Anachronism was all around me, in the natural history museum which felt suddenly more like a mausoleum. In the towering glass cases full of dead animals, in their rigid skins stuffed with desiccated straw, in the tanks of formaldehyde, in the grotesque jars of suspended sea creatures and in the thousands of pinned beetles and butterflies. I wondered; in the era of 4K video and augmented and virtual realities, in the era of 100 megapixel medium format digital sensors, the era of the internet, are these dead trophies in stuffy galleries of any real use?

Anachronism was there, too, in my hand. I was spinning it into focus to take another shot.

Nikon’s Z series mirror-less digital cameras are technically incredible. They do all the math, all the complicated arithmetic of calculating the exposure triangle. They can choose our ISO, shutter speed, and aperture in a millisecond. They can auto-focus near-instantaneously.

Along with their counterparts from Canon and Leica and Pentax and the other camera makers who make brand new cameras today, the Nikon Zs are the newest, brightest, fastest, and best cameras ever made. That is, they are if we mount the right lens.

But all of that stuff, that technical innovation and computerized magic, all of it evaporates when we pair the camera to a manual focus, manual aperture lens. Suddenly, the newest and best camera in the world becomes, at least in practical use, akin to a camera from the 1980s. It becomes an anachronism. It also becomes a paradox.

Because the Voigtlander Nokton 40mm F/1.2 Aspherical fast prime lens is amazing, and yet some photographers will hate it. It makes beautiful photos, and yet for some photographers, it won’t. It’s the best value fast lens on the market, and yet some would say that it’s not worth the $799. The lens is both very good, and not. It all depends on who’s holding it.

Specifications of the Voigtlander Nokton 40mm F/1.2 Aspherical

• Focal Length : 40mm
• Focus Type: Manual focus only
• Optical Design: 8 elements in 6 groups, 2 aspherical elements
• Maximum Aperture: f/1.2
• Minimum Aperture: f/22
• Diaphragm Blades: 10
• Lens Mount as Tested: Nikon Z (also available in Leica M and Sony E mounts)
• Lens Format Coverage: Full-frame (60mm equivalent focal length on crop sensor cameras)
• Angle of View: 54.8°
• Minimum Focus Distance: 11.8″ (30cm)
• Filter Size: 58mm front threads
• Size and Weight: 2.7 x 2.1″ (67.6 x 53.9mm); 11.1 oz (315g)

What’s a Voigtlander?

Voigtlander is one of the oldest names in photography. Founded by Johann Voigtlander in Vienna in 1756, the brand got their start producing mathematical instruments, precision mechanical products, and optical objectives. Voigtlander continued successfully in this business for decades, and by 1839, the company had passed to Johann’s grandson, Peter, who expanded the Voigtlander’s scope to include photographic optics.

Over the subsequent century, Voigtlander created numerous firsts in the photographic industry which would later go on to become commonplace. Voigtlander was the first company to create mathematically calculated precision lenses. These were developed by the German-Hungarian mathematics professor Josef Maximilian Petzval, with technical aid by Peter Voigtlander. They soon developed the fastest lens ever produced, the Petzval Portrait Lens, with an aperture of f/3.6. They invented the world’s first zoom lens for 35mm still photography (the 36-82mm f/2.8 Zoomar in 1959), and the world’s first compact 35mm camera with a built-in electronic flash (the Vitrona in 1965).

The German optical industry experienced great turmoil from the 1970s through the 1990s. Voigtlander’s factory closed in the early 1970s, and throughout the next twenty-odd years ownership of the Voigtlander name passed to various companies.

In 1999, the most recent holder of the Voigtlander name (Ringfoto GmbH & Co. ALFO Marketing KG) licensed the brand identity to the Japanese optics and camera company Cosina, who have produced Cosina Voigtlander lenses ever since. Today, Cosina’s Voigtlander lenses are available in Sony E, Leica M, Nikon Z, Fuji X, and other mounts, and they’re revered among photo nerds for their exceptional quality and relatively affordable prices.

The Voigtlander Nokton in Use

The Voigtlander Nokton 40mm f/1.2 Aspherical for Nikon Z mount is paradoxically old and new, at once.

It was just released at the end of 2022, and features much of what we’d expect of a brand-new, very modern lens. It’s an optically sophisticated lens that makes gorgeous images (with exceptions allowed for its extreme character when shot wide open). It has a super fast aperture that allows for both exceptional bokeh and superb low-light performance. It has electronic communication with the camera body, which allows transmission of EXIF data, allows in-camera image stabilization, and allows focusing aids such as focus confirmation, focus peaking, and focus enlargement.

But it’s also an old-fashioned lens.

Made of beautiful knurled and scalloped chunks of metal, as in the olden days, it feels wonderful in the hand and balances beautifully on the camera body. It’s extremely compact, and impeccably crafted, and includes a metal screw-in lens hood which reminds me of the many Zeiss and Leica lenses I’ve used in the past. The manual aperture control ring and manual focus methodology hearkens back to the heyday of film, and for people who enjoy manual focus, it’s a truly lovely lens.

I was sent this lens for testing, and when it arrived I was thrilled with the chance to shoot a lens with such a luxuriously fast aperture. At f/1.2, I knew that I’d be able to achieve dreamy bokeh and exceptional subject isolation. I mounted the lens to my camera, focused on a nearby curio, and fired the shutter. This instantly locked my camera. Frozen solid. Dead.

After a moment of controlled panic, I figured out what went wrong. Firmware update required. Now my testing could begin in earnest.

I spent the next three weeks using the lens in all manner of situations. Portraits at sunset, with a good working distance and the aperture set to f/4 for nice subject isolation. Snapshots in nature at f/1.2, f/5.6, f/8 and beyond. Craft nights with my children, shot wide open to draw attention to the exact point of focus. It handled it all very well.

And then came the lens’ best use-case, at the dimly-lit and subject-dense Harvard Museum of Natural History.

In the darkened galleries of the museum I spun the aperture ring to wide open and shot, and shot, and shot. In this place, my photographic talent aside, the lens performed masterfully. No corner of the museum was too dark, no specimen too shrouded in shadow. That massive aperture devoured the light and turned it into pictures like very few lenses can.

I was able to focus on one specific beetle amongst hundreds. And if more context was needed, a quick spin of the dial brought more depth of field.

Focusing manually is naturally not as simple as using a fast auto-focus lens. But it’s not prohibitively cumbersome either. The Voigtlander lens is capable of focus confirmation, focus peaking, and focus enlargement. I used them all, and they all work well.

Different users will need to determine their own particular favorite focusing aid. Mine is focus confirmation. Simply spin the focus ring and the focus indicator in the viewfinder or on the camera’s LCD will light up green when the point of focus is in sharp focus. An afternoon of this is all it takes to become familiar, and while it’s never as fast as a fast auto-focus lens, zone focusing is (and in fact, it’s faster). With the Nokton’s depth of field scale, zone focusing is as easy as it is with any manual focus lens.

Image Quality Wide Open and Stopped Down

The Voigtlander Nokton 40mm f/1.2 Aspherical is not just paradoxical in its practical methodology, blending dichotomous elements of old and new, it’s similarly dichotomous in the images it can make.

