Readers of the site often ask us for film recommendations, so we thought it would be helpful to publish a quick guide to each brand’s film stocks. Keep in mind that these are only brief summaries of each film; for more in-depth analysis check out our popular film profiles.

Our first film guide will cover Kodak, the most storied of the film companies still producing film. Kodak film offerings have thinned out in recent years, but their roster still includes some of the best and more versatile emulsions on the market. Here are our thoughts on the current lineup.

Consumer film

Consumer film is affordable and versatile. It’s made to work well in nearly any shooting situation and light. For those who are new to shooting film or those who are on a budget, these are the best choice. So let’s talk about Kodak’s consumer-level film types first.

Kodak Gold 200

If you grew up between the 1980s and early 2000s, chances are you’ve either shot or had your picture taken with Kodak Gold 200. This mid-speed film has been a favorite of consumers and adventurous professionals alike, mostly for its tendency to punch above its weight when it comes to image quality.

Gold 200‘s popularity stems from its remarkably balanced imaging characteristics. It has just the right amount of grain, is sharp without being clinically sharp, its colors are vibrant but not gaudy, and its speed is just right for an afternoon photo walk. It performs admirably for anybody’s general photography, and in experienced hands it can produce some seriously beautiful images.

But compare it to Kodak’s professional offerings and Gold 200 begins to lag behind. Its slightly more saturated color palette places it firmly in the consumer film category, and will take a little bit of post-processing to get looking absolutely perfect. The film’s latitude also isn’t as wide as Kodak’s other offerings, limiting its usage to daylight shooting.

All things considered, Gold 200 is a film suited primarily to the novice photographer. This film is a fantastic emulsion to learn on, and incredibly rewarding to shoot if treated with care. It’s also inexpensive, and works well as a backup film, even if it doesn’t have the obvious character of some of the more expensive, professional films. Buy it here.

Kodak Color Plus 200

Color Plus 200 isn’t offered officially in the United States (though Adorama does offer it for seventy cents per roll less than Gold 200), which makes information in these parts a bit sparse. What’s obviously true, however, is that it’s the most affordable film that Kodak produces, and even for photo geeks in the United States it can offer savings over domestic films when importing through Amazon and eBay sellers.

One of our writers, Jeb, is currently living in Europe and he’s shot the stuff. The results are great for such an inexpensive film. Certainly less detailed compared with Kodak Gold 200, and with a definite warmth and yellow cast, it’s a pleasant do-it-all film for shooting outdoors and in bright light. It’ll be a little too slow for evening or indoor shooting, as under-exposure tends to create color shifts in the shadows. It’s a good film for snapshots, but don’t use it if you’re trying to produce clinically perfect photos or for shots in which detail matters. Buy it here.

Kodak Ultramax 400

Kodak Ultramax 400 is a film that somehow always manages to sneak its way into at least one of my cameras. It’s cheap and available nearly everywhere, and truly does a great job in just about every situation (for proof, check out our in-depth film profile on the stuff).

On the outside, Ultramax 400 isn’t anything to shout about. It’s packaged and sold as a consumer film, which completely belies its true qualities as a stellar all-around film. It’s relatively quick speed of ISO 400 helps grab those elusive golden hour shots and let’s us transition nicely into low light shots, provided the shooter has steady hands or is using a tripod. Ultramax 400’s more pronounced grain structure is arranged in a pleasing way, and its color rendition (to my taste) is much more balanced than Kodak Gold.

Ultramax 400 sounds like it would be a good deal for just about everybody, but for whatever reason, that just isn’t the case. I’ve heard plenty of shooters say that they avoid Ultramax 400 like the plague because they don’t find the colors attractive or that they find the grain slightly off-putting. Though these are matters of opinion, I’ve heard these criticisms enough to make me balk at recommending this film to every single film shooter. Nevertheless, I will recommend this film to shooters looking for an affordable, reliable all-around film, provided the color rendition agrees with your personal photographic vision. Buy it here.

Professional film

Professional films are those that are typically manufactured with a specific application in mind. Whether these be formulated for wedding or portrait photographers, or made to work best with landscapes, pro films usually do one job exceptionally well. Of course, this comes at a cost. Pro films are often double or triple the price per roll of consumer-level films.

Kodak makes quite a few impressive pro-level color-negative films. Let’s talk about those.

Kodak Ektar 100

Since its introduction in 2008, Ektar has built a reputation as one of Kodak’s premier films. It’s the emulsion that promised to fill the void that the world-famous Kodachrome left in the company’s catalog when it was discontinued. Like Kodachrome, Ektar is slow (ISO 100), fine grained, and has a much sought-after vibrancy in its color palette. But unlike Kodachrome, Ektar is a C-41 color negative film, enabling it to be processed by any film processing lab.

Though it is arguably Kodak’s best emulsion in about twenty years, I would not recommend Ektar for every situation. Ektar shines in bright daylight and in colorful scenes, but will need some extra post-processing work when dealing with overcast and low-light scenes. It’s also a challenging emulsion to use for portraiture and general people pictures as the emulsion tends to emphasize reds, which in certain situations can make people look Oompa Loompa-ish.

Ektar is also particularly challenging for the novice photographer. The emulsion does not have the wide exposure latitude of Portra 400 or even Ultramax 400, and shifts colors slightly based on slight over- and under-exposure. Self-scanning Ektar is also a pain with consumer-level scanners. Ektar benefits greatly when processed and scanned through professional level machines by those with extensive experience with the emulsion.

All that said, when exposed, developed, and scanned correctly Ektar may just be the best color negative emulsion out there (see our full writeup on Ektar here). The colors are about as beautiful and vibrant as old-school Kodachrome and the grain is fine enough to make some truly sharp scans and gigantic prints. For professionals and amateurs who’d like to test their skill, Ektar’s a great choice. Buy it here in 35mm, here in medium format.

Kodak Portra 160

Kodak’s slowest offering in the Portra lineup is also one of their most intriguing. Portra 160 is perhaps the most archetypical of the Portra philosophy – it offers a subtler, gentler color palette when compared to other color negative emulsions. Pair this understated color palette to the fine grain offered by an ISO 160 film, and you end up with one of the finest portraiture films on the market.

While Portra 160 is very obviously suited to portraiture, it also shines with general photography. While films like Ultramax, Gold, and Ektar will saturate the hell out of any color present in the frame, Portra 160 instead goes for depth and subtlety. This is perfect for images which emphasize texture and detail rather than bold color and contrast. Portra 160 has become a favorite of wedding photographers, portrait photographers, and photographers who generally prefer a gentler, even dreamier image. 

Though Portra 160 is suitable for a variety of situations, it is far from the most versatile film. Its low sensitivity limits usage in low light, and shooters who find themselves wanting to emphasize particularly colorful surroundings will be left wanting. But when used for its intended application of portraiture and airy people photography, it performs well. Buy it here in 35mm, here in medium format.

Kodak Portra 400

Portra 400 is perhaps the most widely used film in Kodak’s catalog, and for good reason – it’s nearly flawless. Its color palette is one of the most balanced among color emulsions, its exposure latitude is the widest in photography (about six stops of over-exposure and three to four stops of under-exposure when processed at box speed), and its grain is some of the finest found in a 400 speed film (see the details in our film profile here).

Portra 400’s versatility makes it the Kodak film that I’d recommend for every situation. Its wide exposure latitude makes it suitable for the brightest daylight scenes and the darkest low-light scenes, as well as in super high contrast situation. The wide exposure latitude also provides a lot of room for over- and under-exposure, making it a particularly good film for cameras with slow shutter speeds or slow lenses.

That said, Portra’s versatility and subsequent popularity does make it a bit of a stale, almost clichéd film these days. Just about every film photographer has used Portra 400 as some point, which makes it tough for Portra images to stand out from the crowd. But as always, an inspired eye can overcome just about any stereotype, and Portra 400 is worth the effort. Buy it here in 35mm, here in medium format.

Kodak Portra 800

Last in the Portra line is Portra 800, Kodak’s higher speed color negative offering. In some ways, Portra 800 is a bit redundant considering Portra 400’s exposure latitude covers nearly all of Portra 800’s effective range. But Portra 800 is another spectacular option when light gets really low, and I find Portra 800 shines particularly when used for this intended application.

The film is grainier than Portra 400 and makes a slightly more stark and contrasty image, which makes it pretty much perfect for moody, dimly lit scenes in which grain and contrast are welcome. Images made with 800 look more like a traditional color negative film, which is welcome considering how close to digital perfection images from Portra 160 and 400 can be.

Where Portra 800 tends to disappoint is when it’s under-exposed. Under-exposed images take on the dreaded green shadows so familiar to color negative shooters. That said, experienced low-light shooters will have a ball with this film. Buy it here in 35mm, here in medium format.

Black-and-white film

The choice of street photographers and photojournalists for more than a hundred years, black-and-white film is as classic as it gets. Processed with different chemicals than color film, most photo geeks tend to self-process these films at home. This makes them more economical to shoot, allows greater control over the image and process, and creates a real connection between photographer and image.

Kodak produces a number of really excellent and storied black-and-white films. Let’s take a look.

Kodak Tri-X

Seasoned readers of CP will know that I’m a day one, ride-or-die Tri-X shooter. My love for this film knows absolutely no bounds, and for good reason. It’s the 400 speed black-and-white film used by nearly every great photographer of the 20th century, and by millions today.

Though reformulated in recent years, Tri-X still holds the benchmark for 400 speed black-and-white film emulsions. At box speed the texture is fine with just a touch of grit, and offers a gradual tonal gradient in the midtones that most film emulsions only dream of. For general out-and-about photography, Tri-X at box speed is good for pretty much everything. But when pushed to ISO 800-3200, Tri-X’s grain gets bigger and contrast intensifies, and in comes that stark, gritty look the film made its name on.

As with Portra 400, Tri-X’s achilles heel is its popularity. Shooting Tri-X exclusively does tend to get boring after a while. Nevertheless, the look of Tri-X is a look that has stood the test of time for more than half a century, and in the hands of a thoughtful photographer it can still be as impactful as ever. Buy it here in 35mm, here in medium format.

Kodak T-max 100 and 400

Kodak’s T-max films are downright modern compared with the historically powerful Tri-X. They have rich mid-tones and super fine grain, coupled with excellent exposure latitude.

The slower speed of the two, T-Max 100, takes advantage of the line’s T-grain (tabular grain) to create incredibly fine images that are super detailed and amazingly sharp. The low sensitivity of T-max 100 makes images that are much finer than the old school Tri-X, making it an excellent choice for fine art photographers and those shooting black-and-white images in a studio, or for those who want the least grain possible in bright light.

T-max 400 is the more versatile, higher-speed T-grain black-and-white film from Kodak. It shares many of the positive attributes of T-max 100, with only a slight increase in graininess. This supposed fault is offset by the film’s ability to be shot in virtually any light.

Kodak T-max P3200

Though Tri-X can be processed to be a stellar low-light film, Kodak’s T-max P3200 is undoubtedly the company’s flagship super speed film. It’s actually an 800-1000 ISO film, but is made to be pushed for use in low-light. It has fast become a favorite of the CP staff owing to its super-speed and surprisingly strong exposure latitude and tonality.

Although grain is much more prominent in P3200 than in the other T-max offerings, it’s controlled and pleasant given the right subject. P3200’s midtones similarly do not suffer from the often contrasty nature of quick film and pushed film. In fact, P3200 unfiltered tends more towards middle gray than anything.

But for all of its low-light acrobatics, T-max P3200 isn’t the film for shooting in broad daylight, or even in controlled lighting situations. The grain is simply too prominent for scenes loaded with detail, and the flat gray midtones can be annoying to work around if you prefer a more contrasty black-and-white look.

Shooters looking for a do-it-all black-and-white film probably won’t be satisfied with the specificity of P3200. This film is much more suited to nightcrawlers who will certainly enjoy the flexibility and detail P3200 offers in extreme low light situations. Buy it here.

Eastman Double X

Double X isn’t officially a film offered by Kodak for 35mm still cameras, but it still enjoys popularity among hardcore film shooters. It’s Kodak’s oldest emulsion, an ISO 250 black-and-white dating back to 1959 which offers a very different take on black-and-white.

Images made on Eastman Double X tend to have a gritty, stark overall tone. Under controlled lighting and with precise exposure and filter usage this film can exhibit the smooth, beautiful midtones it was formulated for, but in high contrast situations this film easily takes shadows and highlights right to the edge, crushing shadows and blowing highlights left and right. It’s not a film for every situation, but rewards discretion and meticulous shooting with contrasty, beautiful images.

The difficulties that come with shooting an old film stock like Double X is the reason why I wouldn’t recommend this film for novice shooters, especially those cutting their teeth with a meterless mechanical camera. It’s too difficult to shoot without previous experience with films like Tri-X, T-max, or Ilford’s HP5+. But for those who have been around the black-and-white block a couple of times, Double X is a uniquely rewarding option. Buy it here.

Color Reversal Slide Film

Color reversal film, also known as slide film, is different from color negative film in that it makes a positive image on a transparent base. These are used with slide projectors to project a brilliant image onto a screen, or in more modern times, can be scanned for digital use like any other film image. Their narrow exposure latitude and lower sensitivity make them best suited to controlled environments and professional use, but their incredible color reproduction and vibrancy can’t be beat by any other film type.

Kodak has a long history of making incredible slide film, and recent history has seen the brand reintroduce their well-loved Ektachrome ( to much deserved fanfare). Let’s talk about that.

Ektachrome E100

We’ve not yet processed the new Ektachrome rolls we’ve shot, but this space will be immediately updated when those shots come back from the lab. Check back soon. Buy it here.

Buy film at B&H Photo

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The post A Quick Guide to Kodak Film and When to Shoot Each One appeared first on Casual Photophile.

Lusting after rare Nikons and Contaxes keeps me in occasional blinders. But every now and then, one of the writers here sends me a wakeup call. This happened the other day when Dustin, our resident Olympus freak, forwarded a gorgeous photo of a mint condition OM-3Ti, and I couldn’t think of a good reason not to own one.

Oh yeah. I forgot. I love Olympus.

So here I am, a few days later putting the final touches on the latest edition of our ongoing feature, The Essentials. We’ve already listed the very best from Nikon, Minolta, and Canon, and today we’re showcasing the best of the best from the brand that Maitani built. From impossibly small rangefinders to never-miss point-and-shoots, revolutionary SLRs and even the odd Olympus TLR, here are some amazing Olympus cameras to add to the collection.

Best Professional-Level 35mm SLR Camera – Olympus OM-4Ti

Olympus professional-level cameras don’t get the sort of talking time enjoyed by the robust and versatile system machines that Nikon and Canon produced for photojournalists and war reportage. But that’s not because they weren’t as good or as capable. Olympus has long created cameras and systems capable of working for a living, most obviously in their OM series of 35mm SLRs. Over thirty-odd years, each of the flagship cameras in the OM line offered all the features of their era, plus a full range of lenses and attachments for all uses; microphotography, dental photography, laboratory use – the list goes on.

But what made the OM series special, compared to professional camera ranges from other makers, was their size. When the OM-1 launched in 1972, it showed the photographic world that it was possible to have a professional-level camera in an incredibly small package. Olympus’ OM-1 shocked the photo world and spurred every camera maker to continual pursuit of higher technology in smaller form factors. And of Olympus’ many pro-spec 35mm SLRs, the one to own today must certainly be the OM-4Ti.

Debuting in 1986, the OM-4Ti enjoyed a remarkably long production run for a film camera, not being discontinued until 2002. It was a new and updated version of the earlier OM-4, enhanced with titanium top and bottom body plates, improved weather sealing, and a higher-speed flash sync. But beyond these important improvements, the OM-4Ti retained the earlier camera’s core DNA. And this is wonderful, considering that camera’s spec sheet.

It offered an electromechanical shutter capable of speeds from 240 seconds to 1/2000th of a second (plus bulb mode), aperture-priority auto-exposure mode, plus manual exposure shooting mode, a world’s first metering mode in which the camera automatically averaged eight different areas of the frame plus a built-in spot metering mode, and the OM series’ incredibly massive viewfinder rounded out the major features.

The quality of its construction and the high-tech feature set made the OM-4Ti a remarkable camera when new, and today it’s still one of the best film SLRs that money can buy.

Best Enthusiast Camera – Olympus XA

Legendary Olympus designer Yoshihisa Maitani’s entire professional life’s pursuit was miniaturization. In his earliest days developing the Pen half-frame camera (Olympus’ first major sales success) he was driven by the compactness and quality of his Leica camera. For the rest of his life he pushed Olympus to design and produce smaller cameras with better lenses. The culmination of this pursuit (and the final Olympus camera that Maitani personally designed) was the Olympus XA.

The impressiveness of the XA can’t be overstated. For me, a shooter who values compactness and prefers to shoot in aperture-priority semi-auto mode, the XA is virtually perfect. It’s a tiny 35mm rangefinder camera with aperture-priority, manual focus, an in-viewfinder rangefinder patch, and one of the best metering systems I’ve ever used. Creative controls in the form of aperture selector and exposure compensation make it a true artistic tool, and its form factor means it can fit into a pocket (indeed, Maitani designed it to fit in a front shirt pocket).

Adhering to Maitani’s overarching philosophy that a camera is only as good as its lens, the XA features an amazingly sharp and distortion-free Zuiko 35mm F/2.8 fast prime lens. It is one of the best lenses ever placed in a fixed-lens camera, and it’s the single aspect of the camera that elevates the XA from a good camera to an amazing one. In fact, the XA is one of my favorite cameras ever made and I’m still fuming that Josh, and not I, was the CP writer who reviewed it. Who’s running this place anyway?!

Best Beginner’s Camera – Olympus 35RC

People who are just getting into film photography are often looking for a classic camera that looks gorgeous, makes beautiful images, offers a helping hand in the form of automation, and allows them room to grow. The Olympus 35RC checks all these boxes with emphatic, red ink.

What makes this camera ideal for the beginner is that it offers shutter-priority auto-exposure. This will allow the new film shooter to quickly understand the parameters of shutter speed and aperture and how each setting impacts the final image. The manual focus rangefinder will help the shooter understand composition and feel more connected to the act of image-making, and the inclusion of full-manual mode will offer the photographer greater creative control as his or her experience grows.

It’s not as rare as some other Olympus 35 series cameras (such as the top-of-the-heap RD) so prices are pretty low, another important factor for those just getting interested in film or photography. It also looks fantastic. And that never hurts.

For the Collector

Olympus has made quite a few collectible cameras. There’s the pre-name change Olympus M-1 (named after its designer, Maitani, the M-1 would later be renamed OM-1 after protests from Leica). M-1s were made for a very brief period and had matching “M-System” Zuiko lenses (further details in our full OM-1 review). Then there’s the also-rare OM-3, a mechanical SLR that was so similar to the still-in-production OM-1 that most buyers of the day purchased the earlier camera at a much lower price. The low sales numbers and brief production run has made the OM-3 something of a collector’s item today, like the M-1, and it’s the rarity of these machines that makes them each a must-have for the Olympus collector.

There’s the weird and wonderful Olympus O-product from 1988, an industrially-designed point-and-shoot film camera created by a truly characterful Japanese designer, Naomi Sakai. This point-and-shoot looks like no other camera out there, functions surprisingly well, and can actually make really pretty photos (a full review was penned last year).

Then there’s the Olympus Pen W, the incredibly rare, wide-angle-lens-equipped, half-frame compact that was manufactured for less than one year. This machine is the least common Olympus Pen production model ever made, and finding one in pristine condition today is many Olympus fans’ Holy Grail (got one – review coming soon).

And I must mention Olympus’ Twin Lens Reflex camera the Olympus Flex. This range of machines was made during the TLR boom of the 1950s, which saw Olympus doing their best to replicate the design (and success) of the famed Rolleiflex. They have relatively quick f/2.8 viewing and taking 75mm Zuiko lenses that make great images, even if they don’t enjoy the reputation of the famous German TLR on which the original was based.

