Navigation
A website tells you what is clickable with chrome: buttons, menus, blue underlines. A sheet of printed film has none of that, and adding any of it would break the projector. But print never had a mark for “clickable” anyway — paper wasn’t clickable. What print had was phrasing. Magazines wrote (continued on page 84). Books wrote see p. 12. The words themselves told you they were doors.
So navigation here is built from that grammar. A link is marked by an ink rule — a printed underscore with the slight unevenness of real ink, not a browser hairline. Italic is the voice of everything that speaks about the sheet rather than in it: the section line above a title, the deck below it, the jump lines. A finished piece ends with a small solid mark, and a sheet that continues elsewhere says so at the bottom, the way a magazine column did.
Some things were tried and thrown out: a pointing hand ☞ from the printer’s case (too thin, the lamp ate it), page numbers in the corner (nothing to count), a cardboard mount frame around the film with labels on it (functional, and it ruined the projector). What survived is only print that could have been typed in 1973.