Will the last movie theaters in Nashville to show celluloid film please stand up?

When it comes to the effect of technological change on traditional art forms — and the industry that makes its bank off them — Nashville practically knows the story by heart. Blindsided by innovations in selling and recording music, Music Row is now adapting to the Jetson Age. As for bookstores, the local reading community is now celebrating a rebound of sorts, giving thanks to Karen Hayes and Ann Patchett (not to mention Barnes & Noble) while recognizing how close the city came to losing the opportunity to impulse-buy new books on site.

Now the Ice Age looms on another cultural front: celluloid.

For some 120 years, film has been the primary medium on which movies were shot and shown. But according to a report from the IHS Screen Digest Cinema Intelligence Service released Nov. 15, the majority of the world's movie theater screens are going digital, replacing reels and ribbons with an electronic copy projected by way of a hard drive or server.

Prognosticators at IHS say that by the end of 2012, 35mm's share of the global cinema market will drop to 37 percent. Within five years, they predict, the celluloid filmstrip will be tomorrow's cassette tape or VHS cartridge. A Nov. 9 letter from Twentieth Century Fox to exhibitors, posted by critic Roger Ebert on his blog, cautioned theaters that "the date is fast approaching when Twentieth Century Fox and Fox Searchlight will adopt the digital format as the only format in which it will theatrically distribute its films."

In Nashville, the bar-graph data holds true. A gradual changeover completed just a few months ago ushered Regal's Green Hills 16 and neon-giant Hollywood 27 at 100 Oaks into the brave new digital world. The recently reopened Opry Mills 20, with its stadium seating and IMAX screen, has followed suit, joining the Carmike chain's Thoroughbred 20 in Cool Springs. And while the Memphis-based Malco chain's Roxy in Smyrna has the capability to show film, it plays mostly digital. Even the renovated historic Franklin Theatre in downtown Franklin shows digital.

The movie industry is embracing digital for the same reason as filmmakers: lower cost. Print expenses are slashed. All 27 screens at the Hollywood 27 can be operated at the push of a button. And it bears saying that decades of careless celluloid projection have made easily standardized digital an improvement for lots of ticket buyers. Proponents tout its sharp image and its insusceptibility to wear and tear — unlike celluloid prints, which lose their color and carry battle scars of pops and scratches.

"Digital cinema brings consistent quality to the movie-going experience —moviegoers will see the same crispness and clarity in the movie throughout the life of its exhibition," reads a list of digital cinema talking points issued by the National Association of Theater Owners. Calls to Regal's corporate headquarters in Knoxville were not returned by press time.

Aesthetically, though, lovers of celluloid treasure those blips and scrapes as part of the experience — whether as irreplaceable artifacts of light passing through the emulsified image, or just a nostalgic reminder of moviegoing conditions. It's much like the attachment record collectors have to vinyl, which they prize both for its warmer analog sound and the fondly recalled sensation of sliding the LP from its sleeve.

Anxiety about celluloid's end has been reflected to some degree in the movies — starting with last summer's blockbuster Super 8, an elegy for 1970s backyard filmmaking. In its first few weeks back in operation, the Opry Mills 20 has already shown two current movies that mourn silent cinema, Martin Scorsese's Hugo and Michel Hazanavicius' The Artist. Both were projected digitally.

But is the passing of celluloid something the vast majority of moviegoers will notice, let alone decry? And for those who care — for whom the difference is as much a sticking point as watching a movie letterboxed on DVD or truncated by pan-and-scan — are there any theaters left where cinephiles can revel in the celluloid experience before it passes?

Here in Nashville, we found two, at the opposite ends of the moviegoing spectrum.

The only remaining commercial film houses in Nashville are The Belcourt, where new independent features get a first chance at life and classics get a second, and the Carmike Hickory 8 at Hickory Hollow, where studio fare enjoys a casual retirement from the megaplex before it's put out to pasture on DVD.

At the Hickory 8, where tickets are only $2, all eight screens project 35mm film. A small cult of local cinephiles knows it as the occasional host to oddball under-the-radar releases, such as the obscure 2009 Joel Schumacher horror film Blood Creek. Mostly, though, it shows wide releases dwindling to second-run.

Its prints come from first-run theaters. But as those still using the old method decline, the supply of hand-me-down prints will inevitably follow. A Hickory 8 manager tells the Scene that a digital changeover could be coming early next year. If the ticket price stays the same, it's doubtful the theater will hear much complaint.

That's not the case at The Belcourt, a venue nearly as old as the medium it hopes to preserve. The 1925 Hillsboro Village arthouse appeals to film lovers for whom words like "restored 35mm print" are a selling point.

"I can't think of a time that we've charged full price to show a film digitally that was originally shot and exhibited on film," says Belcourt program director Toby Leonard. "It's true to the history of the art form to keep it like that. You're not going to go into the Frist and see a digital representation of a famous work from the Impressionist era."