Essential Lenses

Rumor has it that Maitani, wanting a perfect standard lens to use on the OM cameras, had the OM System 40mm f/2 designed and built to his personal and exacting specifications. According to our writer Dustin, who’s been shooting the thing for the past two months, perfect it is. Somewhat rare, a bit pricey but worth every penny, the 40mm f/2 is a fast, sharp, and characterful standard lens. If you’re shooting an OM, try to get one.

The OM System 28mm f/3.5 is well regarded as one of the best 28mm lenses ever to come out of Japan. It’s a distortion-free wide-angle lens, and though the sluggish maximum aperture might turn off some shooters, those who overlook this supposed fault will be shooting one of the best lenses ever made.

Dustin tells me the 50mm f/2 macro lens is the sharpest 50mm ever made. I’ve never used it, but I believe him, since he’s shot more rolls through Olympus cameras than anyone I know. I’ll whip him into reviewing the thing and we’ll see if he’s right, together.

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The post The Essentials – A Guide to the Best of Olympus Camera Systems appeared first on Casual Photophile.

From its inception, the Nikon F2 has enjoyed a reputation rivaled by few and envied by many. The camera was designed to be nothing less than the perfect expression of the professional 35mm mechanical SLR format, and it achieved exactly that. It became the SLR par excellence of the 1970s and was standard issue for professional photographers for the better part of that decade. Remarkably, the F2’s glowing reputation has never waned since. By old-school professionals, camera repairmen, and camera historians, the Nikon F2 is still widely considered the greatest 35mm mechanical SLR of all time.

After spending quality time with one, I can say that the F2 has a more legitimate claim to that title than other great cameras. But the F2’s greatness didn’t just come out of nowhere; it was born from the proverbial rib of Nikon’s aging flagship camera – the Nikon F.

In the late 1960s, Nikon found themselves sitting comfortably on top of the photographic world. The release of the F a decade prior propelled Nikon to heights even they couldn’t have envisioned. But throughout the decade, other manufacturers began to embrace the SLR and make strides in the development of the format. Though the Nikon F still boasted an extremely high quality of build and the widest range of optics and accessories, smaller and slicker SLRs such as the Pentax Spotmatic and the Minolta SRT-101 represented improvements in SLR technology, introducing in-body TTL metering and more accurate average metering, respectively. The F was starting to show its age.

But even before the competition caught up, Nikon was making moves to stay ahead. Development of the F’s eventual successor started as early as 1965 to ensure that they would not be knocked off their perch.

Nikon could have accomplished this by simply adding a few bells and whistles to the F and selling it as the new and improved F2, but they didn’t. Instead, they spent nearly six years completely redesigning their professional camera system, hoping it would reach even greater heights than the original F. The new camera was to be manufactured to a yet unheard of standard of quality, boast an easier overall shooting experience, and retain full compatibility with the extensive Nikon lens and accessory system that had made the original F so successful.

Nikon wanted to address the lingering usability issues that had hampered the otherwise well-loved F. The new F2 design brief called for a hinged back in place of the F’s pesky removable back, a new mirror lockup system that did away with the F’s bizarre ritual sacrifice of a frame of film, and battery contacts which enabled the camera body to control and communicate with the metering head for easier operation. The new camera also featured a self-timer with delay time markings for extra precision, an updated metering head with a clearer metering display, and an integrated shutter lock/timed exposure lock around the shutter release collar instead of the film spool release on the F.

These improvements on their own would make the F2 a marked improvement over the F, but Nikon needed something that would cement their position at the very top of the professional camera world. Nikon’s ace-in-the-hole was the completely redesigned shutter mechanism, which could achieve a still-speedy 1/2000th of a second shutter speed as well as a nearly unheard of step-less shutter speed range from 1/2000 – 1/125th of second. Shooters obsessed with precision could choose an intermediate shutter speed like 1/800th or 1/300th of a second with ease.

To cap things off, Nikon paid particular attention to how the camera felt in the hand. The original F was a high-quality workhorse, but certain aspects of the design made it feel rough and unrefined, at least when compared to their main competition the Leica M system. The F’s boxy, geometrical aesthetic resulted in a less-than-comfortable grip, and combined with the odd placement of the shutter button made for awkward shooting. With the F2, Nikon pushed the shutter button forward to its rightful place and rounded off the corners beautifully, making the camera feel more natural in the hand and easier on the eye. And as the F2’s pièce de résistance, the advance lever was transformed from a rough all-metal meat grinder into a smooth, elegant plastic-tipped lever.

The all-new Nikon F2 was released in 1971 with a full complement of updated metering heads and accessories, as well as a range of lenses with updated coatings. The new camera system was quickly embraced by those looking for an upgrade to the aging F as well as those looking for the absolute best in a professional-grade camera. Though a slew of incredible professional grade cameras would try to to dethrone the F2 throughout the 1970’s, namely the Canon F-1, Olympus OM-1, and Minolta XK, none could reach the heights achieved by the F2. Professionals flocked wholesale to the new F2, and even pledged their allegiance to the camera after the introduction of its electronic successor, the F3.

The F2’s dominance of the professional market during the 1970s has since cemented its place among the greatest cameras ever, but has also placed it in a precarious situation. It’s easy to overvalue cameras that were successful in their day, doubly easy when they come with what seems like an outsized reputation perpetuated by fanboys in hardcore film photography circles. Pride comes before the fall, as they say.

But that’s the thing about the F2 – there is no fall. It really is that good.

It’s a bold claim, but I can’t find any reason not to make it. Without hyperbole, the F2 may just be the most impressive camera out of the many fine cameras I’ve tested for this site so far, and that list includes the Leica M2, the Nikon F6, the Rolleiflex 2.8, plus the F2’s successor and my personal favorite, the Nikon F3. It should be noted that all of these cameras are often called “the best ever,” even by me, but all of them have flaws that make them unsuitable for certain types of shooters (give the articles a read if you want to find out what those flaws are). Though the F2 is no different in that it has one, maybe two flaws, it stands as the only camera I can recommend for any level and any type of shooter. Allow me to explain.

Even after forty-odd years of service, the F2 can still run with the best of them. Its top shutter speed of 1/2000th of a second still covers most situations, and the step-less shutter speed mode remains incredibly useful. Its multiple metering heads means backwards compatibility with pre-AI lenses with the DP-1 through DP-3 heads, as well as full AI compatibility and vastly improved metering with the DP-11 and DP-12 heads. The DP-12 head in particular turns the F2 into the F2AS, widely considered to be best F2 shooter. It adds to the F2 a bright LED metering display and a metering range that extends down to EV -2 for easy low-light shooting. The DP-12 head won’t make the F2 outshoot a modern autofocus camera like a Nikon F6 or a Canon EOS-1v, but it does make it one of the best choices for shooters who swear by mechanical cameras.

The F2 also beats any camera, past or present, when it comes to quality, feel, and ergonomics. Though it’s a professional camera designed for rough-and-tumble shooting, it manages to bring build quality that borders on luxury. Every component on the F2 is masterfully made. The shutter button has a satisfyingly positive mechanical action, the shutter dial clicks into its detents with easy authority, and the advance lever’s throw is short and features possibly the smoothest action of any 35mm camera. The body’s curves also make it comfortable to grip, which makes managing the F2’s heft easy.

And one of the most noticeable things that separates the F2 from the crowd is that it doesn’t sacrifice functionality for the sake of this quality. The luxury is not there for show; it’s part-and-parcel of what makes the F2 so easy to work with. The smooth, straightforward operation of all of its controls makes the act of shooting an all-manual camera both easy and pleasurable. The reward is twofold; not only can it get out of the way of the demanding hardcore shooter to ensure they get the exact image they want, it can also be an object to be marvelled at by the casual enthusiast and collector.

The only thing that works against the F2 is its famously large size and weight (840 grams, without lens – that’s almost two pounds!). It’s a seriously hefty and bulky camera, especially with the taller metering prisms and bulky Nikkor lenses. This is not a camera for those who throw a camera in their bag on a day trip, nor is it a camera for those who wish to stay inconspicuous. This is a large, loud, and proud camera, and prospective buyers should consider if such a camera fits their own philosophy towards shooting.

Considering the weight, the F2 makes sense as a primary camera for hardcore shooters and Nikon enthusiasts. Both will enjoy its broad compatibility with every Nikkor manual focus lens, and real Nikon nerds will have a wealth of F2 accessories to collect. The F2 also makes sense as a beginner’s camera with its simple, uncomplicated control layout and endless room for expandability and customization. Beginners who do choose the F2 can also rest assured that they may never have to buy another film camera again.

[Sample shots in the gallery below were made with Kodak Ektar 100]

The only shooters who wouldn’t be well suited to the F2 are those who already have a primary system. I’ve heard of shooters who keep an F2 as a mechanical backup camera to the auto-exposure F3 or F4, but I can’t imagine carrying all those bodies and lenses being good for anybody who likes having a functioning shoulder. The F2 is a camera that deserves to be the centerpiece of a camera bag, and its weight practically demands it.

For this reason, the F2 doesn’t personally dethrone the F3 and FM combo I use for nearly all of my work. My shooting style is married to the F3’s aperture-priority mode and I can’t justify carrying the F2 over the FM as a mechanical backup, even if the F2 kicks the snot out of the FM in terms of sheer quality. That said, I actually did consider abandoning my old tried-and-true combo for this F2. It’s as classically perfect as a camera can get, and I suspect that for other shooters choosing that over a newfangled electronic machine is an easy choice.

All things considered, the Nikon F2 still ranks as one of the finest, if not the finest 35mm SLR out there for both users and collectors. I can’t think of a better camera for a hardcore shooter, a collector, or anybody who simply enjoys using vintage cameras. “The best 35mm film camera” might be a title that’s far too hyperbolic and too subjective, but if there’s a camera that deserves the title, it might just be the F2.

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In my publicly visible role as a professional camera liker, people on the internet sometimes tell me I’m wrong about things. This happened just the other day when, in my excitement about an upcoming product release, I posted an image on Instagram with a caption saying that I was excited about an upcoming product release. The product in question was the Zeiss ZX1, a full-frame, digital, fixed lens camera with built-in Adobe Lightroom (and many other features).

I don’t mind when people tell me I’m wrong. I actually love it. I often find myself screen-capping dissenting opinions and any particularly insightful or angry comments that come through via the site or through Facebook or Instagram, and especially those that come in via email and private messages (these last ones being extra delightful given the added effort expended by the senders). I use them to think of ways to improve the site, and sometimes for a laugh (many thanks to that guy who told me to give up writing and pursue something else, “such as dying”).

Chill out, man.

But I digress. The point I’m making here is that when I mentioned that the Zeiss ZX1 got me all jazzed up, a bunch of cynical pessimists tried to tell me why I shouldn’t be jazzed (I also read a lot of these anti-jazzed comments on Zeiss’ own and other Youtube videos covering the yet-unreleased ZX1). I should make it clear here that differing opinions are great – I don’t expect the things that jazz me up to be the things that jazz everyone up. But since I have this lovely platform to fling my opinions out into the universe, I thought I’d use it.

Here’s why the Zeiss ZX1 has got me so jazzed up.

I have to stop saying “jazzed up.” Is thesaurus.com a site? Oh, it is. Nice.

Here’s why the Zeiss ZX1 has got me so stoked.

Reason Number One – The Core Product

It’s pretty difficult for my ashen heart to feel anything at all. I spend most of my waking hours waiting for, and then subsequently not being surprised by, the cruel twists of fate with which the unknown and malevolent overlord of the universe tortures us humans. I don’t get excited about much, and I ain’t getting stoked about a camera for frivolous reasons.

Oh, that new DSLR has Wi-Fi? Wow. I’m so stoked [read with sarcasm].

It’s only when a product does something totally new and interesting, or when it performs better than any of its competition, that my icy blood thaws incrementally and I achieve at least a modicum of stoke… stokeness… stoke-ocity?

Amazingly, the Zeiss ZX1 could introduce something totally new and be better than at least some of its competition, at least, on paper. This competition, from a specification standpoint, will be the Leica Q and the Sony RX1R II. Great cameras, but it’s looking like the Zeiss could come out on top, and that’s exciting.

The Zeiss ZX1 will have a 37.4 Megapixel CMOS sensor, which is quite a bit better than the Leica Q’s 24 MP sensor and just slightly worse than the Sony RX1R II’s 42 MP sensor. That’s good, because while image quality isn’t the most important thing in the world, it is really important, and more pixels always helps. By the numbers, the Zeiss holds its own in the sensor war and my stokage only increases.

The RX1R II sports a T* coated Zeiss Sonnar 35mm F/2 lens, while the Leica Q boasts a slightly wider and slightly faster 28mm F/1.7 Aspherical. Those are damn good lenses, and hard to beat. But the Zeiss also features the famous T* coating on its 35mm F/2 (a Distagon in this case), and there’s every reason to believe, given Zeiss’ nearly unmatched history of amazing glass, that we should expect the Zeiss lens to be at least as solid a performer as the ones on those other two cameras.

The Leica Q has a 3.68 MP electronic viewfinder – which is good, at about 1,280 x 960 pixels. But the Zeiss will have a full HD OLED EVF, outputting 1,920 x 1,080 pixels – better than the Leica and likely the equal of the Sony’s pop-up T* coated EVF. The Zeiss will also have a larger screen on the back – 4.34″ compared with the older cameras’ 3″ displays. Like the Leica Q’s screen, the Zeiss’ display is a touch screen, but unlike the Q’s screen, the Zeiss’ screen features a toolbar for instant editing with Adobe Lightroom – more on that later.

The controls on all three cameras embrace the retro-inspired physical controls of cameras past, which is great. If the Zeiss’ controls are as intuitive as the Leica Q’s, that’ll be a draw. If the AF system is as good or better than the Q and the RX1, Zeiss’ camera will completely edge the competition and I’ll be totally stoked.

I really have to stop saying “stoked.”

Give me a moment while I revisit thesaurus.com.

Reason Number Two – Zeiss is Trying Things

The second reason I’m so pumped up about the second coming of our lord and savior, Zeiss, is that they’re trying something risky, new, and different, and that should always be encouraged.

Zeiss hasn’t made a camera since they designed the ZM back in 2004, a 35mm film rangefinder. The Zeiss ZX1 will be their first digital camera, and they’re not playing it safe. They’ve created a really weird camera, and the only way this weird camera is going to be successful is if it’s also very, very good.

What’s weird about it? To start, it’s a fixed-lens camera. In an era where most people are content with the camera inside their telephone, and when professionals and enthusiasts are pretty happy with their DSLRs and full-frame mirrorless cameras, Zeiss is offering hardware that many people could easily argue against. It also has on-board memory (512 GB worth), which is an odd concept that seemingly no camera maker has considered (maybe for good reason). Will it be better than swapping out cards? It could be.

Then there’s the styling. Zeiss could have easily played it safe and jumped face first into the retro aesthetic that initially grabbed everyone’s attention when Olympus made their digital Pen and Fuji launched their X-series. But they didn’t. They chose a totally different angle. The ZX1 looks like a high design concept from ten years in the future. It’s sleek and elegant, and it looks like no other camera out there. Frankly, I’m glad. Classic cameras look great. Modern cameras made to look like classic cameras sometimes don’t. And even if they do, the aesthetic is getting a bit stale.

And of course, there’s that built-in Lightroom and integrated sharing, a key talking point and clearly the hook on which Zeiss is hanging their machine (details just below).

All of this adds up to big risk, and I get pumped up about this kind of risk taking. This is the kind of thinking that pushes everyone forward, and that’s great. But I also know that the people and companies who take these risks often run the blazing trail right off the edge of a gorge. We’ve seen it in every industry. There are plenty of failed visionary product designs lying atop a heap of broken dreams, wetly shining with their creators’ and under-served fans’ tears. The camera business is no different, and the stakes have been historically high; just research the many companies that tried to push forward their idea of a new standard, only to go bankrupt.

Zeiss are asking buyers to spend their money on one camera, one lens, some new ideas – and that’s it. And though what they’ve unveiled has gotten me pretty pumped, it may not be enough to get enough people pumped.

“Pumped” makes me cringe. Surely there’s a better word.

Reason Number Three – the Lightroom Thing

What might be most stimulating about the Zeiss ZX1 is the thing that every Zeiss rep can’t help but mention every forty-three seconds – it’s got Adobe Lightroom built in. The promise, of course, is that this will allow photographers to edit their images and distribute them via email or social media in seconds with its built-in Bluetooth and Wi-Fi. And while the announcement of built-in Lightroom probably moved the eyebrows of very few photo geeks, I think it could be a game-changer if implemented properly.

How to make it a success? That giant screen can’t hurt. The software must be easy-to-use, responsive, and accurate. And it has to save people time. If it does all this, the ZX1 may be the first of many cameras to offer this kind of real, robust editing in-camera. If I can take fifty product photos, edit them in-camera, and send them to my computer as finished images faster than it currently takes me to shoot, upload, edit, and export, that’s going to get me very stimulated.

The Zeiss ZX1 came out of nowhere. It’s trying new things and pushing boundaries. Will this entice enough photo geeks to make the ZX1 a sales success? Only time will tell.

Meanwhile, my contact at B&H Photo has promised to get a review unit into my hands as early as possible. Until then, I’ll happily remain jazzed, stoked, pumped, stimulated (and a bunch of other synonyms for “excited”) waiting for the Zeiss ZX1 to drop in early 2019.

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In 1985, my parents decided they wanted a small camera to take with them on holiday to Portugal – a hot and sunny getaway before the birth of their first child (hello) threw their lives into disarray (sorry). They chose and bought the Olympus XA4. 

Manufactured for just one year, The XA4 was the last in a successful range of compact cameras that Olympus had begun producing with the original XA in 1979. The XA4 quickly became a staple of my childhood. I remember that camera surviving beach trips, camping holidays, and numerous birthdays, firing often and reliably with only a dent in the film door to speak to its exciting life. Around the time when digital cameras took over, it was stashed in the kitchen drawer and forgotten.

I began using film cameras in earnest during college after taking a darkroom course and being viciously bitten by the photography bug. I carted around a chunky Praktica MTL3 for a while, then upgraded to a Pentax MX – but the little compact my parents owned was stuck in my memory. Fishing it out of its kitchen drawer cryochamber, I was delighted to find that it still worked and decided to give it a new lease of life.

At first glance, the rounded clamshell shape is pretty unassuming. A small, black lump with OLYMPUS branded in white across the front of the plastic sliding shell, the XA4 is unusable until this clamshell is opened. But though it looks like nothing more than a squared off river rock, the ergonomics of the XA4 are quite well thought-out. The convex front fits perfectly in the palm of your hand, and the film advance and shutter release rest perfectly under the intended digits. In the hands, it’s far less slippery than it looks.

Look through the viewfinder and we see bright frame-lines with parallax correction markings (useful, since the XA4 Macro focuses as close as 30cm compared to the 85cm of the original XA). There’s also a light that illuminates when your shot is likely to be underexposed. Olympus made a range of flash units that fit neatly on the side of the XA cameras, but I rarely use mine – it’s surprisingly bright, and tends to scare away the subjects of any candid shots. This ability to disconnect the flash unit is of great benefit to natural-light photographers (I flirted with using a Fujifilm Tiara, a similarly tiny clamshell compact, but got irritated with constantly having to turn off the in-built flash and soon returned to the XA4).

Focusing with the Olympus XA4 is an exercise in scale focusing, with a sliding distance scale on the front of the camera spanning from 0.3 meters to infinity (this resets to 3m when the front cover is closed). Though it lacks the rangefinder focusing mechanisms and rangefinder patch of the original XA, focusing with the XA4 is just as sweet. Simply estimate distance to subject and shoot. The relatively wide lens helps ensure deep enough depth-of-field to be sure most everything we want to be in focus will be. 

