Technicolor's Triumph and Tragedy in Hollywood's Golden Era
Should you possess the necessary cones and rods, the instant becomes etched onto your retina: Dorothy Gale stirs after receiving a painful knock on the noggin, pushes open the entrance to her dull sepia-toned cottage, and steps into a visually striking world brimming with vibrant primary hues—the gleaming red shoes, sun-yellow pathways, and lush green metropolises.
We're not just out of Kansas; we've moved away from typical Hollywood as well, particularly the predominantly monochromatic look seen in all but 15 major releases that year. The gateway to Oz didn’t unveil the dawn of cinematic color – numerous movies that same year also embraced vibrant hues. For instance, 1939 witnessed the debut of several technicolor spectacles including Gone With the Wind , where the painterly strokes of glistening golden-hour tones made Oz appear overly extravagant. But The Wizard of Oz created the starkest comparison between two potential cinematic realms: a bleak black-and-white landscape reflecting the hardships of the Great Depression and what was often referred to as (almost becoming part of its branding) Glorious Technicolor.
The news of Technicolor's fall In recent weeks, we've seen yet another somber farewell to a distinguished Hollywood emblem, which has now become part of our lexicon. Back in 1965, as twenty out of twenty-five of Hollywood’s highest-grossing movies ever made were filmed using Technicolor, the term found its way into Webster's Dictionary but was listed with a lowercase “t,” an omission that could lead to corrections from a copyright attorney if reproduced verbatim in print media.
Hollywood always got the spelling right. In its glorious days, Technicolor was billed in the opening credits, often celebrated with its own title card, and spotlit in posters and lobby cards in splashy red-blue-yellow lettering. In 1941, fed up with the drumbeat of ballyhoo for films shot "In Glorious Technicolor," writer-director Preston Sturges tried to get Paramount to preface Sullivan's Travels (1941) featuring an opening title card stating "In Beautiful Black and White." However, the studio rejected this concept.
Since the creation of the initial daguerreotypes, full-spectrum color has been a cherished objective in photography, and early filmmakers shared this ambition, striving to produce movies that captured life’s vibrant hues authentically. Early silent films attempted this through techniques like tinting (immersing negatives in dyes) and meticulous hand-colorization using stencils frame-by-frame. However, their ultimate aim remained capturing images directly onto colored celluloid during filming itself. In 1911, pioneering filmmaker John J. Murdock committed six million dollars towards establishing Kinemacolor—a venture employing both red and green filters for photographing and projecting moving pictures. This method unfortunately suffered from an issue known as “fringing,” leading to doubled imagery; for instance, a horse's tail could appear alternately green and red.
The pioneering and commercially successful technology known as Technicolor was developed by Herbert T. Kalmus, an accomplished chemical engineer educated at MIT and the University of Zurich. In 1915, he established the Technicolor Motion Picture Corporation and dedicated himself akin to Thomas Edison’s fervor for advancing the field of color photography. The initial version of Technicolor, which involved "double-coated dye images," made its debut in the racially themed drama film. The Cost at Sea In 1922, this film was produced by Joseph and Nicholas Schenck, directed by Chester Franklin, and starred an eighteen-year-old Anna May Wong, whose complexions did not fit into either category of black or white. As noted, "the silks and the kimonos showed up beautifully." Billboard "None of the problematic elements present in the production of other color movies are evident here. You won’t see any harsh edges [or] flickering reds." In addition, some short scenes involve The Phantom of the Opera remains unchanged as it is a title in English. If you have more content from "The Phantom of the Opera" that needs to be paraphrased, please provide it! (1925) and Ben-Hur (1926), Douglas Fairbanks' unexpectedly titled The Black Pirate (1926) elevated the prominence of the Technicolor brand. Neither Kalmus nor Fairbanks could envision piracy without color.
While Kalmus rushed to market Technicolor, he persisted in experimenting with various filming and processing methods, gradually enhancing color accuracy and dye transfer processes. By 1926, working alongside his team—much recognition goes to the brilliant scientists and technicians under him—he developed an innovative Technicolor camera featuring a prism that split red and green light rays onto one strip of monochrome film. During development at their lab, they utilized a technique labeled by Kalmus—a man who apparently believed others were equally knowledgeable about dye transfer procedures—as a “two-component subtractive inhibition method.” This approach involved using dyes being "imbibed," or soaked up, into the material to produce negatives capable of generating projection copies.
