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A Thousand Cuts: The Bizarre Underground World of Collectors and Dealers Who Saved the Movies
A Thousand Cuts is a candid exploration of one of America's strangest and most quickly vanishing subcultures. It is about the death of physical film in the digital era and about a paranoid, secretive, eccentric, and sometimes obsessive group of film-mad collectors who made movies and their projection a private religion in the time before DVDs and Blu-rays.
The book includes the stories of film historian/critic Leonard Maltin, TCM host Robert Osborne discussing Rock Hudson's secret 1970s film vault, RoboCop producer Jon Davison dropping acid and screening King Kong with Jefferson Airplane at the Fillmore East, and Academy Award-winning film historian Kevin Brownlow recounting his decades-long quest to restore the 1927 Napoleon . Other lesser-known but equally fascinating subjects include one-legged former Broadway dancer Tony Turano, who lives in a Norma Desmond-like world of decaying movie memories, and notorious film pirate Al Beardsley, one of the men responsible for putting O. J. Simpson behind bars.
Authors Dennis Bartok and Jeff Joseph examine one of the least-known episodes in modern legal the FBI's and Justice Department's campaign to harass, intimidate, and arrest film dealers and collectors in the early 1970s. Many of those persecuted were gay men. Victims included Planet of the Apes star Roddy McDowall, who was arrested in 1974 for film collecting and forced to name names of fellow collectors, including Rock Hudson and Mel Tormé.
A Thousand Cuts explores the obsessions of the colorful individuals who created their own screening rooms, spent vast sums, negotiated underground networks, and even risked legal jeopardy to pursue their passion for real, physical film.
The book includes the stories of film historian/critic Leonard Maltin, TCM host Robert Osborne discussing Rock Hudson's secret 1970s film vault, RoboCop producer Jon Davison dropping acid and screening King Kong with Jefferson Airplane at the Fillmore East, and Academy Award-winning film historian Kevin Brownlow recounting his decades-long quest to restore the 1927 Napoleon . Other lesser-known but equally fascinating subjects include one-legged former Broadway dancer Tony Turano, who lives in a Norma Desmond-like world of decaying movie memories, and notorious film pirate Al Beardsley, one of the men responsible for putting O. J. Simpson behind bars.
Authors Dennis Bartok and Jeff Joseph examine one of the least-known episodes in modern legal the FBI's and Justice Department's campaign to harass, intimidate, and arrest film dealers and collectors in the early 1970s. Many of those persecuted were gay men. Victims included Planet of the Apes star Roddy McDowall, who was arrested in 1974 for film collecting and forced to name names of fellow collectors, including Rock Hudson and Mel Tormé.
A Thousand Cuts explores the obsessions of the colorful individuals who created their own screening rooms, spent vast sums, negotiated underground networks, and even risked legal jeopardy to pursue their passion for real, physical film.
266 pages, Hardcover
First published August 25, 2016
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Displaying 1 - 28 of 28 reviews
March 23, 2021
"In almost every field of obsessive collecting...there exists a powerful fantasy of an untouched treasure trove, an elephants’ graveyard that has somehow escaped the hungry claws of other collectors."
"If you want to get a divorce, start collecting 35mm,’” he says with a sigh. “The wife is gonna roll her eyes at 16mm, but 35mm she’ll throw you out the door.”
"Who can I talk to about the configuration of ZIV production numbers? “You cannot know the history of U.S. television without knowing ZIV."
“I decided I was going to be a video bootlegger, because it was obvious to me that the major studios were not putting out what us collectors wanted to see.”
“I’m kind of resigned to the fact that [my collection] is going to sit here until I die...”
My final brush with the last golden age of underground, fringe, art-film culture that reached its last peak in America in the 1970s and 1980s -- when I was frequenting arthouse theaters, museums, libraries and, occasionally, the homes of similar nutjobs, to tally my enormous life list of movie classics -- actually happened in 1999. At that time, I was kinda desperate to track down any print I could watch of the seemingly lost 1926 W.C. Fields silent comedy, So's Your Old Man. It was the last of Fields' extant movies that I had not seen at that point. Luckily, the early internet led me to a film collector in Indianapolis, a guy from whom I'd bought some videotapes through the mail. To my surprise, he had the rare Fields film -- one of only six extant prints in the world, he claimed -- and kindly invited me to his place in Indy to watch it. Fitting this around my busy career and family life at the time I made a day trip there. This fellow, who will remain unnamed, even though he's still an active presence in the film preservation community, and online, held me to a strict vow of secrecy at the time to tell no one that he had this film. It was not supposed to be in private hands, and he was worried that the studio would come after him if they knew about it. As it happened he had a lot of obscure old films, in various formats, including ancient 9.5-millimeter home-movie size, and we spent the day watching a wide variety of films that, at that time, were impossible to see otherwise. He played classical music CDs on his stereo to accompany the silent movies, which was nifty. In his basement, he was storing dangerously flammable nitrate original prints; another no-no that apparently violated some kind of city fire code. He was, and is, a cool and funny dude, looking a bit like Joaquin Phoenix, with an eccentric sense of humor; a white Boomer, old and weird. A typical demographic for this sort of hobby.
