Ah, the cyan coupler was a bit like the yellow one, but with some new twists. It also used a triazine ring, but this time we had to add an ethyl group and use a different positioning of the chlorine atoms.
It wasn't as straightforward as it sounds. We started with chlorophenyl and the triazine compound, but the trick was getting the ethyl group attached to the right spot. If we got the ethyl group in the wrong position, the colour didn't work out. But if we got it right, it would produce a sharp cyan, which was the whole goal.
Like with the yellow coupler, it took a lot of trial and error, adjusting the alkylation process, playing around with temperatures, solvents, and times. We also had to be super careful with the chlorination, because too much or too little would change the final product. After months of tweaks and tests, we finally got the ethylation just right, and bam, cyan. We couldn't have been happier."
Now to actually turn our lovely, precious cellulose acetate film into colour film. The sheer amount of failures we are going to get is making my heart bleed. Which is incredibly funny since I was sure it turned to coal years ago like all Englishmen.
We start by creating an emulsion that contains silver nitrate mixed with halide salts like potassium bromide, potassium chloride, and potassium iodide in a certain mix that we had to fine-tune specifically for each dye coupler. The specific mix of halides determines the sensitivity and the colour characteristics of the final film, along with gelatin to hold it into place and water to act as a solvent. The emulsion is what reacts upon being exposed to light. This is then coated on one side of the film, allowed to set, and then repeated again for the next two layers.
Cyan for red, yellow for blue, and magenta for green.
At this stage, the film is still in its unexposed state, but it's now light-sensitive. To expose the film Expose the film to light using a camera, and the silver halides in each emulsion will form a latent image based on the amount of light they're exposed to. The blue layer will record the blue light, the green layer will record the green light, and the red layer will record the red light.
We continue by coating on top of the now-set emulsion a developer made of phenidone and one of the dye couplers of our choosing. It doesn't really matter which order. This is then coated onto the film, converting exposed silver halide crystals into silver, setting up the dye image. Once done, distilled water is run over to stop the development and then repeated for the other two dye images. The specific mix of salts in each emulsion layer is what ensures the dye couplers attach to the right layer. That was a nightmare to perfect.
The bleach process is especially important because it removes the metallic silver that forms the negative image without damaging the dye image. Potassium dichromate and sulphuric acid are what make up the bleaching agents.
It takes about 5 minutes at 24 C. Bleaching agents require careful control since they can affect the dye layers if overexposed.
Afterward we use ammonium thiosulphate. This step fixes the image and prevents further chemical reactions. The film must be immersed for about 5 minutes.
And finally we add a mixture of citric acid, formaldehyde, and tannic acid, which stabilises the film and helps to ensure no more chemical reactions take place and makes sure the film can last years in proper storage.
Watching the vivid images we had snapped of some of the local trees, I couldn't help but smile; sure, I had cheated, but still, it took teams of people years of trial and error to do this, and with my dad, I had done it in a few months.
Now I just had to sell it.
I stood there, heart racing, watching the crowd gather around the booth. My hands were slightly sweaty, but I wiped them on my trousers, trying to calm my nerves. The World Fair was like no other place I'd ever been, with people from all corners of the globe, filled with excitement and curiosity, walking past displays of the latest inventions. It was a dream come true to be here, showing off something I had created. Something that could change the way the world saw the moving image.
After walking around several of the dozens of displays, I felt confident we would draw a crowd.
Beside me stood my father, his eyes glowing with pride, though I could see he was just as anxious as I was. He had been there for every moment of this journey, from the first experiment to the final touch. I hadn't been close to my old father, but if this is what its meant to feel like having a family, I'm glad I have them.
I could tell he was just as unsure of the future as I was, but there was a quiet confidence in the way he watched the people gather. He believed in me, even when I had doubts.
"Do you think they'll understand it?" I asked him quietly, though I already knew the answer.
He glanced at me with that familiar steady gaze. "It's good enough; I know they will. You've worked hard for this, son. Now let them see what you've built."