Shot wide open at f/1.2 it makes surprisingly dreamy images. They’re diaphanous and soft and low in contrast. Even with the lens slightly stopped down to f/2, there’s a significantly dreamy quality to the images this lens makes. Shots at this aperture remind me of those from a sixty-year-old Japanese lens more than they do images from a modern one.

While this dreamy softness will certainly be off-putting to photographers who live and die by the pixels they peep, there’s another camp of photo nerd who will simply melt. These photogs would describe the lens as characterful.

The optical aberrations I’ve found with the lens are pretty typical of fast lenses. Vignetting is fairly extreme at f/1.2. Naturally this vignetting resolves as we stop the aperture down, and by f/4 it’s restrained enough to be correctable in post-processing, but at f/1.2 through to f/4 we need to consider the vignetting with every photo we make. And when shooting wide open or at f/2, we should also remember that chromatic aberration does occur. This resolves significantly by f/2, but does not disappear completely until f/4. Distortion is a non-issue.

Bokeh is quite beautiful. Backgrounds are blurred very well. When shooting into bright light sources wide open, highlight bokeh is round in the center of the frame, but turns to cats-eye shape on the edges of the frame. Bokeh highlights become geometric when we stop down even incrementally, so those who want pure, round bokeh balls will need to stay wide open at f/1.2.

But if we stop the lens down, things change considerably.

At f/4, the lens has resolved to a sharp imaging device. Gone is the dreamy blur and the low contrast. Gone is the vignetting. At f/5.6 and f/8 the Voigtlander Nokton is a scalpel, capable of impressive sharpness and fantastic micro-contrast. Yet even at these stopped-down apertures, the lens retains the artistic rendering that we enjoy wide open.

Voigtlander NOKTON 40mm f/1.2 Aspherical Lens for Nikon Z

Buy Voigtlander NOKTON 40mm f/1.2 Aspherical Lens for Nikon Z featuring Z-Mount/Full-Frame Format, Aperture Range: f/1.2 to f/22, Lens Construction: 6 Groups, 8 Elements, 10-Blade Aperture Diaphragm, Manual Focus for Reliable Fine-Focus, Minimum Focusing Distance: 300mm, 3-Axis Image Stabilization.…

Image Samples Gallery

Final Thoughts

The Voigtlander Nokton 40mm F/1.2 Aspherical (available in Nikon Z, Leica M, and Sony E mounts) is an interesting lens. Anachronistic in its methodology and paradoxical in its rendering, it’s a lens that will appeal to as many photographers as it offends. It makes dreamy and characterful images wide open, yet clinically sharp ones when stopped down. It’s old fashioned, with its manual focusing, and yet modern enough in the ways that it implements that old-fashioned manual input.

That said, for the thoroughly modern photographer who needs a fast aperture and who enjoys fast auto-focus and the absolute highest image quality, there are better options (though they’re all much larger and much more expensive than this $799 Voigtlander lens).

The simple breakdown is this – there are no auto-focus lenses available with an aperture this fast, in a size this small, at a price this low. For those of us who love to turn focus rings and who enjoy the unidentifiable artistic flourishes that come with shooting older, fast lenses, the Nokton 40mm F/1.2 is one to own.

Get your Voigtlander Nokton 40mm F/1.2 Aspherical from B&H Photo here!

Voigtlander NOKTON 40mm f/1.2 Aspherical Lens for Nikon Z

Buy Voigtlander NOKTON 40mm f/1.2 Aspherical Lens for Nikon Z featuring Z-Mount/Full-Frame Format, Aperture Range: f/1.2 to f/22, Lens Construction: 6 Groups, 8 Elements, 10-Blade Aperture Diaphragm, Manual Focus for Reliable Fine-Focus, Minimum Focusing Distance: 300mm, 3-Axis Image Stabilization.…

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The post Voigtlander Nokton 40mm F/1.2 Aspherical Lens Review – Nikon Z Mount appeared first on Casual Photophile.

I wasn’t surprised to read this email (I receive similar messages weekly). People want cheap Leicas, even though Leica M film cameras cost more today than they have at any time since the “death of film.” Going back to as recently as 2014, when I launched Casual Photophile and opened my camera shop, prices for some Leica M models have tripled. Even the once-considered-lowly Leica M4-P and M4-2 each now cost over $1,000 on average (I used to buy these for $399). Twenty years ago, the Leica M6 was thought of as “the cheap Leica” and today it costs twice the price of an original M3 (a camera which is, according to the written gospel found in ancient Rockwellian tomes, “the world’s greatest 35mm camera”).

I don’t see the rise in price as a bad thing (and not because I sell cameras for a living). If we consider the trend objectively, it’s only natural that prices of film cameras should rise. Think about it from a distance and through the prism of other “unnecessary things on which people spend money.”

Prices are rising for specific and valid reasons. Especially in the cases of mechanical cameras, which most Leica Ms are, these cameras are (still) useful tools. They’re uncommonly well-made objects which have survived their original intended lifespan. They’re a finite resource, making them inherently collectible. Particular models and variants which were made in fewer quantities are even rarer, and are now bought specifically for their rarity. A new generation of photographer (buyer) has entered the market, and noticed the unique quality of these old cameras. Add to all of this that they’re simply beautiful objects that draw the eye and the hand – equal parts science, engineering, and art – and it’s easy to see why prices are up.

But just because they’re expensive, that doesn’t mean that they’re overpriced.

I’ve said this elsewhere – some popular professional camera likers see the rise in film camera prices and say that it’s all built on undeserved hype. I couldn’t disagree more. While extrinsic prices for certain poorly-made, unreliable, or otherwise undeserved film cameras are unjustly outstripping their intrinsic value (hello, Mju II), the prices of classic, collectible, or exceptional film cameras are not inflated artificially. On the other hand, prices for well-made, reliable, and capable old cameras are now exactly where they should have been all along. Leicas aren’t over-valued today – they were under-valued for two decades, and we got used to it. (The same can be said for other film cameras – the Nikon F3, Canon’s EOS 1, Hasselblads.)

While this meandering preamble around extrinsic versus intrinsic value and the free market as it pertains to sixty-year-old film cameras answers the first part of the two-part question first posed by my hospitalized friend’s email as it appears in the opening paragraph of this article – “Why are Leicas so expensive?” – it does little to answer the second part of that question. And this is the important one – “Where can I get one cheap?”

The answer is simple. You can’t. Leicas cost a lot and you ain’t getting one cheap. The days of finding an M6 for $300 are long gone and they’re not coming back.

Furthermore, complaining about the price of Leicas is like screaming at a rain cloud – you can do it, but buddy, you’re still gonna get wet. Here’s some good news; there are a lot of alternatives to the Leica M, and I’ve got ’em locked and loaded like glistening brass bullets in this magnum revolver hand cannon I call “my brain.” (On balance, I’ve also called my brain “a big bowl of tepid oatmeal.”)

Anyway. That’s enough of whatever that was – without any more of my nonsense, here are five (or six, or seven, I’ve not decided how many yet, and I’m not coming back to edit this sentence later) alternatives to the Leica M.

