We can clearly see the imperfections of each crisp image uncovered in Dawson as if they are physically in front of us. We feel though that we are in the movie theater with them.
We learn from the film that an estimated 75% of silent film has been lost over the decades, largely in part due to the flammability of nitrate film—the medium of choice during the early days of cinema. What makes the Dawson Film Find so remarkable—to the film’s director and this reviewer alike—is the preservation of this type of film. And even though most of the reels from Dawson suffered water damage and are easily recognizable by their distinct, irregular, splotchy markings, the way in which they were initially amassed and uncovered decades later makes for a unique discovery. The flickering of light from the passing of each individual, torn, high-contrast frame is paired with the spontaneously eerie, low, harmonic chords of Alex Somers’ musical score. It’s haunting. It’s visceral.
Somewhat like a silent film, Dawson City: Frozen Time is almost entirely void of dialogue, requiring us to read the exposition presented throughout the documentary. If you are trying to avoid reading captions, you will likely be challenged by this film. Beyond that limitation for some, Dawson City: Frozen Time will likely appeal to anyone who is interested in film or photography, and also those who would like to learn more about the Klondike Gold Rush.