The red shutter button is something most people tend to double-take at – electromagnetically controlled, it releases one of the quietest shutters I’ve ever known. Unless we’re really paying attention, it can be difficult to be sure we’ve even taken a shot. This audible subtlety and the mentioned scale focusing methodology make the XA4 perfect for street photography, and I’ve used it extensively for close candid shots – placed on a table with the cover open, it’s rarely noticed.

The XA4’s 28mm f/3.5 lens is the widest found in an XA series camera (the others offer 35mm lenses with either f/2.8, f/3.5, or f/4 maximum apertures). It’s a pin-sharp lens capable of making exceedingly detailed images, but images do suffer some vignetting and distortion at the edges when focusing closely. Colours are rendered brightly, with a good level of contrast. Yoshihisa Maitani (lead designer of the original XA and many other legendary Olympus cameras) famously believed that the lens was the heart of any camera, and the one packed into the XA4 must surely have made him proud. For shooters looking for a wide-angle lens in a compact, the XA4 is a great choice.

I’ve found no problems with the automatic metering and exposure, as long as I pay attention to the little light in the viewfinder. Shutter speeds run from 1/750 to 2 seconds, and if exposure compensation is desired, there’s a neat little lever tucked underneath that provides +1.5 compensation – intended for backlit subjects, the manual says. The lever also controls a self-timer and battery check (listen for the beep).

The ease of use of the Olympus XA4 even extends to film loading – simply pop a roll into the back (film speeds are read automatically by DX contacts), pull the film leader across to the right, and rest it within the space marked by a handy red stripe. Close the back and wind on, watching the spool on the left – the film sprockets catch easily, and the film advances – no fumbling with little metal hinges, or trying to wiggle the leader into a slot. If the XA4 has any downsides, it’s that the DX codes can’t be overridden with the ISO lever underneath the lens – something I’ve only discovered recently – so if you want to push or pull your film, you’ll have to tape over the DX code and set it manually.

There’s been a resurgence in the popularity of compact film cameras in recent years, and it’s easy to see why. Their pocket-ability, sleek and often minimalist designs, and partially (or fully) automated functions make them irresistible for street photographers and lovers of candid photography. They’re small enough to slip into a bag or pocket, and their lenses offer all the image quality of larger film SLRs.

The XA4 is just such a camera, and it’s the camera I’d save from my flat in the event of a fire. It’s not the most valuable camera I own, or the most superficially impressive, nor the one with the most creative controls. But in every situation I’ve used it in, the Olympus XA4 has excelled and proved itself to be the perfect compact film camera. My only worry is that one day it will no longer be able to be repaired or serviced (a concern of most of us who use discontinued gear). If and when that happens, my family heirloom camera will be sadly consigned to that big kitchen drawer in the sky.

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After shooting the Nikon Nikkor 55mm f/1.2 fast prime for the past month, I’m reminded of my old, high school jazz instructor. He would always tell our band, ”Speed isn’t everything.” Our problem was that we young whippersnappers could play fast, but we never sounded good doing it. The solution, according to the instructor, was to practice slowly until familiarity with the material let us play not only faster, but with more control.

Unsurprisingly, telling a bunch of hyperactive sixteen-year-olds to slow down and practice self-discipline wasn’t effective, and the band continued to fail at faster tempos. It became clear that, to us, the physical rush of playing faster was the only thing that mattered, even if our sound suffered for it.

The Nikkor is big, glamorous, and features that seductive “f/1.2” marking on the aperture ring. This alone makes it a lens to conjure choruses of Oohs and Aahs at the local camera meet, and posting a shot of it on Instagram racks up massive numbers of likes and reposts. People love this lens. Because of that fast aperture it automatically gets lumped in with some of Nikon’s best lenses. Yes, the numbers say it should be a great lens. But after spending time with it for the past month I’m starting to agree with my old jazz instructor; speed isn’t everything.

But I should slow this review down; the reputation and fanfare surrounding the Nikon 55mm f/1.2 does indeed come from a place of real reverence. When introduced in December of 1965, this lens was the fastest lens on offer for the Nikon SLR system (although not the fastest in their entire catalog – the Nikon rangefinder 50mm f/1.1 takes that credit). The combination of a Nikon F or F2 with the 55mm f/1.2 represented the premium package from the brand, the best of the best in the heyday of the 35mm mechanical SLR camera.

Its construction was state of the art – a seven elements in five groups Double Gauss-derived design with a seven-bladed aperture and, depending on the version, single-coated or multi-coated elements to provide punchier images and improved flare resistance. Mitigating that flare was crucial – a speed of f/1.2 could not be achieved without an enormous front element, and this lens had a big one. 

These huge glass elements came packaged in Nikon’s all-metal lens chassis complete with a metal focusing ring and aperture ring, bringing the lens to a hefty 12.6oz. The resulting heft and size makes the 55mm f/1.2 cut an imposing figure to this day, fitting for what was once top dog in the vast Nikon lens lineup. 

Large, fast, and technically bonkers lenses like the Nikkor 55mm f/1.2 became a badge of honor for lens makers of the time. Some notable examples from the period include Canon’s 50mm f/0.95 “Dream Lens” made in 1961 for Leica Thread Mount, Leica’s Noctilux 50mm f/1.2 introduced in 1966, and Minolta’s MC-Rokkor 58mm f/1.2 made in the late ‘60s. These lenses were the feathers in the caps of each manufacturer, and the Nikkor 55mm f/1.2 was a particularly colorful feather.

Though fundamentally glamorous and showy, these super-speed lenses did have a real and practical function. Film sensitivity was much lower back then, which in turn required faster lenses. These enabled shooters to get one more stop out of ultra-slow slide films like Kodachrome 25, and helped nightcrawlers pull out an extra stop for their ISO 400 black-and-white films.

When these factors are taken into account, a lens like the Nikkor 55mm f/1.2 makes a lot of sense. Nikon gets a lens that keeps them relevant among lens manufacturers, and shooters can enjoy improved performance on slower films and in low-light.

But we must remember that while these super-speedy lenses were dancing on the bleeding edge of optical technology, they were doing so in the mid 1960s. Manufacturers at the time still hadn’t perfected many of the techniques that make super fast lenses so exceptional today.

Modern lenses are constructed with a much higher number of glass elements than their ancestors. These advanced elements correct distortion and field curvature, increase corner resolution and help to mitigate optical aberrations. That’s why older lenses are so much smaller, lighter, and more elegant than modern glass. Good news for legacy lens lovers, but it’s also true that the early super-fast lenses suffer when it comes to image quality. This is especially true when shot wide-open (as the f/1.2 Nikkor so often begs us to do).

Like many of its contemporaries, the Nikkor 55mm f/1.2 is a product of its time and of those industry-wide growing pains. Though it sports an obviously incredible top speed of f/1.2, optical performance at that aperture leaves a lot to be desired. At f/1.2, contrast decreases and sharpness becomes a moot point. Bright sources of light suffer from large amounts of coma (smearing), and color images show plenty of chromatic aberration (color fringing in high contrast areas).

The tradeoff for this lack of technical quality is an added functionality in low-light (f/1.2 being a full stop faster than f/1.8) as well as razor-thin depth of field, dream-like rendering and, you guessed it, heaps of bokeh. It should be noted that the Nikkor 55mm f/1.2 does all of these things extremely well. Shooters who prefer dreamier photos as well as bokeh addicts will be absolutely in love with this lens. It renders subjects with an ethereal quality, has an uncanny ability to dissolve backgrounds and foregrounds, and lends itself well to a more interpretive composition. This lens is an art lens.

[Black-and-white sample shots made with Ilford HP5 and a Nikon F2]

However, shooting at maximum aperture in situations where fidelity is the ultimate goal is hard, and shooting must-capture subjects this way is risky. I do a lot of shooting in low-light and I find that if my subject is anywhere besides the center of the frame I won’t come away with anything resembling a usable image. The razor-thin depth of field afforded by a 55mm lens at f/1.2 also makes shooting moving subjects at close to mid-focusing range as difficult as bullseyeing womp rats in a T16 back home (without using the Force). In other words, it’s really hard to do. 

Users of super-fast sub-f/1.4 lenses may be familiar with these characteristics, and enjoy them while also championing the stopped-down performance of such lenses. The Nikkor 55mm f/1.2’s performance does improve a lot when stopped down, but its stopped-down performance doesn’t outshine the other Nikon standard focal length lenses of the era. The slower Nikkor 50mm f/2 and f/1.4 lenses perform about the same as this Nikkor 55mm f/1.2 when stopped down, and wide open they offer a slightly deeper depth-of-field which makes acquiring focus in low-light much easier. In fact, the only advantage the 55mm f/1.2 has is that it exhibits less vignetting at f/2 and is slightly sharper at that aperture.

Considering that Nikon’s slower, cheaper lenses of the same era perform just as well as the 55mm f/1.2, the lens seems impractical. If given the choice, I’d still take any of Nikon’s slower standard focal length lenses over the 55mm f/1.2 simply because they’re lighter, and easier to use when shooting wide-open. Sure, the 55mm f/1.2 has a dream-like character that bokeh lovers go crazy for, but beyond that the lens’ image quality is par for the course. Add that to the fact that this lens sells for three to four times the price of those slower, but sharper, lenses and the prospect of buying one suddenly elicits fewer Oohs and Ahhs, and a lot more Hmms.

[Digital sample shots made with a Sony a7]

Prospective buyers should consider if a lens as specific as the Nikkor 55mm f/1.2 fits in with their personal vision and photographic style. People who love bokeh and enjoy dreamier, softer images will want to own this lens. It does make dreamy, ethereal portraits better than most fifties on the market. But for shooters for whom bokeh and softness aren’t the ultimate goal, the Nikkor 50mm f/1.4 or f/2 will be a far more practical choice. They do the simple things well, and are just as capable of making great images loaded with vintage Nikkor character.

Shooting an early super-speed lens Nikkor 55mm f/1.2 reminded me a lot of being a young musician wanting to play too fast, too quickly. Playing fast feels good, but if the fundamentals aren’t there, the music will just end up sounding rushed and one-dimensional. Similarly, the Nikkor 55mm f/1.2 might be fast and feel great to shoot, but its images wide open can be one-dimensional and almost uncontrollable.

In an era where legacy lenses are as likely to be fitted to a modern mirrorless camera (with their incredible high-ISO performance) as they might be to a classic Nikon, these ultra-fast primes just have less relevance than they did fifty years ago. I hate to admit it, but speed really isn’t everything.

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I spent five of ten vacation days shooting a Fujifilm Natura Black F1.9 point-and-shoot film camera. I also spent five of ten vacation days with flu-like symptoms. Surprisingly, the two experiences weren’t all that dissimilar.

With the sickness, I stubbornly forced myself to have fun while doing my best to ignore fleeting spasms of misery in the form of sweats, nausea, and occasional dizziness. With the camera, I stubbornly forced myself to have fun while doing my best to ignore fleeting spasms of misery in the form of distortion, a confoundingly wide lens, and egregious vignetting.

Alright, so the flu and the Fuji aren’t all that analogous. You try to come up with a new way to talk about cameras every two days. It’s hard.

What is a Fujifilm Natura Black F1.9?

Back in 2001, Fujifilm released a new 35mm film camera (in Japan only) called the Fujifilm Natura S. This point-and-shoot camera wasn’t just another point-and-shoot camera. Indeed it had no real competition, for two reasons. The first and most obvious – it’s equipped with a 24mm wide-angle lens. That’s one of the widest angles of view ever offered in a compact camera, and reason alone to make the Natura S an interesting machine. But what’s even more interesting, is its maximum aperture of F/1.9.

Take a moment to digest that.

In addition to this rather outrageous combination of ultra-wide lens and super-fast aperture, the camera offers something more. Fuji’s engineers designed the camera with a specific mind for low-light photography. The name Natura indicates its designers’ intention for the camera to be coupled with the brand’s Natura 1600 color film (known outside Japan as Superia 1600). When loaded with Natura 1600 (or any other film with a DX-coded ISO of 1600 or higher) the camera enters NP mode (Natural Photography). In NP mode, the Natura S deactivates the camera’s built-in flash, exposes at +2 exposure compensation, and shoots at its maximum aperture of f/1.9.

With this combination of programming for low-light photography and ultra fast optics, the Natura S was (and remains) a camera with no real equal, and one that most photo geeks in-the-know assume to be the best low-light compact film camera ever made.

The version I used, the Fuji Natura Black F1.9, is essentially a Natura S with some additions and subtractions. Most notably, the Black replaces the Natura S’s date function with the far more useful ability to manually control exposure compensation. Additional design flourishes amount to a combined name badge and handgrip which stands vertically on the front of the machine (making the Black a far more ergonomically pleasant version of its progenitor), and branding to ensure that we all notice the f/1.9 maximum aperture.

Plus, obviously, it’s black.

Shooting the Fujifilm Natura Black F1.9

The most difficult part of shooting the Natura Black (for those of us who don’t read Japanese) is understanding its menus. The camera was made in Japan and Fujifilm never sold it anywhere else. That means its menus and controls are labeled in Japanese syllabaries. Those who can’t read the text will have to overcome the hurdle. Luckily, this metaphorical hurdle stands about two inches from the ground – don’t drag your feet and you won’t trip.

The most prominent button on the back is the On/Off switch. Press it and the camera comes to life. The lens cover retracts with a delicious Thwick! and the lens protrudes from its flush-mounted rest position with a Whirr, ready to shoot. The only other control is fairly obvious – a directional pad and a centralized select button. For shooters looking to adjust settings, this will become familiar very quickly. It controls the readout on the massive LCD display, and allows us to adjust every adjustment that the Fuji Natura allows us to adjust.

Pressing the centralized select button activates the menu adjustment mode. From here, it’s time to play Pictionary.

The top menu adjustment item shows a number of flash option symbols, and thus, is the flash control (auto, off, daylight and night modes, etc.). Just below that we find self-timer and remote timer icons – pretty obvious. Below that is a toggle-able menu that switches between Autofocus or an infinity focus lock denoted by a mountain (Fujiyama, if I had to guess). And below that (the final menu item) we find the exposure compensation readout, adjusted via the left and right directional pads.

It reads as more complicated than it is (even if it reads pretty simply). Shooters who are interested in this camera should not be worried over being lost in a Japanese menu. If you have eyes and a brain, and a thumb or finger or nose to press buttons, you’ll be okay.

One last note on the menu system and its LCD display – I’d be furious with myself if I didn’t mention this. When we turn the camera on, the bland and boring LCD display bursts to instant beauty with a brilliant green light.

I love this color.

Readers who’ve read enough of my writing or listened to my annoying voice in video might get an idea of the inflection I’m intending when I write that I love this color. For those unsure, let’s make it clear. Pause between words for effect.

I, love, this color.

It is the rich green of the solid wall of swaying bamboo stalks that lined the pathway to the Temple of the Golden Pavilion in Kyoto when I was a young and carefree traveling idiot of age twenty. It is the warm green of Tokyo’s sun dappled Imperial Palace Garden where I laid on the ground and ate my first mochi ice cream. It is the electroluminescent green of the Timex Indiglo watch face that I’d stare into to fall asleep as a nine-year-old boy.

Imagine my surprise and subsequent rush of endorphins when I pressed the button to adjust the settings on this glorious green menu, only to see the menu flash instantly to an even more succulent, orange hue.

This orange is the hot orange of a glowing jack-o-lantern. It is the orange twinkle behind the dash controls of my childhood friend’s 1984 BMW 325i as we first extended our teenage freedom beyond the bounds of mere bicycling. It is the warm, orange light that bathed my fifteen-year-old retinas the first time electricity flowed through the light emitting diode of my brand new Sega Dreamcast’s power status indicator.

I love this color as well.

Performance and Image Quality

Shooting a camera that I’ve never shot before is a risk, made even riskier when I’m shooting important, must-capture moments. I take one vacation per year. For me, that’s a must-capture event. And I kind of hate point-and-shoot cameras. The entire time I was shooting the Fujifilm Natura Black F1.9, I wasn’t sure if I was making a mistake in pouring half of my vacation photos into this little black box.

But my pal, Miguel, assured me that the camera would not disappoint.

On the whole, he was right. The camera performed really well, in most cases, and the times when it didn’t make a flattering image are the times when this could have (or should have) been predicted.

Let’s start with the failures.

The image area of a 35mm film frame is a rectangular section measuring 36 x 24 millimeters. By definition, a wide-angle lens is any lens with a focal length shorter than the long end of an image area, in the case of a 35mm film frame, that means that any lens with a focal length less than 36mm can be considered a wide-angle lens. By the same definition, an ultra wide-angle lens is any lens with a focal length shorter than the short end of an image area – 24mm in this case.

That’s right; this point-and-shoot camera has an ultra wide-angle lens. And like any ultra wide-angle lens, it brings all the foibles of the class. Vignetting is heavy when shot wide open. It distorts like mad when shooting up-close subjects. It pushes backgrounds far, far away, and overloads the frame with so many distant details that compositions can feel empty and vacuous. The short focal length and uncontrollable aperture make images that are often flat and lifeless, with unpleasantly far-reaching depth-of-field.

Faces look grotesque at traditional portrait distance, spreading eyes apart, pushing ears to the background, and exaggerating noses. Architectural shots are challenged by vertical lines that converge drastically, causing buildings to appear to fall away whenever the focal plane is held at an indirect angle. Filling the frame becomes a challenge in footwork, as this prime lens offers no zoom.

In addition to the problems inherent to the ultra wide-angle lens, remember that the Fujifilm Natura Black F1.9 is also a point-and-shoot camera. It brings all of the foibles of this class as well.

It heavily favors automation – the only really useful user controls are for flash and exposure compensation in plus or minus two stops. Decent, this, but there’s no aperture control, no shutter speed control, and no ISO control (the Natura reads the DX code of the inserted film automatically, choosing NP mode when it deems it necessary and offering no possibility of overriding).

The flash mode selection automatically resets after powering off the camera, so users who want to shoot without flash (when not in NP mode, where flash is always off) will need to manually turn off the flash every time the camera’s turned on. Plenty of other point-and-shoot cameras do this, and often there’s a simple workaround – don’t turn the camera off. The Fujifilm Natura Black F1.9 automatically powers down after five minutes. The flash is direct, and overpowers images, creating the typically blown out look of cheaper point-and-shoots. The viewfinder is tiny, and while it’s not dim, it’s not bright either.

Not looking good, is it? Well, I said we’d start with the failings. Let’s talk about the reasons these failings might not matter.

To start, the optical aberrations born of the lens’ ultra wide-angle field of view can be overcome with a bit of knowledge and practice. Vignetting? Ignore it, or frame the subject in the center of the frame, or use it for dramatic effect. It only shows itself in certain low-light situations anyway. Distortion of up-close subjects? Let’s not shoot our kids’ beautiful faces from twelve inches away. That rarely looks good, no matter the focal length. Empty compositions? Be like Robert Capa and get closer (just not too close).

The problems inherent in the point-and-shoot are less easily vanquished, but even this point-and-shoot hater has warmed up a bit. Flash mode selection isn’t as painful as people have us believe. It’s a few button presses, and by turning off the flash every time I power up the camera I’m able to revisit both the gorgeous, green gleam and the soft, orange warmth of that LCD display (I did mention that, yes?).

The flash, sure, it’s gross. But I know that some young shooter in the bowels of a New York City basement bubble party is going to use this camera and its overblown flash to get really popular on Instagram. Just because it doesn’t work for me doesn’t mean it doesn’t work for everyone. The viewfinder – no, it’s not good. But it’s not too bad, either. At least, it’s better than the one in that seventy-year-old Zeiss I shot in 2012.

Listen, it’s my job to nitpick. The camera makes really nice images most of the time. Fuji’s Super EBC (Electron Beam Coating) technology helps make shots that are punchy, full of contrast, sharp, and detailed. The seven-elements-in-six-groups lens that’s packed into the Fujifilm Natura Black F1.9 is a good lens, if we know how to use it. Getting thirty good photos from a roll of thirty-six often requires little more than a bit of thought, followed by pointing and shooting.