The Criteria

I’ll outline here the criteria which cameras must meet to find themselves upon this illustrious list of mine. For any camera to be included it must –

• Be all mechanical. 
• Offer some degree of exposure control.
• Be capable of mounting lenses interchangeably.
• Be a rangefinder.
• Be a quality camera with great lenses. 
• Be affordable in comparison to the premium-priced Leica M series (for me, that means that each camera must cost about half of what a Leica M costs).

Some of these selections were decided upon after conversation with my fellow CP writers. If comparing any one of these cameras to the hyperbolically lauded Leica M series offends you, be sure to histrionically yell/type at us in the comments.

Let the listicle begin.

Canon 7 and Canon 7s

Every time that a Canon rangefinder camera from the 1950s and 1960s comes through my shop, I’m stunned by the quality of the things. After seven years of this being my full time job, it shouldn’t surprise me anymore, but it still does. And the last time a Canon 7 came through, I was once again deeply struck. I echoed what Timothy Lebedin said in his article on the Canon 7 – “How the hell is this thing so cheap?”

The Canon 7 is a camera that perfectly meets all of the criteria which I mentioned for inclusion in this list. It is an all-mechanical, manually controlled, 35mm film rangefinder camera with a Leica Thread Mount lens mount, and (in a one-up on the pre-M5 Leicas) a built-in light meter. It’s a smooth shooting, high-quality, reliable and effective camera, and it can make beautiful images (again, see our writeup).

What’s most arresting about the Canon 7, however, is what I alluded to earlier – it is unbelievably inexpensive. You could buy ten Canon 7s for the price of one Leica M6. Astonishing. When buying a Canon 7, make sure it’s in good shape and sold guaranteed to work. If you buy the original 7, don’t expect the light meter to work or be accurate unless it’s stated to be so – Selenium meters fail over time.

The later models, known as the Canon 7s and Canon 7s Type II, swapped the Selenium meter for a CdS battery-powered meter. These meters are more likely to work today. This of course means that prices for the 7s are notably higher than for the original Canon 7. That said, a mint Canon 7s will still cost a quarter the price of most Leica Ms.

You can buy a Canon 7 here

Nikon SP (Nikon S2 for Budget Buyers)

When I started my own business full-time and bought a house, I decided to treat myself to a “forever camera.” Wow, what self-indulgent nonsense. That self-deprecation out of the way, what camera did I choose? A Nikon SP 2005 Limited Edition. And while that specific camera is not the camera that I’m including on this list as a viable alternative to the Leica M (because the 2005 SP is too expensive to meet my criteria), I am including the original Nikon SP.

The Nikon SP of 1957 is the most advanced rangefinder camera that Nikon ever made, and in many ways it’s one of the greatest cameras of all time. It’s a relatively compact, all-mechanical, fully-manual 35mm film rangefinder camera with an incredible viewfinder, precise and luxurious build quality, and a full suite of astonishingly gorgeous Nikon lenses made to fit its S-mount lens mount.

This camera really is all about the lenses. The Nikkor 35mm F/1.8 is legendary. The 105mm F/2.5 was born on this system (and would later go on to be one of the most popular portrait lenses of the manual focus era). The classic 50mm F/1.4 renders stunning images for laughably little money.

And that last point – price – is a good one to mention. The Nikon SP can be bought with the Nikkor 50/1.4 for a few hundred dollars less than it costs to buy a body-only Leica M3. If you’re a budget buyer, get the Nikon S2. It does a lot of what the SP does, but cuts cost by having a much simpler viewfinder.

Buy a Nikon SP here

Konica Hexar RF

With the Konica Hexar RF, we’re sort of scratching at the ceiling of my criteria, for two reasons. First, the Hexar RF is pretty expensive, and again because it’s an electronically operated camera (rather than fully mechanical). But, it squeaks in just under the acceptable limit on price, and it finds its place here on the list because it’s a damned impressive camera in every way.

The Konica Hexar RF is a gorgeously-made 35mm film rangefinder camera that’s most directly comparable to Leica’s M7, Leica’s only M series camera with automated exposure modes (aperture priority). Konica’s camera offers the same aperture-priority mode, plus essentially everything else we get with the far pricier M7. It’s got manual exposure, manual focus, a big, bright viewfinder and excellent rangefinder, frame lines of the usual focal lengths from 28mm to 135mm, generous “outside the frame” viewfinder coverage (with .60x magnification), and a solidly built chassis with fine exterior details. It even uses the same mount (although Konica called theirs the “KM Mount” and never referred to Leica when discussing which lenses would work on the Hexar).

In typical Japanese manufacturer fashion, Konica even outdid Leica in a number of ways (sound familiar, Minolta CLE fans?). The Hexar RF is about the same size and weight as a Leica M3, and yet it manages to maintain these dimensions and heft while adding motorized film advance and rewind. And while some purists will sneer at motorized film and its reliance on batteries, I’m no such purist. I’m too old to be wasting my life rewinding film, and I just repaired a Pokémon Stadium 2 Nintendo 64 cartridge with nothing but a soldering iron and a piece of speaker wire. How hard can it be to repair a Hexar?

Buy a Konica Hexar RF here

Voigltander Bessa R and Bessa R2

While the build quality of the Voigtlander Bessa R comes up short of Leica standards (the Bessa R uses polycarbonate plastic top and bottom plates), its excellence in all other areas lands it on this list. Introduced in the year 2000 by Cosina in Japan as part of the relaunch of the Voigtlander name, the Bessa R is a whole lot of rangefinder camera for very little money.

It’s a simple, all-mechanical, fully manual camera with through-the-lens metering, user-selectable frame lines (35/90mm, 50mm, 75mm), and the Leica Thread Mount capable of mounting any LTM lens.

The Voigtlander Bessa R2, released two years later in 2002, replaced the Bessa R’s Leica Thread Mount for the more modern Leica M mount, and swapped the plastic top and bottom plates for more robust magnesium alloy. For these reasons, the Bessa R2 is the more desirable model, however the price for the better machine will naturally be higher. Buyers can expect to pay about $499 for the Bessa R, while the R2 will cost closer to $800 (bodies only). Remember, these prices are still significantly less than a Leica.

We reviewed the Voigltander Bessa R here

Buy a Bessa R2 here

Minolta 35 Model IIB

Probably the most unusual addition to this list, the Minolta 35 Model IIB is not a camera that many people know about, nor is it one that anyone would typically recommend as an alternative to the Leica M series.

The first Minolta 35 released way back in 1947. At that time it was among the best rangefinder cameras in the world, and in fact featured many advancements over contemporary Leica cameras. These include a combined rangefinder/viewfinder system, self-timer, an integrated film take-up spool and hinged film door which made loading a faster and easier process than with Leica’s machines.

The Minolta 35 Model IIB released in 1958, and is the best Minolta 35 variant ever made, with superior convenience features (such as a lever style film advance mechanism), as well as numerous technical improvements. These include a larger magnification viewfinder, full frame image area (all previous Minolta 35s shot slightly smaller than the 24×36 standard), and an improved effective rangefinder base of 32mm (admittedly sub-Leica standard).

The Minolta 35 Model IIB accepts all Leica Thread Mount lenses. But the real magic is when we use Minolta’s own “Super Rokkors,” a succinct lineup of incredible performing LTM lenses.

