one of the most challenging steps. It involves pre-baths or post-baths, a separate chemical stage, even mechanically,  and a great deal of care. With expired film stocks, remjet removal often becomes unpredictable and can leave residue or stains.

Now, Kodak has quietly confirmed this change: future VISION3 stocks will be manufactured without the remjet layer, with a new procedure called AHU (acronym of anti-h alation undercoat).

AHU code is 751 but art of the box is the same

Removing remjet took years of internal research. Kodak has invested millions of dollars in this development, which required the closure of the production plant for a few weeks at the end of 2024 to adapt to the new technology. Kodak had to redesign the base to include anti-halation properties below the emulsion layers, without changing the film’s total thickness. That meant re-engineering all the emulsion layers to be slightly thinner. As a result, the silver-bearing layers had to be recalibrated to maintain consistent density. Otherwise, development would be off, leading to overexposure or unwanted color shifts.

The traditional carbon black remjet layer has been replaced with a newly engineered process-surviving anti-static layer. This innovative solution not only provides the essential functions of the original remjet—such as lubrication, scratch resistance, and spark protection during camera transport—but also introduces a valuable enhancement: it remains active even after development.

This means the film retains its anti-static properties post-processing, offering increased resistance to airborne particles that typically cling to film surfaces. The practical result? Expect noticeably cleaner digital scans, with fewer dust artifacts and improved image fidelity—especially important for those working with high-resolution transfers.

This is no small feat. Motion picture films are chemically complex ecosystems. Any tiny change requires rebalancing the entire development process.

Should Kodak naming this new formulation "VISION4? Kodak chose not to rename the new stock "Vision4" because, historically, changes in the Vision platform—such as the transitions from Vision to Vision2, and then to Vision3—have been tied to significant advancements in imaging science. The recent modification, introducing the AHU (anti-halation undercoat), is a structural adjustment rather than a change to the image-forming emulsion itself. Since the core visual characteristics of the film remain the same, Kodak decided to retain the Vision3 branding. Perhaps, the new film could be called Vision 3- II, as happened in 1961 with improved Kodachrome II. 

A recreation of what the new cartridge could have been.

A NOTE ON IDENTIFICATION AND PROCESSING CONCERNS.  

The catalog code assigned to the AHU Vision film in Super 8 format is 751. This identifier appears only on the bulk packaging for 20-cartridge shipments to retailers, but not on the individual boxes received by filmmakers. This discrepancy may lead to confusion in the future, especially when differentiating between the older remjet-backed VISION3 and the newer AHU-based stock.

It's worth nothing that professional labs are expected, eventually, to discontinue processing films with remjet backing, as they will begin bypassing the remjet removal stage entirely—eliminating the scrubber box from their ECN-2 workflow. This will result in considerable water savings and reduced maintenance, but it also means that understanding emulsion codes and manufacturing distinctions will become increasingly important. For those with older remjet-backed stocks still in their refrigerators, the message is clear: shoot them sooner rather than later, or be prepared to pay a premium for processing, as labs may charge extra to temporarily re-enable the remjet removal setup.

ADVENTAGES OF NEW TECHNOLOGIE AHU.

This new technologie means the film retains its anti-static properties post-processing, offering increased resistance to airborne particles that typically cling to film surfaces. The practical result? Expect noticeably cleaner scans, with fewer dust artifacts and improved image fidelity—especially important for those working with high-resolution transfers.What does this mean for us, the independent Super-8mm filmmakers?

• Simpler processing: Without remjet, home processors and boutique labs can simplify their workflows.

• No more remjet removal failures: Especially when dealing with expired film, so:

• Noticeably cleaner digital scans, with fewer dust artifacts and improved image fidelity, very important for Super-8 filmmakers working with high-resolution transfers.

I'm looking forward to testing it myself, with a identical camera and optics system, trying the new film stock and the old stock, in order to check possible differences in scan, printing and film handling: the lack of remjet may slightly alter the way film travels through certain mechanisms. I should observe carefully, particularly in Super-8.

Is Kodak moving toward ending other film lines, like photographitc C-41 emulsions? I don´t think so. Despite rumors, there are no current plans to discontinue existing photographic stocks. Far from disappearing stocks, it seems there will be more as there are plans to launch at least one stock of the Portra range in 35mm motion film presentations.  The internet may be noisy, but real news travels through quieter channels.