And then there’s that NP mode. It works as advertised. Low-light shooting was as similar to daylight shooting as to be virtually unchanged. Point and then shoot, and maybe hold still for just an extra half second. Paired with Kodak’s T-Max P3200, I made really interesting photos in a style that may not actually be a style (Disney World street photography?), and it would’ve been hard, if not impossible, to make those shots with any other point-and-shoot.

Who Should Buy the Fujifilm Natura Black F1.9

As a travel camera, the Fujifilm Natura Black F1.9 is hard to beat, and as a technical achievement it’s even more impressive. Imagine sitting down before a trip (or even a daily walking commute or a night out) and saying, “I want to bring an ultra-wide and ultra-fast lens with me today.”

Assuming we could even find one, we’d be packing, what? A gigantic wide-angle prime lens with a humongous and heavy front element, plus an SLR or DSLR on which to mount it? That sounds about right. And there’d be five pounds of photo gear hanging from a neck strap for the duration of our trip, the proverbial albatross carcass indeed.

The Fuji Natura Black F1.9 weighs 195 grams (6.8 ounces). That’s ridiculous and amazing. It’s also small enough to comfortably (and I mean, comfortably) fit into the pocket of my jeans, jeans which a Floridian jerk did mockingly describe as “skinny jeans” (I don’t wear skinny jeans – not that there’s anything wrong with that). The important point is that the camera is small to a degree that defies comparison.

For shooters who want to travel light, who are looking to shoot in the evening or at night, and who are interested in making sharp, punchy images, the Fujifilm Natura Black F1.9 is a singular choice. It’s virtually the only camera that offers the combination of assets that it offers. It’s unmatched. Unfortunately, people know this.

As a result, the Fujifilm Natura Black F1.9 is really, very expensive. In cost, it rivals cult sensations like the Contax T3 and the later of the Yashica T series cameras. But unlike those criminally expensive cameras, the Fujifilm Natura Black F1.9 actually does things that no other point-and-shoot can do. And maybe that makes it the best buy of all the pricey point-and-shoots.

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The post The Fujifilm Natura Black F1.9 is an Ultra Wide and Super Fast Point and Shoot Film Camera appeared first on Casual Photophile.

We’ve talked about the Canon New Canonet 28’s faster relatives twice before; our reviews of the New Canonet QL17 and that camera’s successor, the Canonet G-III (QL) 17, both spoke in glowing terms. And rightly so. They’re great cameras. Unfortunately for those of us on a budget, these tiny rangefinders can be pricey, often fetching more than $200 for quality examples. This is where the value of the Canonet 28 proves itself – they can easily be bought for under $50, and I often see them sell for as low as $15. But does the lower cost of entry make up for the New Canonet 28’s compromises?

One of the quintessential arguments for shooting film is the direct manual control that often comes with the medium. It’s why photography students are regularly instructed to learn photography on all-manual 35mm SLRs. Manual control is what Ansel Adams felt created “intense images that are consistently above the average.” But can automatic cameras like the New Canonet 28 be as suited to serious film photography? 

Adams was split. On the one hand, automation “permits greater concentration on subject and less on mechanics,” but on the other hand, automation means giving up a level of creativity necessary to the realization of “higher than average” photos.

This article isn’t an apology for automation. It is, however, meant to be an apology for the Canonet 28, a camera that essentially functions as a fully automatic one.

History and Nomenclature 

Canon began the Canonet lineage with the eponymous camera in 1961. The original Canonet was fast, with a maximum aperture of f/1.9 and featured Canon’s unique Electric Eye (EE) light metering technology, a design that featured photocells positioned around the entire lens. The EE mechanism of the camera led Canon to voraciously market the device as fully automatic. So the original Canonet’s manual says, “No need to figure out correct exposures ever – the Canonet does it for you… automatically. You are assured of perfect pictures… always.” Quite the selling point. 

According to Canon, a week’s worth of Canonet camera stock sold in the first two hours of its release, which, of course, is still the case with most new camera releases today. 

By the time the next actual iteration of the Canonet was released with the Canonet S in 1964, more than one million Canonets had left the shelves. The Canonet S was a bit faster, at f/1.7, and added one additional lens element in its six elements in four groups formula. 

In 1965, Canon released a comprehensive Canonet line differentiated by inclusion of the new Quick Loading feature. The three primary models included the QL17 (with an f/1.7 lens), the QL19 (f/1.9), and the less expensive QL25 (f/2.5 and 1/15 of a second as the slowest shutter speed). These Canonet QLs eradicated the panoptic-like EE and instead swung to the other end of the spectrum with a minuscule metering cell positioned at the top of the lens – a design feature that would remain through the end of the Canonet series’ evolutions. These QLs also introduced full aperture and shutter-speed control, along with a shutter-priority auto-exposure mode. 

The original Canonet 28 arrived in 1968 as an economy Canonet model. It was the slowest Canonet yet at f/2.8 and possessed the fewest lens elements, at four in three groups. It also featured a Seiko LA shutter as opposed to the Copal SV shutters found in every other preceding and proceeding Canonet model, save for the QL 19E, which had a Seiko SE electronic shutter. The body was reinforced plastic and, rather than a coincidence rangefinder, the camera relied on zone focusing through a few zone marks in the viewfinder. Without any rangefinder mechanism or (obviously) autofocus, the Canonet 28 forced uncertainty into the focusing process, similar to the far superior Rollei 35 SE.

1968 marked the end of the Canonet’s second batch of iterations with the S, QLs, and 28. A third wave of iterations began in 1969 with the “New” Canonets; the New Canonet QL17 (and “luxury” QL17-L), the New Canonet QL19, and the New Canonet 28, the latter two released in 1971. 

Finally in 1972, Canon produced its magnum opus Canonet and said goodbye to the Canonet line forever with the Canonet (QL) G-III 17 and 19. These “grade up” third generation QLs (hence the G-III) were the best Canonets produced by Canon, and cemented the Canonet legacy in the annals of compact rangefinders.  

The proper Canonet nomenclature, then, goes from earliest to latest models, first, no qualifier (e.g. just QL or 28), to second, “new” (e.g. New QL or New 28), to finally third, G-III, noting that there was no G-III 28. 

Having slogged our way through the rich history of the Canonet’s cumbersome identification methodology, we can now begin to think more closely about whether the New 28 represented a major jump in quality from the pitiful original 28, and if it truly rivals the quality of the faster and newer models. 

The Splendor of Simplicity

The New Canonet 28 is remarkably simple. In many ways, the camera embodies a minimalist aesthetic. It’s unsurprisingly lighter at 540 grams than the New QL17 or the G-III 17, both of which weigh in at 620 grams. Nonetheless, it features the same texturized metal and exudes a beautiful, almost constellate luster on its top and bottom plates. The lens barrel and focusing ring are a more muted satin metal that differs only subtly from, and therefore complements, the body’s finish.

On both the front and top of the camera we find engraved lettering filled with black enamel. The top is emblazoned with the stylized “Canonet 28” in a proprietary script typeface for “Canonet” and a digital-like typeface (comparable to Matthew Carter’s Walker) for “28,” while the front features the classic Canon logo. 

The camera has few controls, mechanical or otherwise. A top-mounted film advance lever (coated in hard plastic in an appearance reminiscent of an aircraft empennage), a nondescript film rewind knob, a threaded shutter release, a plastic aperture ring (admittedly best left on “A”), a discrete ISO tab on the lens barrel, featuring a relatively sparse range from 25-400, and the metal focusing ring.

The viewfinder on the camera is fantastic. The parallax-corrected frame lines are yellow and easily discernible, the shutter-speed strip and meter needle are also bright and clear, and the split-image is perhaps the best of all – sharp and obvious when out of focus. 

In terms of feel, the camera leaves nothing wanting. It is appropriately heavy, an archetypal boxy shape, and compact enough for easy carry (though the fixed lens does stick out farther than other compact rangefinders like the Olympus XA or other compact automatic cameras.) Recently, I took my NC28 with me while fishing in a canoe and I never felt distracted by the camera around my neck or weighed down when casting. Had I wanted, it would have been remarkably easy to slip the camera into a larger coat or flannel shirt pocket – it’s shorter lengthwise than my phone is tall. 

My main gripe with the camera’s design is the plastic aperture control ring. It is colored a dingy baby powder white, and the feel of its actuation comes with a flimsiness found nowhere else on the camera. That said, when the aperture ring is moved to Auto it does nicely lock into place, which provides a satisfying mechanical comfort from an otherwise materially uninspiring piece. Overall, the camera is aesthetically and mechanically understated but, in an elegant manner.

Shooting the New Canonet 28

The New Canonet 28 features a 40mm lens, a maximum aperture of f/2.8, and five lens elements in four groups – the same lens formula found in the original Canonet, and one less element than those found in the QL models. However, at f/2.8 it retains the title of slowest Canonet. Even so, the NC28 is capable of a great degree of sharpness across all apertures and can handle lowlight situations fairly well. 

Most of the images below, shot on Ilford HP5 Plus, were taken on overcast days closer to sunset than midday. In some photos, you can tell that the camera exposed for the lake or the sky as opposed to my subject, which highlights the frustration that comes with not being able to set one’s own shutter speed and aperture. Exposures aren’t miscalculated atrociously, but they’re just a bit off in certain light. An exposure compensation function would’ve fit nicely in the Canonet’s design brief.

Vignetting occurs here and there. That said, there is definitely prevalent softness around the edges of my photographs even when I get the focusing right. This could be due to the camera choosing a larger aperture to compensate for the lighting, but even in the brighter shots there is significant and obvious blur around the corners, and particularly so in the top right corner. 

When it comes to bokeh, the camera is nothing special. In my shots, I can see really no telltale elements of “good” bokeh. Background and foreground blur is relatively fine (as in smooth) albeit there might be some swirl to the background here and there. 

The optical excellence of this camera is essentially its tonal ability and the chance to capture a very sharp center of frame. The Spectra coating used in the lens construction allows for excellent contrast, which slightly makes up for what the lens and automation system lack in sharpness. At infinity, much of the frame is sharp, and it’s here that the camera produces its best photos. 

All in all, the New Canonet 28 is a joy to use. As a model more under-the-radar than its manual and faster cousins, there’s not a great financial commitment attached to acquiring one. The photos it produces easily rival those of the pricier, faster QL17s. It may not be the perfect camera for feeling in control, but it just might be the perfect camera for letting go. 

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The post The Canon Canonet 28 – A Camera Made for Taking it Easy   appeared first on Casual Photophile.

Brand loyalty can be a beautiful thing. Take an old friend of mine for example – she was head-over-heels in love with her Pentax K-5. She loved taking photos, even if she wasn’t in love with photography. You wouldn’t call her a photographer, but while her friends all used their phones on road trips, she brandished her K-5. Something about that camera made her love the name Pentax. 

Pentax has been creating loyal customers for decades by producing exemplary cameras and lenses that often have basic operation with price points lower than those of their bigger competitors. Conversely to those other companies, Pentax’s primary focus was more often on the amateur or beginner and secondarily on the professional. The Pentax K1000 is as ubiquitous on lists of best cameras for 35mm beginners as it is in junk shops and flea markets. Even in the medium format arena, Pentax’s 645 would serve as a more automatic entry point to larger negatives, while professionals were still content with the Pentax 67. 

The company’s history in the digital market speaks even more to its dedication to consumers. They’ve released thirty-two different models in their K-Mount DSLR line, but only one full-frame model. It took them until 2016 to release the K1, and true to form, it boasted a feature-saturated spec sheet that belied its modest price point.

What’s a Pentax UC-1?

We could assume that a company so dedicated to providing the average customer with a simple but top-notch camera would be the ultimate player in the point-and-shoot boom of the 1980s and ‘90s. But that’s not exactly what happened. 

Companies like Olympus pioneered the compact movement in the late 1970s and continued to lead the pack for decades. Their formula for success was to produce tiny cameras fitted with outstanding prime lenses. 

Pentax took a different route – their PC and Espio camera lines were alternatively barren of features or focused on zoom technology while willingly sacrificing image quality. Sure, you could buy one of the countless IQ-Zoom cameras for the price of a six pack, but you’d wish you’d went for the six-pack when you got your images developed.

Pentax did eventually release a camera to cut through the din of its many loud and slow compact zooms. Released in 1994, the Pentax UC-1 (or Espio Mini outside the U.S.) seemed to follow the same path as the Olympus Mju and Yashica T-series cameras. It’s compact, lightweight, easy to use and boasts an impressive prime lens.

Those four features have catapulted the Yashica and Olympus cameras to hype beast status that’s seen their prices skyrocket in a manner reminiscent of the last decade’s housing market. The price of the UC-1 lags slightly behind an Mju II or T4, but it’s easy to imagine it catching up. The skeptic in me has long thought these types of cameras are extremely overvalued, and receiving a Pentax UC-1 for review gave me the opportunity to put that notion to the test.

As a point-and-shoot, the Pentax UC-1 is a strict fundamentalist. Its spec sheet is spartan and its creative controls almost non-existent. Everything about the camera seems designed for ease of use and speedy snapping. Just pop in a roll of film, close the back and it advances to the first frame. ISO is set by the camera automatically through the magic of DX coding, and all the photographer has to do is push the shutter button. 

If you’re someone in 1996 not worried about the finer points of creative photography (which is most people in any year) then the UC-1 would have been an excellent choice. Taking it out to parties? Don’t forget to push the red eye reduction button. On a vacation with the kids at the Grand Canyon? Slide the “panorama” lever and you’ll get a dramatic landscape portrait. It’s this market Pentax sought for this camera, and anyone buying it for such a purpose wouldn’t have been disappointed.

But what about someone who identifies as a photographer – or who at least wants more than just snapshots from their camera? After putting the UC-1 through its paces, I can report that the camera would give such photographers mixed feelings. 

The Positives

The UC-1’s 32mm f/3.5 lens (3 elements in 3 groups) is truly outstanding. Everything that compact shooters love about their favorite cameras is here as well; tack sharpness, low distortion, strong contrast and just the right amount of vignetting. There’s some softness wide open, but I found the vignetting actually helped mitigate it nicely. While it doesn’t have the SMC badge that adorns Pentax’s top lenses, the coating on this lens is no slouch. I saw resolution from the lens that could hang with the Yashica and Olympus cameras, while not reaching the level of a Contax T3 or Minolta TC-1.

Two things that worried me, autofocus and the light meter, turned out to be worry-free. The UC-1’s phase-matching autofocus system was remarkably fast. The camera uses the center brackets as its focus zone. A green light in the viewfinder lets the photographer know focus has been achieved and blinks when the camera can’t find the subject. Even though I was trying to fool it, the green light only blinked when it was extremely dark or when I was using the sky to meter.

I’m used to shooting with questionable autofocus systems and even seem to gravitate toward them. So I was less worried about that as I was the camera’s metering. ISO is set using the camera’s automatic and unchangeable DX code reader with a range from 25-3200 (cartridges without coding are automatically set to ISO 25.) 

In the camera’s daylight-synchro metering mode, the light meter ranges from EV 9-17 at ISO 100, which is hilariously bad compared to the Mju II’s range of 1-17. But the UC-1 also has a “slow shutter” mode, which expands the range to EV 2.6-17. Despite the weirdness of the two exposure modes, I was generally happy with all of my exposures. The roll of Kodak Tri-X specifically was shot at sunset and in challenging lighting situations. I wanted to see how the camera would handle the challenge, and it exceeded my expectations.

You can’t talk about the UC-1’s advantages without mentioning its size and weight. At only 5.4 ounces, it’s one of the lightest cameras I’ve ever used. Even with its CR123 battery and a loaded roll of film, it’s hard to imagine something so light and toy-like would produce memorable images. That and the camera’s pocket ability make it an easy choice as a daily carry camera. 

But it’s not without its faults, many of them typical to this kind of camera.

The Negatives

I understand that simplicity of use is a core tenet of point-and-shoot photography. But would it have killed Pentax (or other manufacturers) to have included an adjustable ISO feature on the camera? With the exception of some black-and-white films I almost never shoot film at its box speed, so that inflexibility is a real negative for me.

The camera’s shutter is also a point of concern, as well as a bit of an oddity. The shutter is electro-magnetically released and has a range of 1/400th of a second to 2 seconds. But it also has a bulb setting that can last from 1/2 of a second to 5 minutes. I would gladly sacrifice the bulb setting I will never use for a faster maximum shutter speed. With 1/400th being the fastest speed and without ISO control, film selection can be important to avoid under-exposure.

The location of the viewfinder was a common annoyance while shooting the camera. While the inside of the viewfinder is rather nice, with lights for focus and flash confirmation and LCD central brackets and close-focusing cropping, its location in the center of the camera took a while to get used to. That’s a subjective and aesthetic complaint, but I complain nonetheless.

The camera’s weight is a distinct advantage for the Pentax UC-1, but its build quality is not. Especially at its lightest, without battery or film, the camera feels brittle to hold. I know that it wouldn’t take much to break the Pentax UC-1, evidenced further by the paint on the body. The UC-1 came in black, silver and champagne. Mine is of the champagne variety, which unfortunately is the type most prone to wear and tear. The previous owner obviously liked to hold the camera in the bottom left corner while shooting, because the paint in that area has all worn off in a thumb-sized smear. Because of this, the slightly tougher black variation sells for a higher price. But if you think the lens is what really matters, save a few bucks and toast to the champagne version. At least no one will steal it. 

Lastly – and most trivially – the panorama setting. This is a dumb gimmick that many makers of the times used to sell cameras. I’m legitimately curious whether it ever served a useful purpose before Photoshop put it in the ground for good. 

The Consumer Report

If the final image is the only measuring stick for a camera, then the Pentax UC-1 is a good camera. I really enjoyed the images I got from this camera. I think the lens is great and it makes shooting photographs as easy as that can be.

But we can’t escape the tired question – what is the real value of a point-and-shoot film camera in 2018? Is the Pentax UC-1 worth buying?

According to the current market, UC-1’s can be bought anywhere from $120 to $220, more if it’s the black-coated version. Weirdly, the Espio Mini badging will make the price go up another hundred dollars, even though it’s the same camera. 

Would I pay $200 for one? Would I pay that much for a camera without any ISO control, with a relatively slow shutter, and with a nervous build quality? Probably not. This type of camera, despite its lens, doesn’t make me want to shell out that much money. But for shooters who value compactness and image style more than longevity and creative control, the UC-1 may be a good choice.

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The post Pentax UC-1 (Espio Mini) Point and Shoot Film Camera Review – The Little Lens that Could appeared first on Casual Photophile.

Photographers are tricky people for whom to buy gifts. They’re picky, they know what they like, and most of them spend countless hours in agonized research before buying anything. But we’re here to help. We’ve compiled a selection of unique gifts sure to impress any photo geek this holiday season.

How to use this guide

If you’re a shopper buying for a photo geek, these gifts will work. If you’re a photo geek hoping for photography-related gifts, send this list to those who will be buying you gifts as a not-so-subtle hint.

We’ve broken the gifts down into price point, with smaller (yet no less thoughtful) gifts at the top, and the expensive “Lexus-in-the-driveway” gifts down the bottom. Enjoy!

Stocking Stuffers ($5 to $30)

The best and most obvious gift to give the analog photographer in your life is film. We can never have enough of it, and without it life is meaningless!

Fortunately there have been a number of new films hitting the shelves this year, not least exciting of which is Kodak’s famously re-launched Ektachrome. Kodak also re-launched its high-speed black-and-white T-Max P3200 film earlier in the year, and this stock is perfect for low light and night shooting. Japan Camera Hunter’s well-received JCH Street Pan 400 is a great choice for the aspiring street photographer on your list.