It’s not a common camera, so it may be a bit hard to find one. But if you can find a nice Model IIB (and there are always a few on eBay) you should buy it. There are few “sleepers” out there these days, cameras which are truly excellent but undiscovered. The Minolta 35 Model IIB may be one of those – it’s a compact, solid, and beautifully-built classic camera made of metal and glass, and today (with an amazing lens) it costs half as much as a Leica (body only).

Buy a Minolta 35 Model IIB here

Got a great rangefinder to compete with the Leicas that we left off this list? Let us and our readers know about it in the comments. You can see more affordable rangefinder cameras here and here, and some uncommon rangefinder cameras here! (Damn, we write a lot.)

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[Some of the links in this article will direct users to our affiliates at B&H Photo, Amazon, and eBay. By purchasing anything using these links, Casual Photophile may receive a small commission at no additional charge to you. This helps Casual Photophile produce the content we produce. Many thanks for your support.]

The post Leica M Film Cameras Too Expensive? Here are Five Alternatives appeared first on Casual Photophile.

She sees a great big room with a great big table. On the table is a 35mm interchangeable lens camera, and three lenses. She picks up the first lens, but it is a 28mm and it is too wide. She picks up the second lens, but it is a 50mm and it is too narrow. She picks up the third lens. It is a 35mm and it’s neither too wide, nor too narrow – the perfect compromise.

“The hell with compromise,” says Goldilocks. Putting the 35 back on the table, she walks out into the forest with the 28 and the 50, and makes several beautiful pictures.

The Anti-Goldilocks Principle

You’ve heard of the Goldilocks Principle – the idea that the right balance lies somewhere between the extremes. The idea, of course, is much older; early Buddhist texts used the phrase Majjhimāpaṭipadā – the Middle Way. I’d like to propose what I call the Anti-Goldilocks Principle.

I’m not saying compromise is a bad thing. When you can only pick one, the middle path may well be the best. But if you can pick two, it often makes sense to skip the compromise option and pick the two on each side.

To be clear, I have nothing against the 35mm focal length. Presented with a 35–50–90, I might pass on the 50mm, and go with the 35 and 90. And it’s not limited to lenses either. Consider film formats. Instead of getting a 645 camera, if your budget permits, you might be better off with a 35mm and a 6×6.

It’s not even limited to photography. I have two types of coffee in my pantry – a cheap variety for daily consumption, and high-quality, expensive coffee for the occasional treat. The in-between option, which some might say is best of both worlds, is in another sense also the worst of both worlds.

At least, that’s my thinking. I may be right or I may be wrong, but hey, at least I walk the talk. In my two main 35mm systems – Minolta (SLR) and Leica (rangefinder) – I have a 28mm and a 50mm lenses, but no 35s.

Version history

My 28mm rangefinder lens is the Voigtländer Ultron 28mm f/1.9. It is an LTM lens, so I use it on my camera – a Leica M3 – with an adaptor. Voigtländer introduced it at Photokina 2000, and at the time, it was the fastest production 28mm lens ever made for any rangefinder mount, surpassed in 2014 by the Leica Summilux 28mm f/1.4 (a bargain at $7,250). The Voigltander Ultron 28mm f/1.9 was discontinued in 2008, replaced by the Ultron 28mm f/2 in M-mount.

The later M-mount version has a different optical design – 10 elements in 8 groups as opposed to the LTM’s 9 elements in 7 groups. It is slightly smaller and lighter than the LTM, and the difference in speed is insignificant (1/7th of a stop). The M-mount version also has a circular lens hood (it’s petal-shaped on the LTM), and a focus tab instead of a screw-in lever.

As for performance – I have no first-hand experience with the M-mount version, but going by forum discussions, some favor the LTM and others the M-mount. This could be down to individual preference or sample variation. Which would I pick? Other things being equal, probably the M-mount version. But when I looked, the LTM was cheaper, so that’s what I got.

Which 28mm?

My Leica M3 came with a Summicron 50mm f/2, which is still my most-used lens. Soon after, I added a Tele-Elmar 135mm (reviewed here), and then started looking for a 28mm lens to complete the line-up. You’ll notice that I skip focal lengths in between – no 35mm and no 90mm. This is the Anti-Goldilocks Principle in action.

I had two main criteria for my 28mm lens. These being a maximum aperture of f/2.8 or faster (because I often shoot in low light or with slow film), and a price of £250 or less. The first one is easy to meet; there is a plethora of fast 28mm lenses from Zeiss, Minolta, Ricoh, Konica, 7Artisans and of course Leica themselves (including the superfast Summilux f/1.4 and the enticingly small Elmarit ASPH f/2.8).

Unfortunately, these were all above my price limit. The only ones which weren’t were the Canon f/2.8 LTM from the 1950s, and the Ultron which I eventually got. Even so, I had to wait several months (and lose several eBay auctions) before I found one within budget.

Specifications

• • Mount – Leica Thread Mount (LTM) (M39)
  • Focal Length – 28mm
  • Angle of View – 75°
  • Aperture Range – F/1.9 – 22
  • Aperture Blades – 10
  • Lens Construction – 9 elements in 7 groups
  • Close Focus Distance – 0.7 meters
  • Dimensions (L x D) – 63 x 56mm
  • Weight – 265 grams
  • Filter Thread Diameter – 46mm

Look and Feel

In size, the Voigtländer Ultron 28mm f/1.9 sits between the Leica Summicron f/2 and the Summilux f/1.4. I would happily trade one aperture stop for compactness, but the small f/2.8 lenses like the Elmarit ASPH and the Ricoh are many times more expensive.

My copy is black, but there’s also a silver version (see Ken Rockwell’s review). With (admittedly heavy) use, some of the black paint has rubbed off, revealing brass-coloured metal below. I don’t mind this, and some people positively like the “brassing” – though one reviewer says it’s probably not brass but anodized aluminum.

In any case, it’s an all-metal body and feels very well made. The aperture ring is knurled, with precise half-stop clicks (except between f/16 and f/22). The focus ring is scalloped and turns in a smooth, well-damped fashion with no hint of play. The focus throw is just over 90°. I’ve recently felt a hint of stiffness near the infinity end, but not enough (yet) that I want to disassemble and lubricate it.

The Ultron’s minimum focus distance is 0.7m. The Leica M3 only focuses down to 1m (subsequent models focus down to 0.7m), so between 0.7 and 1m, I use scale focusing. This is not hard; I know that if the subject is an arm’s length away the distance is 0.7m. The photo below was taken at the minimum focus distance.

Accessories

The Ultron 28mm f/1.9 came with a removable metal hood with crinkle-finish. The hood is petal-shaped, so I have to make sure it’s correctly oriented so as not to obstruct the lens (wider petal on top). The hood has a small screw for cinch-friction coupling, which I’m not a fan of – it tends to catch on straps and other things. The hood must be taken off to attach or remove a filter.