As it happens, his skittishness over possessing the Fields print was not an unfounded fear. As Dennis Bartok and Jeff Joseph reveal in their alternately sad and hilarious romp about the rogue's gallery and denizens of the weird fringe culture of film collecting and dealing, A Thousand Cuts... the studios and the MPAA, the motion picture association, were once relentless in pursuing those suspected of pirating, trading, or simply possessing film prints over which they claimed sole ownership. A 1972 FBI bust of alleged film pirates, dealers and collectors in LA-- including the genteel actor, Roddy McDowell, strangely -- put the fear of God into collectors across the country for decades to come, and it is this case which the authors use as the nexus of their vast tale. As it happened, co-author Joseph was a major film dealer caught up in the scandal at the time, for which he actually served a short prison sentence.
Like men on a mission, knowing that a vast swath of history would soon be lost, Bartok and Joseph tracked down and interviewed some of the last survivors of this breed of passionate and obsessive film nuts -- a world that, it turns out, was often a surprisingly cutthroat one, filled with thievery, fraud, double-dealing and even cuckoldry. The pursuit of that rare and precious film was no different from men in the Gold Rush with gold fever. As one of the collectors interviewed in the book says, a collector wants what he wants, whatever it takes to get it.
The book covers, mainly, players on the West Coast, in and around Hollywood, but also hits on some of the people in the New York scene. It unfortunately bypasses the vast swath of collectordom in between. I would like to have seen at least some mention of the late Milwaukee whack job, Alois Detlaff, who rescued the long-lost 1910 Edison version of Frankenstein, one of the most sought-after films in history. At least the book does make mention of cult figures like Forrest J. "Forry" Ackerman, the famous Los Angeles publisher of the cult monster-movie magazine, Famous Monsters of Filmland, one of the key publications that sparked collector passions.
I was especially delighted to read about the secretive Theodore Huff Film Society of New York, a clandestine moveable feast sort of "insider" movie gathering run by the revered late silent-movie guru and scholar, William K. Everson (a man I never met, although I have communicated with people who knew him, which for a film nut is near nirvana).
The selection of interviewees in this book is well chosen to touch several demographics and styles of collectors and dealers: younger and older, male and female, exploitation and classic mavens.
Most of the collectors, though, are white men, boomers who grew up on the scratchy 16-millimeter prints that local television stations used to broadcast as midnight movies back in the '50s, '60s and '70s. Those were my gateway drugs as well. It's often a sad tale of the realization of mortality, of finding that the thing you love can become as much or more of a burden than any kind of fulfillment. The book touches on many of the flipsides, the good and the bad of the hobby, and the sad realization and life changes that many people go through as both their personal passion and the passing of an era of hobbydom -- and of the very existence of film itself -- stare them in the face.
The book is vigorously written, entertaining as hell and a sheer delight.
EG/KR@KY 2021
"If you want to get a divorce, start collecting 35mm,’” he says with a sigh. “The wife is gonna roll her eyes at 16mm, but 35mm she’ll throw you out the door.”
"Who can I talk to about the configuration of ZIV production numbers? “You cannot know the history of U.S. television without knowing ZIV."
“I decided I was going to be a video bootlegger, because it was obvious to me that the major studios were not putting out what us collectors wanted to see.”
“I’m kind of resigned to the fact that [my collection] is going to sit here until I die...”
My final brush with the last golden age of underground, fringe, art-film culture that reached its last peak in America in the 1970s and 1980s -- when I was frequenting arthouse theaters, museums, libraries and, occasionally, the homes of similar nutjobs, to tally my enormous life list of movie classics -- actually happened in 1999. At that time, I was kinda desperate to track down any print I could watch of the seemingly lost 1926 W.C. Fields silent comedy, So's Your Old Man. It was the last of Fields' extant movies that I had not seen at that point. Luckily, the early internet led me to a film collector in Indianapolis, a guy from whom I'd bought some videotapes through the mail. To my surprise, he had the rare Fields film -- one of only six extant prints in the world, he claimed -- and kindly invited me to his place in Indy to watch it. Fitting this around my busy career and family life at the time I made a day trip there. This fellow, who will remain unnamed, even though he's still an active presence in the film preservation community, and online, held me to a strict vow of secrecy at the time to tell no one that he had this film. It was not supposed to be in private hands, and he was worried that the studio would come after him if they knew about it. As it happened he had a lot of obscure old films, in various formats, including ancient 9.5-millimeter home-movie size, and we spent the day watching a wide variety of films that, at that time, were impossible to see otherwise. He played classical music CDs on his stereo to accompany the silent movies, which was nifty. In his basement, he was storing dangerously flammable nitrate original prints; another no-no that apparently violated some kind of city fire code. He was, and is, a cool and funny dude, looking a bit like Joaquin Phoenix, with an eccentric sense of humor; a white Boomer, old and weird. A typical demographic for this sort of hobby.
