But for new and would-be medium format photographers, the ever-shifting landscape of the hobby can be a bit daunting. Of the hundreds of available medium format cameras, how can we possible know which is the one to buy?

We answered this very question in a pair of articles, the first published way back in 2016 and another in 2019. Five years on, they could do for an update. So, here’s the update.

I’ve meticulously selected five of the best medium format cameras that one can buy today, each with its own unique reason for being. Since we’re just starting out, the cameras are arranged by type, which will help would-be users who may not know what they want. I’ve also tried to keep the cameras on this list limited to those with reasonable prices. (I break this rule only once.)

Enjoy!

For old school sophistication, buy a Minolta TLR

Twin Lens Reflex (TLR) cameras; one glance and we know we’re holding an old world piece of machinery. They’re as much jewelry as they are highly functional photographic tools, and I mean that in the best way possible — TLRs are gorgeous, and can make gorgeous photos.

TLRs have two major features which differentiate them from most other cameras. First, they shoot square images. Second, they have two lenses, one which acts as a focusing screen viewfinder through which the photographer looks to frame the shot, and a second lens which is used to actually expose the film.

The viewfinder of a TLR is typically located on the top of the camera. The photographer peers down into it while holding the camera at waist-level. Since there’s no penta-prism as we find in most SLR cameras, the image in the viewfinder can be a bit disorienting for new shooters. But stick with it and we’re able to enjoy a unique and engaging perspective.

The most popular TLRs in the world are the famed Rolleiflex and Rolleicord TLRs. However, these camera are quite expensive today, loved for their extremely high build quality and classic characterful lenses. For new shooters looking to try a TLR, I have two recommendations.

If you’re looking for a classic TLR with a capable lens, high build quality, bright and accurate focusing screen, and easy-to-learn all-manual controls, buy the Minolta Autocord. Throughout the 1950s and 1960s, Minolta made about a dozen different Autocord models, some with light meters and some without.

Avoid buying the Autocord L and the Autocord LMX, since these models used a selenium light meter (which in modern times will almost certainly be dead). If you require a camera with a built-in light meter, seek out the Autocord CDS II or CDS III, the only Autocords with built-in battery-powered CdS meters (these meters don’t die from age, like the selenium ones do).

An all-manual meter-less Autocord can be purchased today for under $250, and if we’re patient and careful, it’s possible to find one for under $100. I can’t overstate the value proposition of a camera this good at a price this low.

Read my full review of the Autocord here, and then shop for one on eBay.

Minolta Autocord for sale | eBay

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HONORABLE MENTION : Much of what I wrote about Minolta’s TLRs can be equally applied to Yashica’s TLRs. Yashica made a number of incredibly reliable, capable TLR cameras, some of which are all-manual and some of which come with light meters. Indeed, an article on this very site has gone into great detail to spotlight the Yashica TLR as a perfect first medium format film camera.

The most popular Yashica TLR is the Yashicamat 124 G, a truly gorgeous and capable camera. By the specs and the results, the Yashica and Minolta TLRs are essentially equal. I picked the Minolta because they’re less popular, and therefore less expensive today.

For those who love SLRs, Buy the Pentax 645

The Pentax 645 is quintessential Pentax. It’s affordable, easy to use and delivers quality images. It was marketed toward amateur photographers shooting their first weddings and those just breaking into the professional world. Which means it’ll be more than good enough for the brand new medium format photographer.

It offers center-weighted metering with full auto Program mode, plus semi-auto Aperture and Shutter Priority modes, as well as full manual mode. ISO ranges in 1/3 stops from 6 – 6,400 with shutter speeds of 15 seconds to 1/1,000th of a second, plus bulb mode for long exposures. Its motor drive is capable of 1.5 frames per second, which allows us to blow through a whole roll in just twenty seconds (kind of absurd).

The viewfinder has a lovely LED display. In manual mode it shows how many stops we are from a perfect exposure, which it indicates with an encouraging “Ok!” If we use the exposure compensation, a very tiny plus sign will light up when compensation is engaged. Nice touches.

It’s a relatively small and light camera, for medium format, and benefits from a truly astonishing line-up of interchangeable lenses.

All of these features combine to create a camera which, essentially, can do anything any new medium format film shooter could ever ask of a camera.

The Pentax 645 has undergone two facelifts over time: the 645N in 1996 and the 645NII in 2001. The 645N was a complete overhaul which added a more sophisticated interface, auto-focus, and matrix metering. The later 645NII added mirror-lock up. Both the N and NII are much more professional-oriented cameras, but that comes at a price. They cost double or triple the cost of an original 645.

For budget-conscious film photographers looking for a solid medium format SLR camera, the original Pentax 645 is it. Importantly, it also leaves enough money left over to buy the most important ingredient for growth – lots and lots of film.

Read all about the Pentax 645 in our article here, and then buy one on eBay here.

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HONORABLE MENTION : The Mamiya 645 series of cameras can be very similar to the Pentax 645. The oldest version of the Mamiya is a full-manual camera, but later models offer various degrees of semi-auto and full-auto shooting modes. Prices on these start at the same level as the Pentax, but climb significantly with the spec sheet. The Mamiya was not my first choice because the Pentax is typically cheaper.

For effortless photography, buy the Fujifilm GA645

The Fujifilm GA645 is a very special, and very modern camera. Made in 1995, it is essentially a point-and-shoot medium format film camera that makes shooting medium format as easy as… well, pointing and shooting.

