- James Stewart, 1987
"The last time I checked, I owned the films that we're in the process of colorizing. I can do whatever I want with them."
- Ted Turner, 1986
In the mid-1980s, a process film process called "colorization" was developed. Colorization was the process of taking black and white films and digitally painting over them, adding color to films that were originally colorless. Colorization infuriated filmmakers, leading to intense public debate about the rights of artists which eventually reached all the way to congress and the president. Chief among those fighting against colorization was James Stewart, who, near the end of his life, poured an immense amount of energy and spirit into the fight.
The colorization debate is a fascinating look at the struggles of copyright, ownership, artists' rights, and the influence of technology on film, and deals with issues that are still highly relevant today.
Origins
Though colorization didn't become a household term until the 1980s, the process of colorization - that is, artificially adding color to a black and white film after the film is made - is almost as old as the movies themselves.
Some of the first films, like A Trip to the Moon and The Great Train Robbery, featured scenes that were colored by hand. This was a painstaking process, because someone had to physically paint every frame of film, which was only about 35 millimeters wide. The process, which usually only featured one or two colors at a time, looks crude by today's standards, but shows a desire for color films even in that early age.
Modern colorization, however, was invented in 1970 by a Canadian engineer named Wilson Markle. The circumstances which led Markle to invent what would come to be known as colorization came not from commercial films, but NASA. NASA was lobbying Congress for a budget request and wanted to show some footage from the Apollo missions, but felt the footage, originally shot in black and white, would better sway Congress in color. Enter Wilson Markle.
Markle developed the process with a Los Angeles-based company called Image Transform, but took the process to Toronto in 1981 when he set up his own company there called Vidcolor Image, Inc.
Markle ran Vidcolor independently for two years, mainly adding color to commercials. Then, in 1983, Vidcolor was bought by two oil-baron brothers named Norman and Earl Glick. The Glicks had recently purchased Hal Roach Studios, and were looking to maximize their investment in the Hal Roach properties. Their idea was basically the same as NASA's ten years prior: add new life to their old footage by colorizing it.
The Glicks got to work, filing a patent for Markle's colorizing process and giving Vidcolor a new name: Colorization, Inc. Shortly thereafter, they announced their intention to colorize 200 black and white films and release them on video cassette. In the spring of 1985, Colorization Inc. released their first cassette, a colorized version of the 1937, Hal Roach-produced film Topper.
Topper starred Cary Grant, who wrote to Earl Glick: "I found the process extremely interesting and trust your company will continue to color other memorable films in the same manner."
He needn't have worried. Many memorable films were slated for release, among them Frank Capra's It's a Wonderful Life.
Things Heat Up
Until the announcement of It's a Wonderful Life, reaction to colorization from the film industry had been mild, or even favorable. Cary Grant was supportive, as were Nancy Reagan and the daughter of Stan Laurel, who had worked for many years at Hal Roach Studios.
Though Capra became one of the chief fighters against colorization, he was initially very enthusiastic. In fact, he met with Colorization Inc., saw test footage, and agreed to pay half the cost for a share of the profits. Later, Colorization Inc. realized It's a Wonderful Life was in the public domain and cut Capra out of the deal. Capra soon became an anti-colorization crusader, lashing out against the process in the Hollywood Reporter in March of 1985.
Gene Allen, president of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, also flip-flopped on colorization, but unlike Capra, he went from condemnation to support. In October of 1984, Allen was ahead of the curve, speaking out against colorization before Topper had even hit the shelves. But by January of next year, he was condoning its use. Like Capra, Allen's switch was financially-related. He'd been brought on as a creative consultant at Colorization Inc.'s major rival: Color Systems Technology.
Color Systems Technology got started later than Colorization Inc., but they had a few huge advantages. Firstly, they were based in California, not Toronto. Secondly, the company was co-founded by two film marketers, Buddy Young and Charles Powell. Their physical proximity and networking connections to Hollywood allowed them to hit the ground running. Unlike Colorization Inc., whose strategy hinged on video cassettes, CST aimed for broadcast television; their version of Miracle on 34th Street, broadcast across the country on Christmas of 1985, was a huge success. But CST had its real success the next year, when it partnered with a media mogul named Ted Turner.