As it happens, his skittishness over possessing the Fields print was not an unfounded fear. As Dennis Bartok and Jeff Joseph reveal in their alternately sad and hilarious romp about the rogue's gallery and denizens of the weird fringe culture of film collecting and dealing, A Thousand Cuts... the studios and the MPAA, the motion picture association, were once relentless in pursuing those suspected of pirating, trading, or simply possessing film prints over which they claimed sole ownership. A 1972 FBI bust of alleged film pirates, dealers and collectors in LA-- including the genteel actor, Roddy McDowell, strangely -- put the fear of God into collectors across the country for decades to come, and it is this case which the authors use as the nexus of their vast tale. As it happened, co-author Joseph was a major film dealer caught up in the scandal at the time, for which he actually served a short prison sentence.
Like men on a mission, knowing that a vast swath of history would soon be lost, Bartok and Joseph tracked down and interviewed some of the last survivors of this breed of passionate and obsessive film nuts -- a world that, it turns out, was often a surprisingly cutthroat one, filled with thievery, fraud, double-dealing and even cuckoldry. The pursuit of that rare and precious film was no different from men in the Gold Rush with gold fever. As one of the collectors interviewed in the book says, a collector wants what he wants, whatever it takes to get it.
The book covers, mainly, players on the West Coast, in and around Hollywood, but also hits on some of the people in the New York scene. It unfortunately bypasses the vast swath of collectordom in between. I would like to have seen at least some mention of the late Milwaukee whack job, Alois Detlaff, who rescued the long-lost 1910 Edison version of Frankenstein, one of the most sought-after films in history. At least the book does make mention of cult figures like Forrest J. "Forry" Ackerman, the famous Los Angeles publisher of the cult monster-movie magazine, Famous Monsters of Filmland, one of the key publications that sparked collector passions.
I was especially delighted to read about the secretive Theodore Huff Film Society of New York, a clandestine moveable feast sort of "insider" movie gathering run by the revered late silent-movie guru and scholar, William K. Everson (a man I never met, although I have communicated with people who knew him, which for a film nut is near nirvana).
The selection of interviewees in this book is well chosen to touch several demographics and styles of collectors and dealers: younger and older, male and female, exploitation and classic mavens.
Most of the collectors, though, are white men, boomers who grew up on the scratchy 16-millimeter prints that local television stations used to broadcast as midnight movies back in the '50s, '60s and '70s. Those were my gateway drugs as well. It's often a sad tale of the realization of mortality, of finding that the thing you love can become as much or more of a burden than any kind of fulfillment. The book touches on many of the flipsides, the good and the bad of the hobby, and the sad realization and life changes that many people go through as both their personal passion and the passing of an era of hobbydom -- and of the very existence of film itself -- stare them in the face.
The book is vigorously written, entertaining as hell and a sheer delight.
EG/KR@KY 2021
June 1, 2017
A Thousand Cuts is a painful book to read. It’s painful to me because I remember the vanished world of 16mm film collectors who used to populate the cinema landscape. Once upon a time, in another life, I ran a film society. Through my thankless efforts to show movies and publish a journal devoted to film, I became acquainted with the collectors where I lived. They were a different breed, dedicated to the silver shadow on the screen. I worry they may all be gone.
As the authors say:
“Is film collecting truly dying? As of the writing of this book, the major Hollywood studios have almost completely phased out striking 35mm prints of new feature films for commercial distribution, and the major theater chains are likewise completing their conversion of cinemas to digital projection. So, in short order, there will be almost no new supply of 35mm prints to feed the collectors market—and very few places to show them even if there were, outside of cinematheques and museums.”
In some ways, A Thousand Cuts is a sequel to another book about film collectors, Land of a Thousand Balconies by Jack Stevenson, published in 2003. The other book came out when DVD’s were supplanting film collecting and there were still plenty of video stores you could rent movies from every day. Now, the video stores have gone the way of the Drive-In. I count myself fortunate to have seen two forms of entertainment medium rise and fall. Everything can be found on the Internet these days and you can always order the special edition Blu-ray if you’re really dedicated. Gone are the days when I had to see Animal House a third time to hear what Dean Wormer and Carmine were discussing because the laughter of the audience drowned out their conversation.
The authors were involved with film preservation over the years, so they were able to meet many of the people in this book before deciding to do the interviews. Because that is what this book really is a beloved rogue’s gallery of renegades who made it possible to show Captain Kronos Vampire Hunter in your living room to a group of friends (so long as you didn’t tell the wrong people). These were the completest, those who had to have every copy of film they could find to show every other week. They survive today in the form of The Secret Cinema in Philadelphia.
The book talks a lot about the fragility of movie film. The best prints are those made with the dye transfer method, I. B. Technicolor. In film collector circles I used to hear the words “I. B. Tech” mentioned with holy reverence. One friend of mine bemoaned most of his collection would someday fade to red because it wasn’t blessed with the I. B. Tech transfer method. At least the modern film isn’t explosive, although is prone to vinegar syndrome, i. e. breaking down from the release of acetic acid in the film (if not stored properly).
“…It’s not only lack of access to new prints that’s suffocating film collecting: the existing prints all carry the seeds of their own destruction inside them. The basic composition and processing of film slowly, inexorably eat away at the stock itself, producing a gripping odor and physical decay known as “vinegar syndrome,” or film rot. As my writing partner Jeff (a former film dealer himself) explains it, “acetate plastic decomposes on its own over time; that produces the odor (acetic acid) that smells like vinegar. Things like unwashed chemicals, scratch-removal chemicals, and mostly heat and humidity all exacerbate a natural process.” Properly stored, current film stocks should last for well over a century—but for older prints, the best guess is usually a smell test to see if there’s a whiff of vinegar syndrome, which can hop from print to print like an airborne virus. (Some collectors put their vinegared prints in the freezer to try to slow the process, a habit that probably sits well with the non-film-collector partner.)….”