Originally, the lens also came with a felt-lined, friction-fit metal cap, and a small screw-in focus lever. My used copy did not have either of these. Robert White in the UK can supply both the lens cap and focus lever – I emailed them to ask, but I ended up not getting either. Instead, I bought an aftermarket centre-pinch cap – it’s not as nice-looking as the original cap, but it can be used without the hood (whereas the original cap fit over the hood). And I make do without the focus lever; I like focus tabs, but I’m not sure I would get on with the lever.

Framelines and finder blockage

The Leica M3 doesn’t have 28mm framelines, so I use the Ultron with an external viewfinder. I generally focus through the viewfinder on the camera, then switch to the external viewfinder for framing. Sometimes, especially at smaller apertures, I just scale focus – not hard with a wide-angle lens. At f/8, depth of field extends from 1.8m to infinity.

I’ve gotten used to the external finder, but it’s clearly not as straightforward as focusing and framing through the same finder. This is something to bear in mind if you use a Leica M body older than the M4-P (1981), which introduced 28mm framelines.

Regardless of what camera you use, the Ultron protrudes into the viewfinder – more so with the hood, but also without. It even appears in the external viewfinder, though in this case, only when the hood is on. A little finder blockage doesn’t bother me, but for some people it can be a deal breaker.

Optical quality

The Ultron 28mm f/1.9 has 9 elements in 7 groups including one aspherical element. (I rendered the lens diagram based on technical literature; it is a close approximation, but not 100% accurate.)

Now before talking about optical quality, I should say that while I’ve taken lots of “real world” photos with the Ultron, I haven’t rigorously tested it. And I use it exclusively on my Leica M3, so I don’t know how it plays with digital sensors. Finally, I have not used or compared it with any other 28mm lens for the Leica system. So this is more of a “user perspective” rather than a technical review.

That said, the lens is plenty sharp for my needs. In the first photo below, it resolved the thinnest struts on the gasholder in the background, and in the second, in a good enlargement, you can practically count the blades of grass.

If you want a more technical assessment, Erwin Puts claims that the lens is optimal at f/4, and a little soft at full aperture, especially in the corners. In Puts’ tests, the Summicron f/2 outperforms the Ultron at wider apertures (no surprise there!) but “stopped down it is a draw.” He also notes (and this means something coming from a Leica expert like Puts), “To get some perspective: an older 28mm lens from Leica is blown to pieces by the Ultron.”

Distortion, vignetting and bokeh

The Ultron doesn’t have noticeable distortion (I added a reference line in the concert photo), nor vignetting (the photo of the tea-seller was shot wide open at f/1.9).

It is, however, prone to flare even with the hood attached. I don’t mind this on black and white film; sometimes I think it even adds to the picture. But on colour film it produces blue ghosts, which I’m personally not a fan of.

Few people buy 28mm lenses for bokeh, but I actually find the Ultron’s bokeh quite pleasing. As you’d expect, it’s most noticeable up close and wide open, as in the photo of the snaps bottles. The portrait, on the other hand, was at f/4, but I still got good subject separation and, thanks to the 10 aperture blades, well-rounded out-of-focus highlights.

Using a 28mm lens

My primary lens for 35mm cameras has always been a nifty-fifty. Most people add a wider lens for landscapes, but I first wanted one after seeing Garry Winogrand’s street photography, most of which was made with a 28mm lens.

A wide lens is especially useful on the streets of my hometown, Kolkata. In a crowded market or a narrow lane, there’s often not enough room to back up. And even if you can, the constant stream of passers-by makes it hard to get a clear shot. At least, that was the case in pre-pandemic times.

Even in less crowded European cities, I like the 28mm focal length for streetscapes. It’s not without its challenges, though. With a 75° angle of view, you can end up with too many elements in the frame, but I try to compose and time the shot so that they come together in a harmonious way (not that I always succeed).

Another compositional challenge with wide-angle lenses is dealing with “dead space”, especially in the foreground. I try to mitigate this by including foreground elements of interest (like the pool of water) or leading lines (the staircase).

And of course, I use it for environmental portraits – of humans, animals and, in the last photo, a human with an animal mask.

The Ultron’s maximum aperture of f/1.9 combined with the fact that wider lenses can be handheld at slower shutter speeds without risk of motion blur makes it ideal for low-light and indoor photography. The photos below were all handheld – the black-and-white ones were on Kodak Tri-X 400 at box speed, and the one of my friend cooking was on Ektar 100!

Final thoughts

I began this review by introducing the Anti-Goldilocks Principle to justify why I use a 28 and a 50, eschewing the classic 35mm focal length. But for the 28mm focal length specifically, I wanted one lens – not an assortment for different use cases. And as I say, if you have to pick one, the compromise option – the original Goldilocks choice – may well be the best.

The Voigtländer Ultron 28mm f/1.9 is not as fast as the Summilux f/1.4, nor as sharp as the Summicron f/2. Several other lenses are smaller, and the Canon f/2.8 sometimes sells for less than what I paid for my Ultron. But the Ultron has a unique set of attributes – a fast, well-constructed, relatively inexpensive lens with excellent optical performance – all of which combine to make it the “right” choice for me. I guess it is a Goldilocks lens after all.

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Nowadays, many professional photographers use zoom lenses (Steve McCurry, for instance, now prefers a 24-70, as does Pulitzer Prize-Winning photojournalist Carol Guzy). But even these zooms stay within fairly standard limits. 

In full-frame equivalent, how many of us have shot with something wider than a 28mm lens? Some pretty large percentage of readers’ hands drop. Okay, how about wider than a 20mm? We’re left with a slim percentage. Wider than 16? Now we’re really down to a rare few. 

This is a review of the Voigtlander Ultra Wide-Heliar 12mm f/5.6 Aspherical lens for the M-mount, version III. 12mm on full-frame is about as wide as it gets, especially when we exclude the non-rectilinear designs known as fisheyes. Among this ultrawide echelon there’s the Fujifilm 8-16mm, which is equivalent to a 12-24mm on full frame and the mind-blowing Voigtlander Heliar Hyper-Wide 10mm for Leica and Canon. This year, James reviewed 7.5mm fisheye for Minolta, which is insanely wide but also extremely silly in that it produces orbs for images.

The truth is that 90% of my photos are in that sweet spot of 35-50mm. My favorite lenses are the Carl Zeiss Contax G 45mm, the Pentax Limited 43mm, The Carl Zeiss ZM 35mm, and the Carl Zeiss Hasselblad 80mm. (Can you tell I like Zeiss?). 

So why shoot something as freaking wide as 12mm? Because it is so freaking wide. 

First Things First

Cosina-Voigtlander (CV) is a popular lens maker for Leica-shooters particularly. Voigtlander offers an extensive M-mount lineup at far more affordable prices than Leica. Having shot a handful of Voigtlander lenses, I can say that contra the crowd, I am not overwhelmingly in love with the build of CV lenses. Oftentimes, I find the aperture and focus rings too loose for my tastes and the finger tabs for the aperture rings are often too thin to inspire awe of their quality. The Voigtlander Ultra Wide-Heliar 12mm f/5.6 Aspherical III lens is a general exception to this feeling, probably owing to the fact that the lens is a hefty chunk of metal. Weighing in at 10 ounces, this lens is what the meme-folk might call “thicc.” 