The dual-color Technicolor technique was once incredibly popular. According to Kalmus, Technicolor cameras worked around the clock, with an impressive number of about 40 short films and feature movies being created during this vibrant period of two-color production, which included several notable works. King of Jazz (1929), featuring cultural appropriator Paul Whiteman; Whoopee! In 1930, featuring the bigoted comic Eddie Cantor; and from Warner Bros.', Secrets of the Wax Museum (1933). However, graininess and excessive brightness diminished its popularity. Moviegoers complained, "It strains the eyes."
The significant advancement occurred in 1932 when the three-strip Technicolor technique was developed by J. Arthur Ball, who served as both the vice president and technical director at Technicolor. This particular format is often considered the epitome of classic Technicolor. To avoid delving into overly complex details (though some might still find them intricate), this three-strip process involved exposing three different negatives simultaneously through a single lens within the camera using a special prism to direct light towards these individual negatives—each capturing green, red, and blue components of the image respectively. Later, during processing in the lab, they used techniques similar to those employed in lithographic color printing where three distinct dyes were sequentially added to the film base via the imbibition procedure—a simpler way to refer to it being “IB Technicolor.” Through this system, Technicolor achieved its pinnacle setup, described aptly by one enthusiast as offering everything needed—from initial shooting right up until generating final print copies—as part of their comprehensive end-to-end services provided directly from studios down to laboratories.
After Technicolor became refined, the challenge lay in persuading Hollywood to take a chance on this highly precise yet pricey method (costing three to four times as much as conventional black-and-white filmmaking). This involved leasing Kalmus’sTechnicolor cameras (priced at $30,000 and weighing 750 pounds) along with utilizing his specialized laboratories for processing.
The visionary Walt Disney was Kalmus's initial major customer. In 1932, Disney entered into an agreement to create the following year's roster of projects. Silly Symphonies Cartoons in Technicolor, which was rewarded early on with a special Academy Award for the seven-minute segment. Flowers and Trees (1932). "She was easy on the eyes," he mentioned. Variety "Perhaps the color specialists could clarify why that is." Nevertheless, the Disney cartoon that established Technicolor as the preferred format for animations was the hit during the Great Depression era. The Three Little Pigs In 1933, the Big Bad Wolf blows so hard he turns blue. The following year, John Hay (“Jock”) Whitney from Pioneer Pictures bested Disney to create the inaugural live-action musical short film using Technicolor technology. La Cucaracha (1934), which "filled the screen with rich and vibrant color combinations never seen before!"
Certainly, the live-action feature film was the true market to conquer. Once more, Whitney took the initial risk with this endeavor. Becky Sharp In 1935, the picaresque story of "a late Napoleonic era courtesan," helmed by director Rouben Mamoulian, captivated viewers with its vivid imagery. Mamoulian showcased his innovative skills using Technicolor in an elaborate scene depicting a grand ball just before the Battle of Waterloo—a visual spectacle featuring women twirling in hues of blue, green, and yellow dresses alongside men adorned in vibrant scarlet uniforms. The audience was so impressed they clapped spontaneously out of admiration. As Mamoulian expressed, “Until now, cinema has been akin to an artist permitted only pencils for drawing; Technicolor provides us with actual paint.” This film truly brought such colors to life. Becky Sharp , the review by the New York Post heard "the death knell of black-and-white images."
The obituary was premature, but Technicolor made steady progress in the next few years, mainly in genres trafficking in escapism - musicals, costume dramas, travelogues and animation. Walter Wanger's Vogues of 1938 (1937) garnered more praise for the vibrant fashion shows than for the lackluster musical performances. The Goldwyn Follies In 1938, the film was so successful that an enthusiastic Sam Goldwyn announced all future productions under his banner would be filmed in Technicolor. However, he later went back on this promise. The Tales of Robin Hood (1938) Not even Technicolor could draw as much attention as Errol Flynn in tights, yet cinema attendees were encouraged to admire at least 1182 figures adorned with flowing capes, ornate brocades, and a variety of satins.
The publicity for Disney's Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs In 1937, the inaugural full-length Technicolor animated film highlighted that the animation process utilized "marvelous multiplane Technicolor." This technique involved positioning the camera so it could shoot downwards, with the lens positioned over the horizontal drawing table, thereby creating an impression of depth.
If Herbert Kalmus was the scientific mind driving Technicolor, his wife Natalie was the one setting the aesthetic standards. Serving as the head of the Color Advisory Service at Technicolor, she established guidelines for using colors effectively. Though their marriage began in 1902 and ended formally with a divorce in 1921, Herbert and Natalie remained professional partners and lived together continuously. Instead of seeking community property after the divorce, Natalie opted to maintain her involvement through employment; she managed everything from cameras to film stock and laboratories.
