On the other hand, it has Rolleiflex written on it. Which means it’s heavy and big. It’s clunky and clumsy. It’s limited to all manual mode. And we could buy a better Japanese camera for less.

All of that is true. Don’t argue. Rollei fan or not, accept it. Rollei’s are great, but by nearly every metric, the Japanese cameras are better.

But that’s not to say that shooting the Rolleiflex SL35M is an unpleasant experience, or that buying one is foolish, or that owning one isn’t a joy. The Rollei SL35M is a lovely camera with plenty of upside, and I just ended a week of shooting one happy to have had the experience.

Origin of the Rollei SL35M

Despite a gentleman’s agreement between the founders of Hasselblad and Rollei that precluded each brand from manufacturing the core product of the other (Hasselblad focused on SLRs while Rollei concentrated on TLRs), Rollei did eventually branch out to create more camera types.

They made medium format SLRs to compete (somewhat ineffectually) with Hasselblad, 16mm compact cameras (for spies?), and a well-loved compact for 35mm film (easily the most successful of their non-TLR designs). Beginning in the 1970s and continuing into the ‘90s, they even made a range of 35mm SLRs.

Rolleiflex SL66 Camera Review

The first medium format SLR camera that Rollei produced, the Rolleiflex SL66, is one of the more interesting cameras I've ever shot.

Rollei 35 SE - Camera Review

The compact 35mm Rollei camera, probably the most successful of the brand's attempts to branch out from the niche they'd carved with their world-leading TLRs.

While none of the cameras outside of their TLR lineup ever really caught fire, in the commercial sense, they weren’t bad cameras. Rollei simply struggled to keep up with the extremely successful, efficient, and well-funded Japanese camera companies. And it was no different with the SL35 series.

Beginning with Nikon’s F in 1959, amateur and professional photographers alike had spent a decade flocking to the SLR camera by the time Rollei got involved. Their first 35mm SLR, the Rolleiflex SL35, was introduced in 1970, quite late in the competition. With this camera Rollei intended to offer high end Rollei-engineering to the fastest-growing group of customers in photography.

The SL35 was an all-mechanical, full manual camera with a new Rollei bayonet lens mount and a cloth focal plane shutter. The shutter was capable of speeds up to 1/1000^th of a second, and it featured a through-the-lens light meter with a match-needle display in the fixed viewfinder.

Real camera nerds would read that last paragraph and say, “Alright. Decent specs.” Unfortunately, I left out a key detail.

The SL35’s TTL light meter was outdated the moment the camera launched, because the light meter only registered a reading when the lens aperture was closed. Even in 1970, this was old tech. Japanese SLRs had long before established wide-open aperture light metering as the baseline methodology of any decent SLR.

Four years later Rollei updated the camera to include wide-open aperture metering. The new model also added a built-in accessory shoe. This new camera was called the Rollei SL350. Today, the SL350 is far less common than other models in the SL line, and is therefore more expensive.

Rollei finally had a 35mm SLR with the features that people expected. And then Rollei’s SLR lineup went through some big changes.

The domination of the camera industry by the Japanese companies didn’t only impact Rollei. Other German camera makers were feeling similar pressure.

In 1972, the German company Zeiss Ikon AG Stuttgart succumbed, and the brand decided to end camera production to focus on lens manufacturing (for which they were world-renowned). As a part of this liquidation, Zeiss’ brand names (of which Voigtlander was one), their designs, factories, and research were sold or transferred to other entities.

The Voigtlander brand name and some of Zeiss designs were acquired at this time by Rollei. This acquisition included the latest of Zeiss’ 35mm SLR designs, a camera called the SL706. Rollei planned to take this camera and introduce it as a new model using the Voigtlander name. Rollei also intended to continue production of their own 35mm SLRs, the SL35 and the SL350.

But there was a problem. The camera inherited from Zeiss used the Universal Screw Mount, or M42, lens system. Rollei’s SL35 and SL350, on the other hand, used Rollei’s own bayonet mount lens system (known as the QBM). Maintaining production of both lines of cameras meant that Rollei would need to produce their lenses under two mount systems. As a small player in a big market, this made little sense, so Rollei made the decision to end their own camera in favor of Zeiss’ design, but to preserve their bayonet lens mount.

In 1976, production of Rollei’s SL35 and SL350 was ended, and the former Zeiss camera was adopted and developed to use the Rollei QBM bayonet lenses. This new camera would be released under the Voigtlander name as the VSL1, and under Rollei’s own name as the Rolleiflex SL35M.

In that same year, Rollei also released the Voigtlander VSL2 Automatic and the SL35ME, which added automatic exposure through the aperture-priority methodology.

In 1978, A final SL camera called the Voigtlander VSL 3-E and the Rolleiflex SL35 would add a new electronic shutter and LED indicators in the viewfinder, to replace the earlier cameras’ match-needle display. This camera could also use an external winder and motor drive.

In 1981, Rollei went bankrupt, and their SL line ended while they focused on other products.

Specifications of the Rollei SL35M

• Camera Type : 35mm Film, 24x36mm image area (full frame)
  
• Exposure Modes : Manual Only
• Metering : Through the lens metering with CdS cells, Center-weighted full-field measurement
• Viewfinder : Penta-prism, instant return mirror. Focusing screen with diagonal focus indicator, micro-prism ring, and ground glass Fresnel lens
• Viewfinder Information : Aperture indicator, metering range limit indicator, light meter needle
• Lens Mount : Rollei QBM (Quick Bayonet Mount)
• Shutter : Horizontally moving cloth focal plane
• Shutter speeds : Bulb, 1 – 1/1000 seconds
• Flash Mount : X and FP switch-over flash sync at 1/40 of a second for center contact and cable contact
• Weight : 895 grams (with 50mm F/1.8 lens)

Using the Rollei SL35M Today

The Rollei SL35M is nothing more than a basic camera from the 1970s. It has the same specs as dozens of other models from Minolta, Canon, Nikon, Pentax, Mamiya, Ricoh, Olympus, and others. There’s nothing here that can’t be found elsewhere, except maybe that QBM lens mount. And that’s nothing too special.

The controls are quintessential “classic camera” fare. Shutter speed is controlled via a dial on the top. It’s positioned next to the shutter release and thumb lever for film advance. There’s a rewind knob opposite and an ISO selector beneath that. On the front we find a self-timer lever, lens release button, and a depth-of-field preview plunger for manually closing the lens aperture. The back has a film frame counter, a hinged film compartment door, and a viewfinder to look through. The bottom is where the battery goes, there’s a tripod socket, and there’s a button to press when rewinding the film.

If you’re the kind of photo geek who’s used a classic 1970s 35mm SLR, you’ll acclimate to the Rollei within literal seconds. If you’re new to film, this is an easy camera with which to learn.

Though basic, things at least feel excellent. The dials and knobs and levers all function beautifully. True to Rollei standards, everything actuates with mechanical surety. There’s significant resistance in the film transport as we cock the advance lever, and the mirror and shutter fire definitively when we press the shutter release.

The viewfinder is nice and bright. It’s contained within a fixed penta-prism and shows a focusing screen with a focusing micro-prism band in the center surrounding a diagonally oriented split image rangefinder patch, which interestingly splits into three sections and not the usual two. The light meter needle is positioned on the right-hand side, and swings well when the exposure parameters are within its field of register. The top of the VF shows the currently selected lens aperture, while the selected shutter speed is not displayed.

Throughout my time with the Rollei there were no surprises. Film loading was fine, and normal. The viewfinder worked beautifully. There’s nothing tricky about the lens mount. Film advance and firing were standard, though it does vibrate with mirror slap, making longer exposures a bit shakier than I’ve found with other cameras. The light meter works well enough.