Focus is automatic. Film advance and rewind are automatic. Exposure is automatic, semi-automatic, or full manual. It’s compact and portable, making it a great choice for travelers or street photographers. It even has a built-in flash. Shooting this thing is like shooting the most capable point-and-shoot film camera ever made. It’s the Canon Sure Shot of medium format!

The 60mm f/4 Fujinon Super EBC lens creates stunning images. A variant called the GA645W is fitted with a wider 45mm f/5.6 lens, though this camera tends to be more expensive than the original GA645.

The only major issue with the Fuji is that it’s relatively expensive. Indeed, it’s the most expensive camera on this list. However, there really are no other alternatives for people seeking a fully-automated point-and-shoot medium format film camera, and this one is a true wonder of modern photographic engineering. As Aldo Gucci once said, quality is remembered long after price is forgotten.

Buy your own Fuji GA645 on eBay.

Fujifilm GA645 for sale | eBay

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For medium format on a budget, buy an old folder

Contrary to oft-repeated opinion, it is in fact possible to buy a compact, high quality medium format film camera with a stunning lens for under $150. And I don’t mean a Holga (don’t buy a Holga). We just need to know what to look for.

Medium format folding cameras are the best kept open secret in the medium format world. Collectors and “the olds” have known about them for decades, and we can often find these photographic saints spreading the good word of folding cameras as far as their Facebook groups’ organic reach will allow.

Medium format folding cameras are essentially simple, light tight machines with shutter and lens assemblies mounted to the front of a collapsible bellows. The lens, shutter, and bellows are typically protected by a folding door, which can fold open to extend the whole business into the position needed to make a photo.

When closed, they are incredibly compact (I once used one during a vacation in Disney World). When opened for use, they can make incredible images in a variety of image formats (6 x 6, 6 x 7, and 6 x 9 are most popular).

The downside to these cameras is that they’re all manual and often lacking in any sort of focusing aids. This means that we’ll need to understand light or carry a light meter, set our aperture and shutter speed manually, and even focus by eye using the scale focus method (estimate distance to subject, set that number on the lens, and hope for the best). For this reason alone, medium format folders are not necessarily a great choice for beginner photographers. But for those who know what they’re doing in the 35mm space, the price is low enough to justify the risk.

Medium format folding cameras were made by plenty of companies – Zeiss, Agfa, Kodak, and more. Which means that their are plenty to choose from. The big peril in buying a folding camera is that we need to make sure we’re buying one that’s fully functional.

As a result of their age and their rather delicate design, folding medium format camera can be a bit fragile. When looking to buy one, make sure that the bellows are free of leaks and pinholes, ensure that the lens elements are free of haze and fungus, and confirm that the shutter and aperture function as they should.

The models that I would seek out are the Agfa Isolette, Super Fujica 6, or the Zeiss Ikonta.

medium format folding camera for sale | eBay

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For the biggest possible negative, buy a Fuji Panorama G617

I admit, this final addition to my list is a bit tongue-in-cheek. Nobody should buy this camera as their first medium format camera, and it shouldn’t be on this list. But it’s been so long since I was able to write about the G617, and I really want to do so.

Because there’s simply no other camera like the Fuji Panorama G617.

The biggest selling point for the G617 is hinted at in the name; the enormous image area. Measuring a truly massive 6 x 17 centimeters (2.25 x 6.5 inches) in a 3:1 aspect ratio, the G617 is capable of exposing unbelievably large swathes of film. First produced in 1983, it was intended to be a specialty tool for landscape and architectural photographers who were looking to expose gigantic negatives in a relatively portable camera.

It features a fixed Fujinon 105mm F/8 lens providing a diagonal angle of view of 80.3º (the approximate equivalent angle of view of a 25.8mm lens in the 35mm format). The lens’ aperture spans from a maximum aperture of F/8 to a minimum of F/45, and this sits behind a Made-in-Japan Seiko No. 0 inter-lens leaf shutter capable of speeds from 1 second to as fast as 1/500th of a second, with additional Bulb mode for long exposures and flash sync at all speeds.

Focusing is handled via the scale focus system, film advance is achieved via a thumb-powered advance lever on the top plate, and aperture and shutter speed are all adjusted via rings or levers on the lens. Multiple exposures are possible by resetting the shutter with the lens-mounted lever and firing it again via the release on the lens without advancing the film between shots.

Essentially, that’s all there is to the Fuji G617. It’s just a gorgeous specialty camera made for creating super-wide, extremely massive images on medium format film. And if you want to see what it can do, check out my review here.

Fujifilm G617 for sale | eBay

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This sight, simple, yet truly beautiful, still brought me moments of begging for spring and the wash of vibrancy it ushers.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am primarily a black and white film user, but every so often, there is a tugging at my eye that I can’t ignore. In this article though, the draw for color has been replaced with the need to know the possibility of a certain piece of gear.

Living in Spokane, Washington, there are some truly beautiful landscapes around every corner. The camera that’s the subject of this article is a great medium format camera for landscape shooting. But I mostly use it in whatever way fits the moment. I tend to walk around my neighborhood and the not too far surrounding areas almost everyday. Work and other things often weigh in and affect this privilege, but I try my darndest to do a few blocks here and there on even the sleepiest of days.