But it’s the portraits of the people who worked so hard to out-maneuver the big studios and sell prints of films that make this book shine. It’s hard to remember the day before VHS tape was everywhere. In the pre-Empire Dark Days, you had to own a physical copy of the film if you wanted to watch it. This also meant owning a 16mm film projector to show the film. There sprung forth on the horizon a clandestine industry of men who had access to movie labs. They could make you a “dupe” of just about anything.
This led to a crackdown as the FBI went after people who trafficked in bootleg film in the 1970’s. It’s not well known, but a certain adult film was duped so many times it’s doubtful if anyone ever saw an original. Several famous movie actors came home from their daily calls to greet a man with a badge. Roddy McDowell had his film collection seized. Rock Hudson built a secret film vault behind a fireplace in his mansion. Some people ended up doing time.
But there is also the moment of discovery in this book. The dedicated collectors who found their own personal Holy Grails:
‘’’…For Philadelphia-area collector Wes Shank, it was realizing in a blinding flash that he’d laid his hands on four minutes of missing footage from the original 1933 production of King Kong, including censored images of Kong the ape toying erotically with Fay Wray’s dress and stomping/munching on a handful of doomed natives. As Shank remembers the moment of the discovery, “I started unwinding the film and letting it go onto the floor. ‘That’s interesting … wait a minute. I don’t remember any such scene in the film.’ Then it hit me: ‘invaluable’ … ‘Kong.’ Could it be? I went down and put it on a pair of rewinds. Oh my god. This is the lost footage.”'
I can’t give this book a high enough recommendation. I read it through it in several sittings. Time became still as I flipped through each page. And all I could hear in the background was the whirring of a projector.
As the authors say:
“Is film collecting truly dying? As of the writing of this book, the major Hollywood studios have almost completely phased out striking 35mm prints of new feature films for commercial distribution, and the major theater chains are likewise completing their conversion of cinemas to digital projection. So, in short order, there will be almost no new supply of 35mm prints to feed the collectors market—and very few places to show them even if there were, outside of cinematheques and museums.”
In some ways, A Thousand Cuts is a sequel to another book about film collectors, Land of a Thousand Balconies by Jack Stevenson, published in 2003. The other book came out when DVD’s were supplanting film collecting and there were still plenty of video stores you could rent movies from every day. Now, the video stores have gone the way of the Drive-In. I count myself fortunate to have seen two forms of entertainment medium rise and fall. Everything can be found on the Internet these days and you can always order the special edition Blu-ray if you’re really dedicated. Gone are the days when I had to see Animal House a third time to hear what Dean Wormer and Carmine were discussing because the laughter of the audience drowned out their conversation.
The authors were involved with film preservation over the years, so they were able to meet many of the people in this book before deciding to do the interviews. Because that is what this book really is a beloved rogue’s gallery of renegades who made it possible to show Captain Kronos Vampire Hunter in your living room to a group of friends (so long as you didn’t tell the wrong people). These were the completest, those who had to have every copy of film they could find to show every other week. They survive today in the form of The Secret Cinema in Philadelphia.
The book talks a lot about the fragility of movie film. The best prints are those made with the dye transfer method, I. B. Technicolor. In film collector circles I used to hear the words “I. B. Tech” mentioned with holy reverence. One friend of mine bemoaned most of his collection would someday fade to red because it wasn’t blessed with the I. B. Tech transfer method. At least the modern film isn’t explosive, although is prone to vinegar syndrome, i. e. breaking down from the release of acetic acid in the film (if not stored properly).
“…It’s not only lack of access to new prints that’s suffocating film collecting: the existing prints all carry the seeds of their own destruction inside them. The basic composition and processing of film slowly, inexorably eat away at the stock itself, producing a gripping odor and physical decay known as “vinegar syndrome,” or film rot. As my writing partner Jeff (a former film dealer himself) explains it, “acetate plastic decomposes on its own over time; that produces the odor (acetic acid) that smells like vinegar. Things like unwashed chemicals, scratch-removal chemicals, and mostly heat and humidity all exacerbate a natural process.” Properly stored, current film stocks should last for well over a century—but for older prints, the best guess is usually a smell test to see if there’s a whiff of vinegar syndrome, which can hop from print to print like an airborne virus. (Some collectors put their vinegared prints in the freezer to try to slow the process, a habit that probably sits well with the non-film-collector partner.)….”
But it’s the portraits of the people who worked so hard to out-maneuver the big studios and sell prints of films that make this book shine. It’s hard to remember the day before VHS tape was everywhere. In the pre-Empire Dark Days, you had to own a physical copy of the film if you wanted to watch it. This also meant owning a 16mm film projector to show the film. There sprung forth on the horizon a clandestine industry of men who had access to movie labs. They could make you a “dupe” of just about anything.