I never used the self-timer because, frankly, the less time I spend in front of a camera the better. And I never used the depth-of-field preview because I don’t need to preview depth-of-field. I tested these functions, and they worked as one would expect, but they didn’t factor in my picture-making.

The Lenses

With any interchangeable lens camera system, like this Rollei, it’s arguable that the lenses are more important than the camera. I believe that to be true, anyway.

Despite this importance, when writing about an interchangeable lens camera it’s almost irrelevant to talk about specific lenses, since I’ve not used every lens for the system, and since every lens performs differently. That said, when reviewing interchangeable lens cameras, I always touch upon the range of available lenses and upon any obvious strengths or weaknesses in the line. So, briefly, let’s do that.

Rollei’s SL35M uses, as mentioned, Rollei’s QBM lens mount. This means that any QBM mount lens will naturally mount to the camera. However, it should be noted that lenses made for the earlier SL35 and SL350 will only meter in stop-down metering mode, which means that photographers using older lenses on the newer SL35M will have to use the camera’s depth-of-field preview lever to achieve an accurate meter reading.

That detail noted, the range of available lenses for the QBM system is full. Most of the lenses were made by Carl Zeiss, but there are also a range of Schneider lenses, as well as Rollei lenses.

The range of available Carl Zeiss prime lenses begins with a 15mm Distagon and climbs right up to a 1000mm Tele-Tessar. Spattered throughout are specialty lenses with fast apertures (the 35mm F/1.4 Distagon, the 50mm F/1.4 Planar, and the 85mm F/1.4 Planar), fisheye lenses (a 16mm F/2.8 F-Distagon), and mirror lenses (both a 500mm and 1000mm Mirotar).

Outside of Zeiss primes we fine Schneider primes in 35mm, 50mm, 135mm focal lengths, and two perspective control shift lenses in the 35mm PC Curtagon and 28mm PC Super Angulon.

Rollei offered their own prime lens range as well, starting with a 14mm fisheye and reaching up to a 500mm mirror lens. In addition, Rollei produced two macro lenses for their QBM, as well as a full range of zoom lenses, starting with a 28-80mm zoom and progressing up to a maximum zoom embodied in their 50-250mm lens.

All told, there are approximately fifty QBM lenses available from these three manufacturers, more than enough to satisfy the needs of film shooters today.

I repeat, I’ve not used every lens in this system. I doubt anyone has. However I wouldn’t hesitate to measure these lenses up against their era-correct equivalent competitors. I have faith in Zeiss and Schneider and Rollei to make glass equal to Nikon, Canon, Leica, etc.

[Sample images from some expired film (why do I keep doing this to myself?). Your results will be better and varied, depending on which lens you use.]

What I Learned Shooting My Vacation on (Expired) Film

Some lessons are learned the easy way and some are a bit more painful. Here's everything that I learned shooting my vacation on film.

A Few Words on Singapore

I’ve noticed over the years (and specifically noticed again while researching the SL series of cameras) that many other camera likers who like cameras enough to make their job writing or talking about them have at times poo-pooed the Rollei SL35M and other Rollei models for the sin of having not been manufactured in Rollei’s glorious motherland of Germany. Which is correct. The SL35M and the cameras that came after it weren’t made in Germany. They were made in Singapore.

Does this bother me?

I’ve never been to Germany. I’ve never been to Singapore. I wasn’t even born when Rollei went bankrupt in 1981. I have no idea what the conditions in those countries are today, nor what they were when the camera was made, nor how the factories were run, nor how dedicated the staff of each factory was to the creation of a good product.

In a lifetime of labor, however, I’ve noticed that most people employed at a good job tend, in order to keep that job, to do the best job that they can. I assume that the jobs within Rollei factories regardless of their geographical location, Germany or Singapore, were considered good jobs by those who held them. Consequently I suspect that the people making Rollei cameras did a good job making them, regardless of where they were on the planet and regardless of whether they were named Franz or Wei.

I’d caution against listening to anyone’s opinion on the topic of products of the same design by the same manufacturer made in Country A versus Country B, unless they can tell you the name of the man or woman in both country’s factories who swept the floors on Wednesdays and what the lunch canteen served on Fridays.

The unfortunate habit of hobbyists in many hobbies to fawn over one country’s workforce while maligning another country’s workforce is simply soft-core jingoism.

My Made in Singapore Rollei works great.

Closing Thoughts and Should You Buy?

If you’ve reached this point in the article, you’re one of two types of camera nerd; the Thinkers, and the Lovers.

The Thinkers will be people who like cameras, but only buy the best, or only buy the cameras that help them achieve their goals in photography. Thinkers will have read the piece, appreciated the history, enjoyed the photos of a camera that they’ll never own, left a nice comment about my excellent writing (right?) and moved on with their lives.

The Lovers are different. And there’s an easy way to tell if you’re one of them.

Did you feel a flutter in your chest when you saw the picture of the Rollei at the head of this article? Did you feel an unyielding urge to hold one? Have you already opened additional browser tabs? Is one of them eBay? Did you already search for an SL35M, just to see the price? Did you already check your account balance? Did you, in fact, already buy one?

If you answered any of those questions in the affirmative, you’re a Lover. You love cameras and you want them all, even if the one you want isn’t necessarily better than the ones you’ve got.

So, should you buy a Rollei SL35M?

If you’re a Thinker, if you care about taking pictures more than you care about owning beautiful cameras, then you should not buy one. There are much better cameras than the Rollei. More important, there are much better cameras that cost much less than the Rollei. Any Japanese SLR, for example, from almost any decade. Any $40 Canon EOS. Any Nikon N series, or Nikon F series. Any Minolta SLR. The list could go on for decades (and in fact, it did, long after Rollei stopped making SLs).

But if you’re a Lover, well, you’ve already checked eBay and homed in on the one that’s meant to be. So, go for it. Buy it. The Rollei SL35M is a beautiful camera and a wonderful creation. It’s well made, makes all the right noises, is fun to use, and makes great pictures. You’ll love it as much as you love every other camera in your collection. Which is, a lot.

Buy your own Rollei SL35M on eBay

Buy a camera from our shop F Stop Cameras

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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 Rollei Rolleiflex SL35M Film Camera Review appeared first on Casual Photophile.

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?

Our guest posts are submitted by amazing photographers and writers all over the world.

Today’s Guest Post was submitted by…

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

For more stories and photography from the community check out the many series we’ve published over the years below!

Featured Photophile – we shine a spotlight on amateur photographers whose work we love.

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The post Historical Hovercrafts Through a Rolleicord Lens – Guest Post by Jacob Downey appeared first on Casual Photophile.

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.

Get your own Rolleiflex on eBay here

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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 The Rolleiflex Old Standard – the First Rollei to Shoot 120 Film appeared first on Casual Photophile.

The Long Road to the Rolleiflex SL66

Throughout the 1940s and 1950s, Rollei enjoyed remarkable success with their immensely popular line of TLR (twin lens reflex) medium format cameras, the high-end Rolleiflexes and the consumer-level Rolleicords. These twin lens reflex cameras were incredibly well-made, featured excellent lenses, and were easily capable of making beautiful images. However, the inherent limitations of the TLR camera meant that Rollei TLR cameras weren’t ideal for a variety of photographic situations or for photographers who needed a more versatile camera. Most TLRs, including Rollei’s cameras, couldn’t offer interchangeable lenses or zoom lenses, most couldn’t achieve very close focusing distances, and they could be slow and cumbersome to use. The answers to many of the troubles of the TLR camera would be found in the SLR camera (single lens reflex). 