Movement is very important to me, whether it be the movement of my feet, my eyes adjusting to a scene, my mind wandering through its bubbling bog of ideas or my move to purchase an amazing camera and lens (for the second time) because I just couldn’t cut a certain thought free. One particular thought was that I had let go one of the best made film cameras of all time, and one that was fitted with a beautiful kit lens as well; the Mamiya C330 Pro F, wearing the lovely Mamiya Sekor 80mm f2.8 on its front. I was so impressed by this camera. The way it leaned into my hands so comfortably when composing and how it offered so much control and so many options during use. I really enjoyed my time using that camera, but then came life, and I had to sell it.

That’s where my story with the formerly-owned pristine Mamiya kit ends, and my current journey with a very well kept C330 (with one of the ugliest 80mm lenses I’ve ever seen) begins.

This story is more or less about the wonders that can be explored (and explored confidently) with a lens that doesn’t seem like it could give good results. Because the truth is, we can spent hundreds or even thousands of dollars less on a beat-up lens and still get sharp, well balanced, contrasty, and flare free results, even with glass that looks like it was pulled out of the bottom of Indiana Jones’ side bag 33 years after his retirement. Hairy, dinged and dusty, rough as an elbow and still shining.

The snow has been replaced with trees heavy in themselves, leaning and giving off their scents. Puffs of green dotting along lane after lane beside other long stemmed flowering cities and fluffy ground covers. Some wearing clusters of lovely thin layers, yellow, white, pink and so on, inviting bees and butterflies for seasonal conversation and sending them off with gifts.

This is the blue sky backdrop where my new kit was welcomed in. I first opened the box it came in and was a little worried. Having bought it online and in “heavily used” condition, where the photos were not so telling, I was unsure of what to expect. Right away I noticed the circular scratches covering both lenses. Looking a little closer I saw what looked at first like specks of dirt, or maybe some kind of lens coating issue. I quickly ran to my room and grabbed some cotton swabs, a little isopropyl, and gave them both a visit to the doctor.

I cleaned the lens bodies, for there was a bit of grime all over, and lastly the elements themselves. That’s when I noticed there was definitely an issue. The issue wasn’t with the shutter mechanism or the aperture blades being sticky, or any of the common issues that one finds when buying old gear (and especially older leaf shutter lenses). It was something I had never seen before on any other lens, and it sort of freaked me out.

Pitting. There were tons of tiny little dings all over both front elements. Now. I don’t know if you have ever experienced this yourself, and if you have perhaps you’ll understand, but if you haven’t, let me tell you that it’s horrifying!

I didn’t know what to do, and I bounced around in my head whether or not to contact the seller, start looking into potential repair, possibly look into buying new front elements… the list goes on. Eventually, having given some time to looking and focusing inside and outside through the bright finder of the C330, I decided to load the camera with some Kodak Tmax 100 and go for a walk. It was a bright day, and I figured this would be a great time to test for softness and flaring or any other aberrations that may accompany such an ugly set of lenses. I gave the camera a little pat on the back, dropped an extra roll of Tri X 400 into my shirt pocket and headed out.

There isn’t anything special about my setup. No grip, just strapped and hanging there waiting to be scooped, held and cranked, and I did just that. Walking through that day glow looking at all the houses and parked cars with rosebush back drops, tulips hugging tulips the way they do, watching cats maneuver through yards and follow squirrel tracks. I looked for test images to make terrible negatives, sure that the resulting images would my new lenses out to pasture. Then I would reach out in some new direction to try for a solution to the problem of the pitted lens.

I wandered down alleys, finding new growth climbing the sides of blinding white sheds and garages leaning with time. I don’t use a light meter so I was really going for the gusto here, trying to see how well the lens could handle the brightness. I knelt down in a shaded area under the trees, trying for images that gave the lens some respite and would push it from the other end of the spectrum. I don’t fully know what I was expecting to find, but probably some sort of fogged out, soft images with lots of weird distorted points that I would see, and give up on, lightly tossing the negatives into my bowl filled with scraps for future negative collage.

I carried on, probably walking for about an hour. Finishing the roll of Tmax and loving the general feel and function of the camera again. Oh, the familiarity of knowing. I loaded up the Tri X and went through maybe three images before circling back to once more find myself outside of my house. I went inside and got prepared to develop the roll and see the results (with no small amount of hesitancy).

I develop all of my black and white film (except for Ilford XP2, which is a C41 process film) in Cinestill Df96 monobath, so it’s a very simple process. I know it, I like it, its consistent, and it takes no time. After developing, I hung the negatives to dry and looking at them while they just hung there in the dim light of my room, I didn’t see much to prompt an immediate conclusion in how the lens performed, so I told myself to chill and carry on doing something else for the time being.

I went out into the living room with my tripod and a flash and decided to shoot the rest of the Tri X with flash. Doing some self portraits and stuff with a banana and just whatever I could think of in the moment for the last few frames, I still had some reservations. Not knowing how much detail would be lost even with the wonderful crispness that adding flash can bring, I trudged on. The roll ended, I went to the kitchen shook and wiped out the Patterson, the reels and loaded up the Tri X for development. I figured that while this roll was drying I could scan the Tmax and see what I was dealing with, and then sandwiched by both discoveries I could truly have answers. So I did just that.

With the Mamiya sitting just beside me on the table, I scanned image after image from that walk just hours before and what I saw was very surprising. Mostly very usable images, with the right amount of contrast and, yes, yes, some blown out highlights, which I was expecting. But that is not the lens’ fault, that was user error. Not using a meter sometimes jeopardizes my final image, but never in a way that I can’t fix it in post with software or in the darkroom. So I wasn’t bummed or caught off guard, knowing that blown highlights wasn’t something to expect every time I used the lens. I continued scanning and continued to be happy to know it performs well while the flash roll dried, hanging there… looking at me. What to expect next!

