Plenty of scenes have been identified but never copied or ripped from a DVD. The collective effort extends beyond the tapes, however. "The search is endless," says Edwards, "it goes on and on and on." He shared the news, and the race was on for the original footage. (References to the New York-based post-hardcore band Quicksand proved especially annoying.) And sometimes they relied on dumb luck: One day, Duncan Edwards happened to pick up a copy of Life magazine from 1961 at a flea market, and, flipping through the pages, found a film publicity still showing pin-up girl Anita Ekberg sinking in a pool of sand and water. They sifted through IMDB plot summaries and discussed ways to keep the metaphorical uses of quicksand from polluting their Google searches. They scoured the shelves at video-rental stores for movies with island or jungle in their titles. Clips were shared over the Internet, and the community began working together to dig up new, undiscovered examples of quicksand cinema. With communication came the possibility of collaboration, and a more structured way to assemble this knowledge.
By the mid-1990s, individual quicksand fans were already conducting their own private surveys of the genre, and making libraries of scenes dubbed to VHS.
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