At the same time in which Rollei’s cameras were at their peak in popularity, Swedish camera makers at Hasselblad had made great progress in creating a high quality SLR medium format camera. In 1948 they released the Hasselblad 1600 F. While this camera was made in limited numbers and proved to be quite fragile and expensive to produce, it laid the groundwork for what would become one of the most successful cameras in medium format photography. 

In 1953 Hasselblad released a much-improved version of its SLR camera. This was known as the Hasselblad 1000 F. This camera was elegant and refined, could mount numerous exceptional lenses and accessories, and had essentially solved or circumvented nearly all of the limitations of the TLR camera. In 1954, the influential American photography magazine Modern Photography reviewed Hasselblad’s new camera. They shot over 500 rolls of film through the 1000 F and intentionally dropped the camera twice, after which it continued to function perfectly. This did much to improve the reputation of the Hasselblad camera around the world, and excited many photo nerds about the prospect of owning a new SLR medium format camera. 

Seeing that the SLR was certainly a worthy rival, and possibly even a replacement to the TLR camera, Rollei began development of their own medium format SLR camera in 1955. This new Rollei SLR camera was informed by many of the design choices of Hasselblad’s undeniably excellent SLR camera. But Rollei intended to improve on the concept of the Hasselblad SLR in a number of technical ways while continuing their own legacy of extreme robustness in mechanical design. In 1957, however, Victor Hasselblad and Dr. Reinhold Heidecke (heads of Hasselblad and Rollei, respectively) reached an agreement with one another that each man’s company would not compete in the other’s market. This gentlemen’s agreement meant that Hasselblad would not create a TLR camera and Rollei would not create an SLR. 

This is an interesting moment in photographic history, for a few reasons. First, I’ve never found any evidence that Hasselblad was interested in creating a TLR, so it seems that Hasselblad stood to lose nothing by striking this deal. Conversely, Rollei had spent quite a lot of money in the development of their nascent SLR, which in accordance with the new agreement they’d be forced to abandon (or more accurately, “mothball,” as we’ll see). Rollei’s cameras in 1957 were selling extremely well, it’s true, so in the short term at least Rollei may not have perceived this agreement as one which would hobble their business. But most observers would have predicted even in 1957 (two years before Nikon released their first SLR) that SLRs were destined to be the camera of the future. It’s also intriguing that mere months later Hasselblad would release their most successful camera ever – another medium format SLR.

The 1957 release of the Hasselblad 500c would effectively cement Hasselblad as the premier medium format camera-maker for the next sixty years. Indeed, the Hasselblad 500c was in production in various forms until 2013. And this astonishingly long-lived tree of success had its seed planted in 1957, possibly during a handshake between two titans of the photographic industry.

in 1960, Heidecke died, effectively ending the gentlemen’s agreement. By 1962, development of a Rollei medium format SLR was gradually resumed, and in 1964 Rollei’s new general manager, Dr. Heinrich Peesel, urged the company’s designers to have a new SLR camera ready to be unveiled at 1966’s Photokina fair in Cologne.

Lead designers Richard Weiss and Claus Prochnow spent the next two years working to create Rollei’s first ever single lens reflex medium format camera. Importantly (at least for those of us who wonder if the products we’re using were designed and built to the absolute highest standards) the development of the camera cost 3.5 million German Marks, an amount approximate to 9 million US dollars today. The resulting 6×6 camera was unveiled as planned in 1966, and logically named the Rolleiflex SL66.

What is the Rolleiflex SL66

The first sentence in the Rolleiflex SL66 user’s manual succinctly states the intention of Rollei’s designers in making the SL66. It begins, “A camera for experts…” And the Rollei SL66 is indeed that, in ways both good and bad. It’s a camera built for pros, but it’s fully manual nature means that it’s not for the inexperienced or those who aren’t willing to learn.

While the camera’s spec sheet is impressive in that it hints at ultimate capability, what’s most interesting about the SL66 is a select few features and functions which other similar cameras simply don’t have. So, let’s start with these few stand-out features. 

The Rollei SL66 is differentiated from the Hasselblad in a number of ways, the first and most easily recognizable being the focusing mechanism. Where the Hasselblad uses a focusing helicoid in its lenses, the Rollei SL66 uses a bellows system whereby the entire lens is moved closer to or further from the focusing plane. This allows for focusing as close as 5 centimeters. Already we’re seeing the SL66’s improved versatility compared to its closest competitor at the time of its release.

Another thing that sets the Rollei apart is its ability to reverse-mount its lenses without the need of any adapters or special equipment. By simply removing the lens, flipping it around, and mounting it backwards to the lens mount, the camera is able to focus to extreme close distances for macro photography. Increased versatility, again. 

One other unique feature of the SL66 is the camera’s ability to tilt its lens up or down by 8 degrees. This interesting trick is usually only available on large format cameras or through the use of specialized tilt lenses. This tilting lens board mechanism, used in conjunction with the included Scheimpflug indicator (named after the Austrian surveyor T. Scheimpflug who formulated the mathematical rule to calculate depth of field on a tilted focal plane), allows the photographer to actively adjust the plane of focus to increase or decrease depth of field or to selectively focus in ways which other camera systems can’t. In fact, as I type these words I fing it difficult to think of a similarly-sized camera that’s capable of this action.  

Full Specifications of the Rollei SL66

• • Camera Type – Single Lens Reflex
  • Format – 6x6cm (6×4.5cm accessory back); 120/220 Roll Film (220 no longer available)
  • Models – SL66 (1966-1982); SL66E (1982-1986); SL66X (1982-1992); SL66SE (1986-1992)
  • Shutter – Mechanical focal plane shutter; 1/1000th of a second to 1 second; Bulb mode
  • Focusing – Manual focus
  • Viewfinder – Interchangeable focusing screens; Standard waist-level finder with magnification loupe; Optional metering prism (uncoupled)
  • Lenses – from 30mm to 1000mm; Made by Carl Zeiss, Carl Zeiss Jena, Rollei HFT, Novoflex, and Rodenstock; Including two leaf-shutter lenses for flash sync at all speeds (80mm and 150mm)
  • Flash – 2X PC Sockets X anf FP; Flash sync below 1/30th of a second, or at all speeds with leaf shutter-equipped lenses
  • Weight – 1.9kg with 80mm lens; 4lbs 3oz.
  • Dimensions – 156 (width) x 172 (length) x 111 (height) 

These special features, Rollei’s excellent build quality, and the robust general spec sheet all came at a high price – the SL66 cost $1,300 when it debuted. Compared to the Hasselblad’s price point of $750, this made the camera a hard sell. But hey, the thing was made in various types for almost twenty years, after which it was produced until 1992 with additional electronic improvements. Obviously someone liked it. And after using one for the better part of the year I understand why it sold, even at that higher price. 

I should also mention that even today, the Rollei tends to be priced higher than a Hasselblad with the same lens. 

Shooting the Rolleiflex SL66 Today

The Rolleiflex SL66 is heavy. Let’s get that out of the way. To be precise, it weighs 500g more than a Hasselblad 500, but 350 grams less than a Pentax 67. So, in the realm of medium format SLRs it strikes a good balance. And remember that those two cameras can’t do what the SL66 can do, for what it’s worth. And also remember that this weight is the product of Rollei’s fanatical focus on mechanical precision and quality.