Then the time came. I don’t shoot flash in this way, nearly ever. The most flash photography I had really done up to this point was with point and shoots. So the flash I had attached was nothing fancy, some little Vivitar deal. And for this reason, the flash roll had me more nervous. No meter, indoors, with flash, without much experience, with a lens that I was still unsure of.

Let the scanning begin!

Frame after frame, yet again, I was stunned. Not by the subject matter or composition, but by the amount of detail in the highlights and shadows. The mid tones were there making an appearance as well! I was so happy, and really pleased that I didn’t make a huge mistake. I was convinced that in the future I could be scrolling through lenses or looking at lenses in a free or cheap box and find a lens that normally would be on the pricier side or about to be thrown away, pick it up for dirt cheap because of how “ugly” it was and end up making some, to me, perfect images.

I really think this is a mostly untapped market for buyers and the resale value and potential is not guaranteed, nor should it be at this stage, but it’s so worth it. If you are looking for something that has been used into the ground but still has much more to offer, based on your budget, having more options, your work flow or just finding it on a shelf somewhere, pick it up, pop it on whatever camera you are wanting to use that day, and give it the time of its life. These lenses aren’t being newly made and this could be that lens’ last ride. I’m truly happy that the last time this Mamiya Sekor was used by the previous owner was not its last moment to shine. With me, it will get to experience a whole new life in all of its glorious, banged up brilliance.

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Part of a class built in the mid-sixties, these giant hovercraft used to ferry 427 people and 60 cars at a time across the English channel at 75 miles per hour. The fastest and most glamorous way to cross the channel, her sister-craft even made a cameo in a James Bond film. The hovercraft carried on plying this trade until changes to tax laws and the opening of the channel tunnel finally put an end to the service in the year 2000.

The Princess Anne currently resides at the world’s only hovercraft museum, a slightly run down collection of hangers on a former naval base just across the water from where the first ever hovercraft flight took place. Like so many small museums, there’s a real charm to the place. The museum volunteers are wonderful, I end up speaking to about half of them, the Rolleicord hanging around my neck being a good conversation starter. One delightful man even asks if there’s anywhere not on the visitors’ route that I want to see, he’ll quite happily take me there (if it’s structurally sound enough).

This structurally sound qualifier is more restrictive than one might first imagine. The Princess Anne is in a bit of a state these days. Out of commission since 2000 she’s looked better. Built out of aluminium and balsa wood she doesn’t have the inherent heft that might hold a traditional ship together.

Inside feels like it hasn’t been touched since her last channel crossing, teetering on the edge between luxury and dereliction. A menu proudly advertising in flight drinks sits on the bar, an intercom telephone sits just off the hook as if not quite replaced properly in the haste of a fast Dover-Calais turnaround.

But she leaks badly, the inside smells of damp and the smell of kerosene lingers. Labels peel on ancient bottles in the tiny bar, in a few places the carpets have started to rot. A volunteer told me that every time they go up to patch the leaking roof someone drops a spanner and it goes right through. Puddles form in her cracked rubber skirts. Her once eye-catching red white and blue livery is faded and peeling, neglect and the south coast sun taking their toll.

Not so long ago the museum saw her sister-craft, The Princess Margret, scrapped. The two had sat opposite one another on the hardstanding at Lee-on-Solent for over a decade. Six years ago, a grey haired volunteer tells me, he witnessed the macabre spectacle of her being scrapped mere yards away, watched over by her surviving sister. All that hope and optimism, pride and memories gone. Ripped apart and turned into razor blades.

I speak to more volunteers, all incredibly friendly, their chattiness probably increased by the fact that I am one of a small handful of visitors to the windswept museum. Some lament the loss of the Princess Margaret, the scrapping still evidently a recent wound. Some quietly opine as to how long they can preserve the Princess Anne; these craft were never designed to last this long after all. Some talk to me enthusiastically about restoration work. I hope they can preserve this relic, forged in the white heat of the ’60s technological revolution, though a bucket catching occasional drips of water on the vast vehicle deck suggests that preservation won’t be without challenges.

This sentimentality on my part isn’t really for an era I wasn’t even alive to see, at least I don’t think it is. It’s more lamenting a mindset. Want to make your country seem impressive? Build a hovercraft, build a Concorde, put a man on the moon.

I’m not totally naive, I know that all three of the feats that I just referenced had their roots in military schemes and weren’t done purely out of a sense of innocent national pride. Somehow I still prefer the idea of national pride and patriotism being tied to something tangible, though. Be proud of your country is a sentiment often peddled, but so often it boils down to little more than be proud of YOUR country simply because it’s YOURS. No real reason seems to be offered as to why.

I’m not saying that I want a hovercraft to solve every political woe, I’d sooner take a properly funded healthcare system, a fair and equitable justice system, frankly, even a publicly funded library would be a good start. But along with the hovercraft these are all tangible reasons to be proud of a nation, rather than just a vague sense of historical ownership.

I’m aware this article has been a bit light on photographic detail. There’s been no praising of the Rolleicord’s Xenar lens, no comment on its awkward EV interlock. I’ve even resisted the temptation to lament the discontinuation of Fuji Pro 400H, or to note that I prefer its rendering of this sort of colour palette over Portra’s.