Lomography just released a new black-and-white film called “Berlin Kino,” which has been extracted from a roll of cine film produced by a longtime German film company. Anyone wanting to give their photography a look reminiscent of Wim Wenders, Rainer Fassbender or Warner Herzog would be thrilled to open this on Christmas day. For those looking for a more experimental flair, Dubblefilm this year launched two new films (Bubblegum and Monsoon) that come pre-exposed with unique effects. If you’re looking for some more everyday stock, just grab a brick of Ultramax.

All of these films are good choices, and with every film offering its own unique opportunities and challenges, it’s impossible to make a bad choice.

If it’s clothing and accessories you’re looking for, we have you covered. There are a number of awesome shirt designs available in our own F Stop Cameras shop ($26), as well as tote bags, and retro film canister keychains ($5).

Shoot Film Co. is a treasure trove of stocking stuffer opportunities. From their collection of awesome camera-related pins (my personal favourite being the RIP Agfa Vista pin) to apparel, zines, mugs and more, there’s plenty to allow the photo nut in your life to wave their flag.

Photography magazines are another great option for the stocking. Publications like Kodak’s “Kodachome” ($20) and the female-focused “She Shoots Film” ($20) are great sources of creative inspiration and are packed with features on burgeoning and established analog photographers alike.

Mid-Range Gifts ($30 to $75)

The gift that I’d recommend over (maybe) anything else on this list is a good photo book. While we photo nerds have a tendency to hunt eternally for the next camera or that new piece of glass that will take our work to the next level, we frequently overlook and underestimate the value of looking at someone else’s work.

There’s been an almost endless number of great photo books released this year representing the almost equally endless styles and genres in photography.

Fans of instant photography would enjoy William Eggleston’s “Polaroid SX-70,” and Dewey Nicks’ “Polaroids of Women.”

For the more historically oriented, “Gordon Parks: The New Tide” explores that seminal photographer’s early work and emerging social conscience.

“Displaced: Manzanar 1942-1945” shows the work of seven photographers (including Ansel Adams and Dorothea Lange) documenting the U.S. incarceration of Japanese Americans during World War 2.

Finally, two books from Magnum (“Contact Sheets” and “Manifesto”) are fantastic compilations of the agency’s photographers, and are each a treasure trove of photographic inspiration.

The Big Gift ($100 to $500)

At $99, the Polaroid OneStep2 is one of the best gifts in the analog photo world right now. Photo geeks aged twelve to seventy will be equally enthralled by this magical instant camera. Get some film while you’re at it – the OneStep2 takes Polaroid Originals’ I-Type film in color or black-and-white.

While many photographers develop their black-and-white film at home, far fewer venture into the world of color film development. The demand for precision and consistency, as well as the additional complexity of its chemical process makes color film trickier to dev, but a new product from CineStill is designed to bring more color development into the home. Their TC-1000 ($99.95) is a temperature control system and circulator thermostat that makes mixing chemistry and precise processing easy.

Good camera bags are often taken for granted. After all, we would rather have the camera in our hands. But in the case of the Moshi Arcus Multifunctional Backpack ($229.95) carrying is believing, as this bag manages to balance efficiency and ergonomics in a stylish and minimal package.

Tripods are another piece of important gear for any photographer. Tripods open up the world of slow shutter speeds and nighttime photography. While many of the most popular offerings from Germany or Japan can cost an arm and a leg, K&F Concept’s TC2534 carbon fiber tripod ($170) is a fantastic option for anyone seeking quality on a budget.

If you know a photographer who frequently shoots black-and-white film, a set of color filters would make for a great gift. Each color filter (typically red, orange and yellow) bring out a different set of characteristics and improvements in the final image. Just make sure you know the filter size before buying, or opt for a universal modular set from companies like Cokin. 

For many analog photographers, buying cameras often turns up models with broken light meters, cameras with light meters requiring now-illegal batteries, or no light meter at all. Often these cameras sell for a lower price than their accurately metering siblings. With a professional light meter, a whole new world of savings and opportunities open up. Sekonic is the undisputed leader in photographic light meters and offers a lineup for a variety of price points. Their Flashmate L-308s ($199) is both affordable and highly capable. It’s a basic meter that fits into almost any pocket, but it offers spot-on ambient and reflective readings with an EV range from 0 to 19.9.

For those wanting the absolute top-of-the-line option, the Speedmaster L-858D is an undisputed champion. Though at a retail cost of $589 it’s above our price ceiling, it justifies the expense with incident and reflective modes, a one-degree spot meter with viewfinder and a mind-blowing EV range of -5 to 22.9 that ensures the photographer always has complete light mastery.

Splurging ($500+)

Once you’re above the $500 range, you’re really talking about some cool cameras or lenses. Unrestrained by price, it’s important to go for the absolute best. The camera that would deliver the Christmas feeling only a Nintendo 64 delivered in youth. Only one camera comes to mind. The one camera that towers above all others — delivering supreme creative control, optics and reliability. The Vivitar Ultrawide. 

Just kidding.

For the unlimited budget category, James has previously chosen some amazing cameras. The Leica M4, a Rolleiflex, Nikon’s FM3a and the Hasselblad X-Pan to be specific. Any photographer would be lucky to own one of these cameras. Give any of them as gifts and you’ll likely change the recipient’s photographic life. I’ll add one more to the list – The Nikon SP.

The Nikon SP could well be Nikon’s best film camera — it’s certainly their finest rangefinder. It’s a beautiful amalgam of past and present. It’s a classic, entirely-mechanical rangefinder made in 2005 with modern materials and production processes. It’s a professional camera with the potential to last forever. It’s a camera that should be passed down, not sold at auction, and though it’s honestly too expensive to think that many people (if any) will be getting one for a holiday gift, it’s nice to window shop.

A Holiday Thank You from the CP Team

James here. Many thanks to Jeb for this lovely and comprehensive gift guide. And many thanks as well to any and all who’ve taken the time to read it, or who’ve read any of our content this past year. We appreciate being a part of your hobby. Thanks again.

Want to browse for gifts on your own?

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The post The Best Holiday Gifts for the Photographer – 2018 appeared first on Casual Photophile.

I’m going to talk about Fujifilm’s Fujicolor Pro 400H, Fuji’s pro-level color negative film. I really am. But I’ve got to get something off my chest first. I really don’t like being the “get off my lawn” guy. I’m too young, and too pleasant. But certain annoying trends make me develop a Clint Eastwood-esque scowl. Take for example the word “aesthetic”. It’s a word historically reserved for hoity-toity philosophical writings, yet it’s somehow found its way into the general parlance. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for expanding vocabulary, but the current use of the word “aesthetic” is specious at best. I’ve seen the word used to describe everything from 1980s Miami Vice-esque graphic design, to “on brand” instagram accounts, with little consistency in its application. Through overuse, the word “aesthetic” has become the internet’s version of inane business park buzzwords like “synergy” and “ideate.”

I mention this because Fujifilm Fujicolor Pro 400H is in some ways a victim of its own surface-level “aesthetic.” Its aesthetic is, like the word itself, one that has been used so much that it has become a caricature of itself. Pro 400H is one of the most versatile color films on the market, but it only seems to be used to achieve one look.

Fujifilm Pro 400H is a 400 speed color negative film meant for professional use in 35mm and medium format cameras. It’s a step above Fuji’s consumer Superia line, as well as a direct competitor to Kodak’s Portra 400 emulsion. It boasts an incredibly wide exposure latitude, extraordinarily fine grain, and a true-to-life color palette. It’s nothing we haven’t already heard of, but still represents the cream of the crop when it comes to modern color negative emulsions.

[Sample shots in the galleries above and below were made by CP writer Jeb Inge on 35mm film]

In practice, the film performs incredibly well – the finer grain results in a kind of sharpness and resolution normally reserved for slower films. Making landscapes and shooting general travel photography is a particular pleasure owing to the film’s surprising resolution, and becomes a powerful tool when paired with ultra-sharp lenses like the Minolta 40mm f/2 Rokkor in M-mount or the Nikkor 105mm f/2.5. 

In medium format this film becomes even more impressive – the film takes on a silky-smooth, ultra high resolution look that represents the best of modern film photography.

The wide exposure latitude afforded by Fuji Pro 400H makes this sharpness and resolution available in almost any lighting situation. 400 speed color negative film usually finds its sweet spot at golden hour, but Pro 400H’s latitude increases its effective range to include broad daylight scenes and indoor lighting situations. Under-exposure latitude bottoms out at a respectable two stops under, but its over-exposure latitude can reach beyond even four or five stops over. Shooters who prefer full manual, meter-less cameras can rest assured that any slight errors in exposure will be compensated for by Pro 400H’s exposure latitude. This also means that they can shoot freely, as they can make artistic exposure decisions without the immediate threat of crushed shadows or blown highlights.

But while Fujifilm Fujicolor Pro 400H is incredibly sharp and easy to use, its most distinctive trait by far is its color palette. Fuji made color accuracy a priority with Pro 400H, and they’ve dialed things in nicely. The color balance of Pro 400H is remarkably neutral across the board with an added depth to blue and green. Pro 400H’s neutral (but accurate) color palette is refreshing from an, ahem, aesthetic standpoint, as well as a functional one. Not only does its accuracy result in a subtler, more nuanced look compared to other professional color negative films, but it also offers a more flexible base for color editing.

Skin tones are particularly interesting on Fuji Pro 400H. Whilst films like Kodak Ektar, and to a lesser extent Kodak Portra 400, tend to bring out warm orange and red in skin, Pro 400H instead elects for a colder skin tone. Depending on the subject, this can either make their skin look smooth and natural or devoid of all blood. Experienced editors can make fine adjustments to bring out more warmth in the skin, although in some circles the pale “heroin chic” look is just fine.

Skin tone quirks aside, Fuji Pro 400H is a malleable, versatile, and reliable film fit for both professional and casual usage. It delivers a beautiful, yet accurate look that flirts with digital cleanliness while offering that signature tonal gradation that makes film the great medium it is. As far as color negative emulsions go, Fuji Pro400H is one of the best, if not certainly the most versatile.

[Shots in the samples gallery below were made by CP writer Dustin Vaughn-Luma on 120 film]

[Shots in the samples gallery below were made by CP writer Josh Solomon on 35mm film]

There’s a certain “Pro 400H look” that tends to occur when the film is over-exposed somewhere on the order of three to five stops. The color palette lightens up considerably and shifts more towards pastel. This specific usage of Pro400H is popular among wedding photographers looking to add a certain lightness to their photos, as well as enterprising Instagrammers looking for a specific visual signature. The look has become the “aesthetic” of Fuji Pro 400H, and dominates a majority of film-based wedding photography and a good amount of film-based, lifestyle Instagram accounts. It has become so popular that it has turned Fuji Pro 400H into somewhat of a film cliché beyond even the limited borders of social media.

This review might end up sounding like a personal crusade, but I think there’s an important lesson to be learned from a film as typecast as Fuji Pro 400H. Social media and the internet in general has a tendency to make us reduce things, people, and ideas into caricatures of themselves, caricatures which we unfortunately confuse for their entire being. Fuji Pro 400H, among other things in our hobby, is a victim of that phenomenon.

Yes, Fuji Pro400H can do the bright wedding look and the hip instagram film lifestyle shot, but it can also serve as a wonderful landscape film, can work as a great street photography tool owing to its stellar exposure latitude and detail rendition, and can single handedly improve the performance of even the dinkiest point-and-shoot camera. I suspect it could be capable of even more if only we’d look past our own clunky notions of art and aesthetics.

Get it at B&H Photo

Get it from Amazon

Get it on eBay

The post Fujifilm Fujicolor Pro 400H Film Profile appeared first on Casual Photophile.

It’s almost a cliché – your well-brassed camera must wear an equally weathered artisanal strap, usually leather. Venture onto any fashionable camera site these days and we’ll no doubt find such a leather strap attached to a red-dot rarity, wrapped round a cup of espresso and an overly-complicated paperback novel. But not everyone likes leather.

During my search for an upgrade from the manky old Pentax strap currently adorning my Cosina SLR, I realised there wasn’t much in the way of stylish but hard-wearing straps for those of us who choose to avoid animal products (after all, if you don’t eat meat, wearing leather seems a bit odd).

Non-leather straps seems to fall into two categories; form or function. The former is a category dominated by the likes of Peak Design and Optech. Straps by these companies provide all the functionality needed by professional photographers, without the leather.

Peak Design offers their Capture camera clips – metal hardware that screws into a tripod thread, and allows you to mount a camera on your belt for easy shotgun-fast shooting. These land a little too close to “mobile phone in a holster” category for me – a trend that should have stayed in the 2000s. With a heavy 400mm lens attached, I’d also worry over the structural integrity of my belt – nobody wants to be pantsed by their camera gear.

Another offering from Peak is the Slide – a simple webbing strap with internal padding. However, I struggle to see technology in this strap that warrants the price of $70 – the vast majority of my film cameras didn’t cost me $70, after all.

Optech have some very well-reviewed straps, with the ability to swap out the padded middle section between cameras. Their Pro-Strap comes recommended as an affordable but comfortable option for those of us with heavier gear, and is available in a variety of different colours, including camouflage, the most cursed of all fabric patterns. Constructed from sturdy neoprene, Optech’s straps look like they’ll stand the test of time. Best of all, they’re very affordable – ideal if you have multiple cameras to furnish with straps.

We now come to the most utilitarian and least aesthetically pleasing end of the camera strap scale – The Harness. Like the Photographer Vest much-loved by press shooters of old, its functionality way outshines its awful form. If you need to carry two camera bodies however, it’s undoubtedly handy, and to this end Blackrapid can offer a variety of options – full holster, or single-side, if you’re not ready to commit to dual-wielding just yet.

For a slightly more fashionable option, try Holdfast – their MoneyMaker Swagg is available in a variety of colours, none of which are camo. Holdfast tend to stray into “needlessly masculine” accessory territory – their leather options include python skin and American Buffalo, if you want to pretend you’re taking photos in a jungle (not the concrete kind).

Swinging wildly away from Manly and Extreme territory, why not try a scarf strap – with plenty of colour options available, there’s sure to be one to suit your outfit, and provided your camera of choice isn’t too heavy, the wide band looks like a comfy alternative to the traditional camera strap. There are hundreds of options available on Etsy – take your pick!

But my favourite option for leather-free camera straps are the gorgeous straps made by Hyperion. These are available in a huge variety of colour combinations – choose your cord color and bindings for a personalized touch. Importantly, Hyperion eschews leather in both their cord strap and the bindings – most other cord strap options still use leather bindings to attach the cord to the rings. These straps are handmade in Greece, just like most of ancient Rome’s mythology! For me, the Hyperion strap ticks all the boxes – stylish enough to suit any camera, customizable, handmade by an actual person, and best of all, affordable.

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Leica has just revealed a cosmetic update to its digital mirrorless Leica CL, and this time, it’s silver. But I’ve already reviewed that camera. Can I really request a test camera based on a new paint scheme? Hell, I’ve hoisted the moth-eaten sails of articles on far flimsier masts, and they’ve moved the boat. And another thing – the first time they lent me a CL for review it came with a big, honkin’ zoom lens. This is my chance to test the prime lens that I really wanted all those months ago – the Elmarit-TL 18mm F/2.8 Aspherical.

The Elmarit-TL 18mm F/2.8 Aspherical launched alongside the first (and far darker) digital Leica CL last year. It’s the kit prime lens for the Leica CL and can also be mounted on any L-mount camera (the T/TL and SL series). It’s the smallest and lightest prime for the system, and the widest (but not too wide). By these metrics, it should be the essential prime lens for the new CL, perfect for street photography, travel, snapshots. But it’s also the least expensive L-mount prime, and this last point hints at compromise.

What’s in a name?

With the Elmarit-TL 18mm F/2.8 Aspherical (and most lenses, actually), there’s a lot in that name. This assemblage of letters and numbers tells the experienced photo geek most of what we need to know about the lens. It’s made to fit any Leica L mount camera. It’s an 18mm lens (equivalent to a 27mm lens in the full-frame 35mm format). It’s got a slightly sluggish maximum aperture, and at least one aspherical lens element.

Dive a bit deeper into the spec sheet and we find the details – eight elements in six groups with four aspherical surfaces optical formula; electronically controlled aperture; autofocus from 0.3 meters to infinity, with user-selectable fly-by-wire manual focus; and that’s just about all we can wring out of that humble Portable Document Format file.

There are few surprises with this lens. Those who’ve shot a couple hundred frames with any 28mm lens will know what to expect – the Leica Elmarit-TL 18mm F/2.8 will make images with a wide field of view, sharp when stopped down, a bit soft in the corners when shot wide open, very minor distortion of subjects at minimum focus distance.

Build Quality

At just 80 grams (2.8 ounces) this lens is astonishingly light, and with a length of 20.5 millimeters it’s simply tiny. There’s no smaller lens in the Leica L mount, and even adapting any one of the traditionally tiny M-mount rangefinder lenses won’t provide a lower profile. This makes the Elmarit-TL 18mm F/2.8 Aspherical the perfect travel and street lens for the CL, which is itself a perfectly sized camera for these photographic disciplines (and for people like me, who like small machines in all situations).

Upside noted, this diminutiveness comes with an unpleasant side effect; a disquieting voice whispering that the Elmarit-TL may lack the hefty, mechanical quality typically associated with products bearing the Leica name. The body of the lens is metal, sure, but it must be impossibly thin metal, and I suspect the innards are plastic (though I’d be in trouble if I took it apart to verify). Holding the Elmarit-TL 18mm F/2.8 Aspherical in the hand feels less like holding a Leica lens and more like holding a six-tall stack of Pringles brand potato and wheat-based stackable snack chips in all their unnaturally-shaped hyperbolic paraboloid glory.

But I’ve gotten pretty hypocritical, haven’t I? How can I say that I love the lens’ lightness in one paragraph, and then complain that it’s not heavy enough in the next? That’s just rude. If I were a reader reading this article I’d absolutely yell at me in the comments.

Besides, lenses are meant to be mounted to a camera and used, not fondled and weighed by some chin-scratching Professional Camera Liker with a magnifying glass.

On to more important things!

Handling and Image Quality

Fit the lens to the camera, strap on our cold-weather gear (it’s that time of year, unfortunately) and hit the streets to make some photos. Here, in its natural environment, the Elmarit-TL 18mm F/2.8 begins to show its real worth.

Designed by Leica to be used without a lens hood, it never loses its portability (it’s compatible with 39mm diameter front filters). The lens and mounted camera fit naturally into my coat pocket, saving my ungloved hands from the bitter bite of Old Man Winter. The manual focus ring spins with weighty resistance, though the electronic focusing makes input feel subtly indirect and ever-so-slightly detached. The CL with 18mm feels balanced and cohesive, more like a fixed-lens compact than the interchangeable-lens system camera it is.

Shot wide open at F/2.8, the Elmarit-TL 18mm F/2.8 Aspherical performs really well, if not ever being exceptional. As mentioned earlier and as expected by old hands, the center of the frame shows average sharpness, and edges do not. Viewed on a phone screen or small monitor, this softness in the edges and corners won’t make any difference. Images transferred onto old-fashioned physical sheets of compressed moist cellulose fibers (big photo prints) will make edge softness more obvious. Whether or not this matters is a matter of taste. I don’t mind edge softness, and have even used it to subtly emphasize a subject.

Stopped down to F/4, the central sharpness gets even sharper and extends outward toward the edges. At F/5.6 the entire frame is sufficiently sharp to preclude complaint, same at F/8. At F/11 and F/16, diffraction rears its ugly head and decreases resolution (pretty starkly, in the case of images made at F/16).

There’s no chromatic aberration at any aperture. There’s barely any distortion in normal use. Up-close portraits get weird, but only at the minimum focus distance of just under twelve inches and only very slightly. And there’s virtually no light falloff (about 1 EV of vignetting when shot wide open). Illumination is even at all smaller apertures. That’s all great stuff, really.

Though universal post-processing of digital files pretty effectively negates bickering over color profiles these days, colors from the lens and the CL’s sensor are excellent. Punchy and vibrant straight out of the camera, the DNGs this machine produces are infinitely adjustable.

