Inside the SX-70

Posted by jns on 27 October 2008

The name of this extraordinary film is “SX-70″; it was made by Charles and Ray Eames. (Whether you should watch first or read first I can’t say; if you have the time, watch then read then watch again.)

Some of us will be old enough to remember the Polaroid SX-70 camera and how exciting and modern it was. Such advanced technology! As the narrator says near the beginning:

Since 1947, Edwin Land and Polaroid have pursued a central concept, one single thread: the removal of the barriers between the photographer and his subject. [Title: "SX-70"] And now, a compact, folding, electronically controlled, motor-driven, single-lens reflex camera, capable of focusing from infinity down to ten inches, has been developed to exploit integral self-processing film units which, when exposed, are automatically ejected from the camera, with no parts to peel or discard, and whose final images emerge without timing, in daylight, where the viewer can see them materialize within the same transparent protective plastic cover through which the film was originally exposed.

The SX-70 looked like no other camera before or after, and worked like no other camera, either. The film was the culmination of this dream of Edwin Land’s, and the camera’s design and engineering gave the distinct impression that it had been thought about without preconceptions of how a camera should look.

But this isn’t just about the camera, which is a marvel. I’m more interested right now in this film about the camera, and the film itself is a marvel.

From the Eames Office page about the film, some of the credits:

Presentation of the revolutionary SX-70 Land camera and its aesthetic potential that becomes a meditation on the nature of photography. A tour-de-force of filmmaking that gives the audience a real understanding of the workings of the camera.
Filmmakers: Charles and Ray Eames
Sponsor: Polaroid
Composer: Elmer Bernstein
Narrator: concluding statement by Philip Morrison
Date: 1972

Charles and Ray Eames were the remarkably creative and remarkably influential husband-and-wife design team working mostly from the 40s through the 60s (a quick biographical survey). Many of their designs have become so iconic that they are recognizable by countless people who have never heard of the Eames. There is just so much that I can’t begin to organize my thoughts about them here, where my focus is on this one film anyway. When you have time, explore Charles & Ray Eames: A Legacy of Invention.

Next in the credits is Elmer Bernstein, noted composer of many, many famous film scores like those for “To Kill a Mockingbird”, “The Ten Commandments”, “The Blues Brothers”, and “Ghostbusters”, to name a small fraction. The score is just a few instruments, nothing that’s going to take a lot of time assembling and orchestrating, but nevertheless thoughtfully written and quite suitable for the film.

Then there’s Philip Morrison, whose distinctive voice appears near the end, where he takes over from the anonymous narrator in the rest of the film. Morrison, who died in 2005, was a physicist of some renown, but I think his more important contribution was as an explainer and popularizer of science, as he did with his remarkable television series (and book), “The Ring of Truth” (1987). Then there was the “Powers of Ten” project (1977), the justly famous film of which he worked on with the Eames (watch the nine-minute film). He had also been the main reviewer of books for Scientific American since 1965, a remarkable legacy.

But this list of luminaries would contribute empty celebrity if the film itself weren’t brilliant, and it is. It was shown originally at a Polaroid shareholders meeting and subsequently used internally as a sales tool. It was not made for average viewers, perhaps, and wouldn’t be the right tone for a television advertisement, but it’s not intended for a predominantly technical audience, either. Instead, it’s made for viewers of some intelligence who are willing to give it their attention and learn some amazing things.

I am particularly delighted at how the language is kept clear and understandable, particularly as it’s supported by the visuals, without being patronizing or gratuitously simplified. Amidst the poetical and metaphysical thoughts about photography as an art form, watch for the exposition about the camera, how it operates, and all the technical advances it contains. Pay attention: it’s all too easy to be drawn into the narrative without realizing that all that technical information is entering your mind with relative ease.

As you might expect, there are plenty of people taking pictures with the camera, demonstrating what fun it is and how it is used and its various special features. But look at what they’re taking pictures of: several appear to be scientists, or even amateurs of science, documenting the natural world. Of course, there are also proud parents taking pictures of their children, but they’re just part of the panorama. But even while we see the parents photographing their kids, we are also shown that the SX-70 has a fast lens, a short focal length, a quick shutter that can stop action, and the ability to take exposures in quick succession. The Eames are not merely marketing the SX-70 in this film, they are demonstrating its capabilities and technologies and making that look easy.

I love the attitude that includes the scientific as part of the cultural, a film that combines poetry and philosophy and technical explanations and kids and nature into one amazing whole that’s so amazing one hardly notices that all that’s going on. I like how the technical specifications of the camera are explored and shown rather than explained–before the narrated explanation (beginning at about the 4:15 mark) of the internal workings of the camera–assuming a viewer without special technical knowledge but sophisticated enough to absorb the ideas.

Then, when you do get to the technical narrative, notice how crisp and concise the narration is, and how it’s so beautifully documented by the combined animation and live action (done in the days before CGI). I don’t think it hurts anyone to hear the word “aspheric”, even if it’s not a familiar word–yet. And while we’re there, let’s not overlook the achievement of the Eames’ documenting the internal mechanisms of the camera. There are as many shots in there as Hitchcock used in that famous murder scene in “Psycho”.

Amazing. It inspires me and intimidates me at the same time, which I expect is a good thing.