The amount of feature films shot in black and white has overwhelmingly declined since the 1960s, being replaced by a quick growing ratio of those shot in color. From that moment on, monochromatic photography or any kind of technique that goes against digital development has been used for effect, or sometimes cost. Either it being originally shot in color and manipulated back to B&W, either being shot on conventional emulsion film, it has become a niche enterprise over the last decades.
Black and white filmmaking became especially sparse since the 1980s and, although quite a few superb films were made in monochrome in the 20 years that preceded the 21st century, there are entirely new approaches to this type of filmmaking that are worth analysing, having in mind the most recent advances in technology, storytelling and the minds of some of the best modern filmmakers.
What’s more important here, though, is how these new techniques have been adapted to the visual strengths of classical black and white features – and how every single one of these pictures have reminded us that B&W and occasional silent films don’t just belong in the past.
Instead, their possibilities are being more and more explored, resulting in magnificent works of art and visual wonders that any true fan of cinema can appreciate. Please note that these films are not ranked in any particular order, as all of them offer unique qualities when using B&W.
1. Tabu (Miguel Gomes, 2012)
Inspired by FW Murnau’s 1931 silent film of the same name and as an homage to classic cinema, Portuguese filmmaker Gomes explored the past and the golden era, as well as the colonial 1960s. The film uses the visual aesthetics of a Hollywood silent film, shot in black and white with early cinema’s 1.33:1 aspect ratio.
It’s divided in three parts, one being a prologue centered around a crocodile. The two main parts show present-day Pilar (Teresa Madruga), a Catholic woman who’s concerned about her elderly neighbor Aurora (Laura Soveral), who happens to be addicted to slot machines and has now spent all her money. The next section takes us to Aurora’s youth in Africa, and her love story with the adventurer Ventura (Carloto Cotta).
There is no dialogue here, leaving room for ambient sounds, musical performances and a hypnotic narration that lasts nearly an hour. How Gomes separated the parts is what really stands out visually: in the depicted present-day, the pace is slow and patient with long speeches, filled with vivid detail; the past is fast, experimental, playful even – a reference to cinema’s own changes through time.
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