How to fund a happier retirement

A US government plan for civil servants is the unlikely blueprint for a stakeholding pension scheme.

For a few months during 1996 new Labour flirted with Will Hutton and his ideas about "stakeholding". It soon turned out, however, that this meant becoming like Germany, and the brief affair fizzled out. Nevertheless, one token of new Labour's early affection for stakeholding remains: the government's plans for so-called "stakeholder" pensions formed part of Alistair Darling's pensions green paper, published just before Christmas.

Its proposals herald a profound shift in the balance between public and private welfare provision. Though private welfare became steadily more important under the Conservatives, its growth was relatively slow. "Free market" welfare services - financed and provided by the private sector and purchased voluntarily by individuals - grew from 25 per cent of total (public and private) welfare spending in 1979/80 to 29 per cent by 1995/96.

The green paper envisages that this gradual shift in favour of the private sector will continue. At present, it tells us, 60 per cent of pensioners' income is derived from the state and 40 per cent from private sources. But under the government's plans, by 2050 the situation will have reversed, so that private sector support for pensioners will be half as large again as state support. Whether we like it or not, the majority of us are going to have to rely more heavily on private sector pensions - or Lisas (lifetime individual savings accounts) - under the government's newest rubric.

Twenty-five years ago the then Labour government was moving in precisely the opposite direction. The postwar scheme, based on Beveridge's blueprint, had been wholly flat-rate. It provided a universal minimum income which, while sufficient for the needs of the poorest, left workers accustomed to higher standards reliant on the private sector to supplement their retirement income.

Labour's 1975 legislation was intended to rectify this dangerous over-reliance on the private sector, as it was then perceived, by extending earnings-related pensions to those parts of the population that did not have access to an occupational scheme. The new state scheme, Serps, would provide secure, defined-benefit pensions, protected from market fluctuations and the ravages of inflation. As Richard Crossman described the policy, the new scheme would transfer "the privileges of the minority into the rights of the majority".

Darling's green paper proposal to turn Serps into a flat-rate State Second Pension scheme brings policy full circle. While not explicitly stated, it is clear that the government believes the state's role should be confined to ensuring a minimum income standard. If Darling's proposals are followed through, in the future earnings-related insurance will once again be a private affair. The job of the state will be confined to ensuring everyone receives flat-rate benefits at the minimum level. People who want to retire on an income above this minimum will decide for themselves how much they want to pay into a pension and which private provider offers them the best deal. The government will be responsible for regulation, rather than provision or finance.

There is, however, a fly in the ointment. The pensions mis-selling scandal, a legacy of the Conservatives' reforms of 1986, has soured the relationship between private pension providers and the public. As is now well-known, the introduction of personal pensions led to hundreds of thousands of people being sold a new product when they would have been better off staying with their existing pension arrangements. This mis-selling mostly affected people who could have joined or stayed with an occupational scheme and who forfeited employers' contributions by choosing to opt out, a fact that commission-hungry sales staff conveniently ignored. But it also showed up the very high costs and charges attached to personal pensions, with up to a quarter of an individual's savings being lost through management and administration fees. Low and moderate earners in particular do badly, because of the high front-end, flat-rate charges that are often made. Forcing people to rely on existing personal pensions would be bad economics and worse politics.

So far there have been two general types of proposals for dealing with the problems of private pensions. The first argues that the problem is excessive regulation, which, it is claimed, drives up compliance costs and drives down the number of providers. The second suggests that the problem is not enough regulation, and that the government should go actively into the business of setting appropriate fees for pension provision.

Both of these arguments are, in serious ways, flawed. First, the argument for less regulation does not take into account the problem of what economists call "asymmetric information". That is, the providers of a product have much more information about its quality than consumers, a problem often faced in health care, for example. In such a case, consumers can either spend a substantial amount of time attempting to close the gap between what they know and what the providers know, or they can choose randomly, basing their decisions upon advertisements. This leads to a market where providers compete more on marketing than on reasonable charges, which is exactly what happened with personal pensions.

The second argument is equally flawed. The government does not have the information to determine what price is fair or reasonable for financial products, nor does it have any reason to prefer certain providers over others. Such a decision would require not only that it have comprehensive knowledge of the market as it exists today, but also of the adaptations that will occur in the future. Even if it is sold as part of a "partnership between government and business", detailed regulation of charges and providers would put the government in the untenable position of setting prices and closing out competitors. In other words, it would be back to "old Labour" command and control standards.