In conclusion: for us in the trenches of filmmaking, this change is significant. One less obstacle in development. One more sign that cinema is evolving to adapt, survive, and even thrive in unexpected ways. 

We Super-8 filmmakers don't just create movies: we celebrate shooting with film, frame by frame. And if the emulsion gods smile upon us, perhaps this is just the beginning.

Stay tuned for upcoming tests with the new remjet-free materials as they begin to hit the market.

Long life to motion picture film! Thanks Kodak.

Post scriptum: 3 months after the blog post, American Cinematographer published a very interesting article about this subjet: PLEASE, READ HERE

ADDENDUM: Days after the blog post, Kodak published the following information.

SECRETS REVEALED BY A KODAK RETIREE: EKTACHROME 64T, GRAINLESS!

How can you develop the old Ektachrome 64T with virtually no grain? That was the question—and the unexpected discovery— that Álex brought back after a brief May 1st trip to London.

The original purpose of his trip wasn’t tourism. It was, in true Super-8 spirit, a logistical maneuver: picking up a Fujicascope SH30 projector he’d bought in the UK. Believe it or not, the cost of the trip was actually lower than having the unit shipped to Spain, thanks to a last-minute travel deal.

But the real surprise came at the pickup address.

It turned out to be an apartment in Hemel Hempstead, inside a residential building constructed on what was once Kodak’s massive administrative and industrial complex, known as the Kodak Tower.

The seller, a dignified nonagenarian named Mr. Brocklehurst, turned out to be a retired technician from Kodak’s lab that used to operate right there. He told Álex that Kodak had shown great gratitude to its employees: when the site was repurposed about fifteen years ago, many were offered the chance to buy apartments in the area at very affordable prices.

The projector Álex was collecting —a pristine Fujicascope SH30 with an f/1.0 lens— wasn’t just any unit. It had been one of two used in the lab to occasionally review short film segments, chosen for its robust, industrial reliability and ease of manual threading. In 1979, these SH30s were replaced by Fumeo 9119 units, and this one was given to Mr. Brocklehurst, who kept it in mint condition ever since.

But the real treasure of the trip came when Mr. Brocklehurst, noticing that Álex was filming his visit with a tiny Fuji PX300 loaded with hand-reloaded Single-8 cartridges of Kodak Ektachrome 64T, handed him a handwritten notebook.

Not just any notebook. This was a personal compilation of private lab notes —never published anywhere— including exclusive tweaks and chemical adjustments to improve development results for various emulsions… including the notoriously tricky Ektachrome 64T. Mr. Brocklehurst asked Álex to keep this knowledge confidential, only for his own film work. 

A LITTLE CONTEXT: THE TROUBLED LIFE OF 64T

When Kodak released Ektachrome 64T (7280) in 2005, the reaction among Super-8 filmmakers was lukewarm at best.

First, it was replacing the legendary Kodachrome —an unforgivable heresy in many eyes. Then came the fact that its sensitivity (64 ASA) couldn’t be correctly read by many camera meters. And finally, once it came back from the labs, the grain…

Sure, it was a sharp emulsion and capable of vivid colors when fresh, but that grain made it far from ideal for certain projects.

Kodak distributed this stock until 2010, when it was replaced by the more vibrant and widely beloved Ektachrome 100D (7285)—a film some even prefer (not me!) over the newer 7294, which I had the privilege of testing in a world-exclusive for Silvergrain Classics, thanks to my friendship with Kodak’s then-VP.

BACK TO THE LAB… AND THE MIRACLE

About a year ago, I managed to get my hands on 20 cartridges of Ektachrome 64T. My plan was to shoot a personal film diary during my 64th year of life. Time got the better of me, and I only managed to shoot a few rolls.

The first ones, processed by Frank Bruisma in his Dutch lab, came out fine… but with noticeable grain. Same with the ones I developed myself, using a vintage Soviet spiral tank.

Nowadays, thanks to a collaboration between JoBo and the SELLIER FILM FESTIVAL, I have the exceptional JoBo CPP Classic processor in my lab. Its results are on par with continuous-run commercial labs. Still, even with this beautiful machine, the grain was always there.

Until now.