Everything about the Heliar is oversized, from the beefy focusing ring with its Grand Canyon-esque knurls to the integrated petal-style hood. I think that heft can go a long way toward inspiring confidence in a lens that is not naturally as well finished as a Lecia lens might be. 

The front element is also big, though not as large as the seductive glass of ultrawide fisheyes (seriously, is there anything more beautiful than the front element of the Minolta 16mm?). Surrounding the glass are concentric ridges that remind me of a recessed watch sub-dial. 

In contrast to other M-mount Voigtlander lenses, the 12mm Heliar lacks the slim fin that acts as a finger tab for the aperture ring replacing it with a simple knurled ridge on otherwise smooth aperture ring. For me, this is an unobtrusive replacement for what I feel is not only an obtrusive piece but also an embarrassing one. The fin tab on other Voigtlander lenses reminds me of the flexible, plastic nose pads on wireframe glasses. Though it serves a purpose, it seems flimsy and distracts from the overall design. 

As for the aspect that I am less enthusiastic about, I still take issue with the standard Voigtlander typeface design choices. Leica, I think, is perhaps the pinnacle of distinctive and unique typeface design when it comes to their lenses. In comparison to Leica with its unique orange numbering and its own variation of the standard Deutsches Institut für Normung (DIN) typeface, the Voigtlander seems clearly more boring. 

But even compared to the Zeiss ZM lenses, the Voigtlander just doesn’t have much going for it. The typeface is as plain-Jane as any sans serif, the font is generally small, and the only two colors Voigtlander uses in any capacity are white and red (save for black). 

I know I’m taking issue with something incredibly minor, but if not now, when? If not me, who? All in all, I find Voigtlander lenses to look like a black Hyundai Elantra in lens form.  

Shooting Blind

Elanta or not, any good ride can be pimped out. The same is true for most lenses. In this case, you won’t be adding filters, but the easiest (some may essential) way to sex-up your wide angle lens is to use it in conjunction with an external viewfinder. In this case, any viewfinder with 12mm frame lines will work (though for most cameras, any finder with frame lines under 28mm will help). 

External viewfinders are an undeniably neat photography accoutrement. It’s like having a lens with your lens in true Xzibit fashion. That said, a 12mm external viewfinder will set you back about 200 dollars. Is it worth it? 

In all honesty, I can’t say, because I didn’t use any external viewfinder when shooting with this lens. What I can say, is that shooting blind was not an utter failure. The outer edges of my viewfinder essentially represent 26mm frame lines— a far cry from the 12mm frame lines I should technically have in order to accurately frame my shot. 

Shooting blind is an awkward sensation, no doubt, but not impossible. The key refrain I kept in my mind while shooting was, “Remember, you’re getting so much more than you think.” My viewfinder provided to me what I essentially thought of as the center of my frame, and from there I then forced myself to consider what might be slipping into the periphery of the shot. 

The second and third versions of this lens are rangefinder coupled, meaning that looking through my internal viewfinder did allow me to confirm focus. However, with a lens as wide as 12mm, almost everything is in focus all of the time, particularly since the lens aperture only opens up to f/5.6. 

I cannot imagine using this (or any) lens without any framing whatsoever, but a normal viewfinder will get you enough of the way that you’re somewhere in between slicing sashimi with a splitting axe and slicing it with a yanagi. 

Perspective, perspective, perspective 

I recently moved from Boston to New York City to start a Ph.D. program at Columbia University. There is a total sense of strangeness to that fact not made the least less strange by the raging pandemic. The joke is stale by now, but Ph.D. by Zoom is not exactly what I had in mind in the years spent dreaming about this season of life. 

I can’t say that I’m crushed by any aspect of the situation—I’m exceedingly lucky—but I can say that the walls of my apartment seem so much closer nowadays and that sitting at my desk in class feels increasingly claustrophobic. 

It is hard for anyone to push their sight into frames other than their own. To do so is what we spend years teaching in school, be it seeing, for example, from the perspective of Okonkwo from Things Fall Apart, or, as another example, from the perspectives of Irish living through the Great Famine. 

However, the main vocation each of us must come to intimate terms with is understanding what it means to see from own perspective. This is the task of self-understanding. When I shoot with my 43/45/50 lenses, I am in the mode of seeing naturally. It is through my eye that the image is composed, and that composition is inherently tied to what I see when I’m not looking through a viewfinder, that is, what I see normally. 

With longer and shorter lenses, compression and expansion are introduced to our images and suddenly the images we’re producing are, at some level, unnatural. With a 12mm lens, the images produced are as removed from our eyes as I am removed from the experience of Okonkwo. But to produce an image with obvious difference from my normal images can be as rewarding as taking up Okonkwo’s frame of view through Chinua Achebe’s writing. 

Armed with the expectation that the Heliar would produce images alien to my normal portfolio, I set out to a place that produces in me the sense of distance and awe I hoped the 12mm would: the main campus of Columbia. 

The 32-acre Neoclassical campus is magnificent. I am vastly underqualified to describe it adequately, so I can only say that it is a place for me that is beautiful. I knew, of course, that the wider a lens is the more it is suited to architectural photography, so Columbia made total sense as a photographic destination. 

As it turned out, I do feel that the Heliar captured the place better than my normal lenses had before. There is something so essential to feeling small amid places like Columbia (or inescapable, perhaps, at least for me) and the 121-degree field of view of the Voigtlander Heliar 12mm captures that sense of smallness perfectly. 

In that way, the 12mm lens helped me feel the expanse that really surrounds me as I make this move to Manhattan and begin this particular program at this particular institution. 

To buy or not to buy? 

Sadly, I had to send this lens back to James as it was on loan from the wonderful folks at B&H. In the time since, I have not infrequently pined for its dramatic angles. Somehow, my 25mm Voigtlander doesn’t seem dramatic enough after having tasted the intoxicating substance of the Voigtlander Ultra Wide-Heliar 12mm f/5.6 Aspherical III lens. 

I can say, since this is a review of the lens, that the images I got from it were extremely sharp without problematic flare, and that they were overall optically excellent. After all, the Mark III version of this lens introduces two more elements (in the same number of groups) over its predecessor for a Heliar design that is ultimately cleaner. And, of course, its aspherical element goes a long way in keeping abberations low. 

The Mark I and Mark II versions seem to hover between $400-$500 on eBay, which, in my mind, is a great deal. Even for a new Mark III, you are still well under $1,000. If I had a standard lens I was in love with and had a secondary lens I used often (for me, those are my Zeiss 2/50 Planar and Zeiss 2.8/35 Biogon), I think an ultrawide lens is an easy third choice. 

It’s just straight up wild in a way that is not as gimmicky as a fisheye lens or flat (literally) as an extreme telephoto lens. Throw in the fact that focusing is no biggie and you’ve got an easy to use lens which makes consistent dramatic results. You just have to get closer and closer to your subject until it works. If you can handle the fact that it gives off Hyundai vibes, I think it’s worth owning. I can entirely imagine that the next M-mount lens I’ll own will be this one. 