The government's proposals for stakeholder pensions do, to some extent, finesse the problem of whether to regulate more or less. In essence the government's idea is that only schemes meeting particular "benchmark" standards will be able to call themselves stakeholder schemes. According to the green paper these standards will include allowing individuals to transfer funds between schemes without penalty; sending out regular information about the value of pension entitlements that members have accrued; and, most importantly, ending flat-rate charges. In return the government will lighten the regulatory conditions attached to taking on new clients, relying instead on an annual administrative audit to ensure that the provider is still up to scratch.

While this is an improvement on the personal pensions regime, such a strategy is still fraught with problems. In particular there is a danger that private firms and their paid lobbyists will twist the government's ear about the impossibility of providing a product more cheaply or better. Weak consensual regulation could all too easily result, ensuring that the benchmark tests will leave most providers able to carry on their business as normal.

We think that there is a better option available, based not on theory but on existing practice in the United States: the US government's own plan for civil servants, the Thrift Savings Plan (TSP). Suitably adapted for a different purpose, it would admirably deal with all the considerations the government finds so nettlesome.

The TSP is remarkably simple in its basic structure. The US government contracts with an outside provider to set up and manage, at arm's length (and off the government's accounts) three indexed accounts, one for stocks, another for bonds, and a third for short-term government securities. All are managed passively - they do nothing more than mechanically purchase a standard basket of financial assets, such as the S&P 500 or the Lehman Brothers Long Bond Index. Overhead costs are therefore kept very low, with administrative expenses being covered by an annual deduction of approximately one-tenth of 1 per cent of members' accounts. In comparison, most personal pension providers currently charge around ten times this level.

The advantages of having a single provider, with very narrow investment choices, all managed passively, are enormous. First, a single provider can attain remarkable economies of scale, spreading basic management costs over a large contributor base. Second, narrow choices reduce transaction costs for those who either don't know or don't want to learn the ins and outs of financial products. This all but eliminates the need for outside (and expensive) financial advisers. Finally, a simple, centralised system can accommodate a wide range of contribution levels, in the TSP as low as ten dollars every two weeks.

The most important advantage, however, is that active managers cannot, on average and over any reasonable period of time, beat passive investing, for reasons that are quite obvious but usually overlooked. An index simply measures the average of what all stocks are doing. By definition, all investors collectively cannot beat an average, since taken together they are the average. Once you subtract the costs of investment research, trading and managers' payments, active managers will always under-perform the index. In fact, according to a study by Barclays Global Investors, approximately 80 per cent of active managers trail the index. They are attempting, collectively, the impossible: it should be no surprise that they usually fail, or that they fail more dramatically the harder (and more expensively) they try.

For all these reasons, the ideal stakeholder pension would incorporate all of the major components of the US government's Thrift Savings Plan. But it would be a mistake to have the government monopolise or otherwise limit providers. The better option is for the government to provide the "default option", but to allow any pension company that provides a comparable product (no front-end load, charges assessed on an annual basis, and so on) to enter the market as well. This is desirable in part for political reasons: completely shutting out the pension companies would be a huge obstacle for a centrist government. But there are principled reasons as well. Most of what our knowledge tells us is that an indexed, centrally run system will out-perform most private options. Even so, governments work better when they recognise their own fallibility, and that circumstances may change over time.

A monolithic system would tend to discourage innovation; when financial service companies have to compete to survive, though, they promote the development of new and better products. The very low charges of the state system will inevitably drive down costs in the private sector, squeezing out many low-quality providers, and forcing the rest to focus on simplicity and value for money, rather than marketing. In this way the stakeholder pensions system could act as a catalyst for a revolution in the way pensions are managed and sold.

Our Thrift Pensions proposal cuts through the Gordian knot of regulation, achieving all the government's objectives without reducing competition, but by actually expanding choice. Instead of a messy scheme that introduces unnecessary and possibly damaging cosiness between the government and the financial system, our scheme allows the government and markets each to operate within the sphere of their own competence.

In sum, the scheme is based on a tested and well-liked model which deals well with all the political and economic problems of pensions provision for the low-paid. Increasing competition through expanding choice represents the best route forward for stakeholding.

Steven M Teles is research assistant professor at Boston University and is completing a book on the politics of pensions privatisation in the US and UK. Phil Agulnik is a research student in the ESRC Centre for Analysis of Social Exclusion at the London School of Economics

This article first appeared in the 12 February 1999 issue of the New Statesman, Kick out the image-makers

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Can celluloid lovers like Christopher Nolan stop a digital-only future for film?