I’ve not even commented that I rarely photograph in colour, or that the indispensable Rolleinar 2 helped me get some shots that I’d otherwise have been unable to. I haven’t even mentioned that the reason these photos exist as they do is because of a problem with a repair on my Leica IIIc.

The truth is that I haven’t mentioned those things because none of them are why I love photography as a hobby. I love photography as a hobby because sometimes it makes me stand on an abandoned naval base in the middle of winter looking at a 50-year-old hovercraft and muse on how palatable patriotism seems destined to shift into nationalist populism. How many other hobbies can do the same?

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Today’s Guest Post was submitted by…

Jacob Downey, a photographer who has previously been featured in our Single Shot Stories here.

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At the time the Reflex was released in 1946, it was not an inexpensive camera. It had features to rival the Rolleiflex and was priced competitively, but it wasn’t cheap. The original Reflex was $120, and its successor, the Reflex II reviewed here, incorporated a number of upgrades and cost $155. For comparison, a Rolleicord with Triotar lens cost $165 in 1948, and a Rolleiflex between $245 to $275, and of course with inflation all those prices would be the approximate equivalent of another zero at the end today.

While the original Reflex couldn’t compete with the Rolleiflex in terms of design or cachet, it was a solidly constructed cast-aluminum camera with a four-element 80mm f/3.5 lens (usually Anastigmat) that produced images rivaling the quality of those from the Automat’s Xenar and Tessar lenses. The Reflex II offered upgrades including a standard coated Anastar lens with an identical viewing lens that produced a bright, beautiful image in the viewfinder. It also had an automatic frame counter and a higher 1/300 maximum shutter speed, as well as Fresnel lens in the viewfinder, which was superior to the screen in Rolleiflex cameras. It also offered flash synchronization before it was available on the Rolleiflex Automat. In the post-war landscape of TLR cameras, then, Kodak was in some ways an innovator, a fact that’s easy to forget when the field was glutted by manufacturers who quickly caught up and found greater success just a few years later.

There are areas, of course, in which the Reflex falls short, particularly for the modern user. The most obvious is that the Reflex uses 620 film and is finicky about spools. I’ve found it’s not actually that difficult, as someone who already develops film and has a dark bag, to wind 120 film onto 620 spools myself; you just need a space to do it and 620 spools, ideally the old metal ones, and if you have a lab develop your film you’ll want to get them back. The geared focusing is different from the Rollei’s moving front plate focusing and takes a little getting used to, although one advantage is that a depth of field scale is available right on top of the viewing lens. The camera’s shape and design are appealing in their own boxy mid-century American way, but it’s not as beautiful a machine as a Rolleiflex of the same era.

My camera came to me in very nice condition for its age, with clean lenses, acceptably smooth focusing, and a shutter that fires at all speeds. The only immediately recognizable issues were some peeling of the leatherette, which of course is purely cosmetic, and a crack along the right side of the viewing screen, which is a little annoying but doesn’t really make focusing any more difficult.

The layout of the camera is fairly simple. Shutter speed and aperture are set with levers on either side of the taking lens. A lever on the right side of the taking lens as you hold the camera is pulled up to cock the shutter and pressed down to trigger it. On the left side there is a flash bracket mount (my camera actually came with a flash, though I haven’t used it); on the right the winding knob with settings to remind the user of various films that might be loaded, all of course since discontinued, plus the film counter and two smaller knobs, one to set the counter, and the other to release the film for winding. There is a red window on the back, with a lever to open the cover, for setting the first frame of the film.

The viewfinder has a magnifier, and the front can be flipped up for a sports finder. A button on the rear of the viewfinder opens it, and two buttons on either side, pressed toward the center button, open the hinged back to the camera itself. The spool supports bend to accommodate film.  

The taking lens does not have filter threads but takes Kodak Series VI accessories with a press-on filter adapter. I am not sure how many people this would apply to, but this is the same size as the Kodak Ektar 127mm found on many a Crown/Speed Graphic, so I already had the filter adapter and just needed to get a lens hood, which is always advisable for shooting into strong light (not that I always do what is advisable).

One functional issue I found after putting a roll of film through the camera is that the automatic film counter on mine is not reliable, and tends to overwind, resulting in fewer than the standard twelve images per frame. This problem is easily solved by using the red window to wind each frame, and just pushing up the film release knob at whatever point in the wind cycle is necessary to continue. Of course this defeats the purpose of what was one of the camera’s prime features in 1948, but considering a Reflex can be purchased now for much less than its price in 1948 dollars, it’s an issue I can certainly overlook.

Most importantly, the images coming from this camera are really good.

There’s a certain character to Kodak’s higher-end mid-century lenses that I find really appealing. The photos I shot wide open are not especially sharp (which may have as much to do with my eyesight as the lens), but by 5.6 they are certainly crisp and produce pleasing out of focus areas. Despite the lens coating and my sporadic use of a hood, I think it’s advisable to avoid strongly lit situations that would decrease contrast and provoke flare, but I have had to be very cautious about these situations with my Rolleis as well, so that’s hardly a failing of the Reflex alone.

I’m not getting rid of my Rolleis, but I really like the Kodak Reflex II. It was introduced as a competitor to the Rolleiflex seventy years ago, and while it may not have been their equal then or now, it certainly provides comparable image quality, and decent user experience, for a fraction of the price. I like cameras that require just the amount of resourcefulness I can muster to compensate for their quirks – I don’t have the skills for camera repair or the patience for a lot of fiddling, but I can re-roll 620 film and use a red window if I need to.

