Should you possess the necessary cones and rods, the scene becomes etched upon your retina: Dorothy Gale stirs after receiving a painful blow to the head, pushes open the entrance of her dull sepia-toned cottage, and steps into a vibrant world brimming with striking primary hues — sparkling ruby slippers, sun-yellow pathways, and lush emerald metropolises.
We're not just out of Kansas; we've left typical Hollywood behind too, particularly since fewer than 15 major movies used color that year. Entering Oz didn’t reveal cinema’s splashy hues – others showcased vibrant palettes as well that year. After all, 1939 also witnessed the debut of several colorful releases. Gone With the Wind , where the painterly strokes of glistening golden-hour tones made Oz appear overly extravagant. But The Wizard of Oz created the sharpest distinction between two potential cinematic realms: a bleak black-and-white landscape reflective of the Great Depression and what was often referred to as (as though it were nearly a registered brand) Glorious Technicolor.
The news of Technicolor's fall in recent weeks is the latest melancholy death notice for a venerable Hollywood logo, this one part of the language. In 1965, when twenty-two of Hollywood's twenty-five all-time box office hits were shot in Technicolor, the word entered Webster's Dictionary, albeit with a small "t," a diminution that, if repeated in a newspaper, would be corrected by a copyright lawyer.
Hollywood has consistently maintained correct spellings. During its golden era, Technicolor received prominent acknowledgment during the opening credits, frequently highlighted through dedicated title cards, and showcased vividly in promotional materials like posters and lobby displays using striking red-blue-yellow typography. By 1941, weary from incessant hype surrounding movies filmed “In Glorious Technicolor,” screenwriter and director Preston Sturges attempted to persuade Paramount to introduce Sullivan's Travels (1941) featuring a title card that says "In Stunning Monochrome." However, the studio rejected this concept.
Since the creation of the earliest Daguerreotypes, full-spectrum color has been a cherished ambition for photographers, and filmmakers shared this desire to produce movies that captured life’s vibrant hues authentically. Early silent films attempted this through techniques like tinting—immersing negatives in colored dyes—or painstakingly hand-stenciling each frame individually—but these methods fell short compared to capturing colors directly during filming onto cellulose film stocks. In 1911, pioneering filmmaker John J. Murdock committed six million dollars towards Kinemacolor—a venture employing both red and green filters in cameras and projectors. However, their method suffered from significant issues such as fringing, leading to overlapping images where an object could appear alternately in different colors; for instance, making a horse's tail look initially green before shifting to red.
The pioneering and commercially successful technology known as Technicolor was developed by Herbert T. Kalmus, an accomplished chemical engineer educated at MIT and the University of Zurich. In 1915, he established the Technicolor Motion Picture Corporation and dedicated himself with unwavering commitment akin to Thomas Edison’s approach to advancing color photography. The initial version of Technicolor ("a double-coated relief image using dyes") made its debut in the controversial drama. The Cost at Sea In 1922, this film was produced by Joseph and Nicholas Schenck, directed by Chester Franklin, and starred an eighteen-year-old Anna May Wong, whose complexions did not fit into either category of black or white. As noted, "the silks and the kimonos registered perfectly." Billboard ". None of the problematic elements present in the production of other colored movies are evident here. You won’t see any harsh edges [or] flickering bursts of red." In addition, some short scenes include The Phantom of the Opera (1925) and Ben-Hur (1926), Douglas Fairbanks' unexpectedly named The Black Pirate (1926) elevated the prominence of the Technicolor brand. Neither Kalmus nor Fairbanks could envision piracy without color.
While Kalmus raced to market Technicolor, he kept experimenting with various filming and development methods, steadily enhancing color accuracy and dye transfer processes. By 1926, along with his team—many of whom were recognized by Technicolor historians for their critical contributions—he invented a specialized Technicolor camera featuring a prism that divided red and green wavelengths onto one strip of monochrome film. During post-production at the Technicolor lab, they utilized what Kalmus referred to as a “two-component subtractive inhibition technique,” whereby the colored dyes were essentially soaked into the material to produce negatives capable of being printed. This method leveraged significant advancements attributed largely to skilled researchers under Kalmus’s employ.
The dual-color Technicolor technique was once highly popular. According to Kalmus, Technicolor cameras worked around the clock, resulting in approximately 40 short films and feature-length movies being created during the height of this color craze, which included King of Jazz (1929), featuring cultural appropriator Paul Whiteman; Whoopee! In 1930, featuring the banjo-eyed comedian Eddie Cantor; and from Warner Bros.', Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933). However, graininess and excessive brightness diminished its popularity. Movie viewers commented, "It strains the eyes."