Despite proponents like the Dunkirk director, physical film is finding it tough in the modern age. 

“Chris Nolan is one of the few producing and directing films right now who could open that film. He is one of the all-time great filmmakers.”

No prizes for guessing which new release Vue CEO Tim Richards is talking about. Aside from its box office success, aside from its filmmaking craft, aside even from its early reception as an Oscar favourite, Dunkirk sees Nolan doing what Nolan does best: he has used his latest film to reopen the debate about celluloid.

Until relatively recently all film was projected from that old, classic medium of the film reel - a spool of celluloid run in front of a projector bulb throwing images on to a screen. It comes mainly in two forms: 35mm (standard theatrical presentations) or 70mm (larger, more detailed presentations most popular in the 60s and 70s). Fans say it provides a “warmer” colour palette, with more depth and saturation than modern digital formats.

But now it’s hard to even see movies on film to make the comparison. After George Lucas, godfather of the Star Wars franchise, shot Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones entirely in digital rather than on physical film, the rollout of digital progressed with clinical efficacy. Within ten years, film was almost wiped out, deemed to be impractical and irrelevant. Modern cinema, it was argued, could be stored in a hard drive.

Christopher Nolan set out to change all that. He championed film as a medium against the industry trend, producing (The Dark Knight, The Dark Knight Rises, Interstellar) in super-detailed, super-sized IMAX 70mm. With Dunkirk, Nolan has taken that further by screening the film in 35mm, 70mm and IMAX 70mm.

Nolan is not the medium's only poster boy – it is symbolic that the new Star Wars trilogy, 15 years on from Attack’s groundbreaking digital filming, is now being shot on film once more. This summer, Dunkirk may well be seeing the biggest rollout of a 70mm presentation in cinemas for 25 years, but in 2015 Quentin Tarantino’s The Hateful Eight saw chains and independent cinemas having to retrofit 21st Century cinemas for a 20th Century presentation style. It was a difficult process, with only a handful of screens able to show the film as Tarantino intended – but it was a start.

Today, celluloid is, ostensibly, looking healthier. A recent deal struck between Hollywood big wigs and Kodak has helped. Kodak will now supply celluloid to Twentieth Century Fox, Disney, Warner Bros., Universal, Paramount and Sony. It’s a deal which is not only helping keep Kodak afloat, but also film alive.

Kodak has also gone a step further, launching an app to help audiences find 35mm screenings in local cinemas. Called ‘Reel Film’, it endeavours to back Nolan and co in ensuring that celluloid is still a viable method of film projection in the 21st century.

Even so, whether Nolan’s film fightback has actually had any impact is unclear. Independent cinemas still screen in film, and certainly Vue and Odeon both have film projectors in some of their flagship screens, but digital dominates. Meanwhile, key creatives are pushing hard for a digital future: Peter Jackson, James Cameron and the creative teams at Marvel are all pioneering in digital fields. Whether or not film can survive after over a decade of effacement is a difficult – and surpisingly emotionally charged – question.

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Paul Vickery, Head of Programming at the Prince Charles Cinema in London, is the kind of person you might expect to talk all about how physical film is a beautiful medium, key for preserving the history of cinema. History, he tells me, is important to the Prince Charles, but it's a surprise when he saysfilm is actually more practical for their operation. Because not every film they screen has been digitised, access to old reels is essential for their business.

“If you completely remove film as an option for presentation as a cinema that shows older films,” he says, “you effectively cut 75 per cent of the films that you could possibly show out of your options, and you can only focus on those that have been digitised.”

Vickery says the debate around film and digital often neglects the practicality of film. “It's always focusing on the idea of the romance of seeing films on film, but as much as it is that, it's also to have more options, to present more films. You need to be able to show them from all formats.”

That’s a key part of what makes the Prince Charles Cinema special. Sitting in London's movie-premier hub Leicester Square, the Prince Charles is renowned for its celluloid presentations of older films and has made a successful business out of its 35mm and 70mm screenings of both classics and niche films.

“If there is the option to show film and digital, we tend to take film as the option because it's also something you can't replicate at home,” he explains. “It's also just the nature of how film is seen on screen: its image clarity, its colour palette, the sound is just something that's very different to digital, and I think that's something that's very worth saving.

“Not many people have 35mm projectors at home. If you have it on Blu-Ray or DVD, to see it on film is a way of dragging someone out from their house to come and see it at the cinema.”