Turner, already a media giant by this time, had had his first great success with his satellite and cable station WTBS. Part of that success was due to broadcasting classic films and sitcoms. Turner, aiming to expand that success by buying up a large library of old films, acquired MGM/UA on March 25th, 1986. That same month, Turner announced his plans to, with the partnership of CST, begin colorizing MGM's library, a decision that would make Turner the lighting rod for anti-colorization activists.
Aside from It's a Wonderful Life, the films that had been colorized to that point were fairly innocuous. But Turner came out swinging, promising to colorize such classics as Casablanca and Citizen Kane. Suffice to say, Turner's decision galvanized the film community, creating a giant backlash that would eventually make its way all the way to the United States Congress and the president himself.
Turner was nonplussed. He said in a speech that fall, "The last time I checked, I owned the films... I can do whatever I want with them." For the time being, he was correct.
Backlash
Though there had already been protests from a few influential people like Frank Capra, there had been up to now no organized effort to combat colorization. That changed with Turner's buy-up of the MGM library.
The first anti-colorization strike from an organized group of filmmakers came from overseas. The Directors Guild of Great Britain issued a statement on June 12th, 1986, mere weeks after Turner's acquisition. The statement, signed by heavyweights like David Lean, Stanley Kubrick, and Ridley Scott, asked not for a total ban on colorization, but "the protection of a limited number of classics." Little did they know this would be the ultimate route taken in the United States.
The Directors Guild of America, who had assembled a committee to review colorization a few months prior, followed suit that fall. The board voted "to use its full resources" to stop colorizing. More importantly, directors began speaking out. Woody Allen called colorization "an ugly practice, total venal, [and] anti-artistic." John Huston, director of The Maltese Falcon, which Turner had announced plans to colorize, said, "It's as though our children have been sold into white slavery, and now the Turner organization has dyed their hair."
An urban legend even began to circulate within film circles that when Turner acquired RKO's library (and thus Citizen Kane), Orson Welles said, "tell Turner to keep his damn crayons off my movie!" Considering Welles died the previous year, however, it seems unlikely. In any case, Welles' contract for Kane, which allowed him (and his heirs) complete creative control over the film, kept Turner's crayons at bay.
Soon a torrent of film guilds and organizations chimed in, including the Writers Guild of America, the Screen Actors Guild, the American Society of Cinematographers, and the American Film Institute. Both SAG and AFI shared a common spokesman in their fight against colorization, a sympathetic, plain-spoken star whose most famous film had been directly impacted by colorization: James Stewart.
Mr. Smith (And Friends) Go to Washington
James Stewart was just the spokesman the anti-colorization coalition needed. Though name recognition of the movement had increased when people like Woody Allen and Frank Capra stepped into the fold, Stewart brought star power and a sympathetic voice to the discussion. Film buffs had heard of Stanley Kubrick; everyone had heard of Jimmy Stewart.
Stewart first jumped into the mix in October, when he joined the AFI at their anti-colorization press conference. He said of It's a Wonderful Life, "I feel the things that are lacking in the color version are detrimental to the story and the whole atmosphere."
The next step Stewart took was to write an editorial in Screen Actor, SAG's member magazine. Stewart used stronger language than at the AFI presser, leaving no question of which side he was on:
Colorizing is wrong. It's morally and artistically wrong and these profiteers should leave our film history alone. For 50 years or so, I've made my living as a screen actor in 80 films - one half of them in black and white. I pray that they'll stay that way.
Stewart used every strategy in the book to make his case, alternating between the anger seen above and the aw-shucks modesty he was famous for, as when he wrote, "some people call [It's A Wonderful Life] a 'perennial' or a 'classic' - and that's all right by me."