"She has the ability to dissect color palettes just as effortlessly as a studio exec might break apart a grammatical construct," remarked someone humorously about her skills.
The New York Times
In 1939, praising her as the "ringmaster of the rainbow" and "mistress of three Technicolor studios."
According to reports, Mrs. Kalmus possessed a robust character and held unwavering views, traits that failed to win over art directors, set designers, and filmmakers. She steadfastly followed her comprehensive principles of "rules for emphasis" and "separation of hues," ensuring that color would accentuate a film’s emotional atmosphere without becoming overly conspicuous. Kalmus created an infamous diagram linking particular shades to feelings. For instance, scarlet symbolized allure, blue stood for tranquility, harmony, and domesticity, whereas green acted as both a calming agent and an energizer based on individual reactions. The journal Photoplay disseminated these chromatic guidelines so that sales clerks and homemakers might achieve “proper color resonances” similar to those enjoyed by celebrities, aiding them towards prosperity and contentment.
In Hollywood’s star system, one cardinal rule was that the color palette of the set design needed to complement the appearance of the leading lady—her hair, eyes, skin tone, and attire. Similar to how actors adjusted during the shift to talkies, many struggled when faced with the advent of Technicolor cameras. For instance, Maureen O’Hara’s vivid crimson locks paired perfectly with her emerald-green irises made for stunning three-strip portraits. Meanwhile, fellow ginger-haired actress Rita Hayworth became known as “nature’s gift to Technicolor.” She shouldn’t be mistaken though; Joan Bennett, sporting a blond look at the time, earned acclaim from cinematographers calling her “god’s gift,” whereas green-eyed brunet Yvonne De Carlo gained fame as “the top choice for Technicolor scenes” in Hollywood circles. Conversely, another natural redhead, Joan Crawford, didn’t shine quite so brightly through Technicolor lenses; instead, her visage appeared more suited to monochrome film.
Unsurprisingly, the veteran Hollywood directors — who were all considered old-school — disliked Kalmus’s intrusive involvement. While filming on location, this tension persisted. Gold Is Where You Locate It In 1938, the temperamental Hungarian transplant Michael Curtiz shouted, "Mrs. Kalmus, stop pointing your gun at my damn film!"
As filmmakers gained more confidence in their visual style using Technicolor, they began to resist the guidelines set by the Kalmus team. Cinematographer Stanley Cortez reminisced, "Technicolor insisted on lighting everywhere, even under tables—God only knows how much." Both producer David O. Selznick and costume designer Walter Plunkett also disagreed with Kalmus’s ideas about costumes. Gone With the Wind It was far too dull, so they bypassed her and approached Herbert instead to achieve the desired outcomes in the laboratory. Despite Kalmus's suggestion to scale back, Vincente Minnelli chose not to. Meet Me in Saint Louis In 1944, the outcomes were remarkably impressive. Film critic James Agee raved, "'Technicolor has rarely been employed so lovingly as in capturing the deep mahogany tones, delicate muslin textures, and gentle street lights characteristic of the era.'"
EvenWorldWarIIdidnothalttheannualincreaseintheproductionofTechnicolorfilms:50werescheduledfor1944-1945.Althoughthememoryoft Hemoviesthewarispresentedinnewsreelsinblackandwhite,TechnicolorenhancedAmericaswarriors'heroism,seeminglyindicatingthatthestatusformatshouldn’tberestrictedtoHollywoodentertainment.Military-producedcombatreportslikethoseproducedbyA At the Front in North Africa with the U.S. Army (1942), The Battle of Midway (1942), With the Marines at Tarawa (1944), and To the Coast of Iwo Jima (1945) everything was captured using the complete 35mm Technicolor process right at the battle site. (The Pacific Theater had greater access to color footage compared to the European Theater since the color film stock could be kept cold aboard ships.)
Far and away, the most popular among the Technicolor war movies was William Wyler's. The Memphis Belle In 1944, the narrative follows a B-17 bomber during its 25th mission over Nazi Germany. Filmed utilizing handheld Cine-Kodak cameras and 16mm Kodachrome film, the footage was subsequently blown up to 35mm and developed at the Technicolor laboratory in Hollywood. A total of fifty prints were produced for what was advertised as "the Technicolor epic of America’s aerial champions." As explained, “if the clarity of the colors seems slightly inferior when compared to regular Technicolor processes, this can be attributed to the fact that the cameramen could never properly position themselves due to the rapid and intense movements unfolding right in front of their lenses.” The Hollywood Reporter .