Autofocus speed is really impressive, helped along assuredly by the lens’ wide field of view and its rather deep depth-of-field. Bokeh is nothing to get excited about, but this lens is not made for bokeh or for people who live for bokeh. It’s a context lens, and in my opinion, that’s the best kind of lens.

Takeaway

When I reviewed the Leica CL last year, I didn’t know what to expect. I certainly did not expect the CL to be the only digital camera I truly loved shooting throughout the entire span of the calendar year. But it was. The CL must be the cleanest, purest, and most engaging digital camera I’ve used in the past decade. It’s lovely, and I don’t know why I haven’t bought one yet.

The Elmarit-TL 18mm F/2.8 Aspherical may just be the perfect companion to this camera, and finding it may be the last push I need to pull out the plastic (I’d get the black CL and Elmarit over the silver). Like my Triumph Bonneville, the Elmarit my not be the best at any one thing, but it’s pretty great at almost everything. Other primes in the L-mount lineup are faster, sharper, objectively better – but they’re also larger, heavier, and more expensive. Some of those lenses would even entirely subvert the joy of shooting a CL. Just take a look at the size of that 35mm prime – one of these combinations makes sense, and the other does not.

The Elmarit-TL 18mm F/2.8 Aspherical should be the first prime lens one buys for their new CL, and I wouldn’t be surprised if, even years later, it’s still the one that’s used the most. It’s the perfect fit for a camera that’s designed for those shooters looking for a smaller, lighter, yet just as capable alternative to its larger and more expensive counterparts.

Want your own Leica Elmarit-TL 18mm F/2.8 Aspherical?

Get the lens from B&H Photo (MSRP $1,295)

Get the Leica CL and 18mm kit from B&H Photo (MSRP $3,795)

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The post Leica Elmarit-TL 18mm F/2.8 Aspherical Lens Review appeared first on Casual Photophile.

A new Kickstarter from a familiar face in the instant film community hopes to resurrect the magic of peel-apart pack film. Supersense is an Austrian company led by Florian Kaps, the former founder of Impossible Project. It was Kaps who purchased Polaroid’s final production facility and used it to launch Impossible’s line of instant film. In 2014 Kaps founded Supersense, an analog-forward company that is home to a print shop and a photo and video studio. When in 2016 Fuji announced that it was ceasing production of the world’s last remaining pack film, Kaps saw another opportunity to save a dying film format. 

After two years of research and development, Kaps and Supersense are turning to Kickstarter to fund their One Instant, what they call a “next generation” Type 100 peel-apart instant film. One Instant isn’t a pack film in the classical sense, but a new film concept replacing the complex folding system of original pack film with a more basic one-shot paper cartridge. 

The single-shot cartridge is made entirely by hand and is supplied in a sealed, pre-loaded, lightproof paper housing. Since the destruction of the industrial equipment that manufactured the complex original 10-shot pack film cartridge, Supersense opted for a simpler, one-shot system. Expecting their pack film to develop into a series of emulsions, the first being offered is a P7 color film made from original Polaroid material supplied by 20 x 24 Studio in Ashland, Massachusetts. The debut run will produce approximately 50,000 single-shot cartridges with plans for future editions with a variation of film stocks, colors and styles. 

P7 is an ISO 125 emulsion balanced for daylight photography that develops with a glossy finish in about 90 seconds at room temperature. While the film will carry a retail price tag of 29 euros for 3 cartridges, Kickstarter supporters will receive 6 cartridges for 44 euros (early bird) or 6 cartridges for 55 euros. The Kickstarter will last from December 5 until January 3 with an expected delivery of May 2019. Meeting its funding goal of 177,000 euros will meet the costs of setting up manufacturing and the actual production of the One Instant.

Instant pack film debuted in 1963 and is often considered the highest-quality instant film ever made. Unlike with the more ubiquitous instant film produced by Polaroid and Fuji, where development happens after the image is ejected from the camera, pack film is protected during development with the final image only visible after the protective cover has been peeled off.

As more consumer-friendly instant formats entered the market, pack film slowly lost its popularity. Fuji converted its pack film machines to support its Instax film production in 2016 and its famous FP-100 film was the final pack film to bite the dust.

Kaps understands the market demands that killed off pack film. “Honestly, I understand that it does not make any sense for Fuji or Polaroid to think about possible ways to build a future for “essentially important” niche market products that will never ever earn them millions,” he says in a press release.

“We are perfectly ready to call our mission and our beloved product crazy,” he continues. “And yes, we are even more motivated by being told by the ‘experts’ and industry leaders that this will be impossible.”

To learn more about One Instant and Supersense, visit their Kickstarter and website. 

PRESS RELEASE

ONE INSTANT

Analog Packfilm Re-invented

After more than 2 years of R&D, Florian Kaps and his Supersense team are ready to start production of a next generation Type 100 peel-apart instant film – if the Kickstarter Campaign launching December 5 proves successful

Vienna, Austria. Keeping analog technologies alive is the specialty of Austrian entrepreneur Florian “Doc” Kaps – best known for his success in keeping the very last Polaroid film production facility in Enschede, The Netherlands, up and running, resulting in the comeback of instant film to the market.

When in spring 2016 Fuji announced termination of the world’s last instant packfilm production, Kaps started a mission to also save this iconic film material. After more than 2 years of intense R&D, he today launches a Kickstarter Campaign, introducing ONE INSTANT: a next generation Type 100 peel-apart instant film. Designed for both, the experienced peel-apart film lovers and the modern next-generation analog photographers.

ONE INSTANT is NOT a CLASSIC PACKFILM but a next-generation instant film based on a new and radical concept. Produced by Supersense with a small team at a new instant film manufactory in Vienna, with a small production set-up that does not require millions of investment. Made possible by replacing the highly complex folding system of the original packfilm with a stripped-down, one-shot paper cartridge. Developed in close collaboration with Uwe Mimoun from Reanimated Film and John Reuter from the 20×24 Studio.

In the same spirit that has made Kaps undertake several analog missions he explains: „Honestly, I understand that it does not make any sense for Fuji or Polaroid to think about possible ways to build a future for “essentially important” niche market products that will never ever earn them millions. But as these big companies are getting bigger and bigger, gaining more and more control in this world, we are loosing more and more wonderful products and technologies on a daily basis. We are perfectly ready to call our mission and our beloved product crazy. And yes, we are even more motivated by being told by the “experts” and industry leaders that this will be impossible.“

Each component and content of a ONE INSTANT cartridge is made by hand, using the most high quality components. A new kind of peel-apart instant film to capture most precious moments with a unique kind of photograph. The Kickstarter 6-Pack Edition, containing 2 hand-printed boxes of 3 single-shot cartridges each, will be available for pre-order starting from 44.- Euro.

The investment needed to set up this new instant film manufactory in the heart of Vienna from scratch and start professional production is 177,000 EUR, which Kaps aims to crowd-fund in today’s launched Kickstarter campaign, running until January 3, 2019. All details can be found on www.kickstarter.com

ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT ONE INSTANT

ONE INSTANT is a SINGLE SHOT peel-apart instant film, supplied in a sealed, pre-loaded, lightproof paper cartridge. It is because of the all new production process that one cartridge can only contain one shot. Replacing the mind-blowing complexity of the former 10-picture cartridge, which no longer can be manufactured due to the destruction of the original industrial equipment.

The first edition of the all new ONE INSTANT packfilm series will be a P7 COLOR FILM; made of original Polaroid P7 material supplied from the 20×24 Studio in Ashland, MA; with a production run of approximately 50,000 single shot cartridges. Future editions will bring different film stocks, colors and styles.

PLEASE NOTE: The currently available ONE INSTANT sample photos have been made with experimental, first-stage prototypes that do not typify the final quality of ONE INSTANT material once professionally produced at the new production facility.

ONE INSTANT SPECIFICATIONS

Film Speed: ISO 125 / DIN 22

Development time and temperature: 90 seconds at 70°F (21°C) and above

Balanced for average daylight (5500 °K)

Finish: Glossy

Retail Price: 29,- EUR / 3 cartridges

Kickstarter Price: starting from 44,- EUR / 6 cartridges (early bird) to 55,- EUR / 6 cartridges (regular)

Availability: May 2019

Pre-Order: until January 3, 2019, on kickstarter.com

The post Pack Film Comeback – Everything You Need to Know About the Supersense Kickstarter appeared first on Casual Photophile.

The great thing about the Leica CL, when new, was that it shed the trappings of the brand whose name it wore. It wasn’t trying to be a Leica M. It was its own thing, its own design. It was a radical departure from the M mount cameras that came before it, and a short-lived harbinger of what would later succeed. In 1973, the Leica CL was a great camera by its own definition.

In 2018, the definition may have changed. These days the youngest Leica CL is more than forty years old. The importance of durability and longevity in any conversation around classic cameras has naturally taken on more weight than at any other point in these machines’ lives, and discussing a Leica CL is now all but impossible without direct comparison to its cousins, the Leica M series.

Time withers. The war of attrition that each of us will inevitably lose has compromised the greatness of the Leica CL. Aging electronics and critical components made of less-robust-than-brass plastics have made ownership of this camera something akin to falling in love; beautiful and worthwhile, but ultimately doomed.

Woah, that got dark. What am I even talking about? Apologies. It’s cold here, and I do believe I’m fighting a bout of seasonal affective disorder. Forgive my bleakness. Let’s get back on track.

What’s a Leica CL?

Co-designed by Leitz and Minolta and manufactured by the latter in Japan, the CL was known at various times and in various places as the Leica CL, the Leitz Minolta CL, or the Minolta CL. In addition, there’s a relatively rare “50 Jahre” anniversary edition made to celebrate fifty years of Leica cameras (1925-1975) and these come with special serial numbers denoting their place in the production run.

Functionally, all of the differently-named cameras are identical. Our writer Dustin has it on good authority from Sherry Krauter, herself a famed Leica repairer and occasional grumpy Gus, that later versions (serial number 103XXXX and above) of the Leitz Minolta CL have over twenty internal modifications and improvements. If you want the best Leica CL, pinch a grain of salt and look for one of these later models.

The Leica CL began life in 1973, one of the many products birthed of the fruitful coupling of Leitz and Minolta that began in 1972. It was manufactured for just three years, and though it reportedly had enormous sales success, Leica decided to discontinue the camera in 1976.

It’s an M mount rangefinder camera, like the famous Leica M. But unlike the Leica M, it’s small and light. And though that last sentence definitely irritated a fair number of Leicaphiles, it’s true. The Leica CL has the distinction of being the smallest and lightest M mount film camera ever made. That counts for something, though that something won’t matter to some shooters.

It essentially packs into this diminutive frame most of the things that people love about Leica M cameras. It’s simple and intuitive, with only the controls that one needs to make a photo. But it also lacks some of the most important things that make M ownership the enviable goal of many of the most impassioned camera likers.

Specs and Real-World Use

The Leica CL spec sheet is really quite similar to many of the classic pre-meter Leica M cameras. It’s got an all-mechanical, cloth focal plane shutter capable of speeds from 1/1000th of a second down to 1/2 of a second, plus Bulb mode for long exposures. It’s got a coupled rangefinder that displays a focus patch in the viewfinder, and parallax-corrected automatically-selected frame lines for set focal lengths. There’s a tripod socket on the bottom, a film counter and hot-shoe for flash sync (1/60th of a second) on the top, and strap lugs on the side.

Actuation of switches and levers and dials feels the way it should feel; direct and mechanical. The shutter speed dial clicks into detents with precision, and the film advance lever swings with a beautifully smooth motion. The shutter cocks into place with clockwork precision, and pressing the shutter release button, which is firm and springy, yields a delightfully quick and near-silent Thwick! 

But the comparisons to the older Ms end there. There’s plenty (good and bad) to differentiate the CL from the brassier Leicas.

Metering System and Viewfinder

Aside from the smaller size, the differences between the CL and the M most obviously show in the viewfinder. And of the many differences hinted at in this VF, the most obvious is found on the right hand side, where we see a big, vertical light meter display. This needle display is linked to a through-the-lens CdS light metering cell positioned in front of the focal plane on a swinging arm system. The 7.5mm diameter metering cell meters 7% of the film area in a spot pattern, which causes the needle to rise and fall in relation to the amount of light passing through the lens (note that this meter is swung into position only when the shutter is cocked and swings away just before shutter release).

The meter sensitivity is set via the ASA/DIN control within the shutter speed dial. It’s then activated by pulling the advance lever slightly away from the body, after which we set the lens aperture and point the camera at our subject. The needle in the viewfinder swings to its latent light reading, and we dial in toward a proper exposure by rotating the shutter speed dial in the direction that we’d like the meter needle to move (towards the “correct exposure” mark in the viewfinder).

It’s a fast and intuitive system, helped along by the vertically-mounted shutter speed dial’s correlation to the vertically-oriented meter display.

This system alone makes the CL a very unique M mount camera. At the time of its release, only the Leica M5 offered a TTL light meter. The relative enormity of that camera precludes comparison between the CL and M5. For shooters who wanted a compact M mount camera in 1973, there was only one real choice (and it remained that way until Minolta released the CLE in 1980).

Viewfinder differences continue – it shows frame lines for comparatively odd focal lengths (40mm, 50mm, and 90mm). If this revelation doesn’t make you want to argue about things then you’re probably not a die-hard Leica fan (these people will argue about rangefinder baselength, viewfinder magnification, and “the best” frame lines, ad nauseam).

The takeaway is that the viewfinder is very good. For those who want to shoot a 40mm lens, there’s no better viewfinder. For shooters who will never go wider than a 50mm, there’s probably a better M mount camera for you (try the M3 at the cost of size). For those going wider, 28mm for example, there’s also a better M mount camera (try Minolta’s CLE).

Focusing is fast and accurate with most lenses. Some of the fastest lenses available will be more difficult to focus when shooting wide open due to the shorter rangefinder base length and the viewfinder’s lower magnification, but in real-world use (and stopped down a bit) it should be easy to achieve accurate focus if the shooter’s eyesight is decent.

Bones and Batteries and Breakdowns

The Leica CL is not as durable as a Leica M. It wasn’t made to be. It was made to be a lighter, smaller, technologically advanced M mount camera that offered more camera for less money. It did all of that, yet today the only variable of this equation that most people talk about is the part about the CL not being chiseled from a block of brass, the part that leaves the CL at a disadvantage.

I get it. People want their film cameras to be made of metal. I do too. But I also accept plastic as a viable material in certain applications. The CL uses plastic in places where it definitely make sense. But it also uses plastic in places where it probably makes sense, yet leaves me feeling uneasy.

Chiefly this uneasiness stems from the use of plastic in the camera’s film take-up spool. The tines that grab the film leader are plastic, as is the spool itself. I’ve seen a few too many of these types of take-up spools break. I should clarify – I’ve not personally seen these break in any Leica CL or Minolta CLE, but I do occasionally flick the plastic fins and feel a pang of impending dread.

The battery that the Leica CL uses is the classic 625 1.35 volt mercury battery, the availability of which is now an impossible challenge. Meters can be adjusted for the new battery voltage of 1.5 volt, or adapters can be used to stifle the voltage. This battery is located under the removal camera back, which is something of a pain in the event that the battery dies mid-roll. One will need to finish the current film before removing the back to install the new battery.

Once the new battery is inserted, let’s hope the meter springs to life. Unfortunately this isn’t a given. The metering system inside the Leica CL is not the most robust in the world of classic cameras. The result is that many Leica CLs arrive with nonfunctioning meters.

Lenses

The Leica CL was made to be used most often with the 40mm F/2 M Rokkor standard lens. It’s a tiny, super sharp lens that I reviewed a long time ago, and absolutely loved. It’s a typically excellent Minolta lens with all the precision we’d expect in German-made glass, but at a Japanese lens price point. For shooters who are planning to shoot their Leica CL with this 40mm attached, there’s not much to say except “Enjoy!” It’s an amazing combination.

Frame lines for 50mm allow the CL to natively shoot many of the best 50mm M mount lenses from brands like Leitz and Zeiss and Voigtlander. The 90mm focal length is handled by the corresponding Minolta-branded lens, which is actually a Leitz lens rebadged to suit the Minolta-built machine. This 90mm F/4 Elmar is also quite excellent.

But the CL isn’t made to work with every M mount lens, something that most of the Leica Ms can claim. The swinging meter arm positioned in the body precludes the use of lenses with deeply set rear elements, and collapsible lenses are also not recommended. In the Leica M5 brochure it was recommended that users fit gaffer tape to the barrel of collapsible lenses to keep them from collapsing into that camera’s similar metering arm, and I’m sure the method could be employed for the CL as well (even if I wouldn’t personally risk it).

Literature of the era claims that the lenses made for the Leica CL will not focus properly on a Leica M. I’ve shot the 40mm Rokkor on quite a few Leica Ms and haven’t noticed any focusing issues.

Shooting in the Real World

I’ve spent a fair amount of time talking about pros and cons of the Leica CL; the things that make it more or less a camera that some people call a Leica M killer. I resent doing that. As I mentioned in the first words of this article, the Leica CL should have succeeded originally on its own merits.

I learned this first hand when I packed it in a travel bag for my most recent getaway. Ten days with three different cameras meant there’d be decisions to be made at the start of every day. Bring the Fujifilm Natura, or the Nikon SP, or the Leica CL? Nothing separates the wheat from the chaff faster than continuous concurrent use (not that any of these amazing cameras could ever be considered winnowed husks).

Of the three cameras I packed, it offered the best combination of portability and versatility. Its 40mm lens, with its fast maximum aperture of F/2 and its pleasant ability to create shallow depth-of-field when desired and ultra-sharp results when stopped down, was the lens I enjoyed the most. Its tiny form factor and intuitive meter made shooting on-the-move a seamless and fluid experience. Its delightful mechanical qualities made it a tactile joy to use. And all of these things persistently mark it as one of the best M mount cameras for people who enjoy small, capable machines.

I won’t go so far as to say that the Leica CL was the best camera I used across those ten days. But I do know that it’s the camera that exposed the most rolls of film, for whatever that’s worth.

Buying a Leica CL in 2018

Henri Cartier-Bresson used a Leica CL, but that’s not a reason to buy one. His ethereal touch wasn’t elevated by the CL, and neither are my talentless mitts. The camera doesn’t make great photos, great photographers do. But a really excellent camera can help, and the Leica CL is just that, even if it’s also flawed and decidedly niche.

The decision of whether or not to buy a Leica CL is paradoxically difficult and easy. If you want an everlasting, made-of-metal, infinitely rebuildable M mount camera that will last your entire lifetime, and your kids’ lifetime, the Leica CL may not be the right camera. But if you want the smallest M mount camera that does not require a battery, this is it. If you want a tiny, full-manual M mount camera but don’t need a built-in light meter, this could also be that camera (just don’t put a battery in it). If you want a gorgeous M mount machine that’s small, capable, and a fantastic daily shooter, the CL is hard to beat.

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I’d forgive you if you’re not familiar with our Desert Island Cameras feature. It’s been exactly six months since the last installment, after all. Blame the editor. Now let’s get you up to speed.

Our Desert Island series is a recurring set of articles in which the CP writers and I draw on our unusually deep knowledge of special cameras to answer the question “If you could only have one camera of a certain type or from a certain brand, which would it be?”

And more importantly, we want you to tell us what your pick would be in the comments section.

In previous Desert Island Cameras articles we’ve picked from our favorite brands, picked our favorite film, discussed Leica with Bellamy Hunt (Japan Camera Hunter) and talked all things Pentax with former President of Pentax U.S., Ned Bunnell. Last time we talked about a camera type, the rangefinder, and today we’re picking our ultimate medium format film camera. This should be fun.