This led to a crackdown as the FBI went after people who trafficked in bootleg film in the 1970’s. It’s not well known, but a certain adult film was duped so many times it’s doubtful if anyone ever saw an original. Several famous movie actors came home from their daily calls to greet a man with a badge. Roddy McDowell had his film collection seized. Rock Hudson built a secret film vault behind a fireplace in his mansion. Some people ended up doing time.
But there is also the moment of discovery in this book. The dedicated collectors who found their own personal Holy Grails:
‘’’…For Philadelphia-area collector Wes Shank, it was realizing in a blinding flash that he’d laid his hands on four minutes of missing footage from the original 1933 production of King Kong, including censored images of Kong the ape toying erotically with Fay Wray’s dress and stomping/munching on a handful of doomed natives. As Shank remembers the moment of the discovery, “I started unwinding the film and letting it go onto the floor. ‘That’s interesting … wait a minute. I don’t remember any such scene in the film.’ Then it hit me: ‘invaluable’ … ‘Kong.’ Could it be? I went down and put it on a pair of rewinds. Oh my god. This is the lost footage.”'
I can’t give this book a high enough recommendation. I read it through it in several sittings. Time became still as I flipped through each page. And all I could hear in the background was the whirring of a projector.
February 5, 2017
I know it's fruitless to criticize a book for not being what you wanted it to be, but this book seems especially like a missed opportunity. The authors, film collectors in one way or another themselves, have essentially put together a collection of short magazine-article length interviews with a number of colorful collectors. Some individual chapters are fairly interesting, but what's missing is a chronological, overarching narrative that explains the whole phenomenon: How did the private collecting of film prints get started in the first place? Where do most of them come from--pilfered from studio archives? Duped from theatrical prints? Why were studios, for a time, so hot to crack down on the collectors? Unless I missed something, I didn't get comprehensive answers to any of these questions. I did spend some time in the company of some interesting (most aren't really "bizarre" as the subtitle indicates) characters, but I wish there had been more ambition to the tell a fuller story.
January 7, 2018
As someone who has shelves of DVDs and Blu-rays (and a few VHS tapes) of films and TV shows, I felt some sort of kinship with the people featured in this excellent book - I'm just thankful I never got into the collecting of 16mm or 35mm reels or I'd have even less money than I do right now.
I enjoyed being taken on a tour of the homes of the collectors and reading their often tragic stories of being consumed by the collecting bug. Marriages ruined, savings spent, friendships broken - it's not a barrel of laughs.
And yet there is a lot of humour in here, plus flashes of insight of what it is that makes them continue their quest to own the best prints of their favourite films.
Highly recommended.
I enjoyed being taken on a tour of the homes of the collectors and reading their often tragic stories of being consumed by the collecting bug. Marriages ruined, savings spent, friendships broken - it's not a barrel of laughs.
And yet there is a lot of humour in here, plus flashes of insight of what it is that makes them continue their quest to own the best prints of their favourite films.
Highly recommended.
July 25, 2016
It only took about a century for the world to go from moving images printed on some pretty dangerous nitrate stock to having full access to digital copies of movies, television shows and other types of programs at their fingertips. But what about all of those original film prints that were made over decades by studios? Do they just exist in some expertly preserved archive? Sadly, this is not the case as explained inA Thousand Cuts by Dennis Bartok and Jeff Joseph.
Reading this book gave me an immediate visceral reaction: I wanted to jump out of my chair and go save neglected film prints that could vanish at any moment due to someone's ignorance of what they have, due to poor storage or any other factor that may put it at risk. But I know nothing of collecting prints, preserving them or even the basics of running a projector, so I sat back down (I'll stick with collecting vinyl). The stories in the book from a wide range of collectors from the seventies and eighties were fascinating, especially when they were being targeted by the FBI for collecting, but it's the idea of the unknown that made me want to read more. I love old movies, and thanks to things like TCM I can see a lot of things that I wouldn't have access if the channel hadn't been created. However, it was on a particular day when TCM was showing Metropolis that I first got interested in seeing everything that was once labeled lost—there's still plenty of lost footage to that silent film, even though a lot of it has been restored. The parts of this book that fascinated me the most was the discussions about lost films, or films thought to be lost.
I was also deeply interested in the stories of film collectors that didn't want to collect the obvious—they wanted to collect the prints they knew wouldn't be saved otherwise. It is a vital role in the preservation of film. In other areas of collecting, you don't have the same amount of urgency to get anything original into a state of preservation. Printed books will never go out of style. Listening to music on vinyl is having a huge resurgence. But film is going the way of the dinosaur. The world could lose a lot more one-of-a-kind movies, trailers and other images that no one sees the value in until it's too late. This book not only tells the story of these collectors that saved some fascinating material, but it also provides a call to those who have a desire to continue the preservation work.
*Received a copy of this book through NetGalley
Reading this book gave me an immediate visceral reaction: I wanted to jump out of my chair and go save neglected film prints that could vanish at any moment due to someone's ignorance of what they have, due to poor storage or any other factor that may put it at risk. But I know nothing of collecting prints, preserving them or even the basics of running a projector, so I sat back down (I'll stick with collecting vinyl). The stories in the book from a wide range of collectors from the seventies and eighties were fascinating, especially when they were being targeted by the FBI for collecting, but it's the idea of the unknown that made me want to read more. I love old movies, and thanks to things like TCM I can see a lot of things that I wouldn't have access if the channel hadn't been created. However, it was on a particular day when TCM was showing Metropolis that I first got interested in seeing everything that was once labeled lost—there's still plenty of lost footage to that silent film, even though a lot of it has been restored. The parts of this book that fascinated me the most was the discussions about lost films, or films thought to be lost.