"What we've built." I nodded, trying to steady my breathing. My eyes turned back to the crowd, all faces eager with anticipation. There was no turning back now.
With a soft click, the machine hummed to life, and the first vivid image appeared on the large white screen. It was a waterfall, the scene so alive that for a brief moment, I almost forgot to breathe. The colours swirled before my eyes: the green of the trees surrounding the waterfall, the icy blue of the rushing water, and the bright white foam splashing below. It was breathtaking. The projector was working perfectly, displaying my invention exactly as I had hoped. I felt a rush of pride, but it was quickly replaced by an uneasy excitement. Would they be impressed? Or would they just see it as another curiosity?
I could feel my father standing beside me, his presence solid and grounding. I looked over at him and caught a glimpse of his approving smile. His eyes met mine, filled with a quiet, unspoken understanding. He knew how much this moment meant to me.
Then the image changed. Now A scene from the streets of London, the camera capturing the hustle of the city: people rushing by, buses clattering along the cobbled streets, and carriages weaving through the crowds. For ten seconds, everything was alive on that screen, full of colour; the deep reds of the buses, the greys of the buildings, the black and white of the worn stones beneath their feet. It felt as though I had captured the very pulse of the city, its soul unfolding in front of me. I glanced at the crowd, their faces filled with awe, their eyes wide.
"Look at that," my father whispered, his voice low but full of wonder. I followed his gaze, watching a man lean forward, almost as if he were trying to reach into the image. There was no sound, but I could see the movement in their faces, their expressions telling me all I needed to know.
The next scene was a train. The huge, powerful locomotive roared past the camera. It was magnificent. The steel of the train gleamed in the light, the smoke puffing out in dramatic clouds, the wheels turning at a speed I could almost hear. The colours made of steel greys, deep blacks, and the brilliant whites of the smoke, made it feel like the train was about to leap off the screen and right into the room. For a moment, I thought I could hear the whistle, the clatter of the train, the thrum of the tracks beneath it.
Then, as quickly as it began, the loop ended, and the screen went dark. A few seconds of silence, then the hum of the projector flickered back to life, ready to show the film again.
My heart was pounding in my chest as I turned to my father. He was smiling, his eyes misty with emotion. "I told you they would see it," he said softly. I wanted to say something back, but no words came. It was all in that look. The pride. The disbelief that this moment was finally here. I had done it. We had done it.
The crowd around the booth erupted into conversation, some murmuring in amazement, others shaking their heads in wonder, trying to figure out how something like this could even be possible. There was excitement in the air, but also a sort of disbelief. The average person had only known black-and-white pictures, so to see something so vivid, so real, was almost too much to take in.
As I stood there, watching the crowd watch my invention, I knew this was just the beginning. This projector, this revolutionary invention, was about to take the world of cinema to places it had never been. The future of colour film had just begun, and I was the one who had opened that door.
We stood there for a while, the two of us, quietly observing the reactions of the people around us. Over the next few weeks we showed off the device and got several enquiries from companies and wealthy individuals alike.
Eventually we came to an agreement with Illfords of London. They would license the patents for the acetate film, dye couplers, and emulsion process for a total of £24,000, combined with a 3% royalty on the black-and-white version of the film and a 4% royalty on the colour film, with the agreement lasting for nine years.
"Here you go." I said as I handed my father his half of the down payment at the table after opening the letter in which they agreed to the licensing.
My father stared at the amount of money that would be a couple of million pounds in the 21st century. "Henry, this is too much. You were the one who…"
"Dad, please. I'm keeping half of the leasing fee and the majority of the royalties. If it weren't for you risking it all and spending hundreds of hours helping me, this wouldn't have happened. Now don't make me get on my knees and beg." I replied in a joking tone.
"I'm so proud of both of you," said my mother as she kissed my forehead and then kissed my father properly, causing my sister to screech.
I turned to her and said, "So, what do you want to do?"
"I don't know," she replied as she turned back to playing with her food.
Margaret would definitely have been successful in the future, but this was not the 21st century. I'll need to think about this.
(Expect One Chapter a day Monday-Friday.)