Technology advances in the past 25 years have been amazing. I almost feel sorry for those who are 30 or younger, because they take so many things for granted: a powerful computer in the palm of your hand with instantaneous access to most of humanity’s knowledge, hours of high-quality video footage on your lap ready to be edited in a myriad interesting ways, traveling across town in a silent cocoon propelled by electricity… it boggles the mind of this curmudgeon.

So, yeah: I’m old enough to have worked with chemical film and magnetic tape; and I still marvel at the new cameras and sound equipment that keep coming out. Gear is both cheaper and far better than it was just two decades ago.

But something’s different: in the days of film and tape, all our efforts were focused on a unique final product: a roll of exposed negative; and, in my case, a flimsy roll of 1/4” magnetic tape. Actually, I started as a sound mixer in ENG, which meant my tracks (usually two or, at the most, three) were fed to a U-Matic (3/4” magnetic tape) portable deck and, later, a Betacam (1/2” tape) camcorder. If we were traveling, I would have the deck set up in my hotel room to watch the footage and make any relevant notes about “dropouts” or other issues with the tape. This was our “master,” and we were expected to protect it at all costs.

When I was a P.A. I also worked with film (before I knew any better and thought I wanted to be a DP, but that’s a tale for a different blog…) and there was a certain reverence around the handling of exposed film: after taking it off the camera magazine in a “black bag,” the Loader would carefully place it in the metal can, tape it up, tape the camera report to the can, and gingerly place it in a safe place, to be taken to the lab at the end of the day.

The whole crew, from the Production Manager to the lowliest P.A., were aware of its uniqueness and importance. Like a painting, or a manuscript, the exposed negative was the priceless result of the film crew’s best efforts.

However, for the past twenty years or so, the inexorable march of technology has brought us digital image capture and sound recording, which has all but replaced chemical film and magnetic audio tape. The immediacy of the digital medium has done away with the mystery of waiting for the lab to process the film and an Assistant Editor to sync the answer print with the magnetic tape.

On the film set, whenever the First Assistant Director (1st AD) yelled “Roll sound, roll camera!”, we all stood at attention, our senses perked up, as we were keenly aware that every foot of film exposed was a precious commodity, which would have to be developed, at considerable cost.

At the 1st AD’s command, the Sound Mixer would start the tape machine, and feet of 1/4” tape would start their journey through the magnetic heads, for better or for worse. Once the camera was rolling, the 1st Assistant Camera person (1st AC) would call out “Speed!” Then, the 2nd AC would quickly place the slate in front of the camera, yell “Marker!” and clap.

As soon as the Director called “Action!”, the cast and the crew intensely focused their energy, as the time lapsed between this moment and the word “Cut!” was when the alchemy took place.

Things have changed quite a bit. We shoot with reusable data cards; and once they’re full, they’re taken by a “DIT” (Digital Imaging Technician, today’s equivalent of a Film Loader) who copies them onto an external PC drive, and backs them up on a second drive. Once he or she checks that all the files were copied properly, the data card can be wiped and taken back to the rotation.

The phrase “Two is one, and one is none” comes from the computer world. It means, of course, that if you don’t have at least one backup of your data, it’s not safe. And the same goes for the data cards we use to record video and sound.

A flash-memory data card can be recorded over virtually thousands of times, without any concern about data integrity. While this is certainly convenient and cost-effective, the concept of holding an item that contains a unique, valuable document of what was shot has disappeared.

As a result, often the 1st AD calls “Roll  sound, roll camera!” even though we all know we’re not ready to roll. Or the director keeps rolling, trying multiple options of the same scene. Beyond the fact that so much more irrelevant data goes through our cameras and recorders –which someone still has to copy, backup, sync and review– the byproduct of these practices is longer takes, increased fatigue on the camera operator, focus puller and boom operator; and, most importantly: the energy, the sense of wonder, the focus of everyone involved are diluted and weakened.

Most people I encounter on production sets today have never worked with actual film. I would love for them to experience the same sense of wonder, the urgency and focus of creating something unique and special, that I felt when I started working in this wonderful and crazy storytelling world.

How would you propose we bring back those same practices, which had served us well for almost a hundred years?