The significant advancement occurred in 1932 when J. Arthur Ball, who was both the vice president and technical director at Technicolor, introduced the three-strip Technicolor process. This technique is often regarded as the quintessential form of Technicolor. To avoid getting overly complex (though it’s quite intricate anyway), this particular method involved exposing three separate negatives within one camera using a single lens; these negatives captured green, red, and blue hues after being separated via a prism splitting the incoming light. Later, during processing, similar to how colors are added through lithography, the three distinct color layers—cyan, magenta, and yellow—were individually printed onto the same film strip utilizing the imbibition procedure, commonly referred to simply as IB Technicolor. Through all of this innovation, Technicolor achieved its pinnacle setup—a comprehensive system spanning everything from shooting footage to producing final movie reels—"an entire suite encompassing every aspect from capturing images to delivering finished products," according to enthusiasts.
After Technicolor became refined, the challenge lay in persuading Hollywood to take a chance on this highly precise yet pricey method (costing three to four times as much as standard black-and-white). The hurdles included leasing Kalmus’s Technicolor cameras (priced at $30,000 each and weighing around 750 pounds) and utilizing his specialized laboratories for processing.
The visionary Walt Disney was Kalmus's initial major client. In 1932, Disney entered into an agreement to create the following year's lineup of animations. Silly Symphonies Cartoons in Technicolor, which proved successful early on with a special Academy Award for the seven-minute segment. Flowers and Trees (1932). "She was easy on the eyes," he mentioned. Variety "Perhaps the color experts could clarify why that is." Nevertheless, the Disney cartoon that established Technicolor as the preferred format for animations was the hit during the Great Depression era. The Three Little Pigs In 1933, the Big Bad Wolf blows so hard he turns blue. The following year, John Hay ("Jock") Whitney, who led Pioneer Pictures, managed to outdo Disney by producing the first live-action musical short in Technicolor. La Cucaracha (1934), which "drenched the screen with rich and vibrant color combinations never seen before!"
Certainly, the live-action feature film was the true market to conquer. Once more, Whitney took the initial risk with this endeavor. Becky Sharp In 1935, the romantic narrative titled "A Late Napoleonic Courtesan" was brought to life under the direction of Rouben Mamoulian. He showcased his innovative skills with a series of vivid watercolor-like scenes during an elaborate ballroom segment just before the Battle of Waterloo—a dazzling display featuring women twirling in hues of blue, green, and yellow dresses alongside men adorned in vibrant scarlet uniforms. The captivated audience spontaneously erupted into cheers. According to Mamoulian, “Until now, filmmaking had been akin to an artist permitted to work solely with pencils.” However, he continued, "With Technicolor, we have gained access to paints." This visual spectacle left viewers spellbound. Becky Sharp , the review by the New York Post heard "the death knell for black and white photographs."
The obituary was premature, but Technicolor made steady progress in the next few years, mainly in genres trafficking in escapism - musicals, costume dramas, travelogues and animation. Walter Wanger's Vogues of 1938 (1937) garnered more praise for the vibrant fashion shows than for the dull musical segments. The Goldwyn Follies In 1938, the film was so successful that an enthusiastic Sam Goldwyn announced all his future movies would be made in Technicolor. However, he later went back on this promise. The Chronicles of Robin Hood (1938) Not even Technicolor could draw as much attention as Errol Flynn in tight clothing, yet audiences were encouraged to admire at least 1182 figures adorned with flowing capes, ornate vestments, and a variety of satiny hues.
The publicity for Disney's Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs In 1937, the initial full-length Technicolor animated film highlighted that the animation process utilized "marvelous multiplane Technicolor." This technique involved positioning the camera so it could shoot downwards through several layers of transparent drawings placed horizontally below the lens, thereby creating an impression of depth.
If Herbert Kalmus was the scientific mind driving Technicolor forward, his wife Natalie held the role of guiding its artistic standards. Serving as the head of the Color Advisory Service at Technicolor, she established strict guidelines for using colors appropriately. Though their marriage began in 1902 and ended formally with a divorce in 1921, both remained partners professionally and personally. Instead of claiming shared assets, Natalie opted to maintain her professional involvement; thus, she brought expertise regarding cameras, film stocks, and laboratories. “As effortlessly as a film executive might break a grammatical rule,” one could say about her command over color theory, joked The New York Times In 1939, praising her as the "ringmaster of the rainbow" and "caretaker of three Technicolor studios."
