Resolution vs Sharpness: Slide 61
Slide 61 sits somewhere in the middle of a 98-slide Keynote deck presented by Panavision and Light Iron at the 2017 Camerimage Film Festival in Bydgoszcz, Poland. I’ve spent time at numerous festivals including Cannes, Sundance, and Tribeca, but comparatively speaking, the Camerimage Film Festival is without question my favorite. Among many cultural elements, what sets this festival apart from others is the quality of lectures and the atmosphere for high-end learning. Unlike spontaneous panels or even Q&A’s at other festivals, Camerimage has top-quality presentations from both the creative and technical perspectives. Since my personal mantra is always to combine these worlds together with what I call a technative approach, Camerimage is an ideal place to hear new ideas, discuss new ideas, and present new concepts.
So last November, my colleagues Dan Sasaki, Ian Vertovec, and myself presented a resolution analysis in a session at the MCK Theater, a lecture hall a short walk away from the Opera Nova where most of the films at the festival are screened. Our session was titled “The Beauty of 8K Large Format” and the 260 seat room was quickly filled to capacity while the MCK lobby played host to another hundred or so who viewed the lecture on monitors that lined the lobby walls.
Throughout our presentation were excerpts from an interview with cinematographer Peter Deming, ASC that I conducted a few days before the event. Between Peter’s powerful testimonial and our research, I felt the audience was pretty engaged by the time we got to Slide 61. In fact, Slide 61 is actually pretty simple and straight forward. You don’t have to fully understand how CMOS image capture actually works in order to make sense of what Slide 61 demonstrates. But what I found most interesting is what Slide 61 means to different people. To some, it represents justification for a decade of digital cinema passion with resolution being a familiar anchor point. For others, Slide 61 explains a lot about the tenuous relationship between the different dogmas of the RED and Arri camps. And to some, Slide 61 represents something creatives haven’t considered before, perhaps an opportunity to take a second look at how resolution has not only been misunderstood, but misrepresented. In all, Slide 61 sparked an impressive amount of conversations in a dozen different tongues. Over the course of the next few days, I found myself in countless discussions with people from all over the world about our conclusions and was told by a few, “This was one of the best presentations I’ve ever seen!” (#humbled). Others said, “That slide (61) could change a lot about digital cinema theory going forward.” A few even said, “This is the slide heard around the world.” Before we get to Slide 61, I wanted to briefly share a more personal note. This event embodies why I do what I do. Over the years I have had the honor of leading teams of talent who are willing to challenge the status quo and I always gravitate towards people who are comfortable with being uncomfortable. While all are welcome to disagree with my conclusions, I find few are willing to criticize my passion. My primary goal is to identify the boundaries of where technology and creativity intersect and learn how to leverage that area for improved creative control. While doing that, I aim to keep an open mind as to what living in this intersection teaches me over time. This technological and creative place is often a state of mind; a place where I believe the best ingredients reside for unbridled innovation. I call working in this place being technative. So here is Slide 61. Just a few colored boxes perched above a few basic numbers. This photo of myself, Dan, and Ian not only represents a crossroads in opinion, it’s also one of the most rewarding moments of my career. To get the full impact of this slide, you can watch the presentation here. 
We all understand that some things in art are binary; that is to say they are absolute (aspect ratios, framerates, focal lengths, incident light readings, etc.). But we also respect many things in art are open to interpretation. This is why conversations are so critical and why an open mind is possibly the most important tool for artists, especially in technologically-driven industries like ours. In our Camerimage presentation, we argued that resolution is not only important, it’s the core ingredient to the 3 most important mechanical components in creating images from a camera: 1. Acquisition & Exhibition (separating these concepts from one another) 2. Resolution & Sharpness (separating these concepts from one another) 3. Magnification & Perspective (understanding their relationship with 1 & 2) Every time Dan, Ian, and myself made a point, we used a chart (binary) to back up our point followed by an image (subjective) to allow for personal interpretation. Our strategy in delivering this message was to use the combination of technology and creativity together in order to allow each audience member to follow along and draw their own conclusions. So why is it that Slide 61 resonated with so many people?
The actual story of Slide 61 began a few years back when I borrowed the first prototype RED 8K VV sensor from RED President, Jarred Land. At the time, many people on our team (not withstanding the cinematography community) were concerned about what a 35 megapixel CMOS sensor would do to a face. Specifically, there was concern about the balance between sharpness, contrast, and optics based on an massive jump in motion picture pixel count and pixel density. At the time time we were doing initial tests, the climate for large format photography was beginning an upward trend (you could argue, again). Arri recently released the Alexa 65, a 20 megapixel, 54mm large format sensor. Tarantino recently directed The Hateful Eight, shot and released in Panavision Ultra 70mm. My father and I attended a special screening of Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey remastered in 4K and released on a brand new 65mm print at Arclight Cinemas. So after testing a prototype 8K Weapon, I decided to publish one of our tests and see what the reaction was. AC Phil Newman, Keenan Mock, and AP Megan Swanson helped me shoot a short portrait of my friend Erin Gales, a health coach and professional body builder. On the surface, this portrait was a safe way to gather intel about what people understood or didn’t understand about large format and high resolution. The comments on the Vimeo link still demonstrate how new the concept of large format is. It’s also pretty clear proof as to how expectation and bias significantly impacts opinion. But underneath, this test was a way to further evaluate the Primo 70 lenses using the RED’s 16bit, 35 megapixel, 46mm large format sensor and how it would (eventually) behave in the DXL camera. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the results of this test ended up being the first step in understanding the elements that would eventually make up Slide 61: perspective, magnification, resolution and contrast. These are the core elements that make a large format image trigger a different response from that of typical 35 images (it’s actually also one of the main reasons other than aspect ratio that anamorphic images trigger such a unique response). The below equilateral triangle is designed by Dan Sasaki to measure the balance between these three tenants and how they rely on each other to improve an image.
