I have a reputation when it comes to photography. It’s not a good reputation, but it’s a reputation nonetheless. Despite advances in personal camera technology (see: the iPhone), for whatever reason, I have just never been able to take pictures that those around me deem satisfactory. Etched in my memory is still the recurring moment of dread when an unlucky family plucks me from the street around graduation season to take their photo, hoping to document a special day; '“it’s good, thanks”, they will invariably say, masking horrified expressions before scurrying off to find someone who is able to more accurately focus the little squares around their heads. Between 2016 and 2018, I was forbidden from taking portraits of my mother and/or sister. My brothers, in fact, even made up a song about my terrible photographic tendencies.. I’m not at liberty to share its details, but what I can divulge is that it’s set to the tune of Sister Sledge’s ‘He’s the Greatest Dancer’.
Despite this track record and overwhelmingly negative reinforcement from friends and family, I remain undeterred in my personal photography journey. And, after all, where’s the nuance in digital photography? One could argue that it’s probably more impressive to be able to take photos as poor as mine in the face of automated excellence. As such, I’ve decided to try my hand at film photography. Armed with a borrowed 1982 Minolta X7 and two rolls of film, one color and one black and white, I set out to fulfill my analog destiny.
I got a crash course from my friend Antoine, who runs a beautiful film photography zine and website. A purist’s purist who once took my portrait with a massive wind-up camera from 1956, he had to give it to me straight: “this camera is kind of shit, man”. But it was worth a try, and I couldn’t know any better given my absolute beginner status. I tried to follow along with his instructions, but ended up spacing out on some crucial info (one must wind the camera in order to take another photograph); I would go on to fill in the gaps through experience. Not before, however, lugging the clunky camera to Japan and coming out with exactly 1 blurry picture.
Back in Saigon, though, I took a few days to reacquaint myself with the rig and get to shooting. I hit the most photogenic spots I know: Chinatown in district 5, the canal bisecting Phu Nhuan and Tan Dinh, the alley I live in viewed from above. During this time, it remained unclear if any of these photos were being taken at all. When my first 35 shots had been taken and I was walking up to the darkroom, I tried to think up a monologue about how I was into some challenging, avant-garde stuff in order to avoid embarrassment.
When I got the photos back, my predicted results were, for the most part, true. Yes, the majority were blurry and streaked with light. Regardless, I think I can get into this whole film thing. Even if my photos remain bad, the exercise at large may just may make me take a step back and apply some patience to iPhone photography. Some of the distortion, too, actually does well to portray the hectic, anything-goes nature of the streets I was attempting to capture. See some results below:
Keeping things moving, Tân Định
A rainy afternoon at Lao Hac Quan, District 3
My trusted motorbike, designed specifically for 15 years olds (and me)
Whatever works
Early evening from my apartment in an alley off Hai Ba Trung, District 3