The Analogue Rebellion: Why a Film Lab Thrives in the Age of AI
There’s a certain poetic defiance in opening a film lab in 2017—a time when digital photography had long dominated and smartphones were busy turning everyone into amateur image-makers. Yet, in West Oakland, four photographers didn’t just open Underdog Film Lab; they doubled down on their commitment to analog in 2021 by moving into a sprawling 7,800-square-foot space. To most, this would seem like tilting at windmills. To them, it’s a declaration: humanity’s relationship with images is about to be tested like never before.
The Delusion of Going Backwards
Let’s be honest—when Underdog launched, it reeked of romantic naivety. Film was ‘dead,’ right? Rent in Oakland was (and is) astronomical. And yet, their timing might have been eerily prescient. Vince Donovan, a Bay Area photography fixture, argues that the pandemic triggered a craving for tactile creativity. People starved for connection began clawing their way back to physical processes, seeking meaning in the grain of film rather than the sterile pixels of a screen. But here’s what fascinates me: this isn’t just nostalgia. It’s a rebellion against the algorithmic curation of our lives. Every roll of film processed at Underdog is a tiny middle finger to the AI-generated imagery now flooding our feeds.
Community as the Core
Underdog’s secret sauce isn’t just their vintage European machinery or their ability to resurrect a high school darkroom. It’s their obsession with building a tribe. When customers like Carson Burns stumble into their shop, they’re not handed a transaction—they’re initiated into a cult of patience. Film forces you to slow down, to care. And that care ripples outward: local artists sell zines in the shop without Underdog taking a cut; neighbors become collaborators; even their insurance agent is a local business. This isn’t business strategy—it’s tribal warfare against the homogenization of creativity. In an era where Instagram filters flatten artistic expression into a single tap, Underdog’s community is a reminder that art thrives on friction.
The AI Paradox
Donovan’s critique of AI imagery—“it has no human meaning”—strikes a nerve. But let’s dig deeper. The resurgence of film isn’t just about aesthetics; it’s about resisting the disembodied gaze of machine learning. When Seydina Seck says film makes memories ‘tangible,’ he’s touching on something existential. A film negative is a physical artifact of a moment—imperfect, uneditable, real. AI images, by contrast, are hallucinations stitched from data. They’re the photographic equivalent of a lab-grown diamond: indistinguishable under a microscope, but spiritually vacant. Underdog’s clients aren’t just buying film; they’re purchasing a stake in the idea that art should carry the fingerprints of its creator.
The Artisan Approach to Analog
Brooks’ pride in his Reframas C-41 processor isn’t just gearhead enthusiasm. It’s a manifesto. By importing decades-old European machines and jury-rigging fixes with Copenhagen contacts, Underdog is practicing a kind of technological archaeology. They’re preserving the infrastructure of a fading world while everyone else races toward the next big thing. And here’s the twist: their business model is hyper-modern. They offer archival digital scanning, large-format printers, and studio rentals. They’re not anti-digital—they’re pro-choice. But their heart beats in the darkroom, where chemicals and paper still conspire to make magic.
A Future Rooted in the Past
Camille Braswell’s fear—that the future might become “devoid of genuine artistic creation”—is the specter haunting this entire movement. But I wonder: is analog destined to become a niche luxury, like vinyl records? Or does its tactile intimacy hold clues for a broader cultural reset? Underdog’s gamble hinges on a radical idea: that the more advanced our technology becomes, the louder we’ll crave the imperfect, the slow, and the human. Their Oakland stronghold isn’t just a lab; it’s a pressure valve against the suffocating perfection of the digital age.
As AI-generated imagery floods the market, places like Underdog will become more than relics—they’ll be battlegrounds. Every roll of film processed there isn’t just a photo. It’s a question: Do we want a world where every image is either a corporate algorithm’s dream or a machine’s mimicry of human vision? The answer, it seems, is developing one grainy frame at a time.