It was images from the Erin Gales test (and subsequent tests like it) that helped pave the way for Dan’s triangle. In the below frame grab you can see the physical results of a shallower depth of field and increased z-depth based on the focal length (magnification), less distortion or trapezoidal geometry (perspective), and more subtle transitions in dynamic range from shadow to highlight (resolution contrast). These exact characteristics in this exact situation are only possible possible through the combination of high resolution and a large format sensor.
Now, it is possible for these tenets to be independent from one another. For example, you can have high resolution (8K) on a smaller sensor (such as a Helium) which results in less magnification but more transitional dynamic range (due to a 3.6µ pixel pitch). Or you can have a less resolution (6K) on a larger sensor (59mm) which results in more magnification but with less transitional dynamic range (due to a 8.25µ pixel pitch).
This is probably as good a place as any to bring up a comment you may have heard before...maybe you’re even thinking of it now. In fact, if you ever want to see Ian and I get visibly frustrated, just walk up to either of us and say, “We don’t want more pixels we want better pixels!” Not only does this statement make no sense, we believe it is merely a product designed to inaccurately satisfy a significant confirmation bias. Here is how I break this phrase down: in order to understand the claim, “We don’t want more pixels we want better pixels,” we need to be able to measure it. Assuming the (barely) quantifiable term in this statement is the word “better,” we need to define what actually makes a pixel better. At Panavision and Light Iron, we believe a better pixel is one that offers a better-quality or more malleable output. We argue a better pixel is one that has more dynamic range, more flexibility, and more range of manipulation. Do you agree? A better pixel is one that is generated with a lower signal-to-noise ratio and has a greater bit depth. A better pixel produces an image that is smooth and can accurately replicate what the lens maker designed. In other words, a better pixel (or arguably the best pixel) is the one that creates a final image that can be changed any way you want with little to no compromise. Another way of understanding pixels is that a better input pixel will always produce a better output pixels. Pixels on a sensor behave like a light meter and when you run the camera, pixels are given starting input values based on the light and colors they are fed. And because pixels work in concert to generate an image as a whole, the increase in overall pixel count is the source of where manipulation, optical representation, signal to noise, bit depth, clarity, transition, contrast, and ultimately creative control begin. In other words, pixels initially work independently to register a high quality input and then work together to create an image as a whole. Therefore, a higher quality input yields a higher quality output. So if a “better” pixel is measured by the collective properties of output, it’s “better” qualifier is enhanced when more pixels work together at the source. Therefore, I believe the statement is made more accurate by saying, “We want more pixels to create better pixels.”
We discussed this concept among others when Dan Sasaki, Ian Vertovec and myself presented 90 minutes of analysis on the importance and beneficiary effects of creative control granted through high resolution. It’s important to note that our end presentation was not our objective; in other words, we were not set on proving resolution is power through our conclusions, rather our independent research concluded there is power in resolution. However, I’ve done well over a hundred presentations in my life and there was something odd about this presentation which is actually what prompted me to document this entire story:
When it was over, there were no questions.
In a standing-room-only and overflowing hallways full of attentive artists, technologists, filmmakers, and students, and even competitors, no one raised their hand. To buy some time and in an attempt to cajole even a delayed reaction, I pretended I couldn’t see the audience (even thought I could with the houselights slightly up). I lifted my hand to my brow, squinted my eyes and lied like a pro saying, “I can’t really see you with your hands up, so you’ll have to just speak up.” In the awkward silence, my first reaction on stage was fear. Who wouldn’t be scared of presenting a mountain of work to what apparently was a cemetery. There we were in a gigantic room under the banner of Panavision at one of the most a prestigious festivals presenting years of theory to the best in the world and virtually no one has anything to say. No critiques? No comments? No connections? In this giant room below the shadow of our presentation Keynote slides, my fear turned to self doubt. But through an extended moment of patience (which admittedly felt like minutes) eventually @RedSharknews made the comment, “Why has no one assembled these concepts together before? This is profound! Bravo!” The silence, however, continued. My instinct was to rationalize a motionless room and my mind quickly filled with all the mistakes, the fumbles, the imperfect slides, and misspellings that possibly contributed to accidentally murdering our audience. I then attempted to make a joke to lighten the mood, “Sooo, was it that easy??? You all just get it???” The room chuckled. Then, somewhat thankfully, one person (a competitor I have tremendous personal respect for) made a comment. That was it. We responded with a respectful disagreement and the presentation ended. At first I thought we failed to defend our conclusions. I thought my slides were too few. Then perhaps too much. We had not previously practiced the deck, so maybe the audience felt we were unprepared. But as it turns out, none of this was the case. And that’s where this experience will never leave me. Over the next few hours, days, weeks, and now even months, more and more people reach out and say this information was so profound, even revolutionary, that people simply needed time to react to it. One person explained to me the following day, “This information is so profound it cuts to the core of some of our beliefs. You challenged my believes so well that I am beginning to doubt what I thought was true. When I doubt myself instead of defend myself, my reaction is to remain silent. In that moment, I think the whole room was going though the same process.”
That made me feel a lot better and I hope at least a few of these concepts resonate with you, too.
I don’t yet know if this event was momentary thing; lightning in a bottle, or perhaps the beginning of new awakening, but what I do know is the images we are capturing in 8K are different in ways we could have never predicted when we started this journey. Leon Silverman told me once, “In the complex world of art and technology, the teacher is only one semester ahead of the student.” That’s exactly what encapsulates moments like this. And that’s exactly what personally drives me to keep exploring what’s around the next corner.
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