Jeb’s Pick – Rollei 6008

When picking a medium format camera to take to a deserted island, my first tendency was toward practicality. It seemed a sensible choice to pack a camera that was tough as a rock, used above a 6×4.5 negative ratio, and wasn’t reliant on batteries if it’s to last me the rest of my sunburned life. But we shouldn’t discount the value of appearance and optical superiority. So while my first instinct was something Russian and utilitarian, I’m instead going German with the Rollei 6008.

There’s a big difference between the Rollei that was famous for its medium format cameras for more than fifty years and the company that’s known today mostly for its nostalgia films and brand licensing. The 6008 was decidedly a product of the old Rollei — it’s an incredibly well-made and feature-rich camera boasting an uncompromising selection of exceptional lenses.

Medium format cameras generally aren’t known for having many bells and whistles. In fact, some of the best MF cameras don’t even have a light meter. But the 6008 is an exception to the rule. it’s got enough features to make it feel more like a professional 35mm SLR.

Multiple metering modes, shutter speeds up to 1/1000th of a second, interchangeable film backs, exposure compensation, mirror lock-up, variable flash sync, depth-of-field preview — shall I go on? Okay. Automatic film transport. Lenses from Zeiss, Rollei and Schneider. That’s still not everything. The 6008 is a professional’s camera — a medium format camera that wants to get out of the studio and show that it’s capable of handling any real-world photographic challenge.

And it doesn’t hurt that I love its design, with its black and green and red coloring, its mix of metal and rubber, its rotating and lockable hand grip, and that Euro-in-the-eighties all-lowercase sans serif typeface. Desert island or not, the Rollei 6008 is very likely the only camera I would ever need.

See what James thought about the Rollei 6008 in our review.

Charlotte’s Pick – Bronica SQ-A

My choice for the one medium format camera I’d take to a desert island is the humble, solid Bronica SQ-A. It was my first medium format camera, and like the cheap tank of a car in which most people learn to drive, you never forget your first. Paired with a 50mm f/3.5 lens, it’s the perfect combination of simple design and easy-to use operation (though that doesn’t mean my first shot won’t always be accompanied by swearing, removal of the dark slide, then shooting again).

My model is missing its winder crank, but as I tend to shoot handheld with the speed grip attached, that makes no odds to me. With a huge, clear waist-level viewfinder and the shutter button moved to a more ergonomic position, street (well, jungle) and candid photography is easy. Mind you, the loud shutter slap would probably scare away some of the more timid inhabitants of my desert island – it’s definitely not discreet. The only feature I’d miss is a proper B mode – imagine the star trails you could capture at night, on a deserted island.

Paired with a slow Ilford black-and-white film (Delta 100 would be my choice), a nice dark cave to develop in, and a volleyball to whom I could explain my motivations behind each shot (poor Wilson), I think I’d be happy for a good long while. And if it stopped working due to sand or salt, I could still use the hefty Bronica to easily crack open coconuts.

Chris’ Pick – Mamiya Super 23

The primary issue with picking a desert island camera is deciding whether to follow the head, or the heart. My heart adores the Pentax 67. This is easily explained. The Pentax Spotmatic is one of my favorite cameras of all time, in all of its rugged, compact simplicity, and the Pentax 67 is the same camera writ large. It’s a super-sized Spotmatic with the glorious addition of a contoured wooden handle for ergonomic and brawling purposes. The Pentax 67 offers solid ergonomics, top notch Takumar glass, and decades of variants to choose from.

Yet if I’m being wise, I would follow my head. And I believe the wise choice is the Mamiya Super 23. The Mamiya system contains a total of ten lenses and an array of interchangeable backs ranging from 6×4.5 to 6×9, effectively broadening the range of available focal lengths. While the stamped-aluminum Mamiya may lack the Pentax’s appealing form, it is a functional masterpiece. The brick-like Mamiya offers a tilting bellows mount for the interchangeable film backs, rangefinder coupling, and switchable framelines for 100/150/250mm lenses. That’s serious versatility. 

All of this ignores the system’s greatest merit – Mamiya’s glorious lenses. They’re contrasty, resistant to flare, and all feature leaf shutters allowing flash-sync at all speeds. Removing the film back and affixing a ground-glass screen allows the shooter to rapidly re-angle the film plane and focus with ease.

It moves, my word, it moves.

This ingenious system allows the Mamiya to achieve a greater degree of creative flexibility than with virtually any camera I’ve come across. If I’m stuck on a desert island with the Mamiya for the rest of my life, at the very least I’ll never be bored. 

See Chris’ full review of the Mamiya Super 23.

James’ Pick – Hasselblad 500 C/M

The Hasselblad 500 C/M is an obvious and somewhat boring pick – but hear me out. Before I’d ever held or even seen a Hasselblad in the metal, I’d shot plenty of medium format cameras. I’d even shot many MF cameras that were at least somewhat influenced by the design of the Hasselblad – Mamiya’s RB and RZ, the smaller 645 format SLRs from Pentax and others. I’d always come out of those experiences wondering, “How much better can a Hasselblad be?”

The first time I held a Hasselblad, that question was answered. The difference is profound.

It starts with its size. The Hasselblad is easily held in the hand, unlike a lot of medium format cameras, and there’s really no comparing it to some other SLR style machines. Different beasts entirely, but look for example to the Pentax 67. Shooting the 67 is like wearing a rubber boot clamped tight in the jaws of a rusty bear-trap, while the Hasselblad is like dancing in a glass slipper.

Its ergonomics are surprisingly perfect. There’s a simplicity of control that just feels wonderful. Everything is where it needs to be, and there’s really nothing here that we won’t use regularly.

Lastly, its build quality is unrivaled. The Hasselblad 500 C/M is such an elegant camera that it makes other machines seem like tractors. Its clockwork mechanisms whirr and click and ratchet into place with a precision that I’ve never felt in another medium format camera. Advancing the film and cocking the shutter is like winding the mainspring of a wristwatch, where the incremental advance of gears can be felt through the fingertips. It’s an impossible thing to quantify, and I wouldn’t have believed it myself before I’d spent a few months with one. But the Hasselblad really is that good.

I mean, NASA brought a Hasselblad to the Moon, right? That’s about as much a desert island as one will find.

And those are our picks. Pretty amazing machines, but what do you think? Was your favorite medium format camera mentioned or passed over? Let us hear about it in the comments.

If you like this piece, check out the rest of our Desert Island Cameras series to see which camera we’d choose if we could only have one.

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The post Desert Island Cameras No. 08 – Medium Format Edition appeared first on Casual Photophile.

2018 has been a great year for the site. My amazing team of writers and I have worked hard to put out worthwhile camera culture content, and in the past twelve months more than two million readers have taken the time to read our words. That number makes me very happy.

Our most popular articles are camera reviews, and this year we’ve shot some big names. Cult favorites like the Yashica T series are bookended by deep dives into the machines of the Big Red Dot. We’ve covered some of the best cameras ever made, and some of the worst, and in either case we’ve penned reviews that entertain and inform.

Of course, all of these articles would be meaningless without you. Thank you for reading and for the more than six thousand reader comments that have been submitted. Whether those comments are typed to say we’re the best photography site around (many thanks) or to tell us we’re absolute morons (a few less thanks), we appreciate the feedback.

I thought it’d be fun to take a look at every camera we reviewed this year. So let’s do it. Enjoy this list, open a few articles in separate tabs, share them with friends, or save the ones you may have missed for a Sunday morning read. We hope you enjoy them as much as we enjoyed writing them. Thanks again.

Yashica T4 Zoom – We started 2018 off pretty strong when Josh reviewed the less expensive and far zoomier version of the popular Yashica T4 in January. He shot the thing all over Los Angeles and came away with some very definite opinions on both this camera and today’s point-and-shoot culture. Read the review.

Contax G2 – Going from strength to strength, I started the new year shooting a camera that was one of my favorites of 2017, the Contax G2. I bought this unused example from a collector friend, and it was in impressively perfect condition. After a year of shooting it with the 45mm Planar, the 28mm Biogon, and even the much-maligned Vario-Sonnar, I finally penned my G2 camera review. Read it here.

Ricoh 500G – In keeping with the Casual Photophile tradition of spotlighting even cameras that have gone mostly forgotten, our pal Dustin discovered and ran with a special little rangefinder, the Ricoh 500G. He said it well, “…the tiny Ricoh 500 G is a relatively undiscovered secret. It has everything you need without any of the trendy bullshit.” See what it’s all about (plus Dustin’s typically excellent sample shots) in his full review.

Minolta X-570 and Maxxum 7000 – This review from Jeb covers the end and beginning of two important eras in the lifecycle of Minolta. The X-570 was the endpoint in Minolta’s manual focus SLR timeline, and the Maxxum 7000 their first autofocus SLR (indeed the first successful and capable autofocus SLR ever sold). His poetic take on the changing of technology is one of the best deep dives on the site. Read it and see.

Minolta Minoltina P – Oh, look, another Minolta and another camera no one talks about. The Minoltina P is an unusual machine, an EV viewfinder camera that’s about the size of a half-frame Olympus, but exposes full frames. It’s tiny, with a nice lens, an accurate light meter that requires no batteries, and a quirky analog display on top. It’s also a really gorgeous camera. Just look at it. It’s very pretty.

Olympus 35RD – Dustin has a thing for the classic fixed-lens rangefinders that Japanese companies were churning out in droves during the 1970s. He’s shot them all and reviewed most of them here on the site. But his favorite might be the Olympus 35RD. This amazingly compact camera has a sharp lens, near-perfect ergonomics, and a legendary pedigree. It’s also somewhat rare and the last of the classic 40mm rangefinders that Olympus would produce. Details in his full review.

Nikon FM3a – This one was special. The last dedicated manual focus 35mm film SLR Nikon ever made ended up being one of the storied company’s best. It’s the perfect Nikon SLR. Benefiting from close to five decades of SLR production experience, the FM3a is an ultra-refined and ultimately advanced camera for the photographic purist. It is the only SLR I need and the only one I really want, these days (I’m still hunting – new and unused with all papers and box, if you have one). Read all about it in my review.

Lomography Lomo’Instant Square – Seeing now that I followed up the Nikon FM3a with the Lomo’Instant Square is funny. I love instant cameras. I can’t be sure I loved this one, but at least it ended up being a functional, durable, and fun little machine. And hey, it made really gorgeous photos on Instax Square film! That’s not bad. Read my full review here.

Canon Canonet QL17 GIII – The quintessential popular rangefinder, the Canonet QL17 GIII has been reviewed on this site twice. I wrote my impressions of the machine in the earliest days of CP, but Chris did a far better job this year. His long experience with the camera really shows in this writeup, and his sample shots make the case for the Canonet’s popularity. See them, and more, in the full review.

Alpa 10D – Alpa is a name that not many photo geeks know in 2018. These days, the Swiss brand produces outrageously expensive large format cameras and multi-thousand-dollar tripods (and more). In the 1950s, ’60s, and ’70s they made more easily recognizable machines – rangefinders and SLRs. The unifying theme among all of these creations is impeccable build and no expense spared. The Alpa 10D is an odd camera in every way, and shooting one was a treat (if not a bit of a challenge). My full review has all the details on this rare and interesting SLR.

Mamiya Press Camera Super 23 – Chris decided to take this enormous camera to a Porsche launch event at the New York International Auto Show, firmly landing him well outside his comfort zone. This trial by fire showed pretty quickly what the Mamiya Super Press is all about, and his discomfort resulted in some really amazing photos of New York City, world-class automobiles, and some surprisingly strong street shots. See them in his full review.

Nikon Nikonos – Less a review of a single camera and more a retrospective of the many amazing dive cameras from Nikon, my article on the Nikonos and Calypso cameras is among my favorite pieces I’ve written for CP. It covers the birth of the Calypso camera (designed in part by Jacques Cousteau) through the manual focus Nikon designs, and on to the only underwater autofocus SLR ever built. Add a splash of James Bond, a drizzle of sample shots, and a deluge of historical context, and it’s a deep dive indeed. Jump in and splash around a bit.

Nikon FM – How is a taco the same as a Nikon FM? Josh knows, and he tells us all about it in his review of the simple, mechanical SLR from Nikon. The FM may be all the 35mm film camera that anyone could ever need, and that’s coming from someone who regularly shoots far more complicated and “advanced” cameras. Works for him, maybe it’ll work for you. Find out.

Fed 5b – Jeb reviews a lot of Russian cameras here on CP, and he knows his stuff. In this article from the springtime he gives us a quick history lesson on Fed, and by extension, the USSR itself. This “beer can rangefinder” was a joy and also a pain, but not in the ways you may think. A camera whose shooting experience can be summed up by the phrase “thirty-six maybes” is bound to do that. See the highs and lows (and the many surprises) of shooting the Fed 5b in his review.

Olympus O-Product – The Olympus O-Product is the type of camera that we live for, here at CP. Unusual, uncommon, and uncompromising, it’s the product of one man’s radical design philosophy and a truly interesting camera. That aluminum body; that ridiculous on/off switch; the audacious statements stamped into its body. The O-Product is ridiculous, and I love it. The full review is here.

Contax IIa – I’ve long been a fan of Zeiss. Their optics create images that just have the right sort of look for my shooting. I’m such a fan I actually created an experimental Zeiss enthusiast website (which is still around, and very dormant). Surprising then, that it took me so long to shoot a Contax IIa, that company’s best classic rangefinder. Equipped with a Sonnar 50mm F/1.5, it’s made some of the images I’m most pleased with, and using it is a pure tactile joy. Samples and impressions in the full review.

Leica M-A – Chris had never owned a Leica, so I thought it would be fun to send him their newest (and one of their most expensive) film cameras, the M-A. As someone totally immune to the Leica brand mystique, his impressions of the M-A (and Leica, writ large) are concise and honest in a way that’s pretty unique. Read one Leica review and you’ve read ’em all, right? Maybe not in this case.

Olympus XA – The Olympus XA is one of my personal favorite film cameras. It’s everything I want in a machine – tiny, super sharp lens, manual control, aperture-priority. So imagine how annoyed I am that Josh reviewed it, and I didn’t. What an injustice. Who’s running this place anyway? Read the review, I guess, but don’t let him know you enjoyed it.

Agat 18K – Jeb traveled through five European countries with the half-frame Agat 18K film camera, and I won’t lie – I expected him to hate this thing. It’s plastic, cheap, fiddly, and unusual. Imagine my surprise (and maybe his, as well) when his sample shots turned out to be simply stunning. Sure, the sprawling vistas and charming old-world cities of Germany, France, Belgium, Luxembourg, and Poland certainly helped things along. But the Agat 18K made those images and proved me wrong, and Jeb did a great job reviewing it.

MiNT InstantKon RF70 Instax Wide – Back in the glorious days of summer, the Hong Kong-based instant camera company, MiNT, sent us a prototype of their InstantKon RF70 for testing. I shot it for a week in a number of conditions, and it’s a good camera. But that doesn’t mean it’s a camera for everyone. Using Fuji’s Instax Wide film, it makes instant prints with full manual control, something that’s pretty unusual in the instant space. My full review is here.

Leica R5 – Some of my favorite articles here on CP are the ones that transport the reader to a place and time. I tried to do that with my review of the Leica R5. Part in-depth review, part travel journal, the article follows me and the Leica on a day trip to Martha’s Vineyard, a summertime island destination off the coast of Massachusetts. There’s hot donuts, sailboats, sandy shores, and… tech specs. Check it out, and bring your swimmies.

Leica M5 – Apparently I was on a bit of binge, because I followed up my review of the Leica R5 with a review of the Leica M5, Leica’s most maligned rangefinder. This thing was a challenge. How do you talk about the M5 in a way that’s new, and interesting, and worth the readers’ time? Tough questions, but I think I managed. I pulled up my sleeves and dived in. The review is full of history, specifications, and why all of these things mattered when the M5 was new and why they still matter today. Take a look.

Konica Autoreflex TC and the Hexanon 40mm – Jeb went a little wild on this one, combining a camera review and a lens review into some sort of Voltronean masterwork. He examines why Konica always seems to be left out of the classic camera conversation, how one of their most basic cameras may be one of the greats, and whether or not this humbly-priced Hexanon lens is worth owning. Hey, is this the only Konica review we’ve done this year? That makes it rare and worth reading.

Minolta XD – The camera that many people say is Minolta’s best, the XD had been on our list of cameras to review for a long time. Jeb took the reins on this one, bringing us along on his journey to find a perfect XD after his original died in his arms (and somehow shoehorning a Forrest Gump reference into his review). And then he weighs in on whether or not this much-praised Minolta really deserves a place when discussing the best 35mm SLRs ever made. Read it.

Polaroid Sun 660 On Tour – Josh is the cool one at CP. He’s a real life, honest to goodness gigging musician. When his band hit the road for an extended tour in the summer, he packed with him a Polaroid Sun 660 and plenty of Polaroid Originals’ film. The resultant review is as much trip into memory and nostalgia as it is an assessment of the classic 600-series Polaroid camera. As always with Josh’s writing, there’s more happening here than what you see on the surface. The review is here.

Voigtländer Bessa R – Before we reviewed it, the Bessa R was a camera that constantly pinged my inbox and Instagram DMs. People love this camera and want to read that we love it, or they have questions about it and want us to help. Which makes sense. It’s the ultimate value proposition in the ever-popular rangefinder segment. Chris’ review dives in, comparing the Bessa R to everything from a Leica M2 to a Canon Canonet, a Volkswagen Beetle and a Honda Super Cub (I’m not sure how he got there, but he did). Find out for yourself, everything about the Bessa.

Nikon F4 – When I realized the Nikon F4 was turning thirty years old this year, I knew we had to review it. Another popular camera, people had been messaging me about the F4 for years. Luckily, Jeb had one and was ready to shoot. His review has everything you’d expect, but more importantly it contains some thoughts on collecting, gear acquisition, and finding your own perfect camera. It’s a great read, with great photos, and you can see it here.

Olympus Mju II – Ah, the Mju II. The camera that no one on staff wanted to review. Dustin tried shooting it, and his thoughts contained so many unprintable words that I can’t repeat them here. Josh wouldn’t review it, saying he’d served his sentence by reviewing the original Mju. Jeb just laughed. Chris never replied to my messages. So, it fell on me. And let’s just say, things went as predicted. Hey, at least this review let me mention (even if briefly) my most admired camera designer. That’s not bad.

Minox Spy Camera – This one was a pure treat. The Minox Spy Camera (it’s not really called that, but it works) is another one of those cameras that CP was made to cover. It’s a special camera – uniquely constructed, with an interesting history, and a beautifully elegant design. The article is succinct, but thorough. I briefly outline the life history of the genius who invented the Minox, his path through the world during the horrors of World War II and beyond, as well as the camera’s place in all of that. Again following the mission of CP (to talk about special cameras and why they matter in 2018) I spell out where to buy film for this archaic camera today, how to develop it at home or through a lab, and best practices for digitizing images from this incredibly tiny film. It’s a good one. One of our best. Read it here.

Kodak Funsaver – Okay, so I know we’re supposed to cover special cameras. I really don’t know what happened with this one. Josh wanted to write about a disposable camera and since I really like Josh I decided to let him have his fun. I don’t know why he wanted to do this. You’ll have to ask him in the comments. The man owns a Leica M2, for the love of… Do you like disposable cameras? You might like this review.

Agfa Ambi Silette – Righting the ship after the squall of the disposable camera is a clockwork-like rangefinder from Agfa, the Ambi Silette. This camera is another somewhat undiscovered masterpiece from a lesser-loved brand. Interchangeable lenses (that are quite good), a concise and collectible system, a gorgeous viewfinder with built-in rangefinder and selectable frame lines – this thing was just a joy. There are some warts, but overall it’s a very lovable camera that more people should try. See all the details in my review.

Praktica MTL 5B – If it’s from Eastern Europe you know Jeb’s writing it. I really didn’t know a thing about the Praktica MTL 5B beyond what’s obvious to a trained eye. Jeb’s review remedied that. He explored the camera’s history (and that of the company that made it), its contemporary use, and its modern day legacy. Like most of Jeb’s write-ups, this one is nuanced and careful. Read it here.