I was also deeply interested in the stories of film collectors that didn't want to collect the obvious—they wanted to collect the prints they knew wouldn't be saved otherwise. It is a vital role in the preservation of film. In other areas of collecting, you don't have the same amount of urgency to get anything original into a state of preservation. Printed books will never go out of style. Listening to music on vinyl is having a huge resurgence. But film is going the way of the dinosaur. The world could lose a lot more one-of-a-kind movies, trailers and other images that no one sees the value in until it's too late. This book not only tells the story of these collectors that saved some fascinating material, but it also provides a call to those who have a desire to continue the preservation work.
*Received a copy of this book through NetGalley
November 12, 2018
I love the idea of being a film print collector. The passion, the research, and the hunt for that fabled rare print have always fascinated me. Unfortunately, it's such a prohibitively expensive obsession that demands endless resources (Space, refrigeration, a screening room) that I never even considered getting into it, even if I can't deny that the surest way to watch a film that was shot on celluloid is in a theatre, threaded through a projector, in the comfort of the dark and a receptive audience, but at this point, I'll take a digital projection for that thrill because that's all I have.
Thankfully, there's a handful of people out there who disagree with me.
In the book A THOUSAND CUTS writers Dennis Bartok and Jeff Joseph capture the film print collector’s market in its final death rattles. In twenty incredible personal essays, the authors delve deep into what makes these collectors tick, what drives them, and where they stand in their lives (Spoiler: Most of them pretty miserable). It’s the collector in its most dramatic from - looking back and wondering “Was any of it worth it?” The result is a wide range of stories, from people that wanted to save the prints before the film disappeared forever, like the sadly departed Mike Vraney of Something Weird Video, or a snapshot of collectors that simply get a genuine thrill out of watching something they loved on celluloid:
I ask if he has a single favourite experience as a projectionist. He thinks for a moment, then recalls screening a print of Marry Poppins at home one day. “I’m sitting here watching this movie all by myself, and I said, ‘You are the luckiest fucker in the world’ I’m watching this beautiful tech print with stereo sound in my home...I actually got tears in my eyes. I was so happy. How many people could say this?
If you find that beautiful or incredibly sad, then this is the book for you. Bartok and Joseph catalogue some of the collector's greatest triumphs (A complete copy of the rare musical Porgy and Bess!”) and the horror stories that arose within such a tight-knit community (“We stopped being best friends when he tried to sexually assault my underage son”) Written in a conversational style, seeped with the writers passions and sympathies for their subjects, A THOUSAND CUTS is an emotional portrait of what drives a few desperate men (mostly) who want to escape to the world of cinema in its pure form.
After I finished reading, I went to go see if there were any 16mm projectors on sale.
Thankfully, there's a handful of people out there who disagree with me.
In the book A THOUSAND CUTS writers Dennis Bartok and Jeff Joseph capture the film print collector’s market in its final death rattles. In twenty incredible personal essays, the authors delve deep into what makes these collectors tick, what drives them, and where they stand in their lives (Spoiler: Most of them pretty miserable). It’s the collector in its most dramatic from - looking back and wondering “Was any of it worth it?” The result is a wide range of stories, from people that wanted to save the prints before the film disappeared forever, like the sadly departed Mike Vraney of Something Weird Video, or a snapshot of collectors that simply get a genuine thrill out of watching something they loved on celluloid:
I ask if he has a single favourite experience as a projectionist. He thinks for a moment, then recalls screening a print of Marry Poppins at home one day. “I’m sitting here watching this movie all by myself, and I said, ‘You are the luckiest fucker in the world’ I’m watching this beautiful tech print with stereo sound in my home...I actually got tears in my eyes. I was so happy. How many people could say this?
If you find that beautiful or incredibly sad, then this is the book for you. Bartok and Joseph catalogue some of the collector's greatest triumphs (A complete copy of the rare musical Porgy and Bess!”) and the horror stories that arose within such a tight-knit community (“We stopped being best friends when he tried to sexually assault my underage son”) Written in a conversational style, seeped with the writers passions and sympathies for their subjects, A THOUSAND CUTS is an emotional portrait of what drives a few desperate men (mostly) who want to escape to the world of cinema in its pure form.
After I finished reading, I went to go see if there were any 16mm projectors on sale.
December 18, 2016
This entertaining book looks at the now nearly defunct world of movie (as in physical film prints) collectors. Its interviews cover aspects of this movie love obsession (it is hardly a hobby) ranging from the glory of Technicolor prints, the once in a lifetime stumbling onto incredible treasures, the dumpster and abandoned warehouse diving, the FBI and MPAA attention. This is a good read and a good companion to “Do Not Sell At Any Price”, a look at another obsessive underground world, that of 78RPM jazz and blues record collecting.
