by Jodie Keeling

Having recently stumbled into a position working at a local film organization, I have had a lot of opportunity to think about just what it is that draws me into the world of film. For me personally there are two distinct but not mutually exclusive allures: I'll call them "film" and "cinema." The world of cinema is glamorous, BIG, brilliant, and crisp. It's usually hoisted by a fat budget. And coincidentally, often strangely buffered from the reality it reflects upon. Stylistically, the composition of each shot, camera angle, cut, dialogue, voice over, etc. all carefully combine into a resonant piece with a consistent image-voice that reflects on the culture we live in. If it's successful, we, as viewer trust it, sit back, escape and go along for a ride. And it all wraps up into a smart little package that fits into your lap. You can take home with you when the movie is done. We, many of my friends and I, all fantasize about our big cinematic debuts. But sometimes, a lot of times, watching cinema is a lot like watching from inside a high-rise building, a noiseless tree blow outside in the wind. The catharsis happens somewhere in the recesses of your mind but you never really feel anything. In the end, with few exceptions, when the lights come on, you are left in your seat, same as before, unchanged.

The world of film I am familiar with, and most interested in right now, is distinct in my mind from cinema. How? Well, the making of it happens at a much more personal level, especially with small format filmmaking like Super 8. Shooting Super 8 is most cool because it's user friendly. You can hold the camera with one hand. It was way ahead of its time. The home movie format of the '60s the cameras are still smaller than most camcorders today. Super 8 fits into a bag the size of a small purse. It's really portable and convenient for toting around town, for all those times you wish you had a camera. It looks unassuming. This is good for all those undercover guerrilla filmmaking jobs. It also allows for a greater intimacy between filmmaker and subject. Super 8 is life affirming. Most all of the cameras and projectors are vintage, which means someone has used them long before you. So the equipment has a history that links you and your films to the past, to the cycles of life. If you ask enough questions when you buy a camera you might even be able to learn something about its original owner. The image. The texture of the image is like silk and with all the technological advances there still is no substitute. The film cartridge itself is virtually indestructible. You can toss it in your bag and forget about it for years, drop it, jump on it, bury it, put it in your refrigerator, or send it off to the lab in a small package envelope. If you hand process it, you can make a movie, develop it, and watch it all within the same day. And no matter what you shot, the look of hand processing will always send your film and the viewer into another dimension. There is virtually no Super 8 sound film left. So if you want to you can make it a collaborative project and have a friend's band play along, burn a CD or make a cassette of sound effects or just watch it silent and revel in the warming whirl of the projector.

Watching film is usually a more personal experience as well. There is a balance of voyeurism and intimacy between the audience and the filmmaker that the freestyle nature of the small film format lends itself to. Probably the most exciting part of being involved with the Austin Cinemaker Co-op is seeing the works by all the first-time filmmakers that debut in our open film festivals. Every shake of the handheld camera, the content and rhythm of a shot, its length, where its cut-and-edited into a sequence all combine to reveal something about the personality behind the camera, sometimes even at the expense of what's being said in front of it. This signature of an amateur filmmaker always rings like a bell, because we haven't yet mastered the technology enough for it to be disguised. It's the filmmaker's indelible fingerprint. Uncertainty with the technology and awkwardness with telling a visual story combine to make films, even the few bad ones, where subtle and incredible things happen, yeah.

Art happens in amateur films. Actually the Latin word amator means lover. Maybe this signature, this fingerprint is akin to the innocence a young (new) love -- a certain feeling shines through amateur films in spite of ourselves and our attempts to make them something else, usually into something more sophisticated. It is their smallness that makes them big. I come away from a film feeling engaged, more human, and more connected. And for me, right now, that is just what our little world needs.