Currently screening is Stanley Kubrick’s 1968 epic 2001: A Space Odyssey in 70mm. It’s an incredible presentation of what Vickery says is a seven or eight year-old print struck from the film’s original negatives: the colour of the picture is far richer, while the fine detail in some close-up shots is on par with modern movies. Even more impressive, though, is that the screening is packed. “Fifteen years ago, there would be cinemas where that would be almost on a circuit,” laments Vickery. “We've just stayed the course, and that's something that's just fallen away and we're one of the last, along with the BFI, to show films from film.

“There’s still a bit kicking around, but as we do more and more of it, we seem to be pulling out those people who are looking for that and they seem to be coming back again and again. The repertory side of our programme is more popular than ever.”

That popularity is seemingly reflected in its audiences’ passion for celluloid. Vickery tells me that the PCC’s suggestions board and social media are always filled with requests for film screenings, with specific questions about the way it’s being projected.

For Vickery, it’s a mark of pride. “It sounds like inflated ego almost,” he begins, as if providing a disclaimer, “but it's why I think the work we do and the BFI do and any cinema that shows films from film is about history. By us continuing to show film on film, studios will continue to make their film print available and keep them going out. If people stop showing films on film, they'd just get rid of them.

“Once they're all gone, they only way we're ever gonna be able to see them is if they're taking these films and digitising them, which as you imagine, is always going to be the classic set of films, and then there'll be very select ones will get picked, but it's not gonna be every film.

“You have to keep showing films from film to keep the history of cinema alive in cinemas.”

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History is something that the BFI is committed to preserving. 40 per cent of their annual programming is projected on celluloid, and they loan around 200 prints to venues each year. Their new “BFI 2022” initiative will produce 100 new film prints in the next five years.

Most recently they have focussed on safeguarding their archive, the BFI’s creative director Heather Stewart tells me when we meet her in her office in the BFI’s artsy offices just off Tottenham Court Road.

“We got money from the government to renew our storage which was a big deal because the national collection really wasn't safe,” she says  “There was work at risk because it was warm and humid and we have bought a fantastic, sub-zero state of the art storage facility in Warwickshire in our big site there and our negatives are there. So our master materials are all in there safe - all the nitrate negatives and all that. In 200 years, people will be able to come back and make materials from those, whether digitising or analogue.”

Stewart tells me that it’s important to do both: “Do we at the BFI think that audiences need to see films in the way the filmmaker intended? Yes. That's not going away - that's what we're here for. Do we want as many audiences as possible to see the film? Yes. So of course we're interested in digital.”

The restoration and printing project is attracting lots of “international interest” according to Stewart: just one example is that the BFI are looking into partnering with Warner Bros in their labs in Burbank, California.

“We're becoming the only place left that actually loans film prints around the world so that you can see the films the way they were intended,” she says. “So if you don't have any kind of renewal programme, you'll eventually just have blanked out, scratchy old prints and you can't see them."

They're getting financial support too, she says: “There are people like Christopher Nolan, Quentin Tarantino, Paul Thomas Anderson [director of Oscar-winner There Will Be Blood whose 2012 film The Master was shot and screened in 70mm], a lot of people who are very committed to film, and so there's conversations going on elsewhere and with the film foundation about bringing other investments in so we can really go for it and have a fantastic collection of great great 35mm prints for audiences to look at.”

As a fan of the film reel, Stewart is passionate about this. I put to her the common suggestion that lay audiences can’t tell the difference between screening on film, and digital. “I don't agree with that", she says. "If you sit with people and look at it, they feel something that you might not be able to articulate.

“It's the realism the film gives you - that organic thing, the light going through the film is not the same as the binary of 0s and 1s. It's a different sensation. Which isn't to say that digital is 'lesser than', but it's a different effect. People know. They feel it in their bodies, the excitement becomes more real. There's that pleasure of film, of course but I don't want to be too geeky about it.”

Yet not every film print available is in good condition. “There's a live discussion,” says Stewart. “Is it better to show a scratched 35mm print of some great film, or a really excellent digital transfer?”

There’s no neat answer.

But Stewart is certainly driven by the idea of presenting films as closely as possible to the filmmakers’ true vision. “If you're interested in the artwork,” she explains, “that's what the artwork has to look like, and digital will be an approximation of that. If you spend a lot of money, and I mean really a lot of money, it can be an excellent approximation of that. But lots of digital transfers are not great - they're cheap. They're fine, but they're never going to be like the original.”