If you’re looking for a TLR on a limited budget, either because your wallet can’t stretch as far as a Rollei demands or just because you get a kick out of using cheap cameras, the Kodak Reflex is an excellent candidate.

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Rollei’s First 120 Film TLR, the Old Standard

Francke and Heideke were stereo camera manufacturers when they introduced their first twin lens reflex camera, which in design terms was essentially a stereo camera with one end and its taking lens sliced off (literally, in the case of the first prototype) and rotated ninety degrees. The first Rolleiflex was not the Old Standard, but an even older model introduced in 1929 that used 117 film. At that point, 120 film was only numbered for 6×9 frames, so it was impossible to use in a 6×6 camera dependent on a red window for frame spacing. The 117 format is the same width as 120 film, but it came on spools with a much narrower flange, and it’s been out of production for seventy years. The 117 film format’s obsolescence was already becoming apparent in the early ‘30s, and Francke and Heidecke soon introduced the original Rollei’s successor, the Old Standard.

The Old Standard was manufactured from 1932 to 1938. At the time it was merely called the Standard and was only retroactively called the Old Standard after the introduction of the New Standard, manufactured in small numbers from 1939 to 1941.

The Old Standard was the first Rolleiflex that could accept 120 film (which is still the standard medium format film of today), which fit 12 6×6 frames on a roll instead of six. Nothing had changed about the frame numbering on 120 film, but the Old Standard employed a mechanism for setting a counter after viewing the first frame in the red window and winding the following frames automatically. It was not as advanced as the Automat, introduced in 1937, which sensed the start of the roll when it was wound and required no red window at all, but it made 120 film possible to use in a TLR and changed the game for a number of professional photographers who could now easily shoot roll film in a compact, easy to focus camera.

What made the Rolleiflex so innovative was its combination of the combination of a reflex focusing mechanism and the compact size of a roll film camera. Cameras with reflex focusing were available, and there had even been twin lens cameras, but they were large and expensive. Cameras that used roll film were smaller and more affordable, but most of them were either box cameras that didn’t actually focus, or folding cameras with clunky viewfinders and scale focusing. The Rolleiflex integrated the ease of the reflex finder with the small size of 120 film in one portable, relatively affordable package.

Thus the Rolleiflex took off in popularity, and the small firm that had started out manufacturing stereo cameras grew to meet demand. Franke and Heidecke made 95,000 units of the (Old) Standard in six years, and they were adopted by Robert Doisneau, Robert Capa (who used an Old Standard in tandem with a Contax to shoot WWII), Roger Schall, Lee Miller, and other photographers who found the Rolleiflex well suited to press and street photography. Over the next few decades, the Rolleiflex was updated with features that made it even simpler to use, fitted with state-of-the-art multi-coated Zeiss and Schneider lenses, and copied by dozens of other manufacturers who rarely matched the Rollei’s build and image quality, but provided a similar experience to users who couldn’t afford or justify the expense of a Rolleiflex. It was the Old Standard that started it all, and within a few short years it became the iconic representative of twin lens cameras.

My Rolleiflex Old Standard and Variations

Many of these robust cameras still exist and are not terribly expensive. I came across one at KEH in “as-is” condition for a reasonable price, and as it turned out, “as-is” meant functional and cosmetically fairly nice; I suppose they just didn’t want to make any guarantees. This is not to say it’s perfect. There’s a small light leak in the corner of some frames. The viewfinder is difficult to open and close properly while also keeping the magnifier parallel to the ground glass, which is dim, especially in the corners. But the lenses are clean for their age, the shutter fires at more or less the speed it ought to, and the frame spacing is even. There aren’t a lot of other things from the ‘30s, certainly not many cameras, that work as well as this one does.

The Rolleiflex Old Standard came with three different lenses: the 620 model with a 75mm f/4.5 Tessar, the 621 with an f/3.8 lens, and the 622 with an f/3.5 lens. Mine is a 621. One of the first things I did was replace the mirror, as the silvering on these mirrors tends to have deteriorated after eight decades. The other reason for replacing the mirror is that the date of manufacture is inscribed by hand on the original. My Rolleiflex was born on May 9, 1934, seven weeks before the Night of the Long Knives. While we know that the events of the next eleven years ultimately brought about, among even greater tragedies, the bombing of Francke and Heideke’s plant in Braunschweig, I’ll never know what happened to the anonymous artisan who tucked my Rollei’s birth certificate on the underside of its mirror. It’s strange and sobering that of all the cameras that I own, the one with the most personal touch comes from such a dark time in history.

The Rolleiflex Old Standard as a Usable Camera Today

If you’re used to the later Rolleis or any full-featured TLR from the 1950s or later, you’ll find the Rolleiflex Old Standard is compact by comparison. It weighs about 800 grams and feels much smaller than my 2.8C. This is fortunate, because I haven’t yet figured out how to attach a strap, so I just try very hard not to drop it. Everything about the camera is small, including the lenses, which predate the bayonet filter mount system of later Rolleis. It takes 28.5 press-on filters and accessories. I found a correctly sized hood to prevent the worst of flare – because you will get flare – but it’s meant for another camera; the stock hoods are hard to find. There is a seller on eBay who makes molded rubber lens caps based on the original, so I also have one of those.