It’s genuinely true that there is no camera that feels more solid or confident in the hands. Others may match it, but none are better. The Rolleiflex SL66 is a mechanical work of art made of over 1,000 different components. Its clockwork mechanisms and thickly sturdy construction dichotomously evoke both the compact 35mm Leica camera and Linhof’s large format machines. Or, if we’re reaching for non-photographic comparators, it feels like an enormous mechanical wristwatch without the delicacy; like wearing the clock of Big Ben on the wrist, if such a thing were possible. It feels like a tool, clicking and thunking and ratcheting and clacking. And all the while it looks simply beautiful. 

In practical use, there’s a strange tension between ease and methodology. For those photographers who have used an SLR medium format camera such as this, it will at once feel familiar. However even for these photographers there will be moments of pause.

The common stumble will come from the bellows-style focusing system – but not for every photographer. Rollei’s design has the focusing knob positioned on the left-hand side of the camera, just as in their TLRs. For Hasselblad shooters accustomed to quick focusing with their lens-mounted focusing rings, the Rollei will feel slow. And it is slow, comparatively. But the trade off for this lack of speed is that we’re afforded finer focusing precision, as well as a greater range of focusing distances. As mentioned, some of the Rollei’s lenses allow focusing as close as five centimeters. Just remember not to poke a finger through the exposed bellows material. That would be tragic. In the end, just as with similarly-designed Japanese medium format SLRs, the focusing methodology works fine. Whether it works better than the Hasselblad is, I suppose, a matter of taste. I personally find focusing a Hasselblad easier than the Rollei, but I value the Rollei’s focusing range. It’s a tough call. 

The camera’s focal plane shutter has its pros and cons as well. Versatile speeds, all-mechanical, durable. However, flash sync is only capable at speeds from 1/30th of a second and below. For those photographers who need flash sync at higher speeds, only two lenses are available with leaf shutters. These come in the studio-centric focal lengths of 80mm and 150mm (denoted as having a leaf shutter by the “LS” in their model names). 

The tilt mechanism is intriguing, but getting the desired results from using it can be elusive. The Scheimpflug principal is, after all, a confusing idea for those who haven’t shot large format cameras. The way that I use it is pretty simple (and admittedly a bit naive) – if I’m shooting a subject which is not parallel to the focal plane and if I want the entire subject to be in focus, I use the tilt mechanism and hope for the best. It works some of the time. And in the cases where it doesn’t work entirely, I’ve found the images made in this way are still gorgeous. Unpredictability is one of the delights of shooting film in the modern era. If I wanted clinically perfect photos I’d be shooting whatever Sony mirrorless just released last month. 

Shooting wide open and nailing focus can be a challenge, as with any manual focus camera, I suppose. But with a waist-level finder this is made even more challenging, as precise focus often means raising the camera to the eye and focusing through the magnification loupe. After that, we usually recompose the shot and in doing so it’s possible (likely) that our pin-point critical focus has been lost. This is really more of a note on using any medium format SLR handheld. It’s just tricky without an eye-prism, eye-prisms for the SL66 are expensive, and most SL66s won’t come with one. That said, spend the money and you’ll have effectively eliminated one of the trickiest aspects of using an SL66 in the field.

The mirror mechanism is one of the more advanced ever made. Like in some smaller 35mm cameras, it uses a pneumatic system to minimize mirror shake. When we fire the shutter, the mirror begins its swing slowly, accelerates, and then decelerates at the conclusion of its swing. This makes for a much finer feeling at shutter release than we have in something like the Pentax 67. And yes, it is noticeably smooth. In addition to this, the mirror features a mirror lockup mode for tripod shooting or long exposures when we want to totally eliminate as much movement as possible. There’s also multiple exposure capability, which is always fun, even if I’m terrible at multiple exposures. 

There’s no built-in metering system, unless we buy the very rare and very expensive metering prism, but even this prism mounted on the original SL66 is not coupled to shutter speed or aperture. So we might as well buy an accessory light meter to mount to the Rollei’s left-mounted accessory shoe and save some cash. If we want to get the creature comforts of built-in metering we’ll need to spring for a later model of the SL66 – the SL66E and SL66SE offer through-the-lens metering and TTL flash metering, while the latter offers spot-metering as well.

The shutter release button terrifies me. It protrudes from the front-right of the camera at an odd angle, something like 45º. I can’t help but fear that one good, accidental bump against a hard surface would sheer it right off. To its benefit, there’s a built-in cable release socket, and the release itself is lockable with a simple twist. 

The film advance and shutter speed selector are positioned on the right-hand side of the camera body, and they work as we’d expect. Actuation of each is incredibly precise and fine. The shutter speed dial slams into its detents with impressive responsiveness, and the film advance action is smooth and fluid. The controls fall where they should, and the camera is a joy to use. 

The lenses are comparable to the Hasselblad system. The short of that is – they’re world-class. With lenses from a 30mm wide-angle to a 1000mm tele and most everything in between, it’s a complete system. 

Final Thoughts

In my time shooting the Rollei SL66, I’ve had nothing but fun. It is such a charming camera. From its beautiful styling and its luxurious haptic feedback to, of course, the lovely images that it makes possible. It’s just a timeless device of real quality, and I love it. 

The list of superlatives which the Rolleiflex SL66 can claim over the other cameras in my collection is extensive. It’s the prettiest camera I own. It’s also the heaviest camera I own. It’s the most interesting camera I own and of all the cameras I own, it has the most bizarre combination of unique features. Of all the cameras I own, it’s the most challenging camera to use, possibly because it’s just so different to all the rest. Most important of all, it’s the most fun camera I own. It may even be my favorite camera! Just don’t take away the rest.  

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Give a look to the amazing machines which are our writers’ Holy Grail cameras. And let us know yours in the comments below. Enjoy.

James – Zeiss Ikon Hologon Ultrawide

I’ve mentioned the Zeiss Ikon Hologon Ultrawide to lots of photo geeks in casual conversation over the past five years. Just one of them has known what I’m talking about. Most people think I’m talking about the Zeiss Hologon 16mm lens for the Contax G series cameras, or an old (and rare) Zeiss 15mm Leica M mount lens. But I’m not talking about a lens. The original Hologon lens was fixed to a Hologon camera. My Holy Grail camera, in fact.

The Zeiss Ikon Hologon Ultrawide was first produced in 1969. A mechanical 35mm film camera, it was fitted with the lens from which it derives its name, a Zeiss Hologon 15mm F/8 (fixed aperture, fixed focus). This lens provides a 110º field of view. The camera has a viewfinder, a bubble level, a pistol grip accessory, a graduated neutral density filter to kill vignetting, a tripod socket, thumb-powered film advance, and a shutter with speeds from 1/500th of a second down to Bulb and T.

It is essentially a finely made metal clockwork camera with an enormously wide lens. Okay, 15mm by 2020 standards isn’t too wild. But back when this camera was made, 15mm was pretty wild. So wild, in fact, that Zeiss Ikon, the company who made it, barely sold any units. Despite making great cameras, Zeiss Ikon folded in the 1970s, after which their parent company Carl Zeiss took over. For the next few years, Carl Zeiss would produce small batches of Hologon cameras per year. In addition, they converted a number of the 15mm Hologon lenses to M mount (less than 1,000 units). Decades later in 1996, the famed Hologon was recomputed and reborn in Contax G mount, becoming a legendary lens in its own right.

The Zeiss Ikon Hologon Ultrawide was and remains an expensive camera. When new, it retailed for $825. That’s more than $5,500 in today’s money. And $5,500 is just about what a nice, fully functional example will cost today. The high price alone puts the Hologon fairly out of reach for most buyers. And then its rarity makes it hard to find even if one has the money (there are a handful of imperfect ones on eBay, usually, but who wants to spend $3,500 on a camera with a hazy lens?).