According to reports, Mrs. Kalmus possessed a commanding presence and held steadfast views, traits that failed to win over art directors, set designers, and filmmakers. She staunchly followed her comprehensive principles known as the "laws of emphasis" and "color separation," ensuring that color would amplify a film’s emotional atmosphere without becoming overly conspicuous. Kalmus created an infamous chart linking particular hues to feelings. For instance, scarlet symbolized allure, blue stood for tranquility, unity, and domesticity, whereas green acted both calming and invigorating effects based on individual perception. Photoplay disseminated these chromatic guidelines allowing sales clerks and homemakers—much like celebrities—to achieve “appropriate color harmonies” aiding them towards personal triumphs and contentment.
In the golden age of Hollywood’s star system, one cardinal rule stood out: the color palette within scenes needed to harmonize with the appearance of the leading lady—her hair, eye color, skin tone, and wardrobe. Similar to how actors adjusted when silent movies gave way to talkies, certain stars shone brighter than others once Technicolor came into play. For instance, Maureen O’Hara’s vivid crimson locks paired beautifully with her emerald-green irises, making them ideal subjects for vibrant three-strip cinematography. Similarly celebrated was fellow ginger-haired icon Rita Hayworth; dubbed “nature’s gift to Technicolor,” she wasn’t to be mistaken for blonde beauty Joan Bennett—who earned acclaim as “God’s gift to the Technicolor camera”—or lush-lashed brunette Yvonne De Carlo, known affectionately as “the top pick among all women in Technicolor.” Conversely, even though Joan Crawford shared a similar tawny mane, she didn’t capture well under the technicolored lights; rather, she thrived more subtly in monochrome imagery.
Unsurprisingly, the veteran Hollywood directors — who were all considered traditionalists — disliked Kalmus’s domineering oversight. While filming on location, this tension persisted. Gold Is Where You Locate It In 1938, the temperamental Hungarian transplant Michael Curtiz shouted, "Mrs. Kalmus, stop pointing your gun at my damn film!"
As filmmakers grew more assured of their visual style in Technicolor, they began to resist the guidelines set forth by the Kalmus team. The experienced cinematographer Stanley Cortez remembered, “Technicolor demanded lighting everywhere, beneath tables, goodness only knows where else.” Both producer David O. Selznick and costume designer Walter Plunkett disagreed with Kalmus’s recommendations regarding costumes. Gone With the Wind It was far too dull, so they bypassed her and approached Herbert instead to achieve the desired outcomes in the laboratory. Despite Kalmus's recommendation to scale back, Vincente Minnelli chose not to. Find Me in St. Louis In 1944, the outcomes were remarkably impressive. Film critic James Agee raved, "Never have Technicolor hues been employed so lovingly as in capturing the deep mahogany tones, delicate muslin textures, and gentle gaslight glows characteristic of the era."
Even World War II couldn’t halt the annual increase in Technicolor film productions; 50 were planned for 1944-1945. Despite our memories of wartime being primarily associated with newsreels in black and white, Technicolor was employed to honor American soldiers, suggesting that this prestigious format wasn’t solely meant for Hollywood’s entertainment. The military produced their own battle documentaries like "A At the Front in North Africa with the U.S. Army (1942), The Battle of Midway (1942), Alongside the Marines at Tarawa (1944), and To the Beaches of Iwo Jima (1945) everything was captured using the complete 35mm Technicolor process right at the battle site. (The Pacific Theater had greater access to color footage compared to the European Theater since the color film stock could be kept cool aboard ships.)
Far and away, the most popular among the Technicolor war movies was William Wyler's. The Memphis Belle In 1944, the narrative revolves around a B-17 bomber during its 25th mission over Nazi Germany. Filmed utilizing handheld Cine-Kodak cameras equipped with 16mm Kodachrome film, the footage was subsequently blown up to 35mm and developed at the Technicolor laboratory in Hollywood. A total of fifty prints were produced for this presentation known as “the Technicolor saga of our air heroes.” As explained, "if the clarity of the colors seems inferior compared to regular Technicolor productions, it can be attributed to the fact that the cameramen could never properly position themselves amidst the rapid and intense actions unfolding before their eyes." The Hollywood Reporter .
