Paul Thomas Anderson's New Film and the Question of Digitized vs. Celluloid Movies

Paul Thomas Anderson, one of America's best living directors, is preparing for the September release of his latest film, The Master. Films such as this one typically start with some film festival showings, then a New York-LA opening. After that, the picture is distributed in the hinterlands. However, Anderson arranged for a unique preview of the film in Chicago. (J.R. Jones' review from the Chicago Reader is linked here.) The story of the Chicago preview offers a window into directors who really give a damn about how their creations look on a screen, the state of movie theatre viewing, and the community of critics, film business insiders, and highbrow fans who shape the taste of movies present, past, and future.

Music Box Theatre
(photo from CBS/Chicago)

P.T. Anderson's picture, thanks to the drumbeat and intercession of some local Chicago film critics, received a one-time celluloid showing at The Music Box, the Windy City's leading venue for art house movies. The packed house was unquestionably drawn by the rare opportunity to see a 70mm movie on celluloid rather than a digitized product. According to Drew Hunt's excellent blog post in the Chicago Reader, the quality of old-fashioned film simply trumped a look dependent upon bits, bytes and algorithms:

Proof of this was spilled all over the Music Box's 35-foot screen last night: every detail of the image was stark, vivid, and even lifelike. If films are meant to provide gateways to other worlds, then the cinematic world of The Master was more tangible than anything I've ever seen projected in digital format. As Music Box general manager Dave Jennings noted when he introduced the film, "If you can't see a difference [in 70-millimeter], you're not looking at the screen."

Considering the chances of seeing The Master in 70-millimeter again are slim to none—Jennings did mention that the Music Box is hoping to bring it back for a proper theatrical run, but as of now nothing is confirmed—last night's screening was nothing short of monumental, a testament to those who still value celluloid and are striving to maintain its relevance.

Trailer from The Master

For visual products, digital advocates have consistently poo-poohed non-digi versions. They've cited digital's "crispness" and "reliability" as virtues. Its hard-edged visual sensibility seems inevitable, given its foundation of visual experience as a mathematically precise arrangement of squares. Unsurprisingly, animation has been a primary beneficiary of the digital movement. It's not a coincidence that the late Steve Jobs' wildly successful movie business, Pixar, focused on animation.

The digital revolution has unquestionably saved some films from extinction and given some others a much wider audience. These are very desirable outcomes.

Martin Scorsese
Film Foundation board member and guiding spirit

What's less desirable is the shift in visual taste from rich, luminous tableaux to something that resembles screen shots from a Zynga game. Most theatre screens are simply dreadful, pint-sized objects little better than a white bedsheet. Meanwhile, American film auteurs, especially those connected to the Film Foundation, continue to fight the good fight for the quality of their movies and for the preservation of filmed versions of important motion pictures. Directors such as Clint Eastwood and Wes Anderson do this because they care about how their work appears and how an audience will see it. So does P.T. Anderson, and he should be applauded -- along with the Music Box and selected Chicago film critics -- for standing up for what's best for cinema.