August 1, 2016
I truly enjoyed this book and the history I was not aware existed with copywriter laws. A very interesting read. I believe everyone that has ever recorded anything, should take a look at this book. Your eyes will open. Bartok and Joseph did an incredible job interviewing and researching. The writing style will keep you up way past your bed time.
*I received a copy of this book for an honest review.
*I received a copy of this book for an honest review.
Want to read
January 7, 2018Fascinating for film buffs.
October 21, 2022
A fantastic, fun read.
That said, I was on the fringe of this world myself a little in the 1990's, so I was already a bit familiar with film collecting and film collectors. I recognized much of what was described, and at least one person mentioned is someone I had met personally, having bought a 16mm feature from him.
To read about this niche "world" (hobby? cult? business?), that before hand I had only experienced quite a few years ago, was a delight. I began reading the book on a whim (a friend, now deceased, had mentioned it to me and I recently found a note I had taken to myself to read it), I easily plowed through it in three days. I could not put it down.
Would this book appeal to those who had not partaken in film collecting? Probably, but such readers might not give it a full five stars.
But for me, this book was nothing less.
That said, I was on the fringe of this world myself a little in the 1990's, so I was already a bit familiar with film collecting and film collectors. I recognized much of what was described, and at least one person mentioned is someone I had met personally, having bought a 16mm feature from him.
To read about this niche "world" (hobby? cult? business?), that before hand I had only experienced quite a few years ago, was a delight. I began reading the book on a whim (a friend, now deceased, had mentioned it to me and I recently found a note I had taken to myself to read it), I easily plowed through it in three days. I could not put it down.
Would this book appeal to those who had not partaken in film collecting? Probably, but such readers might not give it a full five stars.
But for me, this book was nothing less.
June 22, 2018
This book is about movies. Not in the pop culture sense but in the acquiring film on reels and watching them on a projector. This book covers many collectors who most happen to be mostly of baby boomer age and had lots of time in their youth where they were left alone and found solace in the movies. I picked up this book not because I am a movie buff or a collector. I picked this up because I don't watch many movies at all. In fact, I have never seen Star Wars.
This book has many characters. And some are larger than life. Dealing film to Hugh Hefner (who was a big fan of playing movies) and many were harassed by the FBI. Some of the men discussed knew each other, some loved working with each other, and some hated each other.
Creative destruction - this was discussed with how VHS replaced film, and digital has replaced both. But in order for things to progress the old is normally destroyed. Film doesn't always last. Sometimes it turns to vinegar. Sometimes people have spliced and taken out scenes of a movie. Most people may not even notice. But the guys in this book will. Sometimes they collected really bad movies, and not for any other reason than to have the film.
This book has many characters. And some are larger than life. Dealing film to Hugh Hefner (who was a big fan of playing movies) and many were harassed by the FBI. Some of the men discussed knew each other, some loved working with each other, and some hated each other.
Creative destruction - this was discussed with how VHS replaced film, and digital has replaced both. But in order for things to progress the old is normally destroyed. Film doesn't always last. Sometimes it turns to vinegar. Sometimes people have spliced and taken out scenes of a movie. Most people may not even notice. But the guys in this book will. Sometimes they collected really bad movies, and not for any other reason than to have the film.
November 18, 2019
Fascinating yet also kind of disturbing. Every time I feel the collector bug rise up in me, I squash it, whether it’s comics books, literary first editions or illustrated novels, vinyl, vintage analog synths, Warhammer miniatures, and, yes, even 35mm prints (to own and be able to screen Oscar & Lucinda or Times Square or The Keep has always percolated at the back of my mind). Keeping the impulse in check can be difficult. Collecting can be a kind of sickness and this book exposes the symptoms in a way that’s both riveting and repulsive— I gloried in the awe of people finding lost films but was creeped out by the unethical and self-destructive behavior that undergirded so much of the hobby.
Without many of these collectors though, a lot of great films would’ve been lost. I am grateful on that end— grateful as well that I have not succumbed to be one of them. A must-read for movie lovers, cinema junkies, and nostalgia fiends of any stripe.
ps. I cracked up when someone found a warehouse full of unscreened prints of Halloween III & IV — turkeys at the time that have come in for reappraisal. I love those movies!
Without many of these collectors though, a lot of great films would’ve been lost. I am grateful on that end— grateful as well that I have not succumbed to be one of them. A must-read for movie lovers, cinema junkies, and nostalgia fiends of any stripe.
ps. I cracked up when someone found a warehouse full of unscreened prints of Halloween III & IV — turkeys at the time that have come in for reappraisal. I love those movies!
November 24, 2018
Book opens with a description of collectors of film being unjustly persecuted for their passion for no good reason. Rest of the book describes collectors stealing prints from theaters and labs, cheating each other, and, in an act which directly led to the only prison sentence related to film piracy documented in the book, illegally dealing with Apartheid South Africa. Seems like the FBI was on the right track, to me (though I suppose they should have left Roddy McDowell alone).
Not to tarnish all the subjects of this book with the same brush. It's just a shame that the more legitimately one seems to be both a collector and preservationist, the shorter their chapter in this book. I suppose the skulduggery involved in the shadier side of the business makes for more of a page-turner. But it seems to me like those most profiled here "saved the movies" purely by chance; had they been able to make a penny more selling their old film reels to someone melting them down for the silver, I'm sure they would have.