But beyond the high cost, what really makes the Zeiss Ikon Hologon Ultrawide a Holy Grail camera is that it’s just so impractical. A fixed 15mm lens that can’t focus or change aperture on a camera that costs five grand? How does one possibly justify that? I guess if one owns a camera shop and a camera blog whereby the entirety of the business operations consists of buying and selling cameras, and writing articles about special cameras for other photo geeks to enjoy, one might be able to justify the purchase. It is, after all, a business expense. Yes… Yes.

What say you, dear reader? Should I buy a Hologon?

Jeb – Hasselblad XPan II

Call me a sucker for weird formats; Polaroids, square 120, and even 110. I love shooting them all because they offer unique compositional challenges. Technically the Hasselblad XPan is a 35mm camera and you can use it to shoot 24x36mm negatives. But the whole point of the camera is the switch that allows it to shoot panoramic 24x72mm negatives. Panorama photography is a small niche in the field, but wide composition is something that has long appealed to me and is not a little influenced by films like The Master and Kenneth Branaugh’s Hamlet. 

There are a few options for panorama cameras, but none reach the quality of the XPan. Designed by Hasselblad and produced by Fuji, who released it in Japan as the [arguably prettier] TX-1, it was released in 1998 along with three new manual-focus lenses (30mm, 45mm and 90mm) specially built for the camera. It had automatic exposure, a silent shutter, exposure compensation and a motor drive. The XPan 2 was released in 2003 with modest improvements, such as an expanded bulb mode allowing for exposures up to nine minutes long, a self timer, and in-viewfinder exposure information. One cool function is that the film is completely unwound and then rewound frame-by-frame each time a photo is taken so that each exposure is protected as it’s taken, and so that the format can be changed mid roll.

But what you really want with the XPan is that wide negative. It gives photographers a cinematic perspective on whatever subject they choose, and while many people consider the XPan limited in its practicality, I say the only limitation is the photographer. Unfortunately the niche-ness of, and high-demand for, the XPan has seen prices skyrocket – well beyond the reach of most of us, including myself. XPans regularly cost a minimum of $3,500, and that’s with only one of the three lenses. If I were to take the time to average the price of the eleven XPan II’s currently listed on eBay (which I did), I’d find that the average the average price of an XPan II on eBay is an astonishing $5,886.

Still, if there’s one camera out there that I’ve never used but still salivate over, it’s the XPan. At the very least it would save me time cropping to my favorite aspect ratio.

Connor – Zeiss Ikon ZM

Being abandoned with nothing but one camera would be difficult for me regardless of my fictional budget. I’m just as much a collector as I am a photographer, and using/learning to handle different cameras is just part of the fun to me. That being said, I think I would go with the Zeiss Ikon ZM 35mm rangefinder. With a suite of Zeiss lenses, of course.

I prefer rangefinders for my style of shooting, and the ZM’s utilitarian feature set and access to some amazing lenses make it hard to ignore. With a shutter that’s just one step faster than the comparable Leica M7, and a metering system that’s very similar as well, aside from aperture priority, it’s clear who Zeiss had in their crosshairs when designing the ZM. It’s lighter, faster, and, at least in theory, more accurate to focus than the Leica due to its longer rangefinder base.

I can’t write any more about the ZM without talking about the lenses that come with it. The M Mount Zeiss lenses come with a powerful and deserved reputation (check out this review by Dustin to see for yourself) as the cream of the crop in terms of optical sharpness and design. I know the M mount has a huge variety of lenses and manufacturers, but there’s something about putting a non-Zeiss lens on a Zeiss body that feels… unholy. I’d rather have Planars and Distagons and Biogons on my Zeiss camera than Summicrons or Skopars. I will fully accept my contrarian badge and wear it with pride, as long as my desert island has enough batteries to keep the ZM working forever.

Cory – Nikon F2 Titan

I’ve had far too many cameras pass through my fingers since I tumbled into the rabbit hole of film photography. Some of them have been average and forgettable, others surrounded by hype and storied reputations. At a certain point you realize that gear doesn’t really matter all that much. Some features are useful or even necessary to be sure, but at the end of the day it all comes down to what camera speaks to you on a deeper, emotional level. Which one begs to be used? To be passed down to your kids or grandkids? Which camera is as much of an heirloom as it is a trusted companion to your life?

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. James went through this same journey when he decided to purchase his Nikon SP 2005 Special Edition. Like him, I wanted something fully mechanical, rare, and beautiful. Preferring SLR to rangefinder and already possessing a decent collection of F-mount glass led me to my own personal grail – the Nikon F2 Titan.

The traditional Nikon F2 is a standout camera in its own right, being hand-assembled from over 1500 individual parts. Its all mechanical body capable of continuously varying shutters speeds from 1/125-1/2000th of a second is a marvel of mechanical engineering. 

The F2 Titan is ostensibly a standard F2 wrapped in a titanium shell, but its history and rarity are what make it truly special. In 1977 the famous Japanese adventurer, Naomi Uemura asked Nikon to make him a camera that could survive his solo dog sled trip to the North Pole. Nikon created a titanium bodied F2 using special lubricants intended to function at -50c, and tested the camera’s durability by hurling it down flights of stairs in the factory. Nikon produced three F2 Titanium Uemura Special cameras in total (the first Titanium cameras ever made, in fact). Uemura took two of the cameras with him and shot 180 rolls of film during his six month journey. 

In 1978 Nikon produced and marketed an extremely small number of bare-metal titanium F2’s. Professionals complained the titanium finish was too reflective so Nikon painted the future models with a thick, textured black epoxy.

The F2P (P for press), was released in 1978 and distributed to two thousand members of the media that year. The F2P can be identified by a serial number starting with 920xxxx and a plain front plate (it is commonly referred to as a ‘no name’ F2 Titan). In 1979, Nikon released the F2 Titan, which had ‘Titan’ engraved on the front plate and serial numbers started with F2T 79xxxx. It was essentially an F2P that the general public could buy. The final and rarest (only 300 made) titanium F2 was designated the F2H. It sported a non-moving semi-transparent pellicle mirror and a huge MD-100 motor drive and MB-100 battery pack. It achieved a blistering 10 frames per second.

I’ve lusted after one of these special cameras for years, ever since I first learned of their existence. Recently the opportunity presented itself via the friend of a friend for me to purchase an F2P in near-mint condition and it’s on its way to me now. I can’t wait to own, and more importantly, shoot such an important and unique piece of Nikon history. I know that Grails aren’t supposed to be attainable. I’m cheating a little by picking this one. Chalk it up to excitement.

Aidan – Mamiya 7

I currently own and frequently use the Mamiya m645, or as I like to call it “the beast.” It’s beautiful. However, if I had to choose a camera that I would consider my “holy grail,” or a piece of equipment that I want so badly but is so financially out of reach that it can’t be justified, would be a another camera from Mamiya. The Mamiya 7 is my holy grail, desert island camera, dream setup, or whatever we want to call it! I crave its lightweight square-like design that’s able to capture sharp 6x7cm medium format memories. 

I surprised myself when I considered a rangefinder to be my holy grail camera; but this specific beauty is too handsome to keep off of the top of my dream list. If I had the Mamiya 7 I feel like I could step up my landscape and street photography tremendously with its versatility for any situation. It’s just unique enough, and it has a concise lineup of lenses that would allow me to be ready for any situation. 

