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On Wednesday morning, the Library of Congress revealed its newest selections for permanent preservation in the National Film Registry. As always, the films chosen reflect a wide range of genres and time periods. The 2018 class of the National Film Registry includes titles such as Cinderella (1950), My Fair Lady (1964), Jurassic Park (1993), The Shining (1980), Smoke Signals (1998), and the animated short Hair Piece: A Film for Nappy-Headed People (1984), created by Ayoka Chenzira, one of the pioneering black female animators.
Founded in 1988, the National Film Preservation Act mandates the selection of American films that are deemed to be “culturally, historically, or aesthetically” important. Each year, up to 25 films are chosen, provided they are at least 10 years old. The National Film Preservation Board is composed of representatives from a variety of industry groups, including the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, the Directors Guild of America, and the National Society of Film Critics. With this year’s selections, there are now 750 films in the registry.
Being chosen for the registry is a prestigious honor, but what does it really mean? How does the Library of Congress, the U.S. government's designated storage facility for documents and media, go about preserving films?
Steve Leggett, the program coordinator for the National Film Preservation Board, explains that the selection process requires the Library of Congress to obtain the best possible copy of the film in its original format and store it at the National Audio-Visual Conservation Center in Culpeper, Virginia. This ensures that future generations will have access to the film.
For mainstream Hollywood films, the process is generally straightforward. "We simply ask the studio to donate a copy," Leggett shared with Mytour in 2015. Sometimes, this step is unnecessary. The Library of Congress holds over 1 million films, many of which were sent by studios or filmmakers for copyright registration. When the original Star Wars was chosen in 1989, Leggett noted that congressional librarians simply checked the 35 millimeter print sent with Lucasfilm’s copyright application. It was in good condition, so no additional steps were required.
For rarer selections like newsreels, silent films, documentaries, and early technical innovations in filmmaking, Leggett explains that the library often turns to the preservation community. Universities, private foundations, and enthusiasts who specialize in preserving old films might be contacted by the Library of Congress if they have a good copy of a National Film Registry film. In some cases, the library will trade for the film using redundant materials in its collection. At times, it will make a copy itself or pay an archivist to produce a new 35 millimeter version. The Culpeper facility stores nitrate prints, the original film stock for many early films, in special lockers due to the material’s highly volatile and flammable nature.
Silent films present a challenge because studios often released, updated, and re-released different versions of them. When a silent film is selected, Library of Congress archivists gather as many different versions of the film as possible, which can involve reaching out to several studios and archivists.
A notable challenge in 2015 was the inclusion of Symbiopsychotaxiplasm: Take One, William Greaves’s semi-documentary about his 1968 Central Park theatrical project. The film had been screened frequently over the years, earning Greaves a cult following. It was released on DVD in 2006, but the National Film Preservation Act requires that the library obtain a copy in its original format, which they did not have. Leggett mentioned that Greaves’s original 1968 cut was “lost,” but the library worked with the late filmmaker's estate to create a new 35 millimeter version that closely resembled it.
The Audio-Visual Conservation Center, nestled on a mountainside, maintains controlled storage conditions to keep the environment cool and dry. "A film could last for centuries there," Leggett notes. While he acknowledges that the center wouldn't survive a nuclear strike—meaning the world could lose its best copy of Buster Keaton’s The General in a World War III scenario—"it did survive an earthquake with all materials intact."
An earlier version of this article was published in 2015.
