Well what can I say, it wasn’t my first choice for the #2 of the series but recent events have forced me to push it forward.
Kodachrome: A Eulogy.
Written by Matthew Joseph & Rhys Allen
Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn the passing of a dear, dear old friend, a neighbour, a son, a brother, a father, a grandfather and a creepy uncle you only see at Christmas and who can’t look you in the eye any more. We mourn Kodachrome with few surviving relatives: nephew Portra, brother T-Max and “special” second cousin Elite Chrome. We mourn Kodachrome, “made by God and Man”.
Kodachrome was born in 1935 in Rochester, New York, the unlikely offspring of a violinist and chemist (Leopold Godowsky Jnr,) and a musician (Leopold Mannes). At the tender age of four, a young Kodachrome was thrust into the fire and brimstone of World War II, documenting the horror of war through the lens of 8mm movie cameras in Europe and the Pacific. Kodachrome, the new kid in town, struggled for acceptance during the war, proving to be less popular with photographers than his father, black and white. His low popularity was most likely due to his cost but sadly we have little information regarding Kodachrome’s doings from this period.
After WWII however, Kodachrome’s popularity soared as he found his niche capturing precious family memories on 35mm slides and three minute home movies with his gaudy colour palette. (Some sixty years later, hundreds if not thousands of these images would be scanned by the writer of this eulogy.) In 1949 Kodachrome was elated to learn that the National Geographic Society had named roughly nine square kilometres of land in Utah after him, the Kodachrome Basin State Park.
All was well with Kodachrome until 1954 when the fear of imprisonment caused him to part ways with his long-term partner, “pre-paid processing”. Happily this was only made law in the United States and Kodachrome partnered with Pre Paid Mailers were able to continue their steamy relationship abroad. Years passed by and Kodachrome became a household name, a byword for colourful vibrant family snapshots, until in 1973 a chap by the name of Paul Simon wrote a song about him. That song was “Kodachrome”, I would now like to read a passage or two from this song:
“Kodachrome,
They give us those nice bright colors,
They give us the greens of summers.
Makes you think all the world’s a sunny day,
Oh yeah.
I got a Nikon camera,
I love to take a photograph.
So mama don’t take my Kodachrome away.
Mama don’t take my Kodachrome away
Mama don’t take my Kodachrome away
Mama don’t take my Kodachrome away
Mama don’t take my Kodachrome
Mama don’t take my Kodachrome
Mama don’t take my Kodachrome away.”
And so on and so forth.
In the 1980s things started look a little bleak for our friend Kodachrome. Kodachrome’s process is extremely complex, requiring expert technicians with extensive chemistry training and large, difficult-to-operate machines. These technicians were an endangered species in the 1980s and by the late 1990s would be all but extinct. Ironically it was in the decade of his demise that Kodachrome produced his most memorable imagery. In 1984, a close friend of Kodachrome’s, Steve McCurry, took him on a trip to Afghanistan and exposed him to a young girl named Sharbat Gula whose sad face and haunting green eyes would become the most famous image to be taken on Kodachrome.
“Afghan Girl (Sharbat Gula)” by Steve McCurry.
In 1990, just when Kodachrome thought things couldn’t get any worse, a Japanese chap by the name of Velvia appeared on the market and delivered the mortal blow from which Kodachrome would never recover. An embittered Kodachrome lost contact with the real world and became something of a recluse, huddling in small quantities in the frozen recesses of ancient refrigerators. In 2002 his death was falsely reported, causing a small resurgence of his popularity. Another false death report was filed in 2005 and once more in 2007. Aged, weary, and suffering a mild dementia, Kodachrome’s time was near. In June 2009, Kodachrome’s death was once again reported, however this time there would be no resurrection. Today a single laboratory remains committed to the K-14 process, as the very last of the geriatric Kodachrome shuffles into our cameras to capture the world one last time, just as he has always captured our hearts.
“*” by Aditya Mawardi
Rest in peace old friend.