The process of restoration doesn’t end with digitisation. Keeping film copies in order to have originals is hugely important given how quickly digital media change. Film is a constant form of storage which does not alter. As Stewart defiantly puts it, “all archives worldwide are on the same page and the plan is to continue looking after analogue, so it ain't going anywhere.”

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The BFI were kind enough put on a display of how film projection works in practice. Tina McFarling, Media Advisor, and Dominic Simmons, Head of Technical, provide a tour of two screens at BFI Southbank. Chatting in the projection room above the screen which hosted the 70mm première of Dunkirk, their passion for celluloid was on display.

Standing next to two mammoth 70mm projectors, Simmons talks through the real-terms use of film, and the technical expertise behind it. “It's a lot more labour intensive than sticking digital prints on, but it's something we want to do,” he says.

One of the projection booths at the BFI

During the visit, the team are prepping a rare 35mm screening of the documentary I Am Cuba to be shown that afternoon. Simmons says that operating a celluloid projector is a “more complex operation” than digital. Looking at the endless labyrinth of film and sprockets, it's easy to believe.

“If you're screening from film in a cinema,” he says, “then you need engineers, technicians who are capable of doing it, whereas a lot of multiplexes have deskilled their operation.”

Simmons says that, while larger chains have one engineer to oversee every screen with the actual process of running the films centralised with a centre loading playlists, the BFI has twenty-two technicians, each closely overseeing the projection of a film when on duty.

“There's so much about the different elements of the presentation that you need to know that all comes together with the sound, the lighting and the rest of it.

“When you're starting a film, it's more of a manual operation. Someone needs to be there to press the buttons at the right time, manage the sound, operate the curtains, and attach the trailers to the feature.”

Having skilled operators is all very well, but of course you need to have the equipment to operate in the first place. “We have to make sure that the equipment is kept and utilised as well as making sure the prints are available, and then the skills will follow”, he says.

Simmons says many are likening the film fight back to vinyl’s resurrection, but has a rueful smile when he talks about film being described as “hipsterish” and “boutiquey”.

He also points out that the quaint touches that make film attractive to this new, younger audience – blemishes, the occasional scratch – are a headache for projectionists. “For me,” he says, “that's quite difficult because a bad print of a film is never a good thing, but if it's a bad print of a film that can't be seen any other way...” He trails off sadly.

The threat of damage to film prints is constant, he says. “Every time you run a film print through a projector there is some element of damage done to it. You're running it over sprockets at loads of feet per second.”

He switches a nearby projector on – it’s loud, quick and, after leaning in to look more closely, it’s easy to see that it’s violent. “It's a really physical process,” Simmons continues. “The film is starting and stopping 24 times a second.”

The idea that shooting on film, for which the very raw material is in short and ever-decreasing supply, is endangered is a tragic one. “There's a finite amount,” Simmons says. “People aren't striking new prints, so if you damage a print, the damage is there forever.”

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The Prince Charles and the BFI are in a privileged position to protect endangered film stock. A friendly partnership between them, which sees the BFI lending reels to the Prince Charles, as well as benefitting from the business of London’s rabidly cinephile audience, allow them to prioritise screening on film the majority of the time. Not every cinema is so lucky.

While the historic Ultimate Picture Palace in Oxford does have a 35mm projector, owner Becky Hallsmith says that it’s mainly the digital projector in use “for all sorts of logistic reasons”.

Though Dunkirk’s push for film projection was a welcome one, it still didn’t make sense for the UPP to screen it. “Certainly we thought about it, but I felt that if you're going to see it on celluloid, you probably want to see it on 70mm, so we decided not to get it on 35mm.”

Economic factors come into effect here too – the UPP, based just out of the city centre in Cowley, vies for Oxford’s filmgoers’ love with the Phoenix Picturehouse in nearby Jericho. While they do have slightly different markets, Hallsmith was aware that the Picturehouse was already set to screen Dunkirk in 35mm, leading her to decide not to.

 “It's not like I'm saying we never do it” she clarifies. “But there are reasons I haven't this time.”

Hallsmith was also aware that not all of her projectionists are trained in screening film, saying that, by screening Dunkirk in digital, she was “taking that little headache out of the equation”.

For the UPP, practicality of this kind trumps sentiment, given the cinema’s small operation. “I'd love it if I had the time to work out what films had beautiful 35mm prints and programme accordingly,” she says, “but I just don't have the time to put that amount of thought into details of programming. We're tiny. I'm doing all sorts of different jobs around the cinema as well. The programming is by no means the least important - it's the most important part of the job - but there is a limit to how much one can do and how much research one can do.”