Get your Voigtlander Ultra Wide-Heliar 12mm f/5.6 Aspherical III lens from B&H Photo

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It had to have sharp glass and a coupled rangefinder, and I had to have complete control. The Rollei 35 came close, but zone focusing was an issue again, and the models with the best lenses were expensive. The Olympus XA was perfect, with everything I needed, but if I wanted something in good condition within my price range, I’d need to move away from such a zeitgeisty camera. I considered the beautiful-but-elusive Voigtländer Vito BR, but it was too hard to find, and lacking a light meter. And then it appeared: the Voigtländer Vitessa 1000 SR.

I’d found a rangefinder with a top shutter speed of 1/1000, a Carl Zeiss Tessar 42mm f/2.8 lens, and CdS exposure metering, in fully working condition for €40 on eBay. Strangely square and unusually shiny, with a snub nose and sharp corners, it leapt from the cluttered page of auction search results – a modernist incongruity in a sea of classics. Across the top in clean sans serif, two of the most respected names in photography sat side by side: Zeiss Ikon Voigtländer. It looked compact enough for street photography and had all the features I needed. I didn’t have to consider it for very long before I paid the bill.

What is the Voigtländer Vitessa 1000 SR

The Voigtländer Vitessa 1000 SR belongs to the Vitessa 500 series, an update of the more-famous models of the same name from the 1950s. Both versions of the Vitessa are defined by their rapid film-advance features – the original had the iconic plunger, the 1960s version favors a lever on the bottom left of the camera body, leaving the right hand free to shoot. The 1000 SR is the ultimate model in the 500 family: avoiding aperture priority, swapping the Color-Lanthar lens for the Tessar, and graduating from 1/500 to a top shutter speed of 1/1000. 

In production between 1966 and 1970, the Zeiss Ikon Voigtländer Vitessa is a product of that unwieldy period when the two photography giants briefly merged, before the company dissolved and the Voigtländer factory closed down. As far as I can tell from combing through decades-old forums and Google-translated blogs, the Vitessa 1000 SR is quite rare, with only 18,500 units ever made. 

First impressions

My first impression out of the box was how unusual the camera looks. It’s unmistakably mid-century. Some have disparaged the Vitessa’s boxy shape, its dated ‘60s lines, and there’s no question that it feels ‘of its time’ aesthetically. But if you’re a fan of brutalism and modernist design, as I am, then the old-fashioned angles start to feel special. The Voigtländer Vitessa 1000 SR has the quality of something conceptual and deliberate – almost like a piece of designer furniture rather than a tool, in the same way an Eames Lounge Chair is more art than seat. The Vitessa 500 series even came in imitation rosewood, resembling the Eames, which adds to the impression that these cameras might have been designed with fashion in mind.

The Vitessa 1000 SR isn’t a light camera. It’s surprisingly dense and solid. For its size, its inordinately heavy, but it’s a reassuring weight in the hands – the kind of weight that speaks to the toughness. There are plastic components on the Vitessa, it’s true, but from the feel of it these are limited and never found where strength is required. Like the robust and rectangular buildings constructed in the modernist period, this brick of a camera seems like it would be hard to demolish.

It was time to test it out. I live in Bath, UK, a beautiful and beige 18th-century UNESCO World Heritage Site. I had recently finished a photography project focused on Bath’s landmarks and Georgian architecture, and I wanted to take the camera somewhere new. 

Generally, there’s not much modern architecture in Bath but, lucky for us, our windows look onto a ‘brutalist eyesore’ over the road – one of only a handful of post-war housing developments in the city. For one reason or another, I’d never got around to exploring the concrete complex, and I liked the idea of taking a camera from the late ‘60s to a development built in the same style and at the same time, possibly even the same year. If I was shooting something gritty, I needed a gritty film, and one that could enliven the grey English weather: JCH Streetpan 400.

Design and function

My first challenge was inserting a battery. The camera was designed for the PX625 mercury cell, but as these are now banned, I sourced a Wein Cell zinc-air MRB625. The Wein Cell is the recommended replacement for the Vitessa 1000 SR, with the correct voltage of 1.35, but either due to a slight variation in size or an issue with this particular model’s battery compartment, the exposure needle refused to register. A carefully folded bit of aluminum foil soon fixed the issue and the needle leapt to life. Indelicate DIY repairs like this usually irritate me, but as issues go it was a small one, and it seemed to add flavor to my brutalist photowalk through a smudged and scarred environment.

There’s a mysterious green button on the side of the camera, which the manual lists as a ‘battery testing key’. I initially assumed mine didn’t work, as pressing it had no apparent effect. After re-visiting the online forums for the umpteenth time, I found it odd that not a single person’s battery testing key seemed to be working. Upon reading the confusingly worded couple of lines in the relevant section of the manual, it became clear that the button functions by lowering the exposure needle when pressed, if the battery needs replacing. Though there are many aspects I like about the camera, this fiddly feature was the first in a series of counter-intuitive design choices that I discovered as I tested the Vitessa.

First, the positives, as this camera does have some nice touches. It’s a pleasingly compact size. Not much bigger than my Olympus Trip 35, it could theoretically fit in a coat pocket if one doesn’t mind the weight. The shutter speed and aperture rings around the lens are distinct enough to the touch that they can be operated blind. And though I was initially suspicious of the triangular plastic shutter release, in practice it’s a joy to use, ergonomic and wide. Combined with the soft, staccato snap of the impressive Prontor 1000 LK leaf shutter, the act of taking a photograph is satisfying, a welcome combination of comfort, speed and silence. 

The viewfinder is bright, and there’s a large red square to indicate aperture (though, there’s nothing to indicate shutter speed selection). The rangefinder patch is perhaps a little faint, but I found it more than adequate. The light meter is quick and simple to use, being made of a match-needle system with a single central notch on the right-hand side of the viewfinder to indicate exposure. The ISO tops out at 400, which isn’t an issue for me as I don’t often shoot anything faster. 

The Tessar lens is one of the main reasons I took a chance on the Voigtländer Vitessa 1000 SR, and it didn’t disappoint. Despite my unfamiliarity with the camera, the high contrast film, and the challenging lighting conditions of a bright and overcast day, there are a number of images I’m pleased with from the roll. The lens seems satisfyingly sharp, clearly picking out the texture and clean lines of the concrete. Craving a bit of greenery after mapping the grey development, I wandered to a nearby park, where I photographed an ornate bandstand column at f/2.8. The detail on the column is crisp, framed by a subtle swirl of bokeh. There’s a touch of vignetting, but I quite like how this adds to the feeling of spiraling movement in the shot.

Drawbacks

Despite its strengths, the Voigtländer Vitessa 1000 SR has a number of quirks that prevent it from being a true sleeper success. The placement of the CdS cell is inconvenient. It being placed so far to the side and underneath the shutter release (combined with the squat, square shape of the camera) meant that every time I went to shoot in portrait, the needle dropped as my hand obscured the meter. At this point, I’d have to juggle the camera, gripping with my fingertips until the needle sprang to life again. This is something that probably just comes with practice, but it’s another of the Vitessa’s bewildering design choices, which could have been avoided by placing the meter above the lens. 

Similarly, having the film advance on the bottom of the camera is fine in theory, but in practice it means moving the camera away from your face after every shot unless you want the lever to jab into your cheek. It’s also very loud, the clockwork clatter making the camera feel a bit like a wind-up toy at times.

