The telling of how the Kluk Award was first conceived

By the late Honorary Member Henning Kristiansen DFF

The ”Kluk”-award is a travelgrant which has been awarded at the DFF annual christmas-party since 1992. At the time there wasn’t as many awards for cinematographers as today. The last decade has helped sharpen the focus on the work of the cinematographer. But it is strange to ponder the fact, that from being the one who started it all and made it all, cameramovements, lights, directing, special effects, and planning – the cinematographer ended up being overlooked, overtaken and run over by other people with ideas on how to use this media in a better way than before.

At this point in time we had to realize our limits, but somebody also realized our strengths – the ability and strenght of the visual human to visualize thoughts, dreams, moods and ideas – the universe of the cinematographer. We made ourselves indispensable – what good is a director without a good cinematographer – actor – producer? And a cinematographer, or photographer if you like, capable of shooting ”moving pictures”, for as old Axel Graatkjær (1885-1969), our first recognized cinematographer in this country said sometime around 1906: “It is difficult to get decent cinematopraphers. The others, the ones we call the ”stiff” photographers, have no talent for moving pictures. They were limitied by what they had learnt in the studios.”

One of the few he accepted and appreciated was Johan Ankerstjerne (1886-1959), the watchmaker from Randers. Graatkjæer continued: ”He knew his trade, and was no. 1 after me. Sophus Wangøe wasn’t to bad either. He was a general labourer at the pub on Mosedalsvej at madam Bischoff where we had our lunch. I had played billiard with him on several occasions, when he had mentioned, that he would like to get in the movie business. I told Ole Olsen, and then he became a cinematographer.

Billard was a popular pastime for the cinematographers of the time, as the light on the day were crucial for how much they could work – whether they could expose any film, since the stock was so slow. It took a lot of light, and no one but the cinematographer could decide when the light made it impossible to expose any film. And if it was impossible, the cinematographer stopped the shooting for the day. On those days they had time for a game of billiards in the nearest pub – and then the ”kluk”- or pinched bottle came out.

At the same time as Axel Graatkjær started on Nordisk Film in Valby around 1906, my grandfather was a waiter on a pub like that. He had a head the shape of a billiardball, so to make it possible for others to tell the difference between back and front, he had an impressive handlebar-moustache, which suited him quite well. The billiardtable, the green cloth, the sound of the kews hitting the balls and the quick sound of the balls colliding on the green cloth in the bluish tobaccohaze under the lamps, was something I experienced quite often as a child – facinating and exciting every time – an image that remained on the retina – especially when he turned up with three tankards each containing one liter of beer in each hand. A feat that earned him a picture in a daily newspaper. This line of work did not make him a rich man, and when he died, all I inherited was a ”kluk”-bottle – an old, original blown pinched bottled with an internal airbubble – a unique rarity, which I cherished very much.

In 1992 I had became president of The Association of Danish Cinematographers, and one of my goals was to focus attention on the important and independent work a cinematographer did on any film. Thus one of my first initiatives was to instate an award for our members, something they would benefit from, when they had made a special contribution to our craft. But what would an award like that look like? What could you possibly give the winner, that he could stand looking at?

My valuable old ”kluk”-bottle had often been on my table, spreading joy and good will in my home, and there was not one, who didn’t like the shape as well as the content. But one day I had put it to far out in the fridge to get it misty. When I opened the door, it fell to the floor and shattered – it was no more!

This gave rise to the actual shape of the award, and we can only hope, that it will continue to spread joy and good will among danish members of The Association of Danish Cinematographers – but don’t ever put it in the fridge!!!