Yesterday morning, we processed the footage Álex shot in London, following Mr. Brocklehurst’s handwritten notes—a kind of arcane lab grimoire from his decades of experimentation.

We used standard JoBo E6 chemistry, but adjusted the development time and lowered the temperature according to the retired technician’s suggestions.

The result?
Absolutely stunning. Practically no grain. A level of clarity and smoothness I had never thought possible with this emulsion. I was in awe before the drying drum even stopped spinning.

Sadly, I only have a few cartridges of 64T left…

As a final surprise, Mr. Brocklehurst gave Álex a copy of What Shall I Film? by Ivan Watson—known fondly as “Uncle Ivan”—and Álex, knowing that I had once met the author, generously passed it on to me.

And to top it all off? Álex brought the Fujicascope SH30 onto the plane as carry-on. Not even Brexit nor customs officials got in the way.

No tariffs. No VAT.
Film: 1
Bureaucracy: 0

A lightning trip to London —full of S8 films, secrets… and small miracles.

SECRETOS REVELADOS POR UN JUBILADO DE KODAK: EKTACHROME 64T SIN GRANO

¿Cómo revelar la antigua Ektachrome 64T sin apenas grano? Esa fue la pregunta, y el hallazgo inesperado, que trajo consigo Álex, tras una breve escapada a Londres el 1 de mayo.

El fin primordial de su viaje no fue turístico, sino, más bien, una estrategia logística con espíritu superochista: recoger en mano un proyector Fujicascope SH30 que había comprado en el Reino Unido pues, por increíble que parezca, el coste de su viaje fue inferior al de enviar esta pesada máquina por mensajería a España, gracias a una oferta de última hora con una agencia de viajes de El Ferrol.  Pero lo mejor del asunto no fue el ahorro, sino la sorpresa en el punto de recogida.

La dirección correspondía a un apartamento en Hemel Hempstead, en un edificio residencial construido sobre el antiguo complejo de oficinas e instalaciones industriales de Kodak, conocido como la Torre Kodak. 

Asombroso verificar la ausencia de grano de la 64T en el tambor de secado

El vendedor, un caballero nonagenario llamado Mr. Brocklehurst, resultó ser un jubilado del recordado laboratorio Kodak que operaba en esa misma dirección. La empresa, según le contó a Álex, tuvo un gesto de gratitud con sus trabajadores, permitiéndoles adquirir apartamentos en la zona a precios muy accesibles cuando el complejo fue reconvertido de industrial a residencial hace unos quince años.

El proyector Fujicascope SH30 con objetivo 1.0 que Álex recogía no era uno cualquiera: era uno de los dos que se usó en el laboratorio para revisar ocasionalmente fragmentos de película, en un modelo que fue elegido por su robustez industrial y la facilidad de desenhebrado. Posteriormente, en 1979, sustituirían estos SH30 por un par de proyectores Fumeo 9119 y esta unidad le fue regalada al vendedor, que la mantuvo inmaculada durante todas estas décadas. 

La gran sorpresa llegó cuando Mr. Brocklehurst, intrigado al ver que Álex filmaba su estancia con una diminuta Fuji PX300 con cartuchos Single-8 recargados artesanalmente con Kodak Ektachrome 64T, decidió entregarle un cuaderno manuscrito.

No era cualquier librito. Se trataba de un compendio de notas personales, nunca publicadas, en las que este veterano de los laboratorios Kodak volcó sus observaciones y fórmulas exclusivas para optimizar procesos de revelado, incluidas instrucciones específicas para la problemática Ektachrome 64T.

El SH30 de Kodak proyectando la película 64T recién revelada

UN POCO DE CONTEXTO: LA 64T Y SU MALA FAMA. 

Cuando en 2005 Kodak lanzó la Ektachrome 64T, conocida profesionalomente como 7280,  el recibimiento fue frío entre los superochistas. Y no sin razón: venía a sustituir a la mítica Kodachrome, en un acto de herejía difícil de perdonar. Además, su sensibilidad (64 ASA) no se podía ajustar con precisión en muchas cámaras, y su grano era, para ciertos usos, demasiado ostensible.