My final and chief quibble with the Vitessa is the focusing. Because the lens is fairly flat and completely covered in ISO, shutter speed and aperture controls, there’s only room underneath the focus ring for a small black bar. A touch too shallow to grip with two fingers, I had to awkwardly adjust this with only the index finger of my left hand. A number of times, I almost touched the lens by mistake, or placed my finger on the self-timer lever, which happens to be in a similar place and of a similar size. Frequently, I had to lower the camera to reorient myself, which inevitably slowed down the shot, a frustrating setback for a camera named for its rapidity.

Final Thoughts on the Voigtländer Vitessa 1000 SR

Is the Voigtländer Vitessa 1000 SR a brutalist eyesore or modernist masterpiece? I’m not quite sure – perhaps neither. It falls somewhere in the middle. It’s a capable rangefinder and an intriguing oddity. The more I consider it, the more I understand why it isn’t revered, remaining a bit of a mystery today while other cameras with similar specs gain popularity and clout amongst a new generation of film nerds. Its lens and range of features are impressive, but it has a tendency to get in its own way. It’s weighty, unclear, awkward. Though its relative anonymity means it can pack a punch for the price (if you can find one), the Voigtländer Vitessa’s cumbersome nature means it isn’t the quick answer to street photography I was hoping for.

I am pleased with the images produced by the camera, but ultimately this isn’t why I’ll forgive it for its shortcomings. I appreciate the camera for its character. Plain yet playful, stubborn but charismatic. Perhaps the Voigtländer Vitessa 1000 SR is quite like the Eames chair after all – more icon than instrument, a notable moment in history and design.

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The tail-end of that trip included a weekend at the Rolex 24, an endurance race at Daytona International Speedway featuring multiple classes of cars driving on track at the same time, for a 24 hour period starting at around 2 p.m. on Saturday. The drivers get to swap out and take a break; the spectators camp out in midfield and get drunk.

Knowing I had no commitments to cover the actual race for work, I found myself planning what I’d do for 24 hours with press access to just about anywhere I wanted to go. I decided to shoot film.

When I travel for work, I usually try bring one of my film cameras along with my digital gear. It pushes me to get out of my hotel and go explore on the short one or two-night trips that I take about once a month. It’s a great way to slow down, soak up a little piece of wherever I am, and pass the time when I have very little of it. And then a few days after I get home, getting the scans and prints back brings that sense of relief and surprise, and enables me to relive the trip all over again.

This time I packed my (olive) Voigtlander Bessa R2 with my Voigtlander 35mm f2.5 and Leitz 90mm F4 lenses, plus six rolls of film – a mix of Fujicolor 200, and Kodak Pro-Image 100. I wasn’t sure a rangefinder was the best idea for shooting moving cars at a long distance, but my 90mm lens is the longest I’ve got, and at the range I knew I’d be at, I figured I’d be locked at infinity focus just about all the time anyway.

I knew many of my automotive media friends would be there, but as cute as they all are, I wanted to try my hand at some “motorsports” photography and focus on the cars. Over the last year or so I’ve found myself pushing film for a high-contrast look that makes the colors pop, as I am very lazy and do not often bother to edit the scans I get back from the lab unless they look absolutely horrible. By this point, I know what pushing Pro-Image one stop will get me (something I experimented with after reading an excellent Casual Photophile write-up a few months ago). As luck would have it, it was a beautiful weekend in Daytona. The temperature hovered in the low 60s, and the sun stayed bright – perfect conditions to capture some contrast.

Day one began with me walking through the team garages (something anyone can do) and focusing more on the characters and less on the cars – the crowds were difficult to ignore through the lens. After a quick lap around the track in a BMW M5 (the Porsche I was supposed to drive “ran into some issues”), I had a chance to walk through the lineup of racers an hour before the flag waved.

I knew everyone would be excited over the new Chevrolet Corvette C8R racecar, the first-ever mid-engine Corvette endurance racer. Thank god they painted one of them yellow. The other was silver. The blankets you see on the front of the car are there to keep the engine warm before the race. While the engine is actually located behind the driver (hence the label “mid-engine”), the radiator still sits ahead of the driver, so the blankies stay on the nose.

Basic rules of coverage dictated I get a group shot of all the cars lined up, and I found myself drawn to the engineering teams seeking refuge in the little bit of shade up against the wall. After the start of the race, I switched to my 90mm and tried my hand at some panning shots, again focusing on the Corvettes and the Porsches, as they were the loudest and easiest to hear coming.

I have no idea what my settings were, and for that I am sorry. I do not take notes. It is very much a run-and-gun operation with me. I followed the in-camera meter with ISO set at 200. I know I also tried to keep the shutter speed low and aperture high. Higher aperture would offer increased depth-of-field and help keep the cars in focus at distance, and the slower shutter speed would make the background speed-blurring effect more pronounced. All that’s left is getting my aim right.

As sunset drew near, my friends and I walked out to mid-field, where I finished my first roll of Pro-Image 100 with some shots of the cars zooming by at ground level through a fence that picked up the sinking sun’s golden light beautifully. Next I loaded the highest-ISO color film I’d packed, the Fujicolor 200, and also pushed it one stop metering at 400. I got a couple of shots of some guy in an incredible Marlboro jacket in front of a matching Porsche, and then we headed back to the stands.

The Fujicolor rendered a great shot of the sunset sky, one clear panning shot and half-a-dozen blurry ones (as my shutter speed was falling hopelessly lower and lower). Then I walked across the street to my hotel and got a great six hours of sleep. The cars kept racing.

I didn’t make it back to the track until around 11 a.m. the next day, just a few hours before the race ended. I made my way down to the paddock – only teams and media allowed during the race – where the cars pull in for driver swaps and pit stops. I finished off the pushed Fujicolor on many sleepy racing men and one great mustache, and loaded up with more Pro-Image 100, again pushed one stop.

I stood at the exit of pit lane, which brought me much closer to the track itself and at ground level with the cars, where I could get the slower-moving cars heading back out as well as the fast-moving cars across the fancy grass as they passed the start-finish line. I finished the race in the Porsche suite as their cars secured second and third in their class, and then I headed home. For what it’s worth, these rolls were X-rayed twice; once on the way out, once on the way back. I have no idea if it had any impact on the final images.

Considering I’m mostly motorsports illiterate and possibly one of the laziest film photographers with a pulse, my three rolls came back full of frames I was very happy with. And that’s often the case for me – I don’t end up taking very many photos, but I end up liking many of the ones that I took. Every time I reflect on my experience shooting film, I never seem to remember caring all too much about each frame in the moments they were captured. And every time I surprise myself.

Maybe I have low standards for my own photos. But it’s this sensation of surprising myself that keeps a film camera in my bag, and it’s hauling that additional weight in the bag that always ends up being the final motivating force for me to get off my ass and go out and shoot. I never regret it. Well, I do have one regret, actually, and it’s that I took exactly zero film photos of the Taycan. I’ve provided a digital photo to make up for it.

You can see more from Justin via his Instagram and Twitter accounts, and on Jalopnik.

[Editor’s Note – While editing this article for publication, I was singing this song in my mind the entire time. Enjoy.]

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