The BFI Film on Film Festival stands as a testament to the pure, unadulterated magic of the medium. Stepping into the BFI Southbank, I found myself transported to a bygone era, a world where film projection was an art form in itself—a world some consider to be dying, but here revived with an exuberance to set the heart pounding. As someone once said, in a flickering reel: “It’s alive!”
This festival embraced the physicality of film, allowing audiences to revel in the nuanced delights that only celluloid (or, indeed, nitrate) can offer. Even as a longtime Member of the BFI, I have never before been so enamoured, so exhilarated by a BFI event I was by the sheer depth of knowledge and passion that permeated every corner of the festival.
From the moment of its announcement, this festival was beacon of hope for those of us who longed to experience the unique allure of watching movies projected on film, relishing in the distinct look, sound, and emotional impact that digital formats simply cannot replicate.
The BFI’s archive is a treasure trove, and the festival managed to showcase a wonderful array of films, each carefully selected to highlight the diverse formats that bring cinema to life. From the dangers of nitrate to the flickering beauty of 16mm to the grandeur of 70mm, and everything in between, the festival captured the essence of cinematic storytelling in all its glorious forms.
Sadly a fire suppression system failure meant that a nitrate print of Mildred Pierce could not be shown, but a newly minted 35mm print of this classic sent shivers down my spine – this screening confirmed it to me as Michael Curtiz’s masterpiece.
But it wasn’t just the classics that took center stage; the festival also embraced contemporary filmmakers who continue to believe in the power of celluloid. Christopher Nolan, a true devotee of the medium, eloquently spoke of the unique experience that film projection offers, capturing the organic larger-than-life quality that digital formats cannot replicate. Filmmaker Mark Jenkin, who also makes the conscious choice to shoot on film, was on hand to add a contemporary resonance to the festival, reminding us of the enduring importance of preserving the artistry of celluloid.
The festival was not just a series of screenings; it was an immersive experience that delved into the world behind the scenes. Expert voices from the BFI’s conservation, curatorial, and projection teams enlightened audiences with talks, discussions, and technical demonstrations that unveiled the intricate processes involved in bringing film from the archive to the cinema screen. It was a true celebration of the unsung heroes who dedicate themselves to the preservation and presentation of cinematic treasures.
As I took in in the festival’s offerings, I couldn’t help but be moved by the diverse audience that surrounded me. From nitrate geeks who practically fell over themselves to witness the beauty of Blood and Sand to the three ladies sitting behind me, who had never experienced the awe-inspiring spectacle of Jaws before, the festival united cinephiles from all walks of life. The communal laughter, gasps, and applause that echoed through the auditoriums reminded me of the transformative power of cinema and the unifying force it possesses.
In the end, the BFI Film on Film Festival was a triumph—a resounding ode to the magic of celluloid and the enduring love for cinema. The dedication and passion of the BFI shone through every meticulously curated screening, workshop, and discussion. It was a celebration of the past, a nod to the present, and a beacon of hope for the future of film projection.
The BFI Film on Film festival ran from 8-11 June.
Whitlock&Pope 