Kodak mantuvo esta emulsión hasta 2010, cuando la sustituyó por la más vibrante y apreciada Ektachrome 100D (7285), a la que algunos —aunque no es mi caso—, prefieren incluso sobre la actual 7294, que tuve el privilegio de probar en primicia mundial para Silvergrain Classics, gracias a mi amistad con el entonces vicepresidente de Kodak.

Álex me obsequió este libro hace unos días

DE VUELTA AL LABORATORIO... Y AL MILAGRO.

Hace algo más de un año, conseguí un paquete de 20 cartuchos de Ektachrome 64T, con la idea de documentar, en película, mi año número 64 de vida. El tiempo me ganó la batalla, y solo rodé unos pocos.
Los primeros, revelados por Frank Bruisma en su laboratorio de Holanda, vinieron perfectos… pero con grano. Lo mismo ocurrió con otros que procesé personalmente en una vieja espiral soviética.

Como ahora, gracias a la colaboración entre JoBo y el Sellier Film Festival, dispongo de una fabulosa procesadora JoBo CPP Classic en mis instalaciones, y que, con ella, la calidad del revelado alcanza niveles comparables a los de los grandes laboratorios en continuo, también revelé 64T en la JoBo. Pero el grano ahí seguía. Hasta hoy.

Hoy sábado, al alba, revelamos el metraje que Álex filmó en Londres, siguiendo los apuntes de Mr. Brocklehurst en esa especie de códice con secretos arcanos fruto de décadas de experimentaciones. 

Empleamos los químicos estándar del proceso E6 de JoBo, pero ajustamos el tiempo de revelado y la temperatura según las notas del inglés.
El resultado fue sencillamente asombroso: ¡prácticamente sin grano! Un rendimiento jamás visto por mí en esta emulsión que ya me dejó anonadado en el tambor de secado.
La pena es que apenas me queda metraje de esta emulsión.

Como broche final del viaje, Mr. Brocklehurst le regaló a Álex un ejemplar de "What Shall I Film?", de Ivan Watson —el inolvidable "tío Iván"—, que Álex, sabiendo que yo llegué a conocer al autor, tuvo el gesto de donar a la biblioteca del Sellier, Cinemateca de Galicia.

Y por si fuera poco, el proyector Fujicascope SH30 lo trajo Álex en la cabina del avión, como equipaje de mano. Ni el Brexit ni la Aduana lograron interceptarlo.
Ni arancel, ni IVA. Cine 1 - Burocracia 0.

Un viaje relámpago, pero lleno de cine en fílmico.
Y de secretos revelados.

CINEMAGIC: COMPLETED COLLECTION... AFTER 25 YEARS!!!

Some quests we choose. Others seem to choose us. Like the one I began twenty-five years ago — almost without noticing — and that, yesterday, finally came to an end.

Since childhood, when shooting imaginary Super-8 films often took priority over my school homework, I was a loyal reader of Movie Maker (UK) and Super 8 Filmmaker (USA), both sold at a newsstand in my city (which, sadly, closed its shutters in 2024). I still keep complete collections of both magazines — in the case of Movie Maker, even bound by year, lined up proudly in my archive.

But it wasn’t until well into this century that I discovered, through whispers from fellow American cinephiles, a publication that seemed tailor-made for me: Cinemagic.

This was no ordinary magazine. It began as a humble fanzine in the late '70s in the United States and gradually evolved into a full-fledged professional publication throughout the 1980s — dedicated entirely to the kind of cinema I love most: Super 8, practical special effects crafted with ingenuity and patience (not mouse clicks), and glorious stop motion on real film. A magazine that breathed the same creative spirit I’ve always aspired to capture in my own work. Oh, if only I’d found it as a teenager — my life might have taken a very different turn.

Once I knew Cinemagic existed, a new mission took shape — or rather, it chose me: to assemble the complete collection.

It’s been a search worthy of a monastic librarian — slow, quiet, and full of hope. Some issues came as unexpected gifts from generous fellow filmmakers. Others were hunted down at collectors’ fairs or through the darker corners of eBay, sometimes for a song… and sometimes at prices fit for medieval manuscripts.

About a year ago, I thought the mission was complete. I had all the issues — except one. Issue No. 32. That elusive, cursed issue slipped through my fingers twice: always scooped up at the last moment by an American who clicked faster — or stayed up later — than I did.

Until a few days ago.

An alert arrived. The price was fair. And this time… I won.