Nikon F2 – For a long time, Josh was the unrivaled Nikon fanboy at CP (I’ve always admired their cameras, but not until this year have I found myself really losing it over Nikon machines). When a pristine Nikon F2 rolled through the shop I knew I had to offer it to him. He gobbled it up instantly and wrote a real love letter to what just may be Nikon’s best professional-level mechanical SLR ever. Here’s that love letter. It is deep. It is thorough. And it’s fun to read.

Olympus XA4 – Charlotte joined the team just this year, and her contributions have already made the site a better one. In her first camera review, she tells everything about a camera that she rescued from the junk drawer of her parents’ home. The Olympus XA4 is among the rarer of the XA lineup, featuring an unusually wide and macro-capable lens packed into the traditional XA body. It’s a great camera, and the review is a great read for anyone hunting for their perfect compact camera. It’s also a wonderful taste of what we can expect from one of our newest writers. Read it here.

Fujifilm Natura Black F1.9 – Another point-and-shoot that’s whispered about in reverent tones, the Fujifilm Natura Black F1.9 differs from a lot of the other super-expensive point-and-shoots in that it may actually be worth the price. I shot this camera on vacation recently, and its combination of super wide lens (24mm) and super fast maximum aperture (f/1.9) make it a very special camera indeed. It’s one of the only premium compacts that offers something totally unique – something that can’t be matched by any other camera. But then again, it’s got that sort of price tag too. Read all about it.

Canon Canonet 28 – Another of our new writers, Drew, launches into things with his first camera review. A practical look at the Canonet line, Drew examines whether the Canonet 28 is a viable alternative to the far more expensive QL17. Think of it as another value proposition article, and point your budget-conscious film friends this way when they’re hunting for a new rangefinder. It may help.

Pentax UC-1 (Espio Mini) – Jeb tried his hand at the pricey point-and-shoot camera and came away pretty impressed (at least in some ways). Reading the review I too was impressed at just how, well, impressive those sample shots were. The Pentax UC-1 has one of the best lenses I’ve ever seen fitted into a compact camera. It really is quite stunning. Now if only the shooting felt better. Read Jeb’s full review (and see those gorgeous photos) here.

Leica CL – The last review of the year (at the time of this writing – there will probably be a couple more added) went to the Leica CL. This most diminutive of M mount rangefinder cameras was (as most know) made in Japan by Minolta. But that shouldn’t turn away prospective buyers. Aside from some reliability issues, it’s one of the best M mount cameras you can buy today. I shot it on vacation, and though I won’t say it was the best camera I used while away, I can say that it was the camera that exposed the most film. That counts for something. Read all about this camera in my full review here.

And that’s the year in reviews. I have to admit – when I started this article I had no idea we’d published this many camera reviews. Compiling this list took a very long time. I may have grown a beard. I may have missed Christmas. What month is it?

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It’s hard to really pay attention these days. The times we live in are loud, distracting, and complicated, and I continually find myself trying to find new ways to refocus and keep things simple. It follows that today’s FFP spotlights the great Elliot Erwitt, a street photographer and photojournalist who made a career out of paying attention.

Erwitt’s images often display an uncanny sense of social awareness, artistic timing, and patience, while also offering his own profound and often humorous view on life. His work is well-crafted and thoughtful, and especially valuable to those who might need some help trying to focus and simplify.

Let’s get into it.

Jacqueline Kennedy at John F. Kennedy’s Funeral, 1963

Elliot Erwitt is known as one the best street/reportage photographers in the history of photography in part for his mastery of the so-called “decisive moment.” My favorite example of this is Erwitt’s photo of Jackie Kennedy at John F. Kennedy’s funeral.

It takes a lot of skill to be able to capture a fleeting moment, but it takes a special talent to reveal the truths that lie within that moment. Jackie Kennedy’s grief-ridden, almost desperate expression in this moment is striking. Through it, Erwitt not only captures the desperation and confusion of an entire nation losing their leader, but the naked pain of someone who, just a few days prior, watched her husband die in her arms. It’s powerful and revealing, yet honest – a true masterpiece of American photojournalism.

California, USA, 1955

While Erwitt certainly has a knack for capturing the fleeting moments in life, he also has the ability to pack a lot of information into one photo. In California, USA 1955, he not only captures an intimate moment but the “California dream” itself.

The popular vision of California is one filled with sunshine, romance, and endless possibility, and this image has all of these things. What’s more stereotypically Californian than being parked along the Pacific Coast Highway at sundown with your best girl? Aside from being stuck in traffic, not much.

Erwitt uses a few very basic but effective techniques in this image. The reflection in the side view mirror is placed according to the rule of thirds for visual emphasis, and the surrounding foreground and background all serve to contextualize the reflection. We have the curves of a classic American car, a rocky roadside precipice, and an ocean over which hangs that famous sunset to place us squarely in postwar California. Simple, but deceptively so; elegant and effective.

Kyoto, Japan, 1977

One of Erwitt’s signature subjects and motifs is the dog. Erwitt himself states that he likes dogs because they “don’t object to being photographed and don’t ask for prints.” I also suspect he likes taking pictures of dogs because they’re so damn cute, but I digress.

Erwitt’s book Dog Dogs not only showcases his near-obsession with dogs but also considers dogs as photographic subjects. In Dog Dogs, Erwitt bestows the same importance to dogs as he does to humans in this body of work which makes for some of the best dog photos out there.

Of these photos, my favorite is one in which a woman and her dog are out on the street, both scratching an itch at the same time. There isn’t much to say about it technically other than that it takes a disciplined trigger finger and a sense of social awareness to time up an image like this. This is commendable in itself, but even more commendable is Erwitt’s method of getting the shot. Erwitt actually barked at the dog to get a reaction, and the owner mistook his bark for her dog’s and kicked the dog. After both calmed down, they both scratched themselves and Erwitt took his shot.

Honolulu, 1983

Capital S “Street Photography” has a somewhat inaccurate reputation for being an inherently serious medium. Erwitt’s photography consistently subverts this notion by finding humor in the absurdities and weird coincidences of life. As he says himself, “If my pictures help some people to see things in a certain way, it’s probably to look at serious things non-seriously. Everything’s serious. Everything’s not serious.”

Honolulu from 1983 is my personal favorite out of Erwitt’s many not-so-serious photos. Erwitt seems to love taking normally disparate subjects and linking them together in unconventional ways, and in this photo he’s done it with a bride and what looks to be a Toyota MR2. Both happen to be veiled which suggests a sense of hidden beauty and decorum, which makes more sense for the bride than it does a small Japanese sports car. The serious tone of this photo elevates the humor, especially for anybody who shares an affinity for photography and old Toyotas.

Rubber Gloves, 1965

Though Erwitt is renowned for his situational sensitivity, he also excels at revealing the importance of very specific, commonplace details. For example, his book Elliot Erwitt’s Handbook is a study of the communicative power of hands. Erwitt blurs the line between fine art photography and photojournalism in this book by simply shifting the focus of the subject in a photograph.

A particularly poignant photo in the collection is Rubber Gloves, taken in Sicily in 1965. This is a photo whose strength comes from both within and without. There are no hands here, but the gloves in the photo are placed in a way that looks almost human. Though Erwitt leaves the meaning of their placement up to interpretation, the intertwining of the gloves does seem to suggest an underlying humanity in the things we make and use, as well as an ever-present connection between things in general. Even though that’s all just interpretation, the fact that Erwitt is making us look at these things more closely means that he’s succeeded.

Find more Elliot Erwitt books here

See the rest of our Five Favorite Photos articles here

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I’ve spent the past few months shooting a rare and interesting lens from Olympus’ glory days, the Olympus Zuiko 40mm F/2 in OM mount. This lens combines many of the things that photo geeks (past and present) value – high image quality, compactness, attention to detail. But what makes this lens special and worth writing about, is where it came from and just how good it is.

If you’re a camera fan in any capacity, you should appreciate Yoshihisa Maitani’s impact on the camera industry of the 20th century. The man was a visionary who helped define the camera world we live in today, and we spent about two-thousand words chronicling his life’s work in an article earlier this year. If you’re not sure about Maitani, our retrospective is a great place to start.

His truly innovative design of the diminutive Olympus OM-1 redefined what a 35mm SLR could be, and his extremely pocketable and inexpensive Olympus XA was a total reimagining of the old-fashioned rangefinder camera. Legendary engineering, innovation, and cult-like status have helped Maitani’s creations survive to this day as tools for the modern film photographer. And while many of his camera designs defined Olympus’ presence in the market for more than forty years, the true beauty and magic of the Olympus brand is found in their Zuiko line of lenses.

During Maitani’s time as head designer of Olympus, he had more than a few side projects. The one that I’ve always been most fascinated with was his pursuit to design the smallest and most optically stellar standard lens the consumer market had ever seen. Ever cognizant of his lifelong design philosophy that “the lens is the soul of the camera,” he and his team set out to create a lens that would perfectly compliment the OM’s compact size and exceptional performance.

The result was the legendary Olympus Zuiko 40mm F/2; Maitani’s jewel of the OM line. If you’re an Olympus OM fan, chances are good that you’ve looked in its direction more than once. I’ve lusted after the lens for some time, but given its rarity, the collector’s market has lifted prices to uncomfortable heights. When I found one earlier this year for just shy of $400 (in mint condition, no less), I jumped on it.

But what is it, and where did it come from?

A History of the 40mm F/2 Zuiko

In the early 1980s, traditional SLR camera sales began to decline as more advanced electronic SLRs, point and shoots, and the like began to whet consumers’ appetites. In order to ensure buyers remained interested in their OM line, Maitani made a push to develop ever smaller and better lenses. The smallest and best, was the Olympus Zuiko 40mm F/2.

Designed to fit his exacting standards and personal photographic taste, after years of effort the smallest Zuiko became a reality in 1984. Sadly, the market didn’t respond well and production on the lens is rumored to be limited to just 10,000 units. It was discontinued in 1994.

Originally prototyped as a 50mm pancake lens, Maitani and team found that they could reduce its size even further by widening its field of view to 40mm, and so they did. With a true picture angle of 56 degrees and at a dainty 140g weight, his team succeeded in creating something truly special.

Boasting six elements in six groups, its multicoated glass matched the best of what could then be found in all Zuiko lenses. In fact, all lenses marked with only the word “Zuiko” on the front feature the best-of-the-times optical multicoating. These are the last of the OM line, they’re the most robust, and they have the best coatings of any Zuiko lens.

Shooting the Olympus Zuiko 40mm F/2

If you’ve used any of the more common OM mount Zuikos, particularly the stellar 50mm F/1.8, then the Zuiko 40mm F/2 will feel familiar. Its compact profile is slightly smaller than the far more common 50mm F/1.8, making it the smallest Zuiko ever produced. It is, however, not the lightest. That title belongs to the 20mm F/3.5.

I can imagine that Maitani needed to make a few compromises with this lens when he told engineers how small and fast he intended it to be. Its compact footprint and maximum F/2 aperture forced the team to rethink their formula. Though many Olympus Zuiko lenses have a forward-placed aperture ring, this lens takes it even further. Its aperture ring is literally on the nose. This makes adjustment of the lens’ aperture feel quite unusual, as it’s almost as if we’re spinning a filter thread or even the nameplate of a traditional lens. It does take some getting used to.

Shooters might find comfort, however, knowing that adding a filter or lens hood to the lens makes controlling aperture a bit easier given the additional material to grab onto. With that said, it does worry me ever so slightly when I’m screwing accessories on or off the lens due to the additional forces placed on the aperture ring at F/2 (screwing on) or at F/16 (removing).

The lens barrel itself contains all the familiar etchings and markings of any other Zuiko. The focusing ring is small but effective thanks to its unbelievably well-designed rubberized knobs. It has the ability to close focus up to 0.3 meters (~10 inches), which is nearing macro lens capability, and means that out of all the Zuikos I own, its focusing versatility is unmatched.

Image Quality and Rendering

Zuiko glass has a unique signature, lens to lens. The 40mm F/2 is no exception. In fact, it’s similar to the character found in the 40mm F/1.7 on the Olympus RD, but with multicoated glass to protect from flaring and with an even more refined sharpness (particularly at the corners when opened up).

Stopped down from F/4 onward, it starts to bite and can produce images that are wonderfully sharp. My results appear to be predictably close to my Zuiko 50mm F/1.4, but I think the 40mm F/2 falls just a bit short. Opening it up to F/2.8 and beyond gives it a completely different personality, and when opened all the way up in low light with a high speed film, I’ve experienced wonderfully dreamy results. That isn’t to say it’s any different from other Zuikos of this vintage, but more a testament to the unique signature that this glass brings.

[Shots in the samples gallery below were made by Dustin Vaughn-Luma with the new Kodak Ektachrome and Kodak Portra]

I’ve heard that flare can be an issue with this lens, however my copy seems to hold flare off quite well. I’m typically not the type of shooter to worry about flaring in the first place, but rather embrace it as it arises. On the other hand, given it’s very short focus throw between six feet and infinity, I have had difficulty focusing it when bright light sources are interfering. The split rangefinder circle on my OM-1 and OM-2 are just not ideal with this lens, so I often look to clarity outside of the circle for focus. Not a huge deal, but it probably won’t be my go-to for portrait work.

Finding one in excellent condition can prove challenging and might take patience. Additionally, vintage camera equipment appears to still be on the rise, so finding one for under $600 isn’t all that common. Less expensive examples are out there, so I encourage would-be buyers to stay diligent if this lens is on the bucket list.

[Shots in the samples gallery below were made with Ilford HP5 Plus, the new Kodak Ektachrome, and expired Kodak Portra 400 VC]

The Takeaway

While the Olympus Zuiko 40mm F/2 isn’t perfect, it is a good lens. I don’t think it’s a better performer than some of Olympus’ less expensive and more plentiful offerings, but in my opinion, it is the one Zuiko that looks and feels the most appropriate for the many OM bodies.

Compact, versatile, and relatively sharp; Maitani’s personal vision for a standard focal length pancake was realized to its fullest. It’s just a shame that such a small run was ever produced; this rarity has left collectors and shooters with an over-inflated price to pay.

While pancake lenses aren’t ideal for every photographer, this one checks all the boxes for me. It feels as much at home on the street as it does in the studio, and it has a certain charm to boot. If I was forced to own only one Zuiko, this would be it. Small, fun, optically stellar, and born from the mind of a true genius, I encourage any Olympus fan to hunt one down for their bag. That is, of course, if you don’t mind paying a bit extra.

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When Ernst Leitz GmbH invented the M system in 1954, they named their first M camera the Leica M3 for a very good reason. The name M3 signaled to the unwashed masses that the camera was a rangefinder (the German word for this is messucher) with three framelines (the number 3). The name makes sense and camera-likers knew what they were buying. For this reason, the Leica M3 went on to be the best anything that anyone had ever made anywhere. But every Leica camera since then has been a gigantic leap backward, and a complete and unmitigated disaster.

In 1957, Leitz unveiled the M2, a slightly lower-cost camera based closely on the M3 design. It could have been a decent camera. But it’s not. Even if we were ready to forgive the brazen insult that is a non-glass-encapsulated film frame counter, there is one irreconcilable flaw at the heart of the machine. Its name does not make sense. Following the naming conventions of the three-frame-line-equipped M3, the M2 (Messucher two) should have two frame lines in the viewfinder. But it doesn’t. It has three.

I’d love to know what happened to the dolt at Wetzlar who flubbed that all-time flub. No doubt he settled for a career as a mid-level product designer at the local wooden toothpick factory. Good job, bro.

By now you’re thinking that things couldn’t possibly get worse following the M2 three-frame line debacle. Prepare yourself. It gets worse.

In 1959, Leitz unveiled the M1, and I know what you’re thinking. James, you’re thinking, please tell me it’s got one frame line. 

Dude, I say resting a gentle hand on your shoulder in a not weird way, it’s gunna be okay, but it’s so much worse than that. To see an M1 is to look upon a double lie.

Not only does the Leica M1 have more than one frame line (it’s got two), but it ain’t even a gall-darned rangefinder! It’s a viewfinder camera! And those jerks who were working at Leitz sixty years ago couldn’t even be bothered to make a new top plate. They just stuck a piece of metal over the insultingly vacant rangefinder window, wrote “M1” on it, and enjoyed a good chortle at the local brat haus at the expense of all the fools buying the latest Leica messucher.

The M1 is the photographic equivalent of a ninety-year-old German man walking up to you on the sidewalk, tipping his Tyrolean hat, saying “I promise not to hurt you, and this is the same type of hat Abe Lincoln wore.” then smacking your tibia with a hickory switch. Why would Leitz do this?

Google Translate tells me that the German word for “viewfinder” is “sucher.” They should have called the Leica M1 the Leica S2, so then we’d know what we were buying (a viewfinder camera with two frame lines). I’d even accept it if they only softened their lie and called it the Leica S1. We’d still be “suchers” for thinking it had one frame line, but at least we’d be closer to a mutually respectful relationship with its maker.

The year 1963 saw the release of the MD, a medical-use Leica made for attachment to microscopes and other imaging tools. This camera, if you can believe it, has neither a rangefinder, nor a viewfinder. It’s got no sucher whatsoever! Frankly, I’d be surprised to find out that the MD ever even finished medical school.

The catastrophic train derailment that was Leitz’s naming methodology seemed as if it might miraculously land back on the tracks in November of 1966 with the release of the Messucher four. Leitz’s Leica M4 was announced to indeed show four frame lines in its viewfinder, bringing initial optimism to a multiple-times-bitten and very shy public. Imagine the backlash when camera-likers the world over finally got their hands on the M4, and the true depth of Leitz’s stone-cold betrayal became clear, even through the blinking tears.

Sure, the new Leica M4 showed four frame lines, but it showed two of its four frame lines at the same time. What Leitz really produced with the M4 (aside from seventy-seven dump trucks full of broken promises) is a camera that shows two individual frame lines (50mm and 90mm) and one pair of frame lines (35mm and 135mm), totaling three frame lines. It’s simple math. In the same way that covering two legs in unison make up a single pant, naturally, two frame lines displayed simultaneously equals a single frame line.

The M4 could have been an acknowledgment of past sins and a stoic step toward healing. Instead, it was a failure only matched by the shaky logic and sheer volume of the mixed metaphors found in those last two paragraphs.

The Canadian-made M4-2 and M4-P piled insult onto injury in ways that are too flabbergastingly graphic to type. We are the potato fries and Leitz’s lies are the gravy in our poutine of misery (can I just say that I actually laughed out loud when I typed this last sentence?).

With the M5 of 1971, Leitz continued to slap its long-time fans, who’d been waiting patiently for a correctly-named camera for almost twenty years, in the neck. This camera should have obviously had five frame lines (it’s the Messucher 5, after all). But it has four frame lines only. Four. And a stupid light meter. And what’s with that dumb body? And what’s with those strap lugs on that one side of the camera? And what’s with it not being able to use every single lens Leitz had ever made in the history of time? And what’s with that time Leitz said light meters were for people who lack creativity in that ancient print advertisement that I’m sure only I can remember? Way to flub it again, bros.

It’s at this point in history that we should expect that Leitz would fail. They’d been betraying their customers for decades. The brand was in such dire financial straits that they nearly went bankrupt. This diminution of the German firm’s fortunes was blamed on market forces and the veritable tsunami of competition from Japanese SLR makers, instead of on the real cause – Leitz’s failure to name their cameras correctly.

Okay, let’s just… let’s just hold on a minute here? I mean, I was all-in on this one. I was really going to just blast on through the entire timeline here, right up to the M240 and M10, and talk about how neither of those cameras have ten or two-hundred-and-forty frame lines. But, I mean. I just can’t do it. I have so many presents to wrap, and I’ve written a couple hundred articles on cameras. I just gotta take a few days, you know?

You get the joke right? This was all a joke. I love Leicas.

Hey, thanks for visiting. See you next year!

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