The unfortunate $3,000 to $4,000 that this camera costs does not seem justifiable, especially when my significantly heavie, “beast” camera is by my side wherever I go. One day, even if it costs me an arm and a leg, the beautiful, lightweight, medium format Mamiya 7 rangefinder will be mine to create a new lifetime of cliché film shots.

Drew – Rolleiflex Hy6 Mod 2

In the world of autofocus medium format cameras, there are just a handful of players. I’m lucky enough to own the Fujifilm GA645, which is awesome because of how compact it is, and the Pentax 645N, which is a thoroughly modern workhorse. When I think about all of the cameras I don’t own but would like to own and yet probably never will own, one stands out – the Rolleiflex Hy6 Mod 2.

Despite having an appreciation for manual cameras, I’m still a sucker for the adornments and conveniences of modern photography. And on top of that, I really love the fewer shots and larger negatives of 120 film. The various 645 autofocus cameras are good, maybe great, but they’re 6×4.5 and ultimately do not boast the best autofocus or internal metering, which are the hallmarks of modern photographic equipment. The Contax 645 could be my holy grail camera, because I adore Zeiss lenses, but at the end of the day the storied shoddy autofocus and wonky electronics make me hesitant about ever purchasing one.

A far better option is the exorbitantly pricey (for me) Rolleiflex Hy6 Mod 2. This beast is a further development of Rollei’s 6008AF but developed to use Sinar digital backs. The Hy6 has a long history of development with multiple companies involved in its production, only to then become insolvent. It is currently produced by DW-Photo GmbH, a reincarnation of DHW Fototechnik itself a vestige of Rollei/Franke & Heidecke.

In any case, the Hy6 Mod 2 can shoot using 6×4.5 or 6×6 film backs, or medium format digital backs made by Leaf or Sinar (we’re talking sensors in the 50+ MP range). With a waist level finder but blisteringly good AF, you can compose shots organically and never miss focus or have to use a loupe/magnifier. On top of this, the 80mm f/2.8 Schneider-Kreuznach Xenotar, the Hy6’s standard lens, produces stunners. Painterly bokeh and razor-sharp. Luckily, not only are there many Schenider lenses made for the Hy6, the camera also accepts the earlier Rollei 6000 lenses made by Zeiss, Rollei, and Schneider. The cherry on top is that the camera’s three TTL metering modes (center-weighted zone, average zone, and precise spot) work as well as any in-camera meter could, making slide film a breeze to shoot.

Put simply, who wouldn’t want a camera that makes effortless 6×6 images that look gorgeous every single time? For that, all you’ll need is 5,000 – 8,000 USD!

Josh – Plaubel Makina 67

Among photo geeks, I suppose I can count myself rather fortunate. Over the decade-plus that I’ve been shooting film seriously, I’ve finally narrowed my collection down only to things I actually need. I have a pro-spec 35mm SLR system, a classic German rangefinder, an underwater camera, and an antiquated-but-capable TLR if I ever need to shoot medium format. Frankly, not much else outside of that excites me. Luxury point-and-shoots? Don’t care for them. Large format? No time for that. Wacko vintage curiosities masquerading as cameras? No patience. I’ve tried nearly all of these and even geeked out hard over them, but I really don’t think I need any of them. Bummer.

But there is one camera that has piqued my interest for years, yet has completely eluded me – the Plaubel Makina 67. It’s a slick German medium format rangefinder that shoots huge 6×7 negatives out of an incredibly thin body. The compact, bellows-based design is concise and devilishly pretty, a nice contrast to the boat anchors in this category, the Pentax 67 and the Mamiya RB67. The Makina 67 even sports a quick 80mm f/2.8 Nikkor lens, a spec that surpasses the 80mm lenses on the Fujica GM670 and even the legendary Mamiya 7. It seems to solve the weight and size issue I have with most 67 cameras, and does it in style. I might not need it per se, but I’ll be keeping a Makina-sized space on my shelf. You know, just in case.

Some nice cameras in there. Do you have a Grail camera? Let us know what it is in the comments below. Happy hunting.

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The post Desert Island Cameras No. 09 – Holy Grail Edition appeared first on Casual Photophile.

Give this article a browse, and then let us know what you think in the comments below.

Share your favorite lens with us and feel free to link to your favorite photo made with it. We’d love to see your world as shot through your favorite lens.

Enjoy!

Bellamy Hunt / Japan Camera Hunter

I had to think long and hard about this one. In my career I’ve seen many lenses that could be considered by many people to be their dream lens. I’ve shot everything that I always wanted to shoot. So perhaps you’re thinking that my favourite lens is something wildly esoteric? Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, my favorite is something much simpler. 

My favorite lens is the lens I shoot with most frequently, the Leica Summicron 35mm f/2 ASPH 11611. A classic design that performs excellently under any situation. It gives me the results I want. It is sharp, but still has character. Its color rendition is brilliant and it has nice contrast too. It is everything I need in a lens. 

Although, if I’m being honest, this lens kind of wins by default. It’s the lens I use because I can use it daily. But my all time favorite is a rare Zeiss cine lens. A 5cm f/2 with a fixed focus and fixed aperture. It was extremely hard to use and absurdly valuable, but the results were magnificent. I only got to shoot five frames with it and I fell in love. Unfortunately, it was not mine and I had to give it back. So, as that lens is unobtanium, I have to pick the Summicron. 

Cory / Casual Photophile

Despite the dozens of lenses that have passed through my hands over the years, when James asked me to write about my favorite, the choice was easy. Before I reveal my muse, let me provide some context. For one, I’m not a pixel peeper. I appreciate resolving power, but MTF charts and lines per millimeter statistics are boring. I don’t fall prey to the siren song of bokeh, but I do appreciate smooth transitions from sharp focus to blur. Because I prefer to print in the darkroom, lens distortion is something I have no patience for as I can’t correct it with a simple button press. Finally, I favor lenses that have previously produced my favorite images.

With the above criteria in mind, my favorite lens is undoubtedly the Carl Zeiss 75mm f/3.5 Planar permanently mounted in my Rolleiflex 3.5F. The real power of this lens is its magical character. I’ve always felt as though it combines the precision of a more modern lens with the charm of vintage glass. The falloff between critical sharpness and background blur can only be described as buttery. More importantly, this lens has produced the most treasured photograph I’ve ever taken.

My grandparents came to visit right around the same time the Rolleiflex had returned from an overhaul. The camera was in perfect working order and I was eager to use it. I asked if I could take some photos of them and shot a roll on our front porch. Less than a year later, my grandfather passed away from an aggressive form of leukemia. These were the last formal photos taken of my grandparents and I made a large print of the image you see here for my grandfather’s funeral. This is a camera that I’ll never sell. Not for the technical capabilities of the lens, though excellent, but for the priceless photographs it has allowed me to make.

Drew / Casual Photophile

It feels like I say it in every article I write, but I’m a Zeiss fanboy. I love the contrast and colors T* coated lenses produce. I started with the C/Y mount lenses, which produced gorgeous results. Then I moved on to the G mount lenses and my 45mm f/2 Planar wowed me – except when the Contax G1 missed focus. Finally, I settled on the modern Zeiss 50mm F/2 ZM Planar. And man, is it satisfying. 

It’s said that the Zeiss 50mm F/2 ZM Planar is based on the 45mm f/2 G Planar, which would make sense. Both lenses have six elements in four groups, and though the ZM is 40 grams heavier than the G, it bests the G with a more versatile aperture range (down to f/22) and ten aperture blades to the G’s six. In my experience, the ZM produces images with a bit more modern rendering when compared to the G. But best of all, I can nail focus even wide open with the ZM. I have a larger sample size with the G Planar, but the ZM Planar produces more beautiful bokeh and sharper in-focus areas. 