The actor's final sly move seemed aimed more at Washington than the readers of Screen Actor. He invoked "a certain actor friend" named Ronald Reagan, quoting Reagan's favorite saying: "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." The phrase itself was pertinent, but it also served to remind actors and politicians alike that the president himself was in danger of being colorized.
Invoking Reagan to appeal to politicians was certainly no accident. By mid-1987, the colorization debate had grown so large that it had moved to the halls of Washington.
In May, Congressman Richard Gephardt introduced a bill called the Film Integrity Act of 1987. The bill, which Gephardt introduced with Woody Allen at his side, was a direct response to the colorization debate, but its language expanded beyond colorization, promising "directors and screen-writers the final say on 'distortions or alterations' in their works, no matter who owns the exhibition rights to the movie." Allen, the first of many filmmakers who would be lobbying for various bills in the coming months, was typically sardonic, saying "This is an issue so morally important, I had to leave my apartment."
The Gephardt bill was idealistic, but not very practical. It had been introduced more to give Gephardt, who was running for president, some of his own star power rather than with any hope of passing. To make matters worse, the Copyright Office had recently decided that colorized films were an "original work of authorship," and thus eligible for copyright.
Whatever the Gephardt bill's failings, it brought to the fore the issue of artists' moral rights. Compared to other countries, the United States had been extremely hesitant to issue any laws regarding the rights of artists. Most other first-world countries, in comparison, were party to the Berne Convention, an international copyright agreement that also extended moral rights to artists. Soon, inspired by the colorization debate, filmmakers like Steven Spielberg and George Lucas were lobbying congress to join the Berne Convention.
The colorization and moral rights debates were now running side by side, one buoyed by the other. For his part, James Stewart attacked on both fronts. In June of 1988, Stewart went to Washington to lobby for an amendment by Congressman Robert Myazek.
Myazek's amendment, co-sponsored by Sidney Yates of Illinois, was a counter to the Gephardt bill, providing some protections for films and their creators, but on a much smaller scale. In other words, it had a shot at passing.
Stewart's visit to congress added a burst of celebrity to the debate, prompting every paper on the hill to write a headline punning on Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. Tourists went wild, and even the representatives Stewart was working with could not resist a bit of fawning. Senator Simpson of Wyoming wrote Stewart a letter, asking for an autograph and stating, in part, "You are a very special person who has a unique aura of authenticity and innate kindness and love of your fellow humans... Suffice it to say that you have been a hero of mine for many years."
Suffice it to say, Stewart's presence had an effect on congress.
Frank Capra wanted to come along, but was in very poor health. Instead, he gave Stewart a letter to bring with him. Capra had written the letter to the Library of Congress a few years prior as it was debating whether to extend copyright to colorized versions. Though it had not been effective then, the letter still had plenty of bite. Capra compared It's a Wonderful Life to the Lincoln Memorial, asking if the Library of Congress would grant a new copyright to that piece of art if someone "smeared it with paint." Capra also admitted bitterly that Hal Roach Studios had "lured [him] into a big money scam."
Stewart also concerned himself with the Berne Convention debate, appealing directly to an old friend - the President of the United States. Stewart wrote to Reagan in April of 1988: "At the present time, among the major powers, only the USSR, China, and the United States have not signed. One of the main reasons is article 6bis of the Treaty."
The article 6bis to which Stewart referred was the moral rights clause of the Berne Convention, which stated that "the author shall have the right to claim authorship of the work and to object to any distortion, mutilation or other modification." In other words, the very moral rights filmmakers were fighting for. Stewart framed it for his old friend within colorization: "If there were such a law, Frank Capra would have objected, legally, to the colorization of It's a Wonderful Life."
Stewart had spent over a year making his impassioned plea for anti-colorization and moral rights legislation. Now it was up to the government to decide.
(Anti)Climax
After years of controversy, bitter back-and-forth, the addition of the moral rights angle, and appeals that went as far as the highest office in the land, what happened? What great intellectual and legislative decisions were reached? In the end, anticlimax won the day. In Washington, the rules eventually settled on were odd half-measures which did not particularly satisfy either side.