Not to tarnish all the subjects of this book with the same brush. It's just a shame that the more legitimately one seems to be both a collector and preservationist, the shorter their chapter in this book. I suppose the skulduggery involved in the shadier side of the business makes for more of a page-turner. But it seems to me like those most profiled here "saved the movies" purely by chance; had they been able to make a penny more selling their old film reels to someone melting them down for the silver, I'm sure they would have.
June 22, 2021
What is bizarre is not the world itself (it seems pretty typified, if we are honest) but how this scene moved from underground whispers, to the wrath of the FBI, to we cant give this stuff away. Written by 2 collectors, the book tells its stories with affection and wistfulness. Whatever your own dorkdom is, it's no better than this.
October 29, 2017
When I was a teenager, I used to see lists of 16mm films for sale in film magazines and dream of being a film collector. After reading this book, I've discovered most of the lot are destitute, paranoid, and working under the law or directly against the law. Viva la DVD!
April 16, 2019
This is an awesome book, and if you have any interest whatsoever in the subject matter, you'll get a lot out of it. Personally, I credit this book with helping me come to terms with the current state of media, and life in the 21st century. So that's pretty good.
June 20, 2017
Very interesting subject at least to me. The writing was a bit staid. Become almost dead at the end. If you have an interest and knowledge in this subject give it a look. Otherwise pass
July 11, 2017
Netflix needs to pick this up and make it into a documentary series.
September 29, 2020
When I started reading it reminded how bummed I get knowing the 'rents didn't let me start collecting Blackhawks like I had wanted...by the time I was done, not so much.
September 29, 2021
Interesting, highlight for me was the chapter on Something Weird Video and my hero Mike Vraney.
March 3, 2017
Very enjoyable book, with me thinking "there but for the grace of God go I" as I think about my own collecting obsessions and my love for film. Yes, I will admit that I have some 35mm trailers from my own past as a projectionist, but nothing that compare to what the individuals have in this book.
Very sad to read about the death knell of true film, and one wonders what treasures we will lose because of it.
Very sad to read about the death knell of true film, and one wonders what treasures we will lose because of it.
December 26, 2016
A film-lovers book. I thoroughly enjoyed it! The film collectors underworld is extremely interesting and this book is almost an ethnography. There is absolutely a movie here!! Seriously, there has got to be a bidding war for the film rights for this story!!! The Hollywood gossip component is especially entertaining. I wish the endnotes had been done as page footnotes or incorporated in the text as there is a lot of info there, but going back and forth was very distracting. There's a lot of name-dropping and it's sometimes hard to keep track of the not-so-famous names. Photo insert pages were nice. Again, overall, this is a wonderful book.
July 7, 2017
Very enjoyable read about a small, vanishing world. I found the artistic taste of the collectors to be revealing - animation, children's films, and genre films (the lower the genre the better) - seemed to be the predominant types of films that interested the collectors profiled.
September 20, 2016
A fun, misty travelogue through the lives and times of film print collectors.
October 31, 2016
Super interesting look at film collectors, especially in light of all the digital things going on. Some fascinating stories, many of them bizarre.
October 11, 2024
A testament to the world of Pirating, who tend to care more about the Media Arts then the right's holders, But don't take my word for it. [DUN DUN DUN ]
April 6, 2017
EAch chapter profiles a different person or incident involving the collecting, illegally selling, and strange mania in personally amassing film prints on 16mm or 35mm. Some odd, weird, sad, and often criminal characters are interviewed or remembered. Interesting tidbits on Robert Osborne of TCM, director Joe Dante, and Roddy McDowall who was charged with film pirating and illegal possession of prints but escaped prosecution after 'ratting out' on others ... including Rock Hudson who had a secret film vault. THe collecting involves some great film love on the part of any, but, also, the human need to amass, hoard and own and always seeking for that one satisfaction. Digital film production is turning the film reels and canisters and hunger for physical tangible film stock to disappear.
April 19, 2017
The subtitle of this book, "The Bizarre Underground World of Collectors and Dealers Who Saved the Movies," might be more accurate if it ended "Who Saved Some Movies." The startling takeaway readers will have from "A Thousand Cuts" is the sheer volume of films that are now lost or will soon be lost forever. Dennis Bartok and Jeff Joseph have done an admirable job of interviewing a wide variety of aging collectors who got into collecting with an early love of film and have spent their lives (and money) trying to fill an insatiable desire to find the rarest of films. Most of those interviewed have watched their collections plummet in value as easy access (and viewing) to many films in digital form has become common. Bartok and Joseph have done movie lovers a real service by sharing these stories, often from men who have since passed away (including Robert Obsborne). Included are how a missing reel led Ross Hunter to instead show the original "Lost Horizon" for a private viewing (resulting in his disastrous musical version), how one dealer's side interest in celebrity memorabilia led to O.J. Simpson's imprisonment, and how Rock Hudson avoided the copyright police (who had arrested Roddy McDowell) by having his collection of films in a hidden vault. One collector compares the end of the era of film with the end of the cowboy era shown in the film "Monte Walsh," and that helpless sadness pervades most of the interviews here. Recommended.
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