Decade in the Darkroom: Challenges & Triumphs in Film Processing

For a decade, I have been processing film from all over the world for all types of clients, from those that photograph births to weddings and everything in between. With somewhere between 400k and 500k rolls developed in that time, how did I get here, and what have I learned throughout these years?

During the Thanksgiving holiday in 2012, I was approached by Josh from Indie Film Lab to see if I would be interested in joining their team as a film developer. At the time, I knew nothing, if not anything, about the processing of film, how it worked, or why anyone would even want to use this presumed-dead form of photography. But, I agreed to come on board after the first of the year and would be driven to learn as much and as quickly as I could to prove my worth.

That first year and a half was the hardest test of my patience, stress management, and resolve that I had endured in a long time. Lost rolls, chemical spills, cracks in the tanks, and machine and user errors were just a few of the things that happened, all while working blind in total darkness. Essentially, it was a Murphy’s Law field day.

The Return to the Familiar

Then, we moved to our current home base about half a block down the road. Now, feeling more comfortable in my role as a processor, it was time to find help. Over the years, we had people come and go for a couple of months to a few years. Processing is not for everyone. It’s nasty, smells, and is dark.

My ninth year came around, and I needed a break to reset. The constant, subtle stress plaguing the back of my mind that if I mess up, that’s it. There is no film to scan, too correct, and more importantly, no film for the client who is entrusting us with whatever memories they wanted to be preserved in a physical form. The amount of self-accountability you have when something goes wrong must be there. Figure out what you did wrong and make absolutely sure it doesn’t happen again. Once you’ve done all that and made it through, processing film becomes easy. Even during my year off, I would still come around just to check in with my mechanical babies.

Three months into 2023, I was asked if I wanted to come back since the person who was there to replace me was leaving. Things had changed from the much-needed upgrades to the machines to new chemicals, but overall, it was like I never left. The rhythm of the clicks, ticks, and turning motors was like a song I hadn’t heard in a long time, and it was refreshing to hear. It’s good to be back.

So how exactly do you make this niche thing more than a job and an actual career? When I was a mechanic for Nissan many moons ago, a peer explained that a job is when you’re watching the clock, and a career is when you lose track of time because you enjoy it that much. There is some truth in that; unfortunately, for this particular work, time is always something you must watch. Learning how to gauge approximately how much time is left in processing from beginning to end. At the same time, having a full load going is key to managing your time outside of the darkroom by prepping the next load or occasionally helping with another department. On average, with full loads from start to finish, it can take three to three and a half hours to complete or simply two full loads in an eight-hour day. Getting three loads of color within that time is possible, but staying focused on the tasks can be challenging.

This is just a fraction of what goes through my head during the day.

It's Important Not To Cut Corners

It’s a pretty straightforward gig as long as you don’t try to cut corners in processing the film. Everything before and after processing is fine to trim for time. I spent the first two to three years of working at Indie figuring out how to make the manual labor part of processing more efficient while keeping things as accurate as possible. Creating an Excel spreadsheet was the biggest improvement to the flow. It was a matter of time over the next seven years of trying new ways to speed up the processing of loading and unloading again without losing quality and/or damaging film. At this point of the process, it reached peak performance with no current thought about making the loading and unloading film faster.

I can’t stress enough how extremely rare it is that something bad happens in processing; it just cannot be allowed to happen. Film is a high-risk, high-reward industry. Most seasoned film photographers have an understanding that at any point of the process, from loading their film, sending it off, to finally getting it processed by a lab or at home the possibility of ruining or losing the film is there. We do it anyway because we trust the process and know that the results will be superior to the instant gratification of digital.

When something does happen in processing, and the film is ruined, it's a major kick to the gut every time. You’ll go years without any hiccups, and then something happens, and you’re looking to find a reason and cause for it happening.

Even with a camera system installed in the darkroom to be sure everything is running smoothly and to have evidence of an incident, sometimes the cameras miss the moment. You’re left to watch every rack now that your trust in the machine has diminished. After analyzing and seeing no issue by the user or machine, you move on as normal. Then it happens again. What’s going on? Nothing noticeable is seen again. You look at the rack that fell to see what’s up with it and notice something off. Remove the rack from the lineup and try again. No issues. That rack was the issue, and you breathe a sigh of relief, but, now you have to explain to the client what happened and let them know this is extremely rare.

This was a recent mishap that happened under my watch, and when you pride yourself on going years, personally, without any mistakes, it's a humble reminder that you’re human. Mistakes can still happen even if they weren’t directly due to something you did.

Transparency Is Key

This brings me to the next point of this career: customer relations. It’s important to communicate between the lab and client, whether it be how you want something scanned if you didn’t like your initial scans, or any processing notes or questions. Processing as many rolls as I have, you take notice of how different film stocks will turn out when developed a certain way. You find those photographers, see the end results of their work and begin to have a better understanding of the reaction that different ways of processing can affect film so that any time a client has a question, you now know how it will react.

It’s always a good feeling when someone has a photo shoot coming up, and they have a question about what stock, how to meter, and how to process it. They trust that you have the knowledge and experience to give them an answer that’ll produce the best results for their needs. As a lab, we haven’t seen much of anything before. Nothing too weird or absurd. We’ve pretty much become desensitized to a lot of the work that comes through, though that doesn’t mean it goes unnoticed. Trust me, we see what you did there.

Stress management, self-accountability, confidence, critical thinking, and fast and accurate problem-solving are key to success in this niche career. Knowing that you were a part of the process of creating this tangible thing that depicts a precise moment in time on a chemical level.

As a film developer, you are the beginning and end of moments in time. You have to do your job as flawlessly as possible every.single.time. There are currently nine other people in the building who rely on you for work. Then you have the client and the client of that client; it photos from a party with friends, graduation, your newborn's first photos, the last moments spent with a family member, and so on. It’s a daily mental check game in the dark. I have quite a bit of gray these days. Maybe it’s from the chemicals, maybe the stress, or maybe just wisdom creeping in (maybe).

I take great pride in the work I do and continue to do. I own my mishaps, correct the errors, and move forward; there’s no room for a fragile or easily bruised ego; in fact, there’s no room to be egotistical in a dark room.