100 years after its creation, the United States finally became a part of the Berne Convention in October of 1988, when Stewart's old friend Reagan signed the legislation. However, the bill included an explicit statement that the United States would not be bound under certain parts of the treaty - including 6bis, the moral rights clause. "This Congressional action, without inclusion of moral rights protection," wrote Elliot Silverstein of the DGA, "is a travesty."
The so-called Mrazek-Yates amendment, which was created specifically to combat colorization, also passed in late 1988 despite Reagan's reservations - the former actor had written Stewart in July, warning that he might veto the bill to which the Mrazek-Yates amendment was attached. As he explained to Stewart, he feared "another one of those Federal regulatory agencies that end up causing more problems than they solve."
Nevertheless, the president ended up signing the bill in September, thus creating the National Film Preservation Board. The board's main purpose was to select 25 "culturally, historically or aesthetically significant" films per year, prints of which would stored in the Library of Congress. Were anyone to colorize these films, the videocassette would require a label stating that the film had been altered from its original black and white state.
This was the result of five long years of work against colorization: a warning label.
Aftermath
Obviously, not everyone was satisfied with this result. Even Robert Mrazek, the original author of the National Film Preservation Act, admitted to James Stewart that the resulting law was much narrower than he had intended. Mrazek, along with Stewart and other members of congress, continued to push for more colorization and moral rights legislation over the next few years. A report by the Copyright Office released in 1989 recommended uniform moral rights law in the vein of 6bis, but this report was never acted upon. The outrage had largely petered out. And by the early 90s, so had the practice of colorization.
In the end, something much more fundamental than government regulation or enraged filmmakers killed colorization: it was the economy, stupid.
Ultimately, colorization simply was not worth the financial investment. By the end of 1988, Color Systems Technology was broke, posting a $2.3 million dollar loss for the year and missing debt payments. In March, CEO Buddy Young admitted CST had "not been economically viable to date" and was "unsure" when Color Systems would ever be profitable. Colorization Inc. fared no better.
Certainly the efforts of Jimmy Stewart and his fellow filmmakers had some effect on public perception of colorization and film preservation. Ted Turner, colorization's main proponent and financier, created a cable channel in 1994 specifically devoted to showing films in their original format - "uninterrupted, uncolorized, and commercial free!" This channel, Turner Classic Movies, is still in existence 15 years later. Leaving films as they are has proven far more economically viable than colorizing them.
The public has also become much more aware of changes to a film for home release - companies like the Criterion Collection have been successful in offering films (first on Laserdisc, then DVD, now Blu-ray) in quality as close to the theatrical experience as possible, and widescreen DVDs routinely outsell their pan-and-scan counterparts.
But DVD has also raised new issues. Some recent DVD releases of Laurel and Hardy and Three Stooges films have been released with colorized versions. Because DVD allows multiple video tracks, one can simply switch back-and-forth on the fly between the original and colorized films. This opens a whole new can of worms no one had considered in the videotape age: is colorization okay if the original is also provided?
The real legacy of the colorization debate is its larger context within the moral rights issue. The process of colorization itself was a fad, but artists constantly face defacement and profiteering of their works. Unfortunately, 20 years later, not much progress has been made on this front in the United States. To borrow a phrase of home-spun wisdom Jimmy Stewart used in the colorization debate, moral rights law is still broke, and it needs fixin'.
Works Cited
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Capra, Frank. Letter to Dorothy Shrader, Registrar of Copyrights, Library of Congress. December 13, 1984. James Stewart Collection. L. Tom Perry Special Collections Library. Harold B. Lee Library, Brigham Young University, Provo, Utah.
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Silverstein, Elliot. Letter to DGA members. James Stewart Collection. L. Tom Perry Special Collections Library. Harold B. Lee Library, Brigham Young University, Provo, Utah.
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Slide, Anthony. "Colorization." Nitrate Won't Wait: A History of Film Preservation in the United States. Jefferson: McFarland and Co., 1992.
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