Kalmus's tenure as the leading figure of Technicolor concluded in 1950, following issues arising from her peculiar connection with Herbert that turned into a legal dispute. This situation escalated to the Supreme Court, where in 1952 they decided against recognizing her as a complete partner within Technicolor.
Once Natalie Kalmus was gone, Technicolor palettes shed their constraints. During the 1950s, alongside grand widescreen visuals and massive crowds, these vivid hues were used as a tool to draw audiences away from the modest black-and-white rectangle in their living rooms. This strategy was humorously lampooned in Cole Porter’s song for MGM's musical. Silk Stockings (1957), "Stunning Technicolor, Impressive Cinemascope, and Stereophonic Sound," a piece that was only two-thirds self-referential as it was filmed in Metrocolor.
Metrocolor – which you can also refer to as Warnercolor – was among several competing color processes developed during the 1950s to challenge Technicolor’s dominance. Many of these alternatives were variations of Eastmancolor, launched by Kodak in 1950. These newer techniques offered lower costs and greater ease compared to their predecessor. Eastmancolor utilized a single-strip film stock featuring three layers each responsive to different colors of light. When paired with cheaper yet somewhat less durable dye systems at alternative processing facilities, this fresh wave of color technologies gradually surpassed older methods.
The final American movie produced using the traditional Technicolor process was from Universal International's production. Foxfire In 1955, this film featured the striking dark-haired Jane Russell alongside the distinguished gray-haired Jeff Chandler. The movie signaled the conclusion of the three-strip Technicolor period, though this wasn’t noted in any critiques or promotional materials.
As usual, Kalmus introduced a new process to rival Eastmancolor. He asserted in a company history document, “The introduction of this enhanced Technicolor process marks a significant milestone rather than serving as an endpoint.” The Hollywood Reporter In 1955, for Technicolor’s fortieth anniversary, he introduced a new Technicolor camera that utilized a single negative. However, the dye transfer process continued to be used for producing impressive prints.
However, Eastmancolor represented the technology of tomorrow. For Technicolor, this marked a gradual decline. The label “Color by Technicolor” or “Prints by Technicolor,” which appeared on subsequent films, did not always indicate their comprehensive end-to-end service from filming to processing; rather, it simply signified that they handled the laboratory aspects. By the 1970s, after being overwhelmed by more cost-effective options, Technicolor closed down its laboratories in Hollywood, Rome, and London. Eventually, when the facility in London auctioned off its machinery to China, Variety couldn't help but respond to the headline: "Technicolor Sells Facility to Red Chinese."
Following a two-decade pause, though, the initial Technicolor dye transfer technique was reinstated and enhanced. Batman and Robin (1997), and later utilized in a few additional movies like Godzilla (1998), Toy Story 2 (1999), and Pearl Harbor In 2001, the short-lived revival came to an end as Thomson Multimedia took over the company and subsequently shut down operations.
By this time, digital technologies had begun replacing not only the imbibition process but also celluloid film. "[The Technicolor] technology is essentially obsolete," regrets James Layton, an archivist at the George Eastman House and co-author, along with David Pierce, of the book. The Emergence of Technicolor: 1915-1935 Published in 2015, this author compares every Technicolor print to a distinctive piece of artwork displayed in a museum. Once these prints vanish, they can never be replicated.
Still, Technicolor managed to achieve a kind of posthumous comeback. Prints made using vintage Technicolor techniques continue to display vibrant colors and sharp color separation. Conversely, older Eastmancolor prints from around 1950-1975 tend to fade into pale pink tones. Director Martin Scorsese vividly remembered his distress at viewing a retrospective in this deteriorated Eastmanchromatography: “It felt like a nightmare,” he said with evident unease, “a complete horror.”
Nowadays, an entire generation of cinema enthusiasts might never have witnessed a 35mm Technicolor print streaming through the projector gate—thus, the poignant dedication made by film historian Fred E. Basten in his essential work. Stunning Technicolor: The Cinema's Vibrant Color Palette Published in 1980: For “future generations of film enthusiasts [who] likely won’t have the chance to witness that magnificent color on the big screen.” To experience the splendor of what once was Technicolor, one must visit a repertory theater or museum equipped with both the resources and awareness to showcase such an obsolete technique. As an illustration, in 2024, the Vista Theatre in Los Angeles organized a month-long festival featuring films in I.B. Technicolor sourced directly from Quentin Tarantino’s private collection.
A specific group within the audience for movies—a segment comprising about 8 percent of men and 1 percent of women—has an additional incentive to watch films in color: those who have trouble distinguishing colors often find that they can perceive various shades in a Technicolor film which they cannot discern in their everyday lives. Believe me when I say this.
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