Analogue Projectors
As technology advances apace, spare a thought for the once-loved objects that are left behind. We meet the people passionate about encouraging us to look again and be inspired by the beauty and inventiveness of life pre-digital. This month: PROJECTORS
“I trained for over a year to be a good enough projectionist for a paying audience”
For 10-year-old Umit Mesut, growing up in Northern Cyprus, films were the most exciting thing in the world. Later on, he even started watching them. “At first I wasn’t very interested in the image on the screen,” he says. “I was fascinated in the mechanical side: light shining out, reels turning round, the clatter in the gate.”
Thus, a childhood bearing distinct echoes of one of his favourite films, Cinema Paradiso unfolding. When Umit’s cinema-owning grandfather wasn’t whizzing him around beneath Mediterranean skies on the back of his motorbike, he was schooling him in the ways of the projection booth. At the same time, says Umit, “My father brought me an 8mm projector. I haven’t looked back.”
In 1968, the family moved to the UK and, for the past 31 years, boyhood enchantment has manifested as grown-up reality on the Lower Clapton Road in East London. Umit & Son is packed tight with projectors, towering reels of film, videos and related ephemera, conjuring the warmth and intrigue of a yesteryear hardware store; a picture of chaos to the newcomer, the very model of logic to the shopkeeper. Terry Gilliam and Michael Caine are fans, Bob Monkhouse was a regular, and scores of TV and film production staff drop by for props or advice.
Among his wares is a 120-year-old Kalee projector. “It’s a hand crank, no electrics. It takes a 10-minute roll, which in the 1900s would have been an epic. It works perfect, doesn’t need much maintenance. That’s the thing with these machines, they can be fixed.” Unlike certain modern phenomena we could mention.
“Isn’t it quite sad they’re projecting off a USB stick now? I had to train for over a year to be a good enough projectionist for a paying audience. And they’ve got the cheek to call it film? You’re not processing, cutting, printing, so how is it film? The biggest problem with digital is the colours; on film they’re just gorgeous.”
While Umit’s reel life projectionist skills are still regularly utilised at CINÉ-REAL – a strictly celluloid film club – the faff of carting equipment around means he no longer offers home screenings. “I’ll never forget the last one. This girl asked, ‘Do you have Star Wars on 8mm?’ I did, so I went around on screen day and I’ve never seen anything like it. Normally there’s a gathering of 15 to 30 people in the house, but it was just me, her and her boyfriend...”
Umit doesn’t rate his own Super 8 films – “I was young and experimenting” – but is still thankful for having records of such occasions as his sister’s wedding. “It’s memories. If you look after it, film is still the best system for archiving.”
As is evidenced by some of the films he’s handled: the 9.5mm home movie footage of the first Labour Prime Minister, Ramsay MacDonald, brought into the shop for transfer by his granddaughter; Anthony Quayle’s son handed over 60mm footage of the great actor having a walkabout with Lawrence of Arabia director, David Lean. And “the BBC and Channel 4 are both trying, on and off, to grab my footage of the first President of Turkey, Atatürk”.
All of which goes some way to making up for the more usual transfer requests. “There’s nothing worse than looking at someone’s family footage; generally out of focus, unsteady, sound all over the place. Once in a while you get something wonderful. I did a job a few weeks ago with Kodachrome: never fades, very pungent colours, just absolute joy. We get it once in a while and I think ‘This is what film is about’.”
Ultimately, says Umit, “I love what I do. I get offers to sell the shop, but for what? Another pound shop? Another café? I’d lose my soul, honestly.” Umit & Son, 35 Lower Clapton Road, London E5