The Old Standard, like any other Rolleiflex, is simple enough to use. A lever on the bottom of the camera opens the body. Since this isn’t an Automat, you don’t have to remember to fit the film under the roller when you load. What you do need to do, after you wind the film onto the roll and close the camera, is open the hinged cover on the red window on the bottom of the camera and wind until you see the number 1. Then you press the little button on the right side of the camera to set the film counter, and when you wind the camera advances to the next frame automatically.

Focusing is the trickiest part of using the Old Standard for me, because of the dim glass and the finicky viewfinder flaps, which I need my fingernails to tweak open. The focusing knob is on the left side of the camera. There is a focusing scale around it that goes down to 1.7 meters, and it makes another full turn to get to minimum focus. If you want some idea of what depth of field you’ll have at a given aperture, there’s a scale for that when you open up the lid of the viewfinder. The focusing knob is small and knurled and a bit uncomfortable to turn, but mine still works smoothly enough. If you don’t need critical focus, you can use the sports finder to frame your image; fold down the rest of the viewfinder and center your pupil in the tiny mirror in the center, and your image will be framed in the large square. I confess I haven’t really tried this, but it’s a clever way to shoot at eye level and not reversed if you can pre-focus.

Shutter and aperture settings are controlled by levers on either side of the taking lens. (If you forgot your light meter but you can read German, you can use a handy exposure scale on the back of the camera.) The maximum shutter speed is 1/300 of a second, and as with other Rolleis it is inadvisable to set the shutter speed to the highest speed after cocking the shutter. Fortunately, cocking the shutter is still a separate action from winding the film, so you can advance the film before you’ve decided your shutter speed for the next exposure. The shutter lever is under the taking lens and you move it left to cock the shutter and right to fire. At this point it’s a good idea to wind the film unless you want to take a double exposure; there’s nothing else to prevent you from doing so. Take 12 pictures (or twelve and a half, if you take twelve and then wonder if the counter was really on twelve on that last frame – yes, it was), wind through, and you’re done.

Image Quality

So what about the images?  If you’re looking for biting sharpness and contrast, you probably already know you want a postwar camera with a coated lens, but pictures from the Rolleiflex Old Standard do have a certain character all their own.

Sharp areas are sharp enough, if not clinically so, at least in the center of the frame, and out of focus areas have gentle and sometimes swirly bokeh. I haven’t shot a lot of portraits with it, but I think it would be especially good for flattering images of people who are patient enough to wait while you focus (not necessarily my children). The f/3.8 aperture is wide enough to provide shallow depth of field but narrow enough that I usually manage to hit focus in good light.

I don’t envision myself shooting with this camera as much as I do with my Rolleiflex 2.8C, which is worth the size and weight difference, but with a little refurbishing it would make a good daily carry or travel camera. I don’t have anything so compact with such good image quality. All it would need is a brighter focusing screen and a CLA to confirm shutter speeds and focus accuracy, and to plug up that light leak. One of the most wonderful things about Rolleis, especially the early ones that are relatively simple mechanically, is that they just work with occasional servicing, and sometimes even without it. For anyone who is mesmerized by the aura of antiquity but also enjoys a camera that is easy to use and produces beautiful images, there are few better cameras to seek than the Rolleiflex Old Standard.

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Imagine, in 2020, how bare-bones a camera must be if it was the benchwarmer of the Yashica TLRs in 1956. Make no mistake, the Yashica A is as unassuming as a medium format camera can get, but with patience it can produce some incredible images, and its general lack of special features counter-intuitively brings its own set of advantages.

I purchased my Yashica A for $35 from a local-seller on OfferUp, and almost passed on it due to its condition and missing nameplate. The leaf shutter blades were slow and sticky but seemed to loosen themselves up after a few shutter fires. Somewhat uneasily, I paid for the camera and got online to see what could be done to fix it up. Fortunately, these cameras are still very repairable, so I sent it off to Mark Hama, after which it’s been working like a dream for the past three years.

Specs and Controls of the Yashica A

The Yashica A shoots 6x6cm images on 120 film. This film is advanced manually and is uncoupled from the shutter mechanism, which means many things. For one, infinite exposures are possible on any individual frame, simply by cocking and firing the shutter without advancing the film. It also means that we must peer through a close-able, red framed counter window for advancing the film to the correct spot.

The very quiet, five-bladed leaf shutter is completely vibration free within the solid body of the camera. As the camera has no meter, only full-manual exposure is possible, with shutter speed and aperture controls arrayed around the taking-lens. The only shutter speeds offered are the non-standard 1/25, 1/50, 1/100 and 1/300 plus Bulb. There is no self-timer, and none of the exposure settings are viewable from the finder. Focusing is smooth and precise with the pop-up focus assist lens in the finder, and the focus knob conveniently has depth of field and distance indicators on it.

While earlier examples have the 80mm f/3.5 Yashimar lens, mine has a Yashikor of the same specifications and a similar triplet design. The Copal leaf shutter has five curved blades, and can flash sync at all speeds with the PC-sync port. The aperture is steplessly controlled via a lever that circles the side of the lens, with full-stop markings along its travel. A flash shoe on the side of the camera holds flashes, triggers or accessories.

Speaking of accessories, there are a few that are must-haves given that this is a very minimal camera. First is a cable release adapter, commonly known as a “Leica Nipple.” Because this camera is so slow to shoot with, I almost exclusively use it with a tripod, and having a cable release is mandatory for getting rock-solid long exposures. Your local camera shop should have a bunch of these adaptors in a drawer somewhere.