I feared it might vanish somewhere between the U.S. and Galicia, Spain — lost in the bureaucratic abyss of customs and tariffs. But no: yesterday it arrived, beautifully packaged, still smelling of old American shelves and waiting to be devoured.

I began reading it last night, during dinner, with the same giddy anticipation I felt as a boy opening my first packets of freshly developed Kodachrome reels.

This issue brought an extra surprise — a real gem: a letter to the editor signed by none other than Ray Harryhausen himself. Yes, the master of stop motion. He was a Cinemagic subscriber. That alone is worth the hunt.

And so, with this issue, the collection is now truly complete. And, if I may be so bold, it might just be the only complete Cinemagic collection in all of Europe.

Last night, I slept like a baby. Or better yet: I slept with a letter from Ray waiting for me on the nightstand.

CINEMAGIC: COLECCIÓN COMPLETADA… ¡¡¡TRAS UN CUARTO DE SIGLO!!!

Hay misiones que uno elige. Otras, pareciese que lo eligiesen a uno, como una que comencé hace veinticinco años, casi sin darme cuenta, y que, ayer, al fin, terminó. Desde niño, cuando la imaginación de mis rodajes en Súper-8 eran más frecuentes que mis deberes escolares, fui lector fiel de la británica "Movie Maker", y de la norteamericana "Super 8 Filmmaker", que se vendían en un kiosko de mi ciudad (cerrado el año pasado, 2024).  Las colecciones de ambas revistas ocupan con orgullo varias baldas de mi archivo, en el caso de "Movie Maker" incluso con los tomos encuadernados por años.

Extrayendo el preciado ejemplar de su caja: ¡como nuevo tras casi medio siglo!

Pero no fue hasta bien entrado este siglo que, por soplos de otros cineístas americanos, descubrí una revista que parecía publicada para mí: "Cinemagic".

Es una revista atípica,  nacida como humilde fanzine en Estados Unidos en la segunda mitad de los setenta, y que fue creciendo hasta convertirse en una auténtica publicación profesional durante los años ochenta, íntegramente consagrada a lo que más me fascina: la imaginación aplicada al cine en Súper-8, efectos especiales hechos con ingenio y paciencia —no con clics—, y stop motion con gloriosa película, una revista que respiraba  el mismo aire que siempre quise para mis películas. ¡Ay, si la hubiese descubierto cuando adolescente! Mi vida habría cambiado, probablemente. 

Como siempre, ni un sólo artículo tiene desperdicio.

Desde que descubrí "Cinemagic", me impuse la tarea —o ella me impuso a mí— de reunir la colección completa. Ha sido una búsqueda digna de bibliotecario monástico: lenta, silenciosa y llena de esperanza. Algunos números me llegaron como obsequios inesperados de otros cineístas generosos. Otros, cazados en ferias de coleccionismo o en rincones oscuros de eBay, a veces a precios razonables, y otras con precios dignos de subasta de manuscritos medievales.

Cenando com Will Vinton

Hace aproximadamente un año, ya creía haberlo conseguido. Tenía toda la colección… salvo el número 32. Ese número maldito se me escapó dos veces, siempre con un estadounidense más rápido o más insomne que yo, que se me adelantaba en el último clic. Hasta hace unos días cuando, de repente, una alerta, con una oferta razonable, que esta vez gané.

Tenía miedo de que se perdiese en su camino desde Estados Unidos a Galicia, en el noroeste de España, en estos tiempos de aranceles y controles fronterizos, pero ayer llegó a casa el legendario número 32 de "Cinemagic", perfectamente empaquetado, con aroma a estantería americana y promesa de lectura intensa. Lo comencé a saborear ayer mismo, durante la cena, con el mismo entusiasmo con el que de niño abría los sobres de mis primeras películas Kodachrome reveladas.

Así de bien empaquetado llegó el tesoro

Este número incluye una golosina sabrosísima:  una carta al director firmada nada menos que por Ray Harryhausen, el maestro del stop motion, el hombre que animó esqueletos mejor que nadie, era suscriptor de "Cinemagic".

Con este ejemplar, la colección está por fin completa. Y, permítame el lector, la osadía,  puede que sea la única colección íntegra de "Cinemagic" en Europa.