On a recent weekend afternoon at The Belcourt, you could witness the antique magic whereby light projected through celluloid produces Humphrey Bogart on screen in Nicholas Ray's In a Lonely Place — or in the opposite hall, Elizabeth Olsen in the sensational indie Martha Marcy May Marlene.

At the Belcourt, the majority of screenings are delivered via 35mm projection. The exceptions are typically smaller documentaries, which arrive in high-definition Blu-ray Disc format because digital duplication is typically cheaper for the filmmakers. Sarah Finklea, theatrical and TV manager for legendary art-film distributor Janus Films, says that 35mm prints for a new color film start around $2,000 — going as high as $10,000 for a repertory title such as Robert Bresson's A Man Escaped, part of an upcoming series. Digital versions, in comparison, run perhaps 80 to 90 percent cheaper. Most of this year's Doctober series at The Belcourt was screened digitally.

The Belcourt's two halls are each equipped to project 35mm film. The 1966 hall — that's the one off to the left, which hosts most of the repertory screenings — has what is known as reel-to-reel projection. That's the age-old setup, which uses two side-by-side projectors alternately as each reel (accounting for about 20 minutes of screen time) ends. Both halls have a platter system, as well, which requires splicing multiple reels of film into one large reel that is placed on a platter and fed across the room to the projector.

Almost as endangered as the medium is the lonely figure in the upstairs booth who makes sure those reels run smoothly: the projectionist, Kevin Doyle. In many digital theaters, an automated system allows for the whole process to be initiated by the touch of a button on a computer near the concessions. Should a problem occur, the people selling popcorn are — through no fault of their own — ill-equipped to fix it. Doyle, by contrast, must bring up even the house lights manually when the credits roll.

If the movies have taught us anything, it's that we should be careful trusting machines. Problems with digital projectors have even plagued the cinephile's most hallowed destination: the film festival. In Toronto this year, digital hiccups delayed several screenings. When several DCP (Digital Cinema Projection) projectors, and their backups, failed on the first weekend of the Vancouver International Film Festival in October, audiences were shown watermarked DVD screeners.

Organizers of the Nashville Film Festival in April, hosted by the newly digitized Green Hills 16, say they're not anticipating such a disaster — even though some local cinephiles have already voiced their disappointment that the festival will not hold the line on celluloid.

"We don't think it's going to have too large of an impact," says NaFF artistic director Brian Owens. "We were expecting it. In our call for entries, we've already let all the entering filmmakers know that we won't be doing 35mm."

If there are any difficulties, Owens says, it will likely be with films from overseas, particularly in Europe where filmmakers are still using 35mm predominantly. Owens says he's already been in touch with several European producers, however, and they are adjusting to the change.

"I've never had any qualms about showing something digitally, because a great film is a great film regardless of the medium that carries it," Owens says. "I don't want to watch Lawrence of Arabia on an iPhone — I won't go that far — but I will watch it at any given opportunity, whether it's a restored 35mm print or a digital one."

But European filmmakers aren't the only ones who value the distinction between 35mm and digital. James Clauer is a native Nashville filmmaker whose 2006 short "The Aluminum Fowl" was shown at both Sundance and Cannes. His long-awaited first feature, When the World's on Fire, is scheduled to show next year at the International Film Festival Rotterdam alongside a roster of new and established global auteurs. He filmed it in Nashville, at locations along Nolensville Road, with a cast of unknowns — precisely the sort of indie project that screams "digital video."

Clauer didn't see it that way. He shot it on Super 35 film stock.

"I wanted to do IMAX," Clauer says, laughing. In all seriousness, he adds, he always liked the look of celluloid. "It has more depth — it's richer," he explains. While he shot his previous film on digital and believes "it can look really great — better than film," Clauer says celluloid gave him "more latitude."

Above all, he says, "I just wanted the experience of doing it."

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Ask someone why they prefer films projected from celluloid and the results they yield on the screen, and responses resemble those of vinyl enthusiasts defending what the industry considers an antiquated medium. It's hard to pin down, but the 35mm print feels warm as opposed to the cold vibes given off by digital projection or, say, an iPod.

The cue mark, signaling the end of a reel of film, or the pop and crack of a needle meeting a record lets you know that a tangible medium is involved. Moreover, it's a matter of historical accuracy.

"It comes to the question of original format," says Jim Healy, director of programming at the University of Wisconsin-Madison Cinematheque. "Is something shot in 35mm best seen in 35mm? I would say, at this point, yes."

But Healy cautions against holding up 35mm film as a pure medium, unchanged from time immemorial. While the digital takeover is perhaps more radical, and its effects on the industry more sweeping, it's not the first time change has come to the cinema. Changes in film stock (from nitrate prints to acetate or polyester) and projector bulbs (from the once ubiquitous Carbon arc lamp to the Xenon) mean that even on film, the Casablanca you see today isn't exactly 1943's Best Picture. 

