Film is Dead. Long Live Film!

Flynn has crafted a fantastic film, showing people from all walks of life all tied together in one broad but connected goal, to save what they can in the way of visuals from the beginning of cinematography up until the digital changeover from celluloid.

As with any hobby, the hobbyists themselves are going to be a very varied bunch, and here it's no exception. Again, that doesn't mean these are bad people--far from the fact. What it really highlights is the way that their collecting and their passion has impacted their lives, some for better, some for worse. The director did a great job tying these stories together, and everything shown is clearly out of love and respect for the people that let him point the lens at them to tell their own stories.

Hopefully the Blu-ray release of this will have bonus features, because something like this just screams for more sidebar subjects that might not have worked in the full film but are definitely still something interesting.

FID, LLF may appear rough in some spots, but the roughness comes from the subjects of the documentary and not the documentary itself. If you are any fan or historian of the moving image, this film is a rewarding watch.

I had the opportunity to attend the Wisconsin Film Festival, during which I viewed Peter Flynn's documentary focusing on film collectors who own 35mm and 16mm film prints. While it could have made for an engaging 30-minute short or even a good 50-minute documentary for TCM, the film's duration of 102 minutes makes it somewhat repetitive and occasionally loses focus. A Thousand Cuts, a book that covers a similar narrative, offers a more engaging perspective. Alternatively, Anthony Slide's Magnificent Obsession provides a more intense exploration of the subject matter, and both are highly recommended.

The film focuses on the struggles of collectors like Louis DiCrescenzo, who dedicated his entire life to collecting film prints, leaving his loved ones puzzled and disappointed by his obsession. Unfortunately, the family's hopes of financial gain from selling the collection have vanished, as Louis has decided to give it all away for free to an archive, depriving them of any potential inheritance (Louis is terminally ill in the film). Another collector, Ira Gallen, hoards shipping boxes filled with 16mm prints in various storage units across New York. Despite not knowing the contents, he continues to purchase more out of a sense of duty to preserve the material, without any plan for its future after his passing. The audience is left emotionally shaken as they try to comprehend Ray Faiola's situation. Ray lives 90 miles away from his wife and family, finding solace in his extensive film collection, which has become his closest companion. While Ray's wife appears on screen with a brave expression, her eyes reveal a profound sadness about the situation, but what can she do?

It's not all bad, as the film highlights the positive efforts of collectors like Eric "Dr. Film" Grayson, who restore neglected titles that may not be seen as valuable by others, showcasing their immense dedication and passion for their craft. Another is Stu Fink, a character who loves his cigars, sitting at a film bench surrounded by stacks of reels around him, sharing a charming history lesson about collectors. Unfortunately, the documentary neglects to feature additional collectors of this kind to offset the extreme eccentricity that is prominently shown throughout most of its duration.

In closing, "Film Is Dead: Long Live Film" portrays a world filled with individuals suffering from personality disorders, lacking social skills, and self-aggrandizing men prioritizing film over their own well-being, as most of these individuals are not the kind you'd want to spend a lot of time with, be it on or off the screen.

I know several of the people who are interviewed in this movie. So. Do I speak honestly about this movie and risk their wrath?

Fortunately for that question, this movie offers an admiring view of these people, dedicated to a dying medium and clear-eyed enough to recognize that death, even as they struggle to maintain their films and equipment. These are the people who save and repair and restore and make available stuff the studios can't be bothered to, and that the archives don't have the funds to. They do it for the benefit of people like me, who enjoy the fruits of their labors, and, of course, for the surprisingly large number of people who seem to think their entitled to the results without so much as a thank you. But mostly because, in the end, they can do no other. The reasons we offer to justify our acts are often as not high-minded excuses for what we do for reasons we often do not understand ourselves.

And that's ok. Certainly, I enjoy what they have made possible. They're entitled to some egoboo, a round of applause. Which, as the film makers indicate, they don't often get.