Ayer sí que pude dormir tranquilo. Mejor que tranquilo, diría. Porque ayer por la noche, la carta de Ray me esperaba en la cama.

Archivando el ejemplar en su tomo

ONLY SUPER 8 TELECINEMA IN 6K RESOLUTION IN GALICIA: FUMEO BY MMT – SOUL AND RESOLUTION

In a quiet corner of Galicia, in the northwest of Spain, surrounded by reels, film emulsions, and a deep passion for photochemical cinema, a unique machine has just been installed. A system that doesn’t simply scan film—it honors it, understands it, and transfer to digital with respect.

As of this week, at IB Cinema in La Corunna, we proudly host the only Super 8 (and 8 mm) telecinema with true 6K resolution in Galicia. This accomplishment has been made possible thanks to the talent and dedication of an exceptional ally: engineer Martin M. Ten, an Argentine-British designer, and one of the world’s most respected figures in narrow-gauge film telecine a technology.

Martin’s clients include professional archives and broadcasters around the globe, scattered across this vast and boundless planet. Yet, a few months ago, despite his busy schedule, he accepted a very personal challenge I proposed:

—“How would you feel about designing a 6K model that, without compromising state-of-the-art technology, paid tribute to the legendary Fumeo 9131?”

That Fumeo 9131 was a key piece of equipment at IB Cinema for nearly 25 years, back when PAL video quality was more than enough for us.

My own unit, out of service since 2008 or 2009, was eventually donated to my friend Matteo Richetti. But its memory lingered... and demanded a second life.

Rather than simply modify an existing system, Martin redesigned his MMT platform from scratch, drawing inspiration from the silhouette, philosophy, and performance of the classic Fumeo 9131. He began manufacturing components over Easter, and just this past Friday arrived in A Coruña, carefully transporting every element—along with an infectious energy and enthusiasm.

From that point on, it’s been Stakhanovite days of up to 15 hours, with Álex and I working side by side with Martin. For instance, this past Saturday we labored from 7:00 AM until well after 10:00 PM. Today, Sunday, after all this shared effort, the machine is practically complete, pending only a few final software modules.

And yes—it’s a joy, and almost an act of cultural resistance, to announce that Galicia now has a telecinema capable of scanning Super 8 and 8 mm film in real 6K resolution. This Fumeo by MMT unit doesn’t just work at 6K—it can also operate in 4K, 2K, and even HD, accommodating projects with limited computing resources who may not be able to handle the massive data loads of ultra-high-resolution scans.

Just a few days ago, I cleared out our old magnetic sound recording room. From now on, that space will serve as the telecine lab—a place where every frame, even if damaged or aged, can be scanned and respected.

Because here, we do not digitize for the sake of digitizing.
We extract the essence, preserve the grain, maintain the texture—especially of color reversal originals—with a fidelity that has never before been achieved in Europe. The goal is not merely to convert film to digital, but to preserve its soul, its unique visual richness, the splendor of Kodachrome, Ektachrome 7294, or Fujichrome Velvia.

Thanks to its incredible resolution, the Fumeo by MMT allows us to retain even the tiniest detail of the film emulsion. Unlike other Spanish labs, this machine enables ultra-stable scanning of damaged or perforated film, ensuring smooth, frame-by-frame capture.

The results are so remarkable that, while the Fumeo by MMT will be primarily reserved for our own projects, we are open—on a very selective basis—to working with certain scientific, historical, or experimental archives in our region. Projects that inspire us and that deserve to be rescued with a level of fidelity previously unthinkable in Galicia. And always with in-person hand-off and retrieval—no couriers involved.

This new system, developed by Martin M. Ten with extraordinary sensitivity to the Fumeo legacy, features frame-by-frame scanning, software control, optical stabilization, color processing designed for reversal film, and of course, the ability to export in RAW or ProRes, depending on project requirements.

A machine… and a manifesto.

Beyond the technical specs, beyond the formats, the Fumeo by MMT telecine is a statement of intent:
Here in Galicia, film is not just projected—it is cared for, studied, and revived.
With the tools of the 21st century, yet without betraying the artisan essence of the 20th.

And in these times of digital noise and fleeting memory, that is not just a technical achievement. It’s an act of love. And a form of resistance.

VERSIÓN EN ESPAÑOL: PULSE AQUÍ