"To argue that 35mm film must be seen on film," Healy says, "well — you can say, isn't the difference between watching Casablanca on Blu-ray vs. a 35mm print roughly the same as watching a 35mm print today vs. one from 1944? Maybe. But there has always been change."     

For repertory programmers like Healy, though, there's more at stake in the celluloid-digital debate than mere appearance. As more theaters switch to digital projection, he worries the studios will see no point, or profit, in distributing the 35mm prints that constitute most of cinema's history.

"If 35mm projection becomes a rarified form, then is it in the studio's best interest to have someone on hand that handles repertory distribution?" asks Healy, who spent nine years as an assistant curator at one of the country's most prestigious film archives, the historic George Eastman House in Rochester, N.Y. "If there are only a handful of venues, does it make economic sense to hold someone in that role at the studios, who only works with a small amount of repertory theaters in the country?"

Were studios to shut down access to their back catalog — and Healy says some already have — independent repertory theaters such as The Belcourt would struggle to sustain vital repertory programming.

At that point, the only solution would be to make the expensive switch to digital projection systems — a much easier transition for theater chains than for small independents. And independent arthouses such as The Belcourt would have to rely on the hope that the studios begin digitizing their back catalogs, a task they're in no hurry to undertake.

For a theater like the Belcourt, the threat of evaporating repertory options is only compounded by the seeming inevitability that even independent art films will eventually go digital. Leonard says the theater knows a major digital purchase is coming, but that it won't pull the trigger until absolutely necessary — i.e., if major arthouse distributors no longer offer 35mm prints, as they've threatened within the next few years.

"No matter what, 35mm will always be our first choice," says Belcourt executive director Stephanie Silverman. But when or if the time comes, Silverman says the theater will be looking at a digital upgrade (projector, lenses, hardware, etc.) currently estimated at between $100,000 and $120,000 per auditorium. Even then, it won't please loyal customers who prefer celluloid.

But how many people who can tell digital from celluloid (or who care) really exist? The city's most discerning movie lovers flock to The Belcourt, which is nearing the end of its centenary salute to director Nicholas Ray — catnip to hardcore cinephiles. Last weekend, a shipping snafu stranded the theater without a 35mm print of Ray's 1957 war drama Bitter Victory, the movie that prompted the young critic Jean-Luc Godard to exclaim, "Le cinema, c'est Nicholas Ray." It was forced to show the film projected from DVD, a notch in quality below studio-grade digital projection.

If ever an occasion warranted moaning from forlorn film fans, this would seem to be it. But David Phillipy, who runs the Friday movie night at Trinity Presbyterian Church and frequents The Belcourt and Green Hills 16 alike with his wife Carol, said the switch was "a nonissue."

"I'm not enough of a technocrat to know that kind of thing," Phillipy said during a post-film discussion Monday night at Fido. Carol Phillipy, on the other hand, said that she generally notices whether a movie is shown on film or digital, but it rarely matters to her. Story and acting are more important to her than technical considerations.

"If I get into the movie, it doesn't really matter," she said.

To many, obituaries for 35mm projection will seem like undue hand-wringing over the inevitable progress of technology. Leonard and Healy both admit that digital projection may soon be indistinguishable from film to even the most trained eye.

"Digital is getting better and better, and I think we could very well be in a place, very soon, where even I would not be able to tell the difference if I didn't turn around and see the projector in the booth," Healy says. "It's getting very good, and it's miles beyond where it was even five years ago. I'm impressed with digital projection, and economically it makes sense, especially for distributors."

But to die-hard cinephiles, what's at stake is the preservation of an experience, much as readers delight in bookstores where people in the flesh talk about books you can hold. Watching from a booth at the Belcourt as thousands of feet of film are fed into a whirring apparatus before a projectionist's watchful eye, it seems more like an art than mere technology.

"The celluloid dream may live on in my hopes, but digital commands the field," wrote Roger Ebert on his blog a few weeks ago, as if tolling the funeral bell. "[My] war is over, my side lost, and it's important to consider this in the real world." In the face of the evidence, disagreement would be foolish.

Yet while cinema often asks viewers to consider the real world, it also allows them on occasion to escape it. So as for the celluloid dream, cinephiles will hold out hope a little longer, and take advantage of the opportunities that remain — like this weekend's Belcourt screenings of Nicholas Ray's 1958 musical melodrama Party Girl, shot in widescreen CinemaScope and air-raid siren Metrocolor, which will likely be your last chance ever in these parts to see it projected in 35mm.

Whatever happens, there's cold comfort in the slogan on the Nashville Film Festival's website: "Film Today. Change Tomorrow."

Email editor@nashvillescene.com