That’s why it’s my favorite lens. The image that I chose, the family golden retriever, highlights the ZM Planar’s best aspects: gorgeous depth of field and perfectly rendered focus. Now, if I could only find a nicely priced 50mm f/1.5 ZM C-Sonnar.

Hamish Gill / 35mmc

Without much doubt my favourite lens is the Zeiss 50mm f/1.5 ZM C-Sonnar. There’s quite a lot about this lens that makes it unique within my collection, and perhaps even unique within the wider class of modern lenses. 

The C designation in its name denotes either ‘Compact’ or ‘Classic’ depending on who you ask. By my measure, it stands for the former. But with its design closely related to very early Sonnar formula lenses, it’s fair to say that ‘Classic’ does indeed describe the way it renders an image. The real beauty of this lens though is that it combines the classic formula with very modern Zeiss coatings. 

The combination of the early Sonnar design and modern coatings makes for results that aren’t as sharp as those from more modern designs but have stacks of contrast. The results exhibit ‘3D pop’ that very few 35mm format lenses can match, making it superb for capturing people and their environment.

It’s not the easiest lens to shoot, mind. Its classic formula means it suffers with focus shift, which is quite problematic on its native m-mount. For some, this makes for a lens that’s too difficult to shoot reliably. For people like me though – people who love the way it renders – the slight difficulty it presents in shooting is a sacrifice that’s absolutely worth making. [See Hamish’s full review of this great lens here]

Jeb / Casual Photophile

At first I had no idea which lens was my “Favorite of All-Time.” But when James added that we should pick our favorite photo, I browsed photos and knew in my bones it had to be Minolta’s Rokkor 45mm f/2. This cheap pancake typically comes attached to any number of Minolta camera bodies won on internet auction, almost as an added bonus. But this lens is the ultimate sleeper, like a case of Coors Banquet it’s going to surprise you with a taste that belies its price tag. And sitting between Minolta’s truly epic lenses in the 35mm and 50mm focal lengths, this 45mm Jan Brady is all but lost in the mix.

But don’t let all of this distract you; this lens is light, inconspicuous, gives great contrast and is sharp as a knife. It’s not a spec monster that slays other lenses with its technical prowess, but it has its own unique and interesting personality, and its profile is as slim as you could expect from a pancake lens. I traveled through my backyards and throughout Europe with this attached to a number of bodies, and it’s helped me create some of my favorite images. This lens is a testament to Minolta’s insistence on quality – that even its low-cost lenses were (and remain) outstanding.

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Mike Eckman / MikeEckman.com

I could have chosen one of many excellent Nikkor, Rokkor, Takumar, Zeiss, or any of the other hundreds of optically excellent lenses that have been made over the past hundred-plus years. But choosing one of those would be too simple. I thought my favorite lens should not only take good pictures, but have some character, and do something that you can’t get from just any old vintage lens.

The Kamerabau-Anstalt-Vaduz Kilfitt-Makro Kilar D 4cm f/2.8 is that lens for me. I got this lens in Alpa mount on an Alpa Alnea Model 7 back in 2018, and was quickly enamored by its optical quality and two inch minimum focus. I’ve shot this lens on film, and after acquiring a digital adapter, I’ve mounted it on my Fuji X-T20 digital mirrorless.

Since September 2018, every single beauty picture of a camera that has been posted on my site has been shot with this lens. I like using a vintage lens to photograph vintage cameras, and with this lens, I can get a nice full camera picture from ten feet away, or an extreme closeup of a small detail of a camera that I want to show off. This lens not only makes fantastic looking film and digital pics, but its ability to function as a general purpose and macro lens is why I have selected it as my favorite lens of all time.

Connor / Casual Photophile

Picking a favorite lens was a difficult exercise for me. I tend to switch lenses very infrequently and end up using whatever lens came with the camera. In the case of the Olympus XA, that lens would be the brilliant F. Zuiko 35mm f2.8. 

While wading through my archives looking for inspiration, I found one 50mm shot after another, which made the XA’s slightly wider 35mm stand out. The outstanding sharpness of the six-element optics also made it stand out. The only drawback of this design is noticeable vignetting at wider apertures, but stacking that up against the XA’s minuscule size and feature-packed body, there are worse issues to have.

Even removed from the revolutionary context of the XA, this lens is an extremely solid performer and is one of the main reasons I’ve consistently reached for the XA, even in lower light situations (where my favorite photo with it was made). 

Peggy Marsh / Camera Go Camera

What is my favourite lens? The Canon 50/1.4 in Leica Thread Mount (LTM). Easy choice. Currently, it’s attached to a Canon IV SB2. For a lens that is over 60 years old, my example is so smooth to use. It feels solid and exudes quality, all metal and glass. It was relatively cheap when compared to other M39 lenses with similar performance levels. I’m not going to describe the technical details of the lens, since you can easily look those up. I’m more interested in the results.

However, I will mention the fairly long focusing throw, which for me, makes this lens a thoughtful one to use. Not a lens that I use when I need to move quickly, capture fleeting moments. It is a lens I savor, take my time with. This is especially true in low light situations where the widest f/1.4 aperture is needed.

The focal length, the nifty fifty, is a good all-around choice for portraits and landscapes. The resultant photos have a look that can’t be mistaken for a modern 50mm lens.

Ideally, I would like to try a 35mm lens to compare, but I don’t have one. You can’t choose something you don’t own. I had a look through my archives for photos and it has become abundantly clear, I have not used this lens nearly enough. I want and need to go out right now and try it, but well, stay safe, stay inside. At least the fast aperture might help with that.

Aaron / Casual Photophile

The diminutive Carl Zeiss 38mm f/2.8 enjoys a reputation that belies its small size. Nestled inside of the titanium-clad Contax point and shoot cameras of the 1980s and beyond, this lens was able to transform the reputation of a whole class of cameras. By placing the five-element Sonnar lens within the original Contax T in 1984, Contax redefined the expectations of the humble compact camera. Until this point, these “Soccer Mom” cameras were marketed solely at amateurs going on holidays, and had the optics to suit this less than demanding demographic of photographer. 

Not so after the Contax. The level of sharpness, micro-contrast and 3D pop generated by this little lens began an arms race that spawned a new category, the luxury compact camera. Throughout the 1990s Leica, Minolta, Nikon, Konica and more would compete with Contax to deliver lenses which often bested SLR equivalents, stuffed into bodies which could comfortably fit inside a coat pocket. It has been this form factor which has allowed me to carry this lens, first in the body of the autofocus Contax T2, and then in its forefather, the Contax T, around the globe, to capture some of my fondest memories. And the lens has always delivered. 

Those beer-soaked halcyon days as the nation cast aside Brexit concerns to (momentarily) celebrate the success of the national football team during the Russian World Cup. Through last year, as I chased sunsets down the backstreets of Hanoi, Taipei and other locales around South East Asia. A glance through my photos shows a stunningly high hit rate, and that virtually all of the botched photos are a result of user error. Even in these imperfect shots, there’s no flare or distortion to speak of, and there is character in spades. 

Even as cynicism toward luxury compact cameras continues to rise in step with their price tags, I find it hard to totally dismiss these cameras, solely because of my fond experiences with this lens. 

Kyle Depew / Founder, Brooklyn Film Camera

My favorite lens at the moment is the Schneider-Kreuznach APO-Symmar 210mm f/5.6. I bought mine around a year ago from a Japanese dealer and have been utterly in love since first mounting it on my Chamonix 45N-1. It has a beautiful Copal shutter and a 7-bladed aperture that’s as smooth as can be. It’s an absolute pleasure to use and renders portraits gorgeously.