Despite the practical issues related to 35mm, Hallsmith is still glad to have the option available, saying that when the digital projector was installed in 2012, there was enough room for the installation to account for the 35mm one – and to revamp it.

Despite many 35mm projectors being sent to an unceremonious death in skips, some projectors that are replaced for digital successors are cannibalised for parts. Hallsmith was a beneficiary. “Most of the bits on our 35mm projector are quite new,” she explains, “because they had all this stuff that they were taking out of other cinemas, so they upgraded our 35mm for us because they had all the parts to do it with.”

But Hallsmith is grounded when I ask her if having both projectors in operation is important. “It's important for me,” she laughs. “One of my real pleasures in life is to sit at the back near the projection room and to hear the film going through the sprocket. It's one of the most magical sounds in the world and always will be for me.

“But I know that for a lot of our customers, it is neither here nor there, so I have mixed feelings about it. It's not like I think everything should be on 35mm. I love it, but I can see the practicalities.”

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It is certainly practicality that’s governing cinema chains. Cineworld, Odeon and Vue have all seen huge expansions in recent years. Vue chief Tim Richards, says celluloid is a “niche product”, but the admission is tinged with sadness.

“The problem that we had,” he says about the 70mm screenings of Dunkirk, “with the conversion to digital that happened globally, there are literally no projectors left anywhere, and it's very, very hard to get one. We managed to find a projector and then we couldn't find anybody who actually knew how to run it. There are very real practical issues with the medium.

“To reinforce that we have a new look and feel to our head office, and I really wanted to have an old analogue 35mm projector in our reception and we couldn't find one. We had thousands of these things, and we had none left. We couldn't even get one for our reception!”

Even with a working projector and a trained projectionist, Richards says the format has “very obvious issues” with mass consumption. Again on the subject of Dunkirk, this time in 35mm, he says, “One of the prints that arrived was scratched. It's something that's been in the industry for a long time. If you have a big scratch, you simply can't screen it. You've got to get another print, especially when it will run through part of the film.”

It’s something that saddens Richards, who still says that projecting on film forms part of the “philosophy” of Vue. “We’re all big supporters [of film] and we love it. We've all been in the industry for between 25 and 30 years, the whole senior team. We genuinely love what we do, we genuinely love movies.”

That said, Richards, who is a governor of the BFI, is firmly committed to refining digital, more practical for Vue’s multiplexes. “If you go down and look at what we opened up in Leicester Square, our new flagship site, it's a 100 year old building where we shoehorned in new technology so it's not perfect, but it gives you an idea of what we're doing."

The new site has two Sony Finity 4K resolution projectors working in tandem – as well as the brand new Dolby Atmos sound system. The dual projection gives the screen a brighter, deeper hue. From a digital perspective, it is bleeding edge, and the set up is being rolled out across the UK and Germany, with 44 sites and counting. Richards is, as you would expect, enamoured with the results, claiming “that screen stands up to anything in the world”. What might be more surprising are the reactions he claims that it has elicited from celluloid devotees.

“There were a lot of old hardcore film fans there who were pleasantly surprised at the quality” he says. “People think of digital as being that new, TV-at-home which has got that clinical feel to it, and they don't feel it's got that warmth and colour saturation. This [Finity presentation] has that warmth of an old 35mm or 70mm, so I don't think the future is going back.”

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For Richards and Vue, the future appears to be as bright as that 4K Sony Finity screen in Leicester Square - for celluloid, not so much. While the appetite for watching movies on film might be growing at a promising rate for indie exhibitors, the list of technical and logistical problems is still insurmountable for many smaller venues - saying nothing of the race against time to preserve easily-damaged prints.

The main concern is an ephemeral one: the preservation of the knowledge needed to run a film projection. When the BFI’s Dominic Simmons speaks about the skills of his team and the need to pass those skills on, it evokes near forgotten skills such as thatching and forging. If the BFI and the PCC have anything to say about it, those projection skills will live on, but it’s unclear how far their voices can carry in a digital multiplex age.

As for the voice of celluloid-lover-supreme Christopher Nolan, even he too is shouting down what seems to be an unstoppable march towards a convenient digital future. But in a groundswell of growing interest and passion for the film reel, it seems that a director so obsessed with playing with time in his films seems to have bought exactly that for celluloid. Time is running out on the film reel, but there might be more of it left than we thought.

This article first appeared in the 12 February 1999 issue of the New Statesman, Kick out the image-makers