From the outside, the headquarters of Vinegar Syndrome in the North End of Bridgeport, Connecticut, could easily be passed by without second thought—it would seem like just another nondescript industrial building. Inside, however, is an astonishing environment where film preservation and restoration takes place.

But not just any films. Beginning with its first release in 2012 of The Lost Films of Herschell Gordon Lewis, the company has restored and re-released cult films and long-lost gems of the grindhouse and drive-in eras from the 1960s through the 1980s. The company’s mix of horror and exploitation titles—Count Dracula’s Greatest Love, Psychic Killer, In Search of Bigfoot—may be a far cry from the more genteel classics that one associates with film restoration, but without Vinegar Syndrome these gritty and outlandish productions might disappear forever.

Vinegar Syndrome film restoration, Bridgeport Connecticut

“The exploitation genre in general is the second most amount of lost films, aside from the silent era,” says Brandon Upson, restoration artist at Vinegar Syndrome. And, indeed, the company’s name is a reminder of the fragility of film as a medium: “vinegar syndrome” refers to the rancid odor that occurs in the degradation of acetate film base.

“We’ve digitally preserved about 500 films in the past five years,” says Ryan Emerson, the company’s co-founder and director of production. “In our film archives, we have thousands of elements. And we own the rights to 300 to 400 feature films.”

Tracking down these films is no mean feat: in many cases, the original production companies and distributors went out of business decades ago, and the filmmakers may not even have prints of their works. Ralph Stevens, the company’s business development director, says that Vinegar Syndrome often scoops up films that would otherwise be thrown in the garbage dumpster.

“Labs that close down and clear out their inventory,” Stevens says. “We’ve found films in storage spaces where people are trying to get rid of stuff. We’ve also dealt with companies that foreclosed on storage spaces that have films, as well as private collectors. And films turn up in old movie theater basements, auctions, and on eBay.”

Psychos in Love film poster, courtesy of Vinegar Syndrome

The length of time it takes to digitally restore a surviving 35mm or 16mm film print or negative depends on the element, Upson says. “If we have the camera negative, we still want to take a good amount of time on it. A digital cleanup could take 40 to 80 hours of sit-down work if the negative is perfectly clean,” he says. “We’re looking for scratches and dirt that accrues on film. We have alcohol cleaners and sonic cleaners, and now, with digital tools at our disposable, that really helps in getting the dirt off.”

Vinegar Syndrome’s 50,000-square-foot facility serves multiple purposes for restoration, storage, and shipment. The internal temperature in the storage section is noticeably cooler than the rest of the building, as heat and humidity can have lethal effects on delicate film elements, and the facility is designed to aid in this process: in prior years, it served as a fur storage vault and a vegetable distribution center.

The company puts its restored works into retail channels via DVD and Blu-ray. Upcoming releases include Melvin van Peebles’ groundbreaking 1971 blaxploitation landmark Sweet Sweetback’s Baadasssss Song, the 1986 sex comedy, My Chauffeur, and the Connecticut-lensed 1987 underground horror/comedy cult favorite Psychos in Love. In June, the company opened a retail unit that sells its DVDs and Blu-rays along with movie memorabilia and vintage vinyl albums. Emerson says the store, which is open on weekends, helps to connect the company with its neighborhood and with local like-minded film buffs.“In our first weekend,” he says, “we brought people here from all over Connecticut who have not been in Bridgeport in decades.”

Ryan Emerson-co-founder, Vinegar Syndrome
Bridgeport, Connecticut
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Top image, still from Psychos in Love, courtesy of Vinegar Syndrome

The post Saving Cult Classics in Connecticut appeared first on Take Magazine.

Four years ago, artist Jane Davila looked through southern Connecticut for studio space. Lots of different spaces were available, from old warehouses to polished workrooms, but Davila eventually landed at NEST Arts Factory in Bridgeport. Today, Davila is still a resident artist at NEST, recently taking on a larger role as its managing director.

In a region with all sorts of studio spaces for rent and residence, NEST offers something unique: a community of fine artists working together. “We have a process of selecting artists to join the community,” says Davila. “We’re looking for fine artists. We don’t have as much space as we’d like to have, so we’ve made the decision to limit the residence here to fine artists as opposed to fine artists and creative businesses.”

Rick Shaefer in his NEST Arts Factory studio

NEST works to foster a very open community—literally. Though no one is forced to socialize, artists at Nest often leave their doors open, go to each other’s art openings, and go on runs to the art supplies store together. “NEST is definitely more of a community than most other art spaces,” Davila says, referencing the potential for drama when artistic types gather. “There’s a lot of interaction here between artists.”

“We have someone here who’s really good at framing, who’ll leave his door open for people who need some framing done,” she adds. “If someone needs help with social media, they’ll come and knock on my door and ask, ‘So. . .what’s the deal with this Instagram thing?’”

NEST has a wait list for artist space. Musicians, jewelers, painters, lighting designers, and cartoonists are just a few different kinds of artists with studios at NEST. Take readers may recognize a few of the artists currently residing at NEST.

Like many arts development projects in post-industrial New England, NEST was born through chance, opportunity, and a little bit of bravery. John Carnright was working for Vic Mulaire’s sock manufacturing company as a graphic designer in 1996 when, according to Davila, he asked Mulaire if he had any corners where Carnright could hang out with an easel. The answer was yes, and after Mulaire sold the sock company and kept the lease for the building, Mulaire decided to convert the old factory into studio spaces for artists.

Now in its 25th year, and with Mulaire as its executive director, Nest Arts Factory continues to hold space for fine artists in a rapidly developing region. That development, of course, can have a downside, making Bridgeport unaffordable for artists like those at NEST. “We’re all so enthusiastic about the city. It’s got so many treasures,” says Davila. “There’s just such a magical blend in this city, and we want people to appreciate it, but we also want to maintain our ability to stay here.”

NEST Arts Factory – Jane Davilia, managing director
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Photos courtesy of NEST Arts Factory

The post NESTing Together in Bridgeport appeared first on Take Magazine.