Kalmus's tenure as the leading figure of Technicolor came to an end in 1950 due to her unconventional association with Herbert turning into a legal issue. This dispute reached the Supreme Court, which decided in 1952 that she should not have equal partnership status within Technicolor.
Once Natalie Kalmus was gone, technicolored scenes shed their reservations. During the 1950s, alongside grandiose widescreens and expansive crowds, vibrant hues were wielded to draw audiences away from the modest black-and-white rectangle at home. This strategy was humorously lampooned in Cole Porter’s song for MGM’s musical. Silk Stockings (1957), "Stunning Technicolor, Impressive Cinemascope, and Stereophonic Sound," a piece that was only two-thirds self-referential as it was filmed inMetrocolor.
Metrocolor – which you can also refer to as Warnercolor – was among several competing color systems developed during the 1950s to challenge Technicolor’s dominance. These alternatives often stemmed from Eastmancolor, launched by Kodak in 1950. More affordable and user-friendly, Eastmancolor utilized a single-strip film containing three layers of light-sensitive emulsion. Alongside cheaper yet potentially less stable dye options employed by alternative processing facilities, these innovative color techniques gradually superseded earlier methods.
The final American movie produced using the traditional Technicolor process was from Universal International's production. Foxfire In 1955, this film featured the striking Jane Russell with her raven-black hair alongside the distinguished-looking Jeff Chandler with his silvery locks. The movie signified the conclusion of the three-strip Technicolor period; however, this detail was overlooked in both critiques and promotional materials.
As usual, Kalmus introduced a new process to rival Eastmancolor. He asserted in a company history write-up, “The introduction of this enhanced Technicolor process marks a significant milestone rather than serving as the endpoint.” The Hollywood Reporter In 1955, for Technicolor’s fortieth anniversary, he introduced a new Technicolor camera that utilized a single negative. However, the imbibition process continued to be used for producing impressive prints.
However, Eastmancolor represented the technology of tomorrow. For Technicolor, this marked a gradual decline. The label "Color by Technicolor" or "Prints by Technicolor," which appeared on subsequent films, did not always indicate their comprehensive end-to-end color processing from filming through printing; rather, it signified only their laboratory services. By the 1970s, after being overshadowed by more cost-effective options, Technicolor closed its laboratories in Hollywood, Rome, and London. Eventually, when the facility in London auctioned off its machinery to China, Variety couldn't help but respond to the headline: "Technicolor Offloads Facility to Red Chinese."
Following a two-decade break, the initial Technicolor dye transfer technique was reinstated and enhanced. Batman and Robin (1997), and later utilized in a few additional movies like Godzilla (1998), Toy Story 2 (1999), and Pearl Harbor In 2001, the short-lived revival came to an end as Thomson Multimedia took over the company and shut down operations.
By this time, digital technologies had replaced not only the imbibition process but also celluloid. "[The Technicolor] technology is essentially obsolete," regrets James Layton, an archivist at the George Eastman House and co-author, along with David Pierce, of the book mentioned earlier. The Emergence of Technicolor: 1915-1935 Published in 2015, this source compares every Technicolor print to an individual masterpiece displayed in a museum. Once these prints vanish, they can never be replicated.
Still, Technicolor managed to achieve a kind of posthumous payback. Prints made using vintageTechnicolor techniques continue to display vibrant colors and sharp color separation. Conversely, olderEastmancolor from around 1950-1975 tends to fade into dull shades of pink. DirectorMartin Scorsese recounted his experience viewing an Eastmancolor retrospective in 1980 with dread. He described it as "a nightmare" and repeated emphatically, “it was absolutely horrifying.”
Today, an entire generation of movie enthusiasts might never have witnessed a 35mm Technicolor print projecting through the gates of a projector; thus, the poignant dedication filmmaker historian Fred E. Basten includes in his essential work. Stunning Technicolor: The Cinematic Magic of the Rainbow Published in 1980: For “future generations of film enthusiasts [who] may likely never experience that magnificent color on cinema screens.” To witness the splendor of what once was Technicolor requires seeking out special screenings at revival houses or museums equipped with both the resources and awareness to present such retrospectives. As an illustration, in 2024, the Vista Theater in Los Angeles organized a month-long showcase featuring films originally shot in I.B. Technicolor, sourced directly from Quentin Tarantino’s private collection.
A specific group within the movie-watching audience—a segment comprising approximately 8% of men and 1% of women—has an additional incentive to watch movies in color: those who are colorblind say they can perceive shades of color in Technicolor films that elude them in their everyday lives. Believe me on this point.
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