I’ve been particularly enamored by making Polaroid 4×5’s with this system. The film is hard to find these days but I’ve had luck finding a handful of late-dated packs that have worked well. The chemistry is very old at this point (the last batches of Polaroid 4×5 ever produced expired in 2009) and it consequently renders colors very strangely, which I happen to love. These portraits were made on Polaroid Type-59 film that expired in 2007. Large format Polaroid magic!

Dan Rubin / Designer and Photographer

It’s easy to love Leica lenses of any era. The way they render a scene is the stuff of legend, and generally, they are priced to match. The Leica Summicron-R 50/2 sits outside of that, for me. Not a cheap lens by most standards, but as with most R-mount lenses, far less than its M counterpart.

When I picked up this lens three years ago along with my Leicaflex SL, it immediately became the favorite combination among my 35mm cameras, and one that almost always finds its way into my bag wherever I travel. Mine was made in 1981, a three-cam version.

Though shooting it wide open yields silky smooth bokeh and sharp details (it’s lovely for portraits), my favorite photo to date with this lens was shot in the middle of a sunny Spring day in Vienna, on Kodak Portra 800, somewhere between f/8 and f/11. The timeless look that this lovely lens provides when stopped down is divine.

Jim Grey / Down the Road

My favorite lens of all time is a common lens; you can buy one used for well under a hundred bucks. It’s plenty sharp and it’s well built, but it’s otherwise not remarkable. Yet I keep reaching for it because it’s perfect for the kind of work I do. I mount the 35mm f/2.8 AI Nikkor lens onto one of my Nikon SLR bodies and off I go into the world. 

I often photograph the built environment in cities and towns. That 35mm focal length means I seldom have to back up into the street to take in the scene. I also frequently photograph landscapes, where 35mm lets me bring in lots of the land without it looking to be too far away. That sometimes happens at 28mm and wider. This lens also lets me do a passable job when I want to move in close. 

I took this lens, my Nikon N2000, and a bunch of Kodak T-Max 400 with me to Ireland a few years ago. My wife and I spent two weeks driving all over Galway, Sligo, Mayo, Donegal, and Antrim. In Galway’s Connemara region we visited stunning Kylemore Abbey. I made this photograph from inside the front door, looking out into the Irish landscape. I used this photo for the cover of my book of film photos I made in Ireland; you can get a copy here. You’ll see more work from this lens from time to time on my blog, Down the Road.

Josh / Casual Photophile

This question’s hard. Not because I don’t know which lens to pick, but because I know which lenses I should pick. I should pick the Zeiss 80mm f/2.8 Planar on my Rolleiflex 2.8, the best lens in my arsenal. I should pick the Nikonos W-Nikkor 35mm f/2.8, a lens which helped me make my favorite photo (and the artwork on my band’s 12” single). And I should pick the Leica Summicron 50mm f/2 V3, which is still technically the best lens I’ve ever used. But I can’t. There’s only one lens that I can call my favorite – the pre-AI Nikkor-S 50mm f/1.4.

Truthfully, the Nikkor-S 50mm f/1.4 shouldn’t even be here. It’s heavy, it bruises my ribs whenever I run around with it, and worst of all, it gets Downy soft wide-open. It has never won an award in any camera magazine, its MTF charts probably look dismal, and most other vintage lenses can beat it in nearly every single technical category. It’s a deeply flawed lens, and it isn’t for everybody.

But then I remember that nearly all of my favorite images were taken with the Nikkor-S 50mm f/1.4, and choosing the Nikkor starts to make sense. After ten years of shooting this lens, I recognize its images almost instantly – the rendering is creamy and rich, overall contrast is always exactly to my taste, and the colors pop with an intensity known only to ancient single-coated lenses. My hands know this lens just as well; the scalloped focusing ring and aperture ring still glide and click more solidly and smoothly than any other lens I’ve used. And whenever I think of its heritage as the constant companion of a camera that quite literally changed the world of photography, the choice becomes clear. This lens is everything that I love about shooting vintage cameras and lenses. Why would I pick anything else?

Ned Bunnell / President of Pentax USA, Retired

When James asked me to name my favorite lens, my immediate reaction was the PENTAX-FA 31mm f/1.8. I’ve owned this lens for fifteen years and I’ve previously claimed it might be the only lens I’d ever need. In fact, last December I finally bought a Pentax K-1 so I could use lenses like the FA31 and my Super Takumar 50mm f/1.4 (8) on a full-frame body.

I shot with the K-1 and the FA31 for two months. During this time, I never picked up the camera that I’ve been using exclusively for the past six years, the Ricoh GR. I now have the latest iteration, the GRIII. And while I produced some lovely images with the K-1 and FA31, I began to miss my GR compact camera and its 28mm fixed-lens. 

I’ve finally realized that I prefer to keep things light and simple when I’m taking pictures. While the K-1 and FA31 is nicely balanced as far as SLRs go, it’s still large and a bit cumbersome. Whereas, walking around with the GR in hand, I can spontaneously photograph whatever catches my eye without thinking at all about the gear.

Lens wise, I’m not making any compromises. The Ricoh GR’s 28mm lens is probably as sharp as any 28mm interchangeable lens on the market today. And the GR is actually smaller and lighter than some of these lenses. I’m back using the GRIII every day. For me it’s the perfect camera; an incredible lens in a compact, unobtrusive body with all the controls of a traditional APS-C camera.

I’ll still bring out the FA31 and K-1 on special occasions, but even then the GRIII and its exceptional 28mm lens will probably be in my pocket… just in case. 

James / Founder, Casual Photophile

Sometime during the third hour of poring over the innumerable photos I’ve made for this site in the past six years, I cursed myself. What a stupid idea. Pick our favorite lens? And then pick our favorite photo made with that lens? What was I thinking? Days of agony later, I should have saved myself the trouble and gone with my first instinct. The lens that first popped into my mind when dreaming up this exercise is the one I’ve finally chosen, even though it’s far from perfect.

The Carl Zeiss 45mm f/2 Planar in G mount is that lens, and I love it for the same reasons that other Zeiss fans on this list have already written. It makes exceptional micro-contrast, is as sharp as I want a lens to be, and has a distinct personality that’s unquantifiable. This lens, coupled to a G2, made one of my favorite photos I’ve ever shot (and I’ve shared this photo in a few articles since making it). But this lens has also made a lot of my favorite digital photos, and I think that versatility is why I really love it.

Finding the right adapter to use the CZ 45mm f/2 Planar in G mount is critical. That’s because the G system uses electronic focusing, rather than mechanical. You can read all about this in my review of the lens. And while this methodology creates something of a challenge for digital shooters adapting G mount lenses, the struggle is worth it. The images I get from this lens mounted to my Sony a7II are always exceptional, and occasionally mind-blowing.

I’ve shared one film image and one digital image below. I know that (by my own rules) we were only supposed to share one favorite image, but what am I gonna do? Fire myself?

And at roughly 3,500 words, let’s take a break there. Many thanks to everyone who contributed to this article. It was great fun, and I’ve had such a great response from my fellow professional camera likers that I’ll be able to put together another all-star lens team from new contributors in just a couple of weeks. Until then, feel free to browse our full list of lens reviews, and be sure to visit all of the excellent sites that we’ve linked to from this article.

If you’ve enjoyed this look into our personal lens preferences, let us know in the comments. And as mentioned earlier, please share with us your favorite lens of all time, and the best photo you’ve made with it.

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