Since there are no batteries needed to hold the shutter open and no heat being generated by a digital sensor, the Yashica A is perfectly suited for hours-long exposures with none of the drawbacks (barring reciprocity failure – but that’s the film’s fault). Using filters for long exposures is a little finicky, as the lens only accepts 32mm push-on filters. I’ve gotten around this limiting factor by adding some tape to a 37mm-52mm step ring, allowing the use of modern, threaded filters. The 37mm end of the step ring fits snugly enough around the taking lens, but I wouldn’t leave it on between shots.

You’ll also want to carry the light meter of your choice, but it should be noted that the Yashica’s non-standard shutter speeds won’t align perfectly with what your meter suggests. In my experience, I’ve had good results just rounding down (slower) with color negative and black and white films, and rounding up (faster) for slide films.

The Lens and Image Quality

Importantly, the best part of the camera is the Yashikor 80mm f/3.5 taking lens, which is an absolute stunner at this price. When stopped down, it’s one of the sharpest lenses I’ve ever used, even when looking at 4760×4760 resolution scans. At wider apertures, it has loads of character, with swirly bokeh, a little vignetting and some edge softness. It’s great for unique portraits in addition to tack-sharp landscapes, which is one of the reasons I carry it along on all of my adventures.

At f/3.5, pretty much only the focused point is sharp, and only perfectly sharp if it’s in the middle of the frame. The bokeh intensifies in a circular radius from the center, which can be used to draw extra attention to the middle of the frame. At around f/5.6, slight corner softness is still detectable if focused close to infinity, but there’s no noticeable softness to speak of above f/11.

Shooting with the Yashica A is slow and methodical at best, and tedious and cumbersome at worst. Unless you’re a seasoned photographer with TLRs, this is not the camera to help you “get the shot.” The Yashica A is much better suited for landscape work and portraits where the photographer has more time to set the exposure and focus. It’s a camera which rewards precision.

A small gripe with my example is the bottom dial’s tendency to loosen on its own, potentially causing the camera’s film compartment to open accidentally. This disaster hasn’t actually happened to me because I applied some gaffer tape to prevent slippage. As this is on the bottom plate, thankfully this modification doesn’t alter the camera’s otherwise gorgeous curb appeal. This point isn’t so of much relevance to a “camera review,” but it does well describe shooting decades old film cameras in 2021 – be prepared for imperfections. 

Composing from the waist-level finder is as easy or difficult as it is with any other TLR. The lateral axis is reversed, making quick, intuitive composing impossible for those not used to this. Three years later, I still cannot easily compose my shots, which is one reason I almost always shoot with a tripod. I find myself tilting off axis very easily when shooting handheld. Thankfully, the pop-up focus assist helps as much with composing as it does with focusing, especially considering the dimness of the finder.

Noticeably absent from the finder are any kind of exposure indicators whatsoever. Because you need to look at the front of the camera to set the shutter speed and aperture, you’ll want to set exposure before you compose your shot. This is the biggest fault of the camera that I can find, as it really interrupts the whole process. Many times I have found myself frustrated that I finally found the perfect angle to click the shutter from, but then realized I had to turn the camera toward my face to set exposure. I carry a tripod because it allows me to lock my framing and set exposure afterwards, because I always forget to set it first.

The complete lack of electronics provides a few benefits to offset the shortcomings. I imagine if the camera got wet in a rainstorm it would have no problem continuing its service with just a bit of drying time. Cold weather would also likely have no negative effect on the operation of the camera. As I often bring the Yashica A on multi-day hikes in the backcountry, I am extra appreciative that I don’t have to baby it. It’s an extremely reliable piece of kit that isn’t fussy.

Additionally, the shutter doesn’t need batteries to stay open and it can be cocked an infinite amount of times without moving the film plane. Since the film advance is independent of the shutter, your imagination is the limit when it comes to multiple exposures.

While it’s worth mentioning the benefits of slowing down your process, it’s hard to justify all the extra reminders that are necessary with the Yashica A. The simple fact that there are twelve 6×6 shots per roll of 120 film is enough of a nagging reminder to make every shot count, especially with manual film advance.

The Yashica A as a First Medium Format Camera

I think that the Yashica A serves as the perfect entry point on one’s journey into medium format. When I got it, I was most excited to reap the benefits of exposing a larger negative than the 35mm frames which I was coming from, and the camera certainly provides that at an extremely approachable price. I’m glad I chose it as my first medium format camera instead of jumping straight into getting a Bronica or Hasselblad, because now the luxuries of those systems will feel so much sweeter when I make the investment.

The Yashica A taught me to appreciate all of the simple photographic conveniences I had taken for granted. Aperture priority, exposure information in the finder, auto advance, etc. And yes, its slowness has made my photography more intentional. Most, if not all of my favorite photographs I’ve shot in the past few years were taken with it, and it’s solidified in my mind what I want in my next medium format camera. It has also made me fall in love with the square format after almost exclusively shooting in 3:2 for years. Instead of cropping out of square, as Ansel Adams sometimes did, I challenge myself to compose shots using the whole frame. The square isn’t a cropped rectangle to me, but rather an expanded one.

If you’re thinking of taking the leap to medium format, the Yashica A serves as a great tip of the iceberg for a very modest initial investment. It’s a reliable, consistent, approachable and eye-catching piece of gear. Mine has turned many heads and sparked more than a few conversations on hiking trails. If you know its quirks, it will faithfully serve you for as long as you need it to. There is beauty in things of great utility, and I liken the Yashica A to your old, singlespeed beater bicycle that gets you to the grocery store and back.

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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.]

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