75 years of Wellington Film Society
Film societies are located all over the country. What is their role, as the world transitions into a post-Covid environment, writes Andre Chumko?
Anyone who belongs to a film society will tell you there’s something magic about being inside a cinema. Blackened curtains, dimmed lights, a jumbosized screen, immersive sights and sounds.
For David Lindsay, past president of Po¯ neke/Wellington’s society, part of the joy of going to the Embassy Theatre each Monday is simply leaving his home in Brooklyn.
‘‘I go to all the screenings,’’ Lindsay, who is in his 80s, says, adding that he treats them a bit like appointments. ‘‘I’ll go as long as I can
. . . [The best thing] is seeing a film on a big screen with a room full of likeminded people.’’
Lindsay, who spends much of his time these days editing an online wiki about the society’s history, still remembers its peak membership of 2665 back in 1981. At the end of last year, the society had 602 members, down from 744 in 2019 (and pre-Covid). Wellington’s society is the oldest of its kind in Aotearoa, and this year it celebrates 75 years.
The first stirrings of a film society movement in New Zealand began in the 1930s. In 1933, they were operating in Wellington, Christchurch and Dunedin, but they eventually all closed due to the looming war.
It wasn’t until 1945, as Gordon Mirams rose to prominence with his book Speaking Candidly: Films and People in New Zealand, that a public meeting was called to establish the reborn Wellington Film Institute (now society).
In the book, Mirams argued film had an enormous influence on culture, and he campaigned for more local feature and documentary production. He wrote that the best censorship, ‘‘like the best government, is none at all’’ and the community was ‘‘best left to censor itself’’.
The Wellington institute’s original purpose was to screen ‘‘worthwhile’’ 16-millimetre films to members, with its constitution outlining its purpose as promoting and fostering interest in motion pictures ‘‘from the point of view of art, entertainment and education’’, as well as to ‘‘encourage higher public standards’’ of films.
Several other societies were soon established around the country.
They operated independently but quickly realised it was more effective to pool resources. In 1947, the New Zealand Film Institute was established to act as the parent body and do all the work connected with importing films. It later became known as the Federation of Film Societies, while Wellington’s ‘‘institute’’ swapped the word out for ‘‘society’’ in 1947.
Lindsay first got involved with Wellington’s society after becoming friends with then-producer Lindsay Shelton in the early 1970s. Before he knew it, he and his wife were fullyfledged members. Lindsay also started producing the society’s monthly magazine – a position he held for 11 years.
His children caught the film bug, too – his son met his future wife while the pair were lined up for Star Wars. Lindsay’s now a life member after being president between 2000 and 2013.
Shelton, its president from 1971-77, says the society has more of a colourful history than people might know.
In his second year as president he started the Wellington Film Festival, which is now the New Zealand International Film Festival.
The key point of difference of any film society, versus just going to the cinema, Shelton says, is that via the federation, societies get rights to show any number of international films which may otherwise never make it to our big screens.
Po¯ neke’s society also fought severe censorship. Shelton still has vivid memories of a Swedish film being altered by the country’s censor of the time due to a brief featured clip of a pornographic postcard. Back then, censors would physically cut scenes from the reels.
Throughout the late 20th century the society campaigned to loosen censorship rules with the help of lawyer David Gascoigne, even going to select committee and battling the late nun and Catholic activist Patricia Bartlett.
‘‘[At select committee] Patricia put a suitcase down with copies of Playboy . . . . The MPs . . . grabbed pages and forgot what she said,’’ Shelton laughs.
Although the law has changed significantly since the 1980s, Shelton says censorship remains controversial. Film festivals still have to send copies of every film they want to show to the censor’s office for approval – something Shelton describes as an ‘‘unnecessary, costly’’ process.
‘‘No other cultural festival is subject to this government censorship. It should be scrapped.’’
Although streaming services have increased access to international films, – which used to be a point of difference for film societies – Shelton says the beauty of the big screen keeps audiences coming back.
Each society works slightly differently, but Wellington’s asks its members for an annual fee. They then get to watch every screening for the following 365 days. This year, there are 35 films being shown, equating to less than $4 a film if people go to all of them, says current president Caroline Garratt.
At the end of each year, the society’s committee plans out what they want to see over the following 12 months. Often, Garratt says, the committee will try to find films which correspond to historic events or anniversaries, as well as ensuring a mix of classics and contemporaries.
These days the committee is more conscious of representation in its selections, making sure films by women directors, indigenous people and minorities are chosen.
Membership is open to everyone, and having a pass also means special discounts at boutique theatres around the region. On average, about 300 people come to each of Wellington’s screenings.
Occasionally, the society offers special events, such as producer talks. One year, leading film-maker Gaylene Preston gave a presentation.
Wellington isn’t alone in having a strong society. Nelson and Canterbury both closely trail its membership numbers, says Chris Hormann, current federation president and former Wellington society president.
More societies are popping up outside main centres: New Plymouth, Carterton and Westport all have their own, each run by a dedicated volunteer base.
Although concerns have been raised about the future of commercial cinema in a post-coronavirus world, Wellington’s society is confident it will keep chugging along.
‘‘I really believe in what we do,’’ Garratt says.
‘‘[When you’re in a cinema], it goes completely quiet. It’s an experience that’s unique, that you can’t replicate. . . . I hope that people going forward still want that.
‘‘There’s nothing like it.’’